#but didn't realize that until I finished writing at like 1:00 am

[hausofmamadas]

| Chasing ghosts and choices |

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Pairing: David Barrón x Enedina Arellano Félix x Claudio Vásquez

For @narcosfandomdiscord NarcOctober Fanworks collection - Day 13

Prompt: Day of Life - create a fanwork in which a character avoids their canonical death.

Word count: ≈ 1.7K

TWs: Canon-consistent violence, angst in only the way my boi does I mean just look at that face in the first gif, he’s so not a happy camperksjeb

They’d known each other too long, loved each other too much, and hurt each other too intimately and too many times to pretend they were better than exactly who they were. Okay on my life, I did not mean to do the same exact setup as @drabbles-mc fic for today. I just like am super back in my Barrón feels in a BIG fuckin way rn thanks to Bobby Soto ruining my life in A Million Miles Away skdjflsk but like weirdly and accidentally, this could be kind of a sequel to Adamant skjsldkj imsorryforeverything anyway enjoy Barrón lowkey kicking himself for saving Claudio and also being like, "aight, fine. It was the right call" bc he would never do his lady love so dirty as to purposely let her new husband die SKSKS

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At the sliding glass doors of the Arellanos’ place, Barrón stood, watching the predawn fog diffuse over houses on the streets below, making itself at home in the cracks of alleyways, like the city of Tijuana was an abandoned crypt, the casitas, its tombstones, and struggled to remember the last time he’d saved someone.

Being a sicario, he didn’t have much occasion to save people. Or at least, not without tipping the scales in death’s favor in the process. And yet, reminded in a flash of memory—some fake cop’s hat flying in the air when one of his bullets sinks in the guy’s forehead and drops him almost comically like his body’d turned to lead—in this case, he’d delivered plenty to death’s door. He was nothing if not a professional, right.

Maybe it was who he’d saved that made this feel more significant than past jobs. Less delivering to death’s door, more delivering life, delivering a future with one she loved, back to her. That felt as big. Bigger even. Particularly when it ensured his own future would be the same as it ever was. Chasing ghosts and loving in silence. Playing not the fool, but a tool. A weapon. Incredibly useful if only for a precious few tasks. And in the end, who could really blame them when he was so good at it? That’s right. Nothing if not a professional.

With any luck that’d be his ticket out though, what with Mín going off the grid until things cooled down and the family figured out the next moves to make. Hopefully, he’d have a new post to look forward to, a change of scenery. If not the places then the people. Or some of them.

Because no doubt there’d be some kind of political fallout, Claudio being a district attorney and all. He was affable enough to massage it over with the public but his own family was another matter. They were probably furious, already skeptical about the match from the get. So, the Arellanos would have to measure their response carefully. And that’s just what it would have to be: a response, not a retaliation. The inconvenience of legitimacy now rearing its ugly head with such urgency, Barrón didn’t even have the fight left in him to manage a glib, ya te lo dije.

He wondered idly if maybe that was part of Chapo’s plan or just an unhappy accident, forcing the Arellanos in the public eye at such a precarious time. Not yet legitimate enough to be installed in the untouchable chilango upper class where they could retaliate with impunity, but still beholden to the higher standards of a “real” business in the eyes of the people.

As of now, it all seemed like just the most fucked game of Cat’s Cradle. Too much for a pocho from Logan Heights to untangle. It wasn’t even that strategy wasn’t his strong suit, it was more political machinations like these never much held his interest. Maybe the attempt on Claudio’s life would be enough to draw Dina back in. Give her back what she gave up. That was how Barrón had known it was real with them to begin with. She stepped back. No longer lived and breathed for the thrill of realizing the potential of the family business like she’d envisioned. Envisioned since she was a kid, a fact she’d revealed in one of their little warehouse chats when he first got there. Years ago. Back when they were– ah, fuck it. He’d chase that ghost later.

The funny thing was she did that all giving up and stepping back in a bid to keep things separate, shield Claudio from the less savory aspects of things. A bullet to the shoulder is about as good as that plan went.

Maybe this would be Dina’s time. The prospect filled him with pride. Hope. It’d be a thrill to see if it didn’t hurt so bad. And truthfully, given the choice, Barrón would rather fight back boredom-induced sleep, watching little Ruthie play with Lincoln logs in a safe house somewhere, than sit around here watching the future that he’d sacrificed his own for blossom before his very eyes. He did what he did but he didn’t have to like it.

He fished for a porro he’d rolled earlier from his pocket and removed the few stray, leafy bits of weed that had escaped out one end, before popping it between his lips and lighting up. He usually didn’t smoke in the house but considering he still hadn’t changed his shirt stained with Claudio’s blood, setting into the fibers more and more with each passing second, courtesy of a bullet that sailed clean through the guy’s shoulder, he figured he’d earned a pass from his employers. That wasn’t even the best excuse he had. Just the simplest one. What a weird fucking night.

And fuck, he was tired. The noise of the drawers of the credenza opening and closing behind him wasn’t enough to make him turn around. Shit, he might stand here forever. Five hundred years from now, they’d find him, all petrified wood, in this exact spot still staring out the window. Exhausted. Since before he could remember, exhausted.

Her voice broke the reverie and he tried not to resent it too much. He failed.

“David.”

Ugh, they’d talked about this. No first name. He hated it when she called him by his first name. Too close. A flash of red out of the corner of his eye took full shape as Dina joined him at the window, in her red silk robe, arms crossed, hair wild and free like she was the first woman.

A few tendrils of smoke curled out of Barrón’s nostrils and glided down his chin, moving lazy and listless as he felt. The question hung in his throat, thick with smoke, “How is he.”

Dina dropped her shoulders like she’d been holding her breath. “The doctor says he might lose function in his thumb and forefinger on that side, but otherwise,” she exhaled deeply, clenching her jaw to fight back tears of relief, “it looks like Claudio is going to be fine.”

“Heh,” Barrón nodded, half coughing, half chuckling, “I meant Pancho. But uh, no that’s good.” It was sincere and the most he could manage. Frankly, he was impressed he managed that much.

Head dipping forward, her shoulders shaking gently, she laughed self-consciously down at the floor. “Mi brujo, tu compa, sí se pondrá bien. Ese gatito tiene un chinga más de nueve vidas. No te preocupes.”

At that, he smirked and nodded with more heart this time.

