#i’m so clever when i’m sleep deprived i have all my best ideas

[autism-disco]

some thoughts i’ve had that don’t get to be individual posts

- i’m like ice king if he didn’t want to kidnap princesses and didn’t have ice powers and was still tired and silly

- you ever think about how crazy breathing is. like we (i don’t know what i was thinking) we breathe in and out we’re all just little creatures

- chutney

[rekquiemredstar]

Victims

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Warnings:Fluff,mention of trauma,rape(not by Bucky), torture. (No mention of rape in this chapter but will be in future ones)

Description: You discover you may have misjudged Bucky.

This is my first Chapter of an idea I’ve been wanting to play out for a while now.  More to come very soon. 

Chapter 1: Sleep

Bucky didn’t talk much. 

Especially not to you. “He wasn’t always like this.” Steve had said to you once in passing, his keen senses picking up on just how tense your shoulders got whenever Bucky had blatantly ignored you. Good old Steve, not a bad word to say about anyone. You tried to brush it off, but you really hated being ignored. It made you feel like a pathetic, over excited puppy dog nipping at everyones heels for attention. You were loud, and blunt, and very aware of how much social space you took up when you engaged in conversation. You had no doubt it was annoying. Many times you tried to curb your hyper behavior, but that was exhausting, and eventually you had to come to the conclusion that that was just you. You were who you were, and everyone-save Bucky-adored you. That was on him, you couldn’t change how he felt.

You weren’t quite sure how to approach Barnes, having only ever known him as The Asset before you all came to the compound. The first time you met, he’d lifted you off the ground with a metal hand to your throat. He would have snapped your neck if Steve hadn’t gotten him off of you. You really hated that, too. You wanted so desperately not to need saving, ever. You were strong, but you were no Super Soldier, and the overly competitive parts of you reeled against that with everything they had. You did not need to be saved. Not by Steve or anyone. 

You weren’t the only one on the team without powers. You learned from shared experience it didn’t make you any less essential. Just hurt like a son of a bitch sometimes. Like Bucky, you had been taken by Hydra against your will. Unlike Bucky-you hadn’t been brainwashed. Just tortured. No matter how hard they pushed, no matter how many times you had been left bruised and bleeding on the icy concrete floor you never lost sight of what was right.  When Hydra’s infiltration of Shield was out in the open, and they released the Winter Soldier into the world again you felt like it was the moment you had been waiting for. Suddenly everything they had taught you about weapons and hand to hand became a brutal mistake on their part. When Nick Fury learned about the things you had done, what you knew, seen you in action, he made sure you and Steve Rogers got acquainted. After that, you never had to look for a job a day in your life. Now you were here.

It wasn’t yet light out when you headed down the stairs, dressed in a black running gear from head to toe, all the way down to your shoes that were propped against the wall in waiting. Your socks were actually the only colorful thing you had on, red white and blue donning the captain America shield, an ongoing joke between you and Steve. 

You were always up before anyone else, craving the silence and peace you felt in the early morning, beginning your usual run just as the sun crested the hilltops. Your workout regimen was insanely strict, you beat yourself up whenever you ran late, often feeling guilty about it the rest of the day. Absentmindedly, you bobbed your head to the song playing in your headphones, doing your best to keep relatively quiet as you mixed up your pre-workout in a shaker bottle. You spun to set it on the counter beside you, jumping when you noticed the outline of a figure sitting across from you. 

“Jesus,” you said more to yourself than to him, lowering your headphones to around the base of your neck. You popped the cap of your bottle and rolling your shoulders. Taking your first sip of caffeine, you held his stare. 

“You scared me, man.” 

Bucky said nothing, though his eyes widened slightly- the only indication that he had heard you at all. He sat straight and rigid behind the marble countertop, but he looked…softer somehow. His lips parted slightly, exhaling a short breath, then pressed together gently. His grey henley was wrinkled and disheveled, his hands laid flat on his thighs, as though he was awaiting his next order. 

“Are you going for a run?” He asked in such a tender tone that you blinked twice before you processed that it was even him speaking. You weren’t even aware that he knew you ran. You weren’t even aware he knew you existed half the time. 

“Uh-yeah.” You responded cautiously, swirling the contents of your bottle to incorporate the undissolved powder at the bottom. Bucky gave a small nod, greasy strands of dark hair falling into his eyes as he did so. Dark circles plagued in under-eyes, while the glass blue of his irises looked dull and worn. He looked rough, even for him. You always thought he was the best looking one here, but it’s a little hard to appreciate someones looks when all they ever do is disregard you. Now that you got a really good look at him, even with the obvious sleep deprivation, you could see just how handsome he really was. 

“You go every day?” The Soldier’s next question pulled you from your drifting thoughts and you had a question of your own; why did he care? The longest conversation you had ever had with this man was the time he asked you to pass the A1 and that was a month ago. 

“Six days a week,” you started, with caffeine running through your brain you were unable to keep yourself from over-explaining. 

“Wednesdays are my rest days, It’s the only day I get to sleep in but I usually don’t. I hate taking rest days, but it’s better for your body if you do.”

 You finished your drink and set the bottle in the sink for now, you would wash it later. You were ready to abandon this weird fucking conversation. Sliding your headphones back over your ears, you pulled out your phone and started to search for a song to run to when you glanced up and noticed the look on his face. You hadn’t been through anything close to what he had, but you knew a thing or two about trauma.  You definitely knew that look from all the times you’d seen it in your reflection.

 You paused your music and took the headphones down again, setting them on the counter this time.

“Are you okay?” You asked, pressing your hips against the ledge, leaning your palms on the counter, ready to listen. The sincerity of your voice threw him off. He was so used to being on the outside looking in, watching you make your sarcastic quips to everyone, chuckling to himself when no one was looking. He was always blown away by just how clever you were, and how quick your mind worked. He didn’t think he could keep up in a conversation with you in a million years. It wasn’t often Sargent Barnes was intimidated. You were fiery, and tough, funny as hell-and you didn’t take shit from anyone. 

Bucky had heard from Steve that you had a big heart, but he had never seen the softer side of you. 

His eyes were shiny when he looked up at you, his voice echoed with defeat. 

“I don’t know how I got here.” He said quietly.

 “I don’t want to move. I-“ His voice choked a little. 

“I don’t know where I’m supposed to be.” 

You felt your heart squeeze in your chest. God, what this poor man had endured. He had been told where to go, what to do, what to say- for years he had been controlled. Now he was free, and he was confused, scared. Hydra was no walk in the park, but you get used to the routine of torment and control. You knew better than anyone what that was like.

“How long have you been down here?” You asked. He was still, then he responded. 

“A few hours, I think.” He didn’t look at the clock, just stared straight ahead. He must have gotten up in the middle of the night from a bad dream.

You sucked in a small breath through your teeth, then exhaled, letting the tension release from between your shoulder blades. 

“Okay,” You said quietly, setting your phone down and rounding the side of the counter. Your run could wait a little while. 

“Okay. That’s okay. Do you want me to help you back to you room?” Bucky shook his head. 

“I think I broke a mirror. Glass everywhere.” You nodded, making a mental note to clean it up when you got back.

Bucky’s breath hitched slightly, increasing in rhythm. “I don’t know where I’m supposed to be.” He repeated, and you slid your hand toward him on the counter, leaning on your elbow so you were face level with him. 

“Hey,” Your voice was soft, calm, even. It encouraged him to stay the same by your example. 

“It’s alright, I’m going to help you.” 

You had your mission now, heading back to the kitchen you put the tea kettle on, then opened the freezer, taking out the frozen eye mask Tony sometimes used for hangovers. You dug into the cabinet taking out two peppermint tea bags from your hidden stash, dropping one in the nearest mug, and tucking one in your sweatshirt pocket. 

You were beside him again, moving the ice pack toward his forehead. Bucky jerked backward with a quick inhale, and you drew your arm inward. You remembered his mask. “I’m just going to put it on your forehead.” You murmured. Bucky’s bottom lip quivered. “Don’t put that on me, please.” Your fingers curled, and you nodded in understanding. 

“Okay, okay, one sec.” You jogged back into the kitchen and traded the ice pack for two large chunks of ice. 

“Let’s try this instead.” 

Bucky watched you carefully, your well muscled legs flexing as you busied yourself in the kitchen. He had been distantly aware that you were in good shape, but your normal black cargo pants must have hid a lot from view, because now that he was seeing you in the leggings you wore to run-he couldn’t stop looking. God damn, you really took care of yourself. His eyes snapped back up when you turned around again. You were careful to switch the stove off before the kettle wailed, pouring hot water into the mug and sliding it in font of him. Steam swirled from the cup and the soldier caught a whiff of mint.

You were in front of him again, conscious not to make too many sudden movements. “Turn toward me.” You instructed, and he followed orders, allowing you to stand between his legs as you soothed a cube of ice over each of his temples. His eyes fluttered slightly, the frozen temperature sent a shock of relief down his spine. He couldn’t hold back the pained groan as it erupted from his chest when you moved your fingers in slow circles, applying just the right amount of pressure. 

“Y’know,” You began. “Before I was here, before any of this,�� I worked at a mental facility for at-risk teenagers.”

Bucky’s brow knit. He had always assumed that with your skills with firearms and combat that you had always been in some sort of covert ops position. He was realizing just how little he knew about you. Steve talked about you sometimes, but his jaw had always been real tight when it came to your past. “Drugs, alcohol, suicide, abuse-I hated it, it was too hard on me mentally-but I learned a lot. Most importantly, I learned that when you press something cold to your temple or forehead, it sends a shock to your neurotransmitters. Basically telling your system that you’re in pain, countering panic by releasing chemicals into the body that slow down the release of cortisol and adrenaline.” 

The dark haired man soaked in every word you said . He knew you talked a lot, but you’d never talked this much to him before, and he was eating it up. Bucky had always like the sound of your voice. He didn’t even mind the melting water running down his neck, soaking into the collar of his shirt. 

 “You can also bite down on a lemon wedge. ” You offered, taking the cubes of ice away and tossing them into the sink. You pulled your sweatshirt sleeve over the heel of your hand and dabbed the water away, he leaned into your touch this time.

 “Or smell strong peppermint.” You said, gently lifting his metal arm by the wrist and snatching the packet of tea from your pocket, dropping it in his shiny palm. 

“It’s called grounding.” You stated, motioning for him to try.

Hesitantly, the soldier brought his hand to his nose, inhaling deeply. He looked back at you with one grateful nod. It helped. You pointed curtly to the cabinet by the fridge.

 “I always keep a box of tea in there, it’s shoved way in the back because someone keeps taking it, probably Sam, but you’re welcome to as much as you’d like.” You slid the now perfect temperature tea into his free hand. 

“Drink it, It always helps calm me down.” 

Bucky took two greedy gulps, downing about half it’s contents in one go and making you giggle. It made his eyelids heavy.

“C’mon, Sergeant Barnes.” You coaxed, beckoning him to follow you into the other room. When he stood, you had to take a step back. You weren’t exactly the shortest person, but even so, had always worn tactical boots around him and they added a couple inches to your height. With you just in socks, you realized how much he towered over your five foot seven stature. It both scared and excited you. You edged a foot backward, circling it behind yourself and swaying your weight on it as if you were ready for him to take a swing at you. He eyed your stance momentarily before you broke and softened again, shaking out fists you hadn’t even realized you’d clenched. You didn’t trust him yet. 

Wordlessly, you led him to the couch. His footsteps behind you were lighter than you thought they would be, but of course he had both stealth and brute force on his side. That sent a tingle down your stomach that you chose to ignore. 

“Lay down.” You said as you dragged the coffee table closer to the couch. Bucky did as he was told, his burned out mind thankful to have some sort of direction. His eyes were half lidded and languorous, the long forgotten feeling of sleep pulling at the edges of his bruised psyche. His eyes tracked your every move. His stare somewhat lazy with fatigue, but right on target like the skilled sniper you’d seen in action so many times. 

“Try to get some sleep.” Your voice was still soft, but brimmed with anticipation for your upcoming workout. Bucky felt a sudden pang of guilt for keeping you back an extra half hour. He glanced over his shoulder at the window, seeing through the gap in the shades that the sun was already up. 

“I’ll check in with you when I get back.” You added, taking a large cashmere blanket from the nearby armchair and draping it over him. He hadn’t been tucked into bed in over 70 years. 

You scampered back to the kitchen to retrieve his mug, but when you set it down on the table and looked at his face, he was already asleep. 

“Sleep well, Sergeant.” You said quietly.

Bucky’s eyes were open the minute you turned your back, watching as you pulled your shoes on and jogged out the door. He craned his neck so he could watch you take off down the neatly paved road.

It was only when you were completely out of sight that he finally let himself fall asleep. 

[whentherewerebicycles]

You seem to be really amazing at executing planned changes with food and exercise (and also generally better psychological habits) - can i ask for advice on this? I’ve finished up studying for now and realise my body has turned into a twisted up, pudgy, weakened wreck! Exercise hurts and sugar/processed food feels so cosy and I can’t seem to get through this part where i have to feel discomfort for a while before i feel better!

What works for you? Should i read that atomic habits book you mention? I saw another one recommended - the Kindness Habit - do you know anything about it?

(I tried journaling btw - but it didn’t get me anywhere)

hello!! i can share some things that have worked for me when it comes to implementing longer-term changes in diet and exercise. these seem really simple but i think that actually making big lifestyle changes is much less about summoning up colossal amounts of willpower and much more about making small but important tweaks to the way you think about/approach diet and exercise. here are five things that have been helpful to me.

(1) don’t think of diet changes in terms of restrictions (i.e., “what delicious cozy sugary things do i have to deprive myself of today to be Good”). instead, approach diet changes as a fun little game of adding in as many good things as possible (fruits, veggies, leafy green things, nuts of all kinds, whole grains, beans, etc.). every single time you are preparing a meal or looking for a snack, describe it to yourself as a chance to be creative and resourceful, as you think about fun ways to add in small good things every time you eat. especially in the early weeks, don’t restrict foods from your diet at all. focus solely on finding a creative way to add in something healthy and delicious every time you eat. (i really liked using the daily dozen checklist when i was starting out—they have an app and it’s very satisfying and fun to see how many things you can check off the list each day.)

(2) narrate this “adding-in” game aloud to yourself. for example: “oh—what if i eat a big handful of berries on top of that ice cream?”, or “i’m hungry—ooh, there are carrots in the fridge, aren’t there? i’ll eat three carrots with hummus before i switch over to pita chips”). and every time you figure out a creative way to add in a good food, stop and observe yourself doing it, and let yourself feel a little spark of delight at how clever and creative you’re being. this sounds silly, but i swear it works! part of changing your habits is changing self-talk & especially changing the kind of running narrative you have in your head about who you are and what you do. you can change that narrative in part by repeatedly reframing the way you tell it to yourself, ideally aloud (or aloud in your head) to help you can better “hear” and internalize the new story. instead of “ugh... i ate ice cream again. why don’t i have any self-control? why am i someone who just eats like crap?”, you’re offering your brain an alternate story, one that focuses less on things you perceive yourself as lacking, or on things you ‘failed’ to do, and more on the creative, positive things you did do (“i wasn’t going to eat any fruit today, but wasn’t it great that i remembered we had those frozen berries in the fridge? that’s pretty creative and resourceful of me, and plus it’s a good way to use up something i’d forgotten i even had”).

the “noticing and feeling delighted” part is just as important. to successfully change a habit, you need to find creative ways to make the new habit pleasurable in and of itself. the more pleasure you feel when you do it, the more self-reinforcing the habit itself becomes. you might not experience eating healthy foods as intensely pleasurable (at least at first, especially if you are comparing them with the intense brain-hacking pleasure that super sugary foods give us). so don’t try! instead, focus on making the choice a source of pleasure and delight. "look at how clever i was! look at how creative i can be! look at what a good choice i made! look at how good i am at this game of adding in!” that act of stopping, narrating, and letting yourself feel genuinely pleased with what you’ve just done makes the choice to add something in pleasurable, which in turn can help fuel your sense that this isn’t about having iron willpower or about cruelly depriving yourself of delicious things, but is about playing a fun little game with yourself, creating little challenges or puzzles for yourself throughout the day and then giving yourself positive reinforcement when you figure them out.

(3) manage your environment to set yourself up for success. to paraphrase the atomic habits book: the people who seem to have the best willpower are the people who have to exercise it the least. and they have to exercise it the least because they’ve very effectively managed their environment, arranging things so that the desired choices are easy and “frictionless,” while the undesired choices or habits are more inconvenient or introduce more friction (it’s harder to get to them).

the easy starter version of this (from atomic habits): put the things you want to eat in highly visible places and/or in appealing arrangements, and put the things you don't want to eat in places that aren't visible or that are inconvenient to access. ice cream goes in the very back of the fridge, buried behind all the other stuff. nuts go in a bowl on your desk so that you can idly snack on them while you work. apples and bananas go in a big brightly colored bowl right on the counter, so that every time you pass through the kitchen your eyes are drawn to them. chips go in the bottom cupboard, the one below eye level that you don't use very often, and when you get them out you pour some into a bowl and put them right back in there (instead of leaving the bag out on the counter). make the choice you want to make easy, and make the choice you don't want to make harder to get to.

eventually, the most effective way of managing your environment is just to exercise total control over what comes into your own living space. for me, if i don’t want to eat it, i don’t have it in the house. i typically also place a curbside delivery grocery order so that i don’t have to go into the store—anything that comes into my house is something i made a deliberate choice about ordering, not something i wandered by a shelf and added to my cart because i wanted a treat. something i’ve learned about myself over the years that moderation is just not in my vocabulary—i’m an all-or-nothing person, and it’s SO much easier for me to just not have stuff i don’t want to eat in the house. no ice cream in the house. no alcohol in the house. no fried things, no chips, no candy, etc etc. if someone kindly brings me baked goods that i did not ask for, i genuinely appreciate the gesture, but as soon as they leave i give them to my next door neighbor or dump them in the trash. (SORRY TO PEOPLE WHO BAKE FOR ME!) if it's in the house i'll eat it. if it's not, i won't, and i also won't miss it.

i did do this pretty gradually at first, though! when i switched to a primarily whole food plant-based diet, i focused on playing the adding-in game for a couple weeks, and then when i started getting competitive about it i decided to use my grocery order as a way of creatively boosting my fruit/veggie/etc consumption even more, and in the process i started winnowing out things that took away chances to add in a good thing. i would say it took about three or four weeks to get to my personal ideal state of Nope I Don't Have It In The House.

it takes time, but i’d say that within a month of having only things you want to eat in the house, your cravings will be gone, at least within your own managed environment (going to restaurants or traveling DOES require you to exercise willpower, but there are ways to prepare for this in advance). the good news, though, is that 6-8 months or so of eating like this usually brings with it such improved sleep, mood, energy levels, skin, hair, GI function, etc etc that you start to be like oh my GOD why would i want to eat that horrifying thing?? I KNOW HOW BAD IT MAKES ME FEEL!! I WANT TO POWER MY BODY WITH PLANTS!!!!! in other words, the pleasurable side effects of eating well becomes positively reinforcing in its own right, while the negative effects you experience when you reintroduce sugar or fried things tends to reinforce the idea that those foods Feel Bad.

