#it's currently set to 4 hours... but my goal is to bring it down to 3 👇🏾

[fragilepromise]

putting a screentime limit on my phone so i can become a better women this 2024📱

[jillsandwhichs]

Our Future Day's

Joel Miller x Reader series, Chap 4, A lovely dinner

masterlist

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: Joel cooks you and Sarah a lovely dinner and you two have a sweet talk together. He ends up telling you to come over Friday for a surprise...

WC: 4.6

Type: Sfw

A/n: Hi! Hope you all enjoy. Please check out my masterlist, there's a lot of stuff there. You can get to know me, you can see the rules of my blog and then you can see all of my fanfictions. You'll be able to find the previous chapters to this fic and upcoming ones. You'll also be able to find my Wattpad & AO3. Comments, reblogs & likes are appreciated. Thank you

"Ugh!" You grunted out to yourself. You've been totally stressing yourself out the past hour, just trying to figure out what to wear. You got home around five, it's almost seven, Joel said the dinner will start around 7:30 PM, you need to get ready quicker. But finding what to wear is so difficult. All you know is, is that you wanna keep it casual. It's not some fancy dinner or anything, just a simple one at his place and besides that, his daughter will be present.

You currently have two outfits laying out on the bed.

The first one has a long sleeve red shirt with plain blue jeans, super cute. The second one is an Oregon sweater with black leggings, also cute. But you just couldn't decide on which to wear. You doubt Joel will care what you wear but you do care, you wanna look nice, not only for him but for yourself. You don't want to seem like a fool.

After staring at both outfits for a minute straight, you just grabbed one, beginning to remove the attire you were currently wearing. You looked like a mess from work, today you had to add a lot of older people and wow, they drain you. But after all, this is the work you chose to be apart of, it's the work you won't give up on. And besides, maybe Joel finds it attractive; The fact you're a doctor. A lot of men prefer women with ambitions and goals, like you.

You kept your undergarments on, the same from this morning as you slipped on the slightly baggy jeans, buttoning them up. You rarely wear jeans, you are always wearing sweatpants or pajama shorts, so jeans is up to you. You then put the red shirt on, your curves being evident through the tight piece of clothing. Overall, you think you look nice in it. You plan to just pull your hair back, it's already brushed out nicely.

You wondered what he was going to be making and whether or not he'll be a good cook. You assume he'll be a great one if he's confident enough to cook for you. You aren't a foodie or anything though, your food variety is wide. You're just so nervous, very much on edge. Not only will you be with Joel, you'll be inside of his personal home, eating a homemade dinner he cooks up for you. It'll be lovely, you're just edgy about it all.

For shoes, you plan to wear your boots, they go all the way up just below your knee. They're what's in nowadays, you think they'll look great with the entire outfit.

You raced down the wooden, carpeted staircase, seeing Becker resting on the couch. The Living Room television had some random reality show playing on it; Becker enjoys the background noise. You know Becker despises being alone for a considerable amount of time so in hopes of helping him with that irritation, you put on a show and set a decent amount of treats in his bowl. Maybe he'll forgive you easier that way.

You've also been considering bringing a gift to show your appreciation for him inviting you to dinner. You had an array of things you could bring. There was extra food, a sweet treat, something he'd personally enjoy, etc.. But the main thing that continually came to mind was some neat wine. You know you have a bottle on hand you could bring. Obviously Sarah wouldn't be able to have any but it could be something you and Joel share together.

Opening up one of the lower cabinets, you brought yourself downwards, scanning the very few but expensive and luxurious bottles. You only had four but all four of them were so nice, you knew they'd taste pleasant as well. Picking one up, you saw it was a red wine, all the others were simply white. You doubt Joel really minds what type of wine you bring over, hell, you doubt he'd care if you brought any all but it's just the gesture that counts.

You set the bottle on the counter, double checking to make sure it was dusted off and looked according, which it did. Hopefully he occasionally drinks, or else this'll be super duper awkward.

Until it's about 7:30, you plan to just take it easy. You could take this time to check your emails and Facebook, see if your coworkers have said anything or if your family has either. You miss your parents dearly, they mean a lot to you and it's hard being away from them like this. You also miss your sister, Hannah. You two have been so close since you were little, growing an extraordinary bond and now, you've been apart from her for a week. You miss her dearly, along with your mom and dad.

Checking emails first, you only seen one and it was a directory for all employees of the hospital. All it really said was that we'd be having changed schedules. That doesn't really affect you, you've only been there for two days. But for some, it will. And on your messages, you had one from your little sister.

"Hey! Call me whenever, I got a dog too! Momma let me get her for my birthday!"

Your heart warmed up at her text. Your guy's mother was always the 'almond mom' type, and over the years she's gotten better about it. It must've been a large step to purchase a dog. You began to message her back.

"That's great Hannah! I'll call you once I'm home, I'm about to go get dinner. Send me a pic of him/her."

You kept it short but sweet.

There were no messages from your mother but that was to be expected, you two last spoke this morning about your work. She told you she's incredibly proud of you; It made you feel so special. And as for your father, you two rarely text, usually call only. The last message from him was before you even moved to Austin. You do enjoy his texts but calling with him is even better. Your father and you have always had that special 'daddy daughter' bond.

Until it's 7:25ish, you plan to just cuddle with Becker and scroll on Tumblr or something, just anything to keep your mind in la la land til dinner.

-

As you were scrolling on your phone, you noticed the time. You immediately hopped off of the couch, keeping the television on as you slipped your knee high leather boots on; You pray he'll find them attractive at the very least. You leaned down, pressing a smooch on Becker's furry head. "See ya later, big guy." You hummed out to him. You love him so very much, you'll ramble to him about the night once your home, same with Hannah.

You grabbed the wine off of the counter, holding it close to you. The thought of it crashing to the ground, the red liquid going everywhere, it was just not something you wanted to imagine nor to happen. You slipped your phone into the butt pocket of your jeans, making sure it was secure and wouldn't fall on out. You then opened your front door, taking a final glance at Becker, his sweet puppy eyes looking up at you from afar. "Love you puppy." You gave him an air kiss before shutting the house door.

Joel's house from your view looked clearly active. The lights were on, his truck was home and through the curtains, shadows were spawning in consistently. You could only assume it was him and Sarah. You looked both ways before crossing the street, convoying over to his suburban house. You always thought the suburbs and the houses in them looked the same, but oddly enough, your house was significantly different from his.

For example, his front door was brown, yours is black.

You brought your hand up, knocking a couple times on the door before swiftly adjusting your hair and stance, making yourself appear more natural. You plastered a faint smile on your pink lips, hoping you looked the part. You didn't wanna look stupid, especially at a dinner where his daughter is present. You hope not only he thinks you're gorgeous, but she finds you pretty as well.

Moments after knocking, you heard stomps approaching the door, then it opening. It was of course, Joel. He was wearing a tight, short sleeved blue shirt with some messy jeans, clearly they've been stained. Now you feel a bit silly for dressing up this way. He ran his hand through his hair, his brown eyes looking you up and down, his lips curling. "Hey there, c'mon in." He stood to the side, allowing you to make way.

You took a good gander around his house. It was very pristine. You hadn't expected a man to hold such a nice house, inside and out. You really liked it. It seemed so... Rustic and retro but in good ways. It was also quite basic but hey, he's a grown man, without a wife, decorating, you shouldn't expect much. Especially from a man like Joel whose more career and child focused. "Thank you." You nodded, the wine still in hand before Joel spoke up about it.

"That for us? Want me to take it off your hands?" He was so kind. "Sure." You smiled, handing it to him. He look a glance at the label and whistled with a chuckle. "See, this is that expensive stuff, thank you darlin'." He then tilted his head, nudging you to follow him. He talked while walking, "So, Sarah is upstairs, prolly drawing or sumthin but til then, I'll tell ya what I'm making us, and her, for dinner, sound good?" "Sure does."

He pulled out a barstool for you, making sure you are comfortable. He was quite courteous. "I'm making us some steak, red potatoes and sauteed green beans. It's rare for us to eat a lot like this and well, it's a special occasion." Joel snickered, leaning against the counter. "Sounds great, thank you." You liked the sound of that. You also rarely eat a lot of fancier foods like that - Steak can be expensive.

"Glad you'll like it, Sarah helped me pick. She's real excited to meet you." Joel chuckled, stirring the sauteed green beans in the pan, the sizzle of them was loud but you knew just by the sound they'd be tasty. "That's good to hear, I bet she's be a cutie." You cooed to Joel, talking highly of his daughter. It's true. You imagine she's sweet by how Joel talks of her. "How old is she again?" "She is twelve." "Wow, she's so young, got her whole life ahead of her." "You betcha, I know she'll do amazing as she grows up." Joel praised his kiddo. It was adorable.

"Well, y'know, my kid at home, he's just being a lazy slob." You joked, referring to Becker. Joel laughed as well, "Yeah, but he's cute, if you didn't have him, I imagine we wouldn't have spoken so soon to one another." "You think?" "Yeah, I just tend to keep my distance from neighbors." "Understandable." You nodded, your lips curling downward. You had a love hate relationship with your neighbors back home but here, it's pure like.

"You and Becker been settling in fine?" Joel asked you, now checking on the steaks. "Yeah, for the most part. Definitely a little homesick but, what can you do?" "I understand, being apart from family is shitty. I can't imagine my life without my dumbass brother around." Joel snorted. "Not to pry but what about your mother and father?" "Mama comes around every so often but she travels a lot, my father has always been a dead beat." "I see, I'm sorry." "You ain't gotta apologize, things happen, it's the way of life." He confirmed.

He's right. It's the way she goes. Life goes on, things change and things happen, whether it be good or bad. Many amazing things have occured in your life along with terrible ones such as failing classes and losing family, but you must push through. One great thing that happened to you recently was meeting Joel. He's just such a great guy, you're grateful you were able to meet him.

"Do you want me to help with the dinner at all?" You changed the subject, wanting to seem not so selfish. "No, you just keep your pretty ass in that chair, I got this." His accent made you weak. His words did too. He thinks your pretty? Damn, does he realize how handsome he is? "Alrighty then." You chuckled, pulling some strands of your hair back.

As the two of you conversed more, the sound of small steps walking down the staircase behind you could be heard. Your head spun around, scanning the stairs, thin legs made their way down then until her full body appeared. It must've been Sarah. She was so adorable. You expected her to be a brunette but her ice blonde hair was so suited for her. She seemed so precious, the way she shyly walked over to you and Joel.

"Hey babygirl," Joel smiled, "This is ___, the one Tommy primarily told you about but, y'know." Joel snickered. "Hi." She said softly, sitting in the chair beside you. "Hi Sarah, I've heard quite a bit about you." You beamed at her. She had a blanket wrapped around her - Maybe she was napping or something. "Dad, can I turn on something to watch?" "Yeah, just as long as it's not that damned werewolf movie again." He scoffed playfully, cutting up some extra taters.

Sarah giggled before speaking, "I guess you're in luck, I plan to watch the vampire show instead." "Dammit." Joel snorted, looking back at you now. "Teenage girls and their obsession with the supernatural." "Hey now, don't diss The Vampire Diaries or Dawn of the Wolf, both are enjoyable." "'Course you think that." He shrugged whilst chuckling. When Sarah heard you say that, she turned around and ambled back to you. "Whose your favorite character? Mine is either Damon or Katherine."

"Ooo, that is a tough one but I got to go with either Stefan or Bonnie." "Oh I love Bonnie too, Stefan is just meh to me." Sarah vocalized, she was obviously passionate about the TV series. "My Lord." Joel shook his head whilst his eyes were closed. "You know," Sarah spoke in a whisper, "He claims he hates it yet whenever it's on, he suddenly gets invested." "Oh I'm very sure of that." You gave her an endearing smile.

The thought of Joel being into some corny, romance filled vampire show was cute and you could see it. Sarah just unwinding and watching in while Joel's in the background making fun of it yet he can't stop peeking over at the TV, it was a sight you needed to see sometime.

"Want to come and watch it with me? I'm on season three." You listened to her words, she seemed so happy to do it with you. You hadn't expected her to be so laid back with you so early on into meeting you. "Well, why not?" You stood up and walked over to the couch with her, taking a last gaze at Joel. He had a grin on his face as he gazed right back at you. "Have fun." He mouthed, his eyes trailing back down to the dinner he was whipping up.

You sat right beside Sarah, her hand picking up the remote and turning the TV on. She must've had the series on a box set or something, the only other way to watch it was through the CW channel. Unless she recorded the episodes anyway. She clicked on episode 6, which you've already seen yet you didn't care, and it began to play. Oddly enough, you felt at peace. Watching a good show, beside a sweet girl, a hunky man cooking dinner for you and her. It was paradise.

You'd just watch TVD with her til the food is ready and you can already imagine it'll be great.

-

Around 8:10 PM, Joel came around from the kitchen, taking a look at the two of you, then snickering. "Ladies, dinner is ready." His Southern accent is so sexy. "Finally!" Sarah stood up and ran over to the counter, picking up a plate. "She took the biggest steak, sorry." Joel cackled, leading you back to the kitchen. "Girls gotta eat." You responded. Joel picked up a blue plate, handing it to you and pointing over at the table. "Thank you Joel." You then walked over and sat at the end of the table, Joel sitting straight across from you.

You took a look at the plate, your mouth beginning to water. Not only did it look amazing, it smelt lovely too. The green beans were coated in garlic, the deep smell of it filling the aroma. The potatoes looked so seasoned, Joel really knew how to do this stuff. The steak was also so crispy and meaty, you didn't even mind how he made it rather it be well or rare, it just looks tasty.

The wine you brought was standing on the table.

"Oh, I almost forgot." Joel briskly stood up, walking over to the cabinets and pulling out three wine glasses, one for you, for him and for... Sarah? She's literally twelve!

Although, relief washed over you as he pulled out some juice, filling only one of the cups with it. "I'd never let her have wine... At least a excessive amount." Joel chuckled, placing the juice beside Sarah's food. "I still feel fancy and rich with a wine glass, so." She shrugged, picking up her fork. Joel popped the cork off of the wine, the mist appearing from the top of it. He poured the red tangy liquid into his glass.

He then made his way towards you, his strong built body right beside you. You could smell him, he smelt so masculine, it made your eyes roll back a little. You don't know what it is about men and their musk, but Joel rocks it.

He poured the wine into your glass as well, being very careful as to not have any splash out. "There you go." He hummed, placing the wine back onto the table and making way back to his wooden chair at the other end of the diner.

You blew out softly, taking this all in. Never did you expect to have dinner with him, at least not this early. And surprisingly, you didn't mind having Sarah around. You believe most women would but she's such a darling. You picked up your fork as well, noticing that Joel was already digging in. You took a medium sized bite of one of the potatoes, letting out an audible 'mmm' sound.

"Super good Joel, I never took you for the type who could cook." "Believe me, me either, but having a kid will do that to you." "Yeah, if he didn't know how to cook Lasagna, I would've moved out by now." Sarah commented, earning a giggle from you and Joel. "Is that your favorite food?" "One of them! I also love the salmon he cooks and don't get me started on the chicken wings." Sarah nodded, puckering her lips. She is so mature for her age.

You snickered, "Bet it's all great." You then took a bite of a green bean and wow, it tasted great. It was so salty but in a great way, the texture was so welcomed as well. "Joel, you're seriously a great cook." "Why thank you darlin'." He replied, beginning to cut up his steak. Sarah gave Joel an odd look when he called you that. You understand. You don't know the situation with Joel's ex wife, Sarah's mother, but all you know is he's been single for quite some time. Hearing her dad call a woman 'darlin' may be different for her.

"So, Sarah, how about you tell me a little bit about yourself? I wanna know more." You said softly to her, cutting up your beefy steak. "Oh, sure," She cleared her throat. "I'm twelve, I play soccer and run track, I love movies and drawing and I love cats." She smiled, eating some of the food off of her plate. You let out an audible hum, she seems so interesting. "Well that's quite the way to live, I like it. Soccer and track are great, I also ran track back in High School." "Really? So cool, I only recently begun." Sarah explained.

You picked up the glass of light alcohol beside you, taking a sip of it and nodding. It tasted super good, you were glad it was the one you decided to bring over. Joel also took a sip, giving you a look of approval. "This is nice, clearly expensive, thanks for bringing it." Joel set the glass down. "Of course." You said with pure kindness. With Joel welcoming you into his home and before that being so sweet, the least you could do was bring a house warming gift - Wine.

"Dad told me you're a doctor, is that true?" Sarah questioned, biting her thick and juicy streak. You nodded, food still in your mouth before you swallowed quickly. "Yes, it is, I am a doctor." "Really? So cool. Do you get to see brains and stuff?" You chuckled at her question, quite the brain she has, huh? "Not yet, maybe someday! But primarily surgeons work with brains, I'm just a family doctor." You explained simply. Sarah nodded, sipping her juice.

"I also heard you have a dog, can I meet him someday?" "Of course, anytime you want to. He's super friendly." You smiled, your pearly whites being flashed off. "I wish we could get a dog or cat, dad says it's to much responsibility." "Well, because it is. You killed your fish baby." Joel breathlessly chuckled, taking a bite of his steak. You made a face of shock, how can you kill a fish? "I was ten then dad!" She protested. "We'll see soon babygirl." Joel responded to her. He was such a parent.

As you all ate, the radio in the kitchen played Billy Joel. The music was tranquil, it added to the atmosphere of the dinner. You were really enjoying the night so far. You wonder if there'll ever be a time where you and Joel can just chillax alone and have some dinner, maybe go out somewhere. You don't know whether or not to consider this a date, what if he doesn't? He could be perceiving this as a innocent, friendly dinner. That would be fine but disappointing.

It was hard to keep your eyes off of him. He is incredibly handsome, everything about him. His looks, voice, stature, skills, job, everything - It was all attractive. You could notice him staring at you every so often. You wanted to gaze into his eyes minus all the awkwardness, it'd be so romantic.

You continued to eat, your brain processing the words from the song playing. You figured Joel would have this kind of music taste. It's nice actually, similar to yours in a way. You took another gander at the interior of his home, really being able to let the details sink in. One thing you noticed was the flowers on the coffee table. They were Gardenias, one of your favorites. They are the most alluring flower.

Another thing you soon took note of was the pictures all over the walls. It's evident Joel cherishes his family and to you, that's admirable. There were pictures of Sarah, Tommy and him, and some where it's either just two of them or all three of them together. Back home, your mother was the exact same - Photos literally everywhere. It's just one sweet way to express your love and gratitude towards those you love, whether it be friends or family.

-

Midway through the dinner, Sarah let out a soft burp, covering her mouth. "Manners sweetheart." "Excuse me." Sarah said quickly, standing up. Her plate was cleaned off. Yours almost was as well, just a few pieces of steak left. Joel's was a little less gone than yours but he eats a little bit slower than you do. "Go put your plate in the sink and wash up." Joel ordered Sarah. She listened, going off to do her own thing.

There was silence for a little bit. Neither of you spoke, you just kept on eating your food until Joel talked.

"Thank you for havin' dinner with me, I enjoyed it and well," He paused, watching Sarah jog up the stairs, "She did too." He snickered. You smirked, sipping the remaining drips of your wine. "I did too, thank you for having me." You replied, clearing your throat. "And I hope you enjoyed my cookin'." He chuckled, taking another bite of his steak. "I really did, best meal I've had since moving to Texas." "Good." He smiled at you.

You ate the final chunk of your steak, clearing your throat again, the sauce of it feeling clogged. "Very good, I'll be full til tomorrow evening." You joked. Joel gallowed, standing up and walking over to you, taking a hold of your empty glass and clear plate. "Allow me." He grunted, leaning back up and bringing them over to the sink. "Are you done eating?" "Yeah, why don't you bring the rest of it home for Becker." "Oh, sure, he'll definitely go crazy over it." You giggled, accepting the idea.

Joel grabbed out a tub, putting some steak chunks, potatoes and green beans in it, shaking it up a bit. Oh yeah, Becker will feast on it.

"Thanks." You chuckled, taking the tupperware in hand. "'Course, anything for you." Joel's cheeks puffed as he gave you a smirk. You sort of got lost in his eyes, your mouth opened slightly as you just stared at him. You wanted to feel his lips against yours...