They didn’t say anything else to each other for a while. Just stood there watching the purples of the sky brighten, the marine layer fog cooked orange by the rising sun. Down to a sliver of his joint, Barrón sighed, wishing he’d rolled another one, and cracked the sliding door to flick the butt outside. He closed it and stepped back inside to reassume his place as petrified wood but before he got both his hands in his pockets, Dina caught his wrist and slid her hand down into his. It was so stealthy and quick, Houdini’d be proud. He couldn’t place his finger on why, but it filled him with relief that she hadn’t looked at him. Merely held his hand firmly and continued staring out the window, one arm still held tightly across her chest. Yeah, that was easier.

“David. No sé como agradecerte, pero lo que has hecho por Claudio, la familia,” her voice dropped low as if she knew it should be left unsaid, “por mi,” all the while squeezing his hand. “Nunca lo olvidaré.”

He ran his thumb along her palm to let her know he was there, then hummed softly, “Pues, qué otra opción tenía?”

Echoes of the panic he’d felt when he rounded the corner, seeing Claudio crouched in a shower of broken glass, bullet exploding through his shoulder, blood dark red on his crisp blue shirt, hit Barrón like a grenade. What could’ve happened. What almost happened. If he’d gotten there just a second or two later … they both knew.

A dark and inconvenient truth of operating in a world as wild, wild west as theirs made it impossible not to consider. His job, his very nature, made it impossible to ignore: just exactly how easy it would’ve been for him to drag his feet a bit, move just a little slower, lag behind ever so slightly. That one bullet to the shoulder, turns into two in the chest, then three, then four– until. And how easy it would’ve been to play it off like a whoops, unfortunate happenstance, he’d done his best, just couldn’t make it in time, a tragedy.

The fucked thing too was ... for a fraction of a second?

He had thought about it.

He was pretty sure she knew that too or at least considered the possibility. They’d known each other too long, loved each other too much, and hurt each other too intimately and too many times to pretend they were better than exactly who they were. But that’s not how things went. Not the choice he made.

Instead, Barrón whipped around that corner, hammering Chapo and Arturo’s position so relentlessly, the gun felt almost an extension of his own arm – bullet hoses, right – while Claudio was slumped under the bar, clutching his shoulder. Instead, when their path was clear, Barrón yanked Claudio up to his feet by his good arm and offered a shoulder for him to clumsily toss the bad one over. Instead, Claudio bled all over his shirt, as he dragged them both up the steps, down the hallway, into the back kitchen where the Arellanos were waiting, and shot out the windows so they could all make their escape. Instead, he dragged Claudio, once again, to the getaway car and sat him next to his poor Panchito. Best to keep the mess in one place. No use getting blood all over the seats of two different cars.

Some would call it a choice. Then again, with her the foremost thought on his mind, the instant that first bullet ejected from the barrel of his gun into the face of a phony cop, did he really have one to begin with?

═

taglist: @narcosfandomdiscord @narcolini @ashlingnarcos @drabbles-mc

[moraxussy]

HOPING

synopsis: after a few years of not seeing each other, a unexpected reunion resurfaced the feelings buried long ago only to once again fall apart.

pairings: NAGI SEISHIRO X READER, NAGI SEISHIRO X MIKAGE REO

genre: modern au, pining, unrequited love, angst/hurt no comfort (not really)

wc: 730

notes: finished this like literally at 1:00 am. It was fun racking up my brain to write this. lmk if I missed anything! [|87

NOT PROOF READ!!!

You've always though that maybe you're destined to be alone. Never really receiving any confessions throughout the years of your life gave you the idea that being single is better than having to exert effort in someone. It has always been that way and you're okay with that. Of course until one day you saw him once again.

There was nothing special about the day nor the weather, everything was... plain, and so was your reunion with him, in his eyes. But that specific moment in yours impacted you more than it should've.

You were just sitting on a bench near a popular meet up spot for couples. So relaxed that you didn't care that someone sat next to you. Unbothered actually, it was supposed to stay like that the stranger answered a call and you heard his voice.

"Mmm, I'm here at the place you mentioned..."

With eyes wide opened, you turned to look at the stranger and there you have it, Nagi Seishiro the person that once made your heart beat differently made it beat like it once again.

"Nagi?" You made sure to confirm whether it really was the boy you felt romantics feelings for.

"Oh... [Last Name], right?" Even if he tried forgetting you, he couldn't. Since how could he forget the person that served as the bridge that led him to his first and hopefully last love?

"Ah so you do remember me!" You were happy that he remembered but you were unaware that the reason for it was not what you hoped it was.

"Yeah, well it was nice meeting you. I need to go now, bye." You were about to stop him but since you noticed he was in a hurry you didn't bother hoping your next meeting will be better.

The meeting was short and would barely hold any meaning for other people but for you... I gave you hope that maybe, maybe, your ideals with relationships are wrong.

You never tried to confess to him years ago when you first realized your feelings towards him because of your conflicting ideals regarding romance. Not even one hint was directed at him choosing to keep your feelings to yourself until the two of you drifted apart from each other until the memories spent together lost in the maze of countless thoughts and experiences. Of course certain moments together flash here and there but that was all to it, a flick of a fraction. But since that fateful reunion, the memories came rushing back to you. Regret eating you whole as you wish for time to go back. For you to just say those words. To take the risk even if it hurt in the end. As long as you knew you took your chance to get the proper closure you needed.

So this time you decided to take your chance even if it hurt you.

You tried contacting Nagi but it was useless. It seems like fully changed his contacts and socials. You didn't know any close friend or relative of his so that idea was immediately crossed out. So you chose to hope.

Hope that he will appear at the same spot again. It tested your patience, really. You waited minutes, hours, until it became your routine to visit the same spot at least an hour everyday hoping a miracle like that would happen again.

That miracle did happen, it did. He was there but why was he reaching out an opened engagement box with a ring inside it to someone? Also, why was that someone your cousin? Reo why are you also holding out an engagement ring towards Sei?

It happened so fast yet it felt excruciatingly slow for you. The way they blushed at the realization that they both engaged to each other at the place they first met. Quite the cliché but they loved it. Hugging each other, you hoped(?) that they wouldn't kiss. But they did in fact the kiss was passionate. A feeling you've always wished to feel and express. Yet here it was, you were the spectator of such affection. You always saw but you never did. You always hoped, but it happened for you.

Thus another revelation occurred within your empty heart. "It's not maybe, I am certain that the universe destined me to always be the witness but never the one who is witnessed."

