#sometimes i spend some time away from here because i can't put myself to scroll a dash with 10 shirtless guys for 1 good post

[lvrsparadise]

'BLIND' - C.S

| 'WILL YOU?' |

Synopsis - They're so in love with each other, they're oblivious.

Warnings! - Profanity, Y/N being head over heels for Chris (honestly girl me too), they both blind asf, the triplets are in Boston Y/N is in LA still, I think that's all.

A/N - This is basically an apology for my last fic. I am so deeply sorry for those I made cry, here's something to cheer you up. 😋😘😘 Also I'm going to start putting the animal they chose for tour 2 next to the name bc I think it's cool.

This is so difficult. Who knew having a crush on your best friend would be so draining?

The guys just left for the airport and let me stay in their house while they're in Boston for the week. Should be easy, right? I mean I already crash here like almost every day. But being in a place that has essence of Chris, everywhere, makes it kind of hard to breathe.

I'm barely half an hour into Corpse Bride, the movie I put on when they left, when I get a notification from snapchat.

And for some reason, I find myself smiling as I open it. It's from Chris. A picture of him, hood pulled up and headphones over his ears with a little smile on his face. The words 'miss u already' at the bottom.

I save it to my camera roll. I mean, he just looks so good. Like all the time. How can I not? I send one back with a 'miss u 2' with a kiss emoji, as a joke, but not at the same time.

I focus back to Corpse Bride and get comfy on the couch.

----

I'm pretty sure I fell asleep at some point during the movie, because when I wake up, the movie is over and it's dark out now, unlike it was when the triplets left.

I walk to the kitchen and grab a bottle of water and sit back down on the couch. I pick up my phone and see multiple messages, snaps, and Instagram notifications from Chris. At first, I think something's wrong. But instead, it's just him updating where they are in their flight process, some funny shit Nick did, and multiple pictures of him, all of which I save.

The most recent one was a text saying he was going to try and get some sleep with the words 'I love you' at the end with a white heart and the kiss face emoji.

Now when I say I got butterflies and felt my face heat up, I mean I got BUTTERFLIES. How is he real?

I look at the time, it's 12:48, and see I was actually asleep for a few hours instead of just one. I turn the TV off and walk down to Chris's room. It's almost as if being in his room sent a universal message to him, my phone rings from my hand as I get comfy in his comforter.

A facetime call. I answer and is greeted by a smiling Chris.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"How's your flight been so far? You get some sleep?"

"Yeah, I got a little bit. But then some little girl started throwing a tantrum and woke me up."

A quiet chuckle makes its way out of me.

"Damn that sucks."

"What've you been up to?"

"I watched Corpse Bride, or well it watched me because I fell asleep."

This time he chuckles, and it sounds so, angelic to me. Especially in his sleepy voice.

"How close are you guys to Boston?"

"3 hours away."

"That's good."

We sit in silence for a few minutes, I scroll through Instagram, occasionally looking at Chris's face in the corner of my screen.

"You in my room?"

For some reason the question sent a new wave of butterflies in my chest. I nod.

"Yeah. I can't seem to get comfortable on the couch."

I'm not sure if what I said made him happy or if he saw something funny, either way, a smile is now on his face.

We spend the next like, hour on facetime, joking, talking, and just sometimes sitting in silence. Until I fall asleep.

----

I wake up the next morning, phone in front of me and still on, with Chris still on facetime.

By the looks of it, he's in the van with Matt, and they're talking but I can't hear it. So, he must be on mute.

I yawn and stretch before picking up my phone to see the time. 11:23. Meaning it's 2:23 in Boston.

I get out of Chris's bed and grab my phone, which I don't remember plugging in but is plugged into the charger and walk upstairs to make whatever they have in their cabinets.

Chris, having heard me moving-and-a-grooving, making a whole lot of noise going through the cabinets, seemingly unmutes and speaks.

"Good morning." I look at my phone with a smile as he turns the camera to Matt who says the same thing.

"Good morning to you two as well."

I go back to rummaging through the cabinets.

"Where did Nick hide the cereal? I can't find it."

"Cabinet above the stove, hidden behind the boxes of rice."

"Thank you, Matt."

I open the cabinet and move the rice boxes out of the way and, alas, the Cinnamon Toast Crunch. I grab the box and grab a bowl and pour some in before returning it to its original spot and then pouring some milk in and grabbing a spoon.

I sit at the table at begin to eat, while scrolling through Instagram, duh. I open Chris's story to a screenshot of me, asleep. I laugh and shake my head.

"What're you laughing at?"

"Why do I look so weird when I sleep?" I laugh out as I drop my phone on the table and lean my head in my hands.

"Oh. You saw that. You don't look weird; I think you look quite good to be honest."

My jaw falls open and I pick my phone up to see a small smirk on Chris's face.

I quickly shut my mouth and roll my eyes.

"What? All I said was that you looked good while you were sleeping. Wait- no that sounds weird."

"Yeah, very weird Chris." I hear Matt say.

I snort and finish my breakfast at the same time Matt pulls into the driveway of their house,

"How long you guys been home?"

"About 11-ish hours or so."

"You guys gotten any rest?"

"Chris went to sleep as soon as he reached his room."

"Matt! Don't expose me like that!"

I laugh at both the fact Matt said and Chris not denying it.

"Is that Y/N?" I gasp at the sound of Marylou's voice and Chris moves to his mom and shows her his phone screen. I wave with a big smile.

"Hi Marylou! Miss you!"

"Miss ya too honey!" I love her accent, it's so calming.

----

After about another hour of talking with Chris, Matt, and occasionally, Nick, we hung up and I turned on the triplets YouTube channel, even though I've seen all of their videos already, just to pass time.

It's so weird being here alone. And I'll be here alone for like the next week and a half.

Then, I get a though. What if I hid little things around Chris's room for him to find? But what would I even do?

Without thinking, I walk up to Nick's room and grab some paper and head back downstairs. I sit at the table and make paper origami hearts of all sizes, off of pure memory.

Once I've made at least 20 of them, I grab them and walk down to Chris's room and start hiding them in both plain sight and put some of the bigger ones in hidden places.

But there's a twist. Inside all of the hearts contain little messages and the biggest one has a confession on it. Don't know what came over me to write that but I did. And now I have to wait a week and a half for him to get home and find them.

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Have a wonderful day and / or night :) ✮

[dreamerwriternstargazer]

Sometimes I see those posts from art accounts that have like really put together, only art posts and I feel tempted to delete all personal posts off my blog

And this thought today led me down a long thought path. Which was primarily, I don't....particularly like my personal vent posts on here. I mean they're not there to be liked, they're there to help me process things but... I also don't like to look back on them.

I mean writing on here is meant to be like a journal right? Journals are there to help through the act of writing, not the end result, though the end result can be helpful in a self reflective sense occasionally but for the most part it's about the process.

And then I realised... I've had one of the worst times of my life lately, and not once did venting or the thought of venting do anything to help it. For a lot of reasons, because I... couldn't voice it, because it would be another thing to obsess over, because I can't be as honest and true and personal as I would be in a literal journal because... I'm still posting things on the internet. And yeah it's Tumblr, it's a black hole, but it's still strangers on the internet reading my thoughts so.... I can't go too deep.

I've hit this point where I was trying to... go halfway, like keep it as this fun cutesy blog but then have some halfway personal venting posts. In the end, I just feel kind of dissatisfied because I'm not being fully honest, or if I am it feels so out of place with everything else.

And yeah it's a Tumblr blog it's not meant to be that serious, that helps, I like thinking of Tumblr like a commonplace notebook I keep just online. But.... the halfway personal/vent things, they feel disingenuous and out of place because they're... so unfinished, so calculated. Forced sometimes. There's this pressure I feel on myself, that I'm putting on myself. That pressure gets stronger to do the cute or fun posts if I've done a vent post, or to make the vent post.... I don't know, good, palatable, refined. I can't think of the right word but... something not spontaneous and genuine.

I think a lot about why I started this blog... it was ages ago around 2020 and because I had this idea in my head of, I don't know, being this spectacular writer and journalist writing really cool think pieces and changing the world, or at least the people who interact with my blog. Then it just, became like a commonplace notebook and that was fun, some curated posts to sort of fit the vibe I wanted, but personal.

Messy, messy is how it's gotten, and messy is fine in a journal, I might cringe looking back at old journals but there's a little fondness too, it's like meeting my past selves and being able to hold all the memories and emotions. But online is messy because... personal, and I need to be a little guarded, I can't be free, and I guess it sort of messes with when I want to have more light, cheery things on my blog. Or rather, it takes me away from spending time reading, or sewing or drawing and painting or any of the other hobbies I love that I can make cute and fun posts about. It takes me away from the time I want to spend on religion too, on reading Qur'aan and learning and memorising it, listening to and learning from lectures.