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you looked down, making sure your attire wasn't messed up or anything. "We'll definitely need to do something like this sometime again." Joel mumbled out, crossing his arms. "You think so?" "I do." Joel assured you, "I dunno, I like bein' around you." He chortled. "You do?" "Yeah, I do." "Me too." You articulated, your throat feeling somewhat dry. "I think Sarah likes you too, she seemed comfortable." "I like her too, very sweet little lady." You beamed at Joel.

Simultaneously, the two of you made your way to his front door, Joel leaned against the staircase. "Come over on Friday, around... Hmm... Ten?" What? Why ten? His voice suddenly got so deep. You felt your stomach do flips, his eyes on your face, then trailing down bit by bit. "Ten? Why?" "Well, I wanna show you sumthin, is that alright?" "Guess so, you're just being suspicious." You were blunt with a snicker. "You'll see, view it as a surprise." He laughed, opening the door for you.

You looked outside, the fresh breeze hitting you as you stepped out onto his porch. "Well, thanks again." "Anytime sweet thing." He hummed out to you. It must just be a southern thing - Calling women random little nicknames. "Bye Joel, see you Friday." "See ya then." You nodded, giving a slight wave, stepping off of his porch and making your way across the street. You wondered what it was he'd have in store for your Friday night...

[circa98s]

‧ ₊ ˚ ✧ › MUN: good afternoon, my dears! i'm k ( she/her, est, 21+ ), the writer behind han mila & shin eunbi. milas blog serves as my main, while eunbis is a side, so you'll most likely see me interact from this one more frequently ooc! if you'd like to plot over on discord, i'm happy to give that out upon request! ♡

‧ ₊ ˚ ✧ › MUSE: and now, meet han mila— 25 years old, a city girl who planted her roots in yuseong bay only 4 months ago, so she's a new resident. utilizing her marketing degree ( wow, fancy ), she currently works as a visual merchandiser at eclectique 33. you can find her wip stats page here!

when did your muse first arrive in yuseong bay? mila has only begun planting roots for herself in yuseong about four months ago ( so, essentially, at the very beginning of this year ).

what does an average day look like for your muse & where can they usually be found? the busiest of bees, mila can be seen fluttering around eclectique, as well as it's general vicinity, the majority of time— at least, during the day / general work hours. as mornings wind down into evenings and the sun begins to set, the blonde often takes refugee at the 88&bar, nursing cocktails of her choice as a way of keeping her frazzled thoughts at bay ( when i tell you this city girl is still trying to adjust to rural living amidst having her hallmark movie moment . . . pls help her ).

how does your muse feel about hanhwa resort? having no real frame of reference for what mild negativities a resort like hanhwa could be bringing to the local space and its primary inhabitants whose daily lives are now continuously altered, mila herself doesn't see the harm with how much attention it seems to be garnering. honestly, the urban crowds that filter in and out are a welcome familiarity.

is there an aspiration for your muse to stay in or leave yuseong bay? for the time being, mila has no real idea what she's looking for just yet— coming to yuseong had been a random, but conscious, choice, one made with the intention of being somewhere different. for now, four months in and still aspiring to find some sense of rthym for herself ( as hard as that'd currently been ), the thought of wanting to leave has yet to cross her mind.

list your muse’s three favorite songs. healing — fletcher. walking home — mac ayres. naked girl — iyla.

describe your muse’s wardrobe. flirty, girly, pastels. a soft romantic at heart, that aspect of her personality translates one for one in terms of her fashion.

what is a color, word, and emoji that you feel describes your muse? baby pink, ambitious, 🎀.

three strong likes and dislikes for your muse. likes — floral perfumes, early mornings, staying busy. dislikes — creative ruts, the stench of fish, root regrowth.

three positive and negative traits for your muse. positives — sweet, upbeat, extroverted. negatives — impulsive, workaholic, judgy.

three talents and shortcomings for your muse. having a knack for connecting with others, a skill she'd already had since childhood that only got stronger with time, mila can make an acquaintance out of anyone. open, ready to talk about anything and everything, there's not a single person she'd ever found herself intimidated by enough to keep her distance. often times, it's this very facete of herself that leads to a decline in energy by the days end, her social batteries quick to recharge after quiet evenings, and even then, she'll often find herself engaging in conversations past her moods expiration simply because that's what she's always done. mild eye bags and all that'll be gone come time to wake up the next morning, mila engages with a smile.

what is a book/tv series/movie/video game character that you feel your character relates to? without question, elle woods has always been a role model, a character mila strives make proud.

a relevant goal or arc for your character to overcome. finding balance, not just within herself, but in this new daily life she's found for herself.

[digital170cm]

before i leave,

a (personal) retrospective on leaving.

about 8 months ago, i was telling one of my close friends that i would definitely be setting up a blog to document and share thoughts on my exchange. well, i’m 8 months into an 11 month exchange program and i decided it would be a good time to start.

tomorrow marks the beginning of semester 1- which is my second and final semester abroad in Singapore. time goes by so quickly once classes start and i already feel like my exchange period is coming to an end. i feel a little sentimental as i try to recall the decisions that put me where i am now- in a 4×3 dorm room on the west side of such an interesting city-state island. truthfully, this wasn’t exactly what i had intended.

when i decided to go back into education after a brief stint of living in in another state and working my ‘admin assistant’ (customer service) job for a few years- i had a single goal: to live and study abroad. of course, if you know me, you know the intention was not to land in Singapore, but another island a little north-west of Singapore called Japan. i even delayed going on exchange, declining an offer to go to Hong Kong University in favour of entering into another round of exchange applications. sometimes it’s nice to imagine what it would have been like if i had accepted that first offer- i hope i get to go and see what life would have been like there one day.

i could barely bring myself to tell anyone when i received my second exchange nomination for my current exchange university. when i saw it was not for the university i thought i had a decent chance at getting into, i felt embarrassed after 3 years of being so steadfast about exchanging to Japan and so open with my family and friends about what i had planned for myself. it was my only goal and motivation through some very difficult periods. it was the reason why i could wake up at 5am every week day and head into a job that occasionally set me crying on the train home after a 13 hour day. yet, there are some things, namely university admin processes, that are out of our hands and eventually, i felt comfortable enough to tell my family and coworkers about the change of plans. they were all supportive and expressed to me that despite not really knowing anything about Singapore, but they were sure that I’d have a great time. I couldn’t say I knew much more than them either. my friends, of course, were great.

while almost everyone was supportive, i remember when i told my partner at the time, i could hear the disappointment in his voice. i speculate that is when he decided that we weren’t going to work out long-term. one of his own goals at the time was to work in Japan while I was studying there, but from that point on, there was no mention of him visiting me on my exchange. my plans for the future were no longer valuable for him, i guess. from what i recall, it was all down-hill from there.

yuck.

a few months later, after a break-up, i began to think about (and hold out for) my future in Singapore in a different way. whenever i would talk to my sister or friends about the place i was in at the time (not so good!) i would say “well, it doesn’t matter, i’m moving to Singapore anyway.”. everything became irrelevant and temporary. i was leaving and more importantly, i would be gone for so long that nothing in that moment would matter by the time i got back. suddenly, by way of circumstance, Singapore became a saving grace for me. (if you couldn’t already guess, this should confirm that i’m a bit emotionally avoidant). the disappointment i had felt in myself began to subside and in its place was anticipation for relief, a change of environment, new people, new food, academic focus.

anyway,

that was around a year ago now, if i had to guess. my old perspective has changed a little, luckily. though, i can’t be certain that it’s just not me trying to make myself feel better about the (perceived?) failure to attain my goal, i do think it worked out for the better. after all, English is widely spoken in Singapore and Singapore is a lot more culturally similar with Australia than Australia is with Japan. while it’s still a little hard to think and talk about, and it definitely remains a sore subject for me, there is still a lifetime of opportunity to make up for it. i think Japan would have been a hard place to study in, anyway. (probably copium but probably true). while i will save some insights for future posts, there are a few things i know i will miss greatly when i leave Singapore. i would not have grown to understand this country or the way of life here had i not come here for academic purposes. i would not have come to know the people i know, or have tried kaya toast with raw egg and kopi o.

there are ways of living here that i hope that Australia comes to incorporate, as well as things that I’m grateful are not issues carried over to Australia as they are here. i’m looking forward to writing these thoughts out, if only to have a record of my perspective before i forget.

there is a lot, a lot, i have chosen to omit about the period of time before i left my home city as this is public. it was a difficult time, all in all. i say all this to share the frame of mind i began my exchange in- the background and the long-build up, i think these things are important if i’m aiming to be sincere and share my thoughts, experiences, opinions and perspectives about my exchange experience transparently. while i wish my blog could be observational commentary in the workings of Singaporean culture and society- and there will surely be some of that- but i’m nothing but a water sign, so i hope you can understand why i’m deciding to write what i am deciding to write.

please leave me a lil message in my guestbook here!

[fluffypotatey]

gonna go a little more into bigb bc i feel like i didn’t represent him super well in my nosy neighbors 101

the most evident things about bigb is that he’s very Just Some Guy. he’s like. a nice chill friendly casual guy

but the thing is that he doesn’t know most of the other players too well, and he’s kind of shy.

hes like the guy who you hang out with and see as a friend and then 2 years into the friendship you realize you don’t actually know a single thing about him. and all the while he’s like ^-^

he is also undeniably a Little Shit. he LOVES messing with and confusing ppl

and the thing about bigb is that he doesn’t really trust people.

in Third Life, he made a day 1 alliance with Martyn and Grian. he was still pretty private, spending most of his time mining underground, but he’d hang out with martyn, because both of them were holding to that alliance. grian, however, ended up in a life debt to scar. martyn and bigb were both planning to free grian from this life debt, especially when scar turned red and grian still had to work for him

or at least, planning right up until bigb decided to go out and socialize for once, and at that same time grian gleefully used scar as an excuse to set off a TNT trap that killed three people (using bigb as a distraction to do it!) and martyn and bigb realized that their day 1 alliance had never meant anything to grian at all.

then, at the end of third life, Grian, Scar, and BDubs were hunting bigb together (they were the final 4 standing). earlier in the season, bigb had purchased a No Kill Pass from scar, which scar had promised to honor. and he did! scar never laid a hand on bigb as he told bdubs to kill him- after all, the no kill pass only meant SCAR wouldn’t kill him.

lesson learned: never trust anyone, and loyalty kills

in last life smp, bigb had a pretty good thing going with Cleo, Rendog, and Lizzie- until he was chosen to be Boogeyman. after hours of trying to secretively kill someone else, bigb was getting nervous, and in a panic killed cleo (his closest ally) in cold blood. (she would’ve been willing to let him kill her, if he had told her he was the boogeyman, and if he had asked first. but he hadn’t asked, he waited too long and then he took when there was no time left to ask)

cleo took offense.

she then spent the entire rest of the season hunting down bigb (and lizzie and ren, who had sided with bigb over cleo), with his death essentially being her entire goal for that season.

even now, over 2 years later, cleo still brings it up every now and again, and in limited life warned pearl against trusting bigb as an ally (pearl also asked and checked with him to make sure he wouldn’t go for her as the boogeyman, even though she was his closest ally)

lesson learned: Definitely never trust anyone- all it takes is one mistake to turn your closest ally into a relentless, merciless enemy. not worth it

(he then proceeds to alienate potential/current alliances and hold his close alliances at arm’s length forever and ever.) (except for pearl, who he’d played with before and knew, and who he had a stable and relatively healthy relationship with for the whole series!)

omg he's like me fr

[stephspurs]

A Family Affair | Euro 2020 Football Fanfiction

Life is beautiful and life is cruel. A window into the souls of the victorious and the vanquished. In a way, football did come home during the summer of 2021. Follow along Amelia’s journey, navigating the football world as a tactical analyst for the italian football team, with a brother and father part of the three lions. Will Amelia leave Italy and come back to England? Will she leave the Serie A for the Prem? Will she set aside the bianconeri stripes for new colours, leaving behind friendship for love? Maybe she can have both...

Hello my lovelies!! Part 3 sees a whole lot Amelia's beautiful brain & you get your first slice of interaction with the british boys - leading up to an all important Mykonos adventure (part 4 - out friday). As usual, please let me know your thoughts and feelings, and let me know what you want to see happen with Amelia and her story! Updates have increased to 3/week! I hope you're enjoying it as much as I am!

Love always,

Steph xx

UPDATE as of 31/07: I've made some additional editing changes due to some feedback about the confusion between ben white (her brother) and ben chilwell (not her brother LOL). Nothing has been added to the story, just the addition of either surname has been added where i think it could be more straightforward - for future readers!

Part 3. | parte terza

warnings; none - just a whole lot of feels.

word count; 2081

writing tools; third person until dashed line, first person thereafter.

next update; Friday 30/07 5pm AEST. Updates are three times/week (Monday, Wednesday & Friday)!

Tags (as requested by users); @footballffbarbiex @obsesseds-world @abysshaven

link to fic masterlist here

It was the day after the final match and Amelia should be nursing a hangover due to the large amount of red wine she consumed with her Italian counterparts the night before. However, she finds herself at St. George’s Park before 9am, meeting one of her father’s colleagues who directs her to the recreation room that she remembers from a few days prior.

Standing outside the door, she assumed she was just waiting for her dad as agreed on the phone an hour earlier. As she was waiting, she could hear Gareth Southgate give a team talk to the players, praising them for their ability and pleading for them to bounce back from this defeat and use it to push on. The next voice she could hear was that of her father, giving them the tactical run through of the game. She listened to the points her father made, and both agreed and disagreed with some. Unexpectedly, the man sent to collect her opened the door and ushered her inside.

She stood at the back of the room, facing her dad and Gareth, whilst the team and other management staff had their backs to her. Making eye contact with her dad, he smiled slightly.

“Whilst I can offer you my opinion on the match last night, to better prepare you for the next time, there is no better opinion to learn from at this moment than that of your opponent. Amelia, would you please come up here” Dean really threw her into this situation, that again, she was not prepared for nor did she want to participate in. However, the 30+ sets of eyes that had currently turned around to stare at her didn’t exactly inspire a choice to be made here.

_____________________________________________________________

“Lads, this is my daughter. I taught her everything she knows, which was probably too much considering I can now recognise that it was her signature plays that the italian side used to their advantage last night. Treat her with respect, or I will let her at you. Which i’m sure you all saw a few nights ago in this very room” My dad spoke as I walked up to the front area, weaving in and around beanbags with players occupying them.

Standing in front of the Three Lions was more nerve wracking now than it had been when she was confronting her brother, maybe Fede did offer her protection as his bodyguard. Either way, she put her big girl pants on (figuratively speaking, literally she was wearing her official puma tights and Italian polo) and got on with it as if she was speaking to her team.

“Thanks Dad. Hey guys, I think the first thing I would like to say is that you’re allowed to feel exactly how you feel right now. There is no rush to ‘get over it’ or ‘push on and learn’. You need to feel this now, feel it throughout your body, understand the pain and then turn it into motivation.” I speak to the group, trying to accurately express how sincere I am to this group of heartbroken men.

“As for tactics, I can stand here and praise you for how good you really are but that's not how you are going to learn. You came into the game hard and fast.” I paused, understanding the innuendo just as it was flying out of my mouth. I pursed my lips and tried to hold my giggle in, however some of the boys seem to have the same sense of humour as I do. My brother, face of steel and eyes that burn into any man that tries to joke with me.

“Sorry, can’t help myself. So yeah, you took charge of the game from kick off and we were not ready. You had the aggression and desire to push from the start and that's what you did, Shaw, you really surprised me with that goal. Not because I didn't think you could do it but because I wasn’t anticipating you being someone we had to watch so closely.”

“Again, something you guys need to keep in mind is that it is literally my job to know everything about you and how you play the game, what foot you prefer, who you pass to, how long you hold the ball before you pass, do you like to assist or score...all of these things make a massive difference in each play we make.”

“The error you made came around the 25th minute of the game, we had settled into the game and did what we do best - we slowed you down. In Italy, in the Serie A, which is where most of my team play, the game is a lot slower. There is more skill and tactic used to ensure a favourable outcome. Again, i'm not saying you all don’t have skill, but the Prem favours pace over tactics and strategy. The only way we were going to be able to win was by making you play our game, but in your half of the pitch.”

At this point, all of their eyes are trained to me and the more senior players of the team, like Henderson, Walker, Coady, Kane, they understand what i’m trying to say. Gareth, my dad and other members of staff are sitting to one side, arms folded and a slight smile on their face at the simplicity of my approach to such an important game. I direct my next question to them.

“Can I ask - have you already selected your man of the match?”

“Off record, yes we have. Before I announce to the team who it is, can I direct the question back to you and find out who you would award it to?” Gareth poses back to me, interested to hear my opinion.

“While the obvious choices would be Kane, Sterling, Maguire - your players who perform week in week out and are consistent and no doubt deserve an award as such. I would recommend Declan Rice. Personally, he was the most instrumental in the match last night. Every time we turned to attack, he was there to stop it. He was a player I was confident that I knew the extent of his ability, when it was obvious that I didn't.”

The boys around him, Mason Mount & Ben Chilwell, offered him a gentle shove and ruffle of the hair, to show their encouragement to the bashful boy who seemed surprised at the praise he was receiving.

“The other player that I think deserves a bit of a shoutout, and not because of his hair, is Jack Grealish.” I spoke, looking around the room until we locked eyes. I wanted him to understand how serious i was about my next words.

“You are so dangerous on the ball, you are an asset as a team mate, you aren’t guilty with the ball, but you have the power behind you to score when the opportunity presents itself. The moment you were subbed on I pulled Jorginho to the side and told him to treat you like Chiellini and Bonnucci were handling Sterling and Kane. You were one of my players to watch, and for good reason”

At the end of the little session, I said thanks to the boys for listening and that I hope to see them again in a tournament. The only way to be the best is to beat the best. After a quick round of applause that made me feel more special than I am, I walked past my brother, gave him a quick ruffle of his hair and met my dad at the back. Gareth dismissed the boys and they all stood up, breaking away and grabbing some breakfast that was set up to the side of the room, for one last team meal.

“Mills!! I’ll get you an almond croissant and a coffee, come sit with me!” Walker shouted from across the room.

“Oi mate, she’s my sister not yours” Ben counters from the back of the line.

“Yeah she's your sister by blood, mine by choice.” Kyle firmly states and begins his way to one of the tables.

“I suppose i better join Kyle before he drowns everyone in his tears” i joked with the england officials i was standing with before walking over to Kyle and a few of his team mates.

“Sooo am I supposed to pretend I don’t know who you all are so you can introduce yourselves? Or do we just mutually agree that I know too much about each of you and not bring it up?” I question the boys, jokingly. They all laugh and I sit down in the space Kyle left between himself and John Stones. I sat there and got to know some of the boys on a less competitive level, working out who was a leader both on the pitch and off it. After listening to the boys joke around and just be mates, rather than teammates, I leaned over to Kyle.

“Hey, before I go, do you think you can introduce me to Bukayo? I want to speak with him for a moment.”

“Yeah sure, I'll take you over there. Why are you nervous? You've never been shy before” Kyle questioned back at me.

“I’m not nervous, I'm just hyper aware of the sensitivity of the moment. Last night would have been tough”

Saying goodbye to the boys, Kyle directed me over to a table that was sitting my brother Ben White, Kalvin, Ben Chilwell, Grealish, Saka, Sancho & Rashford.

“Hey boys, Ben, I just wanted to come say goodbye before I head off.” I directed towards my brother. He pulled up a chair and asked me to sit for 5 more minutes, claiming he deserved it after months of no contact.

“Ben here didn’t let us know he had a sister as smart as you...what happened to you Ben? Did you miss that gene?” Jack Grealish poked at my brother. With his signature scowl on his face, Ben White let his mates laugh at his expense.

“Oh don’t make fun of my brother Benny, that’s my job!” I joked back, setting the boys off again with my brother’s childhood nickname. It was nice to hear some laughter again from a side that looked so solemn the night before.

“No in all seriousness boys, I especially came over because I wanted to talk to you Bukayo - what you did was so impressive. In a final, as the last penalty taker, to take on the responsibility of the nation at the age of 19! Not many players would dare to do that. You have earned a lot of respect, particularly from the Italian camp.” I spoke with a smile on my face, directed at the young boy.