[yvesdot]

NANOWRIMO 2021 - BINGO!

I have far too many writing priorities to focus on just one, so here's my compromise: listing them out in bingo format and doing a bit for each. At the same time as all this, I'll also be editing FC near-daily and keeping up with my Patreon. I'll update this post daily with what I worked on. Good luck, NaNoers, and best wishes to my fellow Rebels!

EDIT: NaNo is over in my timezone! Read through all my updates below, along with my final wordcount (I won!) and an updated bingo, below that cut.

NaNo ask game・my askbox

NOTE: I'm not marking the bingos bingoed until the end of the event; I don't want to consider something 'done' until I've literally run out of time to do it. Then we'll see how much I did and whether I think I've finished.

DAY 1: 8211. Spent 12 AM to 6 AM writing The Proposal and editing KAY Chapter 1 to send out for critique. The Proposal is about halfway done now, and I'm happy with my edits. Managed 10 minutes of FC edits right before midnight-- what a mess my middle is.

DAY 2: 1733. Busy day-- got some important Life Things done! Just enough time to write for about 45 minutes straight; 15 minutes fixing up FC's editing doc, then 30 minutes for this week's Patreon post.

DAY 3: 3063. Spent 40 minutes right at 12:00 AM looking over critique on KAY's Chapter 1, then another 30 or so throughout the day, then a bit more time editing The Proposal. The draft isn't as bad as I thought it would be! Still only 1/2 written, but what's there seems fun. I didn't know whether or not to count time I spent at a physical critique for KAY with other writers, but for now I won't since I simply do not seem to need it.

DAY 4: 2585. 20 minutes right at 12 continuing to read through The Proposal, just because I really find it that engaging. Of course, it is MILF4MILF. Later in the day, around 45 minutes writing up this week's Patreon post. Gotta go fast!

DAY 5: 1258. Friday, which is the toughest-- have to write just before Shabbat, and all I managed was the Patreon post.

DAY 6: 1800. Saturday. Came home and managed some more Patreon.

DAY 7: 2510. Spent the day getting all sorts of things done, but barely any time for writing; just Patreon again. Speaking of which: Patreon post is done! About winning NaNo and my journey there, of all things. Really wish I could get a little more Forest Castles in ;__; Hoping tomorrow I can do that as well as a little satirical piece I'm writing.

DAY 8: 3689. I returned to mortālēs and hit the end! It's all written! I may not know just how to attack editing it, but it's there, and that's what's important. Also managed to get my satirical piece in! No FC, though...

DAY 9: 2050. So thrilled to report I have returned to editing Forest Castles! This bit is like a difficult knot; it'll take me a while but will be very satisfying when I have it done. I've realized I spend a lot of time (30 minutes each way) on buses, so if I just take the first bus ride of the day to work on FC, I should in theory have no trouble hitting 15+ minutes of work on it a day. We shall see. Used this editing to begin cobbling together the next Patreon post (busy busy busy...) Hope to hit 50K by the 15th, though it looks like that'll be difficult.

DAY 10: 1881. Got some more FC editing done, then re-read/edited In Her Arms and did a little submissions research. It's a busy week, so I'm letting myself off the hook for not OAing today.

DAY 11: 2467. Some more light mortālēs editing, IIRC, and quite a bit of Forest Castles fun-- I watched Olympic-level sabre fencing and took some notes! I want to give Red, Avner, Eliza, and Ahava all their own distinct fencing styles.

DAY 12: 1151. How I wish I could've done more today. It was really just a bit of Forest Castles work and some waffling over other projects ;___; But, hey, Shabbat starts at 4:40 PM now. I'm going to have to kick myself into gear if I want to hit 50K by the 15th!

DAY 13: 2270. I think I managed a reasonable amount for Motzei Shabbat (post-Shabbat evening)! Posted this week's Patreon post and edited patterned seats, which I like but am worried nobody else will care about. The goal is 8K for tomorrow... we'll see if I hit it.

DAY 14: 8755. No, that is not a typo. I held an OHHOW stream (thanks to those who came!) and visited many more, and I wrote an unbelievable 8K+ words, from patterned seats to FC and finishing up with my Tell Me About The Nonbeliever outline.

DAY 15: 6695. I opened the day by writing out a new idea I've had recently (no title yet!) and later worked on an upcoming interview I have with beloved author Yah Yah Scholfield! I've just got to send the line edits back to them and we'll be releasing it ^__^ The bulk of my writing, though, was centered around my transition diary and the Nonbeliever outline from the other day. Finally, I spent a little time transferring some notes for FC into a Patreon post draft, so people can see how I've been developing that worldbuilding! No wonder I HIT 50K TODAY! Unimaginably thrilled.

DAY 16: 3402. I finished up that interview, worked a little more on the Patreon FC post, and edited more of my FC notes. I also streamed again today! Thanks so much to everyone who came ^_^ Nice to get back to normalcy.

DAY 17: 4611. A complicated bag of non-writing. Updated here, edited/submitted some flash fiction pieces, worked on my parallel post for Rebecca. Managed to work long enough to get a bit ahead on Shabbat this weekend!

DAY 18: 3523. Finished the parallels post and advertised a bit for the Blood & Breath zine overall (GET YOURSELF A COPY!) and began a short side story for Forest Castles.

DAY 19: 2402. Finished the side story at 1:00 AM. Help me! Then it was just a few more minutes of editing it left and right. I'm happy with the content; not so much with the syntax-- I'll have to take another look at it eventually. Did what I wanted to do, though, and great numbers for Friday! Shabbat started at 4:36 PM today.

DAY 20: 3200. Not thrilled about this number! Cleaned up some loose threads from the end of the week + worked on the TMATN outline, but wound up accidentally deleting the original parallel post and then funking up my 4tw word count and panicking over both. Took a lot out of me ;___; I hope to get more done tomorrow, so that I can get ahead on my 100K goal!

DAY 21: 4473. So happy! Not only did I hit a very high goal, but I also finished the TMATN outline! I'm sure it has some snags, but those are for later me to check out.

DAY 22: 3431. Today I hit 75K total! Of course, I am purposefully ahead about 1.8K of where I need to be to hit my goal of 100K, since I want to leave some wiggle room for Thanksgiving and Shabbat and Chanukah. Started working on the Hexagon outline just to move a bit further around the bingo board, and am quite enjoying it thus far.

