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frozenjokes · 3 months ago

Text

Penguins

TW: Grian has major depressive disorder and is going through a severe depressive episode. There are allusions to suicidal ideation, thoughts that are not explored in detail, but are present in this fic. No one is physically harmed, no one tries to harm anyone else, and the themes are mostly hopeful.

“Hey,” Scar waved as he ducked inside Grian’s apartment, a wreck as it was, but Grian didn’t care to clean up, “How are you holding up?”

“Hey,” Grian mumbled from his place on the couch, bundled up in six or seven different blankets. He didn’t entirely know how to answer that question, but Scar could probably assume not good since Grian had asked him to come over in the first place. They hadn’t seen each other since returning from the island, nearly a week now, but not from Scar’s lack of trying.. mostly. They probably both could have stood to try and speak to each other more. “I don’t know,” he decided, finally, “Depressed. But that’s normal. Maybe a little more depressed than average.”

“Hm. Want to go to the zoo?”

Grian snorted a short laugh, but shook his head, “I most definitely do not want to go to the zoo.”

“Darn. What about a hug?”

“I could use a hug.”

Grian tried to sit up, though he struggled within the confines of his self imposed prison, Scar helping him upright with a small chuckle and wrapping him in a hug given unconditionally to anyone that might need it. Grian closed his eyes. It didn’t have to matter that things were rocky between them, not right now. It didn’t have to matter because it didn’t matter to Scar, he would drop anything in an instant for anyone, but..

Grian wanted it to matter. He needed it to matter because he was so tired of this mattering, he didn’t want his world to be in so many pieces anymore, worsened by him and Scar continuing the stomp on the glass. He was too broken to go on like this.

“I don’t like the way things are between us right now.” Grian felt Scar tense around him, but pushed on through a choked up windpipe, “I was really confused about you. I like you, I like you so much, and I haven’t been able to stop, nor do I really want to. I know you feel.. it’s not that you don’t feel the same, you just feel those things differently, and I thought I knew what ‘differently’ meant, but I’ve realized I don’t really know anything at all. And I want to. I want to know.”

Scar was quiet for a long moment, the tension not leaving his arms, “I don’t know if I’m understanding. Could you be clearer?” The meek way he spoke was dizzying, and Grian was relieved he had someone to carry him.

“I want to know how you’d feel about dating. Don’t spare my feelings. Please. Just tell me how it is for you.”

“Okay,” Scar breathed, wavering, like the idea seized his heart just as completely as Grian was paralyzed under its weight. “I don’t mind it, dating. I like it, I do like it, but with you I’m afraid it might be just as stressful as whatever’s happening between us right now. Still, I don’t want to stop doing what we’re doing now. I know it’s bad for me. It’s bad for you. But I like you. I really like you, even when I’m angry at you. Even when it’s bad for me.”

“I don’t think I can carry on doing what we’re doing right now. I’m seriously.. I’m not in good shape, Scar. I’m really not in good shape. And it’s not just about you. It’s not even about Mumbo, my hand. Those things are there, piling up on the massive amount of- bullshit is the word I want to use, but that implies an emotional attachment I feel like I’ve lost the ability to feel. I’m exhausted. The weight of all my issues are latched to my ankles and the only way I can keep going is to just drag myself across the sidewalk by my fingernails. Who knows if I’ll make rent this month. I can’t afford not to care, but I’m too drained to get out of bed before 1:00. I haven’t left the house all week. I don’t-“ Grian’s voice cracked and he needed to stop talking.

Scar considered him for a long while. “I’m not so sure this is about dating.”

Grian didn’t know what to say. The words left him anyway. “I just want it to stop.” Scar stilled. Maybe he didn’t know what that meant, and Grian didn’t either.

“Let me help you with your rent this month, G. When is it due?”

Grian shook his head, he meant to do so violently, but instead he only jerked weakly into Scar’s shoulder, wretched when he spoke. “I already owe Jim money. I can’t- I can’t.” Scar didn’t know Jimmy, but that didn’t seem to matter.

“Are you still unemployed?”

“I don’t- Yes, but..”

“Then let me offer you a job. I’ll find a place for you, temporary or permanent if you like. Pearl and Impulse already love you, and everyone loves Pearl and Impy, the whole staff will take a shine to you, I promise. Hm. We don’t really have many fish besides the ones we feed the animals. Do you like penguins Grian? Oh you’d love the penguins, they’re like land fish if you squint and also don’t look at them at all. We have an underground area where you can see them swimming and hanging out and such, have you been down there before? Training can start tomorrow, we’ll log your hours in the meantime while I get you in the system.”

Grian didn’t want to. He really didn’t want to. There were about a thousand reasons he didn’t want to, but about a thousand more he couldn’t stand to fight this. Too tired. He was much, much too tired. So he didn’t say anything. Maybe that caused some concern in Scar.

“Why don’t we pack you a night bag? Something with a change of clothes for tomorrow that you can bring to my place, then in the morning we can drive together! We could have a classic sleepover, build pillow forts and read scary stories under the blankets. I could invite Bdubs! Cleo? I guess you don’t know either of them too well.. Pearl and Impulse? Any of your friends? I don’t have to know them, we could have a whole meet up!”

Grian wanted to cut in but couldn’t when Scar just kept talking, he wouldn’t stop, and Grian had to wait for him to burn himself out before he could say his peace.

“No. I can’t do that. I don’t want to see anyone. I can’t explain my hand and I can’t come up with an excuse. I don’t.. I can’t stay with you either.”

“Separate rooms, Grian, separate rooms,” Scar’s voice was yearning, the kind of energy that sucked the life right out of Grian’s lungs. It was that, the energy. Too much energy when he just wanted to be alone. Why had he called Scar again?

“No. I don’t want to stay with you.”

“Then I’ll stay here. I keep an extra uniform in the office, so it’s not super ideal, but I’ll just change at the zoo. We’ll keep it quiet, watch a movie if you want to, I’ll make you a nice dinner and we can eat together, yeah?”

“Scar,” Grian was wretched, the closest he’d come to crying after he thought he’d never have the energy to sob again, not that exhaustion the convulsions of his lungs and heart at the tattered breaths he couldn’t quite take completely, “I don’t want you here.”

He hadn’t meant the words harshly, only coming blunt with the absence of brainpower to reorganize them into something more civil, but Scar didn’t look necessarily like he took it personally. He just looked worried, concern continuing to crease the line of his brow at every passing moment.

“Someone else then, someone close to you. Someone who could stay the night, I could call them for you if you needed me to. Etho.. Etho mentioned you were saying some pretty bad things before we all got off the boat, I must’ve missed it with the trance thing but- I mean- I just don’t want you to be alone tonight, that’s all.”

And Grian understood. He understood maybe too late what Scar was worried about, mind too slow to call to mind the kind of dangerous trains of thought abysmally depressed people got up to in the quiet. He snorted, near silent, though the feeling was indignant. As if he had the energy. Grian closed his eyes, though this didn’t relieve the pervasive dry ache under his lids. When had this gotten so bad? What had he done wrong? It was better to think he’d done something wrong than to know he simply was wrong, that he could take his pills and meet his therapists and still it would not change the fact he walked his life on shifting sand, too petrified of falling to notice he’d already been sinking for months. And now, head below the grain, he finally noticed he couldn’t breathe, and the life-giving light of the sun could not reach him here, smothered below the surface. Funny, how it sneaks up on you like that. She’s a clever beast, depression.

“Stay, then,” Grian croaked, answering to the accusation that Scar had not spoken aloud, “If you need to, then stay.” He wriggled slightly in Scar’s arm’s which was enough to get him to release, Grian settling back into position on the couch. The all consuming need to be held had turned to some sick aversion, his misery of isolation flipping ruthlessly to misery he wouldn’t be left alone. Scar was left to sit beside him, though there was not enough room to fit comfortably with Grian laying across the whole couch. Scar looked away. Grian saw him fiddle with his hands.

“I hope you’re not upset with me. I’d be just as happy to leave if you’d rather someone else stay, or I could drive you someplace to stay with them.”

Grian shook his head. “It’s a shitshow.”

“What?”

“Me, sometimes. Most of the time.”

“Oh, no, I don’t think so!”

Grian snorted. “You don’t know.”

Scar was quiet for a long moment, green eyes dull in the low light, boring into the mangy carpet below. He looked up, meeting Grian’s much darker eyes with an emotion so intense that Grian’s own mind waned at the smallest attempt of feeling it. “I would like to.”

And maybe Grian believed him. It was a striking thing to believe him, when Grian often did not in the case of other friends and family repeating that same sentiment, no matter how genuine their intention. He struggled to believe them because he was depressed, that much was true, but his knowing these doubts were not rational did not stop Grian from having them.

They, most people that is, did not know the mess behind his eyes. The tar that coated the filing cabinets in his mind, his legs, his hands, until every movement was an inconvenience, every inconvenience a spark, every spark striking the dry tinder of his bitterness, building the ever growing flame of disorganized anger and frustration and erratic neuroticism that made him a deeply unpleasant person to exist around, and much worse to love. But Scar had seen it. Scar had seen it already, the ugly, obnoxious, hateful thing Grian was, impulsive and brash and mean, Scar had seen it, he’d been seeing it for months, stretching out his own hand, clawed and spiteful and equally vile, and he’d set a dance for the two of them, spinning and swinging and snapping and screeching until the both of their feet were raw, legs shaky, hearts broken, but more than broken, exhausted. Scar had seen Grian. Scar knew him, and it did not scare him, nor did Scar’s cruelties bother Grian. So Grian believed him, and while he was not pleased, he was resigned to how this night was going to go.

“Then.. I guess that’s fine with me.”

***

It was not glamorous, as all things with depression typically go.

The world blurred by whether he was inside or out, with people or not, resting or active, asleep or awake. The kind of sickness that did not ease regardless of the time spent on his phone, with his friends, in therapy, trying different medications.. all of those things felt a little like standing at the shoreline, the waves waxing and waning past your ankles, a feeling at the periferie of your mind. The same thing could be helpful one moment, the relief of cool water over your toes, then abysmally frustrating the next, happiness retreating back into the ocean, seemingly never to be seen again. Grian didn’t seem to be able to control these feelings either, whether an activity was good or bad was a surprise to him as much as it was to everyone else, and often flipped on a dime, usually for the worse. The arbitrary nature in it of itself was a cause of extreme frustration. (Grian thought he’d learned to accept this part of his chronic depression, but as with most things he had declared to accept for what they were, he was wrong.)

But some things did make it better, even if Grian was physically incapable of feeling much more than stress. Items which were going well for him he simply found reasons for them to be stressful, but in hindsight, he simply lacked the ability to see small miracles for what they were.

The zoo, as much as he loathed it most days, was good. Having a job, a reason to coax himself out of the house, that was good. Having money. Not a lot of money, barely enough, but enough to make rent. To pay Jimmy back. To chip in for gas occasionally, when his various friends would let him.

Grian did not have the energy to work a 40 hour week, he struggled even to work a feasible part time job, but Scar was so massively accommodating it hurt. Grian worked about four days a week, three or four hours a day, with some flexibility. There was just as much relief as there was misery in how clear it was that Scar did not need him at the zoo, but he tried to ignore it, compensating by doing the menial and/or tedious tasks most of the other staff would rather shell off to interns, which, by all accounts, Grian filled the role. He was not qualified or allowed to be in close contact with most of the animals, which didn’t bother him at all, and he was often shuffled off between Impulse and Pearl for various chores and housekeeping. He drove himself some days, but found himself to be too dangerous to trust on the road with others, and got some help from Jimmy and/or Joel with rides, as well as Scar and occasionally Pearl or Impulse if one of them happened to be heading out around the same time Grian was. It was odd and stressful relying on so many people like this, but affirmations helped, and the fact that Joel and Lizzie had flexible schedules due to their work as content creators helped even more. Grian still felt bad, but as Jimmy so aptly put one day, ‘You feel bad about everything, those are fake feelings, and you better tell those imposters to shove it before I climb in through your ears and give ��em a piece of my mind.’ It didn’t stop Grian from feeling bad, but the looming threat of Jimmy sticking his fingers in Grian’s ears was enough to quell him most days.

Grian didn’t actually see Scar very much during the day. He seemed to disappear into thin air, only to be seen out of the corner of his eye in odd places like a Loch Ness monster level myth. Some days Grian missed him, longing for the company of someone sickeningly positive, who held enough energy to knock him clean off his feet. A lot of days Grian was glad for it, bitter and angry that he was here instead of home, that this wasn’t helping, that he was worse off as a zookeeper errand boy than napping at home. He was suspicious of Scar, feelings not his own but prevalent nonetheless, that Scar thought of himself as some kind of savior, that putting Grian to work was some kind of holy act, when in reality he was only drawing out Grian’s suffering.

But Scar was right about one thing, and this was something Grian could not deny or resent him for; it didn’t even trigger his benign paranoia.

Grian liked the penguins.

He wouldn’t say he avoided them week one, because while that would have been petty and extremely in character for him, his brain was too scrambled to even think about it. He’d forgotten Scar had even mentioned penguins until he ended up next to the building at the end of his work day mid-week two. It was hot, he was exhausted, but he was waiting on a ride, and while he would have sat outside regardless of his discomfort, the penguins were right there, and it had to be cool in there, right?

It was indeed, but not uncomfortably so. It was dark, and at 2:00 o’ clock on a weekday, the building was closer to empty than anything. It was quiet. Grian found himself wandering the building like a ghost, glancing at the various exhibits, then relieved to see the penguins had a large area to sit.

So he did. And he watched.