This leads into another thought which is... if the venting itself is not free, and it doesn't quite help my mental state, then it's just time wasted on something empty instead of another coping mechanism, one of the hobbies mentioned above, which could help me a lot. I'm realising that it's just an added pressure, and a really unnecessary one that often makes my head spin.

I think overstimulation probably adds to it too, social media scrolling is easy to do in bad moments because you're frozen, so you may as well scroll. It kind of feeds into the worst of it. I've been meaning to take a bit more of a step away from social media anyway, I wouldn't say I'm addicted but I definitely don't like the feeling I get when I'm in a freeze state or I'm tired and I scroll instead of spending time on a hobby.

Honestly I've been thinking a lot about the time I spend on things I enjoy, and it's not that Tumblr isn't a hobby but I preferred how I used it before; a record of all my interests. I liked it when I spent most of my time on my hobbies, and I just realised that it's been a while since I've done that, because poor mental health and extra work and studies... I feel like social media is the equivalent of eating a bag of crisps for dinner instead of a proper meal. Like sometimes you really don't have the energy and capability to do it, to cook something nice for yourself.

But I've learnt I gotta got that extra mile to cook a nice meal for myself ^_^ It gives me something to look forward to at the end of the day, or the beginning, it actually feels fun to do even if it feels like a big task to start, and it is good for me.

So, I wanna cook the meals again. I say I don't have time for things but I think if I added up the five minutes here and there on Tumblr and Instagram, I'd at least get an extra hour to have fun reading or painting or baking or sewing or something.

I guess it's a new mindset shift for me, I'm used to fitting work and studies in into every spare moment I can, that's how I operated for a lot of my life to make sure my academics were prioritised. Now I realise the importance of play and downtime, and I hadn't yet figured out that I need to prioritise it the same way. I'm going to try to now.

And going off of my earlier point, about how Tumblr isn't the same as journalling, well... something I really do miss about journalling is the physicality of it. The sitting with a cup of tea or coffee and writing in cursive in a pretty notebook ^_^ It feels so much more natural, and it's a keepsake, and most of all, private. Obviously I've... always had issues with privacy growing up, a warning my aunt used to give me was hah don't keep a journal in that house, it's probably not private.

That's a fear I still feel, but also... I have sketchbooks and journals and loads of things already and I mean, quite honestly you get to a certain age where no one cares. Not to say I am going to be careless in any way, Insha'Allah, I keep my phone very private anyway, same for my sketchbooks and personal collection boxes, but... I think I should.... give a little. I can give a little, I can give myself outlets. It's true that my current journal/sketchbook is mostly just out anyway and no one bats an eye.

So this brings me a little to the question; well, what is Tumblr for if you have a journal and sketchbook? I think I'll still use it, just not in the same capacity. Tumblr is for art posts, or odd or amusing one liners that pass through my mind everyday XD I actually save funny thoughts just for Tumblr or relatable thoughts. I also kinda want to return to my original thing, or what it was a couple of years ago; making fun cute posts about my interests, essays definitely, fanfic obviously, it doesn't need to be put together it can still be my eclectic digital commonplace notebook, but just... not a faux journal either.

Something I love to see are those moodboards on Tumblr and I've done a few myself but not as an actual.... board. I know there's some apps I can use on the iPad to make collages stuff and that makes me excited, so maybe I could start making posts like that (a la Polyvore, my first social media site, always missed :'))

I guess this might be my last journal-esque post in a while? Okay writing that made my anxiety do a thing (*shushes anxiety creature clinging to my brain*) IT IS NOT A LAST POST OF ANY KIND

But yeah I miss the artsy, literary vibes of curling up with my notebook on a cold day, so that'll be my new habit Insha'Allah. New, old habit. I feel like one thing Tumblr did do is train me to be okay with imperfect and messy, I feel like the reason my journal writing dropped off last time was because I was trying to force it so much. Over the past few years I've gotten so creative and loosened up a lot, so I'm hoping it'll show in my journal. Furthermore, the last time I was writing a journal, I really didn't have much to talk about because I was so 1. closed off and 2. limited in my hobbies and creative practices, I didn't have things to write about, I had just lost horse riding and I was consumed with studies only... I'm hoping there'll be a bigger difference now.

A part of me feels sort of nervous, I... only ever kept a journal during dark periods of my life too. I don't have the best associations to it, and even if I'm going through some rough times now, I don't really consider it a dark time... my anxiety brain is kind of overheating and going "but bad things!" and I know that's not rational. We should always think the best of what Allah has written for us, having good thoughts of Allah and having a more hopeful outlook on life is the best thing to do so I'll try to hold that in my heart more. If I find it's a bit too scary at first, that's fine I can just stick to prioritising my religion and health and hobbies, it'll follow naturally Insha'Allah i just need to not put pressure on myself.

I think I'll probably spend a lot less time online overall, just because I want to spend that time on all my other interests, not to mention I want to actually put time into making a proper online presence for myself as an artist.

Right now I wanna lie down and read for a chunk of time :D so I'll do that

[alohadvn808]

can't seem to sleep again. not sure why. my sleep schedule has been fucked up for months now and im not sure what else to do. it could be because I haven't taken my antidepressants for a few months now and thats why im having trouble sleeping. it has been giving me a lot of headaches and im just not having the best time with it. I have skipped work multiple times due to my lack of sleep. I try to make it sometimes but most of the time I just really feel so tired and out of it. I don't want to rely on my medication to help with sleep but i think I need to take them to help with sleep. the only problem is that it makes me feel hungover the following day. I haven't really had any problems lately, or so I tell myself. I don't know. I can't really think straight either. I feel like there's something I need to say but I don't say it. or something in my mind that I need to let out but I can't figure out what it is. I feel so lost and I don't now whats wrong with me. at this point im gonna end up going to work with no sleep again and just waiting for them to send me home because im just going to come up with some excuse as to why I needed to go home again. fuck this man, I don't know what else to do. im just here to say whats happening right now in hopes that it will help me fall asleep. clear my mind off of random things. I don't even know what else to say at this point. I feel like im just going to keep repeating everything and nothing will be cleared out of mind. im not sure what else I can do at this point because it's already 12:55 PM. my stomach is rumbling, I head feels like its pulsating, and my thoughts are everywhere. now im drawing a blank as to what else I want to say. I could end up doom scrolling and still won't be able to sleep. i need to stop myself from spending money I don't have. I have looking at things online again and I don't even have the money to really pay for it. I don't even have enough to pay for my car. i keep wasting money on things I don't need. I am in major debt and im still learning from all these financial shit. I need to make myself accountable and be more responsible with money. there's so many things I want to do and I need to make sure I am able to provide the life that me and mai wants. I feel like im already failing at that and here I am about to just give up again because I feel like there is no progress but there can't be any progress because I can't stop spending money I should be saving. I feel like I need to just put my money away and not put it in the bank so I don't get to spend them. im trying but I still end up getting them out of savings. not that I have a lot in there but I have some. I need to remind myself to not spend money. if I want to change my life, I need to do this. I need to be making the difference i need to make if I want things to work out the way I want them to be. even with my self. I need to reset everything in my life right now but I can't just stop everything and reset. I need to reset without damaging anything have now. I need to give things up in able for me to really reset. fuck man, this is just too much right now. so many random shit in my head that I need to unload. fuck

[jxtina-86]

No Matter What

It all happened so fast. It all happened so soon. And I didn't know how to feel. I didn't know what to do. RomanReigns/Alexia. See here for the rest of the series/order to read

Warning: Language/Hints of smut

Rating: MA

Large chunks of italics = flashback

The heel of my shoe taps nervously against the leg of the chair. The sound echoes around the semi-empty waiting room, but I can't bring myself to stop. It's the only noise, aside from the occasional rustle of paper as other occupants peruse the range of magazines on display. I'd much rather watch the clock, my eyes glued to the second hand as the minutes tick closer and closer to my appointment.

My nail joins the shoe-tapping, clicking against my blank cellphone screen. Blank because I kept checking for non-existent texts and emails. Blank to keep the urge of calling him at bay. Even though I should. Or not. I've had this argument with myself a thousand times over already and each time I've come close, I've deliberately held back. It's far easier to convey fake emotion through text. It's impersonal, distant and exactly what I need right now.

I don't want to disturb him. I don't want him to worry. I don't want to build his hopes up.