“The same goes for you two” Now looking at Sancho & Rashford.

Bukayo looked down at his hands & smiled, before getting up and walking to my side of the table. Anticipating what he was going to do next, I stood up and welcomed him with open arms. Grateful that he understood my message and was beginning to accept the praise he so deserved. Stepping back from the hug, I turned to address the group of lads one more time.

“If any of you fancy a change of pace and want to come over to the Serie A, just give me a call - Benny can give you my number!” I start to speak, before I'm cut off but my brother.

“Stop poaching my mates! I’ve already lost you to another country. I don't need to lose anyone else” He jokingly says while standing to walk me out of St. George’s Park. I know it was a joke but I can't help but think there was some truth to that.

It had been more than 3 years since I moved out of our family home to start my life in Turin, and not one moment had i regretted it or thought i made the wrong decision. Don’t get me wrong, there are times when I wished I was closer to my family, but I know I had to make that move to prove to myself I am just as successful as I hoped I would be. Not saying I have learnt everything there is to learn with the Serie A giants, Juventus, but maybe it's time for a new challenge? Maybe I can bring the strategic spin on the game to the fast paced action of the premier league?

Part 4. | quarta parte

[rouiyan]

𝘖𝘍𝘍 𝘐𝘊𝘌 [ 𝘭.𝘫𝘯 ]

⧏ jeno's installment of the keep your cool collective ⧐

synopsis: he likes to think it's romantic how he always finishes your sentences for you. you think it's annoying that he keeps interrupting you.

✧ ice hockey player!lee jeno x (fem.) tutor!reader ✧ college au

✧ genres : fluff, angst, slightly suggestive ✧ word count : 4.4k ✧ disclaimers : mentions of sexual activities, swearing

✧ author’s note — same universe as my puck in your goal which does not need to be read first but can be. also, hi @crownily i did it :)

let's just say jeno sucks at school and that the one thing he doesn't suck at is hockey, ice hockey. and let's just say that you're his tutor, strictly for tutoring purposes. yet, here you find yourself at his doorstep at 3:47 in the morning, or so your phone says.

he opens up to see you clad dressed down, different from the neat tee and skirt he's so used to. to be completely honest, jeno has never felt anything towards you and even he himself finds that hard to believe since you're everything he could ever ask for in a girl. pretty and cute, snappy but sweet, the most perfect curve of lips and above all, you're an intellectual. he finds it attractive but he isn't attracted to you, per se.

jeno wished he would though, especially now that he's suffering from what he called you here for in the first place: an extreme case of breakup.

one hand leaning your weight on the doorframe, the right of your shit rides up. jeno bites down on his lip, retracting his eyes to your face. "let me get this straight, you called me here, at this time of night, to get me to help you with what exactly?" so what if he thought fucking you would be a good way to keep his mind off things? too bad he didn't think any further than that. the words come to his as he speaks, "i just thought that- that...you- you would be awake at this time! because you know- you like to study…did i interrupt anything?"

donning a dreary expression, you nod in clarification, "yeah, you interrupted my studying."

"right, okay, i'll let you get back to that," he turns in haste as if to close the door behind him but you catch it with your heel, a scowl making its way across your face at what you were about to say, "forget it, jen, i'm already here. what do you need help with?" you stare into his back, his widening eyes unbeknownst to you. he turns again, now deliberate in motion, just to give him as much time to get his bearings together. lifting one shoulder in suggestion, and truthfully confusion, his voice is a pitch higher when he responds, "...studying?"

and that's how he finds himself staring into the crack between the wall and the far end of his desk, your figure hovering above him but not in the way he'd planned for, planned poorly for. jeno is on edge and frankly, he feels incredibly bad because he doesn't understand anything that comes from your mouth and the words you jot down on his paper before him all seem to collide and blur into each other. that's when he realizes he's started crying.

and that's when you're rendered speechless as the boy sits there, the little tracks running down his face wetting the paper you were teaching off of. "jeno, oh my god. fuck, you good?" you don't want to come off as prying so you avoid the whole 'why' notion but you're not that socially inept to miss that he didn't call you here at such an ungodly hour of morning just to get some unpaid tutor hours in and he certainly isn't crying because he doesn't understand shit. 

a hand of his is sifting through his hair while another rubs harshly down the side of his face. "i don't think you should- i'm just gonna go get you some tissues, i'll- i'll go get that." you turn on your heel and navigate your way from his room to the kitchen you'd passed on the way in. it's dark and you know he has roommates, you were less than willing to make your presence known. to your dismay, the kitchen was currently being occupied by a man whom you've yet to identify, being only two steps in when you stop in your tracks. 

he identifies you first, "y/n, what are you doing here?" and you pick up from the voice that it's donghyuck. your foot hits a cabinet before your eyes get a chance to adjust to the lighting, "fuck, yeah i'm here with jeno, well i'm not- not like that, we're just studying."

"just studying?" there's no way to see it but you swear the cock of his brows is apparent as it would be at day. you hum in response, fingers trying to make out the paper towel dispenser you were sure you caught a glimpse of on the way in. "so you're saying," he pulls out his phone and the light that emits from the screen is enough to guide you in the right direction before he shoves is back in his pocket. "that you booked a tutoring session with him at 4:19 a.m.?"

tearing one, then two, from the dispenser, you distractedly let a disbelieving, "yup," past your lips. hyuck scrutinizes you in the dark and his next words nearly shock you out of your skin, "is he fucking you because he just got dumped? is that why?"

you swivel at lightning speed, "he what?" hand over his mouth, donghyuck seems genuinely apologetic, though you wouldn't put it past him if he was not, "shit, you didn't know?" folding the paper towels two times over in your hands, you gingerly across the room to where the boy is seated, "i mean, i know that he didn't call me here just to study but that's legitimately what we ended up doing." he doesn't answer for awhile so you follow up with a question, "you think he wants to fuck me?"

hyuck looks you straight in the eye, "yeah, yeah i do." it hangs unsaid in the air between the two of you, but it's within both of your knowledge that jeno only wanted you here for sexual relief from his frustrations, that whatever else could be denoted by the deed was simply inapplicable for this situation. you shake your head of the thoughts, "so, what are you doing up this early?" you know that there is a weary and weeping jeno you have to get back to but you also know that your presence is somewhat unwelcome there, uncomfortable even, while he wades in his fit of tears.

hyuck replies with a heavy tone, "he gave me some things to think about too."

and you jump to conclusions all too quickly, "he wants to fuck you too?"

"god, y/n, no."

a weak laugh lining your demeanor after the last of the interaction, you reenter jeno's room to find him sprawled wide, his back to the bed. "hey," you preface as you round upon his bed, setting the paper towels on his nightstand. it seemed his tears had run their race and his eyes were now staring lethargically into the ceiling. perching yourself on the edge, you reach to place a hand atop one of his, giving two reassuring squeezes. "need anything?"

only now does jeno seem to take note of your arrival, his eyes hooded eyes flit to you for half a second before resolutely tugging you by the hand you had clasped within his. "what-" your breath is stolen from you as your back hits his chest. jeno drapes his arms across you front, "jeno, what-"

"i need a pillow, that's what i need."

you blink, trying to make sense of your thoughts, "did you ask me here to fuck you numb?" his body goes rigid underneath yours and you're right to assume that you've pinpointed the answer. "i'm right, huh?" eyeing downwards, his fingers are fiddling for you to see. after a few moments laid in bated breath, he lets weakly, "sorry about that, it's not gonna happen."

"yeah no shit," is said dulcetly despite the denotation. you feel his chuckles reverberate beneath you. "i'm really sorry, i swear i don't think of you that way." a smile upon your own face, you turn in his arms to place an expression to his voice. propping your head up on your folded arms, your arms atop his chest, you peer into his eyes sincerely. there is much that needs to be said, the reasonings behind his unexpected breakdown and the closeness you suddenly feel with still have to be addressed. but at this hour in the morning, you can't bring yourself to. 

instead you query, "should i stay the night?" he peers into your eyes with equal sincerity when he responds, "it's already early morning, you'd probably be off better sleeping here." giving a soft nod and a few moments to rearrange your thoughts, you perk up again just as he's about to fall asleep. he isn't annoyed in the slightest, rather he smiles at that, your voice, "do you have practice tomorrow?"

it's his turn to give a nod in response. "wanna come watch?" your arms move around his chest, encasing him like how he's encased you. hiding your smile in the front of his sweatshirt, your voice comes out muffled, "i'd love to but i'm a bit busy, jen. next time, maybe."

at your response, it's the first time that jeno feels, acknowledges, that his heart drops, even though it's in the slightest. there's an image of you in the stands, your textbooks in your lap and glasses sliding down the bridge of your nose. the image moves as he moves cross the rink and you look up when he passes by, eyes bright and a small smile and thumbs up in encouragement. from then on, it's that image that's plastered in his mind every time he thinks of you, that one self-conjured image. 

jeno feels his heart drop even more when he awakes to an empty bed. he finds that the text that you've sent in departure isn't nearly enough to repair his spirits, he wishes you were there instead.

practice sucks ass the next day and the day after that, he doesn't pay it any mind, knowing more than well enough how renjun whispers of the news of his breakup among the members. he doesn't hold it against him though, after all, his ex is his teammate's best friend. jeno thinks it hurts the most when his ex shows up at the next game, the one he'd invited you to when you'd crossed paths on campus a few days ago. he finds himself in a weird predicament between trying to forget about a girl and chasing after another one. he can't tell if he really likes you or if he just needs a rebound.

today, jeno decides it's the latter because he's fuming the entire game at how hyuck would send winks in her direction, how he would skate up to the edge of the rink to converse with her during their breaks. jeno hates how she's moved on all too easily and he feels and urge to prove that he can do the same. he wants to prove to himself.

he's let almost every goal in by the time the buzzer signals the end of the final round. the coach reprimands him because at this point, he might as well be from the opposing team. the helmet is off in a split second, he showers for the briefest of moments, only allowing the water to slosh across his body one time before he's patting himself dry. jeno slips the towel from his shoulder throws on a hoodie in its stead. he's out the locker room in bare minutes where he comes face to face with you. you, with the little sheepish, apologetic smile on your face. you, who'd just arrived from your shift at the local cat adoption center, late for the game but in just time for him. you, the only person he's been aching to see the whole day. but even now, he's unsure of exactly why. 

"y/n, hey," he's by your side in an instant, hesitant in his actions but words tumbling out nonetheless, "you came. late, but...you came."

you meet him in the middle, hands coming up to your aid and waving nonsensically as you speak, "i'm so sorry, my shift was extended and i forgot to tell my boss beforehan-"

"it's fine, i'm just glad you're here." he readjusts the bag onto his shoulders in a nervous fit. he barely manages to make eye contact with you and he wonders when he started to feel this way about you or, again, the desire for a rebound, his need for a taste of vengeance is willing him to act this way. jeno shrugs off the thought and fills the silence with an offer, "so do you wanna go...do something together?" 

jeno should know by now. the little sparkle that glints in your eyes and the way his stomach upturns itself in response. he should know by now how much you like him too. hyuck exits the locker rooms in that instant, he greets you in passing as he joins a girl up ahead. you turn back to jeno, momentarily distracted, only to find his gaze hardened and fixed on the girl. a sickening feeling erupts within you as you begin to piece one and one to make two. 

he turns back to you and you avoid his gaze. the shift in your countenance jolts him as much as his had jolted you. you lick your lips before looking back up at him, your own eyes guarded. he wishes he knew why. "jeno, i'm gonna have to rain check. i just- i thought of something- something came up. i have to go."

you're stalking away from him before he can even process it. he's lucky that his strides are long because he catches your wrist right before you get to the exit, "y/n," he tugs gently so that you turn to him but he's caught off guard even more when he sees the tears that have begun to form in your eyes. "why are you like this all of a sudden? what happened?"

you shake your head at him, hurriedly swallowing the sobs before you can embarrass yourself even further, "nothing, jeno. i just realized something." you stare down at his wrist expectantly but he only clutches it tighter, "then, what did you realize?"

he lets go of your wrist now and you feel like your heart couldn't get any heavier as you answer, "i realized that i'm just a fill-in until you get over her." jeno sucks in a breath as he watched the words leave your mouth, as he watches you turn and leave, and he hears more tears bubble from your frame, the sounds receding the farther you walk from him. for some reason, it's only when you tell him so that he understands that he feels the exact opposite.

it's only when you shove it in his face, your own face scrunched up in tears, that he's only going after you as a rebound, when he sees his feelings for what they really are. honest, jeno finds it hard to believe that he's never felt anything towards you since you're everything he could ever ask for in a girl. pretty and cute, snappy but sweet, the most perfect curve of lips and above all, you're an intellectual. he finds it attractive, he finds you attractive. fuck it, he likes you.

fortunately for him and unfortunately for you, your next tutoring session was scheduled for just a few days after, just enough time for him to get his act together and enough for you to cool your head enough sift through the thirty or so voice mails he'd left you. most of them seem to contain the same rueful, repentant tone, though a few seem to be displaying his slow spiral into self-deprecation. you're pretty sure the last is a mistake, a butt dial maybe.

jeno's not proficient with the knife, definitely not with how he's cutting the pears right now. he thinks he would've been better off bringing bananas but that would've seemed too insincere, wouldn't it? his thoughts are jumbling and sludging against one another when a finger of his slips and the fine edge of the knife is pressed on a knuckle. "fuck," he swears, his other hand already reaching over to the sink to run the cut under cold water. the sting is piercing and he looks away from the cut to the clock overhead. "double fuck," he mutters this time. the last thing he needs right now is you thinking that he stood you up. 

with steadfast athleticism, he finishes off the last of the pears with one hand. he's sure you'd laugh at the whole debacle if you were there though he's thankful you're not. jeno faces the fear that he sucks at everything except ice hockey, and he's barely getting by these days. he only ever feels confident on the rink with his stick in hand, crouched low so his eyes were level with the ice. he's never felt that much control over anything else, much less confessing to a girl and trying, somehow, to show that she was of much more worth than what he'd made it seem like. 

the library is a ten minute walk from his house, a three minute sprint. yes, he had sprinted. 

he knows for a fact that pears were the right way to go when you let the tiniest of smiles adorn your face at the sight of him setting the tupperware in front of you. you check your expression back into taut impassivity before he can indulge in his victory any longer. he knows you're not half as mad as you present yourself to be but that doesn't mean he'd take his mistakes lightly and go about this sleazily. jeno needs your trust. 

you resist the urge to reach over and flip over the hair that stood upright on the wrong side of his head. reverting your eyes onto the computer screen before you, "let's get started." not a half hour into your session, you're spaced out, eyes zoned onto the way jeno spins his pen between his fingers. maybe it's the lack of sleep that's getting to you.

"y/n? you good?"

you swallow thickly, removing your gaze from his hands, from him, from his paper, from anything that has to do with him. you notice how your chair has inched closer to his, or his to yours, you notice the finger-wide distance between you and him. shivers are sent down your spine. "let's take a break, is that fine?" jeno, from beside you, yawns and for a brief second you think he's about to pull the stretch and hand around shoulder trick. you blush unknowingly. 

jeno speaks before you can ask to resume the session, "can i say something?"

"is it work related?" you give your best efforts at keeping your voice level and head turned somewhat in his direction. in your peripheries, he cocks his head to the right, "...no, but we're on break." almost letting a huff escape your complexion, you relent, "fine then, shoot," figuring he would say it anyways.

"i want you to come to our next game."

you're lucky you had the whole scenario thought through, at least something can be harvested from your late nights spent tossing and turning, "i don't think i can-"

"y/n, i haven't even told you when."

"okay fine," you wrinkle your nose in distaste and hand out the truth for him to see, or hear, "i just don't want to." jeno is doing his best, he really is, but he knows that you've heard all that he has to say, if not once, then twenty-nine times over. the last one was a mistake. "did you get my voicemails?"

sighing, you chance a glance at him to see that he isn't the slightest bit annoyed, face drawn into a frown of sorts. you'll never admit that even just the sight could soften your set mindset. consideration replays in your irises when you answer the yes or no question with a decisive nod.

"then i'm sure you understand why i want you to come."

jeno lets you drive him home that day, he'd be the last to complain. the ride is silent from start to finish until right when he's about to close the passenger door, the car parked in front of his shared house. an, "i'll think about it," is what he's left to brew over for the next week or so as he stares that the text, read and unreplied, that he'd sent to remind you of the day and time of the game. he's anxious but it's only to that extent.

it's becoming more and more evident that jeno is loosing his touch on ice. he hates that the only thing he can attribute it to is his dwindling love life. he finds that the enforcer is atypically rough today but he's glad that his role at the goal requires the least interaction and footwork. he'd promised his coach that he would be more wary of his surroundings but he can't help the occasional glance at the rink entrance every once in awhile. what he doesn't understand is that his definition of 'once in awhile' marks at around every thirty seconds.

the last round is the most painful, undoubtedly, because it's as if his defeat is being dragged on and on, as if the giant timer above the rink is ticking to the heartbeat of a dead man. 

jeno can is aware that he's breathing. he's aware but he has to double check when the entrance doors open for the last time that game and you've arrived. you're standing by the doorway, apprehensive, but jeno can't get it past his head that you've arrived, that you're here. he'd have gotten decked in the face had you not motioned your head in the direction of the fast approaching puck and the burly man behind it.

he blocks the shot and every shot after. there's no need to wonder why.

the buzzer rings in his head so quick that he thinks time runs on his emotions rather than the clock. his helmet is often in seconds and he's making his way at supersonic speeds to the part of the rail where you're stood. the glass fogs with his breath as he tries to get his words across. 'i'll be quick,' he mouths. 

you count two minutes until he's off ice. jeno hasn't bothered to shower, he lacks the patience for it. he sits you down on the lowest of the bleachers, closest to the rink. standing over you, he finds that he has so much to say, so many things he wants to let you know, all the feelings he's ever bottled up for the girl so obviously made for him.

he's never had much of a way with words but he thinks that the romance movies hyuck's made him watch over the years give a pretty good overview of what to say in situations like these, "i'd cross the world for you." you snort back at him, nose crinkling in distaste at his choice of words and poking fun at him with your own, "rink, jeno. you mean you'd cross the rink for me."

"y/n, i'm tryna do something here," he whines, the pout on display mimicking his displeased but light-hearted implications. you're equally as amused, "oh yeah? what are you tryna do?"

"i'm tryna," he takes your two arms in his and wraps them around his middle. you instinctively fist the fabric of his blue jersey at the back, "jeno, what are you-" you stop when a hand of his own comes to trace the lines of your face softly. maybe he can't find the words but surely he could show you. if he could just…"you keep interrupting me, jeno."

drawn from his resolution, he's snappy when he retorts, "i think as your boyfriend i ought to have that privilege."

"boyfriend? since when did you-"

"i just did," he revels in the idea that you think him to be smooth with words when in reality the 'boyfriend' was a slip up, a mirror of his daydreams. he's over the moon that it worked out in his favor. while he fixates on just how much he feels for you, you're playfully annoyed at a whole other, "stop fucking interrupting me, jen-"

"i love you."

you blink up at him. well shit. a lot of things are happening and you lack the brain cells to process them. there's only one thing you can think to do, only one think that you're thinking about, have been thinking about, will still be thinking about. 

he may be the one to steal words right from your mouth but beyond that he's oblivious, you think. the smile still plays on his lips when he follows up, "is it okay to interrupt you if i say something like tha-"

you press a smile of your own onto his lips, cutting his words effectively. a hand of yours moves up to the curve of his neck to bring him down further, the angle at which he is kissing giving him all the advantage he needs to deepen it. when you part, you aren't surprised to see how half your body is leaning on the row of seats behind you and that jeno's entire body is sprawled on yours, supported by a knee on one side of you. 

you like your lips as you feel his breath hot on yours. "how's it feel now?"

shaking his head, jeno presses his temple to yours so that the only thing you can see is him, just him. "interrupt me any day, will you?"

copyright © 2020 rouiyan all rights reserved.