They were very cute. They were clumsy and uncoordinated, running into each other and falling over, and while they weren’t overly active, there were so many that there was always something to look at, or at least the threat of something about to happen, a penguin eying the water or another penguin squirming, settling. Grian found them easy to anthropomorphize, but just as the seeds of human-esc penguin drama were forming in his head, he got the call from Joel. Grian was not so enamored as to be disappointed he had to go, but with time that would change.

Grian could not tell them apart, but he did give them names. These names were assigned to whichever penguin he decided fit the role day by day; Turbo had a very high opinion of herself, always swimming and exiting the water with little care for whoever was in her way, Brittany and Sox were always together, huge gossips, just as obnoxious, Mayonnaise was the cool, mysterious type, he kept to himself, but the others were drawn to him regardless, and Max was a bit strange, but she had her friends, and they all got on well together. There were cliques too; Kickflip, Popcorn, and Baxter were always together, talking shit and ruling the ice under an iron wing, though most of the other penguins found them quite annoying, humoring them just enough to get them to leave the rest of the penguins alone. Poppy, Trippy, Slipknot, and Munch were living in their own world, no one else in their penguin habitar able to get them down except each other; there was a lot of relationship drama, everyone in that flock was a total mess.

In the middle of night, week five, Grian was struck wide awake by the desire to go see his penguins. The kind of thought that left you staring at the ceiling, gaping near drooling, shocked into stillness at the simple sentiment of wanting something. Grian hadn’t wanted anything other than to go home, sleep, and/or waste away for over a month, and he hadn’t anticipated that changing any time soon when getting out of bed was just as bleak and miserable as it was before. He nearly called Scar. He had to go see the penguins. Then the other apathetic 95% of him set in, along with the logical recognition that it was 2:30 AM, Scar was asleep, the penguins were asleep, he should be asleep, and also he didn’t want to do any of that shit anyway.

He did not go back to sleep.

Grian did not go to the zoo the next day either, mostly because he wasn’t working, which would have been entirely enough on a normal day; case closed, he didn’t have work so he wasn’t going to go to work, thank god, right?

This was the oddest part of depression; to see a spark of light and instinctively cover his eyes, to bury deeper under the sand, to smother himself when he forgot what it was like to breathe, because learning to do so again was more terrifying than continuing to waste. He was used to coaxing himself forward and hating every step. He wasn’t ready for it to be easier, mentally easier, but still so impossibly hard.

This was the worst part. Where he was no longer a miserable mind trapped in a dead body, but the same mind given the power to move, to act. Who might he hurt in the path of his own destruction? A mother? Student? Someone with potential, promise? Selfish, selfish. He considered hospitalization for the first time, if only for the benefit of the world rather than himself. Jimmy had suggested it weeks prior, but Grian had dismissed the thought, too exhausted to even consider checking his sorry ass into the hospital. But even now, all it would do was keep him safe, then he’d burn through his non-existent savings for the sole purpose of not dying, and what was the point of that? Hospitalization would not help him. It would not fix him, just like pills and therapy and going outside would not fix him. Even if it kept Grian’s condition from worsening it would not be worth it, and honestly, given the state of some hospitals, the dreary, hopeless misery that permeated the halls, it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility he’d leave worse than he came in. And who gave a fuck if he got worse? He would never be better, never, he would never be better, he would grapple with this monster his entire life, and was it really- seriously, was it really worth it?

“Hey, Grian, what’s up?”

Grian hadn’t remembered dialing Jimmy’s number. He didn’t even remember picking up his phone.

“Grian?”

“Can you take my keys?”

“What?”

“My car keys. Can you take them?”

Jimmy knew what it meant. He knew. “I’ll be over as soon as I can, I’m leaving now. Ten minutes, probably? How about we stay on the phone.”

Grian agreed, quietly. He did not have much of a choice, but he would not have hung up even if Jimmy had never suggested he stay. He was afraid. Afraid of getting better, spurred into wretchedness by glimpsing a spark of light in the all encompassing, sticky darkness. Pathetic, utterly.

***

He took Jimmy to see the penguins. He took Joel, then Joel again but this time with Lizzie, he made Pearl come see them and Impulse too, despite the fact they’d both seen the penguins hundreds of times. He wished he could take Mumbo. It was the first time he’d thought of Mumbo in weeks, months maybe. Time passed oddly.

The stories Grian had weaved about his penguins had become intricate sagas, no longer kept secret, shared with anyone who would listen to him ramble on and on. He started to recognize them in earnest, no longer guessing when assigning them their names, and every single penguin had a name now, they were all part of his story, vast and important.

Grian did not take Scar. Not out of malice or anything adjacent, Grian just rarely saw him during the work day, even when he started to work more hours. When Grian did see Scar, he was usually busy, caught up with wrestling bears or entertaining crowds or whatever else it was that he did. Scar was a little intimidating to approach during the day, and while Grian saw him after work plenty often (usually against his will, but Scar was the pushy type), he felt a little silly asking Scar to go back to the zoo with him, despite knowing Scar would be delighted to do so.

But eventually, when the penguin house was quiet and Grian was alone, Scar found him. If Grian was being honest with himself, he’d expected Scar to ruin the mood, loud and brash as he was, but Scar seemed to understand the atmosphere he’d established, silent as he walked up behind Grian, then sidled around the bench, sitting beside him. Grian was startled to see him, guilt prickling at the edges of his mind, but Scar’s smile was kind, the soft light of the exhibit catching his face flatteringly.

“I keep hearing about these penguins second hand!” he said, the exclamation persevered in a whisper, “I feel like I’ve been trying to catch you here for weeks, you just slip away!”

“I don’t visit unpredictably,” Grian snorted, amusing himself with the thought of banter, “At the end of my shift, every day. Don’t you make my schedule?”

“Just because a man writes your hours does not mean he goes and memorizes it! Pearl and Impulse do more work ordering you around than I do anyway, they have far more to say about when you come in.”

“I don’t see how this stops you from checking my schedule and finding out exactly when I’m here.”

“You think I have time for that?”

“If you have time to look for me with the penguins, yes, I do think you have time.”

Scar inclined his head back, nodding thoughtfully. “Yes, I guess that’s true. If you hate fun.”

“Irrelevant.” Grian pointed an accusatory finger, poorly hiding his own smirk, “This isn’t about fun, I might even argue this isn’t about wasting time either, I think you’re just lazy.”

“What are you, a lawyer?”

“But laziness doesn’t quite fit, does it. It would save you time to check my schedule, and ultimately it would save you trips to the penguins as well, checking to see if I’m here. Laziness might be a factor; you’d rather check the penguins than glance at my schedule, but I think something else is going on here..”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“I think..” Grian drew out the words, Scar leaning forward on his hands.

“Come on, G! I’m on the edge of my seat here!”

“I think you like penguins!” Grian stabbed his pointer finger into Scar’s chest, the other yelping in sharp surprise and throwing his hands up in defense.

“Well if that’s the case, I’d say you’re probably right! I do like penguins. I can’t say I like them as much as you do though, there are certain areas of animal enjoyment of which I can not compete. You, sir, are the penguin king.”

“Not true.” Grian corrected him, having some success keeping his straight face, “The penguins do not have a monarchy, they don’t even have leaders, no matter what The Iron Wings have to say about it. You can humor them, but it won’t stop you from getting pushed around, no sir.”

Scar sat back, arms crossed and relaxed. “Please, tell me more.”

“Those three,” Grian pointed to one corner of the enclosure, where three of the larger penguins were congregated, huddled together, “Kickflip. Popcorn. Baxter. Those are the guys you gotta look out for, they’d like very much to disrupt the peace of the metropolis. Establish an oligarchy, take control. Secretly, they’re all in a relationship together, but they can’t let word get out, because penguin polyamory isn’t a socially accepted form of love yet. It was a long road of acceptance to get to the point where they could all confess their feelings to each other, a lot of ups and downs and sick jealousy, but they’ve made it, and they’re happier than they’ve ever been. The politics are really important to those guys, so this is a really big deal to them, but they’ve kinda failed to realize no one else gives a fuck. Don’t tell them that though, they’d throw a real stink about it. More than anything, the three of them just want to be taken seriously. Unfortunately they’ve gone about it by being assholes. Everyone finds them really annoying, but saying so just leads to more trouble than it’s worth.”

“I see, I see,” Scar nodded, like the matter was one of grave importance, “What about the people? What part do they play in penguin society?”

“Oh, people? I don’t care about the people.”

“I would think they play a pivotal role in penguin life given they’re always watching. Feeding them, caring for them, you know.”

“Well sure, but who cares about people when you can think about the penguins. I’m here for the penguins. They like people because people feed them, but in the end, people are irrelevant. This is about each other.”

Scar chuckled, “If you say so.”

“I do say so.”

Scar sighed, a content kind of sound, one that lead nicely back to the comfy quiet of the penguin exhibit, dark and cool and safe. They watched in silence together, only broken occasionally by Scar asking a question, or Grian pointing out a certain behavior that contributed to the plot of his penguin soap opera. It was nice, surprisingly lower energy than the regaling of the penguin characters typically were to Grian’s other friends, but maybe that’s because Scar found him first, Scar was asking the questions, and there was no rush to keep his attention. A good thing, decidedly. Very good.

“How’ve you been feeling lately?” was a question that seemed to come out of nowhere, a question Grian liked much less. Maybe Scar noticed, because he followed up quickly, “You look well. Every time I see you I feel like you look a little better, and maybe it's not true- it doesn’t have to be true of course, I’ve just been glad for you.”

“I’m fine.” Grian answered a little more tersely than he’d meant to, but he didn’t correct himself. Scar’s face fell.

“You’re not well?”

Grian shrugged, struggling not to be frustrated. “I’m fine. Not good. Not bad. Just fine. Probably starting to level out to the normal feeling of mildly shitty all the time. Planned a small fishing thing with Gem, we’re going to be out all day Sunday. I’m looking forward to it. That’s a novelty.”

“Goodness,” Scar hissed, his frustration firing up Grian’s own anger, bristling until Scar continued on, “All the time? You feel shitty all the time? How many drugs are you on where you still feel shitty all the time, come on. Who’s your doctor? What are they doing, kicking their feet?”

Grian snorted despite himself. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you.”

“I do! This is crazy, isn’t it? How long has it been, nearly three months now? All that time of you being so sick, and nothing being done about it. That’s stupid!”

“That’s depression.”

“That’s stupid.”

“Yeah,” Grian drew in a long breath, releasing it without joy, “It’s pretty dumb. Psychiatrists don’t even know why the simplest drugs help some people and not others. It’s a mess. I try something for a few days, it doesn’t work, I try something else, suddenly I want to die more than I did before, they take me off that, put me on something else. Who knows if what I’m on now is even helping, or if that’s just time. Sometimes that’s how it feels. I have a mental health crisis, everyone in my life starts buzzing around like frightened bees, trying everything, only for time to be what brings me back to the surface. It’s not consistent either, no ‘Just hold on for three months and you’ll be good,’ it's just.. waiting. That’s depression. Why does it pass? Why does it happen in the first place? Who knows.”

“That- That feels- That is so dumb.”

“You’re preaching to the choir, dude.”

“I know,” Scar threw his hands over his eyes with a short hiss, like the failures of neuroscience and psychiatry had wronged him personally, “I’m sorry. All of this just.. I want things to be okay for you. I want you to stick around. I like when you’re around.”

Grian shrugged, unsure what he meant by the gesture even as he made it. “I guess I’m glad to hear it. I’m doing my best.”

“I appreciate that. I appreciate you.”

Grian snorted a small laugh, unsure how else to react. “You appreciate my valiant effort to not kill myself?”

“I- Yes!” Scar piped up, defensive in his confusion, or maybe alarmed by Grian’s bluntness, “And I don’t think that’s a terribly weird thing to say, either! I do appreciate you! I think you’ve been doing a very good job of it too!”

Grian laughed in earnest, shaking his head and speaking sarcastically, “I guess I have.”

“You have!” Scar lunged forward to grab Grian’s hands, both of them equally, like there wasn’t a thing wrong, like there was no part of Grian that Scar would prefer not to touch. The movement snapped Grian out of his dismal, left helplessly to stare into Scar’s wide eyes, colored blue in the low light of the penguin exhibit. “You have. And I’m glad you’re here. I’m really glad you’re here.”

Grian didn’t know what to do. What to say. Like a rubber band stretched too thin, something snapped at the back of his mind and he broke into a fit of sobs, collapsing into Scar’s arms. Ending just how he started, but not ending permanently.

It wasn’t nice, sobbing was never a nice feeling, but it didn’t have to be nice. Depression was not nice, but love could fight just as dirty, couldn’t it, catching and holding you and forcing you to see it clearly, look it in the eyes and understand that even packaged with the grime, your friends would miss you if you went away. They loved you and they were proud of you and they knew it wasn’t fair, but they saw that you kept going, even when it was hard, even when you were so afraid.

It wasn’t over. Grian was still so fragile, he knew little of how to navigate the world he’d been absent from for so long, but god, he was going to keep trying.

The penguins paid the two of them no mind. They were caught up in their own affairs.