Because mine are already sky-high. Even with double confirmation, I want a final, third check. Just to be sure. Just to be extra sure.

I'm late.

Sat in grid-locked traffic, I thumb through my cellphone, mentally ticking off my day's to-do list. Calls made, emails sent, meetings attended, notes filed. Scrolling ahead, I take in the following day's plans, my heart pounding with excitement as I realise it takes me a step closer to seeing Roman again. Five more days stand between now and then.

I never thought I could miss someone this much. If it was hard before we got married, then it's only become worse. I love coming home to find him lounging on the couch or cooking dinner in the kitchen. I love the feeling of his arms curling around me as he kisses me and holds me close. I love sitting across from him at the table, eating, drinking, chatting. Like a normal couple. For a few days, we get to be normal. For a few days, I get him to myself.

And then the final day rolls around all too soon and he's holding me and kissing me and whispering goodbye. Ever since we moved in, all that time ago, there hasn't been a day where he's left me and I've not closed the door, leant against it and struggled not to break in two. I feel like part of my body is repeatedly ripped away and stitched back together. I doubt I will ever feel differently. I doubt that the wound will ever truly heal. I doubt that I will ever feel whole when he's not around.

I'm not bitter. Not at all. I knew what I was getting into, I took the chance, made the choice and I don't regret it for a second. I'd rather get three days than nothing with this man. An incredible man, at that. A man that knows my mind better than I do, a man that would do anything for me. A man who I'm honoured to call my husband. A man who I wish only happiness and success for, no matter how hard it gets or how many sacrifices we have to make for that to happen.

But that doesn't mean that I can't feel the way I do sometimes. It's only natural. I listen to my colleagues talk about their significant others, discussing the highs and lows of their lives together and it makes me want to scream and shout and punch. What I would give to have a husband who I see every night, no matter how many times he forgets to put his dirty boxers in the laundry basket or forgets to put the trash out or would rather spend his evenings playing video games than watching some trash TV. I'd swap with them for a lifetime of all of that, as long it mean that I had Roman with me every day of the week.

I chuckle as I recall one particular lunchtime, where one girl was confessing to another about the lack of sex she and her husband were having. I had almost leaned across the table to share my own experience in that department, about how I was surviving on late night phone sex with my husband, that batteries are now a regular in my grocery shop to keep me going through two-week tours, how no matter how tired I am, there will always be time for a quickie wherever and whenever with my husband because when you've only got a handful of days with each other, you've got to make them count. That would've wiped the sour look off her face with her 'we only fuck four times a week' bullshit.

My stomach flips as envisage the carnage that will take place when I finally see him. When he's in Europe, calls are harder to arrange, the time difference meaning that we're at odds with our needs. I've been reliant on my imagination, rather than his voice in my ear. His voice, which can command me to do anything and everything. His soft uttering of 'baby girl' followed by a throatier 'Lexi'. But in five days, I'll not only have his voice but his body too. I shiver, my mind conjuring up the thought of him sliding into bed next to me, sinking into his embrace, his lips on my shoulder, my hand reaching back to clutch at the back of his head, holding him to me, never wanting to let go ever again.

He has this power over me. I am putty in his hands. I can hold my own for sure, but I marvel at the way he can command my body. My legs will always stretch that little bit wider, just for him. My arms will always hold on a little bit tighter, just for him. My mouth will always take him a little bit deeper, just for him. He's always so determined to get me off. Whether that's with his tongue or his hand between my legs, or if he's buried inside me, angling my body just so I can cum first. I'm not complaining, but sometimes I get lost in the haze of post-orgasm. I can still feel him moving my body, twisting me onto my stomach or flipping me onto my back, but my mind is a little too fuzzy to take in the details until he's growling and pushing me for another release. Would it be wrong to suggest filming ourselves, just so I could watch those brief moments between one orgasm and the next?

I blush at the thought. Perhaps that would be a step too far. Although our boundaries are pretty limitless, his more than mine by far. But he's always so cautious, constantly checking that I'm okay. Like on honeymoon, when he pulled me against him, his hand over my eyes and whispered in my ear, making sure I wanted to go through with whatever he had planned for me. Or checking that I remembered our safe word when I was offering him the opportunity to use any part of my body as he saw fit. And afterwards, when he gathers me in his arms, kisses my forehead, makes me tell him how I feel, checking that I'm not hurt or uncomfortable in any way. It's possible that those moments mean far more than more traditional ones.

Aside from one. One that has been playing over and over in my head for a while now. When we stood on the beach and he told me how much it would mean to him if I were to carry his child. His eyes were alive with a love that made my heart pound loud and fast. Of course, we'd discussed children before then, it wasn't a new conversation by far. But now it feels like an almost reality, something within touching distance rather than a far off thought. And whilst we were both happy to keep practising, there were moments where I knew we were both thinking if we should get more serious about the possibility of a child.

So I came off the pill. Five months ago to be exact, my head full of my doctor's words about it potentially taking a couple of months for my body to settle back into a natural cycle. And sure, there was a part of me that was slightly disappointed when I got my period a few weeks later. And then the time after that... And again and again. And...

I frown. What's today? Thursday? The traffic is finally starting to move forward and I toss my phone into the passenger seat. I try to count the weeks, my mind muddling slightly as I desperately try to recall the date of my last period.

Fuck.

**

The cashier lazily slides the items past the scanner, the noise of her gum-chewing setting me on edge as she hands me lemons, tomatoes, chicken, a pregnancy test... I flinch as I pick it up and try to act casual as I drop it into the paper bag, followed by toothpaste and bananas.

I had sat in the parking lot for a good 10 minutes, consulting my diary, counting and re-counting. Two weeks late. How the hell did that slip my mind? Without the pill to keep me in check, I had been careful to mark up my dates, ticking them off as they came and went. The idea was to eventually calculate the optimum time of each month, to see how well it coincided with Roman's trips home. He'd joked about me setting up a spreadsheet to track my body's activities and then kissed my nose when I had scowled.

I swipe my card in a daze, mumble a goodbye to the gum chewer and make my way back to the car on auto-pilot. One week late could mean nothing. On the other hand, it could mean everything. Hence the test. Hence the endless thoughts about other possible symptoms. I mean, I don't feel pregnant. But does anyone this early on? Because it would be early. A few weeks at the most.

I feel so un-informed. I don't know what the fuck I'm doing. I've never had the need to even take a test, let alone deduce other symptoms of being pregnant. I was always careful, in my teens, in college, all the times before I met Roman. And this is something we both want, yet now that I'm here...

The drive home is full of thoughts of what-ifs and whys and hows and whens. They blur into one, making me want to pull over and wretch on the side of the road. Because fuck, I'm nervous. As much as I want his child, as much as I want to experience everything pregnancy brings, the ups, the downs, I'm scared. I'm so fucking scared.

My hands shake as I fumble with the keys in the door, my purse slipping from my shoulder, bashing into the grocery bag as my hands shake and I have to bite back an angry sob. My frustration breaks through as I slam the door behind me and then slump against it in defeat.

I didn't think I would feel like this. All the times my period came and went, I had this weird feeling in my stomach, a pit of disappointment swallowing me up. I thought that when the moment came, I would be overjoyed, looking forward to telling Roman, watching his face light up. But instead, all I can see is fear and anxiety and questions.

So many questions.

I put the grocery bag on the kitchen counter and draw out the pregnancy test with shaky hands. I clutch at it for a second and then drop it onto the counter and stare at it. As if it will suddenly provide me with all the answers.

I guess in a way, it will. Only one though. And a simple one at that.

My stomach twists as I stow away the other items, my eyes wandering back to the pink and blue box on the counter. It feels so intimidating, with its glossy packaging and reassurances about accuracy. The only thing it can't seem to provide is comfort. There is nothing comforting about this moment. And I doubt I will feel any comfort afterwards, no matter what the result.

If only he was here. I would feel better if he was here. We could sit together, count down the minutes and look together. Being alone means I have no one to verify the result. Being alone means I have no one to hold or vice versa when the result is finally revealed. No, I'm all alone.

And that's a funny thing because this would only be the start. I have no problem with my own company, but I can keep myself busy and occupied. Roman's possessions are everywhere around the house, but I can somehow block them out if I'm feeling particularly morose about the situation. With a baby? That's a constant reminder of how alone I'll be. There will be no one to help with night-feeds, to reassure me when they teeth and cry, no one to remind me to eat and to rest and to enjoy every moment. No one to share every moment.