✧ end note — wrote this up in approx. three hours. lee jeno is so rude for interrupting all my other wips (that are also mostly for him). i hope you enjoyed because i did, i freaking love writing for him <3

[kjack89]

An Agreement Between Gentlemen (Chapter 4/?)

Continuation of the E/R Bridgerton AU, regency-era fake-marriage shenanigan-fest. This time, with duel-shenanigans as well! (Chapter 1 tumblr | AO3, chapter 2 tumblr | AO3, chapter 3 tumblr | AO3)

Dearest Readers, 

This Author recommends that young women prone to swoon do not read this most peculiar of updates without someone there to catch them, as the most shocking of scandals has broken, and not, as one might expect, from the city but rather from the country.

If you have guessed that it involves our two unlikely friends out for a country jaunt, you would be correct, but we doubt even the most voracious of readers would guess the nature of the scandal. It turns out Mr. Grantaire is not an only child, as many have supposed, but instead has a sister of the marrying age. Why she was not presented to society is anyone’s guess, but we expect she’ll be along soon enough, given what has occurred. 

Details are still forthcoming, but suffice it to say, the Marquess of Enjolras, perhaps least likely amongst his cohort to find himself in this situation, appears to have been found in a compromising position with Mr. Grantaire’s sister. A quick, quiet wedding is the fastest way to deal with a scandal of this nature, but the salacious nature of this situation doesn’t end here:

The Marquess has allegedly refused to marry Mr. Grantaire’s sister, so Mr. Grantaire publicly challenged the Marquess to a duel for his sister’s honor, and the Marquess accepted. 

Tales of Mr. Grantaire’s prowess in physical contests are well-known, so this Author hopes for the Marquess’s sake that his aim with a gun is less impressive. Fear not, dear Reader. This Author suspects that both the Marquess of Enjolras and Mr. Grantaire will emerge from the duel with all limbs intact, but we also suspect that Grantaire will emerge with a soon-to-be brother-in-law – and the Marquess with a fiancée. LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 4 May 1831 

It was, charitably speaking, ungodly early when Enjolras was roused from his bed by the ever dour-faced Le Cabuc. There was not even a hint of sunlight when he glanced out the window before getting dressed, and when he and Grantaire set off a half hour later, there was still just the beginning rays of sunlight creeping over the horizon.

Usually, Enjolras did not mind waking at an early hour, though he was more inclined to work late into the night and have a bit of a lie-in the next morning whenever possible, but he had slept poorly the previous night. Undoubtedly, he thought sourly as he followed Grantaire away from the house, because of what they were setting out to do.

Not that he had much real cause for concern – after all, if Grantaire was going to shoot him, surely he would have done it long ago.

That said, he would also have felt slightly more comfortable if he was carrying one of the guns, rather than Grantaire carrying both as he currently was.

But he suspected his tossing and turning was more related to the grand scheme they were attempting to pull off, and his very real concern that they were not going to be able to. Thus far, certainly, all pieces of the plan had fallen in place, but that as much as anything was setting him on edge. After all, it would take but one thing going awry from the whole arrangement to unravel, and Enjolras was not thoroughly convinced that—

Grantaire heaved a sigh and glanced over his shoulder at Enjolras. “Could you please be quiet?” he asked, sounding as tired as Enjolras felt.

Enjolras scowled at him. “I haven’t said anything!” he protested.

“No, but I can hear your mind going a mile a minute,” Grantaire groused, waving a dismissive hand. “It is positively spoiling what should otherwise be a magnificent morning.”

It was a lovely morning, Enjolras supposed, especially as the sun inched further up in the sky. “There is only so much I can do about the relative volume of my mind,” he told Grantaire, half-smiling as he did.

Grantaire pursed his lips slightly before shaking his head. “No, I suppose not,” he said, pausing in his stride to allow Enjolras to fall into step besides him. “Which means that I shall have to distract you instead.”

“And how do you intend on doing that?” Enjolras asked, more amused than curious.

“Well, I could regale you with what little I know about the vegetation in this area,” Grantaire offered, and when Enjolras wrinkled his nose, he laughed. “Very well. Then what conversation topic would you prefer?”

Enjolras considered it for a second. “I suppose you could start by telling me where, exactly, you’re taking me.”

“So banal,” Grantaire said, half under his breath, and he laughed and dodged when Enjolras tried to elbow him in the ribs. “Fine, fine. There’s a field not far outside of town that’s up on a small bluff. Isolated so that no one will see, but the elevation and lack of foliage between the field and town will allow the sound to carry, which is what I am banking on.”

“Not a lot of shooting out this way?” Enjolras asked, mostly jokingly, though Grantaire seemed to consider it for a moment before shaking his head.

“No. A fox hunt every now and then or something or the sort, but usually advertised well in advance and taking place further afield.”

The terrain sloped upward at that point, and both Enjolras and Grantaire fell silent as they trekked along. Finally, the slope evened out, and as Grantaire had promised, they were standing on the edge of a fairly flat field overlooking the town below. “Well,” Grantaire said, rather unnecessarily. “Here we are.”

He handed one of the pistols to Enjolras, who took it, feeling unusually out of sorts, even though this was hardly his first time wielding a weapon. “Ten paces?” he asked, mostly for lack of anything better to say.

“I suppose so,” Grantaire said, before winking at him. “Of course, in keeping with our attempt at verisimilitude, I could shoot you, if you wish. Just a flesh wound, in the shoulder maybe – just a little something to demonstrate how coerced you were into this whole affair.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “While I am certain that you would have no compunction shooting anyone, I really don’t think that’s necessary.”

Instead, he squared his shoulders and dutifully marched ten paces away before turning to face Grantaire again. “Here?” he asked, but Grantaire was frowning, his gun held loosely at his side.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked.

Enjolras blinked. “I mean, is this the correct distance?”

“No, by my not having any compunction about shooting anyone.”

There was something unfamiliar in Grantaire’s tone and Enjolras frowned, trying to figure out what exactly he had said to put Grantaire out. “I meant no offense,” he offered.

Grantaire shook his head. “I do not necessarily take offense,” he said. “But I would still wish to know what precisely you meant.”

Enjolras considered him for a moment. “I know that you are an accomplished boxer,” he said after a moment. “And I have it on good authority that you know also how to wield a blade, so it can only stand to reason that you know how to use a gun. That s all that I meant.”

“Know how, yes,” Grantaire said, “but I’ve never shot anyone, and I’m not certain that I could bring myself to, were it to come to that.”

Now it was Enjolras’s turn to frown and ask, “What do you mean?”

Grantaire shrugged, glancing down at the gun in his hand. “I mean, with boxing, with fencing, hell, even with street brawling as Bahorel and I are wont to do—”

“Wont is certainly one word for it,” Enjolras said sourly, too aware of how many times those two had gotten themselves into scraps.

“—with all of those,” Grantaire continued, ignoring him, “the goal is surrender. You wound or injure to get the offending party to back down. But with a gun?” Again he looked down at the gun in his hand, hefting it as if testing its weight. “With a gun, the outcome is too often death, no matter the intent. And I am not certain that I could bring myself to shoot a man, knowing the likely outcome is his death.”

It had not been at all the answer Enjolras was expecting. “Oh,” he said, a little stupidly. “I suppose I did not think of it that way.”

“What of you?” Grantaire asked, with a wry half-smile, as if aware of the absurdity of this conversation when the two men were facing each other with pistols in hands so as to duel. “Have you ever shot a man?”

Enjolras shook his head. “No,” he said, “but I don’t think I would have the same hesitation you would. Death is a tool, and there are times when, in order to bring about the best future possible, killing someone is the only option.” Grantaire shifted as if he was about to interrupt, but Enjolras did not let him. “But the law of progress is that this will no longer be the case some day, and that is the moment for which I would fight, and kill if necessary, so that none after me would face that choice.”

Grantaire was silent for a few moments after, and he was too far away for Enjolras to be able to read every line in his face like he normally would be able to. “I understand,” Grantaire pronounced finally, the two words spoken almost like a vow. 

Enjolras felt strangely tongue-tied at that, and looked away. “Shall we?” he asked, his voice strangely thick, and Grantaire nodded.

Both men faced each other once more, lifting their pistols to aim in the rough direction of the other, ready to get this over with. Later, Enjolras would never know what possessed him in that moment, but as he stared down the barrel of the gun at Grantaire, he could not help but blurt, “I could have sworn that you were going to kill that soldier.”

Grantaire lowered his pistol, his brow furrowing. “What soldier?”

Enjolras lowered his weapon as well. “Do you remember the demonstration we hosted outside of parliament last spring?”

“I am fairly certain the authorities deemed that less a demonstration and more a riot,” Grantaire said, a small smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

“Even so,” Enjolras said, refusing to allow himself to get distracted. “Soldiers were called in to ‘enforce the peace’, though I am certain they were more violent than any of us—”

“They certainly were,” Grantaire murmured.

“—and there was this one soldier in particular who seemed quite determined to…”

Enjolras trailed off, and Grantaire cleared his throat. “To beat you to death in the street?” he supplied, a false, sharp cheerfulness to his words. 

Shaking his head slightly, more at the memory than in disagreement to Grantaire’s words, Enjolras swallowed before continuing, “That’s one way of putting it.” He met Grantaire’s eyes. “But you stopped him.”

“Yes.”

“Quite violently, as memory serves.”

Grantaire’s expression didn’t so much as flicker. “Yes.”

“But you did not wish to kill him?”

“Oh, I wanted very much to kill him,” Grantaire said, an ugly look crossing his face. “But I did not.”

Enjolras had the sense that continuing too far down that path was not going to end well, so he changed tacks slightly. “So then you too agree that death is a sometimes necessary tool.”

Grantaire jerked a shrug. “I suppose, yes,” he allowed. “If the circumstances were right.”

“And the circumstances were not right that day?” Enjolras asked, because he couldn’t resist prying, just a little.

Grantaire shook his head. “No.”

He did not seem inclined to elaborate any further, and Enjolras frowned. “Because you feared that you could have been arrested?” he asked, though he doubted that was the case, as Grantaire had been arrested as many times as any of their number.

Indeed, Grantaire snorted derisively. “As if the threat of incarceration has ever once stopped me,” he scoffed, before arching an eyebrow at Enjolras. “Or you, for that matter.”

“It helps knowing that you or I would only be incarcerated until the police realized who we were and released us,” Enjolras said dryly. “The perks of nobility – or gentility, I suppose, in your case.” 

“Gentility,” Grantaire repeated, smirking again. “I dare you to use that the next time you’re arrested, just to see what the officer placing you in irons has to say in response.”

Enjolras just rolled his eyes and ignored him, steering the conversation back on track. “What did stop you, then?” he asked, and when Grantaire looked confused, he elaborated, “From killing the soldier, if not the possibility of incarceration.”

Grantaire’s expression was unreadable as he locked eyes with Enjolras. “You were no longer in danger,” he said simply.

The stark words left Enjolras feeling as if his chest was suddenly a size too small, and it took him a moment to compose himself. To know Grantaire had reacted that way when the man was not convinced he could take a life, and all because Enjolras had been in danger...it was too much. Finally, he met Grantaire’s eyes once again, and hoped the two words he could muster conveyed everything that he wished they did. “Thank you.”

Grantaire seemed suddenly flushed, and he cleared his throat and looked away. “In any case,” he said loudly, “can we kindly get back to the business of shooting each other?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Shooting at each other,” he corrected.

Grantaire smirked at him, all traces of the previous conversation disappearing. “Is that not what I said?” he asked innocently.

Again Enjolras rolled his eyes before once again raising his gun and aiming it in Grantaire’s general direction. Grantaire followed suit, a half a beat later. “Are you ready?” Enjolras asked.

“As ready as I will ever be,” Grantaire said. “On your count?”

Enjolras jerked a nod. “On my count,” he affirmed, taking a deep breath before counting, “One...two...shoot.”

Both guns went off with a flash of powder and smoke, the gunshots echoing loudly in the still morning air, loud enough to make Enjolras wince – though that may also have been from the recoil, which left Enjolras’s arm feeling weak. “Do you yield?” Grantaire called, and it took that question for Enjolras to remember the absurd reason for which they were there in the first place.

“Yes, I yield,” Enjolras told him, the first and only times those words had ever come out of his mouth.

Grantaire smirked at him. “And do you agree to marry my sister?”

Enjolras gave him a look. “There is no one here to hear my answer, you realize.” Grantaire returned his look with one of his own, and Enjolras sighed. “Yes, I will marry your sister.”

“Then I have my satisfaction,” Grantaire said, sounding just a little smug.

But as Enjolras handed his pistol back to Grantaire, as lingering pieces from their conversation played over in his mind, he could not help but feel that they had both gotten satisfaction that day.

[thecaffeinebookwarrior]

My Top Tips for Sticking to That Damn WIP

Anonymous asked: 

Hey so I have this thing were I get an idea for a story and then put a bunch of effort into it and develop the world and characters a lot then I kinda just get distracted by a new idea and the other work gets abandoned. It freaking sucks that all these stories ive put so much effort into just kinda ... disappear. If you know anyway to combat this I'd really appreciate it.

First and foremost, take comfort in the fact that this is a ridiculously common issue. One of the most frequent complaints I hear from fellow writers is that they can’t stay focused on a single idea, and keep getting distracted. 

Am I a stranger to this? No, I am not. But I’ve gotten pretty good on self-managing my writing habits and sanctioning off distractions, so I figured it was time to make a post outlining my tips!

1. Set achievable goals, and keep them as best as you’re able.

The biggest culprit when it comes to incomplete or abandoned projects as a writer is a lack of habit-building. You don’t necessarily need to write every day -- there’s a whole slew of reasons why that isn’t doable for some people -- but in order to build the habits you need, you need to set goals you can keep. 

Maybe it’s an hour a day, maybe it’s an hour a week. Maybe it’s a page a day. There are no rules. But set a goal you can keep, and keep at it till it becomes second nature. 

You can set multiple goals for multiple projects, but I find that it’s best to focus on one project at a time. I’m about to explain why. 

2. Realize that planning a project is almost always more appealing than doing the project.

Daydreaming, worldbuilding, and even plotting are dope as hell. You get to soar over the sprawling landscape of your fictional world, and it feels limitless. Actually writing can feel like transferring that landscape onto a piece of paper using only a spoon. 

The reason why you’re stuck in a world-building and planning rut is because PLANNING a project is almost always more exciting than DOING the project. Doing a project is where expectations and reality crash like twin freight trains. It’s hard, especially when you’re getting started. That’s why so many people have fifty projects planned, and few to none underway. 

Learn to anticipate this! If it’s harder to actually start writing than it is to plan it, that doesn’t mean you’re failing. It means you’re doing something right. 

And on that note...

3. Come up with a game plan to avoid distractions. 

Once you’re in the WIP trenches, your other projects and ideas will suddenly look a lot more appealing to you. “I should have started that other project. Why didn’t I?” you may lament. Of course, if you had started That Other Project, you’d be wishing you started work on your current project. 

Why? Well, as I mentioned before, planning projects is almost always more fun than doing projects. (At least to start with. There’s an unmatchable exhilaration that comes from watching your work finally start to take form, but I’ll get to that later.) 

Once again, ANTICIPATE THIS! And come up with doable ways to document your other ideas so you can work on them later, without walking away from your current project. 

Which brings me to my next point:

4. Keep at least one notebook for your other ideas. 

And preferably at least one word document for each, so you can jot down ideas for each new project as you come up with them. I’ve gone back to SO many project ideas after completing the first draft of another, and one of the best ways to ensure you can do so is to document them as they come up.

Some authors will take a day off from their current WIP to plot out each new idea as it comes up, but personally, that’s never been my style. However, it’s important to experiment and figure out a method of documentation that works for you. 

Remember: you’re not abandoning these ideas. You’re squirreling them away for future use! 

5. Recognize when you need to take a break from a project (or drop it completely.) 

Ultimately, and despite evidence to the contrary, writing is supposed to bring you joy. There are few experiences more exhilarating than finally watching a story take shape, or writing a sentence that you’re really proud of, or walking home from the coffee shop and daydreaming about your next scene. 

If, after a reasonable allotment of time, you find that your current WIP isn’t bringing you joy, there’s no shame in taking a break from it. Give it some distance for, say, a week or two, and then see if you feel compelled to return. If you feel little or no inclination to return, it might be time to explore other ideas.

Ultimately, writing is a relationship, between the author and their creation. As with all kinds of relationships, there are healthy ones, and there are unhealthy ones. If your current project is making you miserable, then keep exploring till you find one that makes you happy. Each “abandoned” project is not a lost cause, because it has taught you something new. 

I hope this helps, and happy writing! <3

[cactuskate]

Chapter 4: Navarro

an: as promised!

Summary: Y/N, Chewie, and Han make it to Navarro, where they are looking to find a high paying guild job. Y/N -- being the badass she is -- gets the information Han and Chewie need, but not without a little jealous angst from Han. Queue a fight in the cockpit and a sweet ending!

word count: 4190

----

You wake up the next day feeling restless. Your feelings got the better of you last night, and your lack of good sleep proved that. As you start to shift to get out of bed, the pain from your ribs shoots you back to reality.

The second day of travel goes by without any major incidents - Han-related or otherwise. You keep mostly to yourself, finishing your repairs and cooking enough food for a week. With Navarro in sight out of the window of the cockpit, you and the crew buckle in for an easy landing. Of all the places in the galaxy you could imagine visiting, of course the first place you go is another sand dune planet. Han and Chewbacca unload the cargo to the delivery point within an hour of landing, proudly boarding the Falcon with more credits than when they left.

“I take it you two got paid well?” you ask, chuckling at how giddy these grown men seem.

You are sprawled out on the couch in the living quarters, changed into your best desert-night-out attire - a matching tan ensemble, exposing your sunkissed arms and a plunging neckline. Your top and pants meet at your hips, covering the bruising that has gotten worse. You are still cradling your side, but the sight of your crew is enough to distract you from the throbbing pain from your ribs.

“Onto the next gig,” Chewie growls happily, stashing his share of credits in a bin he keeps above the couch. “Are you ready to hit the town? I think she’s going to be our secret weapon,” Chewie asks you, turning to Han who looks at you with a hint of concern in his eyes as he realizes you're wearing an outfit that conceals your injury.

“I was born ready, let’s go,” you smile, getting up from your spot on the couch.

Han hands you a communicator and instructs you on how to work it. You place the speaker in your ear and clip the controller around your wrist. Your other bracelets disguise it perfectly. Han and Chewie test their communications before the three of you leave the Falcon.

You follow the pair at a distance that makes it seem you aren’t part of their group. They lead you to the cantina where the guild members tend to hang out. Han and Chewbacca take a seat in a booth close to the entrance. You wait a moment at the door, scanning the crowd for someone who looks like they’d give you the information you need.

“We’ll sit just out of sight while you look for information. Keep your mic hot when you find someone. Once you get the location of the guild meeting, we’ll slip out the front and meet you back at the Falcon when we get a job,” Han chimes in over the comm, his rough voice echoing in your ear.

You don’t respond, as to not indicate to anyone paying attention to you that you are in cahoots with your crew. There. You spot a guild member seated at the bar, keeping a low profile but just buzzed enough that he’s looking for some entertainment.

Approaching the bar, you slyly click your comm’s mic on, making sure not to meet the man’s eyes that you now feel burning on you. You sit down next to him, and order your go-to drink for missions like this - a drink that takes most men by surprise that a lady like you would order it. Whatever that means.

“One fuzzy tauntaun, please,” you say to the bartender, sliding enough credits for the drink and a tip across the bar. You casually toss your hair behind your shoulder, exposing your collarbone and neck to the man seated next to you, still feeling his gaze adjusted on you.

“I would have never pegged you to be a fan of the fuzzy tauntaun,” the man says to you, flashing you a smoldering look.

You smile flirtatiously, knowing that the oldest trick in your book worked once again.

“You seem like too much of a lady to enjoy such a strong drink,” he says, shifting in his seat to get a better view of you.

“I like to keep people on their toes,” you say sweetly, reaching for the drink the bartender placed in front of you, taking a long, slow sip of the fiery alcohol while keeping your gaze on the man in front of you. You feel a familiar set of eyes land on your back. Han. He shifted in the booth to watch you engage with this man, intently observing your body language.