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft fic #hermitfic #grian #gtws #goodtimeswithscar #honestly a lot of guys show up in this fic but not enough to tag them #desert duo #hermitshipping #scarian #mumbomaid au #tw: sui ideation #tw: suicidal ideation #tw: depressive thoughts #tw: depression

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crazylittlejester · 3 months ago

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bro. i am in the same boat as you.

asfhdjkss seeing you stress and become disappointed about whumptober is making ME FEEL THE SAME......

feeling upset about your writing and all the prompts not being correctly put down into words can be very hard and complicated!! i get it!!!

it's totally normal to feel that way and i assure you, it's okay!

just know that, even if it is your own decision, you don't have to feel obligated to do all 32 days. that's a bunch of work for someone and a whole lot of planning and writing and that can effect someone's energy and mental health. i appreciate your effort in trying to do it though! but please, don't get worried about producing so many mediocre fics, at the end of the day you're still writing things and im proud!!!

i saw your post about this and immediately felt bad so i hope this can help you feel even a little better... even so, i will be looking forward to anything you end up writing! you are such a fantastic author, never forget that. <3

thanks man 🫶 /gen

i have really been struggling a lot lately with this, and it’s been very hard to not get angry with myself over it because I feel like I haven’t been able to write in months and I’ve been struggling with hating most of what I write these days and I get so incredibly anxious to post anything because I feel like my ability to write and the quality of my fics has deteriorated sooo much. I’ve had my ao3 acc since 2018 and every year I’ve kinda made a tradition almost of orphaning everything I write and starting fresh at the start of the new year because I dislike the vast majority of what I write but I realized a few months ago that I don’t think I can do that this year- this is certainly the most attention my fics have ever gotten and I think at least one person would come yell at me in my asks if i disappeared off the face of the earth never to write for LU again allddkkd

its just very hard not to feel upset about being burnt out for so many months, and it’s hard to see how engagement has been down and have to remind myself it’s not because i suck, it’s literally just because i’ve been making less content. of course engagement would be down, the main reason most people interact with me is BECAUSE I write or do analysis posts or make content, so if im not putting out as much as i used to then that tracks and makes sense, but it’s hard to stop the intrusive thoughts sometimes. It is certainly a fight to not feel useless when I can’t do the one thing I’m supposed to be doing with this blog

anyways… it makes me really happy that there are at least a few people who will read whatever i throw up onto ao3, and all of you who regularly read the things i write and send me asks n such genuinely make me so happy. all of you are awesome

and thank you for this, it was really kind and sweet of you. i hope you have a good day, remember to take care of yourself and get some water n food 🫶

*wet cough* anyway *sniffle* y’all wanna see my tav…? /j *kicks a rock*

#sorry if none of this is coherent i literally have been struggling so hard to even THINK lately-#jes ask #jes rants #tw vent

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blackwolfstabs · 5 months ago

Text

The Wolves of Woodsboro - Chapter III

MEMORY

characters: Sam Carpenter, Tara Carpenter, Danny Brackett, Mindy Meeks-Martin, Chad Meeks-Martin, & Billy Loomis

“So, what’s up?” Mindy turned the chair she pulled over to the carpet towards her to sit backwards on it, folding her arms on top of the back to lean her chin on them. She gave a small glance over to Tara, thinking—as Sam’s sister—she might have some idea of what was going on, but she just had the same dark look in her eyes that she had the night before. It was only a tad softer.

With her being the only one in a chair, the rest of the household took a seat on the sectional sofa, starting with Chad, then Tara, then Danny, and lastly Sam, in counterclockwise order. The oldest female of the group had called for everyone to gather because there was something she needed to get off of her chest. And judging by the heavy tension between her and her sister that had loomed under that roof for the majority of the morning, it was more-or-less a confession.

Sam couldn’t stop the anxious shaking of her leg as her thoughts raced with what she needed to say. Her heart was pounding, and she felt her stomach churn, like it was going to let its contents climb up her esophagus and prevent her from expelling the truth. She hadn’t eaten anything, yet the nauseous feeling continued to tease her. She’d only gotten 4 hours of sleep, lying awake until 4:00 AM staring at the ceiling in figuring out what she needed to share and what she needed to keep to herself. She had talked with Tara earlier, and while that seemed to help a little bit, telling everyone was the most nerve-wracking.

“Sam,” Tara’s cold tone snapped her out of her indecisive sorting and had her looking up from her scratching her own nails.

Her sibling glanced around to signal that they were all waiting on her to start talking. “Well?”

She dropped her head again to compose herself with a deep breath before returning her attention to the rest. “I know I haven’t been the same, since New York,” she began, “I’ve been aggressive. I’ve been uncooperative. I’ve been distant and secretive…” She only made eye contact with Mindy, Chad, and Tara, but she could feel Danny’s gaze burning her side profile with every passing moment. “And I could make a million excuses for that, but none of them can justify the way I’ve been treating you all.” But the truth for her behavior was the one thing she swore she wouldn’t tell. She couldn’t tell. Because she couldn’t control it. Because she couldn’t understand it. Because she was scared of it. She still didn’t trust herself enough, because if she lost the control she already didn’t have and ended up hurting one of them, she’d never forgive herself.

She’d be just like him …

“It’s just…” She struggled with putting the words where they were supposed to go. So much had happened since and keeping track of it was like chasing stars. She bit her lip as she gave an uncomfortable shrug, frustrated that this was so hard to do. Frustrated for having this happen. And frustrated for putting the ones she loved to death in the middle of it all.

But they needed to know…

“It’s okay, Sam,” Danny consoled by placing a soft hand on her back. He had been watching her body language the whole morning, and it wasn’t just anxiety she was dealing with. It was almost like she couldn’t stand to be in her own skin.

Across the ottoman, Chad took his side with a reassuring nod. “Yeah, take your time.”

Meanwhile, Tara just stared, and Mindy’s brow was hard in trying to figure out what was going on before it was said.

Figures… in their collar-free pack, it was the females who seemed to be more intent to know what was going on right away. And as much as the oldest female identified with that, she found it harder to let go of the truth with the younger two staring at her. “I’ve been having a really hard time…” She had to pause again, her brow creasing simultaneously as the countless hurdles she’d dealt with since the Ghostface killings in New York hounded her. “... Accepting myself, since I put on that mask.”

Her eyes were black as she looked up. They all knew what she meant, especially Tara, who had seen her cladded in black and insane with the urge to finish off Wayne Kirsch in a blood bath.

“You’re not him , Sam.” Tara immediately brought herself forth, her orbs just as dark. “You did what you had to do, that’s all,” she insisted.

The she-wolf leaned forward to rest her elbows on her knees. “I’ve been seeing him… after we moved out here, and I haven’t been the same since.” Little did they know, she didn’t mean what they thought she meant. She hadn’t been the same, because she wasn’t the same. A wolf’s blood coursed through her veins and drove her day-to-day life.

Before she could go on, Mindy interjected. “What do you mean by that?” She straightened from her leaning position, not taking her eyes off of the speaker as she met her gaze.

And suddenly the room felt like the calm before the storm. Whether it be tension or suspense, it could cut the air with a knife. Samantha felt her anxiety be traded by a spark of aggression at the way she was being studied. It made her feel threatened. And when a wolf was threatened, it attacked.

She felt the warning signs come on. A hot rush, a guttural twinge that rose into her throat, a tingling sensation that ran down her neck to her tailbone. The only other thing left was Billy’s voice.

But she knew she couldn’t lose it. Not now. She wasn’t in any danger, nor was she being threatened. They couldn’t know about the wolf yet. No one could know yet…

She swallowed back the low growl rising up her throat, holding it in place while she spoke with a tight jaw. “I mean, I don’t feel like the same person I was…”

But this leading-up explanation was taking too long for Tara’s liking, and she expressed that impatience without hesitation. “It’s just because you’ve accepted Billy as your father.” She gained her older sister’s attention and continued to explain, “I mean, you put on his mask and killed someone wearing it, so of course, you’re gonna feel different after doing that.” This wasn’t a hard concept. In fact, it was natural, and she accepted that, but it didn’t serve the justification for her secretive and isolating behavior.

Over from the chair, Mindy summed everything up into a simple sentence, “That’s the closest to Billy you’ve ever been…”

The youngest member jumped right back in, holding her hand out towards the clarifier for emphasis, “Exactly. Which means that identifying yourself as his daughter while wearing his mask and killing—which is what he did in it—is messing with your head.” Her demeanor softened a tad, when she looked back up from going through the motions on the ottoman’s surface in front of her. “But it doesn’t mean you’re like him,” she shook her head.

“No, but I’ve opened a door I can’t shut now,” Sam returned, straightening up from her leaning. When she received concerned expressions that encouraged her to go on, she did, taking a deep breath to force her shoulders to relax in reflection to the wrangled composure in her voice. “Ethan’s alive,” she revealed, “And he’s looking for us. For me . He still wants his revenge, and now that he’s the only one left, he wants you too.” She had finished her sentence by looking at her sibling, who returned the signature round-eyed look that could be taken three ways: disbelief, anger, or daunt.

Before anything else could be said, Chad interjected, immediately defensive when it came to the threat of the small family they’d made, “Hold up, hold up. How do you know this?”

She met his eyes, “Because Billy told me.” She saw his brow crease slightly. “He told me a while ago, and I didn’t say anything, because I didn’t want to believe it was true, but it is and now, we have to make sure we’re ready whenever he may show up.”

“Wait, but a Ghostface killer always makes an initial kill to set off the spree. There hasn’t been anything on the news of a killing for weeks,” Mindy countered, giving a small glance towards the inactive television. “Even so, they haven’t been considered murders .”

The wolf-shifter recalled what she had been told about the lone killer stalking the streets. “That’s because he’s not taking a stapled approach.” Just the thought of recollecting the countless times she had been warned and taunted by her father’s informing had her head pulsing, pushing her lack of sleep more heavily on her responsibility to explain what she had kept from them. “There’s no telling when or where he’s going to make his move, which means we all need to be open with each other.” However, she remained as alert as she could, because if she couldn’t convince them to trust her now… “We need to know where each other is, when they’re leaving, who they’re with, and when they plan to be back home.”

… Then they never would.

“That includes you ,” Tara made sure to put in that vital detail, the conviction in her voice a vocal cord shy of being challenging. Sam’s tired gaze met her own, and she brought forth her argument. “You keep running off at night. Are you going to explain that to us?” There were still truths that her sister was withholding, and that bothered her. She understood that everyone had things they had a right to keep to themselves, but it was affecting relationships that were supposed to be mended after being torn apart.

The rest of the attendees seemed to side with Tara as they looked at the older Carpenter, expecting an explanation now that there was another killer roaming about. And she did make a good point: if there were going to be ‘ rules ’ then everybody had to abide by them.

But this just made Samantha shift in her place, eying her sister with uncertainty. Her hands rubbed against each other as her mind raced with an excuse. Any excuse. She knew if she gave them a distinct location, someone would try to find her there. And what they would find would be even more unforgiving than her recent behavior. So, she thought fast and came up with the only thing that had been on repeat in her head—what made her hold this discussion. “I told you that I’ve been seeing my father, right?” She had to force herself not to look away from them. “He’s not in my head anymore. He’s real . He’s real to me, at least.” But it was hard, especially with the anticipation of having to play her part in their set expectations. “Last night, I met him half-way across the city.” But she also had to do what was in their best interest, and as far as she was concerned, they didn’t need to know about her other half right now. “I’ve been meeting him at night. That’s where I go.” Her mouth went dry, and she had to force herself to swallow and hold the clear of her throat.

The room was quiet for a small moment, as if the three animated dots that showed up on a pending text message were visible in the middle of the living room. It was here that Sam felt Danny’s gaze leave her as he dropped it, and suddenly, she wished she would’ve said something else. She couldn’t blame any of them. This was a hard pill to swallow even for her, who had been trying to understand it daily. But to have it pushed on someone all at once? Fuck, she could’ve made a better move.

But then the deception would only drag on…

“Whoa…” Mindy was the first to break the silence as she drew back from her leaning against the chair’s back. “That’s… weird. I mean, I guess it’s pretty normal for you, but like weird in the sense that—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Chad cut her off as he wiped the slate clean to get a better understanding. “So, you’re saying Billy Loomis, your father, is alive ?”

The she-wolf shook her head, “No, he’s not alive. Just able to manifest into a physical being… to me.” After all this time, she realized how crazy that sounded. And if they didn’t know her like they did, they’d probably vote her into a psychiatric ward with 10 different types of medication.

Thank God, they knew her.

Meanwhile, Tara had been staring at the floor, her breathing softly audible with her asthma’s effects on her concentration’s depth. But she wasn’t shy to push for more. “Okay, so… you leave us without telling us where you’re going to meet up with your ‘ manifested ’ spiritual father almost every night, stay out for hours without a word to any one, come home at 3 AM, and haven’t bothered to share any of it with us for how many months now? 6?” There was no way in hell that it was that simple. Was it? There was a sense of submissive energy that hit her as Sam blinked at her. It was different, like she was suddenly another person that only looked like Sam. “Look, I’m not trying to fight, but I just don’t understand why you felt like you had to keep all of this a secret. You're shutting us out, not bothering to even try in therapy, and refusing to eat is all because of that ?” She then shook her head, “I’m not buying it, Sam.”

“Tara.” Chad placed a gentle hand on her thigh. He knew she was a ticking time-bomb at this point, but he also knew Sam was trusting them for the first time in 6 months to be able to open up like she had. One wrong move could destroy that quicker than the younger could take it back.

But Samantha kept her composure. “He’s been training me,” she answered. “Training me for Ethan’s attack. That’s why I’m out so late.”

Tara’s chin dipped, “What kind of training?”

“Doesn’t matter,” was the quick, yet convicted reply, “What matters is that I’ve told you what you need to know. Ethan is alive, and he’s coming.” Even though she was much calmer than she had felt when they had all first sat down, the canine could feel her heartbeat in her chest. As she looked into her little sister’s eyes, she was right back in that hospital room, telling her that Billy was her father and that she was out of her mind trying to get away from it.