DAY 23: 3188. Not ideal, but I got a bit done for Exhaustively and am attacking it in a new way.

DAY 24: 5538. Was accidentally moved to transsexual literary critique of an odd quote on writing, and decided to count it (since it'll go up somewhere eventually). Also did some Exhaustively work and got closer to finishing the mythical dialogue tags Patreon post.

DAY 25: 3901. Quite a bit of Exhaustively editing, and admittedly a lot of time spent fixing up my Twitch channel now that I have reached Affiliate status! Thanks so much for coming by ^__^

DAY 26. 2251. I broke 90K! Of course, I've purposefully kept ahead just for a day such as today; I knew I'd be writing less due to Shabbat. I'm very happy with what I did get done (mostly the Hexagon outline) and I hope to find some way to squash most of the rest of my bingo into tomorrow. We'll see how that goes... I was hit with some details of a new idea while on stream, so I might have to fight a few instincts.

DAY 27. 2900. I do wish I'd managed just 500 words more, but in fairness, the words came slowly-- I was working on a brand new short story for a weekly contest (couldn't be helped! plans to the wayside! inspiration takes no prisoners!) and I needed to think hard about it while writing. Broke some new research grounds and hit upon something quite nice and seasonal.

DAY 28. 4562. Finished Dressage-- that's the new short story that's shaking everything up. Edited some more Exhaustively, with my butt kicked into gear due to Max goose-books's birthday coming up in December-- I'll be binding it up into a paperback just for him!

DAY 29. 3354. Got some critique on and made some edits to Dressage. Edited Exhaustively right up until the end. Spent quite a bit of time cleaning up my Hexagon outline. HIT 100K!!!

DAY 29. 2721. Went over two problem bits in Exhaustively-- if Max signs off on them, the whole thing is finished (again)! Then switched to writing this month's Patreon Newsletter, since of course I wanted to reach the end of NaNo first. Happy NaNo! Updated bingo below, and an explanation below that.

Edit patterned seats: Done! It lacks spark, though; lacks that vital why did I write this?. I'll have to go to classic Bradbury sci-fi to see how he handled this issue.

Edit Exhaustively: Done! All that's left is to format it, put out an interest check, print a proof, etc.... This is a quite limited run, so I'm trying to relax a little ^__^

Write mortales: Done! I wrote all the way to the end, erotica and all. A writer I've shared some insecurities with wrote on the draft I handed them, you've embraced male nipples!

Write The Proposal: Begun! I've written approximately half of the draft. Another erotica, and one with a really cohesive plot; I quite like it. Hope to write more soon.

Submit Tragic Accident: Done! And several weeks to get a response, so all I have to do now is wait.

Submit YouTube Comment: Done! I got a rejection, and I'm glad I reached out. This is a really weird, niche piece, and I expect to get a hundred rejections before I find the exact right place.

Submit In Her Arms: Rethunk! This piece just isn't ready to go out. I love it, but I got a critique on it and just about nothing is working in there.

Outline Nonbeliever: Done! I'll go over it again sometime in the next few weeks to polish it up.

Outline Hexagon: Begun! Not remotely perfect, but making tons of progress on the plot.

Finish dialogue tags post: Begun! I hadn't touched this behemoth in months, and I added some words to it. I'll have to go back and re-read Your Father's Son (which I want to do anyway) and add in the relevant quotes from there... and then we'll be done!

FINAL WORDCOUNT: 103,574 words.

[judgement-free-sideblog]

Bucket list

I can't deal with this, in less than 1 hour I have to face the most fucked up exam that will determine if I'm worth it as a doctor or if I have to spend another year in an emotionally wrecking job where I will never get recognition nor professional growth... So I'm writing this bit since I have nothing else better to do and my anxiety actually gives me inspiration. Also this is deeply personal so feel free to ignore it, is just an outlet for my conflicted brain.

Bill Hader x Reader

Warnings: Cursing, alcohol consumption.

The bartender gives you a meaningful look and you nodded "no" one more time that night, take another sip of your drink and finally let go a small laugh received by a roll of her eyes.

"What's wrong with that one?" She asked looking discreetly at the man that sited a couple spaces from you. "He is single, not bad looking, and also a good tipper, I mean I'm not saying marry him, but you said you wanted to meet new people so that's a good chance"

"His socks don't match his outfit" you said obviously lying, the man was indeed good looking, and that was what actually scared you, buying a drink for such handsome men and getting unapologetically rejected.

"That's bullshit and you know it, the last one was wearing too much green, and the other one had... a bad personality was it?" She was actually enjoying teasing you about the lame excuses you use. "You know what? You are buying that drink to the next man that crosses that door, no more excuses"

You were about to object her decision when the bar door opened and nice gentleman walked in, he was probably 87 and had a cane and a nice hat, he actually reminded you of your grandpa.

"Fine, I would gladly bought him a cranberry juice" you said to your friend and you both started laughing and made a polite wave to the man that was already siting in a table far from you.

"Ok the first one you can actually have a conversation with" She said once you were calmed "Seriously Y/N you were the one of the idea, and I'm truly done with your attitude..." She stoped mid sentence and looked at the door for a brief second and you immediately try to look but she didn't let you "Oh no baby, you sit here, and let Y/BF/N do the rest, don't even dare to look"

She quickly moved to the other side of the bar and you could not see who had come in, no matter how hard you tried, you only hoped your friend didn't try to set you up with a stranger, but as she had said earlier that day most of the people in that bar were regulars, so she probably knew him, it was the wicked smile on her face when she walked away what scared you.

After five minutes she came back triumphantly and your concerned grow wider, why on earth you have suggested this dumb idea? You could have chosen a bad tattoo, or something with less consequences to your selfesteem.

"Well he said thanks, and asked why the nice gesture, I said just because" She said with a smug on her face, then she pointed behind her back and you could see a silhouette with jeans and a light brown corduroy jacket "He is over there, so you can pretend that you are going to put a tip on the jar and casually say to him I hope you enjoyed the scotch, and see what happens, or you can walk out of here and I would never take anything you said seriously in my life" She had that way to say serious things and make them sound innocuous.