(4) it's not exercise, it's movement. i too used to hate exercise and found it extremely painful and tedious and horrible. so instead of exercising i just started moving. i canceled my membership at the local dog bar, where i had been taking my dog almost every day to let him run off excess energy, and started talking short walks with him twice a day instead. if you don’t have a dog, offer to walk your friends’ dogs—trust me they will lose their MINDS with joy lol. i think that starting to build in regular walks is the best way to get active again, because walking is typically quite pleasant and it becomes positively reinforcing to like, wave at the same neighbors every day, and see the cute kids next door running around, and notice all the ways that the trees and flowers are changing, and so on.

if you do not find being outside inherently pleasurable (sometimes i do not lol esp if i’m grumpy about having to walk the dog), tie another pleasurable activity to your daily walk. i listen to about six hours’ worth of hockey podcasts a week and i am only allowed to listen to them on my walks, so i end up looking forward to the walk because i’m desperate to hear people talk about My Guys. you can also walk with friends, or call a friend while you’re walking, which is even better than podcasts!! social walks are so much fun and go by so much more quickly. i started out just doing daily 15 min walks, and over the past couple years have built up to walking between 60-90 min a day when i’m at home. sometimes i hate/dread my walk; sometimes i love it and look forward to it. but regardless of how i’m feeling, i do it every day and if i miss it once, i don’t miss it a second time. 

as far as activity goes, i think it’s totally ok to just be a person who walks a lot! but i’ve found that becoming someone who walked a lot helped change my own narrative of myself—I started to think of myself as a walker, an active person who moved a lot every day. and that made it easier to pick up other forms of activity too, or at least to adopt a curious, exploratory attitude towards other forms of movement. also once you start tracking your active minutes you tend to get quite competitive about it! or at least i do, lol. i keep a note on my phone where i write down the date + type of activity + total number of minutes I did after every burst of activity, then at the end of the week i add it all up and compare it to the previous weeks. it makes me want to do more, to beat my own numbers—or it makes me want to keep up a streak (like, if i have a five-week period where i’ve consistently hit a certain level of active minutes every week, i don’t want to break it!!).

my biggest suggestion for exercise, though, is to figure out what kinds of things you enjoy and what kinds of things you don’t, and then to spend all your time doing things you like. i HATE structured fitness classes and workout videos. i hate them so much!!!!!!!! but i love being outside, i love doing solo activities (as opposed to group workouts), and i love doing any form of movement that doesn’t feel like a Planned Workout, capital w. also becoming a hockey fan got me really interested in skating, so i picked up rollerblades and found that to be amazingly fun too (something i can do outside AND something that feels like gliding around effortlessly AND something that makes me feel closer to My Favorite Guys!!!!). you may not have passionate feelings about hockey fandom as i do, but i think it’s really just about being creative—finding a creative way to link something you don’t love to something you do love, or find pleasurable, so that you can start forging those positive associations. 

i spent my first couple years of being more active just walking walking walking, and then this past year during the pandemic when i really ramped up my movement i added in longer walks, hikes, and rollerblading, and i also looked for ways to “habit-stack,” ie attaching an activity i don’t much care for (running; exercise biking indoors; doing squats and lunges) to one i do enjoy (i take my tennis shoes when i go skating and then go for a run immediately afterwards, before i have time to talk myself out of it). there are still all kinds of things i don’t do—i really don’t love strength training + bodyweight exercises yet, and i hate stretching even though I Know I Should, and i know that if i want to get stronger and faster, or build up my endurance, i will eventually need to introduce some element of structured training into my daily movement.

BUT the idea of making those changes seems kind of cool to me now, instead of Horrifying and Dread-Inducing! i feel like all the positive associations i’ve forged have made me more curious and open to ideas i would’ve resisted with my whole being not all that long ago. i found a way to make movement pleasurable, and then (thanks to sports fandom + my tendency to go down research rabbitholes) i found a way to get myself intellectually and emotionally engaged in the general concept of being a highly active person. for me, that combination of real pleasure + intellectual/emotional stimulation is what i personally need to build & maintain good habits.

(also, just shoehorning this in at the end because i like it: the “it’s movement, not exercise” mindset shift was also really helpful to me because it stopped me from thinking of exercise as like, this highly structured, regimented, torturous thing you forced yourself through for a set period of time each day, and helped me instead think of movement as something that humans are designed to do & to naturally enjoy. instead of Forcing Myself to Exercise, i looked for more natural-feeling forms of movement that didn’t feel so artificially divided from my “real life.” i think that helped with reframing my self-narrative, too! it made being active feel more integrated into my daily life, which in turn made it easier to think of myself as an active person, someone for whom movement was just a normal part of daily life and not a thing i had to psych myself up to do every day.)

(5) it takes time to build good habits, but not nearly as much time as you might think, and eventually you stop thinking about how long you’ve been doing something and you just start enjoying it (ie it becomes a genuine change in your lifestyle/thinking, not an artificial thing you have to work hard every day to maintain).

i am not yet AN ATHLETE and may never be, but i often remind myself that it took me a little under 30 years to build up a PROFOUND aversion to exercise, so it’s actually kind of miraculous that in just two years i’ve become someone who genuinely, earnestly, enthusiastically enjoys being active and feels antsy/weird/restless when i can’t get out of the house and move. every small stride i’ve made has strengthened my trust in myself and helped me reframe the narrative i tell myself about what kind of person i am and what i do/don’t do. every time i do the thing (whether it’s exercising or making a delicious healthy dinner) & happily notice myself doing it, i reaffirm to myself that i’m the kind of person who takes care of my body and mind by eating well and spending lots of time moving outside. (as a side benefit, when i spend a lot of time happily noticing things and speaking encouragingly to myself, i also reaffirm to myself that i am a happy person who treats myself kindly and who is always eagerly seeking out experiences that feel joyful and life-affirming.)

plus, the more often you do something, the more opportunities you have to have positive experiences while doing it! not every walk is AMAZING, LIFE-CHANGING, DEEPLY FULFILLING, but like, if i am walking seven days a week, that’s seven opportunities for something cool or fun to happen on a walk (not to mention seven opportunities to reap all the physiological & emotional well-being benefits of exercise!!). and if i am really conscious and intentional about noticing and actively delighting in those positive experiences, i help wire in those positive associations more deeply, and my brain/body increasingly comes to associate movement with happiness, joy, and fulfillment. as the habit of being more active becomes fulfilling in and of itself, i don’t have to expend as much energy tricking or cajoling or bribing myself into doing it.

*

i hope this helps!! i am literally always happy to write extremely long essays in respond to simple anon questions, lol, so if you want to talk more about your own ideas for building better habits please do share!! i can also rec you specific books that i’ve found really useful—both for just like, helping me figure out how to make big changes, and also for providing that intellectual stimulation that gets me more engaged in wanting to eat well & be more active.

(also, on the extremely slim chance that you are also a hockey fan: over in my fandom sphere, we are organizing a fun summer thing inspired by one of our fave hockey players, where we’ll be planning lots of fun fannish community things to get ourselves moving this summer. it’s going to be a good time!!)

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

I’m Always Curious Part Fourteen

Previous Part | Next Part |  Masterlist Notes: Not beta-read. I hope everyone has had a nice week! Warnings: Hoo boy...Cursing... Yearning? First Contact™? Let’s just say the gif is very deliberate Summary:  Before all of this, before Spargo, before Uthea C4, I might’ve been bummed that I was staying on the ship while Thaleh beamed down with the rest of the away team. 

The nice thing was that it was a contained incident.

The not-so-nice thing was... Well, that it was an incident.

A contained incident that had been witnessed by Una and Spock, two people who I knew would probably never let me live it down.

--

Koutov was a forest plant.

When I had occasion to translate Koutovian text during my dissertation, the substance of the text had been around an herb blend for tea. Koutovian tea was renowned in the quadrant; Spock had had it and spoken highly of it, which meant it had to be pretty damn good. Thaleh was going to take the lead on this particular mission. At least, Thaleh was supposed to take the lead on this particular mission. I had been pretty relieved about that. I was more than happy to take a step back after Larilia; she wanted me to take more of a hand in training Ensign Paledore, anyway. The beginnings of our journey to Koutov had been riddled with stops to other planets - Deneva, Kantare, Calder II, Valakis. Before all of this, before Spargo, before Uthea C4, I might’ve been bummed that I was staying on the ship while Thaleh beamed down with the rest of the away team. And then Thaleh had been ‘borrowed’ by Admiral Cornwell for a conference on Starbase 218, and I was left acting Lieutenant Commander. This was akin to when she had been on leave - but it was much, much worse; when Thaleh was on leave, the work had been more evenly spread between myself and a few other officers. This time, given my proximity to the Captain and the missions that I had been undertaken recently, Thaleh had entrusted me with more responsibility. I wasn’t upset with her - she hadn’t expected to be pulled off of the ship to assist Cornwell, and the fact that she had left me as acting Lieutenant Commander meant that she had an incredible amount of trust in me. But I was tired. I had never been so busy in my time on the Enterprise. Thaleh had left me briefings for the other stops to be made on the way to Koutov, but they weren’t complete. I spent my off-hours researching and filling in the questions I still had. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in, like, days,” Thira did sound a little worried as she said so, which was sweet of her. I shot her a thin smile from where my head was resting against the back of the couch in the lounge. “I’ve been kinda… You know. All over the place,” I waved my hands around, “It’s been busy down there.” “Are you going to keep covering for Thaleh, or-- I mean is she going to be back from the conference after Koutov?” I groaned, bringing my hands up and scrubbing at my eyes. “I have no idea, but I’m sure Captain Dimples will sort it out.” “What’s that, lieutenant?” “I said, ‘he’s the Captain, plain and simple, I’m sure he’ll sort it out’,” I fibbed. I kept scrubbing at my eyes, refusing to look through my fingers. When I did pick my head up and lower my hands, I found Pike and Number One standing in front of myself and Thira. I did my best to keep a straight face, though my cheeks were burning. The corner of Pike’s mouth was lifted, like he was trying not to laugh. “We’ll be arriving at Koutov in approximately six hours,” Number One informed me dryly. I nodded a little. “Okay… I mean, the population has a good handle on Federation Standard.” “I’d like for you to beam down with the away team, if you wouldn’t mind,” Pike said. I shook my head a little. “Of course, Captain.” He gave Thira a nod before he began to step back around the couch. He stopped just beside and looked down at me. “And lieutenant.” “Sir?” “Nice catch.” I frowned, brow furrowing, “Not sure I know what you mean, sir.” I could see Pike still fighting back a smile and hiding said dimples in the process. “Perhaps I misheard you,” He conceded. “You must’ve. Maybe you oughta get that checked out. I’m sure Dr. Boyce would be happy to test your hearing.” “Six hours, lieutenant.” “Yessir.” Pike strode away, leaving me alone with Thira and Number One. “...‘Captain Dimples’?” Una repeated once he was gone, arching a critical brow. I slid back down in my seat. “This is usually the part of the dream where the floor opens up and swallows me.”

--

It had to be because I hadn’t gotten much sleep, right? It had to be. Sleep deprivation and adjusting to the new atmosphere. Class M planet or not, it wasn’t as if Koutov had the exact same atmosphere as Earth, or the Enterprise. On top of that, my body was running on four hours of sleep. That was what was making my stomach twist was anxiety. That had to be it - had to be. But why hadn’t that feeling kicked in only half an hour ago?

We’d been beamed down to a botanical conservatory on Koutov - myself, Pike, Number One, and Spock. We’d been greeted by their Minister for Intergalaxy Relations, Bimao Nenreotov. Pike and Nenreotov had briefly discussed Koutov’s remaining in the Federation, the reason for our visiting the planet in the first place. Nenreotov had been incredibly forthright in the planet’s decision to remain in the Federation, and had been graced with one of the Captain’s wide, be-dimpled smiles. Even during that conversation, which was arguably (at that point) the most nerve-wracking part of our mission, I hadn’t been plagued by the anxiety.

Nenreotov had invited us to tour the conservatory. I hadn’t been plagued by anxiety then, either. As our tour began, we were each offered cups of tea. Spock looked pleased, and fell into an easy conversation with Nenreotov about Koutovian tea. He fell into step beside the Minister, with Una on his other side, leaving myself and Pike to bring up the rear, cups in hand.

“Well that went smoothly,” Pike had commented quietly.

“Certainly more smoothly than the last time I was beamed down to a planet,” I’d agreed, “Told you you wouldn’t need me.”

I felt Pike cast me a sidelong glance, “I was glad to have you along regardless.”

“Yes, I’m very good at sitting still and saying nothing.”

“That’s not true. You’re awful at sitting still.”

Pike and I had continued to hang back, sipping our tea intermittently and listening to Nenreotov tell us about the plants in the conservatory. An attendant had been along to collect the empty mugs from the group of us not long ago.

But now my stomach was twisting, and my throat was dry, and what was the Minister pointing out to us? Ah, Vulcan Mint, lovely. Of course.

I wrung my hands where they were clasped behind my back, careful to not draw attention to myself. I couldn’t be rude and ask to beam back to the ship. That would be rude to the Minister, not to mention another offense to add to the list of that day’s slip-ups.

“Are you warm? I’m boiling,” Pike muttered to me. I looked up at him and was surprised to find him a little flushed. I nodded, facing forward.

“It is a little warm,” I agreed quietly, doing my best to downplay my discomfort.

“A little? I feel like I’m back in Mojave -- Hang on.”

He cleared his throat, drawing the Minister’s attention as we neared a fountain.

“The lieutenant and I are going to sit for a moment and catch our breath.”

Nenreotov tipped his head to the side at the explanation; he looked between myself and Pike before nodding once, “Of course.”

“Are you quite alright, Captain?” Spock asked, brow furrowing.

“Sure,” Pike waved him off, “Just a bit warm. You all go on, we’ll catch up.”

Una had that look on her face again - the one she’d given me after Sandblossom. But now it was directed at Pike.

“Follow the path when you wish to catch up, we’ll keep it true,” Nenreotov gestured to the white marble path through the conservatory that we’d been following. Pike nodded. I lowered myself to sit on the edge of the fountain. Pike remained standing, watching the others go. I sighed, looking down at my hands. Why were my palms sweating? I rubbed them against my pants before I reached up, tugging the zip down on my collar a bit. I sighed at the feeling of air brushing over my throat. It was another few moments before Pike lowered himself down to sit beside me.

Maybe it was how warm I already was, or how warm he’d mentioned being, but it felt like heat was rolling off of him like a furnace. I looked to him as I heard him sigh, watching him tip his chin up and undo his collar. I let myself gaze at the bit of his skin that I could see from that angle before I quickly turned away, feeling Pike’s gaze shift to me.

“You alright?” he asked. Why was his voice so soft, so low? Did he always sound like that?

“Mhm,” I gave a quick nod. Anxious as I was, I suddenly wished I’d told Pike that I really wasn’t warm at all, that I was perfectly fine, and had left that Captain alone to open his collar and cool off.

“You’re an awful liar,” He accused, knocking his knee against mine.

“Oh, because you’re so great at it?”

“I’m better than ‘he’s Captain, plain and simple’.”

I groaned, tipping my head back; the sound was covered by Pike's laugh.

“You’re never going to let me forget that, are you.”

“Absolutely not. You’re a quick thinker, I will say that for you,” He added as I lifted my head again.

“And that is about all there is to be said.”

“That’s not true.”

“Right. I also can’t keep still.”

“You’re also smart, clever...Resilient and…”

I chanced a glance in Pike’s direction and was surprised to see him looking at me.

“And…?” I pressed gently.

“Lovely.”

It was said with such a quiet sincerity that it threw me. I felt my breath hitch a little in my throat. I had to look away - I was staring, I was sure I looked like an idiot. Thing is, Pike was staring, too. Pike was staring, and his lips were twitching into a small smile.

“What?” I asked.

“Nothing, just… You’ve got a freckle on your eyelid. Never noticed,” He mumbled. I shook my head a little.

“Well, you don’t have many occasions to stare at my eyelids… Or reasons to want to.”

My eyes drifted to a bead of sweat that I saw slipping down the side of Pike’s face. It seemed to be sliding in slow motion - down his cheek, hugging the sharp curve of his jaw before it trickled down to his throat. I don’t know what possessed me, but I reached up, steadying my fingers against his neck and using my thumb to wipe away the drop before it could disappear. I found myself frozen again. I needed to move my hand - what the hell was I doing? I more felt than heard the hum that Pike made and that spurred me into action.

“I--Captain, I--”

“It’s alright,” He murmured, even as I began to shake my head, even as I began to pull my hand away, finally.

“I’m sorry--”

“It’s alright,” He insisted again, catching hold of my wrist. My stomach was a tornado of butterflies; my heart was beating faster than a hummingbird’s wings. I felt like I was going to explode. Why was he still holding to me -- I glanced down as I felt his thumb smooth reassuringly over the soft of my wrist, and then looked up again as I felt his other hand cup my chin.

“You’re still so warm,” He said quietly.

“So are you.”

I meant for it to come out defensive, but I heard the damnably breathless way that it left me.

Pike’s hand dropped away from my cheek, and I bit my lips to tamp down a whimper. I watched as he dipped his hand into the water of the fountain for a moment. He pulled his hand back out, shaking it off a little. He met my eye, looking for any hesitance or discomfort on my part. When I held still, he slipped his hand under my collar, cupping the side of my neck. My eyes fell shut at the rush of coolness against my skin - I couldn’t help the whimper that left me this time.

“...Christopher,” I breathed out; my wrist rolled in his hold to grasp at his hand.

And then I heard him murmur my name. My name.

Not my last name, not Lieutenant.

I opened my eyes to look at him. He was so, so close - as close as he’d been before in his ready room, as close as he’d been when he’d promised he wouldn’t let Spargo take me from the Enterprise.

It was the clicking of incoming heels that cut through the fog. I felt my stomach flip, the butterflies dissipate, the anxiety flood back in as I hurriedly pulled my hand from his. Pike didn’t rush to lower his hand from my neck, but he did turn away to see who was coming.

Number One and Spock were coming around the bend of the path. I could see from Spock’s single raised brow and the twist of Una’s mouth that whatever they’d seen was more than enough. Before either of us could explain or speak, Number One said, “We need to get you both to Medical.”

--

Fucking Koutovian tea.

To say that Boyce was visibly amused by the circumstance was an understatement. He kept shooting glances at the biobed on the other side of the Med Bay, where Pike’s vitals were being monitored by Nurse Chapel. I hadn’t been able to meet Pike’s eye since we’d been beamed back aboard and rushed to Medical.

The blend of spices that had been included in the tea that Nenreotov had given us included a strong amount of Susurrus Concalesco, or Whispering Flush - a plant native to Koutov. It was served to prospective mates on Koutov to suss out the viability of successful partnerships. Whispering Flush heightened the effects of the chemical components of attraction if they were already present in the bloodstream -- adrenaline, dopamine, serotonin, testosterone, oxytocin.

Spock, Una, and Nenreotov had had the same tea, the same spice blend, and were totally fine. Pike and I were, well… A different matter. Apparently Nenreotov had pointed the herb out to Spock and Una on the tour as they’d walked on, mentioned its use in the blend we’d been given, snickered about our ‘symptoms’. 

“Your heart rate is still a little high,” Boyce informed me as he lowered his tricorder, “But that’s something that should wear off as the tea leaves your system. Go back to your quarters, get some rest. Come back in twenty-four hours if you’re still feeling the… Effects.”

I wasn’t sure if he was trying to be delicate or trying to tease and make light of the situation to make me feel better, but either option sucked. I nodded and mumbled my thanks, sliding off of the biobed. I didn’t look at Pike as I left - I couldn’t. What the hell could I even say?

Thira was on-shift when I arrived back in my quarters, thank god. I was still overheated, still thrumming with nervous energy. A cold shower would help, right?

My mind drifted back to the feeling of Pike’s hand, cool and dripping, sliding under my collar and I groaned, closing my eyes. I couldn’t think about that. I couldn’t think about it now, I sure as hell couldn’t think about it later. I couldn’t just assume Pike’s interest despite the plant’s use. I had to put my Spock cap on. Pike could have those feelings for someone else, could’ve had those hormones in his system, and I was just the nearest body. And sure, maybe that wasn’t the kindest light to paint Pike in, but I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly when I was on that planet. I hadn’t exactly done a good job at keeping my hands to myself. I wondered how long it would take to get transferred to another ship. Maybe there was an opening on the Hiawatha? No. No. Spock cap. I was jumping to conclusions. I couldn’t make any rash decisions while this tea was in my system. Fucking Koutovian tea. 

Shower. I could start with a shower. A shower, and then maybe a Klingon poem. I unzipped my collar, pulling it away from my neck. I groaned as I heard my PADD beep. What now? Number One, ready with the lecture that had surely been imminent for months now? Or maybe it was Ensign Paledore with a question with the translation exercise I’d left him with.

I lifted my device and froze when I saw the message there.

Pike: I need to speak with you. Tag list: @angels-pie​ ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta​

[drethanramslay]

A funny thing called Fate- Prologue

Pairing: Bryce X MC (Aisha Khurrana)

Word Count: 2.8K words

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Warning: None really, just a little cursing

Author’s note: I had been listening to Strawberries and Cigarettes by Troye Sivan and that is actually the primary spark which led me to come up with this series. Shout out to @mvalentine and @anotherbeingsworld fo letting me bounce my crazy ideas <3

AHHH so it is finally here!! This is my first time writing Bryce so I hope I can do justice to this beautiful man. This starts with Aisha’s (MC) POV and like I said, there will be a time jump. It would be first person when I’m writing in the past and then it will shift to third person when I’m writing the present. I think i should stop my rambling and let’s go!!

Terms you need to know-

-Bhaiya: Brother in hindi

-Beta: Technically it means ‘son’ but in most Indian families its used like a term of endearment too

- AIIMS, Delhi: Stands for All India Institute of Medical Sciences. This is one of the best medical schools in the country and Only 100 people out of 200,000(or more) get in. So it is very cut throat.

10 years ago- Aisha's PoV 

(Age: 16)

I am done.