The look on her face. The tears in her eyes. The slight tilt of her head that showed she couldn’t believe what she was being told. It made the one to blame feel sick to her stomach. Even after all this time. “Everything else are personal problems that I need to figure out on my own,” she finished.

The younger Carpenter blinked. “So, you’re asking us to believe you, when you say you’ve got everything under control?” She didn’t, because if she did, they wouldn’t be having this conversation.

“I’m asking you to trust me,” the other corrected. She truly did feel guilty for behaving the way she had been, but she couldn’t help it. She didn’t know how to. She had no clue what she was doing, having to rely on her dead father to guide her down a road that held the secrets to an animal with a mind of its own. One that she had to learn how to control and live within. There was a reason why wolves weren’t kept as pets. It was because they were wild, unruly, and unpredictable. “Please? I’m gonna do my best to keep you all out of the dark, but there are some things that I just can’t talk about right now…” She didn’t want to beg, but she would if she had to.

But luckily, the rest didn’t seem to push her word any farther, starting with Mindy. “Alright. I respect that,” she agreed to leave it be.

Next, her twin brother nodded, “We got you, Sam. Let’s just take one thing at a time. Core Four always thrives” That optimistic charm of his never failed to shine even in the most uncertain of times.

The mentioning of the nickname actually made a small smile pull at Sam’s lips as her eyes jumped back to his sister, who corrected:

“Core Four plus more.” She gestured towards the considered outsider next to Sam.

But the acknowledging of Danny just made Tara realize that he had been the only one not to say anything since her sibling had confessed what she had. She immediately recalled their conversation last night. Either one of two things were happening… He knew this the whole time and had lied to her, and that’s why he had nothing to say. Or he didn’t know any of it and didn’t know what to say. But she was going to put him on the spot right then and there. “Danny, you haven’t said a word.” If they were going to be a team, they all needed to communicate something to know that they were all on the same page. Her eyes raised to find his blue ones meeting hers like the ocean under overcast skies. Her voice was the most even-tempered it had been the whole morning as she spoke to him, “I know that she’s your girlfriend and that you respect her privacy, but– I-I mean, I get it, and that’s fine, but… do you have anything to say about everything she just told us?”

Brackett still maintained that cool essence that he had last night. He was concerned but not bothered. And he was honest about it. “I trust her,” he nodded to the lone wolf on his right. He may not have known all the reasons for why she did what she did, and still may not know, but he knew he was there every time she came home to make sure she was okay, and that was all he needed to know. “Every night she leaves, I’ll wait for her to come home. As long as she makes it through that door—it doesn’t matter what time of night it is—and she’s okay, I’m okay.”

Carpenter couldn’t argue with that. She agreed. As frustrated as she had been with her older sister, her main concern was her safety. She just wanted her to be okay. And because of that, she decided enough was enough for one day and nodded. “Okay.”

It had been 3 days since then. It wasn’t the smoothest of conversations, but it was enough to have the strong tension between the Carpenter sisters cease, and the rest communicate more frequently. Tara, Chad, and Mindy had altered their school schedules to have most of their classes online and only one in-person: a math class, which they all had together so they could watch each other’s backs. Sam had gone back to the forest the night she told everyone about Ethan, but Billy hadn’t shown up. In fact, she hadn’t heard from him since the night he first appeared. So she hadn’t bothered to retreat halfway across the city.

But the text messages from what seemed to be from Richie persisted and circled her mind like vultures on roadkill. From the first one at 2 AM, the next came the minute Sam excused herself from her confession.

‘I’d have thought by now you would’ve been smart enough to delete my contact… guess some things never change.’

And then one more that morning. Early that morning.

‘What’s with the silent treatment, Sammy Girl? Cat got your tongue?’

Lit through the darkness of the bedroom at 1:58 AM, the text made Sam become wide awake in the late hours. This wasn’t Ethan using his brother’s phone or cloning it…

This really was Richie. She knew that because he was the only one that knew about that little pet name, considering he was the only one to have ever used it. It was the name he had used whenever he felt frisky or teased her, and it drove her crazy. He drove her crazy at that time. And she cursed herself for it.

It had been on her mind all day, but now that she knew it had to be him on the other end of the phone, she needed answers for how that could be. Because, if her DNA could mutate by a simple awakening to transform herself into a wolf, there was no telling what secrets of the world were still a mystery, to the living or the dead.

But only Billy could give her that answer, and he hadn’t been prowling at her door for 3 days now. That’s what frustrated her the most, which simultaneously made her inner wolf grow anxious with the need for attention. She hadn’t given it authority, since she had seen him last.

The young wolf stared into the pot of boiling water as she stirred the pasta beneath its surface. With neglection of her other side, came the obnoxious advanced senses to groom her every second of the day. The smell of salt, wheat, and oil from the pasta mixed with the yeast of the dinner rolls in the oven had her uncared-for appetite growing. She had only recently begun to eat on a normal schedule again and appropriate amounts at that.

From the living room, she could hear Mindy reading her textbook softly to herself, underlying the soft music coming from the speaker on the bar’s counter and the clicking of the mouse as Danny navigated through the computer. On the other side of the house, Chad’s monologuing while he played the X-box registered in her ear drums, before Tara’s small giggle came from the sofa right outside the kitchen’s first entry point—probably in response to the video she was watching on her phone, which Sam could also hear the audio of. Not clearly, but it was still detectable.

But everything was undermined when the timer on the oven went off, sending a 3-second beep to echo throughout the house. And Tara answered the call as she came in.

Only a passing glance had her initiating a form of conversation as she slipped on an oven mitt. “I’m glad you’re eating again.”

Sam barely looked over, before replying, “I figure I need to keep my energy up as much as I can.” She set the spoon down on the utensil rest next to the stove.

“And your strength,” she added. As she took the rolls out of the oven, she changed the subject, her tone lightning to a more casual vibe, “I could eat all of these by myself, not even gonna lie.” She set the pan down on the counter and let the hot aroma flood her senses. Her eyes rolled in pleasure as she glanced over to her sister. “Do you smell that? It’s like pure ecstasy.” She shook her head as she tossed the hot glove aside.

Meanwhile, the older female nodded and backed away from the stove to lean against the counter.

“I could live off of carbs,” Tara went on.

This made her chuckle, “Yeah, I bet. You decided to have pasta and bread in the same meal.” She crossed her arms, settling the small of her back into the granite’s edge.

“They’re so good though,” was the anticipated reply. The younger sister found herself feeling a sense of normalcy at seeing the small smile pulling at her sibling’s lips. It made her express a similar one as she turned the oven off. But when she looked back at her, she saw her face fall again to stare at the floor.

Something was biting at her, and it wasn’t the big picture of Ethan.

“What’s on your mind, Sam?” she asked, moving herself closer to the she-wolf.

Samantha sighed. She hesitated to bring up the text messages again. She had only told Tara about them for the sake of flaring tempers and differences in opinions. However, she was trying to rebuild trust with her, so she figured she might as well. “You know how I’ve been getting those text messages?” She made sure to keep her voice down to avoid being heard by anyone else. “From… Richie’s number?”

The other nodded, “Yeah.”

She retrieved her phone out of her back pocket. “I got another one at 1:58 last night.” She pulled up the chat and held it out towards her. Her blood rushed beneath her skin, and her heart pounded against her ribcage as it was read by someone else. She watched Tara’s chocolate orbs trace the words and her brow creased in a mixture of offense and a what-the-fuck? expression, which made the heat inside of her come off stronger. She knew it was because of the pet-name and hearing it in his voice embarrassed her every time she thought about it.

“What the fuck?” the adolescent voiced her thoughts as she lifted her gaze to show she was done reading. “Is that even—”

“Yes, it’s him ,” she cut her off and slipped her phone back into her pocket. “Richie’s the only one who ever called me that,” she then mumbled, crossing her arms to avoid eye contact.

As much as hearing that made her uncomfortable, Tara pushed it aside and went for the bigger picture. “Did you tell Billy about them?”

Sam shook her head. “Haven’t been able to. I haven’t heard from or seen him for 3 days now…” She sighed in frustration with a semi-bitter tongue, “Just my luck, the one time I actually wouldn’t mind his help, he disappears.”

The younger kept quiet for a moment, thinking about what she just said. “Maybe that’s it…” She received her sister’s attention out of her peripheral vision, which made her meet her halfway. “Maybe he wants you to ask him for help. Have you ever told him that you needed it?”

“No. But what would that have to do with it?”

“It’s a trust thing,” she replied, “As your father, he wants you to come to him. He wants you to rely on him. And in order for him to feel that satisfaction, you have to swallow your pride enough to show him that you trust him enough to help you—swallow it enough to rely on him.” She didn’t know their full father-daughter dynamics, but she was very insightful in her experience of being caught in the middle of it. Plus, she had her own father she had lost her chances with.

The daughter of the culprit blinked at her, both in thought but surprise. That made a lot of sense, even though she hated the thought of calling out for him like a needy, helpless child. It wasn’t her. It never had been. Especially with him . She hated the idea, but it might be worth a try. “You think so?”

Tara shrugged, “Could be. I mean if you’re looking for somebody and it’s urgent, your biggest hope is to call-out to them, right?” She left her place to tend to the boiling pasta. “I don’t know, it’s worth a shot,” she told her, “Why not try to find him after dinner? Worst thing that could happen is you go out for nothing, but hey, at least you tried.”

Her older sister stayed quiet, nodding even though Tara’s back was to her. Wasting her time and energy running half of the night for something that might not even be there wasn’t something she was sure she wanted to try, but she needed answers in order to make sure she could keep her family safe.

So, her decision was made.

Samantha slowed her pace to a trot, letting her tongue slip past her lower fangs to hang over her jaws. Her golden orbs flashed through the forest's shadows as her ears twisted to detect the movement within its essence.

It was the first time she’d taken a late-night run after eating an actual meal, and to her surprise, she found that running on nutritional energy rather than emotional energy was much more empowering and withstanding. She shook the rush of her speed from her fur and dropped down to a patrolling stride. As her heart rate started to slow, she was able to assess any familiar traces through her snout.

Stale blood, smoke, and musk. Exactly what she was looking for.

So, he was here… Just not showing himself.

Maybe Tara was right? God, but how she had hoped she wasn’t. She felt stupid asking for help and felt even more stupid having to call out for him to show himself, like she was begging for his presence. Sure, it might be urgent, but still…

A low growl rumbled in the young wolf’s throat as she stalked on through the trees, ears flattening with the reality that she would have to say something. She huffed and lashed her tail, before pausing in her path to glance around. She might as well just get it over with…

“I thought you told me you could help me,” she began, letting her ears perk to detect any further trace beyond her own voice. “You made me commit to you, and I haven’t heard shit for 3 days!”

Stillness. Silence. Nothing.

Her flanks fluttered with her panting. And the embarrassment set in… feeling like a fool even though she was by herself. She rolled her eyes and looked at her paws, feeling the fur on her spine prick with frustration. This was pointless. Yet, something in her made her try again, this time, using what Tara had advised.

“Please?” Her amber eyes glowed in the contrast of night as she scanned her surroundings again. She had to force her next words out. “I could really use your help right now…” At least they didn’t come out as aggressive as she anticipated.

The quiet ambience was interrupted by scuffling the rustling of bushes. And to her luck, that familiar voice that had been absent for days greeted her from behind.

“Was it really that hard to ask me for help?”

Sam spun around to see her father in gray fur and glowing eyes. She scoffed, “Do you think I’d have wasted my time for 3 days waiting on you, if it wasn’t?” Being smart-aleck probably wasn’t the best move when asking for his help, but he just got under her skin way too much.

But Billy just tilted his head. “I was testing you, Sam.” Then, he chuckled, “It just took you 3 days to pass.” He took a seat and raised a hind paw to scratch behind his ear. “Which leads me to the next thing, before we get into what you need help with.” Extra, intentional feedback was his strong-suit. “You never address me, just expect me to know you’re trying to get my attention. That needs to change, if we’re going to be working together like this.” He paused his scratching to get her thoughts. He knew she was resistant, resentful, and uncomfortable with the hierarchy dynamics of being a wolf, but trust was something more than taking someone’s word for it. It was how you addressed, behaved, and opened yourself up to whom you’re trusting. It was about establishing a relationship .

This was where she failed to see the depth of the promise she made the last night he saw her.

But Sam didn’t see why she needed to address him, when he was the only one she talked to out in the middle of nowhere. He was looking for something. He wanted something from her, and it didn’t take her long to figure out what it was.

She had never addressed him before, because she didn’t need to; however, when talking to others, she had always referred to him using his own name or ‘ my father ’. That was it. That’s all there ever was between them.

From the look on her face, the older canine went on to explain. “I mean, I feel like I’m not even a person to you sometimes. You talk about me like we’re not even close—”

“We aren’t ,” she snapped.

“Yet, here you are,” he countered, coolly like he always did when he backed her into a corner. “I’ve been in your head for as long as you can remember: talking to you, guiding you, teaching you, and we’re not close?” His eyes gleamed like his fangs as he grinned. “I beg to differ.” He watched her shift uncomfortably, knowing there wasn’t anything that she could come up with to defend herself against that truth. He then lifted his muzzle with a smug look, “ I’d like you to call me Dad .”

His daughter stepped back with a wry scoff, her hips lowering into a stacked position as her tail swished in disbelief. Fine, they were close, but calling him that was extreme. “No. You lost that privilege a long time ago,” she growled.

“Had I been in your life to begin with,” he added in correction to that sentence. “You can’t change biology, Sam. ‘ Father ’ hasn’t been used for centuries, and calling your biological father by his name is disrespectful.” But he was willing to negotiate with her… manipulatively, of course. “Think of it as you keeping your promise to trust me above all other things. A second chance?”