"Ok fine I'll go, I'm serious if this go wrong I will fucking kill you" You said and stood up walking towards the mystery man, you were hiding your nerves making your hands into fists inside the pockets of your jacket, and repeating in your mind I hope you enjoyed the scotch over and over again. Finally you approach the fishbowl filled with money and took a twenty out of your pocket, you took a deep breath and put on your best approach to a smile before turning around and looking at the handsome man in front of you "Hi, I hope you enjoyed the sco... Y/BF/N you little shit!" The words came out of you mouth and you look angry at your friend that was laughing desperately.

There holding back his laugh and looking at you completely surprised was none other than Bill Hader, in any other occasion you would be looking discreetly from the distance and definitely not screaming profanities in front of him, your friend knew about your eternal crush on him and she obviously took her opportunity, once she turn her back and start taking an order for other costumer you realize you had two choices, either walk away embarrassed or actually talk to him.

"I must apologize" Your mouth chose before your brain again "Hi, I'm Y/N and this is a tragic incident I'm so sorry I will go away now" You said trying to escape with some dignity.

"Oh that's too bad, I thought you have actually send me a drink, I can still drink it right?" He said and you suppressed the urge to laugh with the excitement that he actually spoke to you.

"Of course, that's not what I meant, I ... I made a... sort of a commitment with my friend to be more social, and one of those things were to invite a drink to someone I found attractive..." You could feel your cheeks turning red and you look anywhere but him. "So anyway I chicken out so she chose for me, and I'm so sorry again for disturbing your night" you were once again about to leave when he talked.

"So does that mean your friend finds me attractive and you don't?" Apparently he was having the time of his life with this whole interaction so you felt some form of confidence and you could answer less embarrassed.

"Oh no, she knows I found you attractive, that's why she didn't tell me it was you here, in other circumstances I would be over there" you pointed to a booth behind a corner "Taking a million pictures and not talking to you"

"Well that wouldn't go well with the promise you make to your friend" He sound sincere and you were happy to talk to him as well "What's that about, why do you need to be more social?"

"It's a sad, long and boring story" you answered suddenly feeling anxious again.

"Well I haven't finish my drink" He started and then two other drinks appear in front of you from the hands of Y/BF/N

"On the house" she said with a wink and quickly walked away.

"Ok, prepare to be bored to dead" Yo said taking a sip of the tequila she served.

"I don't think I will, so your name is Y/N, and you wanted to buy me a drink, thanks by the way" He said signaling the stool in front of him so you could seat.

"Yeah, well I turned 30 last week, and I don't know the whole what am I doing with my life? thing started to take a toll on me, I realized I haven't done anything remarkable or fun or meaningful in years, I don't have a husband or kids, nor like I want a husband and kids, but I thought at least I'll have an offer by now, so I make this bucket list of things I must definitely do before I turn fifty and I have another existential crisis." You told him and he seemed genuinely intrigued by your story.

"What sort of things?" He asked taking a sip of the new glass of scotch. "Apart of course from speaking to strangers in a bar"

"Point a place in the map and just go there, learn to speak Chinese, date a guy with a six pack, some are childish, some are important, like quit my job and do what I actually want to do" they were all dreams, but actually made you feel better on bad days.

"Date a guy with a sixpack?" He said laughing.

"Yeah, you know to see why people make such a big deal about it" you said. "Anyway, that's my story, pathetic and sad'

"I don't think it is" he was looking straight at you with those piercing blue eyes of him, there was something about that unshaven jawline that hypnotized you and you were praying he wouldn't notice "It takes courage to actually do what you want, and on the husband and kids thing if you don't actually want it maybe you shouldn't measure your success on whether or not you have them"

You kept talking for another hour until the clock at the bar marked 11:00 and even when yo didn't want this moment to end you had to pop the bubble and face reality.

"So this was really fun, but I have to work tomorrow" you started not sure where you wanted to get.

"And I have to pick up my children tomorrow, hey I don't actually have a six pack" he started and you thank the bar for holding you because your legs stopped working "But if you want to get coffee sometime, or talk, or buy me another drink" he wrote his number in a small card and put it on your hands "Good luck on that list" he said with a wink and walked out of the bar.

While the excited screams of Y/BF/N sound far away you hold on to that card thinking this was the absolutely best idea she could ever have and that maybe, just maybe there was some better things waiting for you.

[paulasamuels]

Finis

I'm tired, friends. According to my Fitbit, I've walked just over 290,000 steps since arriving in France 2 weeks ago today. Today's the first day I failed to reach the 10,000 step mark, as I spent 6 hours on a train, then another couple of hours on the Metro & RER getting to my airport hotel, where I'm settled for the evening.

Traveling as I do via public transit requires preparation, patience, persistence, confidence (even if you have to fake it), and stamina. Add a language barrier, and expect the anxiety to increase significantly. For me, the benefits far outweigh the difficulties, as many of the experiences I've documented in this blog wouldn't have happened had I been tied to the schedule of a guided tour. I know to expect, though, that there will be challenges and not everything will go smoothly. For example...

Today went something like this: up at 7:00 to shower and get dressed, then breakfast at the "Brioche Chaud" where a lady who wasn't loving her job at all served me a Nutella croissant (yum!) and some other pastry that was so-so. Then back to my room to write out a post card and grab an empty bag to take to the Monoprix to shop for train picnic food. Stop at the post office to mail the post card, but first wait 10 minutes for them to open and then try to figure out which line is the correct one, only to get stuck behind a lady who can't seem to decide which size box she needs to mail her stuff. On to the Monoprix to purchase enough food for a small army, then back to the hotel to check out. Walk 3 blocks to the train station with my backpack, purse, bulging suitcase, and bag of food, being careful not to be run over by a scooter, bicycle, tram, or vehicle. Arrive at the Gare de Nice Ville with several hundred other folks waiting for the track numbers to be posted. Train arrives but is strangely parked beyond the station, and when I go to find my car, voiture #8, there isn't one. Go to an SNCF rep on the platform..."Monsieur, je cherche la voiture huit." He makes a connecting gesture with his hands, and I understand that my half of the train, with voiture 8, will be arriving shortly and connecting to the rest of the train. Boarding at last, I get behind a large, noisy group of Asian tourists who have severely overpacked and can't seem to find room for their gigantic suitcases. That finally gets resolved, I find my seat, share a look of incredulity with the Frenchman seated next to me, fish my earbuds out of my bag, and crank up my music to block out the noise...and it's only 10:00 AM.