“What is someone as pretty as yourself doing in a place like this?” the man asks, carefully watching your drink release from your lips and land back on the table. “It’s not everyday I get to sit next to the most beautiful woman in the galaxy,” he adds.

What a line. You’ve heard that one before, never sincerely though. Every man uses it with one goal in mind. Hearing it, though, assures you that you’ve picked the right person who will bend just enough to give you the information you need.

“You flatter me,” you squeal, mustering up the most flirtatious tone you can, softly pushing the man’s shoulder away, then moving it to settle closer to you than it was before.

The man flashes a smile as you reel at his compliment, and you linger your touch on his shoulder just long enough to peak his interest. Slowly bringing your hand back to your legs, you respond, “I’m here for the same thing as just about everyone else - a job.” You bat your eyes and smile, as you bring your drink back up to your lips, hovering before you take a sip to ask, “Do you know how I could get a good paying job with the guild as an outsider? I’m new to Navarro, but I’m just passing through looking for work,” you say just softly enough to get the man to lean in even further. You take another long sip, maintaining his gaze.

“I’m not really supposed to say,” the man trails, pausing for a moment, entranced by your presence. You narrow your eyes slightly, willing him to bend.

“The guild only allows outsiders to take jobs at the recommendation of a member,” he says after you slowly move your hand to his knee, still not breaking your gaze on him. You feel Han’s eyes intensify behind you.

“The guild is handing out jobs in 20 minutes three doors south of here. Tell them that Kain Malo sent you, they’ll let you pick from the highest paying gigs,” the man tells you, short of breath because of your touch. You smile at him.

”Kain Malo?” you ask, “Is that your name?” The man smiles and nods, as he takes a sip from his drink. You shift your gaze from his eyes to his mouth and back to his eyes. “It’s the perfect name for a man as handsome as yourself,” you say, hoping to get more out of him. After a moment, you add, “When I get a good gig, I won’t forget your kindness,” sliding your hand up his leg a bit and slowly returning it to his knee. You feel his breath get short and you smile. “I’ll be sure to give you a nice cut as commission.”

“What is your name?” Kain asks, flustered by your advances.

“Nadya,” you smile, giving him a false identity. You extend a hand for him to shake, saying sweetly, “It’s getting late, I should get to the guild meeting.”

“Nadya…” Kain says softly, grabbing your hand and placing it back on his knee, “I’m staying here, at the inn attached to this bar. Room 319. Once you get that job, why don’t you come back and celebrate with me? We could talk about that commission,” Kain trails, his gaze turning seductive. You smile, standing up from the barstool and bringing your hand to rest on his face, softly grazing your thumb over his lips.

“It’ll be a big commission,” you whisper, leaning in so only Kain and your mic can hear. “You know I’m good for it,” you say softly, dragging your hand down his face and to his arm, beginning your walk towards the cantina’s entrance. You turn your head to look at Kain one last time, winking at him before turning to continue walking.

“You two got all of that?” you ask softly over the comm as you walk past the empty booth where Han and Chewie were no longer seated.

“We’re on our way to the guild now,” Han huffs over the comm.

“You’re good at this,” Chewie growls over the comm, his voice cloaked in awe.

“Let’s plan to meet back at the Falcon in an hour or so,” you announce over the comm, turning to find the Navarro Union headquarters. “I need to turn my comm off for a bit, but I will check in when I’m on my way back,” you say.

“Whatever,” says an annoyed Han. You switch your comm off as you walk down the stairs to the Union’s headquarters.

------

You slip through the back of the room of the Union’s headquarters, being careful not to distract from the dealing of missions that have already started. While you couldn’t accept any due to your probation, you wanted to make contacts at this location for future use.

Shit. Your side reminds you of its injury. You are in the most pain you’ve ever felt. After the assignments are over, you’ll go see the Union nurses.

Watching the slides of targets get dealt out among the members, you shudder when the last target is introduced. It’s Kain, the man you just swindled back at the cantina.

“This final target is at the top of the most wanted list for the Union of Navarro. We’ve confirmed he is currently on-planet but do not know much more about his whereabouts or what he plans to do,” the Sister continues. You stand up, requesting to interject.

“Excuse me, Sister. My name is Y/N, I’m a Union member from Tatooine, recently turned interplanetary. My member ID is K-2199.” The Sister nods, allowing you to continue. “I made contact with this target about 10 minutes ago in the cantina down the road. From our conversation, he is under the impression I will be joining him in his inn suite later tonight. I have no intentions of visiting him, as I gave him a false identity and only needed him to tell me the location of the guild meeting,” you say, aware the entire room has turned to your attention. “I cannot accept a mission at this time, but I have his location - room 319 of the inn attached to the cantina. You can use my false identity as an alibi for getting close to him. I told him my name was Nadya.”

“Thank you, Y/N. Damasa, you will lead this mission. We must act quick, form a team with Sister Lor to make a plan,” the Sister says. “That will be all for missions tonight, please stay around if you wish. Y/N, will you come see me?”

You make your way to the front of the room, being greeted by smiling members and choruses of thank yous. When you reach the Sister, she takes your hands.

“Sister Carrie informed the interplanetary council of your updated status as a member. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, and even more thankful for the information you gathered about the target. Is there anything you require while you are on Navarro?” the Sister asks, with genuine appreciation in her face.

“Thank you for such a warm welcome,” you say. “I sustained a bad injury several days ago, and was hoping to meet with a Union nurse if possible.”

“Of course, right this way,” the Sister says, ushering you to the medical corridor.

----

“Well, Y/N, it looks like you have three broken ribs and severe bruising. I’m glad you came in when you did,” the nurse says, giving you a concerned smile. “I think the best course would be a bacta shot.”

You wince. Bacta shots, though the most effective medicine, are also the most intense of remedies. You agree to the nurse’s suggestion, and she prepares the shot.

“I heard about what happened to you on Tatooine,” the nurse says, distracting you as she injects the shot just below your ribs in your abdomen. “I also heard that your injury was nothing compared to what that trooper got,” she smiles, impressed by you.

“He got it much worse, that’s for sure,” you chuckle, as you pull your shirt back down over your ribs.

“Now, this shot has some side effects,” the nurse cautions, as she disposes of the syringe. “It’s going to start affecting you in about thirty minutes. You might feel dizzy, maybe feel a bit of a high. You shouldn’t operate any machinery or drink any alcohol. The best way to endure the side effects is to go to sleep. You understand?”

“Yes,” you agree, this was not the first time you had a bacta shot. The nurse grabs a few supplies and throws them in a bag, handing it to you.

“What is this?” you ask, seeing she had given you four bacta shots, an assortment of bandages, and some other medicines. “I can’t accept this.”

“Of course you can. You are one of this Union’s best fighters. Now, more than ever, you need to be protected,” she says, earnestly. “Is there anything else we can help you with?” “Thank you,” you smile, doubting her compliment is remotely true. The best Union fighters wouldn’t be on probation. “I’d like to purchase something from the armory. I’ve recently joined a crew of smugglers and think it’s time to get something a bit more serious than my staff,” you chuckle.

The nurse leads you to the armory, where you pick out a small hand knife and a belt. You attach the belt just under your chest, with the knife in it’s slot at the center of your back. You cover your new weapon with your shirt and pay the fee to the armory.

You thank the members for their kindness, and start your journey back to the Falcon, hoping you get there before the side-effects of your shot kick in. You check the communicator for any messages you missed from Han or Chewie. There weren’t any, so you go back online to send an update.

“I’m back online. Be back at the ship in five minutes,” you click over the comm. You don’t get a response. You figure the two were still bargaining for a job and you’d beat them back to the Falcon.

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

“You’re late,” Han huffs, not even looking up at you as you enter the common room. Chewie is seated next to him at the game table, seeming happy to see you.

“What do you mean? I didn’t think we had anywhere to be,” you ask, genuinely confused at Han’s hostility.

“You said we’d meet back here in an hour. You’re late,” Han says, still not meeting your eyes. You check your watch. You’re six minutes past the suggested rendezvous time.

“Six minutes, Solo. I’m six minutes past a loose timeframe I set,” you say, matching his annoyed mood. “Was the lead right?” you ask the two of them, hoping there was some good news.

“Yes, we got the highest paying job. A delivery to Han’s friend,” Chewie growled proudly.

“That’s great,” you respond, genuinely happy you were able to help out your crew.

“Not great,” Han huffs, standing from the table, finally meeting your gaze.

“But, Chewie said it was the highest paying and it’s for a friend? That seems like the perfect job,” you say, furrowing your brows together at Han.

“He’s not my friend,” Han says, pausing for a moment as if to determine who this person was to him. “It’s complicated. But I know he’s going to try to shortchange us. It’s not an easy job.” Han breaks your gaze and paces over to the desk across the room.

“Don’t be so dramatic. We’ve dealt with Lando thousands of times, we can do it again,” Chewie grumbles. “I’m going to bed,” he announces a moment later, giving you a pat on the shoulder before disappearing into his quarters.

You set the bag of supplies the Union gave you down on the game table, looking in Han’s direction trying to get a read on him. He’s sitting in the desk chair with his back to you. His left ankle is resting on his right knee, while his hand holds his chin. He’s clearly thinking about… something. Suddenly, without warning, Han shoots up from the chair and storms to the cockpit. The mechanic squeak of the cockpit door opening and closing echoes through the Falcon.

You roll your eyes, and start to head to your room. You stop before pushing the door open, and turn quickly on your heel. You march after Han and fling the door to the cockpit open. Han jumps in his seat but does not turn to face you.

“Hey!” you yell. “Want to tell me what that was about, Solo?” you ask angrily. You’re not sure why him being a jerk set you off. Maybe it’s because he was rude, maybe it was the bacta shot rushing through your veins, or maybe it was the fact that he didn’t even say thank you for getting him the information he needed.

“I don’t want to talk, Y/N. I’m in a bad mood,” Han huffs, still not facing you. You move to the front of the cockpit in between the pilot chairs to be in his sight.

“Good, I’m going to talk then,” you huff back. “Did I do something to piss you off? Because from where I’m standing, it seems like you should be thanking me for getting you the information you needed to get the highest paying job on this planet.”

You’re livid. You don’t even care that he didn’t say thank you. You’re more upset about being subjected to his rollercoaster of emotions - a ride you’d rather not be on. Han’s eyes finally dare to meet yours.

“I told you, I don’t want to talk,” Han says gruffly, shooting up, turning to the side wall of the cockpit to mess with some buttons. You follow him to the side, staying in the center aisle of the cockpit, but still within range of his sight if he dared to look at you again.

“It seems my intelligence gathering skills will be feeding us for the next month,” you shoot at him, wanting to strike a nerve.

You were looking for an answer to what you did wrong. The only way to get that out of him was to push him. Han quickly turned around to face you, a look of bewilderment painted on his face.

“I think you’re giving yourself too much credit,” Han sneers, stepping closer to you. “Your skills,” he mumbles, shaking his head, meeting your eyes once again. “It seems like all it took for that guy to bend is a pretty face willing to sleep with him.” Han huffs, taking another step towards you, allowing only inches between your bodies. “Judging from the fact you turned off your comm for an hour, and, not to mention, the look of satisfaction in your eyes, seems like all it took for you to bend was a little sweet talk.”

It feels like a balloon is swelling in your chest, ready to pop. You are angry - no, upset? - that Han would even think you would be so reckless to sleep with someone while they were off job hunting based on information you gave them. Han stands in front of you, not moving, set in his convictions.

“You’re one to talk!” you yell at him. “Fuck you,” you whisper after a moment, shoving him back as you take a few steps towards the door of the cockpit.

“Tell me I’m wrong, then,” Han taunts, stopping you in your tracks and causing you to turn around. Regaining your voice, you catch his eyes.

“I don’t have to tell you anything, remember?” you hiss, bringing up the only condition that you really cared about.

Han rolls his eyes, his body language tensing more.

“You really think that little of me? That I would be so naive to sleep with a strange man I just met on a planet I’ve never been to before?” you shoot at him.

You shake your head, laughing, at how dumb this fight is. Han looks at you, confused. Your expression turns serious once more.

“You might think you know me, Solo. Like every other man in this entire galaxy, you must think that I’m a flirt, that I’m easy, that I’d sleep with the first guy to call me beautiful,” you pause, watching your words pain him. “I don’t care if that’s what you think of me. I care that you would think I’d turn off my comms for-” you pause for a second, before changing directions. “I need you to know that I’m in this. I’m part of the crew. You and Chewbacca are my priorities. I would never do anything to jeopardize that.”

Han watches you for a second. He starts to open his mouth to say something, but closes it again. You sigh. You’re not sure what you want from him at this point.

“I need you to tell me when I piss you off. I don’t like it when you’re mad at me,” you say, softly. Han says nothing. There’s nothing left to say. You turn on your heel and leave the cockpit, retreating to your room.

----

Han stands in the cockpit, looking at the place where you just told him off. He didn’t know why he was in such a bad mood. You were right, tonight was a success. After a moment of processing, he decides to go after you.

He stops cold at your door. What am I going to say?, he thinks, taking a step back from your room.

“What are you doing?” you ask, faintly. Han turns around to see you sitting on the ground, leaning against the couch.

“What are you doing?” he asks, crouching down next to you, a look of worry across his face. “Why are you on the ground?”

“I couldn’t make it to the couch,” you say, trying to adjust yourself to sit up straighter. The bacta was working, alright. You tried to make it to your bed, but you felt dizzy and needed to sit. The ground seemed like the best place to go. “You didn’t answer my question, Solo.”

Han smiled slightly, though his eyes were still worried.

“I didn’t get to ask- I wanted to know how your side was,” he said, stumbling over his words. He gently starts to untuck your shirt from your pants, careful not to accidentally brush your bruises. You catch his hand before he can lift your shirt.

“Stop,” you say. “I can do it.”

Han moves back slightly, giving you room to move. You unbuckle your new weapons belt from under your shirt, placing it on the couch behind you. Han’s eyebrows raise, curious as to how long you’ve had that.

“It’s new,” you shrug, answering his question.

You use Han’s shoulder to help you stand. Han carefully spots you until he’s sure you can stand by yourself. You turn to face him, lifting your shirt just enough to show the blotchy yellow bruise that shows you’re healing. Han’s eyebrows furrow as he examines your side, noticing the point where the bacta shot was injected, softly brushing his thumb across your side. You reel at the touch; not because it is painful, but because it is dangerous. You quickly lower your shirt, forcing Han’s hand off of your skin.

“A bacta shot?” Han asks quietly, meeting your eyes, realizing his judgement of your satisfied look was from the medicine and not a one night stand.

“Guess you figured out where I was tonight,” you huff, grabbing your weapons belt and starting to walk across the room to your door.

“Y/N…,” Han falters. You feel his gaze on you and your stomach churns.

“It doesn’t matter, Solo,” you say, pausing briefly before entering your room, locking the door behind you.

Falling into your bed for the night, you can still feel his touch on your stomach. You touch the spot a few times, making sure his finger wasn’t still there. The pit in your stomach grows, sending a warmth through your body, aching for Han.

No, you think. This can’t happen.

You try to recall the nasty fight you just had with him, his glares, his arrogance. It all comes to mind in a rose-colored facade. Fuck. Before you know it, the bacta effects overcome you to sleepiness. The medicine distracts you from the allure of one Han Solo, just long enough for you to get a full night’s sleep.

[kyndaris]

Journey to the Forbidden West

The first thing that everyone who is intrigued about Aloy’s next adventure should know is that the Forbidden West is bloody big. The second thing that they should know is that if you’re a bit of a completionist, like me, it can take upwards of a hundred hours to explore every nook and cranny. While there’s plenty to do and the world doesn’t feel empty because of all the threats that are lurking just beyond the horizon, to this weary gamer, the review on Polygon was right. The emphasis on more only served to make the game a much more tedious slog than it needed to be. Beyond that, the gameplay was still top-notch and the characters felt both like pastiches of their particular tribes while also being actual human beings in their own right.

Forbidden West continues on from the ending of Zero Dawn. Six months have passed and the planet has gone from bad to worse despite the fact that Aloy was able to stop HADES from destroying Meridian. The biosphere is fading fast and Aloy is desperate to find a way to restore GAIA, the AI that had been Elisabeth Sobek’s life work and end-goal when the Faro Plague struck.

After the opening narration, Aloy finally arrives at the location of her final lead. Keeping her company is Varl. Together, they search through the ruins of a building that once belonged to Far Zenith. But despite fending off a Slitherfang, their efforts are in vain. The supposed GAIA backup that was rumoured to be at the base turns out to be a logic bomb. 

Dismayed, Aloy returns to Meridian, empty-handed and feeling the full weight of her failure. Although most would consider her a saviour, Aloy is not the type to bask in praise and put her feet up after a job well done. For her, there is always more to do. In that, she echoes the heroes of many a story in books, shows and video games.

The one that immediately came to mind as I was playing was Adora from the 2018 animated She-Ra and the Princesses of Power. Just like Adora, Aloy is the type that would throw herself into the fire to save her friends rather than let them help her. The risk of them getting hurt is something they both share. In Aloy’s case, it’s much more prevalent with the active way that she pushes away those closest and dearest to her. As the game continues, however, Aloy begins to accept the aid that is offered rather than going it alone. 

That, in and of itself, is what elevates her above Sylens and many of the antagonists in the sequel to one of my favourite games on the PlayStation 4.

Once Aloy helps out the Carja by investigating the tower that helped bring down HADES subroutine from the end of the first game, she uncovers a message from Sylens telling her to go into the Forbidden West, a land that is governed by the Tenakth. A new goal in hand, Aloy sets out to the Daunt to attend the embassy being held between the Carja and the barbarous Tenakth. So began my hundred hour long journey through the new playground Guerilla Games provided us with.

From a narrative standpoint, Forbidden West built upon what came before. After all, HADES could not have become self-aware without the aid of another. The extinction signal that had activated the subroutine had to have come from somewhere. Then, of course, there had been the sprinkles of lore that had been scattered throughout the first game of the Odyssey: a ship which many of the brightest minds had taken to flee the dying planet. Taking advantage of what they had seeded before, Forbidden West was able to finally reap the plot points that had been left hanging in the previous game.

While the Far Zeniths were not particularly bombastically evil, they still served as passable antagonists to Aloy’s quest to save the Earth. Only Erik Visser seemed to have revelled in death, while others, such as Gerard Bieri felt like caricatures of current wealthy billionaires.

Then, of course, there was Tilda van der Meer. Voiced by Carrie-Anne Moss, she was the perfect foil to Aloy. Though she’s not as vicious as the others, the dream that she had, and her obsession with Aloy (a clone of Elisabeth Sobeck) meant that she was just as greedy and corrupt as the others. After all, who would be able to live for a thousand years and remain sane? Let alone altruistic?

My main problem with the game actually came with the contrivances that so many of the subroutines were located in North America. With a majority of them being scattered in the titular Forbidden West. While ARTEMIS, APOLLO and ELEUTHIA had been snapped up by Far Zenith, the fact that AETHER, POSEIDON and DEMETER were all located fairly close to each other stopped the game from being the globe-trotting adventure it could have been.

Although, to be fair, that particular contrivance helped Aloy immensely. Given that many of the tribes were very centralised, she would have needed to figure out a way to cross the oceans (or fly in the sky) with only a few months to spare before the biosphere would have been become unlivable. 

Then, of course, there was MINERVA. The one subordinate function that was named after a Roman Goddess. But that’s not the end of my gripes with MINERVA. Akin to Athena, MINERVA is the Goddess of war and of wisdom. She isn’t one that is known for messages and communication. So, why is she the subroutine that is in charge of the communication arrays? If that was to be the case, why couldn’t the scientists at Zero Dawn have named it HERMES?

On that note, why is APOLLO regarded as the subordinate function with an archive of human history and culture. True, he was a patron of the arts and has also been associated with health and the sun, but it seemed a far cry from his actual responsibilities as a deity of Ancient Greece.

Beyond that, I loved my time helping out the various Tenakth clans and meeting new tribes such as the Utaru and the Quen. Aloy’s companions: Zo, Varl, Erend, Kotallo, Alva and Beta were all such rich additions. I loved each and every one of them and felt as close to them as family.