But she wasn’t buying it. It did make sense, but it was nearly insulting to her. They weren’t that way. There was only one man that she had ever considered her dad and that was her step-father, Tara’s biological father, the man who raised her from day-one when her biological one was playing Cowboy Casanova .

Her uninterested stare made Billy shrug, “Unless, of course, you’d prefer to call me Daddy …”

An offended snarl emitted from Samantha’s throat to cut him off as her lips and ears drew back simultaneously. However, he just smirked and jerked his muzzle towards her, “It’s your choice.”

She forced herself to regain composure as he kept his. She had bigger problems to deal with rather than get distraught over calling him a simple name. It was just them, so it’s not like she’d have to say it often. So, eventually she sighed and gave him a short nod. “Alright,” she succumbed, “You win.”

“Shake on it?” He teased her by raising his front paw like a domesticated dog would do on-command.

“Don’t push it.”

The gray wolf put his paw back down with an amused scoff. “Okay, so moving on… You’re here because of those text messages you’ve been getting, right?” He saw everything, even when she thought he wasn’t around. It was almost like an all-seeing-eye type-deal.

The other took a seat herself and nodded, still trying to shake the flush of heat from her pelt. “Yeah.”

“Well, you’re right. It is Richie,” he clarified. He then tilted his head with an intrigued gleam in his golden eyes. “You ever heard of haunted technology ? Because that’s what’s happening. Just like I can appear to you from another world, Richie can do the same, but he’s using a different spiritual medium to distract you from Ethan.”

As freaked out as that made Sam feel internally, she didn’t show it, just blinked at him as he went on.

“He’s trying to get inside your head, Sam. Don’t let him get there. But it’s not just him,” he warned, “The members of the Kirsch family that you killed… they’ve all found a taste for wolf’s blood .”

She raised her jaw, “So, what? They’re gonna show up out of nowhere, just like you?”

He shook his head. “No, they’re here. They just haven’t shown themselves in their chosen form yet.”

Her eyes narrowed. “ Chosen form?” Now what? From wolves, to Ethan, to Billy in-person, to Richie haunting her through texts… What else was there to know?

“Kirsch Cats,” he answered. “Siberian Tigers, which biologically prey on Gray Wolves… if given the chance…”

Sam was stolen by the word ‘cat ’, that last message making her blood run cold:

‘Cat got your tongue?’

It all started to make sense now.

taglist in comments :)

All my best! 🩶

- parker (BWS)

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yoosmekihyun · 1 year ago

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Conversations in the Dark (pt. 1)

Summary: After a series of major personal events, you decide to move to New York (in part) so you can have a relationship with your newly discovered half-sister, Karen Page. Matt Murdock and Foggy Nelson become additional important figures in your life as you navigate new relationships and figure out how to live your life.

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut (eventually), we run the spectrum of emotions here

Warnings: mention of death, grief, anxiety, drinking, pining (so much pining), self-deprecation, chapters with sexual content will be marked with their own warnings, violence or attempted violence (i.e. Daredevil related), more possible warnings in the future

Author’s Note: This is pure wish fulfillment and written for my own joy. I haven’t put out anything in at least five years and this is the first time I’ve written something multi-part. I’m not sure how this will go, how long it will be, or how often I will post/update.

Word Count: 1.9k

Part 1

The remnants of summer still lingered in the warm September afternoon as you stepped out of the cab in front of the coffee shop. Glancing at your watch, you realized you were still a little early but that’s how you preferred it. This would allow you to order your drink and calm your nerves a little before she arrived.

When your turn came at the counter, you took the barista’s suggestion of the monthly special and moved to wait for your drink. Looking around you noticed the little pieces of fall décor another employee was putting up around the shop giving it a cozier vibe. Once the barista called your name, you found a small empty table in a corner that would allow you to watch the door and enjoy the city street chaos through the large window next to you.

This shouldn’t have been as nerve racking as it was but while you had spoken with your half-sister several times over the last year, you hadn’t seen her in person since your father’s funeral a little over a year ago. You prayed this was a good idea. You needed a win after the heaviness you had dealt with over the last few years. You needed some joy and connection, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity but now you were second guessing yourself.

Just as you were beginning to spiral and doubt your decision for the umpteenth time that day, you heard the ding of the door and watched your half-sister, Karen Page, rush in searching for you. The moment she saw you, she broke into a huge smile and hurried over to envelop you in a hug.

“Y/N! I’m so glad you made it safely! I hope you weren’t waiting long; I told Matt and Foggy I needed to leave sooner but they’re drowning in a sea of paperwork for a case, and we lost track of time.”

“Don’t worry about it! I’m usually early and you’re only a couple minutes late. No harm, no foul.” You released her from the hug and in that instant, you knew you had made the right decision. You didn’t realize how much you needed a hug from family until that moment and you felt more settled than you had in weeks.

“Do we need to postpone so you can get back to the office? Are you on a time crunch?” you asked.

“Oh, hell no, we are not postponing! They’ll be fine without me for a little while. I want to caffeinate while I hear about how you’re feeling now that you’re here!”

-X-

Your biological father may have been a world class asshole, but at least he had the decency to tell you and Karen about each other before he died. It was weird growing up as an only child to find out as an adult that you had a sister, especially when you had so desperately wished for one when you were younger. For her part, Karen could have decided she didn’t want a sister, but she welcomed you into her life with open arms. Admittedly, you struggled some, not because you were unhappy to find out about her, but because the news came during one of the worst times of your life.

If you had a terrible biological father, then luckily, you had the most amazing mother you could have asked for. When you and Karen found out about each other, you had just received news that your mother had been diagnosed with cancer for the second time. This time, it was late-stage and had spread with abysmal survival rates. This news alone meant your plate was beyond full. The idea of figuring out how to grieve the parent who didn’t want you while struggling to accept the awful news about your mother was overwhelming. It was nothing to say of the struggles to cultivate a new relationship with your sister under your poorly hidden sorrow, but Karen had been lovely and understanding. She did so much of the early legwork to develop your relationship, checking on you when she knew you were focused on your mother and often reminding you to do basic tasks to take care of yourself.

When your mother passed in the late spring, you were understandably devastated. She had been your sounding board your entire life and, without her, you felt unmoored. Thankfully, Karen had been there. She hadn’t been able to come to the funeral, but she called you every day for the first couple weeks after to make sure you were eating, hydrating, and showering. She listened to your stories and cried with you when the grief threatened to eat you alive.

During a conversation expressing your untethered feelings, Karen raised the idea that led you to the coffee shop in the midst of Hell’s Kitchen.

“Hey, I know you’re not sure what to do but…what if you moved here? Maybe a big change of pace and scenery will help you move forward.”

If you were being honest, moving to New York was an idea you had for a long time. You had applied to Columbia and NYU in your final year of high school but a full ride to a local university secured your undergrad path. Despite this decision, you never let go of the idea of New York. When Karen tentatively suggested the idea, it was like your mother was holding a huge neon sign for you, telling you to get off your ass and GO! A light burst into life within you, and you scrambled to make the arrangements so you could move as soon as possible.

-X-

Once Karen had her coffee and settled into her seat, you relayed some of your travel mishaps and your ideas and loose plans for her input.

“Honestly, I can’t really believe I’m here. It’s all still so surreal. But I’m hoping the apartment hunting will help ground me a little and once I can actually get my things here, it’ll start to sink in.”

“That makes sense. I imagine it’ll feel more like a vacation until you have your things around you. I’m so glad you’re here to experience fall in New York! I think you’ll love it,” Karen gushed, beaming at you.

As you grinned at Karen, you felt a peace and a warmth spread in your chest that you hadn’t felt since before your mom passed. You reached across the table and grasped her hand. “Thank you, Karen, for everything. I don’t know what I would have done without you this last year. I’m so grateful you’re my sister.”

Karen’s eyes started to well up as she gripped your hand in return, “I’m grateful you’re my sister too.”

Shocking you both out of the moment, Karen’s phone buzzed, and she rolled her eyes once she saw the caller ID. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. He knows I’m with you so I’m not sure why Foggy’s calling.” You waved her to answer it, unbothered by the interruption as it gave you a moment to reign in your emotions a little more. You didn’t need to start sobbing in the middle of a coffee shop; you’d have your bigger emotions in private later.

You took a sip of your coffee as you heard Karen’s exasperated tone, “Yes Foggy I know it’s a big deal. YES, I know we need the revenue. Okay, okay but you both know why I took an extended break and who I’m with…Seriously?? Now? Ugh, fine. You both owe me AND Y/N for interrupting.”

Karen sighed as she ended the call and looked at you apologetically. Before she could even say anything, you started, “Let me guess, they need you back ASAP because they don’t know how to function without you?”

She chuckled and confirmed, “Basically. He also asked me to bring back coffee. They’re losing steam fast. If you’re not too tired, do you want to walk back with me? You can meet them, so you know who to look for when we get drinks at Josie’s tonight!”

“Wait, what’s Josie’s?”

“It’s this local dive bar that Matt and Foggy love and they want to welcome you to the city! We planned on going tonight if you felt up to it, but we can do another night or somewhere else if that works better for you?”

You could tell Karen was a little nervous. Whether it was encouraging you to meet her co-workers and friends so quickly or having you go drinking your first night in an unfamiliar city, you didn’t know but you wanted to start living your life, not hide away in a hotel room.

“That all sounds great! I love a good dive bar, sounds like my kind of place.”

Fresh coffees in hand, you and Karen made your way back to her office making small talk about the neighborhood and places to consider when you went apartment hunting the following day with a recommended broker. You wanted to be near Karen, not necessarily in her building, but within walking distance so it would be easy to see each other when you wanted.

You nearly missed the sign “Nelson, Murdock, and Page” until Karen directed you to the door next to it. Once you made it to the interior door, you could hear the loud voices before Karen opened the office door.

“I come bearing caffeine. If you want it, stop arguing and get out here so you can meet my sister!”

You heard chairs scraping right before you saw a tall, blonde man with a huge smile step out of a side room. Holding out his hand for you to shake he said, “Hi! I’m Franklin Nelson but you can call me Foggy.”

Unable to hold back your grin, you took his hand for a quick shake and replied “Nice to meet you, I’m Y/F/N Y/L/N.”

The sheer happiness and light that shone out of Foggy reminded you of your mother. You knew this man was going to be your friend, come hell or highwater.

Behind Foggy you could hear a shuffling sound and you peered around him. Once you saw the other man, you nearly forgot to breathe. Your heart stuttered in your chest as you gazed at easily the most beautiful man you had ever seen in person. Like Foggy, he had his sleeves rolled up to just under the elbow and the top button of his shirt was undone along with a loosened tie. His red reflective glasses did nothing to distract from the sharp jawline and days-old stubble. His dark hair was slightly mussed, as if he had recently been running a hand through it. As beautiful as he was standing before you, you were most distracted by his mouth. It was lush and soft while still looking deliciously male and it was quirked up on one side like he was in on some kind of joke you had missed.

Loudly, someone cleared their throat and shook you out of your stare. You realized you had missed something as Karen looked at you with a raised eyebrow and a smirk and Foggy was shaking his head while rolling his eyes.

You gave a little embarrassed chuckle as your cheeks flushed, “Um, sorry, what did I miss? I’m a little out of it, all the excitement and travel today.”

The beautiful man gave a full smile and you nearly stopped breathing again. He stepped forward and with one hand extended, he repeated,

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Matt Murdock.”

#matt murdock fic #matt murdock series #matt murdock x female reader #daredevil x female reader #daredevil fic #matthew murdock #conversations in the dark #miss pearl writes #yoosmekihyun

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lume-nosity · 2 years ago

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coldest front, warmest heart

violet evergarden!gn!reader x xiao

an: i’ve been brainrotting about this idea for quite some time. violet and xiao should meet, because they are literally the same but in different fonts. if only that can be a reality,, on another note, the song inspo can be used as background music to read this because i had fun listening to it while writing this. AND AFTER ALL THIS TIME I FINALLY FINISHED THIS IDEA!! ONE W FOR ME AND ONE L FOR PROCRASTINATION (and if this flops then that’s two L’s for me)

style: fluff

song inspo: never coming back (violet evergarden ost)

notes: gender neutral reader, kinda rushed because tumblr was mean to me, comfort fic basically, spoilers for violet evergarden & possibly the liyue archon quest, implemented self-care reminders, not proofread, reader is blue while xiao is green, can be perceived as romantic or platonic, weirdly formatted/written probably because i haven’t written in a bit, written in semi-hc form, mentions of war (both violet + xiao), ooc violet possibly because it’s been 2-3 years last time i’ve watched it, takes place after xiao’s latest appearance

reblogs are appreciated!

[name] and xiao talk about their times during war. they both fought for something, and would most likely be open about their experiences since they have something in common (but it took a long time for xiao to be open about it though)

and the idea of [name] losing major gilbert during the struggle and xiao being saved by morax (or rex lapis?? idk i’ll refer to him as morax) are contrasting opposites of what of who they lost but they’re both one in the same.

xiao comforting [name] because of that… oh, and he also talked about them making a contract with morax just so they can defend liyue together,,, that’d be nice. oh yes and [name] was down no questions asked, you know it.

they don’t know much about love either. (wow what a surprise) because one time [name] asked him: ‘sir xiao, what is love?’ (baby don’t hurt me) and he’s like: ‘why are you asking me that?’

…...

he looked away from them, crossed his arms, and went: ‘i don’t have enough knowledge in that area to answer your question.’

‘….and don’t address me that way. just call me xiao.’