Done with all the drama, done with all the lies, done with all the manipulations and done with all the heartache.

And most of all, I was done with him- the infamous Bryce Lahela. 

The boy with the stupid long hair, the stupid signature smirk and the stupid charm. Those amber eyes which reminded you of the sand and sea and those lips on which an everlasting smile played used to be like a breath of fresh air. I always thought that he was so unique, but boy was I wrong. 

All boys are the same.

I really thought that jocks like him would be different huh? Can someone just hand me my clown shoes?

But luckily, I don't have to see his face ever again because for once, instead of making a mockery of my existence, life decided to give me something that I really wanted badly.

A chance to leave all of this in my past. A chance to start over again.

My dad had a better business opportunity back in Mumbai. I am an Indian and we lived in Delhi since the time I was born but we shifted to Mauii when I was in the ninth grade because of how demanding dad's job was getting

Bhaiya chose to stay back in Delhi because his engineering college was there and he enjoyed the hostel life way too much. And he had finally managed to get out of our toxic household so I really could not blame him.

So yeah.. that is how I ended up in Maui in the first place.

It was okay in ninth grade. I kept to myself and blended in with the shadows (because hello social anxiety!). But... Tenth grade changed everything.

It was one of the best and worst year of my life and I often wonder if I could ever get over this.

I am definitely sounding like one of those over-dramatic Indian soap operas my mom watches every night.

"Aisha? Are you ready? The car is here beta."

"Yes, Mama. I am coming!! Just packing up some stuff."

Breaking out of my reverie, I stuffed in my phone and other essentials into my carry bag. As I was zipping up my luggage, I yanked open my closet door to see if I left anything behind my eyes landed on the shoebox I had stuffed in the back of my closet.

I gulped and I felt tears well up in my eyes again. A part of me wanted to take it for it had all the trinkets of the good things in my relationship with Bryce but, another part of me knew that if I took it with me, I would never be able to move on and that would completely defeat the purpose of this fresh start I have been looking forward to.

So with a heavy heart, I looked away and shut the door of the closet, picked up my luggage and left.

As the Uber pulled out of the curb I stared out of the window, to look at the beaches I had come to love and hate.

I liked Maui, I really did but all that it was reduced was a place where I was humiliated and belittled.

And it was all his fault.

PRESENT

(Age: 27)

"Oh my god. I'm gonna late!!" Aisha screeched as she saw the time on her phone. She shoved the duvet off her and jumped out of bed. She tried running to the bathroom in her small closet-sized apartment but it just ended up with her stubbing her toe against the coffee table.

"Ow ow ow." She cursed as she hobbled into the washroom and got on with her daily chores. Her hand-eye coordination was already awful and add that she was sleep deprived just made the entire thing worse. Stumbling, tripping, cursing she managed to brush her teeth and hop into the shower. The burst of cold water managed to wake her up as she furiously washed.

Why did I have to move into a room under a busy staircase?! This is why bhaiya says- Do your research. She angrily thought to herself as she wiped herself rigorously and zipped open her suitcase, searching for her semi-formal clothes.

Grabbing a granola bar and her trusty thermos of coffee, she was on her way to Edenbrook.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

As she entered the atrium, she was in complete awe. It looked big and majestic on the outside, with a clever mix of brick walls and the glass facade, making it look welcoming. Sunshine poured through the atrium as the various doctors and nurses worked around her, not giving mind to the clueless intern gawking.

"Hi, I'm Dr Ines Delarosa, a senior resident!! You look lost. Let me guess... the first day of residency?" A short woman in a doctor's coat walked up to her breaking Aisha from her awe, her aura full of happiness, rainbows and unicorns which made Aisha a little vary.

Is it normal to be this happy and energetic?

Aisha nodded hesitantly and the resident smiled a hundred-watt smile. "Great. You are gonna need a photo ID. Follow me, I will get you all set up." Wordlessly Aisha followed Ines, slinging her messenger bag over her shoulder, nervously playing with the strap.

It is going to be fine... Aisha breathed out as she entered a room with a white background and a camera before it. "Just step over here, in front of the camera and smile."

And waste my energy? No thanks.

She schooled her features to be as professional as she could and the flash of the camera went off. Aisha walked over the tangled wires and peeked at the screen. A serious face stared back at her, the lighting doing good to her brown skin. Her nose piercing caught light and her dark mahogany hair was tied up in a neat ponytail.

"Is it okay? Or do I need to retake the photo?"

"No, it is great! I like it. Thank you."

"Well I will just stick this on your ID.... and you are good to go!! I wish I looked that good in my ID." She said and cheerfully and once her eyes fell on the title a smile made its way on her face,

Dr Aisha Khurrana... It is real and it is true.

"My first day as a real doctor." she whistled lowly shaking her head as if she didn't believe it.

"I was in your shoes last year. Believe me, med school was nothing compared to this. Your three years of residency will be the toughest, most amazing year of your life!! But the first year as an intern will be the craziest of all."

As soon as the smile had graced her features, it slipped away and she nodded seriously. "I think I am ready for it. I have been dreaming and slogging my ass so that I could work in Edenbrook. Ever since I learnt that Ethan Ramsey worked here. His research basically pushed me to apply for med school."

Also, the fact that my parents can like shut up about me being worthless.

"That is great. I will just walk you to the locker room so that you can change into scrubs." Ines offered and Aisha gave her a small smile.

"So... Any advice?"

"Make friends..."

And I am out. She thought to herself. She always struggled with making friends and that is partly the reason why she would keep to herself all the time. Sure she did make a few gem of a friends in med school but if she had to choose between mingling with strangers and drowning, you know what she would choose.

"... with your interns, year senior residents, even your patients! Friends will get you through anything. And, uh, try to not annoy the Attendings! You do not want to get on your boss's bad side."

"Noted."

After changing she was just passing through the waiting room so that she could get to the orientation when she heard gasps from the seating area. A woman had collapsed on her seat and the people were crowding around her.

Her instincts kicked in and she ordered. "Give her space. Everybody step back! I'm a doctor."

She hurried over to the woman just as another doctor rushes in. He kneeled at her side and checked her pulse. "Pulse is weak. She's unresponsive." He looked up and his eyes landed on her.

"You Rookie. Get here."

"Right away doctor. Coming!" Aisha hurried over as the doctor lifted the fainted woman on to the nearby gurney.

"What was she coming in for? Did she fill out a form yet?"

"No, she'd just walked in."

The doctor's piercing blue eyes landed on her which made her straighten her back. "If we don't figure out what's wrong with her fast, she's going to die on this table. Rookie, check B.P."

Wrapping the blood pressure cuff around the unconscious woman's arm and she pumped the bulb, peering at the numbers.

"It's plummeting. She's hypotensive. We've gotta get fluids in her."

Aisha's eyes wandered over the woman's form, trying to search for more clues. Her eyes landed on the rapidly forming bruise on her elbow.

"Doctor... Look at this bruise. I think it's a sign that she is a haemophiliac."

The doctor replied in a gruff voice. "You think or you know?"

"I know."

"Good. Also can you see the way her fingertips are turning blue? It is a sign of low oxygen saturation in the blood. Take a closer listen to her lungs. Hurry."

She nodded assertively and slipped the resonator of the stethoscope over the ribs, straining to hear the diminishing whooshing of the lungs which made Aisha gulp in fear.

"Can't hear anything on the left side and the right side is struggling. She is going to suffocate at this rate." She spoke up , her voice struggling to stay calm but as she glanced at the older doctor, he seemed to be as cool as a cucumber.

"Nurse we have got a code blue." His authoritative voice boomed over as the nurses bustled around the gurney.

Taking the bag mask from the nurse, he secured it around the patient's mouth and gently pump air into her lungs.

"What do we do, Doctor? What's happening to her?" She asked as she noticed the reducing breath rate.

He looked up. "Consider all the clues. It's all there. You know this, Rookie."

Aisha closed her eyes and took a deep breath, realigning her focus, delving deep into her mind, analyzing the clues.

Hemophilia... low blood oxygen... no lung expansion on one side...

Her brown eyes snapped open as it struck her. "It's a haemothorax!"

A twinkle of approval flickered in the ocean eyes, which vanished as soon as it came. "Precisely. A blood vessel ruptured and is filling her pleural cavity..."

"... Blocking her lungs from expanding! That's why she can't breathe." Aisha completed the sentence.

Fuck.

"But we can't repair the blood vessel over here."

The older doctor's jaw clenched. "Then we will have to do a emergency thoracotomy to drain the cavity instead. Nurse!"

The nurse hustles around handing her a scalpel and a chest tube, her eyes widening in shock.

She gulped, her nervousness spiking as she sees the doctor lift the shirt of the patient, exposing the side of her rib cage.

"We need a local anaesthetic-"

The doctor interrupted her. "We're out of time and she is already unconscious. Do it now, or the woman's life is on you!!"

She gritted her teeth with determination. I am not loosing a patient on my first day.

She took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself. It is just like anatomy class only... this isn't a cadaver but a real person.

But that statement, instead of calming her, it just caused the scalpel to shake in her hand.

The doctor reaches and encompasses her hand. "Hey... You can do this."

Aisha nods stabilizing herself and focusing solely on the older doctor's voice, before she looked down.

"There you go... Nice and easy."

Incision at the fifth intercostal space... anterior.. to the mid axillary line...

And when she was confident enough, she made the perfect incision, a trickle of red following the path of the scalpel.

"Now the tube."

She took and pushed it into the incision and with a spurt, blood started draining out of the chest cavity resulting in the patient to take a deep breath.

Holy shit I did that. I freaking did that.

In the daze of endorphins, she heard the doctor order her surgery, the nurses wheeling the gurney and the onlookers applauding.

She turned towards the attending, excitement pouring out of her in waves. "Doctor.. that was absolutely amazing!!"

It's was as if a switch flipped and the grumpier and sarcastic facade took place. "You're right. It is pretty amazing you didn't get her killed."

Aisha's jaw dropped.

"Wait, what?"

The doctor rambled off, pointing out her mistakes. "Your examination was slow and superficial. Your scalpel technique, amateur at best."

It took all her might to not scoff. 

Excuse me I graduated from AIIMS Delhi, thank you very much.

 Swallowing the dying need to go off she spoke in a professional tone. "Amateur? I'm sorry, doctor but it is my first day."

"Well, that is not an excuse you can use because if that patient would have died, the blood would have been on your hands..." He lifted the badge attached to her breast pocket scrutinizing on the surname.

"... Khurrana."

He tossed the id back to her, turned on his heels and walked away, leaving a steaming Aisha in her place.

"What a dick." She muttered under her breath.

"Yeah and I'm totally in love with him." A nurse appeared magically out of thin air near her, causing her to jump in surprise.

The kind eyed nurse just rolled his eyes and placed a hand on her shoulder which had Aisha bristling. "Don't worry about it, Dr Ramsey is like that to everybody."

Aisha's jaw dropped for the second time. "Wait... Dr. Ramsey as in Dr. Ethan Ramsey?!"

Shooting a knowing glance, he spoke up. "I take it, you're a fan?"

"He's only my medical hero and greatest inspiration. I've read all his research!" Aisha rushed off, horror and excitement rushing through her.

Oh my god I managed to piss of my one medical hero.. I'm such a dumbass.

Noticing the horror of her expression he gave a gentle smile. "On the bright side, you'll get plenty more chances to impress him."

She sighed and looked down to see that her scrubs were stained with blood.

First impression is last impression beta, always remember that. Her father's voice resonated in her mind.

"Dammit, I'm here for five minutes and I'm already a mess. I can't show up to orientation like this!"

"Don't sweat it. There are extras in the locker room. Come I will show you the way..."

She walked into the locker room, looking for her assigned locker. There was a crowd of half naked interns and after mumbling a couple of 'excuse me's', and rubbing shoulders (literally) she made it the end of the room.

As she turned she knocked into another woman in nothing but her undergarments.

"Uh...um.. okay then." Aisha stuttered as she felt the back of her neck heating up.

Thanks to my brown skin no one can see me getting flustered.

"What? See something you like?" She asked cheekily in an Indian accent which eased Aisha up a bit.

"Ha, you wish."

"Aren't you cute?" The woman snickered as she reached for her pants.

"That's what people say, so it must be true."

She reached for her full sleeve shirt before looking Aisha's way. "Desi?"

Aisha snorted. "Obviously. And I'm guessing you too."

"Of course. And I'm guessing that you are definitely not wearing those scrubs."

"What? Didn't you hear? Bloody clothes are like the new trend around here."

There was a moment of silence before both of them started laughing.

"It's good to meet someone from home." Aisha spoke as she pulled her scrub shirt off.

"Woah, woah, woah. Don't count on that yet. I need to see if you are gonna get in my way in this competition."

Aisha smirked as she shut her locker. "Can't say I'm surprised. Can't be desi if the sense of competition isn't ingrained in your DNA."

"Oh my god never thought that I would see Jackie's twin." A familiar manly voice wafted over to them.

Wait a second...

"Shut up scalpel jockey, this is our kind of bonding."

"Oh please, don't scare the newbie aw- oh."

Oh.

She was standing right in front of him. Face to face. The playful amber eyes, with flecks of brown hadn't changed. The long shoulder length hair had been cut and styled to be short and messy.

There was no trace of the surfer boy she met in Maui. He was a man through and through but still, the youth in his eyes poured out in waves, reminding her of the sandy beaches.

But right now those amber eyes were wide with shock.

It's not everyday that you meet your ex of ten years in the locker room of your new job.

"Aisha?"

".... Bryce?!"

HEHEHEH AWKWAARRDDD

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[shinymooncolor]

It’s Thursday, I’ve got a long weekend - so here’s a new sweater weather chat!

@lumosinlove is the mastermind behind these hilarious characters. I just play around and pretend my life is half as exciting as these guys’ lives are.

@wxlfstxrx and @siriuslyqueer are my best bro’s and always support my crazy ideas with no hesitation. 🙏🏻

If you have prompts - let me know! 👀

Sweater weather chat #4

Dumo panics. Celeste is disappointed. Tyler’s mom is thirsty. Logan has heard too much. Leo is scolded. Kuny is hungover. Nado has been dumped. He is also the king of nicknames. Walker brags. We spend another Sunday in the bat cave. I want to live there now.

———-

Wednesday, 4.32 pm

Nadotheman: @talkiewalkie I’m now at a record 8200 viewers for my live workout. 💪🏻👀

Talkiewalkie: whatever. I’m still more ripped than you.

Russiangod: I read blog. I think old ladies like

Tylerthemighty: my mom asked for your number. 61 y/o divorcee. Her book club wants to come to next match. I gave them tickets 🤓🤓🤓🤓

Eliascookie: 😂 thirsty housewives

Prongstar: nado got them old ladies. Sure you could learn a thing or two!!

Nadotheman: I am epic and my sexual encounters are epic

Russiangod: 5 minutes epic? Americans are strange

Siriously: savage

Nadotheman: fuxk off Evwhiny, Not my fault you’ve struck out for three fucking months. Remmy gotta worry about that wrist of kun(t)y’s

Fruitloops: leave me out. Also @prongstar stop changing my name.

Fruitloops changed their name to remuslupin

Prongstar changed remuslupin to fruitloops

RussianGod: not three month. Ur mom here last week. Show her good time.

Timmyforrealz: 😂😂😂 fucking got you there Nado.

Nadotheman: I hate you all. And he didn’t fuck my mom he’s scared of her. Bitch

DumoDad: language. And fruit loops is cute.

——-

Saturday 11.27 am

Dumodad created a group.

Dumodad named the group: grabby teen boy alert.

Dumodad added: talkiewalkie, newt-leo, carbo’hara, loganTremblayzzz, nado the man, RussianGod

Dumodad: first of all. This group does not exist. You know nothing. Celeste must not know anything.

Newt-leo: dumo you alright?

Dumodad: No! drove Adele to the mall. She said she was going out with friends. When I got home Celeste says it’s a date. She is 14?!?!?! My baby is in the mall with a perverted football player called Chuck? Someone has to go to the mall. NOW. I will give you my 1954 Stanley cup game puck. I cannot leave. Celeste has me under strict supervision.

CarbO’Hara: were already at the mall. @nadotheman got dumped so we’ve gone to watch a movie.

Nadotheman: I was not dumped. I ended things. I don’t get dumped.

RussianGod: she said sex was fine. She not call back. You were dumped also she winked at me when she tied shoes. Also u want buy her stuff. She just using u. Better off no girls. Poor baby Nado.

Nado the man: traitor. I didn’t sleep with that fan you took back to the hotel in philly or tell on you. So what they’re using me? I get more action than the rest of you babies combined. (Not you Dumo, don’t think I haven’t noticed those scratch mArks)

DumoDAD: I married well. Go back to rescuing my girl from that deprived creep. A footballer. Of all the idiots in that school and she chooses a footballer. Merde.

Logantremblayzzz: NO! DONT TALT ABOUT THAT he’s like my dad 😫😫😫

RussianGod: grow up. Where u think 4 baby come from? ���🍆🍆

DumoDAD: go back to looking for my daughter and leave my (active) sex life out of it

Talkiewalkie: @russiangod you dog!! Roadie one nighter. I’m so proud. Also go dumo!!!!

Nado the man: she was hot. No idea how he got her. Also @talkiewalkie like you’ve ever had the balls for a one nighter

Talkiewalkie: @nadotheman back off man, you’re just a baby compared to my epic sexual history

Nadotheman: @talkiewalkie huh you didn’t even play the v-card until you were 17

Talkiewalkie: @nadotheman not true. That was my first fan. V-card was my JUNIOR prom with the head cheerleader (she was totally a senior)

Dumodad: @walkietalkie no one cares you lost your virginity in the back of a Buick. My daughter is out there with a BOY. ALONE.

Talkiewalkie: @dumodad wrong username and it was a CAMRY and she was a SENIOR

LoganTremblayzzz: were at the mall. Finn and Leo scouting food hall. I’m covering first floor. @nadotheman any luck on second floor?

RussianGod: someone having sex in the bathroom

Logantremblayzzz: @newt-leo @CarbO’Hara behave. Also don’t leave me out.

Newt-leo: she’s in the food court. Also @russiangod they’re not having sex they’re fighting

Dumodad: IS HE TOUCHITN MY NAB GIRLv

Newt-leo: stress texting? Calm down they’re just talking

Newt-leo: okay he’s got his arm around her

CarbO’Hara: abort abort she saw us

—-

Saturday 11.54 am

Adele: MAMA! Leo and finn and kuny are stalking me. You promised not to tell dad. Charlie is terrified and he wants to leave and he didn’t ask me to prom

Mama: sorry mon Cherie. Your dad is in big trouble. Please call me

——

Saturday 12.01 pm

Carb’OHara: @russiangod just got scolded by guard for sitting without a tray and Adele is yelling at him too 😂😂😂😂😂😂

*pic of kuny sitting looking guilty while tiny Adele is shouting*

Dumodad: gentlemen. Why is my daughter calling me, crying cause you scared off her date? I don’t care what my imbecile of a husband has told you. You are all going home and you are all going to think about this. And NO DESSERT FOR ANY OF YOU. I am sorry you got dumped @nadotheman. @talkiewalkie don’t brag about losing your virginity in a car.

Saturday 2.43 pm

Logantremblayzzz: shit! Celeste is furious. Dumo is def sleeping on the couch. Oh fuck. She’s grounded him 😂 this is hilarious.

RussianGod: 😛

Logantremblayzzz: don’t have to worry about baby #5. He’s in the dog house for a month 😂😂😂

Dumodad: she wasn’t kidding. I’m banished to the couch for the foreseeable future. Don’t think you’re not in trouble, Logan. She wants to talk to you now.

RussianGod: nice knowing u Logan.

DumoDAD: 😬🙏🏻🥺😫

—

Saturday 3.44 pm

Celeste: Leo, I am very disappointed.

I expected this from the others but I thought you were better.

Leo: I’m so sorry!!

——-

Sunday 11.34 am

Kuny: my head hurts. I need food

Nado: it’s your own fault dumbass. Chucking vodka like it’s fucking water. Not gonna feel bad for ya

Kuny: I was homesick. U not feel bad today?

Nado: nah I can handle my liquor, you sad excuse for a Russian. What if I told your fellow countrymen you’re currently whining like a baby...

Kuny: I drink better than u. No one believe that.

Kuny: need water pleas. Also want fries

Kuny: pleas i pay.

Nado: stop texting me, I’m trying to watch a movie. Also you’re disturbing my sexting go away

Kuny: who u sext? Girl from bar? Pretty one or scary one?

Nado: I’m not telling you and maybe it’s both. Also quit texting me. Can’t keep this clever dirty talk up when I have to deal with your whining.