Six hours later, I emerge from the train at the Gare de Lyon in Paris, having already mapped out my transit strategy using my Paris Metro map before I left the train. Walk and walk until I see signs for Metro line #1, follow the signs until I find a ticket machine, make no less than 5 attempts before I successfully purchase my RER ticket that will get me to the airport. Stop at an information center to be sure: "Je vais a l'aeroport Charles Degaulle. (Hold up my newly purchased RER ticket.) C'est bon pour le Metro aussi?" Oui. Off to the turnstile, where I make the rookie mistake of pulling my bag through behind me, and it gets hopelessly stuck in the turnstile doors, where no amount of tugging or cursing will release it. Another commuter takes pity on me and puts his ticket in so the doors will release...otherwise I might still be there! Make my way through the Metro correspondence...up and down the stairs with my bags, get on line 1, which is jam packed, then transfer to line 5 at Bastille, then to RER at Gare Du Nord, where I board a North-bound train heading for the airport, terminal 2. This takes 30 minutes, and I have to stand for most of it. Arrive at the airport at last, where I begin searching for the big pink bus that's supposed to shuttle me to my airport hotel. I show 2 guards the screenshot of the email describing how to find said bus, but they don't know where it is. So I move on, eventually finding someone who points me in the right direction, and finally the bus arrives. Initially miss the stop for my hotel because the name is slightly different than expected. Realize my mistake and hop up quickly, leaving my leftover picnic food (and my treasured utensils) in my seat. Fortunately, I realize this in time to retrieve it and get off the bus with everything and walk next door to my hotel.

Dinner for tonight was at a hotel restaurant nearby. Decent omelet, salad and fries, but my stomach was a bit queasy from the anxiety of the afternoon, so I didn't finish it.

My room for tonight isn't much. The entire bathroom is one of those all-in-one-piece drop-in jobs, sort of like an RV bathroom, but probably not as nice. A bunk bed positioned over my bed could well be the source of a bump on the head should I have to get up during the night.

Off to bed now to prepare for another long day of travel tomorrow. Did I mention that I'm tired?

[hardyorange]

✨Productive morning afternoon journal✨

I actually did pretty well with going to bed on time last night and getting out of the house this morning for it being a Thursday, plus I definitely learned something about my energy levels throughout the day!

Let's start with how yesterday went:

✨ I did get my lesson plan translated into a half-sheet to present from and I finished the problems for the warm-up and mini-assessment on when to use which cosine double angle formula; I did most of this from 8:30 am-9:50 am and then a smattering approximately around 1:00 pm-1:30 pm; I still need to come up with the wrap-up practice problems and ten test questions

✨ after my 10:00 am-11:10 am class, I felt pulled in different directions, and ended up cleaning the litter boxes, finally unboxing the litter delivery from last week and putting it into its storage bins, and breaking down all the cardboard boxes in the living room; the living room feels much nicer to come home to now!

✨ around 1:00 pm I was able to shift gears and start making lunch, which is when I realized my chicken was still frozen solid; fortunately, it was two small pieces, so the bowl-of-hot-water trick worked perfectly while I waited on the rice to be ready; I made sauteed chicken cubes with bok choy and an improvised sauce over jasmine rice, which worked out four portions as I had hoped, so I containerized three of those for later

✨ I watched a Minecraft video while I ate, and was ultimately done around 2:45 pm; I realized then that I was completely out of energy! seven hours of sleep translated to about eight hours of productivity, which is not great but it is my reality so I had better plan around it

✨I ended up mostly looking at social media despite knowing that I wanted to go ahead and get ready for bed; I ended up lying down around 7:30 pm and I think falling asleep by 9:30 pm

That left me quite well-rested for today!

✨ I initially woke up at 5:30 am and decided to delay my first alarm to 6:30 am to not wake up grumpy after only thirty minutes of "napping"

✨ then, all of my messages started coming in; AWA is this weekend, so my two hotel roommates wanted to talk plans while one was on their train to work, so I didn't get out of bed until 7:10 am

✨ it took me a bit of doing to use the restroom and get dressed with my hair brushed without falling into scrolling social media, and I did pretty good! I was ready to make breakfast by 7:20 am

✨ fortunately, the Braves stole a base during last night's game, so taco bell was giving out free tacos with every order, and one of my roommates was going anyways so they brought me back the free taco because it had meat in it and they are mostly vegan, so I had that ready to go for breakfast, plus a banana and my black tea with brown sugar and milk, which I finished at 8:00 am

✨ I sill wasn't pulling out of the driveway until 8:20 am, but traffic wasn't too bad despite the rain so I made it to campus in plenty of time to get things set up on the board

Class went great! My lead teacher loved how I intro'ed the class and even used what I had set up as part of her lesson!

✨ after class, I tried to get gas, but the card readers were all down; I'll have to get it on my way to the convention hotel tonight, although I do only need a quarter of a tank

✨ I got home by 11:00 am, and it took me a bit to transition into getting lunch; I had my prepped meal ready to eat by 11:30 am

✨ at noon I had my weekly meeting with my boss and my boss's boss to talk about the paper we are writing together; I finished my part last week and it was time for my boss's boss to write some connecting pieces and the conclusion, but since she's department chair she didn't have time to even look at it, so we just established that, wished her luck, and logged off

✨ it's just past 12:30 pm I'm feeling close to the same way I felt yesterday: tired and struggling to feel motivated to even do things that I want to do, like pack for the convention, so I've started a pot of coffee and I'm going to do a quick walk on the treadmill and see if those two combined change anything

[spicycreativity]

Soft-Shoe Shuffle - Ch 3

Chapter: 3/12 Additional Notes: See Ch 1 for more information. Read on AO3 under "WizardGlick." Any formatting/italics errors are holdovers from AO3 that I was too lazy to fix. Chapter Content Warnings: N/A; ask to tag Excerpt: "Oh, you know." Janus waved a hand like he'd thought about this a thousand times before and was merely playing the conversation out as light entertainment. "Does a person have a 'true' identity?" "As opposed to a false identity?" Patton laughed weakly. Janus smiled at him without showing his teeth. Talk about being out of one's depth. It wasn't endearing. "Actually? Yes." "Oh," Patton said, recoiling in surprise. "Really?"

When you are born, you're afraid of the darkness And then you're afraid of the light But I'm not afraid when I dance with my shadow This time I'm gonna get it right

Janus woke up to the feeling of rough, low pile carpet against his face. He lay still for a moment, waiting for the buzzing in his head to die down so he could work out exactly what had happened.