[name] being overly obedient & hardworking does perplex xiao, especially with their military etiquette. (the saluting thing and all that) there’s even times where he had to tell [name] to stop saluting to him, morax, and everyone else they meet. he thinks it’s unnecessary to do it. (he’s even a little embarrassed too)

as much as xiao works hard to defend liyue’s borders, he thinks [name] is pushing it. because he saw just how determined they are that they don’t stop to take a breather or a break. so he confronted them about it.

‘don’t you think you’re overexerting yourself to the brink of exhaustion?’

‘oh, it’s not a problem.’ no, it’s most definitely a problem. in secret, xiao was completing whatever tasks [name] had to do.

once [name] found out they didn’t have anything to do, they were quite confused. so then they had to go up to xiao and ask if there’s anything they have to do. well, xiao took this opportunity to tell them an ‘order.’ (an order of taking care one’s well-being that is)

‘rest for the day.’ pretty straightforward, but [name] seemed to do it without arguing. because it sounded like an order to them.

xiao offered to share his almond tofu to them but as expected, [name] is stubborn and waved their hand dismissively. but xiao’s not having it.

‘you must eat. mortals need to consume nutrients in order to strengthen their energy.’

he pushed his dish towards [name] ‘and you need this more than me.’

[name] was unfazed, but they perceived his words as an order. so they took the plate and started eating. no words were said after that.

okay tumblr is being rude to me so i’m going to write one last scenario here to finish this with a bang.

[name] leaning against the balcony of wangshu inn with xiao, staring off into the horizon, and letting the wind flow through their bodies in complete silence.

it was a comfortable silence, but xiao decided to break the silence. ‘…[name]? may i speak with you for a moment?’

[name] immediately pushed themself off of the railing and turned to face xiao.

‘yes, what seems to be the problem-‘

xiao hugged [name]. (yes, yes he did.) he may dislike physical contact and would prefer to not get himself involved with such a thing, but considering the hard work [name] had done he was sure they might need something like this. even if it’s out of his comfort zone.

‘for a mortal as persistent and obedient as yourself, you should be more attentive to your own needs.’

[name] didn’t return the hug, as they were slowly processing the sudden action. but xiao continued to speak.

‘i understand how… resolute, you are, with any and every order that comes to your attention. however..’

xiao tightened the hug a little, but not enough to hurt them.

‘you have to come to terms with having the freedom to decide for yourself. as well as taking frequent breaks should you need them. to see you work so hard without anything in return.. i despise it greatly. i was once told these words by morax when i was like you, so it’d be appropriate for me to send his words to you as well.’

[name] stayed silent, but they’re still listening to each and every word that comes out of xiao’s mouth. it seems as if they couldn’t find the right words to respond, rather, they’re fine with listening. instead of denying xiao, they stayed put and listened.

‘..so do me a favor to take these words into account, okay?’

[name] is still silent, but they slowly moved their arms to wrap themselves around xiao to return the hug. it may have surprised xiao a little, but not to the point he was visibly taken aback. because of this gesture, he gently rubbed circles around their back.

‘…i will, thank you.’

#✏️ lume writes #genshin #genshin impact #genshin fluff #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x gn reader #genshin x gn reader #xiao x reader #xiao x gn reader #xiao fluff #violet evergarden #violet evergarden x reader #violet evergarden fluff

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meraki-yao · 1 year ago

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This is gonna be really personal, and really venty and probably really selfish, and I’m most likely gonna delete it in the morning, but I feel like this is the only place I can talk about it, so I’m just gonna shout this into the void. If you’re not in a good space either, please stop reading and keep scrolling.

I’m not in a good place in my life right now. Truth be told my mental health has been shit since I was 7, but this is the worst I’ve ever been. Long story short, I was pressured into a college major that I didn’t want by family, and I thought I could pull through the four years of school, but it’s the first semester of the second year and I can’t handle it. I do not suit this major, nor do I find any purpose or joy in trying to deal with it. I hate it, I struggle with, yet it consumes all the time in my life. It’s been like this since the start of college, and it’s just getting worse. It doesn’t help that adults around me keep telling me how good this major is as a career and how I need to start looking for internships. It’s gotten to the point where I’m mentally and physically unhealthy, and I skipped school for the entirety of October without anyone but my sister knowing because classes gave me panic attacks. My parents aren’t people I can talk to about this because 1, they invalidate mental health issues as my fault for not trying hard enough because engineering and science came easy to them 2, they’re the ones who put me in this position in the first place. My sister listens but I help her more than she knows how to help me, and my friends are all busy with their own stuff.

I am seeking professional help on my own, I have bimonthly counselling which helps, and I recently started taking prescribed antidepressants. But for me to find a psychiatrist for a diagnosis on my life long issues and more meds, or for me to start looking into switching a major (which is a fucking arduous process where I am, fuck), I need to wait till I’m done with my exams which will be the last two weeks of December

So for the following month, I’m stuck, and fucked.

RWRB saved me in a way. I accidentally stumbled upon the trailer when it came out and suddenly I had a source of joy, a reason to keep going and keep looking forward to the next day. RWRB made me the happiest I’ve been since January of 2022. I can’t explain why, maybe it’s how I relate to Henry, maybe it’s how firstprince’s relationship is so beautiful, maybe it’s how it’s a rom com, I don’t know. But I have a couple of movies/shows that make a huge impact on my life, and RWRB is one of them. Waking up to something new, waking up happy with something to look forward to felt so good after so long of wanting time to just pass by me. I’ve haven’t watched a movie on repeat since I was 6 and repeating the original Lion King. I started this account because I had so many thoughts about the movie and I wanted to share them.

And I know it’s not the healthiest to hook all of my sanity onto a fandom/movie. But I’m not in a space where I can deal with my actual problems directly right now. And I do have other things in my real life that make me feel a bit better, but RWRB really has been the most effective/impactful one right now.

This is also the first time since Infinity War in 2019 were I followed a movie’s promo and release rather than discover it when all is said and done. And it happened to coincide with the strikes. Which again I’m supportive of and proud of the agreements they achieved, but the timing of everything just makes me so upset.

I thought that Prime would keep it going for a bit, especially after the strike resolved. And right now I’m not saying they’re definitively not doing anything. We don’t know that.

But I thought they would release a new deleted scene on 18th since that’s the date the last two deleted scenes were released, and it was the 100th day since release. When that didn’t happen, I thought they would release it on Thanksgiving. I lost sleep over waiting for it. But that didn’t happen either.

I got an anon ask who kindly but objectively explained the situation on the business side. And after reading and answering those asks…

I felt really fucking bad.

I kinda just lied down, panting and trembling.

It kinda felt like drug addiction withdrawal. Which is a morbid thing to compare it to, because if it weren’t for my myriad of problems this would just be a hyperfixation, but withdrawal is genuinely the only way I can explain my reaction (but to clarify I never actually did drugs)

And the following days I just had this ache and weight in my chest.

I think the reason my reaction is visceral is because RWRB is really my only, singular source of unbridled happiness right now. It’s literally the only thing I’m trying to hold on and stay afloat for, the reason I wake up in the morning. I thought Prime would keep going for a while with a relatively fixed monthly schedule of something new, but that broke off.

And that’s not to say that the fandom isn’t included in my RWRB happiness. I still fucking love the fanart and fanfics I come across.

But the jump from August and September to now, and my worsening issues because of school, it just hits harder.

I’m kind of at a lost right now. I’m getting worse in my own life with exams that I’ll definitely straight up fail (and I used to be a star student: I’ve needed academic validation my whole life) on the horizon, and I feel like I’m losing the only thing I held on to for the past couple of months.

I’m fucked and I don’t know what to do.

#personal

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kyliesnaked · 4 days ago

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The Mommy Protocol

Chapter 2

I look in the mirror and try to remember a time when I didn’t look like this. I haven’t been this way for long, but the days were beginning to blend together. I knew all the important stuff and I struggled to hold on that as my only means of hope. My name is Alexis Reynolds. I’m twenty two years old, five foot four inches tall, blonde, thin, and beautiful. I’m in perfect health and fiercely independent. At least, I was.

Now, on my hands and knees, in a tee shirt that’s too small, and…something else. I’m now none of those things. I’m made to look like I feel, infantile and helpless. I can’t ignore the truth any longer, no matter how much I plead and beg, this is my new reality. I’m being babied by someone I can’t bargain with. Or reason with. There is no pity, or remorse, or fear. And it seems like it absolutely will not stop…ever!

I shift slightly and am again reminded of what’s been happening to me. The torture. The torment. Taped around my waist is the most humiliating thing I’ve ever experienced. A diaper. You read that right, a diaper. An honest to God diaper, like what babies wear, only bigger. Hell, before I became trapped here, I had no idea that diapers were even made this big. It was taped so snugly on my hips that even if I wanted to slip out of it, I couldn’t. Not without making a bunch of noise. And noise drew unwanted attention.

What was worse was the expectation that came with them. They were, after all, diapers, and were intended to be used as such. In fact, they were expressly put on me so that I had no choice but to use them, further adding to my torture. I was forbidden from doing my business anywhere but in them and even if I could take it off without being detected, there was no toilet to use. Sure, there was a tub, but the door was locked unless I was getting a bath. And I never took baths unsupervised. I never did anything unsupervised.

I crawled across the plush and well padded carpet, crinkling as I went. Being in one place for too long would prompt investigation, both of my activities and of the state of my diaper. You have never felt the level of embarrassment that I have, being a grown woman and having the back of your diaper, that you don’t need to wear, mind you, pulled open to see if you pooped. I learned quickly that it was unavoidable. Worse than that I had to do it with an audience. Everything I did came with an audience.

I sat my poofy butt in front of my toy bin and grimaced at the noise I made. Every movement made noise, a constant barrage of shifting plastic. Day in and day out, this is where I spent the majority of my time. There were various types of toys in the bin, an old wooden chest that looked like it belonged in a museum or some antique store. There were action figures for boys, dolls for girls, alphabet themed wooden blocks, and kid friendly plastic building blocks, among many others. The toys that were way too childish had since fallen to the bottom of the bin. Although I was made to look like a baby, and play like one, even I couldn’t bring myself to stack colored rings on a post all day.

I began to pull some of the dolls out and spread them across the floor. There was a doll house next to the toy box that was secured to the floor so I couldn’t move it, but it had three layers that I could reach from a sitting position, a fourth if I kneeled. Themed as the ultimate beach house, it had tables, chairs, a bed, bathroom, music area, surfboard area, and elevator, a spiral, staircase, and even its own pool. If I sound overly excited about it, it’s because it is all I really had to interact with. There wasn’t a television to watch, my cell phone had been confiscated weeks ago, and I had no way of contacting the outside world. So this beach house was the only way I could keep from curling into a ball and sobbing all day.

My stomach growled and right on cue a warm bottle tapped my shoulder. I look up and take it, trying to muster the right face that will earn me some pity. I get none. A large bulbous nipple adorns the bottle, large enough to allow for adequate flow of liquids. I was watched as I took it, my bottom lip quivering, knowing what was expected of me. I tilted and slowly rolled onto my back. I held the bottle in my hand for a moment, my passive resistance, before a hand reached down and guided the bottle by the base to my lips. Another tear rolled down my cheek as the nipple pressed against my lips. My teeth parted and I allowed the nipple into my mouth. The bottle was held there until I started drinking from it. The hand retreated and I was watched until I had drunk half of it. It was milk, warmed to a pleasant temperature, mixed with a nutrient supplement powder. It didn’t taste bad but like everything else, its delivery was tormenting. I knew full well how to drink from a glass.

I emptied the bottle and handed it back before sitting back up. I burped softly and returned to pulling out my dolls. In an hour or so, I would be subjected to the high chair and spoon feeding, but for the moment, I was left alone. Nearly all of my waking moments were routinely structured. After breakfast would be another bottle, and likely a diaper change. The amount of fluids and fiber enriched foods being pushed on me all but guaranteed that I would have to use my diapers, a concept I found revolting and humiliating. The practice was by the far the worst thing that I’ve ever had to do, and I have no choice in the matter. It’s constantly on my mind that I have to endure it over and over again, then be carried to the table where I’m put on full display as I’m cleaned, knowing that if I make any attempt to interfere, I’ll lose use of my hands.

My life was currently a never ending nightmare that I couldn’t wake up from, no matter how hard I tried.

#ab/dl diaper #diaper regression #diaper training #ab dl diaper #diaper dependent

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fluffy-critter · 8 months ago

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#crosspost #busybee

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hismercytomyjustice · 3 months ago

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So I started writing this yesterday and then I got SO MANY FEELS and it was SO LATE but…

Def got a little too into my own head earlier with the finale approaching for my BG3 fic. So I reread the draft I have of the final three chapters. And I just…I’m so happy with them??? (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ) I don’t even feel like they need any major overhaul editing or anything either.

I have NEVER felt confident about writing endings, but I’m feeling alarmingly confident about this one??? Like, even my OCD doesn’t seem to have anything disparaging to say??? ( ˶°ㅁ°) !!??

I mean, I truly hope other folks feel the same way when they get to the end. But right now I’m just so fucking happy that I do?

Wildly long self-indulgent post about my BG3 fic and the writing process for it below, if that’s something you’re into.

Writing this fic has been such an unexpected rollercoaster of emotions for me. It’s taught me so much about how my OCD manifests and impacts my writing, in addition to building my writing confidence back up in general.

It’s the longest thing I’ve ever written (just about twice as long as the longest before that?!) and I feel like I’ve grown SO MUCH as a writer while working on it for the past six months. I went from thinking I would never write description well to finally feeling like I get it??? I mean I’m sure I still have loads more room for improvement, but I’ve always felt like description has been my biggest weakness as a writer and I finally don’t feel that way anymore??!!