Kuny: I can help

Nado: you’re not helping me fucking sext now go back to sleep you big baby

Kuny: stupid also don’t wank with door open

Nado: then go fucking close it you ungrateful dick. Also you know wank but sergei and I had to sit there and help you fucking answer interview questions. Your little game of pretending not to know English is sad. Also your whole “baby face Russian giant with cute accent” bit is getting old.

Kuny: my accent is cute and I know wank cause walker told Me. Am not ungrateful u are. I not tell team lots of things

Nado: oh don’t even go there.

Kuny: I thought u busy sexting

Nado: u fucking ruined it ok. Are you clothed? I’m coming in there now.

Kuny: not naked also u lie about sexitng girls. He he. now bring me food. And Diet Coke.

Nado: ungrateful fucking hungover Russian waste of space. I hate you.

Kuny: u love me. Bring more blanket for room we can make fort and see Disney. I like little green eye

Nado: ordered some French fries and shakes now. In season. So naughty. Also We’re not watching monsters inc again. You’ve got a weird obsession with that film. Moana or the Scottish one.

Kuny: rude. Ok. Just bring food and blanket.

——

“You’re such an ungrateful roomie, scoot over you big lump. You’re hogging my blanket”

“No am not. U love me - DONT TOUCH MY CURLY FRIES”

“Funny you can speak English when people are stealing your food. Stop yelling. I don’t love you. I tolerate you”

“Shut up. Funny chicken, look like peanut When he drink”

“I’m telling him you said that”

——

Did they build a massive blanket fort in their epic cinema/game room? You bet. Does drunk Leo look like the chicken from Moana? I think he does.

[five-rivers]

Obstacles

Based on a prompt by @kinglazrus! A Phic Phight Phic! (Yes, I know I already did this prompt.  I had two ideas.)

.

Before Danny even opened his eyes, he knew he was about to have a bad day. This was primarily because he wasn't in his nice, comfortable bed, which was where he last remembered being. No. Right now he was propped up against a cold, hard wall.

He was also gagged, with something extensive that went all the way into his nose and throat and rested uncomfortably against his vocal cords. Not that it was resting comfortably against any other part of his face or mouth. His jaw had been forced all the way open and everything aches.

This lead to a number of conclusions: One, he had, yet again, been kidnapped, and, two, his current kidnappers are probably aware of his ghost powers. Otherwise, they wouldn't see the need for such an elaborate gag.

Danny believed he was also tied up or chained, but, due to sensory fatigue and his general disinclination to open his eyes or otherwise move, he hadn't checked yet.

He really hated being kidnapped. He was also sleep deprived. His kidnappers could wait.

(Or were those the drugs talking? He had to assume he was drugged, to get him here.)

"Hey!" hissed a sharp, male voice. "Hey, kid!"

Apparently, his kidnappers didn't agree. Ugh. On top of everything, he had to get rude kidnappers. Couldn't he get polite kidnappers for once? The kind that would treat him like an honored guest, except for letting him leave? Or who at least would let him have a bed? He'd still hate it, of course, but he'd be more comfortable while plotting his escape.

"Kid!" said the voice, more urgently.

Jeez. Couldn't they wait? Danny wasn't going anywhere. That they knew about, anyway. Since, obviously, he wasn't going to stay here. For long. Hopefully.

Something jangled and the voice grunted. Internally, Danny rolled his eyes. What were they even doing? Worst kidnapping ever. Zero out of five stars. Would not repeat.

Must be a new kidnapper, then. Didn't know the ropes. He giggled internally. It was better when kidnappers didn't know the ropes. That meant they were easier to untie.

Actually, wait. That jangle... That sounded disturbingly like someone else in chains.

Great. So he had a kidnapping buddy. A kidnapee buddy? Whatever. A fellow victim. Yay. Joy. Someone Danny would have to rescue without revealing his secret. At least, the voice sounded human.

The guy had probably never been kidnapped before. Most humans hadn't been. Danny didn't know about ghosts. Ghosts got up to some weird stuff in ghost land.

Ghost land. Wow. These guys had really laid on the drugs, huh?

If he were alone, Danny would would have pretended to sleep until the drugs completely wore off and he could think clearly and move properly. But he wasn't alone. He needed to know what and who he was working with.

He forced his eyes open, despite how heavy and sticky they felt. What he could see, that is, nothing, didn't change. He blinked, several times, then shook his head. This revealed that, in addition to the gag, he had been blindfolded. Also, he had been right about being chained up. There was a collar around his neck. He reached up, but the chains shackled to his wrists weren't long enough for him to reach.

Well, Danny officially hated this.

"Hey, hey, kid, don't panic, don't panic. Breathe in, breathe out, okay?"

Danny rolled his eyes. He wasn't panicking.

"If you can understand me, uh, nod, or something."

Not the best way of communicating, but, whatever. He didn't have a lot of options. He nodded.

"Good, good. So, uh, you're probably wondering what's going on."

Danny nodded, and tried to point at his face.

"Well, they've got sort of a mask over your whole face, kind of like that one movie, you know, with the French king? Except yours has a hole where your mouth is, and I guess you can feel that, because it looks like it's going in to your mouth. Yeah. And no eye holes. And from my side of the room, it looks like it's locked on, from behind."

The man stopped. If Danny had use of his vocal cords, he would have groaned. While he had wanted to know what was on his face, that wasn't all he wanted to know, and, honestly, that should have been immediately obvious.

This guy wasn't very good at being kidnapped.

Danny rotated his hand in a gesture he hoped would be interpreted as 'continue.' His wrist chafed on the inside of the cuff.

"Anyway, the people who have us... They aren't people. Are you from Amity Park?"

Danny nodded. He already knew where this was going.

"Thank god. I was worried you'd think I was crazy. We've been kidnapped by ghosts. Don't worry, though! I'm a GIW agent! We're trained to fight ghosts!"

The guy, the actual Guy, the agent, kept going on about how he'd rescue them, or how the GIW would come and get them and fight off all the evil, kidnapping ghosts, but Danny was too busy trying to keep his heart rate under control to pay attention.

Danny could handle being kidnapped. He had done it before. But escaping with a GIW agent? Without blowing his secret? That was a different story, and he suspected it was one his kidnappers were fully aware of.

His jaw clenched painfully hard around the gag, but he couldn't relax his muscles. He was aware that he was shaking.

A single, presumably tied up, GIW could scare him this much when the prospect of being kidnapped by unknown ghosts hadn't fazed him at all. It was hilariously pathetic.

The GIW agent, judging by his continued reassurances as to the prowess of the GIW, hadn't noticed Danny's panic. Good. Great. Perfect. At least he was oblivious.

Danny felt the ghost coming, icy mist clouding his lungs, long before the agent saw anything. It was obvious when the agent did see something, because he stopped talking in the middle of a sentence about how 'the GIW are looking for us even now!'

Reassuring. Not.

Something creaked, high-pitched enough for him to hunch his shoulders around his sensitive ears. A door opening? A swirl of air seemed to confirm that.

He hated this so much. He didn't even have his go-to coping mechanism: sarcasm. Well, he had internal sarcasm, but that just wasn't the same.

It would also be a lot easier to figure out how to escape if he could see.

The ghost wasn't walking, didn't make any sound or move the air, but Danny could still track their silent presence moving around the room. Just a perk of being him. Well, that and his ghost sense.

The ghost began speaking, but not in English. "Do not be so afraid, little one," she said in a ghostly language that had always reminded Danny of spiders. Ghostly claws skimmed the soft skin beneath his chin, and he tilted his head up, reflexively, away from the touch. "I swear on my own grave and the Black River, we will do you no damage we cannot repair."

Reassuring. Not. Wow. This ghost and the GIW agent were much more similar than one might think on first... listen? Not sight. Well, probably sight, too, unless this ghost was a Walker lookalike, but Danny couldn't exactly confirm that right now.

"You may have deduced by now that the fool is here to prevent you from fighting your way free. We know you are clever." The claws poked him again, and he leaned away farther, pressing the top of his head into the wall.

"Hey!" said the agent. "Leave the kid alone! Pick on someone your own size!"

The ghost ignored him. "While we have no quarrel with you, we require your presence. At the end, we shall return you to your home, and, should you desire it, we shall return the fool as well." She was pushing against Danny's chin with the back of her claws, pushing his head as far back as it could go. The collar pushed sharply against the nape of his neck. He squirmed. "This, we promise."

Then she dumped something down his throat. At least, he really hoped it was something she 'dumped' as in, from a bottle, rather than, say, for example, drool, but Danny couldn't exactly tell, either way. All he knew was that something liquid had hit the back of his throat, and now he was choking and sputtering, trying not to inhale it. He didn't have much choice about swallowing it.

His throat and the back of his nose burned. He wheezed, gasping for breath that, strictly speaking, he didn't need, and tipped sideways. He caught on the collar's chain and nearly strangled himself, but the ghost had mercy and pulled him back upright.

"Cooperate," said the ghost, "this will all be over soon."

There was a tug on his collar from the other direction and a clank. Was there a chain on the front of the collar? He tried, weakly, to twitch away. The chain went taught.

This was not ideal.

"It's okay, it's okay, kid," said the agent. "The ghost- it's just chaining us together, that's all. I think."

Abruptly, the chains attaching Danny to the wall vanished. The chain on the front of the collar tugged him forward, and he almost toppled. Not 'just chaining them together,' then. Why did he have to be stuck with this guy? Why not someone actually useful? Like Mr. Lancer? Or Tucker's mom? Heck, he'd take Dash. At least Dash would have his back if he found out Danny was Phantom.

The chain tugged up, and Danny struggled to his feet which were, predictably, asleep. His knees felt weird. He was tugged forward, slowly, but insistently. It took a few seconds for Danny to register what was happening.

The ghost was using the chain as a leash, leading him, and presumably the agent, out of the room. His shoulder hit something warm and alive, and he almost fell, but a pair of human hands steadied him.

"Sorry, kid," muttered the agent. "I don't know what's going on. The ghost came in and talked in that gibberish before, but this is the first time I've been out since I woke up."

Danny focused on not falling, after that. He didn't want the agent to touch him again.

This was humiliating.

(Also, what had the ghost put down his throat? He'd been thinking 'drug,' but he didn't feel any different. Yet.)

The air grew warmer as they walked down hallways and navigated up stairs. Hisses and whispers of ghostly speech caught on Danny's ears, but the snippets he caught weren't enough to explain anything to him. The few he could interpret were about housekeeping and cleaning.

Then they passed through a doorway into a room where the air was hot, wet, and floral. A greenhouse? A solarium? A garden? A jungle? It didn't smell as earthy as Sam's greenhouse, the odor was... sharper, more chemical, but Danny knew Sam liked to keep her plants as natural as possible. It might not mean anything.

Beneath his feet, though, the floor was tile, smooth and glazed. That didn't strike him as something that would be used in a greenhouse, or even a garden. Definitely not a jungle. Although... ghosts were weird. They often blended natural and unnatural in ways humans wouldn't.

"You know what you must do," said the ghost.

"Yes, mistress," answered a chorus of ghostly voice, both male and female.

He was pulled forward one last time and suddenly there were hands on him. Many hands, tugging at his clothes.

"Hey!" said the agent. "What is this? What are you doing? I'm not going in there! I'm perfectly- I'm perfectly clean! No bath! Back off!"

There was a great tug on Danny's neck and he went sprawling. The ghosts hissed.

"Oh, hell, kid, I'm sorry, I- stop touching me!"

Danny reached up and grabbed a section of chain, giving himself a little slack. The ghosts converged on him again, and he froze, tensing for signs that he was about to get beaten up.

Instead, they started to cut away his clothes, which was bad in a completely different and terrifying way. The agent loudly protested similar treatment.

"For your bath," said one of the ghosts.

Oh, that made it so much better. Except it didn't. What the heck did these ghosts want him for that required a bath?

The bath was- Well, it was a bath. A bath where he couldn't see or close his mouth or nose. A bath where he had to let a bunch of people who had kidnapped him touch him. A bath where he was increasingly affected by whatever drug he had been given. He could feel parts of his mind going soft and docile, feel his ghost-child instinct to submit to adult ghosts unexpectedly kick into gear.

Worse, the bath attendants apparently thought he was funny, or cute, or something. They kept giggling. Danny wanted nothing to do with it.

Except... the drug apparently had yet to reach its full effect, and, gradually, Danny found that he did. He wanted them to be happy. He wanted them to like him.

At least, parts of him did. The rest was furious.

Eventually, he was toweled off and brought back to the GIW agent, whom he had all but forgotten.

"Damn, kid, whatever drug they gave you really did a number on you, huh?" he asked.

Danny couldn't exactly respond. They were led away, back inside the building, where it was dry, and they were dressed. At least, Danny was dressed, and in something that felt thin and gauzy. Then they were moved yet again.

At some point, Danny wasn't sure when, what with the gag and blindfold, the first ghost came back. Danny was starting to have trouble understanding words They all felt like they were underwater, and he was becoming very unsteady on his feet, even without being pulled along.

The ghost, the first ghost, was touching him, tracing over his bones, mumbling things. He tried to hold still. He really did.

Something new was dumped down his throat, and his legs abruptly decided that they weren't going to support his weight anymore. He dropped to the floor, taking the agent with him.

"Follow the lights," said the ghost. "Find the sun. There is a key in the crawlspace."

Then she left. She left him alone.

Alone with the agent. Which was bad bad bad bad bad.

The agent came closer, and Danny hissed, but he couldn't exactly fight back in his current state. Soon, the agent had him pinned, and he was doing something to the gag and blindfold, and it hurt every time the piece in his throat moved.

But then- it was gone. The agent had, somehow, managed to remove it. The blindfold followed shortly after. Danny spent several long seconds just breathing and blinking, adjusting to his newfound freedom and returned senses.

Being able to see grounded him in reality somewhat. He sat up, only vaguely listening to the agent. The room they were in was cavernous and dark, lit only by a dim chain of lights on the ground that incongruously reminded him of the floor lights at a movie theater. They lead into a tunnel at the far end of the room and out of sight.

Well, now he knew where he was. He groaned.

"Kid? Are you alright?"

"No," said Danny, hoarsely. He decided not to ask the agent's name, because then the agent would ask for his. He looked the agent up and down. "They gave you a knife?"

"Yeah," said the agent, frowning at the sleek metal thing.

The reflections made Danny's eyes hurt. This was a bad trip. He never wanted to take drugs, especially these drugs, ever again.

"You should get rid of it," said Danny, recalling some of the 'rules' this particular ghostly ritual had.

"It's our only weapon."

"Do you really trust something a ghost gave you?" Danny said, trying to inject disgust into his tone. It worked too well and almost gagged. "It's probably cursed. Why else would they give it to you?"

The agent, as expected, tossed the knife away like it had suddenly turned into a snake.

Danny swallowed hard, fighting back a wave of dizziness. He could feel his ghost half sparkling under his skin, and the impulse to do what the nice lady from before said beating with his heart. The darkness crawled with herringbone patterns, pointing on.

"Okay," said the agent. "Okay. So, we've got to get out of here, and I don't fancy taking the path they've lit up for us, so let's feel around, see if there's anything off to the sides." He stood up, dragging Danny with him.

"We've gotta follow the lights," said Danny. He swayed. "They're-" he coughed. "My parents research ghost legends, and I think I know what this is."

"Right, you're the Fenton kid, aren't you?"

Danny shrugged. Figures the guy would know.

"Well, what is it?"

"They want us to find the sun." Danny blinked hard as a memory of light blinded him. "A sun. Their sun. They want us, probably me, really, to find their sun. Because it's their new year. It goes to sleep. Beddy-bye." He yawned.

"Stay awake," said the agent.

Danny shook himself. "They want us to wake it up."

"And the bath is because...?"

"Ritual puri-purification," said Danny, stumbling over the word. "The drugs, too, I guess. We need to be clean, or we'll be burnt up and they'll send someone else." He rubbed his eyes. Speaking of ritual purity, would his status as a half ghost keep him from actually attaining that?

It didn't matter. The drugs in his system were driving him on. His bones were practically vibrating with them. He had to go. He had to follow the lights.

He stumbled forward and tugged on the chain. The agent obviously didn't want to come, but just as obviously there weren't all that many choices. He followed.

It was hard to follow the little lights. They hovered, intangible, just above the ground and made all of the shadows weird. Danny wished he could summon an ectolight, but his fingernails hurt and the agent was right behind him. Stalking him. Waiting for him to trip up.

They reached a wall studded with lights. "We have to go over," said Danny, craning back his head.

The agent grunted unhappily. "I'll boost you up, but don't go over the side or we'll both be strangled."

"Uhuh," said Danny. He didn't need to breathe.

It might have tempted him, at the top of the wall, to go over and get rid of the agent. He wasn't sure. It could have just been the drugs talking. It could have been the call of the void. He didn't know, and he felt so guilty that the weight of it bore him into a hunch and turned the agent's words into gibberish.

There were other obstacles, beyond the agent, beyond the wall. There was a glowing river full of skeletal fish. A field of mushrooms with purple-glowing gills. A monster that chased them until they passed through a door to small for it.

The lights led to a tiny hole, barely large enough for Danny to crawl through. A green-yellow light flickered in the depths.

The agent started to curse. "I can't fit in there," he finish, finally.

"I can," said Danny. "That's why they want children, I guess."

"This chain isn't long enough."

"There's a key in the tunnel," said Danny.

"How do you know?" the agent sounded suspicious.

"The ghost lady whispered it to me," said Danny. He didn't really want to see her again. He was fairly certain that the drug was still running strong in his system, and that he would be ludicrously pliant with whatever an adult ghost, any adult ghost, told him to do at the moment.

He didn't want to see their sun, either. They were probably a ghost in their own right. A powerful one.

But he did want that key.

"No," said the agent, shaking his head. "There has to be another way. This is a trap. Like the knife." He started backing away.

Danny dove for the tunnel.

He got about a quarter of the way down when the agent found the presence of mind to haul him back with the chain. Danny grabbed it with both hands and braced himself against the walls of the tunnel. He could see the glimmer of a key, less than an arm's reach away.

He pulled, reaching, trying to get it. Despite his best efforts, the collar dug painfully into his neck. The agent was shouting but he was under water again. Danny didn't care. He wanted that key.

He got it.

Finding the key hole was a whole other ordeal, but he got that, too, and then he was free. He shot down the tunnel, into-

Sunlight.

He froze. There was a giant, burning skeleton in the cave in front of him. Its bones were an incandescent white. It had curled into a ball. Sleeping.

This was the sun.

Danny could leave, now, though. He could phase through the floor, now that the collar was gone. He could go home and forget about the agent. Physically speaking.

Mentally? That was another story.

Besides, he was in the drugs grip again, and didn't he want to talk to the nice adult?

He shuffled closer to the sun skeleton. It felt hot, but not unbearably so. As he drew closer, he had to squeeze his eyes shut against the light. He reached out, and put his hand on one of the skeleton's bones.

The sun woke instantly.

.

The celebratory feast was one of the most bizarre events Danny had ever attended, and not just because he was high on ghost drugs. An unconscious GIW agent chained in the corner and a living 'sun' as the guest of honor had that effect, he supposed. Not to mention everyone's insistence on feeding him by hand.

At least he would be able to go home after this.

He hoped.

[iwillsithereandtrytocontribute]

No Happy Ending

Masterlist Ao3

Pairings: Implied Lyfrassir Edda/Marius Von Raum

Warnings: Major character death, Mechanisms-typical threatened violence, Coughing blood, Thoughts of suicide, 

Don’t worry, I don’t describe the death in a ton of detail, but be warned. 

This is my first fic for the Mechanisms fandom. I was listening to The Bifrost Incident again and thought "Hey I've seen a bunch of content where Lyf survives and meets/joins the Mechanisms. What if they didn't survive?" And because I had to deal with that thought (it's a Mechanisms album let's be real) now you get an hour's worth of straight stream of consciousness. Enjoy! :)

“Log of Lyfrassir Edda Inspector- oh that doesn’t matter anymore I suppose. Just Lyf then if anyone actually listens to these when I’m gone.” Lyf coughed wetly into their hand and stared somewhat disinterestedly at the blood that splattered across it. They took a moment to catch their breath. “This will be my final entry I imagine. None of the ship’s functions have worked correctly in weeks.

“First it was the-” they were cut off by a sudden blur in their vision. It took a moment for Lyf to realize they were still holding the recorder. “The navigation systems went down first, then one by one various systems shut down or broke. I am nearly out of food and water and the oxygen pumps stopped almost an hour ago.”