The bitterness takes over for a second and I let it. I let it wash over me, I close my eyes and cling to the anger that rushes through me. And then I breathe and remember everything else that makes this all worth it. The bitterness fades as quickly as it rose and I grab the test.

I read and re-read the instructions, tapping the white stick with its blue tip, against the vanity. And then I set it down and take a step back, trying to find the urge to pee and realising that peeing on demand is nigh on impossible. Especially if the act itself will determine a result that is about to affect our lives. The nerves creep up on me again and all of a sudden, the need to pee is urgent.

I set the timer on my phone and leave the test in the bathroom, not wanting to look at it until absolutely necessary. I change my clothes, remove my make-up, brush my hair out. Anything to keep me from thinking about the time ticking down and what lies in wait in the bathroom. But five minutes pass in no time, my phone happily alerting me whilst my stomach twists.

I flip over the test and stare at it dumbly.

Two red lines stare back up at me.

**

I took the second test, just to make sure. Two more red lines. One is a little fainter than the other, but definitely two. I stood and stared at them both for a long time, my hand reaching out to my phone every so often and then drawing back. I wanted to tell him, but I knew this wasn't a conversation to have over the phone.

Five more days. That's all I needed to wait. Five days. Enough time to go to see the doctor, to get it verified. Five days to prepare myself for whatever was to come.

I roll onto my back and stare at the dark ceiling. I'm pregnant. That feels weird to think, let alone say. I had picked at my dinner, poured away the half-drunk bottle of wine from earlier in the week. Lying on the couch, I had absentmindedly rested my hand on my stomach and then flinched and shook my head. It didn't feel real. It still doesn't. I kicked myself for not purchasing a second pack of tests.

I phoned the doctor straight away, managed to get through to the receptionist before they closed. I was in luck, she told me, there was an appointment available for first thing tomorrow morning. There would be another test, maybe some blood taken. She talked me through what I needed to do to prepare. It all felt so clinical, so unemotional.

I thought that these moments were supposed to bring joy, not anxiety. Even now, hours later, I'm still battling with my emotions. I feel like I've been mis-sold this entire moment. Those fucking commercials for these tests are utter bullshit. They don't tell you about how you're probably going to take the test alone or how you won't believe the first, so you'll have to take a second. They don't tell you how fucking awkward peeing on a stick actually is. They don't tell you that those five minutes will feel like both the longest and quickest minutes of your life. They don't tell you fuck all. No, it's all smiling women with their partners and friends, all passing around a stick with piss on.

But there is a small part of me, a very small part, that is excited. And that does make me start to smile. Watching Roman interact with kids always makes me feel giddy. With all fans, he's polite and charming, but with kids? There's this look that overcomes his features, his whole face lighting up as he talks to them and thanks them and pulls funny faces with them. He laughs and shows them how to lock and load his Superman punch and I'm giggling along with them, my eyes on my husband, my thoughts on how I imagine him being when it's his child.

Said smile is creeping across my face right now. He'll be over the moon, I know it. He'll kiss me and hold me and rub my non-existent bump. I can just picture his eyes all wide and full of love and excitement and it makes me want to cry with happiness. It'll be the best gift I could ever give him and I want that so badly. The thought of him holding a little bundle of blankets at the end makes my heart swell.

All the love I feel for him and that he feels for me would be wrapped up in that little bundle. I roll onto my side and breathe in the faint smell of Roman. Even with washing the sheets, his scent still seems to remain. Not that I mind. It brings back memories of the last time I rolled over like this and collided with his body rather than cold sheets. It brings back memories of when potentially we put all our love and effort into making this happen.

Although...

There was the night before he left for this stint on the road. And no matter how you try to dress that up, it wasn't exactly traditional lovemaking. Far from it. Not with the way he'd ripped my panties off. Or dug his fingers into my thighs as he spread my legs and ate me out until I screamed. Or the way he'd flipped me onto my stomach, pulled my hips up and slammed into me. Or when he grabbed my hair and pulled me up from the bed whilst his other hand groped and spanked my ass.

Throbbing starts between my thighs and I curse. Fuck, it felt so good though. Especially when he'd pulled me completely upright and wrapped his arms around me and rubbed my clit.

“Cum for me, Lexi. Cum on my fucking dick...”

“That's it, baby girl, take my dick. Suck that dick...”

“Lexi... Stop... Let me cum on you...”

“Fuck, baby girl, your pussy feels so fucking good...”

I mean, really? No fucking way. We couldn't have... Did we? Only we could conceive a child with dirty talk and spanking. Jesus. I blush in the darkness, embarrassed at the possibility. I had sucked his dick clean afterwards, his hand in my hair, growling my name as he started to harden again with my lips stretched around him. Definitely not how I had imagined this would happen. What happened to the candles, the soft music, the sweet love-making? Nope, we fuck hard and fast and say dirty shit to each other and go ahead and knock me up in the process. I scrunch up my nose and then chuckle. I can just see his face when I tell him and he does exactly what I've just done and put two and two together.

But then again...

There was the morning after. When he took me slowly and lazily, his hand on my thigh as he eased my leg back over his and then pushed inside me. I remember his mouth on my neck, his soft murmurings as he thrust into me with control and ease. His hands caressed my body, teased me with a slow determination as he told me how much he loved me, how much he would miss me. He kissed me softly, his fingers dancing over my stomach and between my legs until I shuddered and whimpered.

How much does the when and the how matter though? What matters is that it's done and this is it. I'm pregnant with his child and despite all the nerves and the doubt and the fear, there's a warm fuzziness spreading through me. A small glimmer of happiness pushing all the other feelings aside.

That's what matters.

**

“Alexia?”

I look up and see Dr Ash standing by the door. I gather up my things and quickly follow her inside, taking the seat she gestures to.

“So,” she says after we go through the niceties. “I see from the appointment notes that you had a positive test.”

“Two,” I add.

“And you want a final confirmation?” She gives me a warm smile as I nod. “No problem.”

She hands me another test, shows me where the bathroom is. Minutes later, I'm back in the chair, drumming my fingers on the armrest as we await the results.

“How are you feeling?” she asks after a while.

“I don't know.”

“That's completely normal. The reality is sometimes different to the expectation. It's fine to have all these different emotions about this, to go from scared to happy at a moment's notice.”

“Roman's away,” I tell her. “I... I haven't told him.”

She nods. “Understandable. You want to make sure. A lot of women do the same.”

She consults her watch and picks up the test. There's a pause, her brow furrowing.

“Alexia,” she starts, but my heart is already plummeting. “I'm afraid this test is showing a negative result.”

She passes me the stick and I stare at the single line.

“Now, this can happen. Urine tests are only one method of testing for pregnancy and I suggest that we also do a blood test, which will be far more conclusive.”

I can't seem to hand back the test, I can't seem to look anywhere but at the single line. Dr Ash is moving around her workstation, still talking, filling the desperate silence, but I'm barely listening.

Negative.

Gone are the nerves and the happiness. And in their place, a numbness starts to take hold. I hardly feel the needle in my arm or hear Dr Ash's voice as she offers me some leaflets for support and tells me she'll put a rush on the results for Tuesday morning.

I sit in my car, staring at the bandage on my arm, trying to take it all in. How did this all change so quickly? Yesterday I was shit-scared, scarcely believing the positive. I didn't sleep well, tossing and turning and going over all manner of emotions as I toyed with endless thoughts about how to tell Roman. But there was that faint feeling of happiness, one that seemed to grow and grow until in the shower this morning, I couldn't help but grin.

And now nothing. Dr Ash knows as well as I do that those blood results will say I'm negative too. I just know it. I didn't feel pregnant. I just didn't.

I slam my fist against the steering wheel and feel my jaw beginning to tremble.

Why did I build my hopes up? I knew it was all too good to be true. Maybe I just wanted it to be true though. In my muddled head, I must have misread those tests. The second line was faint on both tests, I should never have believed them. I should have waited until Roman was back. I shouldn't have panicked. I should have just got on with the rest of the week and spoken to him first. I should have shared this with him. I should have phoned him. I should have...

My resolve breaks. I gasp for air as tears roll down my cheeks and I can't stop, hunched over in the driver's seat, my forehead resting on my hands as I sob uncontrollably.

How naïve I was to think that this, any of this, would be easy? To get pregnant so soon would have been incredibly lucky. And I was naïve enough to think it was possible. I was stupid enough to get my hopes up on a drug store test. I was dumb enough to let my mind build this all up only to have it shattered barely twenty-four hours later.

I take a shaky breath and desperately try to calm myself. What's the point in crying over something that never existed in the first place? I was never pregnant. It never existed. It never happened. And what would be the point in telling Roman? Why tell him about something that was never true in the first place. Congratulations, Ro, you were almost a father, but not really because surprise, surprise, I'm not pregnant.