Same with writing endings too!!! I def feel like I have a lot more progress to make on that front, but like…oh my god I actually wrote one I’m super proud of??!!

Not only that, but this fic taught me I actually can jump around while writing??? I’ve always written super linearly before and tbh I still do, but when I got stuck on chapter 12/13 for almost two months, I skipped to the very end because I had an idea spark for that part and because of that I’ve been able to lay more of the groundwork for what I hope is a satisfying wrap up.

God, I was so fucking mortified to bring up my struggles with fanfic writing to my therapist. In retrospect I realize that’s because my OCD spirals around it were getting out of fucking control…

Just a super fun refrain of:

“This isn’t a big deal, you’re doing it for fun. It’s ridiculous how upset you are over a literal hobby no one is forcing you to do. It’s just a fanfic. No one cares about it. It’s not even real writing. No one will even read it or like it anyway. You’re wasting your time. See? You can’t finish anything. You’re stuck at the 60k mark because you lack discipline and commitment. You can’t do this, so you’ll never get anything original published. How many things have you started now that you’ve never finished? You haven’t finished writing anything in almost a decade. You’re wasting your therapist’s time talking about something so absurd. She’s going to laugh in your face.”

And fucking on and on and on.

But like…none of that was true??? FUCKING SHOCKING THAT MY OCD WOULD LIE TO ME, AMIRITE?! When has it EVER done that?!

I just wound up sitting there telling my therapist I was stuck and I had lost the passion for the fic like I always did and I’d wasted three months and 60k words on a story that was never going anywhere because I wasn’t good enough to write it.

And she asked me “What would help you get unstuck?”

And I thought about it and was like: “Maybe if I start posting it, folks will read it or bare minimum I’ll get enough kudos and hits to make my brain go brr enough to finish it?” All I wanted at that point was to regain the drive to finish writing the story I’d put so much heart and time and effort into already.

I mean OF COURSE I hoped folks would read it and like it and leave kudos and omg maybe even leave a comment??!! And since BG3 was and is such a big/popular fandom I was also hoping maybe I could surpass the level of achievement I hit with my multichapter Cardcaptors fic a few years back, if nothing else.

And like, as of last night, this is where I was sitting with both:

And YES. I know that stats are NOT what I should focus on at the end of the day. But GOD IF I DON’T CRAVE THE EXTERNAL VALIDATION!!! Don’t we all…

And like, honest to god, this fic doesn’t have to surpass my CCS fic! One of the absolute (hehe) best things to come from this whole experience has been getting to interact with other cultured Bloodweave sommeliers (haha). I seriously cannot get over just how nice and encouraging and fucking amazing everyone has been with their comments!!! And that multiple people have taken the time to comment on each chapter as they come out??!! Like, I am living the fucking dream!!! (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ)

I get so fucking excited every week to share my newest chapter because I desperately want to know how my pressganged Bloodweave book club will react. Like, my HEART IS SO FULL OMG!!!! They are gonna make me cry frfr!!!

I have personally been such a terrible commenter in the past on fics I’ve enjoyed (i.e. I didn’t fucking comment), but I am trying to become a reformed member of AO3 society because the support I’ve gotten (especially when the doubts start to creep in) has been incredible!!! 100/10, would definitely recommend!!!

And like, some other great stuff has happened that helped me so much along the way too! I read The Accountant’s Guide to Taking Down an Evil Vampire Lord (and maybe bagging Astarion while you are at it) by Cinnamontails. While I was reading it, writing description FINALLY FUCKING CLICKED for me! I was just like “Omfggg?! This is what people are talking about when they say description should do more than one thing!!!” Up to that point I pretty much believed that was like a sort of writing koan or something. Something everyone says, but that isn’t actually meant to be understood because it’s unknowable? Or something like that.

Lemme tell ya, I fucking love learning about writing. I’ve gone to countless writing panels at cons. I listened to podcasts on writing for YEARS (Writing Excuses, I Should be Writing, Ditch Diggers, etc). I’ve read so many books on writing. Watched YouTube videos, took a class, etc, etc! But for some reason the “description should do more than one thing” adage just did not compute. Until I read that fic!

Up to that point, description had always felt like something I threw in as padding around all of my dialogue and character navel gazing. And I fucking STRUGGLED with it as a result. It always felt SO FUCKING BORING to me. I hated it, especially because it never came easily. But now I FINALLY understand and I LOVE writing it!!!!

I went looking for some more tips on writing description and picked up Description: A Busy Writer’s Guide by Marcy Kennedy, which broke things down even further for me!

I felt personally attacked by this part in particular:

“Irrelevant description is what gives description a bad name.

You might think that’s obvious, but so often in my editing work, I’ve seen authors describe things in detail that have no bearing on the story at all. Usually they do it because they’ve been told at one time that they weren’t including enough description and no one told them what kind of description they needed to start including or how to properly include it.”

I am not exaggerating when I say, until very recently, to write description I would find photos of locations, buildings, character inspo, etc and try to focus on what someone more visually inclined would want described because I don’t have a super robust mental image generator. I’ve never had the “I see a movie in my head” while reading gift. Super jelly of folks who do tho! I get more like…flashes maybe? And I didn’t even realize that until I actually made myself pay attention to what was going on in my head while reading fairly recently. I sincerely thought I had aphantasia and people were exaggerating when they said they could picture things in their heads.

Like, when they’d tell you to look at something then close your eyes and envision what you remembered in school (was that just me?). And I’d be like “Okay so we’re just closing our eyes and trying to remember the individual things right? No one actually sees anything.” COLOR ME SURPRISED to find out that WAS NOT the case!

I don’t think I have aphantasia anymore, but like, on the scale from 0 (aphantasia) to 10 (see a movie in my head), I’d say I’m maybe a 3? I can’t envision a whole room or even like…a moving image? Moving images in my head are almost more like extremely short flip books. And the more I try to focus on them, the more out of focus they become. I also really struggle to envision things I’ve never seen before. Like, as a literal picture in my head I mean. It’s easier for me to imagine like…a picture I took of my dog than my actual dog? And like, if I try to do something like envision my bedroom or something, I just kind of pick a point and go from there like “Okay this is what my bed looks like, now it’s gone. This is what my dresser looks like, now it’s gone. This is what my end table looks like, now it’s gone.” It doesn’t form a bigger picture in my head. It’s more like a mental checklist where I think about the different attributes of something (like the color of my sheets, or how many pillows I have) rather than actually see something like the whole bed? Idk. That’s the best way I can think of to explain it.

Ngl, that might very well be part of why writing description like was so difficult and SO FUCKING BORING to me. I didn’t really see things in my head and I’m not a very visual person in general, so I don’t focus a ton on those details anyway as a reader or when I’m physically somewhere. So l felt like all my description was so hamfisted and awkward as a result, and I had absolutely no concept of how much was enough or too much.

But then she goes on in the book to say:

“All description filters through the viewpoint character and is colored by who they are as a person.” And I was just like…ohhhhhhh!!!! That’s exactly what that fanfic did!!!

And then:

“What they notice will also be largely influenced by their circumstances. A character heading into a job interview will be hyper aware of their own appearance, whereas a character who’s crawling around in a cave looking for hidden treasure won’t. A character who is running for their life will notice different things about their surroundings than will a character who isn’t in immediate danger.

If it’s not something they would notice, then we either have to leave it out or come up with a believable, realistic reason for them to notice it.”

Like. OF FUCKING COURSE?! THIS MAKES SO MUCH SENSE?! HOW DID I NEVER GRASP THIS BEFORE?!

Marcy Kennedy goes on to give other tips like “a good description is specific” and “a good description allows less to be more.” And about how it’s more important to focus on specific, unique details than to try and describe everything about the scene/character (like I would do before). Like, focusing on stuff readers will actually remember and that paints a clearer picture.

She also delves into the specifics of writing for the five senses (another thing I always heard suggested, but never felt I executed well). And on how people naturally notice things from bigger/more obvious to smaller/more specific. She also talks about the psychology behind the things people naturally notice and why and how it’s impacted by who they are as a person (ex. the career they have, their gender, etc).

She gets even more specific with stuff like:

“Description for the purpose of grounding should be quick and needs to happen within the first few paragraphs of a new scene.

If time is the only thing that’s changed, we’ll need to use even less description than if our characters also changed location.

As a general guideline, describe a place in the most depth the first time that setting shows up on the page. Later on, unless something important has changed, a brief re-orienting passage is enough.”

I have DESPERATELY been searching for something this specific. Like just PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD TELL ME HOW MANY SENTENCES/PARAGRAPHS TO USE AND HOW FREQUENTLY TO USE DESCRIPTION. And ON GOD that’s exactly what this book does! ദ്ദി ꒦ິ꒳꒦ິ )✧

I still need to finish reading it but omfg I about lost my mind when I found the holy grail I’d been searching for.

And like, I’m sure my description still needs work and I’m using a sledgehammer instead of a regular hammer sometimes. But I’m learning and growing! And I’m sure it’ll become easier with practice! Hell, half the time I’ll write something and not realize until, oh I don’t know I’ve pretty much finished my fucking 100k word fanfic, that I fucking never really physically described my Tav?! I shouldn’t have said that… Now everyone will notice if they hadn’t already.. FUCK.

BUT! My absolute FAVORITE thing to write is character and being told “write description through the lens of your character” got me so fucking hype. I’m not sitting there anymore like “What’s in this room, what would a reader who sees what they read in their head (definitely not me) find most interesting?” and am instead like “What would Character A notice in this room? How are they feeling right now? What does X remind them of? What are they thinking about? What do they like and dislike, how does that impact what they pay attention to?” And I FUCKING LOVE IT!!!!

And I AM SURE this is not groundbreaking information for 99.9% of folks but IT WAS FOR ME!!!!! It has easily doubled my word count for everything I’ve written since then and I’m not stuck massively overthinking it all now! And I actually enjoy it! It doesn’t feel like a miserable slog anymore!

And this is THE MOST OBVIOUS in how my BG3 fic chapters literally DOUBLED OR TRIPLED in length after I got my hands on this book in the middle of writing the fic lol. Almost every shorter chapter in the first 75% of the fic was written prior to me reading this book. And the longer ones? Those were added after!

Like, chapter two originally didn’t include the Owlbear scene. It just ended after Astarion walked out of the fortress. Meanwhile, chapter five and six DID NOT EXIST. I kinda panicked when I realized the story felt too Astarion heavy when it was supposed to be about both of them. I also felt like the pacing for the story in general was off (too fast). So I went back and added those. Leon and Victoria WERE NOT IN THE STORY until I went back to add chapter five.

Since I was doing alternating POV, if I added another chapter for Gale I needed to add another for Astarion. So I decided to make Astarion’s about them needing to find Gale an artefact in the Underdark. I started researching artefacts there that would satisfy the orb, but wanted to dig deeper and lay a little more groundwork for Astarion starting to care more about Gale and learning to be more kind/compassionate overall.

My headcanon for Astarion is that he’s always been a little selfish, or at least he thinks he is. I expanded on that later on in the fic by implying his parents weren’t the best of people. I felt like Cazador would smell blood in the water as far as folks with prior abuse of some kind were concerned, like a lot of abusers do. So Astarion spent his life up until he moved to Baldur’s Gate trying to be his own person despite the box his parents wanted to fit him in. That was my reason for why he left the Dalelands so young (by elf standards). He was still a grown ass man, but hadn’t reached maturity as far as his parents were concerned.

And like, why did he go as far away as Baldur’s Gate? Because it is like THE OPPOSITE SIDE of Faerun. And there’s no real info on his family anywhere, so I felt like maybe he wasn’t super close with them if he moved so far away. My idea was he felt he couldn’t escape their expectations without putting some real distance between them. And then, in the process, he winds up with Cazador, someone even more determined to mold him into what they want him to be rather than what he wants to be.

I feel like so much of Astarion’s arc in game is about finally being able to become his own person. And I thought it would pair really well with the tragedy of him being turned by Cazador if that happened just when he started take back control of his own life.

My headcanon is a lot of Astarion’s selfishness stems from no one ever being there for him or looking out for him, so he can only rely on himself and fuck everyone else as a result. Except he’s not nearly as callous as he pretends and deep down he genuinely wants to care about others. He just doesn’t know how to do it and feels like it can only come at the expense of his own autonomy/safety/happiness.

SO. What artefact would Astarion have that he could choose to give to Gale? Initially I thought maybe something small like the Ring of Color Spray. That didn’t feel significant enough though. Like, yes it would be something of his that he was choosing to part with, but it wasn’t a big enough of a statement to me. So then I tried to find a cool/powerful weapon or something else that he would be less inclined to part with. Whee, more time researching artefacts! But that didn’t feel right either, so I decided it should be something with more personal significance because that’s the biggest kind of sacrifice he could make at this point.

So! What would Astarion have that would be powerful enough to satisfy the orb? And why??? Cazador doesn’t exactly seem like the type to give his spawn anything, not even the basics (i.e. Astarion’s 200 years of starvation). Especially not something like a powerful/helpful artefact. And I was like “well, I mentioned they traded favors before back in chapter four, so maybe Leon enchanted something for him?”

BUT WHY?! I really liked the bits and pieces we see of Leon in game. I feel like he’s the quickest to believe Astarion when he says Cazador plans to sacrifice them in the ritual. And he also has a human daughter! Which, yeah, that whole reveal in game gave me major brain worms. Because WHAT. There was a human child just running around Szarr Palace? WHY? What was her life like? What did the other spawn think of her? And I was also so sad we never really saw much in game about her and her father. Even though Leon loses Victoria to Dalyria. I was really surprised there was no follow up to that for him, but lord knows Larian already had 8 billion other things going on, so I get why it wasn’t something they delved further into.