Lyf stared at their hands, shaking and covered in their own blood. “I know I was touched by the outer gods. Even I wasn’t fast enough to escape their grasp completely. But I know they will not save me. I wouldn’t want them to if they could. Perhaps in a moment of weakness I would fall to them as Odin did, but here in the cold of space I don’t even have the option. It’s for the best.”

They gazed at the sputtering lights around them, the broken gauges and stuck knobs. They had been tempted just to end it many times, but something always stopped them. If Lyf had been more foolish or perhaps just slightly less stern they might have called it hope. Hope that they could flee and survive. That they could take advantage of the gift Loki and Sigyn had given the Yggdrasil System with their lives. But they were austere as ever and chalked up their perseverance to nothing but fear of dying.

And Lyf was afraid to die. Even here, even now, as they felt the end approaching as they had for weeks now. They were afraid. They realized the log was still running. They might as well spend their last hours leaving something to be remembered by.

“The recordings of my findings and the events of the Bifrost incident are all here. You may even have listened to them if you’re listening to this. I sincerely doubt there will be anything left of my home system, not after what Odin released there. They might even leave there one day, consume the rest of everything. It doesn’t matter. I’ll be long dead.” Lyf laughed. A short bitter laugh that turned into another wracking cough.

“I didn’t have much on Asgard to be perfectly honest. No family to speak of, few friends. The one constant I had were those blasted Mechanisms. I suppose they’re the reason I lasted long enough to make it all the way out here instead of being trapped in that psychedelic hellscape. They’re the reason I asked for a transfer from the prison to transport police. The amount of violins I confiscated from Marius,” Lyf said as an afterthought.

“They always disappeared not long after I left them. I guess Von Raum and the others could always have escaped. They must have wanted another story .” Lyf put more malice in their voice than they felt. It was hard to feel real anger towards the Mechanisms, other than maybe Jonny. He was a piece of work, Lyf thought with a grimace. Jonny had taken the longest to capture and the most work to contain and recapture. Everyone knew- had known someone who’d been killed or injured by Jonny d’Ville. Lyf couldn’t say they had any love for the man.

Ivy, they could respect. She was incredibly logical in a way they found endearing. Raphaella la Cognizi scared them. True, Lyf had a ton of respect for her, but she was the closest thing they had ever known to a mad scientist before Odin. Brian was nice, as was Marius when he wasn’t being an idiot. Lyf had only called him Von Raum to annoy him, so Marius had responded in kind. A smile tugged at the edges of Lyf’s lips even as they struggled with each breath they took. Ashes and Tim scared him the normal way. The “We will destroy everyone and everything you love with a smile if you wrong us” way. Stay on their good side, and they’re nice enough. And the Toy Soldier… Lyf didn’t like thinking about the Toy Soldier. It unsettled them.

Lyf wasn’t sure how much of that they’d said aloud, if they had said any of it. Oxygen deprivation was really getting to them. They gave a tired smirk at the monitor above them as if any of the cameras still worked. “If the Mechanisms ever get ahold of these my message to you is; fuck you ,” they said with feeling, before doubling over in another coughing fit.

“I don’t have much-any time left,” Lyf rasped. “I-I Lyfrassir Edda signing off for what is likely the last time.”

They clicked off the recorder and set it down on the table by the chair they were sitting in, next to a small pile of similar recorders. Lyf took the deepest breath their air-deprived lungs would allow and closed their eyes.

In the greatest mercy the universe would ever bestow upon Lyfrassir Edda, it allowed them to die in their sleep. One might even have been able to call it peaceful.

Drumbot Brian stood on the bridge trying to puzzle out where that beeping was coming from. Nastya had added a lot of systems to Aurora before she left and well… Brian hadn’t had nearly long enough to learn them all. Finally he managed to find it. Ah a radar… thingy. He wasn’t really a pilot. Why was he the pilot? He would be much better as the doctor seeing as resurrection was his thing. Brian made a note to bring it up with Jonny or maybe Ashes seeing as they were the quartermaster (not that they ever did any quartermaster-like duties). The increase in beeping brought Brian out of his thoughts. That looked like a ship. Floating in the middle of nowhere?

Brian shrugged and left to go find Jonny. He always threw a fuss if he wasn’t the first one notified of anything and Jonny throwing a fuss generally led to him quite literally shooting the messenger. Brian didn’t much feel like dying today.

He found Jonny in the library, which was strange. He typically avoided books like a plague and Ivy hated having Jonny in there. Jonny gestured Brian over as soon as he saw him.

“Come on. Come on ,” Jonny whispered furiously as Brian took his time walking to him.

“Who are you hiding from this time?” Brian asked loudly. Jonny glared daggers at him. Ah well, he was starting to think antagonizing Jonny today would be worth getting shot.  

“Ashes. I might have stolen their favorite hat.”

“So you’re hiding in the library.”

Jonny gave Brian a knowing look. A look that made Brian wish he had the eyebrows to express his disdain, because that look said that Jonny thought he was doing something really clever. 8 times out of 10 he was wrong and the other 2 times ended up with someone dying. “Exactly. Ashes is banned from the library, too much flammable materials or something or other.”

“That’s why you’re banned from the library too.”

“Exactly why it’s the best hiding spot.” Jonny peeked around the corner at the sound of footsteps outside, hand over the gun at his side. He caught a glimpse of Raphaella’s wings as she passed the open doorway.

In the split second Jonny was turned away, and therefore less distracting, Brain remembered he had for once actually been looking for Jonny. And that it might be somewhat urgent. Oops.

“Uh Jonny?”

“Uh-huh. What?” Jonny wasn’t paying attention to him.

“There’s a transport ship outside.”

That got Jonny’s attention. “Any idea who?” he asked with a grin that meant he was in the mood to shoot someone. Brian shrugged inwardly, as long as that person wasn’t him.

“No clue. Looks familiar, but I can’t place it.”

“Lovely.” Fight with Ashes forgotten, Jonny strode out of the library whistling Tales to Be Told and Brian walking just behind him.

They arrived at the bridge to find the ship had drifted even closer, or maybe the Aurora had gotten closer, it was hard to tell. Jonny studied it for a long time before snapping his fingers a couple times as he tried to remember where he remembered it from.

“That’s from As-as something.”

“Asgard?” Brian asked. Jonny nodded.

“That’s the one.” He put his foot up on Brian’s chair and rested his elbow on his knee. “Wonder what it’s doing he- Hey Brian, when are we in relation to the whole Yggdrasil system collapse thing. The Bifrost Incident? We were going to make a new album out of that story right?”

Brian checked one of the monitors, halfway surprised that Johnny remembered the Yggdrasil System. Although, to be fair, they’d been there for almost a century and even he couldn’t be drunk the entire time (events 300 or so years in the future ago were outliers and so could not be counted).

“We’re a couple months after. Why? You think someone escaped the train?”

Jonny shrugged. “No idea, but we might as well get the rest of the crew up here.” He turned and pressed a couple buttons until he found the comms. “Crew of the Aurora,” he exclaimed with his usual gusto, “this is your Captain speaking.”

“FIRST MATE!” They heard Tim scream at the top of his lungs from the armory. The armory wasn’t too far from the bridge and damn could Tim scream.

“ Captain. We’ve found something rather interesting, a transport vessel from the Yggdrasil System. If anyone would like to come with us to take a look get up to the bridge. You have five minutes.” Jonny poked a couple more buttons until it seemed like the comms had shut off.

It wasn’t long before they were joined by Tim, Marius, Ashes, and the Toy Soldier.

“We didn’t invite you,” Jonny sneered at the Toy Soldier.

“I’m just happy to be included!” the Toy Soldier said happily, oblivious as ever. Johnny rolled his eyes.

“Right. Can we dock it or something?” Ashes asked, leaning on the door-frame with their hands in the pockets.

“Aurora?” Brian asked tentatively. The Aurora was unreliable at the best of times and now that the only person she would always listen to was gone, she was testier than she’d ever been. Still, they heard the satisfying clunk and hiss of the airlocks attaching and sealing. The doors slid open to reveal a small ship.

Close as they were, it was clearly Asgardian design, all sleek edges and intricate grooves. For a transport vessel, it was decent quality although obviously not built for the kind of travel it had been doing. Jonny stepped in first. Well… his gun went in first while the rest of him followed. The Toy Soldier trotted in behind him and the rest followed in a sort of amorphous blob.

There was just enough space for the 6 of them to fit in the largest of the two rooms. Everywhere they looked was broken equipment, a frankly impressive array of destruction for this thing to have gotten as far as it had when it wasn’t built for out-of-system travel.

“There’s no way anyone from that system could have survived this much system failure,” Brian whispered as if the likely dead person in the other room could hear them.

“They could have been, what was it? ‘Touched by the outer gods?’” Jonny asked.

“Who came up with that line?” Ashes snorted.

“Me,” Marius said distractedly as he moved towards the table by the door. There was a small mound of recorders on it. He pressed play on one of them. The sudden sound made everyone jump. Then they heard it.

“Log of Inspector Second Class Lyfrassir Edda New Midgard Transport Police. I was able to barter for a transport ship. I’ve spent most of my savings on this, food, water, and fuel. I have some left over that will hopefully last me until I can find work in another system. Already things have begun going wrong. I brought my recordings of the Bifrost incident with me, I don’t think anyone will believe if I didn’t, and attached to the last one are some messages we’ve been receiving on various frequencies from everywhere in the system.

I didn’t tell anyone I was leaving. I just left a copy of the recordings and got out of there as quickly as possible. I think I escaped the worst of it, though the nightmares I’ve been having are certainly nothing of this world.

If I don’t stop, I might survive this. I might survive this.

Log ends.”

The Mechs stared at each other for a moment before Marius shoved his way forward and thrust open the door. In the pilot’s seat sat Lyf, their eyes closed, blood spattered about the small room. Their uniform was long past wrinkled and blood-stained. Their dark skin was the palest Marius had ever seen from them.

Marius had seen war. He had been through horrors, and committed such atrocities in kind. He had thought that his many centuries of mechanization would have made him desensitized to death by now, and it had. But it was so much easier to come to terms with Lyf’s death when they weren’t laying in front of him, covered in their own blood. This touched him deeply, in a way he couldn’t remember feeling before.

He didn’t remember walking to the medical bay, but he must have because here he was. Lyf lay on the table that they usually put their dead crewmates on to wait for the resurrection process, but there would be no resurrection process.

Raphaella had come in sometime during the time Marius had been in there and given her verdict. Lyf could not be mechanized. They had been dead too long and even if they hadn’t been, the touch of the outer gods would not have allowed for mechanization.

And Marius was alone again.

Alone with a corpse that would never walk again. That would never tell him, and Marius smiled slightly at the memory, to shut the fuck up and put the goddamn violin away, again. Lyfrassir Edda was gone. For good.

They listened to the tapes. All of them. All of the Mechanisms had known Lyf and most of them had even liked them. Besides, they weren’t entirely cruel and oblivious. They knew this was something Marius needed. Not to mention it helped with the whole album-writing part of their gig.

Marius listened to those tapes. He listened to them over and over again until he had them memorized. Well, except for the final recording. It hurt too much to listen to it more than once.

Marius always had the one of them that approached immortality with the most skepticism of the Mechanisms. How disappointing that he had been right.

Let me know what you think! If you like to be tagged in other works in this fandom (or others) or have any questions my inbox is open. Stay safe! :)

[littleplebe]

I wish you'd write something with the phrase "I'd do anything for you. You want the moon? I'll give you the moon." -Starcy. Please and thank you.

This ficlet is so basic, it makes me cringe. But I also really like it. If after reading it, you ask yourself why I like it, know that I’m not as clever as I pretend to be. Also, I’m sleep deprived.

————

Darcy found Steve having breakfast in the kitchen, his nose buried in a newspaper. She rolled her eyes at the sight. He was wearing those blasted spectacles again. The ones she hated so much. They aged him five years and made him look like frikking Dumbledore whenever he peered at her over the stupid gold rim.

“I told you not to wear these,” she griped, snatching the glasses from his face before he could stop her.

“Hey,” he cried, setting the paper down and reaching for Darcy. “Give them back. They’re my reading glasses.”

Darcy danced out of his reach and tucked the glasses in the cleavage of her blouse. “You don’t need glasses, Steve,” she told him for the hundredth time that month. “You have 20/20 vision!”

“I’m getting old.”

“You’re a super soldier!” Darcy exclaimed, exasperated. “You haven’t aged in ten years!” Steve opened his mouth to argue but she pointed a finger at him. “And don’t say you’re going through midlife crisis. You’re barely 40.”

“I’m 39,” Steve sniffed mulishly. “It’s almost like being 40.”

Darcy sighed. It was like banging her head against a brick wall. When she had met Steve a decade ago, his persistence over certain ideas and his stubborn righteousness were what had attracted her to him. She had wanted to be his friend and had hounded him about it for weeks until he had relented and invited her over for dinner with him and his girlfriend Sharon Carter.

“Hi, I’m up for the position of Steve’s best friend,” Darcy had cheerfully introduced herself to Sharon, who had raised a single unimpressed brow andreplied, “Good luck with that.”

Darcy hadn’t really known Steve back then, so she hadn’t understood what Sharon had meant.

Now she thought she was beginning to understand why they broke up. Who would want to be with a stuffy old grandpa who wore reading glasses despite having perfect vision?

While she was lamenting about how childish and infuriating her best friend could sometimes be, Steve leaned forward and swiftly reclaimed his old-man-spectacles, miraculously without brushing against her breasts. He set them daintily on the little bump on his nose and looked at her over the rim, a small smile ticking up the corners of his mouth.

Darcy glared at him. Damn him, he still looked just as hot!

She opened her mouth to reprimand him, but then decided to seduce him into doing her bidding instead. “So, I was thinking,” she began casually, “we’re buds, right?”

Steve looked cautious, as if he knew what was coming wouldn’t be particularly…inspired.

“Yes?” he agreed, phrasing it more like a question.

“And we’ve known each other for ten years,” Darcy continued, smiling widely.

“Uh-huh.”

“So, I was thinking… since we’re so good together, we should, you know… get together.” She was pretty proud of herself for saying that and then winking at him suggestively.

But Steve was not impressed. “Are you flirting with me?”

“Maybe,” she hedged, “why?”

“Don’t. You suck.” What a gentleman.

“Shut up! Do you want to be my boyfriend or not?”

“Not,” Steve replied without missing a beat, going back to his newspaper.

“Why not?” Darcy complained, a scowl beginning to furrow her brows. “It’ll be fun. You’re hot, I’m hot, it’s like we’re meant to be together.”

“Wow,” deadpanned Steve, calmly turning a page. “That’s a great reason to date. You’ve convinced me.”

Darcy huffed and went to stand beside him, slapping a hand on the article he was reading and forcing him to look at her. “Why not?” she repeated.

Steve shrugged. “You’re too bossy.”

“Well, you’re annoying!” she fired back immediately, making him grin.

“And yet,” he teased. “You’re warm for my form.”

Darcy wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Who taught you to say that?”

Steve smirked and tapped his nose, letting out a low ‘hey!’ when Darcy grabbed his shoulders and turned him to face her. His hands automatically fell to her waist and he narrowed his eyes.

“Say I consider this… what’s in it for me?”

In that moment, the incredulous look on Darcy’s face could have honestly rivaled Captain America’s trade mark disappointed-in-you expression. “You’d get to make out with an insanely hot woman every single day,” she snapped. “Is that not enough of an incentive?”

“Who?” Steve sassed, earning himself a smack on the arm. “Oh, we’re talking about you. Right.”

“You’re such an ass.”

“And you have toothpaste on your cheek.”

Quickly swiping a hand over her face, Darcy continued, undeterred, “How about if I go with you to those stupid celebrity parties and galas you get invited to on a regular basis?”

Steve raised a brow. “You’d do that?”

Darcy nodded.

“But you hate those parties.”

“I’d do anything for you, my love,” she quipped with just the right amount of cheese. “You want the moon? I’ll get you the frikking moon!”

Steve laughed and tugged her closer, deliberately sliding his hands down her hips, as he said, “Okay, I’m in. What are the rules?”

“You have to take care of me when I’m sick.”

“I already do care for you when you’re sick.”

“And you have to promise me hot sex every day.”

He pretended to think about it. “What about when I’m away fighting bad guys?”

“Then,” Darcy whispered throatily, “you’ll have to return at night to sex me up before going back to said bad guys.” She curled her arms around his neck and leaned unabashedly against his broad chest, tempting him with an impish smile as her lips ghosted over his. “Do we have a deal?”

“Hell, yeah!” Steve breathed, pulling her in a steamy kiss.

Darcy sighed happily, slanting her mouth over his and trying not to melt onto the kitchen floor from his touch and the delicious heat that was swirling low in her belly. She successfully plucked his old-man-spectacles from his nose while he was busy sucking her tongue and tossed them over her shoulder, uncaring if they broke.

Just as she was wondering if they could get away with a quickie in a very public area, a loud “Ewww” echoed through the kitchen, forcing the couple apart.

Two girls stood in the doorway, one teenager and other no older than six. They were clad in their sleep clothes and wore identical frowns on their faces, directed straight at the two adults wrapped around each other.

“Why do we have to see this so early in the morning?” Cassie Lang groaned, rubbing her eyes as if to get the image of Steve and Darcy kissing out of her head.

The little girl standing beside her simply threw them an unimpressed look,appearing for all the world like she was unaffected by the sight before her.

Steve looked a mixture of amused and guilty, but Darcy didn’t let go of him even for the sake of the newly arrived, probably very scarred, children. “Step aside, girls,” she announced dramatically, “Darcy Lewis has scored a hot new boyfriend today and she will now proceed to lock him in her room and ravish him until further notice.”

Then she pulled a sputtering Steve from his seat and practically dragged him out of the door, Cassie having to jump aside to avoid smashing shoulders with them. Steve managed to throw both girls a token look of apology before disappearing around the corner, but Cassie sighed and shook her head, torn between  disbelief and fondness for those two idiots she’d known for so long.

She looked down at the six-year-old blonde in pigtails and mumbled, “Your parents are so weird.”

“Tell me about it,” Sophie Rogers said, hiding a smile as she skipped into the kitchen, carefully sidestepping the broken glass on the floor. “Clean that up, please. And make me breakfast.”

Cassie huffed. “This is the last time I babysit you.”

So, I know my prompts have piled up. A couple of them are from as far back as two years! But I’m slowly going through them one by one, taking one at a time and finishing it. Next up, @bloomsoftly’s “It was one small note that started it all.” More than half of it is written. I’m hoping to finish it and post by the end of February.

Tell me what you wish me to write. I just might write it.

[ryanmeft]

Ryan’s Favorite Films of 2019

A stuttering detective,

A top hat-wearing vamp

A forced-perspective war,

A bit of Blaxploitation camp

Prisoners on a space ship

Having sex with bears

A writer goes remembering

Whenever his pain flares

  A prancing, dancing Hitler

A gambler high on strife

Here will go cavorting with

A mom who becomes a wife

A family plot with many threads

Three men against their own

A stuntman and his actor

A mobster now quite alone

Doubles under the earth

Two men in a tall house

Are here to watch a woman who

Is battling with her spouse

A family’s plans for their strong son

Go awry one night

A man rejects his country

Which is spoiling for a fight

 A house built by his grandpa

(Maybe; we’re not sure)

Looks out upon three prisoners

Whose passions are a lure

  All these are on my list this year

It’s longer than before

Because picking only ten this time

Was too great of a chore

  What are limits anyway?

They’re just things we invented

I don’t really find them useful

So, this year, I’ve dissented

  You may have noticed this time out

That numbers, I did grant

Promise they’ll stay in this order, though?

Now that, I just can’t

  I’m always changing my mind

Because, after all, you see

Good film is about the heart

And mine’s rather finicky

  There are a lot more I could name

(And I’ll change my mind at any time)

For now, though, consider these

The ones I found sublime

 20. Motherless Brooklyn

I’ve got a (hard-boiled) soft spot for 90’s neo-noirs like L.A. Confidential, Red Rock West and Seven, and Edward Norton’s ‘50’s take on Jonathan Lethem’s 90’s -set novel can stand firmly in that company.

19. Doctor Sleep

There’s something about Stephen King’s best writing that transcends mere popularity; his work may not be fine literature, but it is immune to the fads of the moment. So, too, are the best movies based on that work. This one, an engaging adventure-horror, deserved better than it got from audiences.

18. Jojo Rabbit

There was a time when the anything-goes satire of Mel Brooks could produce a major box office hit.  Disney’s prudish refusal to market the film coupled with the dominance of franchises means that’s no longer the case. If you bothered to give Jojo a shot, though, you got the strange-but-rewarding experience of guffawing one moment and being horrified the next.