For too long, Aloy has operated as a one-person army. Yes, she might be skilled and smart, but everyone needs help sometimes. And it takes a strong person to realise that and to be open about accepting it.

As for the combat, I loved the new machines that were introduced in Forbidden West. Facing up against a Frostclaw, Tremortusk or even a Burrower felt like a refreshing change. Then, of course, there were the legacy machines - ones that I faced in Zero Dawn. Honestly, the variety between the machines was outstanding. The only one I look forward to never fighting again, however, are the Rockbreakers. They are the worst machines. Anything that tunnels and leaps out from underneath the ground is terrifying. 

And while the changes made to the weapon wheel was great for those that liked to experiment, I found myself sticking to true and tried formulas for fighting. My Aloy was stuffed full to the gills with sharpshot bows, blast slings and hunter bows. Sometimes, I’d pull out the occasional warrior bow. That was it. My arsenal when it came to taking down humans, creatures and machines alike.

Actually, now that I think about it, the animals in the world also seemed very limited in the world that Guerilla Games created. I was always puzzled why that there were foxes, prairie dogs, vultures, owls and rabbits (to name but a few) but I never saw any apex predators that would have been on the top of the foodchain. Were were the wolves? Or even the mountain lions? The deserts didn’t even have snakes or coyotes! How does the food-web in the new biosphere operate? Have the machines taken over a lot of the jobs that might have been done by a plethora of insects and other creatures? 

I have so many questions and yet so little answers.

Forbidden West is a great sequel to Zero Dawn. The world is rich with history and the characters were all a delight. I very much enjoyed seeing the different tribes interacting and seeing what in particular inspired them when it came to their beliefs and ways of life. There is so much to love in this unique world that Guerilla Games have created, from MachineStrike to the graphical fidelity to the intricate lore in the games...

Is it any wonder that I also platinumed the sequel as well?

Here’s hoping that Guerilla Games can stick the landing when it comes to the ending of what has felt will be a trilogy of games. Each and every time, the threat has been escalated but I hope that Aloy’s adventure comes to an end with a bang. She certainly deserves the chance to take a break after all the time and effort she has taken to saving everyone else. Whether or not they know it.

[bigsnzstanacct]

King’s New Allergy Part 4

This is wildly overwritten but at least I’m writing...? Here is the link to the other chapters of this story lmao. Of course it is also on le blue forum. After this chapter there is one more to conclude the story (which is already partially written!) and then there’s a chance I’ll eventually write an aggressively porn-y epilogue. okay byeeeeeeee!

------

My nose. My damned nose. By all the gods old and new, my insatiable, insufferable, intolerable, insistent, itchy, tickly, twitching, torurous nose!

“So the… th-thehhhh… the harvest in the W-weehhhhh… Western… -sniff-”

I was fighting.  I was fighting as hard as I’d ever fought anything. Harder. But to do battle against a swordsman, a sorceror, a monster, a ghost… that was child’s play. For that I had tools and training. Years of training in weapons and fighting. For this meeting too: years of training in diplomacy, in leadership. But none of that training involved a struggle to the death against your own damned nose!

“In the W-wehhhh… weeeeeeehhHHHH…”

Through narrowing eyes, I saw their faces: full of disapproval, fear, hands itching to clap to their ears, legs twitching to hide under the table, as though I really were a storm unto myself, and in taking cover, they might be spared the worst. Perhaps if I simply allowed the sneeze to come, it might not be so monstrous but… I could not. I could not bring myself to succumb so easily, to give in, to be weak. I chanced putting a finger beneath my nose. It was a desperate failsafe that had served at least a few times, but in truth I could never resist for long. I could no more resist these violent eruptions than the sky, overcharged with energy, could resist the lightning arcing across the sky, or the terrible roar of the thunder in response.

“Oh gods… I’m sahhhh.. s-ssaahhhhhh… s-sorreeehhhhhHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRSSSSCCCHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! AnothhheeEERRRYYYYYYYYAAAASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!! hehhhh… hh-hehhhhhh… HUUUH! HHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAASSSSSSSSSHHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

They came, thick, fast and violent. Each one felt like it took all my strength, as though I couldn’t help but through the full weight of my body—no, the full weight of the castle herself into each sneeze. And then, for a moment…

Bliss.

No itch, no tickle, no torture. As terrible as they were, as much as they terrorized my meeting, my castle, my citizens, my countryside… there was a guilty, fiendish part of me that felt such magnificent release and relief with each great roar that was loosed from my mouth and nose. Drained, too, of course. Exhausted as though I’d climbed a mountain after practically each sneeze, let alone a whole terrible fit of them like I’d done. But also, utterly and simply delighted.

And then I opened my eyes and the embarrassment flooded in, and then, barely a split-second later, the tiny, teasing, barely-perceptible blossom of the itch that presaged another sneeze. The urge to sneeze again was following closer and closer on the glorious feeling of release and relief. When this all started I could go half the day without a sneezing fit. Then hours. Now barely minutes. But perhaps if I didn’t think about it, if I just barrelled through and ignored the tickle… maybe it would leave me alone.

“My apologies again, gentlemen.” I said, and quickly, before anyone could comment upon my nose: “Now, the Western harvest is among the best we’ve had in some years, which means our levy at the current rate should be -sniff!-” the itch already was worming its way up. But I could hold out still. I could ignore it.

“At the current rate should be more than sufficient to provide for capitol needs, y-yes Minister?”

The Minister of the Exchequer tried to discreetly rub at his ears, but it was obvious what he was doing, trying to clear his head from my sneezing long enough to focus on what I was saying. I couldn’t bear it.

“Yes! It will be sufficient, I don’t need you to check my arithmetic. You may repohhh… re-re…” I gave a hard sniff, and allowed myself  a quick rub at the underside of my nose with the heel of my palm. It was an embarrassing, almost childish gesture but I was far beyond caring about small embarrassments. I had much, much larger mortifications to be concerned with.

“Youmayreportbackifneedsbe!” I barrelled out, knowing the tickle was already roused, and at any moment could turn the act of speech into feat as tricky as any in my storied questing career.

“What is the next item on the ahhh… hahhh…” my eyes swam, unfocused for a moment. Hands crept up towards ears, dread lining in every face of the council. I could feel my knights tensing behind me, as though bracing for an explosion, hoping not to be knocked off their feet. The sneeze wasn’t even ready, it would play with me for several more moment yet. It reminded me of nothing more than sparring with the quartermaster as a boy: putting up a valiant fight, certain I was on the edge of victory… only to find he was only playing a game with me. He would always win.

“The next agenda item!” I said, slamming a fist down on the table. I wasn’t angry with the council, and I hope they knew that, but. It was all so damned frustrating… I couldn’t speak without terrifying my council, not with my words but with the threat of my nose. Of all the mortifying.

“Well my lord, we have not admitted petitioners in over three weeks, owing to your condition. I was informed the Royal Physician as well as the, ah, King’s Right Hand will be pursuing some possibilities for treatment, but the peo---”

“Damn the conditiiIiiiHHHHHH… HHIIIHHHHHH!!” May noses and sneezes be damned by all the gods old and new! The urge was already prickling in my nose, fanning its way towards inevitability, as though to mock me for cursing it. By all the gods, I should be able to see my people, to hear their complaints and all because of my god’s damned lack of control, I couldn’t even do that… I felt furious as a boy, looking up at the quartermaster teary-eyed with rage at losing, at humiliation. And here I was again, losing. And to a thrice damned tickle in my thrice damned nose…!

My nose, on which the whole room hyperfocused, as intent upon it as I’d ever been on any foe on the battlefield. Every twitch garnered a flinch, every skipped breath a skipped heartbeat. My damned sneezes could be heard throughout the entire castle, throughout the entire town. I was just waiting for someone to announce they’d heard me sneeze at the furthest edges of the regions, echoing off the Black Mountains or the White Cliffs, resounding across oceans…

With all that, being so close to my sneeze must have been a form of auditory torture. And I couldn’t put my advisors through that. Not any longer. And not with the vague but unmistakable sense I felt that what was beginning to well up in me would be a fit to rival any I’d suffered since I came down with this accursed, irreparable allergy, this implacable need that seemed to be unmoved by any force physical or magical, on earth or in the realms above. I was going to sneeze, and the fit would leave me exhausted and the whole castle ringing, I knew. But the urge itself was small now, my winds gathering strength for the one man hurricane they would turn me into. What a curse, to make of a king a slave to his own body. I was disgusted with myself. And yet, I could no more stop the force building within me than I could will the rising sun to set or still the flowing tide.

This council meeting was accomplishing nothing. And dammit, I needed to sneeze.

Abruptly, I pushed back from the chair. Everyone rose with me. “Ladies and gentlemen, you must excuse me, I’m a-afraid… oh I…” I was doing my best to keep up a kingly facade but already I was faltering before the effort of damming back the torrent of sneezes that seemed to be pressing up against each other, jockeying for position, each demanding to be the first to erupt out of me. “oh gods, I have to sneeze. It’s going to be a terrible fit and I… Iahhhhhh… I m-muuhhhhh… I must r-repair to my… my chahhhhHHHHH… hAHHHHHHHHHHHH… w-with m-mehhhh…!”

I ordered my retinue to follow me, but I’m sure a number of them did so quite reluctantly, and frankly I couldn’t blame them. What I felt coming seemed like a sneeze to beat all sneezes, an itch to beat all itches, nothing which could soothed, calmed, or controlled by a little finger under the nose, a few rough rubs. I’d asked my former manservant more than once about his… powers. How he felt all the hidden powers of the earth welling up through him, the connection to the secret side of everything, how he could make it shimmer and dance. I felt the same sense  of something beyond myself intruding upon me, but it was not under my control. I was beneath its thumb, dancing like a marionette on a string in miserable abasement to, of all things, a tickle in my nose.

“Someone… someone please… huhhhh… p-put your f-finger… under…”

It was pathetic. At least I’d managed to get well out of the way of the council chambers before I succumbed. I’d only embarrassed myself like this once or twice before, but if this went on much longer, I’d have to appoint a knight to do this for me full time, to press and pinch and wrangle my nose in a way my own hands could no longer suffice. Perhaps that way I could at least forestall the sneezes long enough to do any of the duties of a king.

But for now, my only goal was fighting off the absolutely monstrous fit I felt brewing for a few more moments, until I could at least reach my chamber. At least then I could succumb in private, although such succumbing was never private. Before the curse even, I blushed to think a vigorous sneeze might echo through the castle, and I never could dam them back. But under the curse now… all of the castle, all of the city heard my every falter. The sound of my failure resounding back at me from every brick in the kingdom.

The Captain of the Guard slid a thick finger under my nose, and ever so imperceptibly the urge diminished. He pushed upward, hard. And all I could do was blink at him in acknowledgement. At this point a single word would send it all crashing down.

“Knights dismissed! I will escort the King further.” I heard his voice ringing out, and I was as grateful as I’d ever been for him. At least the knights would be spared the very worst. The captain alone would be with me to the eruptive end.

“Not much further now, sire. Please, hold out!” And there was an uncertainty or even... a fear in his voice. It wasn't as if I'd never heard such fear from the Captain of the Guard before. We had quested together, season after season. But this tone of voice ought to be reserved for a onrushing army or a sleeping dragon. Surely there was no reason to steel himself so before my nose?

“T-t-traahhHHHH… tr-trying…” I choked out, scrunching my nose as aggressively as I could, as though if my nostrils recoiled from the irritation, I might dodge the sneeze—no, sneezes—altogether.

And suddenly, unimaginably, the urge… exploded.

It was as if I had never needed to sneeze before in my life. Tears sprang to my eyes, and the simmering flame of the urge became a wild forest fire. Helplessly, I jerked away from the Captain, scrubbing desperately at my nose even as the heavy breaths ripped themselves from me…

“HHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHH… HUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH…”

“My King, not yet!” the Captain insisted. Not to be deterred, he came up behind me and tried to guide me, but I was surrendered to the sneeze, overpowered by the urge, defeated by the invisible twinging need. He was practically pushing me as the sneeze swelled and swelled.

“HUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH… UUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH…”

It swelled more and MORE, feeling more ferocious than any of my previous sneezes. I felt like a volcano on the precipice of eruption, as though my winds were swirling and turning and twisting and braiding their way towards tornadic devastation, as though I were not only a a lightning strike but indeed a whole storm set loose to wreak havoc across the land.

“Nearly there, nearly there, please sire you musn't give in…”

But it was too late.

“AAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRSSSSSSSSCHHHHHHHHHHHHUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!” I exploded, and it was as though… some sort of… power erupted from me, from my mouth and nose from… from everywhere. The sneezes had always been incredibly loud but now tapestries on the wall flapped, armor rattled, it sounded as though something fell but I couldn’t tell because before I could so much as think, the next sneeze was already erupting: “HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHOOOOOOOOOOOOO-AAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRSSSSSSCHHHHHHHHHHHHHHUUUHHHH!!!! AARRRRRRRRRRRRRSSSSSSSSSCHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!! HehHHHHHHH… HEEEEEYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATTTTSSSCCCHHHHHHHHHEEEEEWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!!! YYYYYYYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAAATTTTTTTTTTTTSSSSSSSSSSSSCCCCCCCCCHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEEWWWWWWWWWW!!!”

On and on and on the sneezes came, more and more violent, “volume” not even describing what I felt bursting from me. Somewhere, dimly, I heard the sounds of something falling over, and yet still the steady pressure of the Captain at my back, finally…

“Sir, your chamber… We must not let them see you!”

Whether I was able to exert some minimal effort even subdued by my sneeze attack, or whether the Captain just shoved me, somehow I stumbled into the chamber, still sneezing relentlessly, barely heard the door slam behind me, helpless to the urge. My whole world narrowed to my nose, and it was as though some block within me surrendered and the sneezes roared out of me, louder and more violent than ever before again and again and again…

I could not tell how long it had been when the fit finally ended. I felt… amazing. Warm and sated. Entirely itch-free, as though I’d never need to sneeze again in my life. Practically glowing. Maybe that was it? Maybe that monster of a fit had at last blown the insufferable urge away for good? But the moment of euphoria lasted barely an instant. I heard a… squeak? and I opened my eyes to find… him. The sorcerer. His robes and hair disheveled, and then, the room… The bed was without sheets. The mattress ripped, feathers piled against the stone wall, piled up with the rugs, half my clothes, my pillows, my chairs…

“Wh-what… what did I… what did I do?” I asked, panting and mortified.

He stood, mortified, as red as I’d seen him in years. His mouth agape. “I—I… I—I have to go!” He exclaimed, and rushed from the room.

Had I hurt him? Scared him? Surely he of all the denizens of the castle had no reason to fear… anyone. But as I cast my eyes across the disheveled, half-wrecked room, I began to see what he saw. Nothing to fear. But something to pity. An out-of-control freak. Certainly no King.

And even then, with a trickle of fear running down my spine… I began to feel the urge to sneeze again, sputtering back to life. I sat on my bed, feeling the weakened timbers sputter and creak with my weight, head in hands.

“By all the gods…”

[whatta-babe]

Date Crashers (Obvious pt. 2)| Peter Parker x Reader

Taking place months after the Avengers found out that their youngest member, Sider-Man, had a crush (Obvious), the team only wants to meet Y/N officially. They will achieve their goal through any means necessary… This takes place before Infinity War and Endgame and can be read seperately.

Disclaimer: I wrote the first part of this two-shot over three (3) years ago and just never finished this part until now. Some of the characters are definitely out of character, but I am following the same characterization I used in part one (1).

Warnings: Minor cursing, OOC characters, and soft Peter Parker

Word Count: 1,247

On a random fall day in a random small café, Peter Parker is nervously bouncing his leg at an empty table, waiting for his girlfriend, Y/N, to come back from the restroom. Even after finally making the relationship official after months of aggressive flirting via text and shy stuttering flirting in the high school highway, and after approximately four (4) months of dating, the young brunette still gets jittery and bashful at even the thought of her.

Sure, he faces mutant people and aliens trying to take over the Earth on a surprisingly regular basis, but it just isn’t as nerve wracking as being in the presence of his loving girlfriend.

As Peter’s leg bounces, in a random small café, on a random fall day, he is being surrounded and spied on by the people he considers family- the Avengers. If he hadn’t been so obvious with his infatuation of Y/N all of those months ago, unintentionally drawing notice from his superhero familia, maybe the events that are currently playing out would have never happened.

Various pairs of eyes located from inside the café to the rooftop of a neighboring building snap to focus in on movement heading towards Peter’s tiny black table. It’s Y/N in her favorite skirt and- is that Peter’s decathlon sweatshirt? Wanda is already at risk of blowing her cover as Vision attempts to stop her from vibrating excitedly.

The girl finishes patting her hands dry on her clothes as she sits down, but before the couple can greet each other again, Peter’s name is called. He shoots out of his seat to dart to the pickup counter to collect his girlfriend’s and his drinks and freshly warmed pastries. Located in a dark corner of the café, Steve nods to himself in silent praise. Good job for paying for and collecting the food for his partner; what a gentleman.

The brunette swiftly walks back to their table and sets Y/N’s order gently in front of her, and as he sits down, their easy conversation starts up again. It seems that neither one of the teenagers notice that they are simultaneously playing footsie under the table as they discuss topics of interest- maybe it’s Star Wars or something nerdy like that as Bucky shakes his head slowly.

This boy is hopelessly in love, and I can’t with this young teenage romance any longer. He silently contemplates heading back to the compound. Why did he even agree to this anyway? Oh yeah, to get more dirt on the kid to tease him with it later.

Now the couple’s conversation switches to future plans. “Saturday is supposed to be really nice. Do you want to have a picnic in Central Park? I’ll pack all of your favorites!”

Peter grabs her hand and smiles sweetly as Y/N nods in excitement! “That’s a great idea, Peter! And we can look at all the sculptures! I haven’t been there in so long…” She trails off.

When Peter brings the hand that he is holding to his lips in a sweet kiss, Sam has to say something to his frenemy. “Man, who knew this kid had game? Because I sure as hell didn’t.”

Bucky can only nod silently in agreement because yeah, who the hell would have thought?

Another peaceful and giggle-filled hour passes by as Natasha records the entire date from afar, not only for her own pleasure of rewatching it later but also because she promised Bruce that she would record their interactions for him to see. He had some type of life-changing and important research he had to conduct instead of joining the team for this bonding experience- lame.

In the end, it’s Clint that exposes the team to the happy couple, but was anyone expecting anything different? It seems that the café’s air vents were not as stable as he would have liked because its Clint’s body tumbling from the ceiling that leaves the café customers and workers in horror and surprised confusion. The man in question rapidly stands up to dust himself off and cheerily waves “Nothing to see here! Just go on with your daily activities,” to try and act like this event is no big deal.

But it is a big deal to Peter who knows what’s happening the second he recognized the falling body. “You’ve been spying on us??” He stands up in disbelief while Y/N can only become more confused than before.

Tony, who has been shaking his head in disbelief at his teammate’s idiocy, quickly joins the fray from his inconspicuous hiding place (the same shady corner Steve is located in) to explain the situation. “Look, kid, what else were we supposed to do? You’ve been making excuses for months to not bring Y/N over when all we want to do is meet her!” Okay, so maybe he is doing more accusing than explaining.

“I-what-ugh! Where is everyone else?” Peter’s face is amusingly splotchy and red while Y/N can barely keep up with the drama unfolding.

As the Avengers assemble in front of the couple, a strangled gasp and the sharp sound of a hand being hurriedly placed over one’s mouth is heard. “Oh my gosh… It’s really you guys! I’ve heard so much about you, and I’ve so wanted to meet you all!”

As Y/N smiles bashfully in front of her favorite heroes, Peter seems to snap back into focus and turns back to his unhinged family. Before he can speak again, Vision loses his fight against Wanda as she flings herself at Peter’s girlfriend in a flurry of long hair and flying arms. The squeal that has been building up for the past half hour is now being unleashed, but somehow someway, Y/N doesn’t seem to mind the ear-splitting noise. In fact, all she does is hug the woman back with equal enthusiasm.

Natasha pries the Scarlet Witch off only to take her place as she sways Peter’s girlfriend back and forth in her arms whilst muttering compliments and encouragements into her ear.