That was easier said than done. He couldn’t stop shaking, nor could he feel his lips or fingertips, and a persistent brain fog made it difficult to concentrate.

Ah.

He’d fainted.

He opened his eyes to find Logan crouched next to him, one hand extended as though he’d hesitated in the process of reaching out to touch him.

���Janus?” Logan said, slowly and clearly. “Are you alright?”

“No, I’m dying.”

“Good to hear, I suppose.” Logan sat back on his heels. “Is telling the truth ordinarily so taxing on you?”

Janus wasn’t sure he wanted to answer that. “How did you know I was telling the truth?” he demanded, a little offended that Logan hadn’t even suspected that Janus might be manipulating him. He was the gatekeeper, the chessmaster; people were supposed to accuse him of lying.

“You hesitated,” Logan said.

“I hesitated,” Janus repeated, considering the implication of this. It made him want to hide his face. Perhaps he could implement a masquerade mask into his daily wear, something gold with Swarovski crystals.

“You don’t normally hesitate when you speak,” Logan said. “One might call you ‘glib.’”

Janus raised an eyebrow. “Why would they call me ‘glib’ when my name is Janus?”

“I believe spending time with Patton has begun to influence you."

A stab of panic did not squeeze Janus’ heart. “Don’t tell him I fainted.”

“I hadn’t planned on it. By the way, if you feel like you can sit up, you should drink something. I suspect you're dehydrated. The fainting spell was the biggest indicator, but your lips are also chapped. I was going to check your pulse, but I wasn’t sure if you would be comfortable with that.”

When he had processed what Logan had said, Janus nodded and sat up slowly, leaning on his second set of arms. Logan handed him a plastic cup with a bendy straw sticking out of it. Janus accepted it and examined the deep blue liquid. “What is it?”

“It’s Gatorade. Blue Cherry."

Janus took a tentative sip, then drained half the glass in one long swallow. He wasn’t embarrassed nor in any rush to leave, he just-- He was exhausted, that was all. He picked up his hat with his free hand and put it back on, pleased to see that his hands were steady. "It's been a hectic few days," he said, half to Logan and half to himself.

"You forgot to eat," Logan surmised. "I would have expected Patton to remind you."

Janus couldn't suppress an irritated twitch.  "He might have mentioned it in passing…"

"Ah." Logan smiled: a cautious, tight-lipped thing. "That's why you didn't want me to tell him."

"Yes, well." Janus finished the Gatorade and took a moment to self-assess. He felt less dizzy now. What else? "Logan?"

The bruises stood out against Logan's skin, blue-purple and sickly. Janus suddenly couldn't tear his eyes away from them. They even mimicked the shape of his crook.

"I'll talk to the others," Logan said. "I… I'm new to the idea of talking about, or even acknowledging feelings, but… You're right."

"Do tell."

The look Logan gave him was pointed indeed. "Refusing to acknowledge a weakness does not negate that weakness. It only makes things harder in the long run.”

"I'll keep that in mind, should I ever suspect I'm developing a weakness." Janus vanished the glass, since Logan had given no indication he wanted it back, and got to his feet. His head gave a little pulse of protest, but he forced himself to stay still until the room stopped spinning.

"I am curious," Logan said. "Did you actually have a question for me, or was that just a lie so I would let you in?"

"Why," said Janus, "is a raven like a writing desk?"

Logan's reply was interrupted by a knock on the door. "Logan? It's Patton. Again."

Janus held his index finger up to his lips.

Logan nodded.

Janus tipped his hat and sank out. He appeared in the living room and chanced a glance into the hallway. From this angle, he could only just see Logan as he opened his bedroom door to Patton. Janus quickly ducked back around the corner. He was a little too far away to make out words, but could hear the sound of conversation, then the sound of the door closing, then silence.

Janus smiled and sank down on the couch, knowing full well he would fall asleep if he allowed himself to close his eyes.

He knew he shouldn't. Even now, a small part of his brain screamed at him that he was in danger, that he was making a mistake with this show of vulnerability.

But exhaustion smothered him like a blanket, dampened the noise, pressed him down, down, down.

Janus closed his eyes.

--

Gentle noises emanated from the kitchen, the sound of quiet conversation.

Janus realized that he was now horizontal on the couch. Someone had draped a throw blanket over him. How… revolting . He wasn't a child; he didn't need--

He sat up and ripped the blanket off, cheeks blazing with heat. What was he doing ?

The idea that Patton and Logan had seen him sleeping was mortifying. Obviously Patton had been the one to cover him up, but the glass of Gatorade (complete with bendy straw) on the coffee table was obviously from Logan.

Janus took in a few slow, deep breaths. Then he picked up the glass and took a few equally slow, measured sips. There was no need to work himself up (even if his hammering pulse said otherwise). He was still in control. He was just a little shaky, which made sense, as the only things to enter his system in the past few hours had been coffee and Gatorade.

"Ah, Janus." Logan sounded far happier than he had when Janus had last spoken to him. Janus turned to look at him as Logan came around the side of the couch and perched on the very edge of an armchair.

"Logan." Janus inclined his head. Where was his hat? He spied it on the edge of the coffee table and put it on with a great show of nonchalance. "I take it you and Patton made up?"

"We had a conversation that greatly eased the tension between us, yes. He told me what happened between you and Roman."

Janus did not make a face, nor did he twitch irritably. "It was nothing, really. I'm sure he'll be over it soon."

"That's very optimistic of you, if a little unrealistic." Logan stood up. "Anyway. I came out to tell you that lunch is ready. I told Patton I was craving chicken soup. Coincidentally, chicken broth is high in sodium, fatty acids, and vitamins which contribute to cardiovascular health and recovery after instances of illness."

Janus couldn't help the smile that crossed his face, though he was quick to suppress it. Logan had lied for him.

If Janus swayed a little when he stood up, Logan was kind enough not to mention it.

It was warm in the dining room. Janus fussed with his gloves, trailing behind Logan. Just the idea of facing Patton made his heart flutter. How delightful. Remus may have been on to something after all.

But the moment couldn't be delayed forever, and soon Janus found himself seated at Patton's right elbow, trying not to be grumpy that he had set the table for five. It was an uncomfortable reminder of Virgil and Roman's animosity toward him, nothing more.

"Morning, Janus! Are you feline more alert after your cat-nap?" Patton asked.

Janus was spared having to come up with a response by Logan's interjection, "It's afternoon."