But what would Leon ask for in return for such a big favor? Ooh, what if Victoria’s ill? Cazador doesn’t exactly seem like the type to be like “Oh, sorry, please take all the PTO you need and here’s some money for a healer!” I’d imagine resources suited to caring for a sick human child would be limited in Szarr Palace. And Dalyria has been looking at Victoria like she’s a literal snack for a while now (which is why she kills her in game), so what’s a vampire papa to do???

So then I had to figure out why the self-purported selfish Astarion would agree to help them. At great personal cost, no less. He never mentions Victoria in game and I don’t think there’s anything in game either that indicates he’s ever done her wrong. Leon certainly didn’t seem concerned about him in that regard, so I decided maybe he’s ambivalent toward Victoria.

So why would he care?!

And then the Drizzt brain worms came back in full force. Because of that fucking phenomenal scene in the DND campaign with Neil fanboying, haha. So maybe Victoria has an interest in Drizzt too? Or maybe in his wife? Like, why wouldn’t a scared little girl who’s stuck in a nest of vampires look up to a strong female role model who is capable of fighting back and saving the day? And I figured Astarion hand’t exactly broadcasted his interest in Drizzt, so maybe this gives him an opportunity to actually connect with someone for once? I feel another major part of Astarion’s character is he is SO FUCKING LONELY. He doesn’t know how to establish actual relationships with people because he never has. And why would he, seeing as any new person he met would just wind up as Cazador’s dinner (as far as he knew anyway). I feel like he’s had to hardcore compartmentalize that part of him for the sake of his sanity.

But now here’s this sick little girl who he can actually help. And she understands what it’s like to dream a hero will swoop in and save the day. And she happens to be interested in stories about the same Drow Ranger who he’s found his own escape from The Horrors™ in?

Idk if he still would have agreed to help Leon in the fic if he’d had much more time to think about it. So instead he has a moment of weakness where he desperately wants to do something good for once (the only other time having been his sparing his “darling boy”). Something that’s never been done for him, but that he could do for Victoria. He could pretend to be her hero for a little while and get something useful out of it in the process. Win-win!

And like, this doesn’t make them bffs or anything. It’s more like a pivotal moment that just started to lay the foundation for his “redemption” in my fic instead. Then I just kept thinking more and more about what his life was like after with Victoria, who’s already come to trust him a little since he doesn’t treat her poorly or look like he wants to eat her. Especially since I figure that’s probably a pretty novel experience for her given her circumstances.

But he and Gale are in the Underdark! Which has magical artefacts! So why couldn’t they just spend a few thousand words locating an artefact so he doesn’t have to give this ring up? Sure, I could make it imperative Gale needs an artefact like yesterday, but that didn’t feel like enough. Thus Tav’s sister was born, lol! And my Tav became much more of a character in the fic because I did WAAAAY too much research on the Drow for chapter five and was completely fascinated by them.

My Tav was never supposed to feature as much as they did in my fic. They’re literally my Tav from in game, though I didn’t really have an in-game backstory for them. They were just supposed to show up in my fic to help with some scenes/dialogue in lieu of me having to write more interactions with the companions I didn’t feel super confident writing because I didn’t feel like I knew them/their unique voices well enough. To my own detriment, I am obsessed with being as IC as possible when I write fic. Just my personal preference in my writing!

This was my basic ass outline from back in April when I realized I needed to add extra chapters. The checkboxes are chapters drafts I’d finished by that point:

I was about 42k words in when I made it. And the outline changed a little too! I combined my planned chapters for 15 and 16 into one and wrote something else for 16.

And then I got to the bane of my existence, Chapter 13… (≖_≖ ). That was around the 60k mark.

Originally I planned for Astarion to be kidnapped by the spawn and get tortured (a little) and then be rescued by Gale & Co. But it just didn’t feel right. So then I thought “Gale should get kidnapped too, that’ll be more interesting!” And THEN I had Cazador show up. But he was being too…nice? Maybe not nice, but like…too chill/accommodating? Because I didn’t want the fic to get EVEN LONGER by setting Astarion’s progress with his trauma back to the stone ages with prolonged exposure to his abuser.

Originally I had Cazador show up, throw Astarion around a little and then Leon was like “Mister Cazador, sir, he has a tadpole, can we all go somewhere you aren’t so I can take a look at it?” And Cazador was just like “HMPF. OKAY, I GUESS. BUT DON’T FORGET I’M ~EVIL~, even though I’m acting pretty blasé right now!” Cut to Gale, Astarion, and Leon chitchatting in the Favored Spawn room.

And it just…was not fucking working. I felt it didn’t make sense for Cazador. It wasn’t boogeyman enough. Like…no way would he just let them traipse off, even with the tadpole as the reason. Something else needed to happen. Something that would give him an actual reason to have to put Astarion on the back burner. Something BIG!

But fucking WHAT???

My OCD chimed in with: “So happy you asked! Remember that other insecurity you have about being fucking terrible at writing villains? Surprise! It’s true! You’ve hit the biggest part of this fic and now it’s all pointless because you don’t know how to make Cazador be believably mean! Aren’t you glad you wasted three months and 60k words on it? You never finish anything anyway, so why should this be any different?”

Which is why I brought all of this up to my therapist in the first place. Because I was so fucking disappointed in and frustrated with myself and had all but given up on this fic. I didn’t know what to do next or how to fix what I broke and my motivation to keep writing it was long gone. But if I stopped writing it now, I was 1000% convinced I’d never finish it and I fucking hated that. I was so excited about this story for so long and it felt like it was all over because I “sucked as a writer, lacked commitment, etc.”

It took a while. Like two fucking months, to get out of my own head enough to finally write something I was happy with for chapter 13. I firmly believe I finally got to that point because of how much support and kindness I received from the folks reading my fanfic (who hadn’t found out I was a fraud yet - actual quote from my OCD). I cannot thank all of them enough for helping bolster my self-esteem and helping me get my motivation back! And also because my therapist helped me kill off my own boogeyman of sorts (my OCD around writing)!

Originally I wasn’t going to post this fic until the first draft was completely done. Didn’t matter that I was at 60k words. It wasn’t done, so it wasn’t going up because I hate when people orphan fics. Absolutely no shade to folks who do tho! Life happens! Motivation wanes! But I did A LOT of my own orphaning back in the day on ff.net and I still feel guilty about it to this day. But I pushed past my fear with the encouragement of my therapist and FUCK it paid off!!!

Once I got over the hurdle of writing 12/13, it was pretty much smooth sailing from there. And, omfg, people ACTUALLY LIKED both chapters?! ON GOD?! I felt like they were pretty solid by the time I finally posted them, but it was still hard not to worry I had falsely convinced myself they were good. What if Cazador was TOO mean now? Or what if he still wasn’t mean enough? What if this was too hard of a left turn with the story? What if what if what if…

I seriously cannot thank the folks who’ve commented on both enough for helping allay those fears of mine. It means so fucking much to me that there are so many people out there who were just SO FUCKING KIND to me when they didn’t have to be! ( ˃̣̣̥︿˂̣̣̥ ) A HUGE thank you to folks who’ve reached out to me or interacted with my posts about my fic on tumblr too, especially asymmetricjest whose ear I know I have talked off at this point in the internet-sense! Knowing there were folks who liked my fic enough to go out of their way to seek me out on tumblr for my Tuesday sneak peeks and to even like my and comment on my posts about writing the fic was a MASSIVE boost to my self confidence! It also made me feel like maybe I had a story worth telling after all!

I also gotta thank my bff Gourmet for letting me talk her ear off too and for reading the first three chapters before I even posted them. I was SO FUCKING NERVOUS about posting a multi-chapter fic for a brand new fandom (to me). I was especially worried about my characterization of Gale and if it looked like I knew enough about BG3 to be qualified to write a story about it lol. Not that that’s even a thing, but it felt like it to me. Like someone was gonna bust down the door and be like “well, actually” until I gave up on writing and became a hermit in the woods.

Gourmet also made the mistake of telling me sometimes she writes on her phone, which I have taken to heart and then some… I do like 95% of my writing on google docs on my phone now. I went from writing next to nothing to having already written 198,088 words this year. Yes, I’ve been tracking it. Yes, I love spreadsheets. No, I haven’t posted everything I’ve written yet.

That was another thing I struggled with in regard to my OCD. Not just with writing, but with life in general. It’s been so hard for me to accept everything does not have to be perfect before I can do something.

I constantly talk myself out of shit because it’s not perfect. Like:

I should start working out! What’s the research on the perfect amount of exercise? What types? How often? For how long? Etc. And then I come up with a detailed day-by-day routine of working out an hour every day that is not even remotely feasible for me, so I never do it! And I won’t let myself just do 10 random minutes of exercise either because that’s not what the experts said you should do, so that means I can’t do anything!

Down to shit like, “I can’t work out because my office is a nightmare. There’s too much stuff everywhere.” And “I can’t just go for a short walk by myself. That’s cruel to my dogs who I already don’t walk enough. But if I walk them too, I need to walk them enough, which is at least 20 minutes each. Because a dog should have 30 minutes of exercise a day.” So now my 10 minute impromptu walk has turned into an hour long dog walk because I can’t walk both of them at once (they’re big dogs and I’ve gotten hurt trying to do that before). Which then becomes too intimidating/overwhelming, so I just don’t do it at all! Yay, avoidance!

This is exactly how I’d talk myself out of writing. Just “a real writer would do xyz and since I can’t/don’t, I’m not a real writer. If I don’t write everyday, I’ll never get anywhere. I need at least an hour to write and if I don’t have that, what’s the point? Maybe I’ll just make myself write for 5 minutes a day instead! But that doesn’t feel like enough progress, so that’s not being a real writer.” Just analysis paralysis combined with a hardcore all or nothing mindset. I would spend way too much time focused on my word count each day and beating myself up about it being too low instead of just being happy I was writing, which is something I enjoy doing (ISN’T IT?!).

I used to be a bank teller about a decade ago. It was boring as fuck during the week because there were too many branches around (there was another of our same bank literally one building away from us) so we didn’t get a ton of customers. That resulted in a lot of downtime that I had to fill with something that wouldn’t get me in trouble (i.e. reading or playing on my phone). We also didn’t have internet on our computers as tellers. So I started taking little pocket notebooks with me and writing in between customers. Which was apparently fine! My coworkers would ask me what I was doing and I’d tell them journaling or something like that because I was embarrassed I was writing original romance stuff.

I wound up writing 3 different 50k original works during that time. I’d write in between customers then go home and type up what I wrote every day. And it fucking worked! It gave me something fun to do instead of stare at a wall all day, it kept me from being too perfectionistic about it, and it lowered the demand on my executive function! Win-win-win!

But then I got a different office job where there wasn’t downtime in between tasks (or at least not that you could enjoy without getting in trouble) so that fell by the wayside. I probably could’ve been writing on my work laptop or something instead, but I had undiagnosed ADHD at the time and spent so much time procrastinating while trapped in the office because it didn’t take me that long to do my work. I also didn’t realize a lot of ADHDers procrastinate because then they get a spike of adrenaline as a deadline looms, so. Yeah. Classic ADHD in retrospect.

But writing on my phone is a whole different ballgame! It doesn’t feel like “real” writing. I can do it whenever! Waiting in a doctor’s office? Write! Woke up in the middle of the night? Write! Laying down on the couch with no motivation to move? Write!

It lowers the barrier for my executive function because I always have my phone on me! No longer am I like “do I have enough time to go to trouble of opening my laptop, opening my google doc, trying to remember where I was, etc” and getting too worked up over having “dedicated” writing time because otherwise I’m not a real writer. There aren’t all these mental hurdles I have to leap over anymore. It’s just “I want to write” > “picks up phone”.

Do I feel fucking deranged writing almost 200k words so far on my phone? ABSO-FUCKING-LUTELY I DO! Could I write way faster on my laptop? 10000%! But it works! So I try not to think about it too much, lol. I have started editing more on my laptop though because editing on my phone takes for fucking ever. Editing in general takes me for fucking ever.

But yeah, this was wildly fucking long but I just had a lot of stuff I wanted to mentally process about this whole process because it’s been a really fucking big deal for me. And writing stuff out helps me process it.

If you’ve actually read all of this, you are a saint and I hope some of it resonated with you, especially if you’re a writer too. And, even if you aren’t, I hope it was at least interesting/entertaining!

God, I am so pre-upset about finishing this fic, lol. I don’t want it to end. It’s given me so much structure to my weeks and so much to look forward to. It’s gonna fuck with me once it’s over and I have to find other stuff to occupy my time and I don’t get my Wednesday dopamine hit. I mean, I’m hoping I’ll be writing something else by then (I do have an HH fic that’s 30k+ words already that I need to finish). But I fucking hate change and it’s gonna be a big change for me after I’ll have spent around 7 months on this whole thing.

But seriously, I cannot thank the phenomenal folks who’ve supported me along the way by reading, kudosing, bookmarking, subscribing, commenting, etc enough! This fic would not have gotten written without your support! And thank fuck for my therapist too because I had literally no idea my OCD was so obsessed with my writing until I was in the midst of this fic.

But yeah, it's been super cathartic to journal about my process with this fic and how I've learned and grown from writing it. And my OCD is definitely not completely gone when it comes to my writing, but it's more manageable at present and I'm def gonna take that as a win!

#hismercy’s musings #ancient books and horror stories #my writing #my fics #my writing process #actually ocd #actually adhd #bg3 fanfic #wildly long post

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