A sharp screech of laughter leaves my mouth and I throw my head back against the seat and close my eyes. I want to forget this ever happened. I want to forget how humiliated I feel. Sitting there in that chair, talking about how I felt about a pregnancy that didn't fucking exist. And if it ever existed, it was so fleeting, like a passing train, a quick rush of air and then gone, just as quickly as it arrived.

Yet that quick rush of air has seemed to have taken everything I ever felt with it. Blown it away as if it were nothing. I feel empty. That part of me that seems to get torn away when Roman leaves? Well, now there's a new tear, somewhere else in my body, somewhere inside that me that's slowly disappearing. A small hole, steadily growing larger as the numbness continues to spread through me.

I glance at my purse and debate calling him. I just want to hear him, to tell me that everything is okay. But calling means telling him what's happened. And I can't. I just can't. Not when he's thousands of miles away and will be as helpless as I am to do anything.

There's nothing anyone can do.

It's negative and that's that.

**

The bedsheets are my only comfort. They twist around my legs, my waist, my chest, my arms. They hold me, keep me warm as I lie here with my thoughts.

I spent the weekend distracting myself. I cleaned, I went to the gym, I bought a good bottle of wine. I cooked and ate, devoured a whole series on Netflix. Yet when Monday morning rolled around, the numbness was back. I felt like I need to present some sort of front. Why? I have no idea. No one knew what had happened on Thursday or even Friday for that matter.

And then this morning, Dr Ash's voice on my phone.

“Alexia, I've got the blood work back from the labs. I'm sorry to say that they came back negative as well. I really wish I had some better news for you and Roman, but understand that these things can take time. False positives are rare and unfortunate, but please don't let this dissuade you. And if I can offer you some advice as a friend, rather than your doctor? Talk to Roman. You need to go through this together, not alone. And if you ever want to come in to discuss this or anything else, just give my office a call.”

The whole conversation was one-sided. I couldn't bring myself to say anything other than what was necessary. An 'oh' there, a 'thank you' here. Phrases like 'chemical pregnancy', 'defective test' kept floating around my head all day. I felt sick at the possibility of the first, angry at the thought of the second. All the feelings I had managed to keep at bay since Friday came surging back with greater force than before.

I bury my face in the pillows, fighting the urge to cry once again. I'm sick of feeling like this, angry even. I'm overwhelmed with utter frustration at the entire situation, at my inability to move on and look forward rather than backwards. I want to stop thinking about what-ifs and move on with the present rather than relive the past few days over and over again.

Roman called me when he landed on Sunday night and was waiting for his rental at the airport. And although he didn't ask, I could sense that he knew something wasn't right. It was the same on Monday when he called me from the arena in Atlanta to check in. But I couldn't tell him, not on the phone. Both times when he hung up, I started to cry. And then I wanted to slap myself for being weak and stupid. And then I just wanted to call him back, to tell him everything and beg for him to come home and hold me.

He text me earlier, due home around 1AM if the traffic played ball. I glance at the bedside clock, luminous digits telling me he's running late.

The door clicks softly downstairs.

Or he's just on time.

I listen to the familiar sounds of the lights flicking on, his suitcase placed in the laundry room. The refrigerator door opens and closes. A cough. The creaking of the stairs.

I twist to face the door and relief that he's finally home washes over me. Reaching out, I flick on the bedside lamp and take in his solid frame, the look of surprise on his face to see me still awake fading into a warm smile, his eyes softening.

“Hey,” I manage to get out, but I choke on the word, my eyes starting to sting as I try and fail to keep it together.

“Baby girl,” his voice is low, full of warmth, full of concern. “What's wrong?”

I open my mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a wretched gasp for air as tears start to stream down my cheeks. The bed dips beside me, Roman's hands finding me under the sheets and pulling me into his arms, letting me soak his shirt with my tears as his fingers comb their way through my hair. His lips brush against my forehead and I fight hard to pull myself together.

“What's wrong?” he asks again as my tears slowly begin to subside. “Is it work?”

I shake my head with a sniff.

“Is it... Is it us?”

I pull back slightly and lift my head to meet his eyes. “I... I was late.”

“Late? Late for what?”

“My period.”

The words hang in the air and I watch his eyes change from concern to surprise. “Baby girl,” he breathes softly. But I cut him off before he can continue.

“I took a test. Two tests. Well, three in the end. Four, really.”

“And?”

“They... The first two. They were positive.” My voice is barely a whisper. I remember the mixed emotions, I remember finally settling on happiness. I remember thinking about this moment. And then I remember that moment wouldn't include my next words. “I saw Dr Ash too.”

He nods encouragingly.

“But... She tested me. Twice. And they were... They were both negative.”

Gone is the fleeting look of happiness in his eyes, the look of surprise. I can feel a lump in my throat and when I blink, fresh tears threaten to spill.

“Oh, Lex.” His arms tighten around me. “It's okay.”

“No. It's not.”

He presses his lips to my forehead again and I grip his shirt as frustration rushes through me. “It will be okay,” he says softly. “Our time will come, baby girl. You just gotta give it time.”

“I was scared.”

“What for?”

“I was scared, I was worried, I wasn't feeling anything that I thought I would feel. All those other times, I was so fucking disappointed.” Anger tears through me. “And when I saw the two lines, I felt sick. I... I thought I'd feel differently.”

I shake my head at my stupidity. “I thought I'd be instantly excited. And I was. Later on, anyway.”

He's quiet, letting me vent, letting me tell him everything I've been feeling over the weekend. How this tiny ebb of happiness was snatched away on Friday morning. How grief for something that had barely existed had consumed my life over the last few days. How I tried to push it away, to pretend it never happened. My words eventually slide into silence. A long, deafening silence where I'm afraid to meet his eye, where I continue to stare at his grey shirt and my fingers relentlessly trying to smooth out the creases.

“Hey,” he finally murmurs, nudging a finger under my chin and raising my gaze to his. “Please don't beat yourself up over this. These things happen and I know it's never going to be easy, but you can't let it consume you like this.”

“You weren't here.”

I could kick myself, watching the guilt flicker through his face.

“I know,” he exhales slowly. “And you have no idea how much I wanted to be. I wish I could have been with you on Thursday and on Friday. And over the weekend and this morning. It kills me to know you went through this alone, Lex. And I know it's pointless to say it now, but you can always call me. You know that, baby girl. You can always call me and I will always be there for you.”

I nod slowly, my face starting to crumple again as I realise how goddamn stupid and stubborn I've been.

“Hey, no more tears,” he whispers, his lips finding my cheeks as my eyes glisten and my vision blurs.

His mouth finds mine and it's a relief to finally kiss him. My fingers curl into his shirt as I cling to him and silently beg him not to stop. I want to feel something other than pain. I want to feel his love for me.

His hands find mine and he curls his fingers around my own and pulls back. Rolling me onto my side, he wraps his arms around me, one hand finally settling on my stomach. His fingers stretch wide as he cradles me, his lips on my shoulder as I sigh into his embrace.

“We can't rush this,” he murmurs. “We can't put pressure on ourselves. It will happen when it's meant to. Not before, not after, but when it's supposed to happen. And that might be next week, it might next month, it might be next year. Please, Lex... Don't knock yourself down for this.”

“I just want to make you happy.”

His arms grip me a little tighter. “You already do, baby girl. Whether you're pregnant or not, you make me the happiest man alive.” His fingers flutter across my hairline, pushing my hair back so he can kiss my neck, my cheek.

“I'm sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he tells me. “None of this is your fault, Lex. Tell me you understand that. You aren't to blame for any of this.”

I nod into the pillow, but he nudges my cheek with his own and I twist my head back to him.

“Tell me,” he says.

“It's not my fault,” I whisper.

His lips ghost over mine, sweet in their touch. “I love you, Lex.”

“I love you too.”

“I got you, remember? I got you, no matter what.”