"Aw, it's barely a hair after 12:00!"

Patton laughed at his own joke and Janus realized with a heart-stopping stab of definitely-not-fear that he was out of his depth. As arbitrary as the line between 'good' and 'evil' was, the line had been drawn nonetheless and Patton had been the one to draw it. The curtain was still there, the tangible reminder that Janus had been seen and judged and sorted.

Now he stood in the light, in the space he had claimed for himself, and he had no idea who to be.

It was pure instinct to play along, to say whatever he thought Patton and Logan wanted to hear in order to draw them closer to serving his own ends. But what were they, now? What version of himself would Patton and Logan like best? Who was he, really?

His breath came fast and frantic, and he forced himself to swallow a few spoonfuls of soup in case it was his blood sugar making him so panicky.

"Janus?" Patton waved a hand in front of Janus' eyes. "You in there?"

Logan said nothing, but the furrow of his brow spoke volumes as he leaned in to get a better look at Janus.

"I'm," Janus said, "purrfectly fine." The next thing that slipped past his tongue would have been a mistake, except that Janus didn't make mistakes. "I was just thinking about the concept of self."

Patton didn't say anything, but he frowned thoughtfully. Probably trying to come up with a good philosophical cat pun.

Logan said, "Self?"

"Oh, you know." Janus waved a hand like he'd thought about this a thousand times before and was merely playing the conversation out as light entertainment. "Does a person have a 'true' identity?"

"As opposed to a false identity?" Patton laughed weakly.

Janus smiled at him without showing his teeth. Talk about being out of one's depth. It wasn't endearing. "Actually? Yes."

"Oh," Patton said, recoiling in surprise. "Really?"

"Per American philosopher Daniel Dennett," Logan said, and stopped with an abortive exhale. Janus tilted his head at him and Logan continued as though he had never hesitated, "there is no self. The entire concept of 'self' is a fiction invented by humans to help them make sense of their world."

Janus tensed his jaw. That was not what he had been getting at when he had broached the subject (had he been getting at anything?), but it seemed rude to derail Logan now, especially when he was in such an emotionally fragile state.

Well, if it meant not undoing all his hard work, Janus supposed he could approach the matter with (metaphorical) kid gloves.

"How can there be a false self if there is no self?" Patton asked, glancing between Logan and Janus with a frown.

"Dennett isn't the sole authority on the matter," Janus said, forcing himself to speak plainly.

Patton cocked his head like a confused puppy. For an unrelated reason, Janus' mouth went dry. "Then who is?" Patton asked.

"Often in philosophy, there are no objectively correct answers," Logan said.

Patton's look of befuddlement was a sight to behold. Janus wanted to reach over and ruffle his hair. It wasn't Patton's fault, after all, he had never had cause to engage with anything more morally complex than 'murder is wrong.'

Well, until recently.

"What about in terms of the static and the dynamic?" Janus said. Interrupted. It had been during a lull, yes, but compared to his usual push-pull approach, this was more akin to a sledgehammer.

His face heated up and he quickly slipped on a mask to cover what was no doubt an obvious blush. Pain pulsed behind his eyebrow, a relic of the headache he'd mostly left behind.

"What do you mean?" Logan asked.

"Better answer quick, before you sta-tick us off," Patton added.

Janus glanced down at his gloves, pretending to inspect the fingertips. "Is there a permanent state of the self?" He hastily added, "Assuming that the self does exist," to assure Logan that he had been listening earlier.

"If you asked David Hume--"

Janus pretended to look around in confusion. "That's funny, I don't remember asking for David Hume's opinion."

"Be nice," Patton chided.

Janus squinted at Patton, who developed a sudden fascination with the tablecloth until Janus looked away again.

"So, Logan," Janus prompted. "What do you think?"

"I think that there is not an objective correct answer. Were it necessary to have a working definition, then I suppose I would agree with Dennett's assertion that the self is an invention."

"I suppose that's why you brought it up first."

"On the contrary, it's because 'Dennett' comes alphabetically before 'Hume.'"

Janus couldn't help the laughter that exploded from his chest, couldn't even play it off. The joke was unexpected, nothing more. "And you, Patton?"

"Oh, um." Patton pushed his glasses up. "I don't really know if I'm qualified to talk about philosophy."

"Even if we promise not to judge you?" Janus purred, taking care to look Patton in the eye.

"Okay, um." Patton fidgeted with his spoon. "I guess the self is like a river?"

"Go on, Patton," Logan encouraged.

"It's always water, but sometimes it changes directions or does different things. The same river that floods a town can also provide drinking water."

Janus raised an eyebrow. "How insightful."

"Interesting," Logan said. "So in your interpretation, the self is both static and dynamic."

"I guess?" Patton said. "I'm still kind of confused."

"If you'd like, I could recommend you some reading on the topic. A surprising amount of Thomas' schooling included references to philosophy and critical thought."

"Oh, um. I don't know about reading, but maybe you could explain it to me sometime?" Patton glanced over at Janus like he'd just remembered he was there. "And you too, Janus, if… that sounds like a good use of your time."

"I'd have to check my schedule, but I'm sure I could reschedule my plans for world domination."

"I wasn't trying--" Patton put up his hands. "Was that mean? You just seem so busy all the time."

Janus only shrugged, wondering where this regard for his free time had been when Patton had made him play cards until 4:00 in the morning.

"Patton." Logan summoned his flashcards. "I believe Janus was ribbing you. 'Rib, verb, to poke fun at.'"

Janus nodded.

"Which reminds me," Logan said. "Why is a raven like a writing desk?"

"Oh!" Patton raised his hand. "Because they both have inky quills."

For a moment, Janus and Logan just stared at him.

"Get it?" Patton said.

"That's clever," Janus said, still staring at Patton.

"Also because they both produce flat notes," Patton said, unperturbed. "And Poe wrote on both, but I don't know what the Teletubbies have to do with anything." He laughed at his own joke.

After the wave of pun-induced exasperation passed, Janus was left only with a deep, warm fondness glowing gently in his chest.

In the three seconds before he realized what the feeling was, he quite enjoyed it. Then realization struck, and terror and shame with it, and he looked at his wrist despite the fact that he never wore a watch.

"I do still have work to do today," he said apropos of seemingly nothing. He didn't glance at Patton in a tacit request for permission before standing up.

"Oh," Patton said, the smile fading from his face. "Um, okay. See you later."

Janus nodded and strode off.