17. By The Grace of God

I’d venture this is the least-seen film on my list; even among us brie-eating, wine-sniffing art house snobs, I rarely hear it mentioned. Focusing on the perspectives of three men dealing with a particularly heinous and unrepentant abusive priest and the hierarchy that protects him, it’s every bit as disquieting and infuriating as 2015’s Oscar-winning Spotlight.

16. Waves

You think Trey Edward Shultz’s Waves will be one thing---a domestic drama about an affluent African-American family (and that in and of itself is a rarity). Then it becomes something else entirely. It addresses something movies often avoid: that as life goes on, the person telling the story will always change.

15. Transit

You’re better off not questioning exactly where and when the film is set (it is based on a book about Nazi Germany but has been changed to be a more generalized Fascist state). The central theme here is identity, as three people change theirs back and forth based on need and desire.

14. American Woman

Movies about regular, working class, small-town American usually focus on men. This one is about a much-too-young mother and grandmother, played brilliantly by Sierra Miller, dealing with unexpected loss and the attendant responsibilities she isn’t ready for. 

13. Marriage Story

There is an argument between a married couple in here that is as true a human moment as ever was on screen---free of trumped-up screenplay drama and accurate to how angry people really argue. The entire movie strives to be about the kind of realistic divorce you don’t see on-screen. It is oddly refreshing.

12. Once Upon a Time in Hollywood

Quentin Tarantino’s love letter to 70’s Tinseltown is essentially a question: What if the murder that changed the industry forever had gone down differently? Along the way, it also manages to be a clever and insightful study of fame and fulfillment, or lack thereof.

11. High Life

Claire Denis is damned determined not to be boring. Your reaction to her latest film will probably depend on how receptive you are to that as the driving force of a film. Myself, I’m very receptive. I want to see the personal struggles of convicts unwittingly shipped into space, told without Action-Adventure tropes, in a movie that sometimes misfires but is never dull.

 10. Dolemite Is My Name

And fuckin’ up motherfuckers is my game! Look, if you don’t like naughty words, you probably shouldn’t be reading my columns---and you definitely shouldn’t be watching this movie. Eddie Murphy plays Rudy Ray Moore, the ambitious, irrepressible and endlessly optimistic creator of Blaxpoitation character Dolemite. Have you seen the 1975 film? It’s either terrible and wonderful, or wonderful and terrible, and the jury’s still out. Either way, Moore in the film is a self-made comic who establishes himself by talking in a unique rhyming style that speaks to black Americans at a time when black pop culture (and not just the white rendition of it) was finally beginning to pierce the American consciousness. What The Disaster Artist did for The Room, this movie does for Dolemite---with the difference being I felt like I learned something I didn’t know here.

 9. 1917

Breathless, nerve-wracking and somehow intensely personal even though it almost never takes time to slow down, it is fair to call Sam Mendes’s film a thrill ride---but it’s one that enlightens us on a fading historical time, rather than simply being empty calories. Filmed in such a way as to make it seem like one continuous, two-hour take, for which some critics dismissed it as a gimmick, the technique is used to lock us in with the soldiers whose mission it is to save an entire division from disaster. We are given no information or perspective that the two central soldiers---merely two, in a countless multitude---do not have, and so we are with them at every moment, deprived of the relief of omniscience. I freely admit I tend to give anything about World War I the benefit of the doubt, but there’s no doubt that the movie earns my trust.

8. Ash Is Purest White

Known by the much less cool-sounding name Sons and Daughters of Jianghu in China, here is a story that starts off ostensibly about crime---a young woman and her boyfriend are powerful in the small-potatoes mob scene of a dying industrial town---but after the surprising first act becomes a meditation on life, perseverance and exactly how much power is worth, anyway, when it is so fleeting and so easily lost. What do you do when everything that defined you is gone? You go on living. This is my first exposure to writer-director Jia Zhangke, an oversight I must strive hard to correct in future.

7. Knives Out

The whodunit is a lost art, a standard genre belonging to a time when mass audiences could appreciate a picture even if someone didn’t run, yell or explode while running and yelling every ten minutes. Rian Johnson and an all-star cast rescued it from the brink of cinematic extinction and gave it just enough of a modern injection to keep it relevant. Every second of the film is engaging; Johnson even manages to have a character whose central trait is throwing up when asked to lie, and he makes it seem sympathetic rather than juvenile. The fantastic cast of characters is backed up with all the qualities of “true” cinema: perfect camerawork, an effective score, mesmerizing production design. As someone who didn’t much care for Johnson’s Star Wars outing, I’m honestly put out this didn’t do better at the box office than it did.

6. A Hidden Life

After a few questionable efforts and completely losing the thread with the execrable vanity project Song to Song, Terence Malick returns to his bread and butter: meditative dramas on the nature of faith, family, and being on the outside looking in, which encompass a healthy dose of nature, philosophy and people talking without moving their lips. That last is a little dig, but it’s true: Malick does Malick, and if you don’t like his thing, this true story about a German dissenter in World War II will not change your mind. For me, what Malick has done is that rarest of things: he had made a movie about faith, and about a character who is faithful, without proselytizing. That the closeness and repressiveness of the Nazi regime is characterized against Malick’s typical soaring backdrops is a masterstroke, and the best-ever use of his visual style.

5. The Lighthouse

Robert Eggers is a different kind of horror filmmaker. After redefining what was possible with traditional horror monsters in The Witch, he returned with something that couldn’t be more different: an exploration of madness more in the vein of European film than American. Robert Pattinson and Willem Dafoe are two men stranded in a lighthouse together slowly losing their minds, or what is left of them. The haunting score and stark, black-and-white photography evoke a nightmare caught on tape, something we’re not supposed to be seeing. It’s not satisfying in a traditional way, but for those craving something more cerebral from horror, Eggers has it covered.

4. Us

I have become slightly notorious in my own little circle for not thinking Get Out was the greatest film ever made, and now I’ve become rather known for thinking Us just might be. Ok, so that’s definite hyperbole: “greatest” is a tall claim for almost any horror movie. Yet here Jordan Peele shows that he can command an audience’s attention even when not benefiting from a popular cultural zeitgeist in terms of subject matter. It’s a movie with no easy or clear message, one that specializes in simply unsettling us with the idea that the world is fundamentally Not Right. I firmly believe that if Peele becomes a force in the genre, 50 years from now when he and all of us are gone, his first film will be remembered as a competent start, while this will be remembered as the beginning of his greatness.

3. The Last Black Man in San Francisco

Ostensibly about urban gentrification, this story of a young black man trying to save his ancestral home from the grasping reach of white encroachment is a flower with many petals to reveal. Don’t let my political-sounding description turn you off: the movie is not a polemic in the slightest, but rather a wry, sensitive look at people, their personalities and how those personalities are intertwined with the places they call home. Though the movie is the directorial debut of Joe Talbot, it is based loosely on the memories and feelings of his friend Jimmie Falls, who also plays one of the two central characters. If you’ve ever watched a place you love fall to the ravages of time and change, this movie may strike quite a chord with you.

2. Uncut Gems

When asked why this movie is great, I usually say that it was unbelievably stressful and caused me great anxiety. This description is not usually successful in selling it. The Safdie Brothers have essentially filmed chaos: a man self-destructing in slow-motion, if you can call it slow. Howard Ratner has probably been gradually exploding all his life; he strikes you as someone who came out of the womb throwing punches. He’s an addictive gambler who loves the risk much more than the reward, and can’t gain anything good in life without risking it on a proverbial roll of the dice. His behavior is destructive. His attitude is toxic. Why do we root for him? Perhaps because, as played by Adam Sandler, he never has any doubt as to who he is---something few of us can say. He’s an asshole, but he’s a genuine asshole, and somehow that’s appealing even when you’re in his line of fire.

1. Pain and Glory

When I realized I would, for the first time, have the chance to see a Pedro Almodovar film on the screen, I was overjoyed. His movies aren’t always great, but that was of little concern: he’s one of the handful of directors on the planet who can fairly call back to the avant-garde traditions of Bergman or Truffaut, making the movies he wants to make about the things he want to make them about, and I’d never seen one of his films when it was new and fresh, only months or years later on DVD.

It seems I picked right, as his latest has been almost universally hailed as one of the best of his long career. An aging, aching filmmaker spends his days in his apartment, ignoring the fans of his original hit film and most of his own acquaintances, alive or dead---he tries hard to put his memories away. Throughout the course of the movie, he re-engages with most of them in one way or another, coming to terms with who he is and where he’s been, though not in a Hallmark-movie-of-the-week way. Antonio Banderas plays him in the role that was always denied him by his stud status in Hollywood. It isn’t simply him, though: every person we meet is engaging and, we sense, has their own story outside of how they intersect with his. Most engaging is that of his deceased mother, who in her youth was played vivaciously by a sun-toughened Penelope Cruz. Perhaps Almodovar will tell us some of their stories some day. Perhaps not. I would read an entire book of short fiction all about them. This is the year’s best film.

[flutteringphalanges]

Her

Summary: Four years after a car accident takes Chloe's life, Lucifer is left to raise their young daughter alone. One afternoon, he decides to pay Dr. Linda Martin a visit where he finally finds the strength to open up and reflect on life. *Major Character Death*

Relationship: Chloe/Lucifer

Rating: T 

Read on AO3 and FFN

Loosely based off this gif set

                                                        Her

Jane. That's the name they chose for her. Well, the name Chloe had picked out. He'd found it a little plain, somewhat unfitting for someone whose father was literally the king of the underworld himself. But it seemed right. Even though she was far more precious than any four letter word could describe. Perfect. Fragile. His daughter. Jane.

Everything was fine until the accident happened. Jane was only a few months old when Chloe, sleep deprived, went out one night in search of diapers. He'd forgotten to pick up a pack on the way home from Lux. They fought. Argued. It was such a trivial matter. When he got the call about the crash, everything around him seemed to shatter. The phone fell, cracking on the floor, and the baby cried from her crib. But he didn't seem to notice.

Lucifer hated funerals. Pitying the dead. Either they'd done well and would go to heaven, or slip into the fiery depths he once called home. No need to remember. But he stood there anyway, Jane bundled up tight, as he numbly nodded thanks to those who shared their condolences. He hated them. Hated himself. Jane cooed, but he didn't have the energy to look at her either.

Months went by. Years. The pain still ran deep within him, like raw cuts from animal claws, but he learned how to work around it. Jane had grown, now four years old. She was talking, smiling, playing like any normal child. But she looked like her. Her hair. Smile. Eyes. In her, he saw Chloe, and it burned. Lucifer fought it as best he could. For her. For Jane. For Chloe.

"Daddy?"

Lucifer eyes opened. Jane had crawled on top of his bed, peering down at him with a smile. He exhaled, sitting up. Most days, he tended to wake up on time. When he didn't, his daughter made sure that their day wasn't delayed.

"Morning," he yawned, offering a small smile. "I suppose you didn't make me a cup of coffee?"

She giggled at his joke and shook her head. "Nope," she exclaimed.

"Pity," he exclaimed, running his fingers through her messy bed hair. "Well, at least there is always breakfast. Cereal and cartoons? I do hope we haven't missed Tom and Jerry."

"Not yet," she assured him. "But we have to hurry! Come on, Daddy!"

Perhaps not the best breakfast of champions, but he didn't think Chloe would mind too much about giving their child a little extra sugar. She was a good girl, after all. Didn't cause any trouble-which came as quite a relief, seeing that she was his child.

After Chloe's death, Lucifer's involvement with the LAPD began to slip. At first he didn't realize it, but he'd begun to distance himself from anything that reminded him of Chloe. Of course he had to suffer through visits with Dan, Jane was Trixie's half sister after all. The older girl always put on a brave face. She was like her mother in that way. It was nice to know Jane had someone to look up to.

"Hurry alone, Jane, it's nearly time for preschool," Lucifer called out, peering down at his watch. An anniversary gift from Chloe. Something he didn't have the heart to part with. "Aunt Maze will be picking you up today. I have some matters to attend to at Lux."

Maze had been a constant companion after the accident. She had forced herself on him-and not in a sexual sense. When he was at his lowest, it had been her who'd figuratively kick him in the ass to sober up and be there for Jane. He was lucky to have her and she loved Jane, a feeling that was reciprocated. The demon had a knack when it came to Chloe's kids. He'd never understand it.

"Backpack?" He inquired, adjusting his jacket. "Lunch?"

"Uhuh!" Jane chimed in cheerfully, whipping around to show him the pink bag with a skull patch ironed on in the middle. An accessory done by Maze. "Ready!"

He hadn't a clue about kids. The idea made his stomach crawl. When Chloe announced she was pregnant, for the first time in his life, Lucifer Morningstar felt absolutely terrified. The pregnancy itself went well, the detective's occasional hormonal outbursts a rather unpleasant side effect. When she went into labor, the overwhelming pressure of it all almost brought the Devil to his knees. But the moment he held her, gazed down upon the tiny newborn, he'd never experienced such happiness, such fear in his life. From that moment forward, he swore to protect her. His little hellion. Jane.

"Let me out," the little girl protested, struggling against her car seat restraints. "I'm stuck!"

"Hang on, hang on," Lucifer exhaled, rolling his eyes. "What's the bloody rush for?"

"I wanna sit on the bean bag," she explained hastily, nearly falling out when Lucifer unclipped her. "Before Jaime Dunn does."

Jaime Dunn. Of course. Father a wealthy banker. Mother a trophy wife. Their son would surely grow up into a prick. Not someone he wanted his child around. But Chloe had picked this school. Even before Jane was born the detective insisted on preparing ahead. Who was he to deny her of her wish? He owed her plenty.

"Hug and kiss," he said, bending down to wrap his arms around Jane. "And perhaps, if you are so inclined, maybe slide a worm down Jaime's shirt?" Lucifer winked, his daughter's smile broadening. "But don't get caught."

"Be stealthy," she declared. "Like Aunt Maze!"

"Exactly," he smirked. "Clever girl."

"Bye, Daddy," Jane waved, heading towards the school's entrance. "I love you!"

"I love you too," his smile began to falter, eyes watching as the doors closed. "More than you know."

Dr. Linda Martin had tried from the moment she learned of Chloe's death to help Lucifer. Try to get through the thick, muddy waters that was his depression. He had been low, but after losing her, he'd sunken to the deepest parts of Hell. It was a dark place. His mind. And the thought of carrying on seemed so difficult. But then there was Jane. This tiny piece of his beloved he still clung onto. The only hope in an empty existence.

"It's good to see you, Lucifer," the doctor smiled as he took his regular seat on the couch. "It's been awhile."

"I suppose it has," he admitted.

"How's Jane?" She inquired, leaning forward. "Amenadiel was just talking about her the other day. Dan had shown him some pictures on his phone of Trixie and her playing?"

"So my brother has sunken to the level of finding companionship with Detective Douche," Lucifer scoffed. "Not a surprise."

"We miss you, you know," Linda said, her expression sympathetic. "We all do. Lucifer, it's been quite a long time. I know things are still hard…"

"Don't," he shook his head. "Don't start. All of you keep thinking that you know. You don't."

The therapist was silent for a moment. "How's your relationship with Jane?"

Lucifer's brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean? She's my child. I do fatherly things with her. With lack of experience and coming from the family that I did, I'm assuming things are rather bloody peachy."

On the offense. That's how he always got when the subject was broached. He didn't mean it usually. Even after four years it was still sensitive. Lucifer was doing his best. At least he tried to. What would Chloe think if she saw him now? Would her love still stand?

"Fine," he said quietly. "We eat breakfast together, watch cartoons. She likes to finger paint, gets the stuff bloody everywhere. I read to her each night, well, I try to. Jane likes the park, the swings. The other day she saw a toad. Even picked it up."

Linda nodded thoughtfully. "And how are you doing, Lucifer?"

He stiffened visible, fingers digging into his palms. Yet another subject he didn't wish to discuss. His feelings. Thoughts. He preferred to push everything back. Far into the depths of his mind. But they'd reappear in his dreams. Sometimes haunting him. Nightmares. He'd wake up in a cold sweat and look over half expecting Chloe to be there lying fast asleep by his side. She never was.

"Fine," he lied. "Actually, I think I need to go, I…"

"Lucifer," Linda's voice was firmer, making the man stop in his tracks. "How are you?"

"I see her," he mumbled.

"Who?" Linda asked softly. "Who do you see?"

"Chloe," he finally answered. "In Jane. Whenever I look at her, I see Chloe. Her eyes. Her face. Her hair. The way she smiles at me. Sometimes I can't even bear it, I have to force myself to look at her. My own child. It's like someone is squeezing my bloody heart."

"But you love her," Linda ventured.

"Of course I bloody do," he nearly snapped. "More than anything. She's all I have of Chloe. She's my daughter. I'd do anything for her." Lucifer sighed, fighting back tears. "But I don't deserve her. It should've been me that night, not Chloe."

"It wasn't your fault-"

"But it was," Lucifer countered, sucking in a sharp breath. "I forgot the diapers and we got into some silly, bloody argument and I let her go out. I didn't offer to do it. It should be Chloe raising Jane, not me."

"But you are raising her," the therapist said gently, reaching forward to rest a hand on Lucifer's knee. "And if Chloe was here, she'd be so proud."

"I miss her," he swallowed hard, eyes watering. "And the more I try to stop, the more I do. I just want the pain to go away." He paused, recollecting himself. "But I look at Jane and realize that I have to be here for her. It's what Chloe would want. I'd do anything for Chloe. For Jane."

"I know," Linda smiled. "Jane couldn't ask for a better father."

Sometimes he pulled late nights at Lux-either he had things to do, or needed to clear his mind. When he arrived home, greeting Maze who sat drinking a cocktail in the kitchen, he slipped his shoes off and entered Jane's room. Through the mess of stuffed animals, he could just make out a small, sleeping figure huddled under the covers. He smiled softly, quietly making his way over. Fast asleep, he gently moved back a lock of her hair.

"I'm sorry I got home so late," he whispered. "I'll make it up to you. Ice cream for breakfast." He chuckled softly at the thought of Chloe's reaction to that. "Goodnight," Lucifer murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I love you."

Forever and always.

[missmudpie]

Name Ten Films That Have, For Whatever Reason, Stuck With You

@millennialfangirl tagged me, and this was harder than I thought and I might have gone over the ten.  Also, tumblr is being tumblr and not cooperating with gifs, so only the first film has one.  Here they are, in chronological order:

Casablanca, 1942

Look, Casablanca is the best film ever made.  Is it my favorite?  No, but it’s the best, much better than Citizen Kane, which is often heralded as the pinnacle of cinema but is about a rich old white guy who loves his sled.

Here’s looking at you, kid.  Of all the Gin joints.  Round up the usual suspects!  I’m shocked - shocked!- to find that gambling is going on in here (Your winnings, sir.). This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.  As Time Goes By.  Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman and a supporting cast to die for.  Renault throwing away the bottle of Vichy water.

I could go on, but here’s why Casablanca has stuck with me: It’s one of my Dad’s favorite movies, too.  When I think of Casablanca, I think of him.  One Christmas (I can’t remember if I was in high school or college), the old timey theater in town played Casablanca.  I got us tickets as his Christmas present.  It is one of my favorite movie-going experiences (more on that below).

Star Wars, 1977

When I was little, we used to go to my maternal grandparents’ house every Tuesday, and I would watch Star Wars.  I was probably waaaaay too young - there’s audio of me playing out Star Wars with my My Little Ponies and I was like, three.  On my college essay, I wrote about how Return of the Jedi was my first movie (true story, I was six months old and slept through the whole thing, because apparently taking your sleeping infant to the movies is something parents did in the ‘80s).

Star Wars is where I learned about the Hero’s Journey.  About princesses and rebellions and wizards and flying spaceships.  I devoured the Timothy Zahn books and Young Jedi Knights series.  And yes, I’m a little down on it all after Episode IX - but I still love it.  It has impacted me in so many ways.  I know my life would be the poorer for not having seen it.

Raiders of the Lost Ark, 1981

If Princess Leia was the first damsel I saw who get herself out of distress, Marian Ravenwood was the one who solidified the idea that women were perfectly capable of getting into and out of trouble themselves, thank you very much.  Then there’s Harrison Ford in being Peak Harrison Ford as Indiana Jones - Intelligent, clever, brave-bordering-on-reckless.  Who wouldn’t want to go on far-flung adventures to find hidden treasure, and maybe punch some Nazis while you’re at it?

The Goonies, 1985

Speaking of far-flung adventures, how about going on one in your hometown?  Booby-traps, pirates, Italian gangsters, Sloth, hidden treasure - it’s every kid’s playtime fantasy come magically to life.  I still want to go down those tunnel slides and shoot out into a hidden lagoon.  They just don’t make movies like this any more - fun, family movies that don’t dumb down the action or characterization for kids, that’s a ride for both kids and parents alike.  This was the first movie I showed my kids during quarantine.