Peter can only pout heavily from the sidelines, arms crossed and bottom lip jutting out as he childishly huffs. Steve pats the boy’s back softly and waves to his two best friends as they finally make their way into the café from their rooftop hiding spot.

Apparently, there’s a line of people wanting to talk to Y/N because as soon as Natasha loosens her arms around the blushing girl, Tony steps up to her and pats her on the shoulder in acceptance. “You should come over for dinner this week, kid. We’ll get to know you more.” The usually obnoxious man is surprisingly composed and sane which Peter is grateful for, and he knows that Mr. Stark is really holding himself back at the moment.

Y/N can only smile brightly and clasp her hands together in excitement because who wouldn’t be excited if they were invited to have dinner with Earth’s mightiest heroes? She is totally writing this in her diary later!

But as the girl realizes the current time, all she can do is frown and starts to reluctantly says goodbye to everyone that she has met and places a chaste but sickeningly sweet kiss on her boyfriend’s cheek as a farewell. When Peter blushes, she lets out one last laugh and slips out of the café, excited to make dinner plans with Peter’s family and eternally grateful that Peter warned her that something like this may eventually happen. His Spidey senses never miss.

[anerdinallherglory]

Approaching Sun (29)

Author’s Note: Happy Halloween! Sorry this is so late everyone. I am currently writing my thesis for graduate college (the very reason why this chapter is not longer) and it has been sucking up ALL of my time in combination with Covid-19 face-to-face teaching and virtual teaching. In short, my life has been a walking list of “to-do’s” which causes me to neglect my writing. This chapter is dedicated to zeidika (hope you are reading this) who reviewed my story back in July. I occasionally think about your message and it keeps me going through stressful times. I hope your upcoming graduation is a memorable moment and that your son is doing well. You inspire me too! Congrats on the outstanding GPA! I am hoping to follow you soon with graduation!

Please let me know what you guys think. More action-packed chapters coming your way soon (hopefully).

P.S. While you are waiting on more chapters of A.S., go check out my new mystery/horror fiction story, “Beneath the Harlow Grove” by @anerdinallherglory on Wattpad.

Pairing: SasuSaku

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 28

Chapter 29: A Generation of Weaklings

Sasuke blasted through a few too many red-dirt mountains in Kaguya’s core dimension. With every blast, he felt more like himself. Something chemical happened in his brain when he tunneled raw chakra through his veins; it helped him adopt the right mindset. Sasuke found that the quickest way to erase his thoughts was to surrender them to his shinobi persona who had to be focused. That chakra felt like a jolt to his nervous system, reminding him of himself and his shinobi goal.

Of course, now that he was less distracted, he found himself too depleted of chakra to do anything more than take a breather. Now that he was in the core dimension, Sasuke would have to adjust his plans. Previously, the Uchiha had been trying to cross into the desert dimension without going through the middle dimension. Now that he had jumped ship and escaped here by instinct, he was going to have to do this whole thing in reverse. Logically, his next step would have to be crossing into the desert dimension and then overpassing this core dimension directly to Kunagakure. All this would require a lot of chakra.

Just to speed up the process, Sasuke momentarily considered swallowing one of the chakra pills that he had swiped before his cold exit hours before into this dimension. It might be a good idea for experimentation purposes, but Sasuke knew enough about shortcuts to comprehend that chakra pills would do more harm than good, which is why they were typically reserved. It was best, the Uchiha decided strategically, to take the pill when he was at his chakra max, so he could ultimately top it off and have just the right amount to make the jump.

And besides, Sasuke just didn’t have enough time or chakra to experiment recklessly. He would get one shot to try it before he had to wait a significant amount of time for his chakra to replenish enough to try it again if he failed. Not to mention in what ways he would have to recover from whatever side effects he would suffer through from abusing the chakra pills.

Sasuke pinched his nose in concentration and tried his best to expel Sakura from his mind while he waited. And it worked just enough, for the most part…consciously—until he fell asleep that night and dreamt of her, his suppressed thoughts confronting him in his subconscious. He had developed a habit of dreaming about Sakura lately, so this wasn’t something new to him. His dreams of her usually involved her imminent death; an enemy threatening her life in a way that Sasuke was too late to prevent. This was the case. Usually. But something about that kiss earlier had unnerved Sasuke, transforming his instinctual focus on her from one of concern to one of…how would he describe it? Desire? Hope? Longing? None of those words seemed acceptable to the Uchiha; he hated to have to admit to any of those feelings even when dreaming.

In this dream, he was back in that damn medicine preparation room, glaring into Sakura’s green eyes after that unexpected kiss. But this time, instead of sensibly leaving, the Uchiha gave in to her desperate pleadings, taking her chin between his fingertips and bringing her mouth back to his. In this dream, Sasuke kissed her. Was kissing her frenziedly, hand suddenly twisting in the pink fuzz at the nape of her hot, flushed neck. Was, until a hand clamped firmly on his shoulder, jerking him abruptly back away from her. When he turned, Sasuke was face-to-face with himself. His conscious self vs. the subconscious.

When Sasuke woke, he laughed derisively as he realized he would always be the one to get in his own way in both reality and fiction.

“Good,” he said aloud to the airless dimension, suddenly frustrated for fantasizing about the opposite scenario of the one he had chosen. He hoped Kaguya, or others like her, somehow were able to hear him through this connection of dimensions. They would see just how determined he was to rid the world of them; how dedicated he was to protect those he loved. So much so, that he would sacrifice and surrender every aspect of his life to this goal.

Sasuke stood then, forming the hand sign to split the dimension in the space before him until raging sand materialized before his eyes. He decided he would just not sleep; not unless he was so tired that he wouldn’t even have enough left in him to dream.  

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Sakura was a quick learner. The medical ninja gave herself that credit at least as she imitated the slow intake and exhale of breath that professed sleep. This certainly wasn’t her first kidnapping. Half a year ago, Kido had done just exactly that and as soon as his posse realized she was awake, the show had begun. Sakura’s poison-trained system had finally started to break down whatever sleep-induced toxin Mako had spiked her drink with. With no conception of how long she had been unconscious, Sakura had become cognizant and immediately began to mimic an undisturbed state. This time, she was set on listening. This time, she would assess and strategically plan.

She had been waiting to hear the answer as to “why” she found herself in this particular situation as she was dragged, then hoisted over someone’s shoulder. For a blurry second, Sakura was taken back to her drunken episode several weeks ago when Sasuke carried her home after the medic had decided to deplete Tsunade’s alcohol stash. The only similarity between this state of stupor and that one was the pounding headache that made Sakura want to vomit. That was when memory caught up with her and she began to “act.”

She was exchanged from one shoulder to the next and Sakura realized suddenly that she had been carried by Mako up until this point--that bastard--and was being surrendered to someone else. She didn’t know the voice.

“Great job,” a guttural accent commended Mako for his successful abduction. Sakura planned on commending him herself once she regained the upper hand.

“Just shut up and walk,” came Mako’s voice, in a tone that sent shivers down Sakura’s spine. She had never heard him speak like that. How could she have been played by him this whole time?

Sakura began to second-guess her decision to pretend the longer that they walked. In cases of abduction, it was well known that a person’s chances of survival drastically dropped if the kidnapper succeeded in moving them to a second location. But Sakura thought of Isao, her patients, her coworkers, and even Sasuke and resolved herself. It was better for them if she could allow these maniacs to believe that they had got her. What they didn’t know, was that their mistake would be getting Sakura just far enough away from civilians where she could cause some real damage. She had handled Kido; she could take care of these two as well. Neither of them could have anticipated her other skillset; Mako didn’t know her well enough.

When they had dropped her not so gracefully onto her back an hour later, Sakura bit the inside of her cheek to keep from making a pained groan or facial expression to give away her performance. Other voices chimed in then, and Sakura realized her adversaries had just doubled.

“About damn time,” someone drawled as she was dropped. “You couldn’t have taken care of this sooner?”

There was some shuffling as her capturers arranged themselves in what sounded like a cramped space.

Mako announced: “She’s surprisingly resistant. Not to mention Uchiha’s been around just until recently.”

That particular statement wounded Sakura a little more than the fall she just sustained. Of course, this was all about Sasuke. She should have known. Kido had kidnapped her for this same reason: to lure in Sasuke, kill her in front of him so his eyes would change. Sakura was starting to get pretty annoyed with people trying to use her to get to Sasuke—as if she would ever let that happen. When would they learn that things weren’t so black and white? Mako’s previous statement the morning of her capture began to make more sense to her now: “Well, it’s obvious that he likes you. To be honest, I thought you were already a couple.” And Sakura cursed her mouth for confiding in him because now she identified his interest as a predatory investigation.

“Or maybe you just weren’t trying hard enough because you liked her,” came a response from a voice Sakura seemed to recognize for some reason. It was different from the rest—distinctively female. Sakura mentally raised an eyebrow at that fact.  

“Believe me, that’s not the case” came Mako’s defense. “Ashuwa just didn’t do the trick on a medical specialist as we had hoped.”

And then Sakura was cursing. Cursing a stream of silent words that wouldn’t do her any good to express verbally now that she was getting information. The bastard had even convinced her that Sasuke should take it. She thanked the universe for Sasuke’s non-allergic reaction to it.

“What ended up working?” came the female voice again, expressing honest curiosity.

“Tea and kindness,” Mako stated unemotionally, eager to move past the topic. “Now let’s get on with this.”

“Of course,” said the female again, tossing what sounded like clanging metal onto the floor at his feet. “You have been given a position among us as promised for your service. Welcome.”

Sakura couldn’t resist. She snuck a peek through the corner of her eyelashes at them then and did not like what she saw. She was in a small gathering room with a domed ceiling, one of the many adobe homes on the outskirts of the Sand Village. She had also miscounted by 1. There were four of them, an extra silent companion seated & leaning against the wall farthest from her, seemingly uninterested. In the same second, Sakura also noted that Mako had bent down to retrieve something she recognized, a headband with a foreign symbol etched onto it—the same symbol she had seen on the headbands of their assailants back at the Tanigakure lodge. She made the connection: these were the same ninja who had followed Sakura and ambushed her and Sasuke in the night. The ninja she had recounted to Gaara, who was supposedly on their trail. How did they manage to get past him?

Just as Sakura thought this, an unexpected thud came from the ceiling accompanied by the crumbling sound of sand. Quiet consumed them as no one moved. Sakura observed quietly as all ninja revealed their weapons in silence as if they were snakes quietly coiling back to strike.

The man in the corner nodded toward the door, and the ninja closest to Sakura’s head disbanded from the group and disappeared within a second. Once outside, the same ninja began swearing loudly at some surprise. Everyone in the room relaxed as a child’s vocal squirming reached their years. The shuffling continued as this child was being brought inside.

“Damn kid must have followed us!” the returning ninja said in annoyance. “Got some bite to him.”

If Sakura hadn’t been laying down already, she would have collapsed in shock and fear at the memorable voice of the child they had just apprehended and threw down next to her. “Get away from me!” Isao shouted, the boy swinging a kunai out in front of him. They laughed wickedly at the boy’s ferocity.

Okay, show’s over.

Protective instincts kicked in swiftly as Sakura successfully reached forward and stole the kunai away from the child in less than a blinking second. There were unanimous intakes of breath throughout the room as Sakura managed to get Isao behind her and compress the blade threateningly against the esophagus of the man who had touched the both of them—it all happened within a microsecond.  Sakura’s sudden revival activated the group’s defense and they were upon her, but she let out a snarl, drawing blood against the man’s throat.

They immediately stopped their advance when the man she had ensnared began to laugh, throat nicking against the knife as he did so. “Do it already,” he breathed through his laugh. “My death will be a part of this effort. It will only help us in our cause.”

Sakura was certainly tempted by that. The way he had roughly handled Isao seconds before with his colossal insensitive hands was like a fresh and bloody burn on her skin, painful and needing the immediate relief of this man’s execution. But something in his words froze her hand. A cause?

“Glad you are finally awake,” came Mako’s distinct tone, a vicious friendliness warming the words again.

“Shut up you liar,” Sakura spat viciously.

“If you let him go, we’ll tell you why we are going to kill you,” came the female’s voice, and Sakura flashed her angry green eyes over in the woman’s direction. Her face and hair were covered, and Sakura acknowledged the same black shemagh that had concealed her attackers in Tanigakure.

Fat chance, she thought. Sakura immediately assessed her chakra levels and was aggravated by how slow chakra was reacting to her body’s summoning of it. Mako was a fellow medic, and Sakura deduced that whatever he had given her had strategically messed with her system and chakra connection. Sakura mutely criticized herself for trusting Mako. How many times would she be tricked in her lifetime? Probably many more, but she would learn from them all. Oh well, she thought. She had had worse odds before. Her only additional complication was Isao because now she was responsible for herself and the 11-year-old boy who had pursued after her. Had he somehow witnessed Mako’s abduction of her?

It was at this moment that the woman at the front of the room began to take off her mask, and Sakura almost dropped the knife altogether. As the black wrap was loosened and it slumped around the woman’s neck, Sakura immediately recognized the face of Hisa, the female medic ninja who had been her assistant throughout Sakura’s entire stay in Kunagakure. Even Isao behind her, gasped when he saw the woman who had helped take care of him.

Sakura’s moment of surprise was all it took for the ninja she stood behind to reach his hand lightning-quick between his own throat and the kunai. He grabbed on to Sakura’s wielded wrist with his left hand and flung her forward over his shoulder. She mentally cursed as she went flying toward the forefront of the room, landing painfully into the opposite wall. She practically went through it, and the side of the adobe house collapsed around her. As she fell, Sakura realized that the brute force used against her revealed their intention to truly kill her. They weren’t planning on preserving her, let alone sparing her life.

Sakura had been launched farther than she initially realized because when she managed to rise from the dust and sand, she winced at the other consequences of her distraction that was now beyond reach. One by one, the villains stepped through the new door that Sakura had made, carrying Isao with them. In the next second, Isao was tossed to the sand, screaming threats and clutching at the thug man’s foot that suddenly pinned down his chest. When the beast applied pressure to the child’s sternum, Isao began to moan in pain.

The sight enraged her, and she broke her silence. “You’re wrong if you think this plan of yours will work!” she screamed at them. “I am nothing to Sasuke. Nothing to anyone, do you hear me?!”

All but the quiet man snickered in response to her declarations, but she continued, seething through her teeth.

“He will not come to save me! You will not get what you want by using me! Let the child go!”

“This isn’t about Sasuke,” replied the wraith-like man who came last through the shattered side of the building’s exterior wall. For the first time since her awakening, the still man walked to the head of the party and addressed her. “Neither is it about the Hokage, or even the Jinchurki. This is about you.”

The night suddenly seemed starless, dark, and void of all sound save the squealing wind. As the stranger spoke this truth, three of the other members flanked his sides before fanning out beside him like Tamari’s fan, creating a close-knit semi-circle. The phantom-like man stood casually in the middle, his face cloaked in the combined darkness of night and the face wrapping he wore. As Sakura looked closer, even this man’s eyes, the only thing that could be seen between the black fabric, seemed like depthless holes of nothing. This man reminded Sakura of a walking desert mirage, some sort of shadow demon hiding in human clothing.

Sakura gritted her teeth as her body instinctively begged her to flee. Isao’s need for her overpowered that. She would die before abandoning him.

“Me?” Sakura asked instead, revealing her honest surprise. “What do you want with me?” It was a trick, the kunoichi told herself. What could they possibly have to gain from killing her when much more powerful figures literally walked side by side with Sakura? There was nothing to gain besides Sasuke’s, Naruto’s, or Kakashi’s ultimate death, defeat, or capture.  

“Your efforts to fix the ‘mentally ill’ goes against the philosophy of our newly founded group,” came Hisa’s poison-dripped answer. Sakura noted that they all took a step toward her in synchrony, tightening in on her a little closer. This practiced pack was testing her and Sakura took a step back to match their own. She was smart enough not to let them surround her like the meal they believed her to be. Sakura felt suddenly empathetic for those mother animals who felt torn between their captured young and their own safety. Let them believe that she was this helpless observer who reeked with fear.

“And what philosophy is that?” She asked, imitating the breaks of a trembling in her throat. She practically seeped the question with distress. It must have had the effect Sakura wanted, for her enemies smiled in response and took another step toward her.

With an insanity that Sakura had not heard in his statements before, Mako declared emphatically, “Progression!”

Sakura couldn’t wait to punch his teeth so far down his throat that Mako’s vocal cords and epiglottis would permanently suffer damage.  

Sakura stammered again, portraying the weakness they wished to see. “Pro--progression?” Another step back. Just a little more.

“Whether or not it is your intention, you will create a shinobi generation of weaklings,” stated the leader again. He essentially breathed more darkness, because the night around her suddenly grew thicker. Was she imagining it, or could this be some sort of jutsu?

“How do you figure that?” she questioned, adding a nervous laugh to her annoyed tinged inquiry. Sakura’s exasperation with their reasoning was starting to make her focus waver.

As she asked, Sakura concentrated on her chakra. She was calling it, calling it, calling it, but it did not spring forth. She would have compared the sensation to drawing blood from a syringe, except her chakra was like liquified cement and the syringe was the size of a pen. If she chose to use it, the Strength of a Hundred Seals just might flood her chakra paths and burst through whatever plug the medicine had caused, or it could potentially well up like water in a dam and she wouldn’t have any access to it. Medically, that might be a concern. And it had only been a few weeks since she had last used her reserves to assist Sasuke crossing dimensions, so would the risk be worth the additional amount behind her forehead?

In an eerie declaration, the masked leader stepped toward her again and said, “If you go around curing the next generation of their anger and pain, brainwashing them with this vision of peace, there will be no more progression.”

“What the hell does that mean?” she asked, all pretense gone now. The confidence in her tone made them stop their encroachment. For a second, Sakura didn’t look so weak to them. They glanced at the leader, the shadow-man, and then again at Mako because Mako knew her best out of the group; he had also drugged her.

“The medicine should still be working. We must hurry though. It won’t last all night.” Listening to this, Sakura inhaled and exhaled, willing the small drip of chakra to pool more heavily in her palm. She would only have one shot before she could collect enough chakra for another one. Sakura took another step back. And another, drawing them away from Isao and his captor. Just a little more. Keep them talking.

“There is peace in the world now,” Sakura baited. “There’s no need for children to suffer through trauma alone anymore.”

The leader did not hesitate a second before responding with the practiced mission justification of their group: “Without anger, hatred, and pain, there is no incentive for war between villages. And without war, there is no need for young shinobi. You will create a generation of weaklings who cannot defend our borders. The world of Shinobi as we know it will disappear.”

Sick freaks, Sakura thought. She was their target because she worked with children? They were afraid that children would be weaker without pain? “The world would be a better place,” she commented, “if there weren’t people like you in it.” Sakura didn’t care to listen to this nonsense anymore. She hated to kill them, but they weren’t giving her much of a choice.

At exactly this moment, Isao had somehow reached into his pocket for another kunai, stabbing it into the foot that held him down. Apparently, the ninja had been distracted by the rest of the pack’s slow pursuit of Sakura and the conversation. Isao left his mark, slicing it clean across the top. The ninja screamed which turned the heads of all those before her. Isao bolted up before anyone had the chance to stop him.

On his feet now, he charged the group and Sakura watched in panic as the ninja he had left behind now followed, brandishing a sword of his own.

“Kill that brat!” came Hisa’s order.

And then Sakura was in the air, her fury propelling her forward and then down on top of them.

Mako let out a cry of alarm, the first to notice her above them. The kunoichi had just enough for one hit, and Sakura prayed the sand wouldn’t buffer too much of it. She fisted the meager amount of chakra between both of her palms, fingers interlocked to make a combined fist. She brought them down as hard as she could at their feet, making it through several feet of sand before she connected it with the ground. Sakura was not able to see the damage done, because not only did sand fill the air, but all light blinked out and a shroud of complete blackness consumed her.

[snickiebear]

yo nadia <3333 i'm bored in my online classes and u reblogged the questions thingy at the right time lmao, so get ready: 1, 4, 5, 9, 10, 17, 23, 24, 28, 30!!!, 34, 38, 39, 40 (the intimacy of being understood) (imma stop here lol) (also i'm sorry u're not feeling well, ily and hope u'll feel better soon!! <33333)

ELE ILY. (and thank you, i’m stayin home today cause,,, yeah. i appreciate you sm.) you’re the literal best, i adore you. 