Fin

[thelonesomequeen]

Can this anon tell us on details how they managed to stay away? I want a way out but I cant// Me again! (I'm clearly failing at staying away from Tumblr lol but I knew people would respond to my original post so here I am) Gonna tell you how I did it. I did this in January -

I'm lucky enough to have multiple devices (phone, laptop, iPad). I deleted all social media apps from my phone and only allow myself to use them on my iPad. That changed my time spent online significantly. Especially because I don't take my iPad when I go out anywhere so I wasn't finding myself scrolling mindlessly on my phone when I was out. It helped me become more present in my life. At first it was super weird, I kept automatically unlocking my phone and scrolling to where the apps used to be. I also felt a little bit out of touch with reality for a while, I didn't feel like I knew what was going on in the world. I still have twitter on my phone because I use that for my regular news and I never spent too much time on that one anyway

I blocked websites I was using as well (LSA, Discord, Reddit, Tumblr, CDAN etc) changed my settings on my phone and iPad to "limit adult websites" (under Screen Time > Content & Privacy Restrictions > Content Restrictions > Web Content on the iPhone) and you can add "never allow" so any time I found myself habitually typing in those websites, it would come up as blocked. You can always unblock them but it at least gave me a pause to be like "wait, is this how I want to spend my time?"

Time limits on my iPad. I can't remember how I did it but you can add time limits for things. I'm not sure if it is with the apps or just websites but the websites I put a time limit on per day and when it expired, it expired (you can extend also)

I blocked anyone on IG or Twitter that wasn't serving my goal of cleansing. The trio, Lexniko, Tinx (cause I found her content was all over my page and I find what she pushes toxic). Any time I would see a post on my for you page that would be pushing Selena and Chris, I'd block them etc. I just didn't need that energy on my IG. I started following more body positive accounts and those good news account, cute animal accounts etc and steered away from celebrity stuff. I even blocked OK Magazine after they posted some fake news article cause I was like "why do I need to see this rubbish, there's enough fake news in this world." Now my for you page is baby goats mostly and it's wonderful lol.

I went extreme. And because I cut off so much, I noticed just how much of my day was being consumed by all of this. I sometimes find myself slipping back into the mindless scrolling if I've been stressed or there was nothing else to do but on the whole, the scrolling lasts for 15 mins instead of hours. And I do it and then I'm done for the day.

It's also helped me pull myself out of it and see just how ridiculous a lot of this stuff is. I'll come on and see someone post about a like or a follow and it doesn't affect me. I just have realized just how unimportant social media is in the grand scheme of things and I just roll my eyes like "come on, this isn't even logical". Which 6 months ago, I was one of the people who was like oh but it does mean something. So it helped me get back to reality a little bit.

I'm not saying you have to stop but I will say, it has really really changed my life for the BETTER. I am so much more present. I didn't realize just how much I was NOT living because I was so sucked into this stuff. And I started it because during the pandemic, I was stuck inside, like we all were, and I just needed something to do and then it spiraled. And now, I get to enjoy the content from Chris for what it is - a cute dodger pic or a cool trailer, fun interviews upcoming for the press tour and it has made consuming his content back to how it should be, you know?

I hope this helps someone! It was difficult, it really was, but I'm so glad I powered through that "withdrawal" stage. And the fact that it was so difficult to stop in the beginning made me see how toxic it was.

Thanks for coming back to share! 🦎

[thehubby]

Mike I need help. Every single time my players hit town they shop. Even if we had just gotten a bunch of stuff in the last session, and they swore up and down they didn't need *anything else*, they still go immediately to shop for more things and I'm getting frustrated and bored. We just had four weeks worth of sessions like this and I'm at the end of my patience. I had to shut the session down tonight before we even started because I said "we did a lot of shopping yesterday, so why don't we speed that up and leave town since there's nothing else you need." They immediately vetoed the idea and said no, actually, there was stuff they wanted to shop for!! Even though we just spent SIX HOURS shopping and talking to npcs yesterday!! My brain hit a wall and I had to tell them "I'm done, I can't do this anymore."

Help me MikeyWan Kenobi. You're my only hope.

Long post ahead.

I am here for you, Anon. I feel your pain. Actually, that's unfair of me -- I understand your pain but have not experienced it myself because my table of players is very well balanced, and although one or two of them have an affinity for shopping, it's partly my fault for making so many homebrew items and letting them occasionally nab a few from shops. Still, the other players at the table keep them in line and keep the game moving reasonably. It sounds like your entire table (or at least the majority) is driving you crazy in this regard, which is a more difficult challenge.

Here are my suggestions. I can't guarantee that they will work against diehard shopaholics, but this general flow often works for obsessive player behavior in general (murder-hoboing, insistence on lots of combat, refusal to fight, power-playing, and so on). You may tackle any or all of these in whatever order you think will benefit your group. You know your players better than I.

Figure out and understand why your players are doing this. There could be lots of reasons. Some players, particularly long-time veterans (who were often brought up in "Monty Haul" adventures) or raised on modern MMOs and computer RPGs, become driven by the acquisition of items -- to them, if their character isn't adorned like a Christmas tree, they aren't a success. There are also players who have "big spender" syndrome, an actual behavioral condition that exhibits in tabletop and digital RPGS: the player believes that their rise to power and success as a character can only be evidenced when they demonstrate their wealth. Not to put on my Psych 101 hat, but this is sometimes a projection of the player's own worldviews and experiences with wealth (or lack thereof; after all, some people play games like this as an escape from the reality of their own hardships). In addition to staying at upscale inns (if they haven't acquired their own property) and eating fine foods (if they haven't sought out a private chef on retainer), their characters also interact with a lot of shopkeepers, who are generally pleased to see people laden with coin and interested in their wares. I mean, who doesn't like being able to throw around money for the latest glimmering bauble while the sales associate waits ever patiently? But for some, it goes much further, and can be every bit the same pleasure as getting the killing blow on that blue dragon. And finally, some players are really just there for the talking. That's their whole bag. They would be happy putting all their skill points into Diplomacy, Intimidate, Sense Motive and using every stat as a dump except Charisma. It's weird, given the combat-oriented nature of the game, but those people really do exist.

Understanding the motivation behind your player behaviors will give you the best chance of curtailing that behavior in a way that satisfies both you and them.

You said your players vetoed leaving town and immediately said that there were things they wanted to shop for. My question, were I in your shoes and with your level of frustration, would be to ask what such things were, and if the characters had a legitimate need for the items. If the characters know what they are looking for, you as GM can immediately determine if they're available in town, and if they're exotic, perhaps there might be some searching or wheeling and dealing to even find where they are sold. If the players are looking for typical fare like more healing potions or a replacement for those +1 arrows they used up, this is easily handled without a 20 minute chat-fest, especially if it's your third such today. If the players don't know what they want, and just want to see what's available, don't hesitate to ask them why they believe they are ill-equipped for their continuing adventures despite you or NPCs telling them as such.

Such behavior can also be forcibly slowed or even stopped through the world-controlling power you wield as the GM, although if not handled delicately, this can significantly raise tensions at the table. The PCs, having arrived in town after a week subduing trolls in the Sootblack Hills, find that the stores are all but empty of magic items. Even the most basic potions and scrolls are a crapshoot to find; they might scour the entire city in search of any place that even has a magic weapon available? Why? Plenty of reasons. War has broken out, and supplies for every city in a couple hundred miles have been bought up or seized by the warring factions. Perhaps the ruling monarch (or council or whatever) has decreed for unknown reasons that the manufacture and sale of magical items is forbidden, punishable by imprisonment. An ancient order may have been awoken and has begun the theft or destruction of arcane equipment -- except for their own, of course. These turns of events might cause the PCs' own equipment to become even more valuable (or a threat to their safety) -- but any newfound wealth will do them little good with nothing magical to buy. All of these and similar actions are only stop-gaps; eventually, the PCs would be expected to help resolve the war, overthrow the sovereign, defeat the ancient order, or whatever is in their way. And then you're back to where you are now.

Always keep in mind the Wealth By Level restrictions for characters. This represents how much wealth a character possesses at any one time for their level (some GMs take a more stringent view that it represents the total wealth a PC will have accrued by that point in their career, so if the players fritter it away on women and chimichangas, tough noogies.) Characters can only buy things if they have the wealth to do so. Selling items they don't want comes with a steep penalty. Even in great condition, shops rarely pay more than half price for an item due to taxes, restocking fees, how long it might take to sell, and so on. What this ultimately comes down to is that you control just how much these characters can buy and sell. They can only buy items if they have the coin, and they can only get the coin that you give them, or a lesser value for selling items they don't want. Become more stringent with money. At some point, the money runs out, and selling hard-earned loot for half its value stops being so fun. Do you really want to lose effectively 2,000 gold crowns for selling that +2 axe, or do you want to maybe put it to some use and come out more powerful than you would have buying some weaker item with the proceeds? If players decline to ever sell their equipment yet still expect to find new equipment, you can accommodate them by destroying their equipment. Enemies can sunder weapons and armor; a number of spells, magical effects or environmental hazards can deal damage to and potentially break anything exposed to them. This isn't being vengeful; it's being a good GM. [I remember watching Critical Role and over many episodes, perhaps the most traumatic and thrilling experience the players had (apart from character deaths) was when their beloved flying carpet was eaten by acid or lava or something. But it was a natural consequence of their actions, and they took it in stride, as they should.]