The Princess Bride, 1987

Inconceivable.  The Six Fingered Man.  Death cannot stop truly love.  Only mostly dead.  Have fun storming the castle!  Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya.  You killed my father.  Prepare to die.  ROUSes.

This is a perfect movie.  It is.  It is lightning in a bottle and it should never, ever be remade (those were just rumors, right?).  This is romance and humor and suspense and two of the best swordfights in cinematic history (fight me on this.  No, really, fight me.  I took fencing in college because of this movie), all wrapped up in the sweetest Happily Ever After.  I love it so much.

Jurassic Park, 1993

I’ve told this story before, but here it is again.  In the summer of 1993, I was 10 and my sisters were 8 and just turned 6, and we convinced our parents that we were for sure old enough to see Jurassic Park - a book my mother had read and thus knew what level of horror to expect.  It did not go well.  I ended up burying my head in my dad’s chest; my youngest sister was in my mom’s lap; and my middle sister, with no where left to go, ended up under the seat in front of her.

Now, it’s the movie we quote (Hold on to your butts).  When my youngest had jello recently, I told him to hold it up and look scared, then texted the picture around.  We all knew immediately what I meant.  The DVDs are given as gifts and then immediately stolen.  My youngest sister can recite the entire movie.  I can’t wait to scare my sons with it.

The Shawshank Redemption, 1994

I don’t remember this movie when it came out; I remember it was this movie I hadn’t really heard of at the Oscars, where it won none.  Not until I was much older did I realize what a travesty that was.  I first watched this on a pep band bus trip in college - not the time or place to truly appreciate it.  Months later, I rented it (remember renting movies?) and fell in love with it.

This is a beautiful movie about friendship and hope and finding light in the darkness.  It’s always on TV, and I will always stop and watch at least a few minutes of it.  The ending - the last half hour, really - is pure cinematic poetry, but noting beats Red’s monologue as he travels to find Andy on that Mexican beach.

That Thing You Do!, 1996

This movie is Capital-D-Delightful.  Just thinking about it makes me smile.  This is the movie that tipped me from Tom Hanks Fan to I Love Tom Hanks and Need Him to Be My Best Friend.  He WROTE and DIRECTED this gem of a movie.  The talent.  The song is legitimately catchy, the characters are Wonder-ful (see what I did there?), and it’s all in Day-Glo ‘60s color.  I love this movie and make no apologies.

Toy Story 2, 1999

Speaking of Tom Hanks, this is my favorite Toy Story.  Look, the first is a technological marvel, but Woody is an ass throughout most of the film.  The fourth is it’s own thing, and the third is really, really good and I ugly sob at the end, but it’s also got a lot going on there.  But the second - oh the second is beautiful in its simplicity.  In addition to all of Andy’s toys, we get Jesse and Bullseye and even Stinky Pete.  It’s an ode to friendship and love and the realization that life, for toys and people, eventually ends, and we have to appreciate every moment we have now.  It is my favorite Toy Story.

Finding Nemo, 2003

I don’t know if it’s my favorite Pixar film, though.  It depends on the day, but most of the time that distinction goes to Finding Nemo.  I first saw it when I was twenty, a decade before my first kid was born, but it has greatly influenced how I parent.  The conversation between Dory and Marlin in the whale, the idea that keeping anything from happening to your kid cuts both ways, the leap of faith, the mantra of “just keep swimming,” the notion that your kids don’t just want, but need to have independence - it’s all there, in Pixar’s stunning ocean animation.  I get choked up just thinking about it.  “Now go have an adventure!”

Honorable Mentions:

Forrest Gump, 1994

I loved this movie.  I love Tom Hanks in this movie.  I would watch it in snippets during college, while I ate dinner or lunch or just needed a quick study break.  But it’s been years since I last saw it, and I wonder if it still holds up.  It’s a Boomer movie made when the Boomers were - basically, just a little older than we old Millennials are now.  It’s American history in the last half of the twentieth century, but the big events - Vietnam, Civil Rights, even AIDS - are filtered through the lens of a straight white man who kinda wanders into history but doesn’t really get why the moments are historic.  I feel like it’s a film I appreciated at a certain time, but wouldn’t love as much now.

Avengers: Endgame, 2019

There just hasn’t been enough time for this movie to make the list.  Ask about it again in ten years.  Although, to be honest, I haven’t seen the whole thing since I saw it in theaters, and I fear it won’t live up.  It was the best movie-going experience I’ve ever had.  The crowd was so into it, and the last battle had everyone, me included, screaming at the screen.  Part of what makes Endgame so special to me is that, among the three big franchises that ended last year (Avengers, Star Wars, Game of Thrones), this one actually stuck the landing.  And yes, I could argue that Steve Rogers’ end doesn’t actual make any sense and deprives Peggy Carter of her agency - but in the emotional moment of the film, it worked.  That portal scene is the culmination of twenty-plus films, and I still can’t believe it works as well as it does.

Thanks again for this! I second tagging @lerayon for this.  I feel like I’m kinda cold-calling mutuals from our Arrow days, so no pressure.  But I’d love to hear what @machawicket @dust2dust34 @dettiot @theshipsfirstmate​ have on their lists.

[alma-berry]

Kit’s Secret Fire Message #14

Masterlist  

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13

Kit hated running.. there was no other way of putting it - he just hated it. Not that it mattered, he did it anyway. 

During the years that passed since he first learned of his angelic heritage, he forced his body into an excruciating training regiment. If he was being honest with himself, a practice Kit made a point of keeping to a minimum, he didn’t hate all forms of training. He liked the feel of a dagger in his hand, how the hilt fit perfectly into his grasp, like his family ring. He still had the Herondale dagger Jace had given him, and he always wondered if there was a special magic to it, a reason for why it’s touch calmed him and why he fought best with it than any other weapon. 

There was something in the physical pain that felt like a safe place for him, a place to let loose and feel the things he didn’t want to feel, without having to acknowledge them. He put his infinite anger, for himself, for his father’s betrayal, for the mother that was taken from him, for the familiar ache of rejection and longing that came every time the moon became just as silver as Ty’s eyes, and poured them with every bit of force that he had, which was now a considerable amount, into his training. Into that pain. Into sweat and bone grinding bone. 

He hated running, but he needed the pain of it. It sharpened his mind, it helped him clear out all of those blurred moments that weighed so heavy on his heart. 

He slowed down just before the entrance to the institute, spotting a dark figure leaned on one of the massive stone pillars that decorated the massive building. 

For some reason, Kit wasn’t surprised to see that it was Ty. He felt that confusing assortment of excitement and hesitance he was growing accustomed to whenever Ty was around. Though Kit wished he didn’t catch him like this, sweaty, disheveled and sleep deprived. 

“Hi.. what are you doing here?” he asked as soon as he got close enough for Ty to hear him, but stayed far enough for him to feel in control. 

Ty seemed to dismiss that idea, and took a step towards him, a blunt defiance in his moves.

“I was waiting for you.” He said in a tone that indicated his annoyance with having to state the obvious. “Do you like running?”

“What? No, I fucking hate it” Kit felt a bit dizzy from the sudden question, “I just had to.. work out some.. things.”

It felt like such a lame explanation, but what was he supposed to say? I was trying to figure out if you even care about me at all, and then there’s the question of how do I stop myself from being a goddamn bomb waiting to explode when I’m around you?

Ty looked like he was seriously considering his words, and said “I understand.”

“You do?” Kit felt weird. He didn’t know much about Ty’s new life.. maybe he developed a habit of jumping out of extremely tall trees whenever he was troubled, though Kit doubted it was the case.

“Yes.. I do.”

A silence fell between them. It wasn’t awkward so much as it was.. charged. Kit felt completely aware of how hard his heart was beating, of his flushed cheeks, and scavenged for something to say.

“So… you never told me, Mina didn’t vandalize Irene, right? She’s pretty bossy for a three years old. We once found Church with a pink bow glued to his head. Best day of my life.”

He was rambling, but Ty only laughed, a soft, honest laugh that lit up his face. 

A light wind caressed them, and his black hair was blown away from his face, revealing his eyes, as they rested on Kit’s jaw.

He was so pale, and the opaque sky of the London morning made his skin shine like porcelain, a delicate, stark white spot in the almost colorless picture that surrounded him. There was still a softness of morning in him, his lips slightly swollen, but when Kit looked at them he could feel the tight band of control he was holding onto with dear life slipping out of his hands like he was trying to hold down water. He ripped his gaze away from the dangerous bow of Ty’s lips to the safety of his own treacherous, callous hands.

“No, actually.. Irene seemed fairly content with her. I admit it was a bit disconcerting.”

Ty lifted his hand and traced a long finger down the curve of Kit’s neck, at the juncture point that connected to his collarbone, where he could undoubtedly feel the war raging on the inside of his skin, fighting desperately to break free. There was no air left in Kit’s lungs, but he couldn’t make himself breath. The touch of Ty’s finger, as slow and deliberate as it was, felt like a sudden blow.

A drop of sweat trickled down in between the softness of Ty’s skin and Kit’s hammering pulse. 

Ty lifted his finger, slim, elegant and wet with Kit’s sweat, and put it to his mouth. 

Kit felt his eyes widen in shocked surprise as Ty said in a measured voice, “You should get a shower”.

“I.. what?” 

Was he hallucinating? Did something in him truly snap, and he was floating unconscious through the Thames? Because this didn’t make sense. It hardly made sense in Kit’s dreams, though it didn’t stop him from dreaming them.

“There’s something I need you to do”

Kit couldn’t utter a single word, he just gaped at Ty, uncomprehending.

“For the investigation, we need your.. special area of expertise”

“My area of expertise?” Ty nodded.

Even in his state of haze, Kit didn’t need to think about it. There was only one thing he knew better than any other Shadowhunter. 

“You need me to go to the shadow market”

Ty flashed his brilliant, mischievous smile, something Kit remembered rarely seeing on him.

“Exactly, Watson. Now do get a shower, it’s rather distracting when you’re all covered in sweat”

At that, he turned and walked towards the institute.

Kit wanted to call after him and ask why was it distracting, but by the time he found his voice, Ty was already inside, leaving Kit shaking all over.

That shower, Kit thought while trying miserably to catch his breath, is going to be a long, long one.

**

Kit was fast, faster than Ty remembered. It was to be expected, he was a grown Shadowhunter, not the scrawny boy who had a hard time keeping up with Ty as they ran down the golden sand of the beach. But he was even faster than other Shadowhunters Ty knew, fully trained Shadowhunters. Someone must have trained him very, very well.

The night was brightly illuminated by a strand of glowing lights, floating all across the busy rows of the shadow market. When Ty decided to follow Kit, he took into consideration that the market he remembered had probably changed quite a bit, but it seemed to be almost unrecognizable. 

Three years ago, there was a menacing, almost feral air to it. Now, the market felt alive. Aisles of cramped stalls stacked with shimmering crystals and colorful tincture bottles labeled with the delighted promises of an eternal love, a failure free luck, and even one that Ty thought was supposed to be a natural stamina boost. 

Kit walked around the narrow path, lingering to greet some of the merchants. A young looking fairy girl with hair as purple as the petals of a Morning Glory that cascaded down her slim figure rushed to her feet as soon as she saw Kit. She eyed him with an interest even Ty found obvious. Her voice was high pitched, animated, and her hands kept twirling the curled of her long hair. Ty never liked purple, but something about the sight of her made him hate the color completely. 

It was obvious Kit knew her. He grinned his deep, unravelling grin, and touched her shoulder lightly in response to something she must have said.

The whole situation felt unsettling to Ty.. and it wasn’t the purple of the girl’s hair, or the tight knot that fastened in his stomach from the sight of the familiarity between them. It was that she was a fairy, and from what Ty had gathered from Jem’s words - the reason Kit was threatened involves fairies. So why wasn’t he taking more care?

Come to think about it, as much as Kit seemed at ease in the market, it was odd that he didn’t even try to keep a low profile. He was, in a way, on a mission. Kit was visibly a Shadowhunter, even with his sleeves down and no marks showing, Ty thought as he pushed between two heavily perfumed vampires, trying follow Kit’s progress without being noticed. 

He wants to be noticed, Ty realized. Clever, allowing the one he searched come to him in his own terms, or her, in that matter. Clever, and dangerous. 

Kit paused near a wide table, a richly embroidered banner spread on top of it, displaying glittering glass jars that changed colors every few seconds. 

Ty took a deep breath and tried to focus his gaze on Kit. It was hard, walking through the crowds like it didn’t mind him, like his head wasn’t about to explode from the pressure of their voices, their steps, their nearness. But he didn’t dare to put his earphones on. He had them on his neck, their weight a small comfort, but he had to be able to act fast. If Kit was in danger, he needed to be able to react. If someone said something to him, or about him, he needed to be able to hear it.

But Kit just stood there, frowning to the the large, mirror like glass. 

He seemed to be debating where to turn, as if he wasn’t sure if to continue where he was headed, or take a different road. 

Abruptly, he took a sharp turn to the left, where the crowd quickly thinned into an obviously, much less populated part of the market. 

Ty was grateful, even though he feared the lack of hiding places meant he might be seen, he still felt the strain loosen in him. 

A tall woman approached Kit, who was studying a handwritten glittered sign that advertised a vintage looking book stall. Ty heard the clicking of her heels before he got a full view of her face - Hypatia Vex. 

She wore an elegant looking, pearl white, split sleeved cocktail pantsuit. It hugged her tall figure and dark skin down to her ankles, shining with every move she took like it was studded with tiny diamonds. A sheath of golden metal caged the narrow of her waist in a way that made Ty wonder about the uncomfortable lengths that people went just to look a certain way. He could appreciate her beauty, but it meant little to him.

“Herondale! Why are you making me look for you around the market?” She asked Kit in a clipped tone. Ty was right, Kit did make her come to him, and it seems he didn’t plan to take that strange turn to this almost abandoned part of the market. Ty wondered why.

“I needed a.. quite surrounding this evening. Less noise, less prowling eyes.”

Kit seemed unsurprised to see her, and he made an exasperated face at her sulky expression. 

“Common Hypatia, don’t be vexed wit-“

“You know perfectly well I don’t appreciate that joke, Kit Herondale. Really, you should work on some new ones. Your reputation is already questionable ever since you had that nightly adventure with the werewolf boy.. what was his name?”

Now Kit did seemed alarmed, “It wasn’t an adventure, nothing happened,” Ty almost thought he looked straight at him when he said it, but a second later a mocking smile crawled to his lips and he was glaring at Hypatia with a defiant expression, “And my reputation is impeccable.” 

“If it was really nothing, than you should definitely have a word with the boy.. because he’s going around for months, saying that you took him to-“

“Hypatia,” Kit’s voice was slightly shaking. Whether it was from anger or something else, Ty didn’t know. He only knew that the knot in his stomach now felt like a massive tangle of twisted thorns, hurting his every breath, his every movement. He wasn’t sure what nightly endeavors meant, but he could make a calculated guess.

“I’m here on business. I need the assistance of the owner of the shadow market.. I need your help.”

“Well..” Hypatia gave him a measuring look, “You don’t usually cut straight to point. What is it that you need, Shadowhunter?”

Kit took a deep breath, looking relieved that he got her to stop talking about his personal life, and told her about the Moloch demons attack, of his suspicion that a sacrifice might be made, and finally, about the danger that could come to a large group of mundane children.

“I need to know if they were seen around downworld. They usually come in groups, which is hard to disguise, especially because of the whole empty eye socket spitting fire thing.”

She gave him a long look before she answered. 

“I don’t like giving information to Nephilim.. but you are different, aren’t you, boy?”

Kit didn’t answer, a shadow darkening his clear sky eyes. 

What did she mean by different? Different in his behavior? Because he was raised at the shadow market?

“Alright,” Hypatia put her hands together in a loud clap and took a step towards Kit.

“There is a warlock named Marvin. Unpleasant sort of fellow, moved here from New York a while ago. He mostly keeps to himself but I had reasons to know him in the past. He goes around in circles that might know of what you seek. You should ask him.”

Hypatia made a tiny flick with her right hand and a golden piece of paper appeared out of thin air. She handed it to Kit, who nodded at her.

“There's no need to mention me, of course. But, if you may, please send my regards to Ragnor Fell, next time you see him,” her starry eyes glittered under the dark silky sky.

“I didn’t see him in years, not since his impressive performance on the imperishable fields. He is kind of hard to get a hold on, since..”

Kit left before she could finish the sentence, leaving Ty alone and confused. He made his way hurriedly back towards the institute, questions rushing through his head like a lightning storm. As he breathed the cool air of the night, a long forgotten memory lingered on his mind. It was something Barnabas Hale once told Kit, in a Los Angeles market;

“We tolerated you because the Shadowhunters hadn’t found you yet. But now they have and it’s a hop, skip and a jump until you find out who you really are“

**

Ty was sitting in the parlor, trying hard to steady his breath. He managed to outrun Kit and sneak back into the institute before the rain started to fall. Though he could have explained his wet hair by claiming he took a shower, or taken a walk out in the rain. Not that Kit would have any reason to question him.. but Ty liked to be prepared.

When the main door creaked open, he sprang to his feet and went out to greet him. He knew he might be better at seeing him only in the morning, but he wanted Kit to know that he waited for him. He planned every move he made since their conversation in his room, specifically to make Kit understand how much he cared for him. 

He rested his hand on the chipped wooden door frame to steady himself, and called for Kit.

“How did it go?” 

Kit gave him a strange, curious look. His hair was wet, glistening with sparks of what seemed like fireflies. Ty remembered how he looked this morning, sweaty and flushed and unbelievably attractive. But now, as beautiful as he was, Kit looked exactly like the mystery that he was. The dimmed lights above them made his skin shine like dark brass, smooth metallic. Ty focused his gaze on an old tapestry depicting the angelic rune that hung right behind Kit.

“Good. I got what we need.”

“Oh, great. Than.. tomorrow at breakfast. You can tell us tomorrow at breakfast.” Ty felt the words cluttering as he tried to speak them. Kit cocked his head to the side and studied him in silence. 

“So good night,” Ty breathed and turned towards the staircase. 

“Ty..” Kit’s voice was low, almost a whisper, but there was a steadiness in it that made Ty feel a hum of uneasiness. 

“I am going to give you the opportunity to explain yourself.” He said it slowly, deliberately. There was no anger in his voice, which calmed Ty by just a fraction, but there was a careful wariness to it.

“I’m.. I don’t know what you-“

“I know you followed me.”

Kit let his words hang between them, clearly waiting for Ty’s response. But Ty didn’t know what to say. How did he see him? He concealed himself from head to toe. 

“I can assume for myself why you did it, but I want you to hear it from you. My assumptions night not be so positive.” Ty risked a look into his eyes, and regretted it immediately. 

There was wistfulness in it, and hurt, but that wasn’t what caught at Ty’s heart. There was hope there. Kit truly wanted Ty to reassure him, to give him a reason that wouldn’t mean a betrayal of his trust. But Ty couldn’t give him that, he couldn’t say the truth, not that the truth would be much of a reassurance. He couldn’t just tell him that he listened on his and Jem’s private conversation about the big secret that he’s hiding, and that he followed him to the shadow market because he guessed there might be a clue there to his mystery. The second reason, him wanting to look after Kit might not be a improvement, but Ty was terrible at lying. He went for the second option.

“It was just a backup. In case something happened.”

Ty looked up into the almost invisible ends of the ceiling, clasping his hands so they won’t show his agitation. 

“You’re either lying to me, or you don’t trust me at all. I honestly don’t know which one is worst.”

Kit’s voice was strained, a thin thread of anger hidden between it’s layers.

“It’s not-“ Ty started, not even knowing what he was about to say.

“It’s not what I think it is? It’s not what you meant? It’s not what it looks like? Come on, Ty.. I’ve seen that movie. I know how it ends. You don’t trust me, so you follow me to the market to see that I don’t mess up your investigation.” Ty opened his mouth to protest but Kit was far ahead of him. “And don’t tell me that you went there to have my back. You’ve seen me take down at least half a dozen Moloch demons with one seraph blade and two daggers, while you guys were chilling in the back. You know what I can do. And you know I don’t need anybody’s help in the shadow market. Isn’t that why you asked me to go there to begin with?”

Kit breathed heavily, and Ty felt the quick rising of his chest like blows handed down upon his heart.

“So tell me, Ty. Am I wrong?” Kit hissed through gritted teeth. Ty searched for words but none came.