1. How long ago did you start reading fanfiction? Writing fanfiction?

The first fanfiction i read was for The Lunar Chronicles when I was like 11?? and it was 100% on accident and it scarred me because it was a hardcore porn one with a period kink and i was like WHAT IS THIS??? OH MY GOD???? LMAOOOOO i didn’t pick it back up until i was 13-14 and really got into the Fairy Tail fandom. I still reread my favorites on ff.net cause i love them. 

As for writing, I wrote a horrible, terrible x-men fanfiction when I was twelve. (my friend still brings it up and REFUSES to delete it so it still gets comments and views, that shit HAUNTS ME ELE.) then tried again for Fairy Tail, posted like two chapters before taking it down cause i wasn’t really feeling it. And then I posted The Intimacy Of Being Understood and here we are. 

4. Link your three favorite fics right now.

OMGG okok 

@murd3rm1ttens ‘s The Problem How Time Works IF YOU HAVENT READ THIS YOU GUYS NEED TO HOP ON IT ASAP. MITTEN’S WRITING SO SO SO SO GOOD. SAKURA AND INO ARE TOTAL BADASSES. KAKASHI IS A SIMPPPP. ITS SO FUCKING GOOD. 

@mouseymightymarvellous ‘s We Were Screaming In Color (Only A Possibility) yes, yes I KNOW. i always point into mousey’s direction but i WILL always advocate that everyone reads her fics, they’re literally so beautiful???? i just happen to be rereading WWSIN rn 

@safelycapricious ‘s Shaking Up And Breaking Down series. I found this like?? idfk but i’ve been raving about it ever since. ALSO CHECK OUT THEIR FICS IN GENERAL. 

fuck i have more than three but also check out @ambivalens999 ‘s Masks

i do wanna make a fic rec thing where i just rav about my favs,,, might do that later or sum

5. What are your fanfic pet peeves? Do they have a huge effect on whether or not you decide to read something?

Omniscient third person. I don’t like it. Like I can understand that it can be a little hard to stay in one person’s perspective but, in my opinion, if you can, it shows how disciplined you are as a writer. Plus, i just get so confused when I go from A’s thoughts to suddenly what B is thinking about A. 

When writers use ‘ ‘ instead of “ “. When writers put thoughts in ‘ ‘ instead of just italicizing them. It’s small things but like they just bother me sO MUCH. most of the time i can ignore it and try to enjoy but other times i just dip. 

9. Tag 3 fic writers you think are underrated/unknown in the fandom/fanfiction community.

@espoir-et-reves !!!!! THEIR SHISAKU FICS ARE SO SO SO SO SO GOOD. And they have a warring states one going on THAT I AM SO OBSESSED WITH. 

@writer168 idk if they’re really “underrated” but THEY HAVE SUCH GREAT FICS ON AO3. Like theres an AU with sakura, kiba, and shino that i reread constantly because it just. is. so. fucking. GOOD. and they posted a new one that i’m YELLING about. 

@eggtoasties okay they only have 2 in the naruto fandom (one shisaku which is still ongoing) BUT THEIR WRITING STYLE IS SO NICE?? I ABSOLUTELY LOVE IT. I still go back and reread their shikasaku one cause UGH i can’t get enough. I love it. 

10. What’s your favorite fandom, pairing, or character to read fic for?

Fandoms: Naruto, Soul Eater, The Old Guard, ATLA

Parings: KakaSaku/ShikaSaku/ShiSaku/MultiSaku, SoMa, Joe X Nicky, Zukka

Character: SAKURA. I will read anything with Sakura as the main character and her being a fuckin badass or becoming a badass. I love her.

17. How obsessively do you sit and stare at your fic after you’ve just posted and wait for feedback?

aha.. haha.. well. I check my email like three times an hour. its the first thing i check in the mornings too. I’m literally a whore for praise and literally eat up feedback like its going out of style. I also reread a lot of my stuff because i make so many mistakes and spelling errors, or the spacing is weird oR SOMETHING. plus, literally any and all comments make my day, i go back and reread them cause they just make me feel so tingly and warm like “wow. this person enjoyed the fic/my writing enough to tell me. thats HUGE!”

23. What’s your absolute favorite trope to write?

Angry, feral, bloodied, morally gray women. They aren’t bad guys, they’re probably the good guy, but that doesn’t mean they cant be fucking raging at the world with raw knuckles and blood on their teeth. I just love an angry woman who struggles with her emotions and just has so much inner conflict but that doesn’t take away from her character or badassery, it adds to it. 

24. What’s a trope that you’d like to never hear about as long as you live, let alone write?

The fake dating or miscommunication troupe. LIKE GUYS JUST TALK. AND TELL EACH OTHER OMFG. the entire like obliviousness of “nah they dont like me” while the They holds their hand and kisses their cheek. MOFO WHAT. it makes me so impatient and like mad HAAHHAHA. its probably because i’m a pretty confrontational person so seeing stuff like that just “cmon bro, USE YO HEAD.”

28. How do you deal with writing pressure (ie: pressure to update, negative comments, deadlines, etc)?

I have yet to receive a negative comment! Which i was really surprised about tbh. As for deadlines or pressure to update, i just kind of do whatever. I do set goals, but i set them flexible enough that hey, if i can’t do it, that’s okay. 

I have a lot of mini goals, like “i want to write this chapter and get it done this week” and then the large goal is “FINISH BY END OF MAY” so i have time. 

Actually, now that I think on it, the entire pressure to update thing is probably why i’m waiting until I have all of OL&W written to post it weekly,, cause well. I wouldn’t wanna leave you guys waiting as I tried to write and work out the next chapters and stuff, you know?

30. Post a snippet from your current WIP without context - no more than 300 words.

AAAAAA YOU KNOW I LOVE THESE AHAHAHAH

Have you seen the way the dead dance, World Breaker? They roar, half mad and starving. Do you not wish, do you not hope to see them twist and bend and dance to your will?

Shikamaru snarls, looking behind his shoulders to where his Shadows lay. “Patience.” He spits. “Is of the essence, Things of Ancient. Know your place as the dark you are.”

34. How much of yourself and your life experiences do you put into your writing? What do you think your readers’ image of you is?

None of my experiences match up to anything I write tbh,,, probably the only thing that is me in my writing is maybe the emotional turmoil? I’m pretty emotionally and mentally mature because from a pretty young age i started forming my own opinions, started looking into the world around us and being like “dude what the fuck this is not what disney advertised”. Then i started talking (read: arguing and debating) with my dad about a lot of it. So, like emotions are kind of hard for me. Like i’m pretty good at controlling them or understanding them, but still. idk its hard to explain ig.

Like the weight of stress, the anger, the sadness. It’s kind of therapeutic to write. Cause i don’t know how to put those feelings to verbal words so writing them really helps. 

As for my readers’ image? Probably like some kind of hunched over figure typing away in the dark with a maniacal grin on their face. I honestly don’t know AHHAHAHA but it is fun to think about. I think they’d see me as someone with potential but a lot of room to grow and someone who is imperfect but in a charming way LMAOOOO

38. What does your writing process look like? How chaotic is it on a scale of 1 (very tame) to 10 (you can’t handle this kind of chaos)?

I’m gonna be real honest. Its probably like a 2. I’m a bit of a control freak so I almost always go in chronological order, my writing is pretty linear. Unless, i get bored and jump to one of my fav parts. It's pretty much i sit down, i open the doc, read over my notes and just start writing. 

It’s a little boring to explain AHAHAHA but once i get into the groove of things its really fucking great, I can like feel myself in the world, I can feel what i want the characters to, i love it. I catch myself mouthing the words as i type too, which i find hilarious.

39. What’s something about your writing that you pride yourself on?

I rather like how raw my writing is sometimes. Which might sound really vain, but i do like the way i word things or describe things. I love juxtaposition and repetition, or making a good ole circle back to some minute detail that wouldn’t stand out until i repeat it at the end and you’re like “omg” AHAHAHAHA.

Like those little poetic snippets or certain wording i just sit back and go “damn thats kinda good nadia! go you!’ HAHAHA  

40. How did you come up with the idea for The Intimacy Of Being Understood?

AAAAA this fic is like my first child, my pride and joy LMAO

so the idea initially came when i was reading some fic, idk if it was even naruto, but i was like “i don't like this, but i do like the rain symbolism.” And I knew i wanted to write something kind of slow paced, something a little sad and angsty, but would show KakaSaku slowly but surely falling in love.

Idk if you’ve noticed but a lot of my fics, the pairings don’t change each other dramatically. They accept each other as they are and then they grow with together. Like that acceptance is something i just love writing, its so subtle, it isn’t something you declare. Its simply “I am going to love you. I am going to love you despite your flaws and faults. I am going to love you unconditionally because I know you, I understand you, and there is nothing you could do to drive me away.” 

The fic kind of wrote itself after that first scene. I kept going back to the rain, go being ghosts, and resurrection, and the small epiphanies one gets. I wanted to focus on each character’s growth with each other. They didn’t find light in life because of each other, but with each other. And i think that’s my favorite thing about that fic. 

I wanted something raw and real and just something beautiful. I’m actually really proud of it tbh. Would i go back and rewrite/edit it? Oh of course! I’d do that with every single one of my fics, but i’m not gonna cause i think its in its rawest form right now. :))))

ask me shit plz

[undiscovered-horror-icon]

SlipKnot Members [Part Two]

[All of this info was copied form the archive of this blog on Skyrock.com circa 2009 -2010: User: maggot777 on Skyrock. com ]

[I’m just sharing it and take no credit]

[This post will include the current members, circa 2010]

Name: Sidney George Wilson Position: DJ N ° 0 Nickname: Monkeyboy or Ratboy Born March 15, 1978, Sid is the youngest of the group and by far the craziest. His scenic escapades helped to build the reputation of SlipKnoT in its early days. Since the European tour where he accidentally injured a fan during the concert in London, he has calmed down somewhat. Although with British origins, Sid is American and was born in Des Moines. Passionate about music, he creates a posse of Djs called Sound Proof Coalition. It is thanks to this posse that he will meet the group during Dotfest in 1998. “I don't know why, but this skinny dude with his red T-shirt and green shorts caught my eye that day. And then it must be said that a guy who listens to punk while scratching on hip-hop is not common, ”Shawn declared. Six months later, Sid will go to the Hairy Mary Club to see the band in concert. That night Shawn jumps into the audience and comes face to face with Sid. From this impromptu meeting was born the friendly rivalry between them, the goal being to knock out the other during the concert. For the record, this is the only time Sid has beaten Shawn. After this concert, Sid will meet SlipKnoT and tell them that he wants to be part of the group. The legend says that Shawn will not think more than ten seconds before saying yes, estimating the man enough barjo to join the group. Since then, Sid has been a mainstay of the band, justifying his presence with samples and scratches on many tracks, he's also working on a more personal project for which he took over his DJ name Starscream and released a solo album called Full Metal Scratch It in reference to the movie Full Metal Jacket. The album announced for 2001 did not actually see the light of day until 2004 following a number of problems with the label that was to release the CD. In the end, it was N2O that played the role of distributing the CD containing most of the samples that Sid uses in SlipKnoT as well as in various other projects. He also collaborates with Ampt, a band from New Jersey that he joined as a DJ.

Name: Nathan Jonas '' Joey '' Jordison Position: Drums N ° 1 Nickname: Speedball Born April 26, 1975 at the Mercy Hospital in Des Moines, Joey spent all his childhood and adolescence in the small town of Yankee, located fifteen kilometers from Des Moines. Very introverted because of his small size (1.60 m), Joey has often served as a pain reliever for his classmates, but he knew deep down that one day he would prove to them that he was better. than them. Arrived in high school, he is deeply into Kiss and Black Sabbath and decides to start a group; he held the position of guitarist there. The guitar has always been his passion and he plays it whenever he can. However, the pitiful level of the drummer in his group pushes him to get behind the barrels. He finished his studies in high school and decided to get into music. One of his groups (Modifious, of which Paul and Craig were part) has had some success but not enough to make a living from it. There is a job at a gas station. Working at night, he occupies his days rehearsing with the group. One evening, his best friend comes to see him with a certain Corey Taylor. Corey doesn't make a good impression on him and the evening ends with a sentence to his friend about Corey (who is red-haired and had long hair at the time): "Bring Dave Mustaine (singer-guitarist of Megadeath) to to treat, it is too serious this guy. " Some time later, he will be contacted by Paul to join an even more obscure called SlipKnoT group. Outside of the group, Joey is involved in various side projects, the most successful of which is Murderdolls, a punk / glam band in which he is a guitarist and with whom he released an album. one owes the magnificent tribal S and as well as the logo of the group. SlipKnoT's capital K is due to the fact that at the time he drew it Joey was a mega-fan of Korn.

Name: Paul Dedrick Gray Position: bass, vocal backing N ° 2 Nickname: Porky or Balls Born April 8, 1972, Paul is the only member of SlipKnoT who is not originally from Des Moines. Born in Los Angeles, he followed his family when they moved to Iowa. Paul is one of the creators of the group along with Shawn. Very discreet and yet very influential, he played with Joey in Anal Of Blast and in various other groups before creating SlipKnoT. He had moved back to Los Angeles when Shawn asked him to come back one evening because he had an extra project he couldn't miss. He died at the age of 38 on May 24, 2010 of an overdose.

Name: Chris Fhen Position: percussion, vocal backing N ° 3 Nickname: Pornochio or Mr Piklenose Born February 24, 1972 in Des Moines, Chris is the little comic of the group. Always playing the puppet, he does everything to be noticed and is happy to go on stage. Chris is one of the last to join SlipKnoT. He joined the group after Brandon left and his integration was not without difficulty ... for him. Shawn called him in for a rehearsal in which he had to prove himself. After two hours of playing, the group reunites in the garden while Chris, alone at the other end, paces. After letting him run around in circles for thirty minutes, Shawn finally waved him over and said, "Sorry man, you're not up to par." Annoyed, Chris lowered his nose and said, "Okay, it's okay guys," turning on his heels. This is the moment that Joey chooses to say to him, “We're kidding, man! », Before bursting out laughing with the rest of the group. But that was just a little taste of what to expect. He's the one we hear vomiting on the hidden SlipKnoT track while Paul laughs beside him. This memorable streak was actually Chris' initiation into the "SlipKnoT spirit", the others having forced him to watch a hardcore movie. Chris played an important role in the recording and mixing of SlipKnoT. He helped Ross Robinson and Joey with the post-production work. Ross Robinson says of him, “Chris is a great guy. He really has his heart set on his feet. "

Name: James Root Position: guitar N ° 4 Nickname: The Peach Born October 2, 1971, James (or Jim) is the giant of the group, dominating the situation of his 1.90 m. He joined the group at the end of the recording of SlipKnoT as a starting point for the previous guitarist, Josh. Prior to being a part of SlipKnoT, James was playing in Atomic Opera and Deadfront with which he released an album and was about to record another when Joey called on him. The latter explains: “James was one of the best guitarists in Des Moines. With Atomic Opera, they were by far the leaders of the Iowa metal scene. And then I knew the guy, he had the job profile. He also stars in Stone Sour.

Name: Craig Jones Position: sample N ° 5 Nickname: 133 mhz (we nickname him like that because he's crazy about machines and 133 times 5 plus 1 equals 666) Born February 11, 1973, “This guy is definitely the most crossed out of the nine. He never says anything and that's what gives me the fuck. It is there and yet we forget it. Having said that, it's better if he doesn't say anything. The only time he opened it we had nothing but shit. This is how Craig is described by Ross Robinson. This is hardly flattering but nevertheless very true: Craig is the “ghost” of the group, always the last to arrive on stage and the first to leave. He joined SlipKnoT as a guitarist to replace Donnie Steele. He will prove himself during the recording of Mate.Feed.Kill.Repeat .. He also contributed to the ambiences with his samples, which really impressed Shawn in addition to his performance on the guitar. Seeing his mad passion for machines and computers, Joey and Shawn decided to promote him and integrate him full time into SlipKnoT. In three weeks, Craig went from replacement guitarist to official sampler of the band.

Name: Shawn Michael Crahan Position: percussion, vocal backing N ° 6 Nickname: Clown or Kong Born September 24, 1969, Shawn is at the same time the leader, the pillar and the dean of the group. SlipKnoT is her baby. It was he who chose who would be part of the adventure and that from the start. Before joining SlipKnoT, he set up various groups which were only successful with critics. Unable to live on his music, he then manages with the means on board. He was first hired as a welder (this experience would later be used for the creation of drum-kits). The savings he made enabled him to buy the Hairy Mary Club, a bar in Des Moines called to become the SlipKnoT's lair for a few years. As a wise businessman, he will regularly organize metal evenings in his club and the Saturday night concerts will quickly become an institution in Des Moines for any metal and rock fan. It is during this period that SlipKnoT is formed. The future members of the group all hanging out regularly in the club, convincing them to play together will not be very difficult. Next is the recording of Mate.Feed.Kill.Repeat. Which costs Shawn all his savings and pushes him into heavy debt. He sells the Hairy Mary Club to repay his debts, before the scale gained by SlipKnoT allows him little by little to live on music. The Hairy Mary Club having been sold, the group had no room to rehearse, and it was only natural that Shawn put his family to contribution: SlipKnoT invests in his parents' cellar. They spent almost two years there, Ross Robinson came to see them rehearse before signing them on his label. It was also in his parents' garage that the photo was taken that served as the cover for SlipKnoT (album). Married with four children, Shawn is a very cultured person; he adores Cézanne and Picasso, which contrasts quite a bit with the image of the slightly psychotic Clown that we see at concerts (I confirm). He also likes to philosophize about life around a bottle of wine, which makes tell Corey, “Shawn is a very smart guy, even if you don't always understand what he's saying. "

Name: Michael Thompson Position: guitar No. 7 Nickname: Log Born November 3, 1973, Mick spent his childhood in Des Moines. Big fan of music, his tastes range from Jimi Hendrix to the Beatles through Morbid Angel and Deicide. He joined a group for the first time at the age of sixteen. Subsequently, he is part of various formations with the future members of SlipKnoT, but seeing that it is hard to make a living, he decides to give guitar lessons. It was then that one evening, taking advantage of Donnie's departure, Paul called him and asked him to join SlipKnoT. “I was really pissed off at that time. When Paul called me I jumped at the chance, ”says Mick to explain his arrival in the group. Outside the group, Mick is a very discreet person; he describes himself as a person who likes to live at night.

Name: Corey Taylor Position: Vocals N ° 8 Nickname: Faith or The Sickness Born December 8, 1973, Corey is in a way the guru of the maggots. His singing, his tone of voice and his charisma (I also confirm) make him a unique singer in the metal scene. Corey initially wanted to be a drummer but decided to write songs after listening to Screaming Life by Soundgarden and Bleach by Nirvana. Born of an unknown father, (but now we know who he is) he lived for a long time with his mother and his sister, traveling the North-East of the USA and sometimes (even often) finding himself homeless to sleep. Completely addicted to cocaine from the age of fifteen, he overdoses twice. The second made him realize the fragility of life and he went to settle in Ohio with his grandmother, to be far from his bad company. It was there that he developed a taste for music thanks to his grandmother's record who listened to rock 'n' roll and in particular Elvis Presley, of whom he became a very big fan. At eighteen, he chose to take his independence and return to the roads to finally return to his hometown of Des Moines. There, he assembles the group Stone Sour, with which he begins to record some titles. On several occasions, his path crosses the path of the members of SlipKnoT. And it is finally after a Stone Sour concert that Corey sees Joey, Mick and Shawn unload in the sex shop where he works. Corey sums it up in a few words: “Basically, they told me that if I didn't join their group they would give me my birthday. I admit I hesitated a little but finally I said to myself that it was the right choice for me. " Corey is very involved in songwriting; his difficult childhood is a source of inspiration for him. However, he refuses to talk too much about it. In early 2004, he married Scarlet, his long-time fiancée, with whom he had a son, eighteen months earlier.

[Might do a part three on new guys, maybe] 

[feel free to leave corrections in the replies]