Finally, as with all things, you are the law. I always, always recommend talking with your players, either individually or as a table if needed, to tackle either your own frustrations or those of one or more players. But if push comes to shove, it's your game. You (presumably) respect the players by coming up with adventures, scenarios, NPCs, locations and all sorts of other stuff for them to tackle in a manner you expect to be fun. If they refuse to respect your preparation time and the time you spend at the table, by insisting to engage in continuous, pointless NPC discussions despite you expressing your dissatisfaction, then tell them you can't do it anymore. It isn't fun for you, and if the only way that they can have fun is in a way that is directly contradictory to you having fun, the game isn't going to work, period. If they sincerely change, fantastic; try to accommodate their need for shopping when you can and get on with the grand story at other times. If they refuse to change, leave them and get another table. That last part isn't always easy to do, and depending on your area, it might take a while to get another game going, but often a table where you're not having fun (and working hard to do it) is worse than no table at all. I wish you luck.

[lauwrite1225]

Somebody to die for.

Finan x OC; The Old Guard inspired Alternative Universe

Summary : Victoria’s life is rather simple until she has a car accident from which she ends up miraculously unscathed. A series of weird events animates her daily life, everything seemingly bringing her to a strange man. Until this very man knocks at her door.

Spotify Playlist • Masterlist

A/N : On ao3 I've got a comment telling me the slow burn was killing them, well... I hope this is killing yall too lmaooo

Warnings : fluff ;)

Chapter 8 : And I'm ready to suffer, and I'm ready to hope

Victoria has never found a more peaceful place than Osferth’s house before, it’s so far from London’s constant noise. Here the night is silent, occasionally interrupted by sounds of animals, which she sometimes finds scary enough to wake up Finan who’s sleeping on the mattress next to her bed in the living room. He usually answers her what wild animal is howling, enhanced with Irish curses as he tries to fall back to sleep. 

“Ya’re goin’ to know the sound of all the animals of this forest soon.” He comments one morning when she sits in front of him at the kitchen table.

She chuckles quite uncomfortably, guessing he’s starting to be annoyed of being woken up in the middle of the night. “I’m a city girl.” She shrugs innocently and Finan shakes his head.

Even if he’s grieving his friend’s loss, Finan keeps a rather good mood, which she supposes is due to Osferth. She regularly finds them laughing together, undoubtedly remembering old memories, which warms Victoria’s heart. She also gets to learn a lot about the monk who reveals to in fact be King Alfred the Great’s bastard son.

“So you’re royalty!” She exclaims, her fork falling back into her plate. 

“Not really.” He answers, looking down as he is ashamed of who he is while Finan is chuckling at her shock. 

“But, if you were a monk and a King’s son, how did you end up fighting for Uhtred?” She asked, the same curiosity she used to have for Finan growing for him. 

“My uncle used to fight alongside Uhtred.” He explains, his forks forming circles in the air. “I wanted to become a warrior like him.”

“And let me tell ya, that was a hard row to hoe.” He jokes at Vicky’s attention, pointing at Osferth who’s now pouting. “I've never imagined t'was so hard to hold a sword.” He giggles before taking a mouth full of vegetables while the monk blushes. “But we finally succeeded to make a good warrior of him after all.”

This time, the two men look at each other with pride, a small knowing smile gracing their faces. 

“I'd like to learn.” Vicky interrupts them suddenly. 

“What? To use a sword?” Finan frowns at her. “It's a little useless nowadays.” 

She rolls her eyes which only makes him smirk as he eats. “I'd like to learn whatever could help me to defend myself.” She explains with such determination that even Finan stops smirking to stare at her intently. “I don't want to be as useless as in London if something happens to us.”

She straightens her shoulder while holding Finan’s gaze, feeling the need to show him that she can be stronger than she looks. She thought of it a few times during the night, not dying is one thing but it still isn’t preventing her to be taken, Finan wouldn’t have been here that night, she’s sure she wouldn’t be standing here right now. And she even less wants to be a liability to the two men if anything has to happen.

She notices the flicker of hesitance on Finan’s face at the way the corner of his mouth tilts. “Please, Finan.” She insists and he finally sighs, lifting his head to the ceiling. 

“Alright I’ll teach ya.” He accepts, starting to eat again and only staring at her broad smile from the corner of his eyes. “But don’t imagine I’ll be easy on ya.” He warns her but she’s too happy to take in the warning and doesn’t even notice Osferth’s grimace at it. 

However, she soon learns that she should have taken it seriously. Vicky had a lot of sport teachers during school, more or less rigorous, but undoubtedly, none were matching Finan. He is very patient, able to show her movement a hundred times without getting annoyed, though, the lesson won’t end until she does it perfectly. He teaches her how to punch and kick correctly for a whole afternoon, her legs and arms aching at the end. She’s so exhausted that she doesn’t even wake up during the night because of animals and Finan is more than happy to finally have his sleep undisturbed. 

The next morning, after her training, Sophie comes to Osferth's place and gives a worried look to Vicky as she finds her sprawled, arms crossed and forehead resting on it. “Are you alright?” She asks, putting her hand on her back and then grimacing when she realizes she’s all sweaty. 

“Finan killed me.” She grumbles, her voice muffled by the caged formed by her arms. She finally straightens, stretching to try to make the discomfort of her painful muscles disappear. “I asked him to teach me how to fight, and I’m starting to regret it.”

Sophie laughs, sitting on the chair next to hers. “Osferth told me he was a ruthless teacher.” She explains to her and Vicky sighs in despair. 

Since they are here, Sophie comes everyday, and even stays some nights, erasing any of Victoria’s doubts about their relationship. She doesn't know the French well, but she does appreciate her already, another woman's ear always likeable. 

“I found something that could interest you.” Sophie says, taking her phone out of her pocket and opening an application before handing it to her. 

Vicky grabs it carefully and lets out a short breath at the newspaper article she's showing her. She reads the text surrounding the picture of her explaining where the police stand regarding her disappearance. She can't tell if it relieves her or not that they are clueless about it. Which for sure disappoints her is that they are as clueledd as them when it comes to the men who attacked them. She doesn't raise her eyes when she hears the front door opening nor when footsteps approach. She only looks away when she feels Finan's breath near her ear making her shiver as he leans over her shoulder, his hands clenched around the chair's back.

“What's that?” He asks, meeting her eyes briefly before staring at the screen.

She swallows and hands him the phone so he can read. “A record on what happened in London.” She explains as he straightens. “They don't know more than us.”

“Good.” He says, scrolling down the article and when he looks up from the phone, he is facing Vicky’s confused frown.

“But we could have learned more about their intentions.”

Finan shakes his head, giving her phone back to Sophie. “And by this, they’d get interest in us and it is the last thin’ we need.”

Vicky leans back in her chair. “Alright, but how do we get to know who they are and what they really want? Even if we hide, we are exposed because we don’t know our enemies.” She voices a relevant fact that even Osferth agrees with as he walks into the room, stopping to rest a hand on Sophie’s shoulder. “We need to do research about them.” 

“With what?” The Irishman huffs. “All we have is a piece of paper and a revolver.”

Feeling the tension rising between Victoria and Finan, the French clears her throat. “Maybe, there was something that could be…” She searches a word, gesturing in the void. “Particular. An accent maybe?”

“They didn’t talk a lot but they were sounding English.” She answers leaving Finan’s eyes to give all her attention to Sophie. 

Finan does the same, crossing his arms. “They were fine trained men, if there’s more, it must be the case for them too.” He exchanges a serious gaze with Osferth, a silent conversation working between the two men. “We should arm ourselves, just in case.”

This time, it’s the two women who exchange an anxious glance. “I still have guns in the basement, a little old and in need of a good cleaning, but it’s better than nothing.”

On those words, the two old friends decide to spend the afternoon on restoring Osferth’s weapons. Victoria stares with wide eyes at the amount of them resting on the kitchen table, dusty revolvers and rifles. Sophie left earlier with a list of materiel to clean them and Victoria supposes they won’t have finished until nightfall at least. Her eyes instinctevely search for Finan, which she has realised doing more and more often, in the room and finally turns to the monk when she understands he isn’t here. He answers her that he is still in the basement, so she decides to join him, though she’s also curious to see what there is in it. She climbs down the ladder and jumps on the stoned floor. There isn’t much light, a simple old oil lamp allowing her to see Finan who’s staring intently at a sword he is holding. Vicky approaches him and can’t help but let out a sound of amazement as she admires the weapon, the flicker of the flame making the blade shine and a piece of amber ornamenting the hilt. 