“I see. I guess some things never change, right? I remember, you see, what you told me once. Watson is backup.”

There was an immense pain in his voice, steel and stone as it was. Ty lifted his hand towards Kit, but he took a step back, shaking his head.

“No. You don’t get to do that, Ty.” His voice cracked at his name, and Ty felt the slow sting of tears forming in his throat. 

How did he manage to mess this up so badly? And how, how did Kit figured out he was there?

He couldn’t help himself, and the words slipped out of his mouth before he could think better of it.

“How did you know-“

Kit let out a hard, pained laugh.

“How did I know you were following me? Of course that’s what you want to know.. I saw you, Ty. I saw your reflection in the color changing glass jars. I noticed the white band of your headphones poking out of your black hood. You should really consider earphones next time.”

He walked to the entrance door and stopped with his back to Ty. 

“I’m going out now. Please, do not follow me.”

And without looking back at him, he left, slamming the door with a loud bang that Ty felt down to his bones.

[tyandel]

Drop “the hustle” Mantras

I used to love the hustle rally cry, dearly, but I can’t take any more odes to “the hustle” anymore. Because it’s hollow and without any depth or purpose. 

For most of my career, I chose to interpret “the hustle” as a way for those with very little to outsmart those with a lot through clever steps and genuinely outwork the competition. Finding leverage where you had none. Beating out the more experienced person that may be more talented but lacks hunger. Doing things that weren’t supposed to scale or even work, and making it happen. Grit to succeed above all else. 

Yet while my original interpretation was once connected to the term, I can no longer pretend that it is. The hustle has become synonymous with the grind. Pushing through pain and exhaustion in the chase of a bigger carrot but never appreciating the last carrot. Sacrificing the choice bits of the human experience to climb the ladder of success. I can’t connect with any of that.

The grind doesn’t just feel apt because it’s hard on an individual level, but because it chews people up and spits ’em out in bulk. Against the tiny minority that somehow finds what they’re looking for in that grind, there are legions who end up broken, wasted, and burned out with nothing to show. And for what?

Even more insidious about the concept of the hustle and its grind is how it places the failure of achievement squarely at the feet of the individual. Since it’s possible to “make it” by working yourself to the bone, it’s essentially your own damn fault if you don’t, and you deserve what pittance you may be left with.

Its origin from a dog-eat-dog world has been turned from a cautionary tale into an inspirational one. It’s not that you need to hustle to survive, it’s that you seek the hustle to thrive, and still at the expense of yourself and others.

Now this opposition mainly comes from a lens focused on the world of creative people. The writers, the programmers, the designers, the makers, the product people. There are manual labor domains where greater input does equal greater output, at least for a time.

But I rarely hear about people working three low-end jobs out of necessity wear that grind on their popped collar out of pride. It’s only the pretenders, those who aren’t exactly struggling for subsistence, who feel the need to brag with bravado about their beat.

It’s the modern curse of having enough time to try to find a meaning to it all. And when an easy answer isn’t forthcoming through shallow inquiry, you just start running from the void. But you can’t outwork existential angst. At best, you can postpone it. Or temporarily bury it. But it doesn’t go away.

The truth is you’re going to die, and it’ll be sooner rather than later, the more feverishly you devote your existence to the hustle and its grind. Life is tragically short that way.

What really gets my goat, though, is that it doesn’t even work. You’re not very likely to find that key insight or breakthrough idea north of the 14th hour. Creativity, progress, and impact does not yield easily or commonly to brute force. It comes with patience, inspiration and situations you don’t put yourself in because you’re working yourself to friggin’ bone and have no time to experience anything. 

You want to be more productive? That’s great. First, of course, figure out what you’re actually trying to be productive at and make it happen. Then learn how to manage your time to focus on that without sacrificing everything else. Everyone loses if you’re just staying in the office for the sake of staying in the office. 

Here’s my cheat sheet and counter to the hustle:

1) Get a great night’s sleep. The studies on sleep deprivation and its cognitive effects are unanimous and devastating. You take a bigger hit on your productive and creative powers through lack of proper sleep than almost any other neglect.

2) Get plenty of fresh air. The latest studies on effects of CO2 accumulation, volatile organic compounds, and other indoor air quality killers are shocking. And unlike sleep, it’s far less known just how much cognitive impairment you can suffer from poor air quality. Running outside in the morning has been my saving grace later in life, so much do I wish that I discovered this earlier in my life, it would have saved so much built up stress. 

3) Get regular exercise. This isn’t about “staying fit” or “looking good”, although those are noble reasons in their own right. It’s about what moving your body does to your brain. And it’s good. These are moments to connect with your body and you should cherish every moment you have to connect closer within yourself. 

4) Read some classics. You probably read the equivalent of a few books a month in tweets, hot takes, and other low-calorie material. What if you shifted some of that consumption to not just what’s most recent, but the best humankind had to offer over the last few millennia? I’m all for great business books but I’ve found the more you are able to disconnect from the constant stream of business thought, the better you are when you return to that space. The influences compound and tickle your creativity in more profound ways than I can list. 

5) Say no. Engage with fewer things but at a higher intensity. Stick with it. Stop chasing so much.

6) Meditate on the regular. Your mind is a muscle, and perhaps the most important muscle you have, it needs work as well. I find myself quick to react when I pause meditation for a spell versus when I’m in the zone, I tend to listen more, reflect on my decisions and generally be more thoughtful in both business and personal life. 

7) Find a coach. Someone who is disconnected from your business and can offer you radical candor and accountability on yourself without needing to tie it to a business outcome exclusively. 

Finally: for God’s sake, relax. Pumping your mind full of anxiety about whether you’re getting enough, doing enough, chasing enough, good enough is no way to live. Background stress like that is literally lethal. 

Put in a good day’s work, then close the damn laptop. Stash the iPhone. Waste some time on the rest of the human experience. At this time of the year, eat some duck. Watch a shitty Xmas movie. Help decorate that stupid tree. Cuddle up with your kids or someone that’s young enough to appreciate the intense intimacy needed in the early years. There’s a desire for time from kids, asking to play, asking to be a part of things, perhaps they’re aware of how fleeting these years of intimacy will be with their family. Dare to be so bold as to embrace the beautifully ordinary every now and then.

Then help me whack the hustle with a shovel and bury it in the backyard. We can plant a tree in its honor, and maybe sing the best song we could every write, because after all, we’ll be more creative in the process.

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

It’s The Avengers (2)

Loki x Reader Avengers The Office AU (Slowwwwww Burn)

Episode 2: The Vibes

Warnings: ...none.

Word Count: I’m supposed to be shopping for three upcoming weddings but all I feel like doing is writing and posting stuff here. Also, I’m probably sleep deprived???

A/N: But I’m happy.

MASTERLIST

E01, E02, E03, E04, E05, E06, E07, E08, E09

"'Morning Y/N!"

Wanda called out to your drowsy figure, still clad in your PJs, coming out of your room into The Dorm's lounge, followed by 'morning princess' from Sam, 'Got some good amount of rest?' from Bruce, 'please tell me it wasn't you snoring last night' from Clint, 'good morning, Y/N, would you like some coffee?' from Steve and a 'So you are Y/N!' from an overly enthusiastic Pietro.

Y/N: Woah! Had I known I was going to live with such enthusiastic early birds I would have never let Mr Stark bring me here. Not that these people are bad, I just don't wake up well to loud sounds.

*nodding your head in agreement with yourself*

Also, who calls their sleeping quarters Dorms? What are they? Eighteen?

You greeted everyone back as you made your way to the kitchen space that housed all breakfast items and snacks for the Avengers. Steve offered you coffee while Bucky was already making some tea for you and him. He knew from your previous encounter you weren't a coffee girl. You were taking out a tiny bottle of a liquid concentrate from one of the drawers when Sam came over and took Bucky's mug.

"That's my tea, Sam," his hoarse voice tried to stay calm. Sam took one good sip and put it back on the counter, "Still want it?"

Y/N: *scrunching her nose* hmm, scratch that. They're twelve.

Loki came out from his room into the hall, giving the lounge his signature smile that sent nearly all of them to turn to ice towards the frost giant. Ignoring it all, he came towards you and picked up your mug of tea. Bucky started to protest at the action when you interrupted him. "Oh, it's alright. I wanted to eat something before my tea anyways. Here, keep back the sweetener," you asked Bucky, bringing forward the tiny bottle you'd taken out earlier.

"I'll take that for my tea, thank you very much," Loki grabbed the bottle and put three drops into his tea.

Clint: It hasn't even been twenty-four hours and he's already started. *sips coffee straight from the pot in his hand*

*looks far away deep in thought before coming back* should I donate him as a sacrifice to the flat-earthers? If they ever find the edge of the world at least they'll kick him down into oblivion.

Loki: I always find joy in the simplistic things. *sips tea from the same mug*

It's fun to see tiny actions or faults irritate the small human mind, forcing them to lose their sanity little by little. That's what I plan to do to this excuse of a puny human that is Y/N.

You smiled back at Loki, surprising him a little with the genuineness of the emotion that reflected in your eyes. "Happy to help," you jested before taking out some eggs from the fridge to make yourself an omelette. "Would you like some, Loki?" You asked, making his smile falter for a bit before he looked into the camera and went back to his tea.

Y/N: I grew up with two brothers. One older and one younger. The crap they used to pull on me is nothing compared to what happened ten minutes ago. The trickster better up his game.

What no one else, except the camera was noticing was the heart eyes Pietro was having for Y/N.

Pietro: Who? Y/N? Yeah, she's cool. Don't know much about her but she seems okay. Average. Not the bad average. The good average. *crossing his arms while moving uncomfortably in the chair* She's good. She's...she's fine. *a hint of smile runs over his lips as his cheeks start to turn red*

You got ready for the day to let Wanda and Bruce give you and Pietro- the newcomers- a once over of the facility. Loki and Scott joined in as an unwelcome fifth and sixth wheel to have a bit of fun of their own.

Scott: I don't know what's happening as I woke up fifteen minutes ago but I am down for whatever it is the kids are doing. *gives two thumbs up to the camera with a wide grin*

"This is the east wing of the facility, as you know," Wanda stated with excitement as she pointed out while everyone walked behind them and Bruce, "it has our Dorms and lounge, our dining and kitchen, and study on three separate floors."

"We are now entering the north wing." Bruce took over as Wanda stopped on the way to pick up a message for her from Friday, "This one houses your training area...sorry the Avengers training area and relaxation space. I'm sorry I'm not sure if you're allowed here Y/N though I don’t think it should be a problem."

You were about to give a modest reply when Loki thought it best to interrupt. "Why not? She could really use some sort of manual labour while she's here. From external as well as...internal threats."

Bruce and Wanda looked at Loki with judgment with a hint of fear in their eyes- the fear not from him, but from themselves.

"Oh my God! You're right, Loki," you pointed out, "I think I do need some sort of training to help me put my stress and rage that I usually aim at another person to some productive use. So true about the internal threat buddy." Bruce and Wanda looked at you with admiration as they proceeded to show you more of the wing. Loki crossed his arms over his chest cocking an eyebrow at you as he watched you follow the doctor and the witch. Scott lagged behind, looking at you and Loki with suspicion in his eyes before turning to the camera and pointing in your direction with furrowed brows.

Scott: Is it just me or do I sense a little bit of a 'love' vibe between those two? Eh? Eh?

You were in the west wing now, leaving Wanda and a very reluctant Pietro behind as they'd been called back by Steve.

"This is research and development wing. We've got the best of the machines doing our work for us, thanks to Tony and Shuri," Bruce announced proudly before watching your blank faces. "Oh, Shuri is King T'Challa's sister. She's a genius."

"T'Challa as in the Black Panther?" You asked with piqued interest, Loki's ears following the change in the pitch of your voice.

Bruce affirmed.

"Cool!" You and Scott said in unison with stars in your eyes, making Loki roll his eyes hard before turning to the counter of multiple types of equipment you were checking out. Scott was at the opposite side of the room drawn in by a structure made out black metallic balls, trying his level best not to touch them.

"Do you know what that is?" Loki asked from behind you. You picked up the tablet lying in front of you as you studied the data regarding a research it displayed.

"Fascinating!" You breathed, your eyes going wide, "this is a study on the brain cell's ability to pick up messages from the...uhh...cosmos...universe, whatever you call it and trans-"

"Translate it. Yes, allow me to explain it to you in ways your little brain can understand." Loki snatched the tablet from your hand as he went on about the magic of the cosmos.

Y/N: Mansplaining! *smiles* He nearly got me there. It actually would have gotten on my nerves until he started rambling about the research through the example of his telekinetic abilities. *chuckles* His eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. He didn't even realise when he broke his character.

Loki: *angry* I didn't break my character. *camera pans in* I've just never had someone hear me digress about my magical abilities like she did.

*camera pans in again* Oh, that sly fox. She's cleverer than she shows to be. But not to worry. I still have to play my final move.

Y/N: Nope. I don't think I'm clever. I'm just...observant. Why not cle- *deep inhale* I spent thirty-five minutes searching for my phone in the middle of the night yesterday with my phone's flashlight.

*camera pans in* I'm dumb as hell.

Bruce: Y/N seems like a good kid. I'm still not sure why she's living here with a crowd that composes mostly of a bunch degenerates, depressed or anxious minds. *smiles* She's so...so nice and-and *sighs* normal. *shuts his mouth as expression changes to grim* and then there's Loki. The polar opposite of this girl. Why is he living with us?

The south wing was the most extravagant thing you'd seen in your life. It was purely for the purpose of experiencing high society luxury. A dance hall, a cigarette room, a grand buffet room, an entirely different room for 'coats', and so much more. "Why do we have this here?"

"Ask Tony. I have zero ideas about this section," Bruce responded to your question, going straight out through the French door opening into the lawn ahead.  Scott, who was nibbling on some marshmallows, was about to go after the scientist when he stopped in his tracks as he saw Loki take you by the arm and disappear into the huge dining hall. He was quiet on his feet as he pressed his ear to the wall while coming near the door.

Loki took your hands in his, watching your air falter for a second.

"You seem really new to all this lady Y/N. I can only imagine how lonely you must feel within the crowd of such abnormality, wondering what purpose could you possibly have here."

Loki moved his fingers over your bare arms, chasing the goosebumps developing on your skin. "But you should know that I am here for you if you ever need me, my precious Y/N. For anything. And I do mean...anything." The whisper of his last word sent this little shiver down your spine as you looked into his green eyes seductively smiling at you.

"Loki I..." You looked at him as you took his hand in yours, "I know what you mean. And your invitation is quite tempting but," you moved closer to him, moving his single rebellious onyx strand behind his ear, "I wouldn't want you to do anything you're not sure about yourself." You reflected the similar whisper in your words, but with more concern and less seduction, taking the God of Mischief by utter surprise while Scott stood behind the wall next to you gasping and wide-eyed, smushing the marshmallows in his mouth.

Loki: *brooding until he becomes aware of the camera*

*whispers* why in Hel am I still here? *leaves the room*

Scott: HAH! I told you! *starts singing* Sexy love doo-doo-doo

You made sure you were able to catch Thor alone in the evening when he was back from his local kingdom.

"I apologise on behalf of my brother, Y/N. Is there some way you'd like to punish him?"

You had not even spoken a word to the God of thunder and he was ready with an apology and a method to punish his brother's unspoken crimes.

"Uhh...no. No. I just wanted to ask you if today's something special. Some sort of special occasion or anniversary of some event."

Y/N: I figured that the person trying to get under my skin today is practically the same person who had quite a controversial but considerable contribution in bringing down the worst villain of the universe. So, either he's diluted his IQ or he was trying to distract himself from something today. *shrugs*

"Why yes," Thor responded to your question with a sparkle in his eye, "it is a special occasion today."

An hour later, you, Thor and Scott were at Loki's door, knocking. Loki took his sweet time to open up, only to look at the three of you with questioning eyes before turning his gaze to the cupcake you held in your hand.

A string of 'happy-birthday-Loki's surrounded him making him scrunch his nose in disgust. "What is this madness?"

"This," you began as you took his hand in yours to place the cupcake dish in his palm, "is a small treat from us."

You couldn't help but smile as he looked at the dessert with questioning eyes, suspicious of what was inside it.

"It's a molten chocolate cake," Scott gushed, pointing at his own share half consumed already, "it's amazing. Y/N made these. Eat it while it's hot."

Scott went away for his second helping. "Don't push yourself too hard, my prince," you asserted to the God reading you with apprehensive eyes, "I am very easy to break."

Loki watched you go down the corridor, his eyes never leaving you till you disappeared at the turn to the lounge and kitchen.

He looked back at his brothers standing tall in the hallway smiling at him.

"So, what would you li-"

"Did you tell her?"

"...Yes."

"Why?"

"Because she specifically asked about it."

"And did you apologise on my behalf considering whatever punishment deemed necessary?"

"... Yes but I-"

The door was shut in Thor's face.

"I deserve that," Thor whispered to himself as he walked away.

Loki: *eating the molten chocolate cake* Why would you do this to a desert? It's disgusting *taking another bite and turns to the camera* I've had ten, why?

(You asked for this. Now suffer! 😂 )

E01, E02, E03, E04, E05, E06, E07, E08, E09

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[silverinia]

Your AUs are amazing and I’m wondering how you get the courage to post? I have tons in my notes but I am scared to post them. I have posted a few and got some really hurtful comments and I have mixed emotions on what if I want to continue posting so other people can enjoy them or if I should stop. Do you have any advice?

Okay, first of all: thank you for being so kind.

Second: I'm really sorry to hear that you've been getting hate for your fics. That's totally uncalled for and there's nothing that can excuse such behavior.

Okay. To be honest, for me, there are good days and bad days for posting. I personally spend most of my writing time rereading and editing (that might be because I don't have a beta reader and I tend to be a big old perfectionist that can't rest until something is finished to their liking), which means that I've already read each fic or chapter that I post about a billion times before I upload it. I often get the craving to post during those editing nights just to get it over with, but I never do because editing also makes me feel pretty self-conscious about my writing sometimes. I spot mistakes, paragraphs that don't make any sense or lines that just sound off to me, and that's frustrating, especially when I'm sleep deprived at 3am after staring at a word document for hours and listening to the same sad song on repeat all through the night. That's the point where I close the document and go to sleep. I usually do one or two final editing rounds before I post, nothing more because it makes me too... insecure? And I prefer the leap of just posting at that point.

My no. 1 writing advice is to write for yourself. Don't write to post. Don't write for anyone to read it. Just write for the sake of writing and whatever it does for you and only you. Posting is great, having readers and feedback is great, but try to look at them as the cherry on top of a huge bowl of ice cream. Feedback is motivating like nothing else when it comes to fanfiction, especially reviews, because they're the highest form of appreciation we as fanfic writers can get out of this. And that's great and totally valid, but it should only work like that and not the other way around. Feedback or lack of feedback (something I've actually really struggled with in the past couple of months) should never be discouraging. They shouldn't be the reason for someone to stop writing.

Some people only post right before they go to bed, put off their phone, laptop, whatever devise you got and don't check their statistics or emails until the next morning. I think that's a petty clever idea, because even if there should be bad or even hateful comments, you distance yourself from it by not letting it get to you at your most vulnerable point of this scenario, which would be immediately after you posted, especially when you're afraid of the response. Sadly, that's a mechanism that doesn't work for me, but I do a similar thing in which I normally don't go on ao3 for the rest of the day after I posted something. And I try to keep myself busy with something else, studying f.ex. or going out, meeting friends or watching some romcom starring Hugh Grant, so I won't immediately see it when emails pop in to inform me of a review because I know that I would be disappointed if I checked my phone to see that there isn't one (this is a big issue for me. It really does poison the whole experience).

I think balance is key in this. Write, edit, eat the shit out of that bowl of ice cream, post and then switch to doing something else. Don't write for the rest of the day, because you will be overly critical of your writing when you're already in an insecure state of mind.

One last thought: maybe get a beta reader. That might get you more confident about your writing before you post it. Look for someone who you can trust, someone you can ramble to about your fear of posting and who will encourage you in return.

I'd say that I'm actually pretty privileged when it comes to the fear of posting, because I never experienced a real shitstorm before. Critical reviews I appreciate, but I know that real hate would probably wreck me, so I totally get your concerns and understand that it must be much harder for you to think about posting than it is for me.

If the hate is really getting to you, I would advise you to keep writing but stop posting until you're in a better place. And if it doesn't bother you as much, keep doing what you do. If the positive feedback that you get from readers and first and foremost by yourself can still outnumber the discouragement, you'll be fine. And if not, take a break from posting and just keep writing for a while. Because fanfiction is awesome, but it shouldn't ruin writing for you.

Wishing you the best! ♡