“It’s a beautiful sword.” She says looking up to the Irishman whose eyes are glittering under the light. “Finan?” She calls him softly, her hands finding his arm. 

He blinks a few times and the tears have disappeared to let him smile. “It’s Uhtred’s sword, Serpent-Breath. I’ve never seen a better sword.” He explains with admiration.

He hands her the sword and she takes it carefully, surprised by the heaviness of it, wondering how it was possible to fight with this. But she must admit that it really is the result of a fine work, the blade, old and not as sharp as it must have been, but nonetheless impressive. 

“You have a sword too?” She turns to him again.

“Aye, but I’ve lost it a long time ago.” He shrugs sadly. 

She gives him back the weapon and lets him hang it on the wall. “What did you call it?”

He chuckles lightly before smiling broadly. “Soul-stealer.” He answers with a threatening tone but it only makes her raise her eyebrows as if she isn’t impressed at all.

“Terrifying.” She breaths, pretending to be scared. 

“Ya know, men used to call me Finan the Agile because I was a really good swordsman.” He explains, heading back to the ladder.

“Oh? And what about women?” She asks him with a teasing tone that definitely should have been thought about twice. She can’t help the rise of blush to increase as he just winks at her with a mischievous smirk before climbing up.

She curses herself for the sudden warmth in her belly as she wonders what his gesture implied. She shakes her head to make it vanish. When Sophie is finally back, they start restoring the guns, Osferth showing her how to clean a barrel correctly. She can’t help but wonder how many people have been killed with this gun as she holds one. It seems so easy to pull the trigger, in a second one is ripped of its life. She thinks back to the fight in her flat, at how Finan cold bloodedly killed the three men. Will she become like this as well if she learns how to use one? The question remains stuck in her mind until the night when Finan asks her what is troubling her. They are just the two of them in the living room as he sits next to her on the bed to remove his shoes.

She shifts uncomfortably, twisting her fingers. “What do you feel when you kill someone?”

Finan freezes at her question, still bent to unlace his shoes. “I feel bad.” He answers finally as he straightens. 

“Each time?” She asks him with an inch of surprise that makes her tone higher. “Even when they are bad people?” 

“No, it's not like that.” He turns his head to her and even in the dark she is fascinated by the intensity of his gaze. “The first man I killed was a Dane. I was still in Ireland, hunting with my father. He came out of a bush and I acted without thinkin'.” He scratches his beard before his hand slides down to grip what she supposes is the pendant hanging at his necklace. “No matter how many times I've heard people call them heathens or demons, when I saw his frightened eyes as life was leaving his body, I realised he was just a man. And I wondered who I was to take a man's life so easily.” His grip tightens, fisting his shirt as he sighs.

His hand drops on his thigh and he is close enough so his elbow brushes slightly against her arm. He looks down as if he is suddenly ashamed or scared of what she'll think of him and it makes her heart squeeze. In a little time, they both have reached a level of confidence with each other that Victoria didn't expect. Despite his lie, she finds herself unable to judge him. And it reassures her to know that after all he isn’t as insensitive as she thought. Her hand slides on his forearm until it reaches his wrist, her fingers tracing the swollen skin of a scar slashing his palm. Their proximity makes her face warm and she's glad that the darkness can hide it, so she leans to the side until her head rests on his shoulder. 

“Why did you ask?” He whispers, his breath brushing her forehead. 

She feels her heartbeat getting stronger and faster as she thinks of the right words.”When you fought that night, you did it without any hesitation. You just acted when I just stayed away utterly afraid. Now that I don’t want to be so useless anymore, I wonder if I’ll be able to act like you did, without thinking.”

“Ya don’t have to be like me.” He replies immediately, making her look up to him. “In fact, I’d prefer that ya weren’t.” He admits. 

“But one day I will. One day I’ll have lost all the people I care for and I’ll have suffered as much as you did.” She says and the way her heart aches at the simple idea makes her throat tighter. 

Finan shifts to better face her, his hands cupping her face and his thumb caressing her cheek even if there’s no tears to wet them. His eyes are staring at her with such softness despite how deep and dark they are, she feels like she could melt now and then. 

“I’ll keep ya away from that.”

Her heart misses a beat and her breath runs short. She can’t argue with him about the foolishness of such a promise, destabilized by how close his face is to hers, and because deep down she wishes he could be able to protect her from the pain. Him and no one else. His hot breath caresses her lips, making her whole body feel warm and for a brief second, she wonders how it would feel to have his mouth pressed against hers, how his beard would scratch her flushed skin. 

But before she can have an answer Finan moves away, breathing heavily. “I think we should sleep.” 

She barely has time to breathe a small ‘yes’ that he is lying in his own bed. She does the same, her hand pressed against her chest as her heart finds a steady rhythm again. She stares at the ceiling for long minutes, feeling suddenly so empty and cold. 

Tag :​ @for-bebbanburg @osferth @maggiescarborough ​ @finansarms ​ @dumbledoreisnotmyhubby @solinarimoon

[iffyswriting]

ICE 2

With my forehead pressed against the wheel of my car, I took three big inhales each one for different unrelenting stresses.

Unwinding after my day made it easier to deal with going inside. Swiping up my phone I checked the time, knowing Daddy was probably waiting up for me.

11:12.

Getting to all my courage, I finally got out of my car and went inside my home, my father being exactly where I expected.

"Where you been?" He asked looking just as worn as me, his body limp in his big green reclining chair.

"I told you, I had practice. " I replied tiredly, dropping my keys into their porcelain pot.

"Janelle-"

"I already know what you're going to say and my legs hurt. Can talk in the morning?" He stared momentarily before waving me off, making my shoulders slump in relief. Walking towards the stairs, he cleared his throat making me turn around.

"You not gon' tell me good night?" Rolling my eyes with a tiny smile, I walked back over and placed a kiss to his cheek telling him I loved him. I walked down the stairs to the basement taking in my space.

Bouncing onto my bed I slid off my shoes my feet aching horribly. I  checked out the heels of my feet sighing at the bruises that lined them. Red and purple, red and purple as usual. I unscrewed the top off of my Vapo rub and swiped it onto my soles, letting it soothe my pain.

Flipping out my phone, I scrolled through it, pulling up some music for me to listen too.

SZA softly poured out of my speaker, Broken Clock's hypnotic beat floating into my ears as I laid down fully, curling up in my covers.I turned my music up a bit, letting it relax me further. I was so sleepy but my eyes wouldn't shut as I looked up at my ceiling tracing shapes with my eyes into my popcorn ceiling.

❄

"I have to be in this next competition," I told my coach, Simone. We either practiced early in the morning or late in the afternoon, to combat with both our schedules.

"What competition?"

"The one at the end of this month," I said in a duh tone. "I know you know about it. "

"And you know I'm going to be in it." She stood still before speaking.

"Do you think you're ready for it?"

"Of course I do!"

"Janelle, they not only judge off of skill but presentation and-" She started off looking everywhere else but at me and I tightened my jaw, my blood beginning to pump faster.

"I can get enough money for a decent costume."

"Can you?"

"I don't pay you to fucking degrade me, Simone." I spoke angrily sitting down on the bench stretching the shoestrings of my skates, tying them up tight.

"You barely pay me at all." I scoffed, snatching my guards off keeping my eyes on the other side of the stands.

"Then quit." She sighed her eyes softening as she looked me over, sitting down next to me.

"You know you'll have to tighten up."

"I will!"

"So that triple axel will be together by then?"

"Yes."

Hours passed and everything stayed the same.

Even with all my trying, all my attempts-I kept falling.  Hitting that ice felt like I was hitting a knife and I was repeatedly getting up just to stab myself all over again.

After my seemingly 100th try, I skated back to the bleachers needing to sit down and breathe. I gripped my seat trying to force the lump in my throat all the way back down, biting back any tears that blurred my vision.

"And you think you're ready." She said smartly, making my stomach twist into more knots.

"I am!"

"But you can't get this crucial part of you're routine together and you wanna throw yourself into an even harder competition!"

"I can do it sometimes!"

"Sometimes isn't guaranteed!"

"It's enough for me to keep going!"

"You're supposed to believe in me!"

"I'll believe when you try harder."

"All I fucking do is try!"

"Okay, Janelle." She brushed her hair back from her forehead and I counted each wrinkle, trying to focus on something else other than my burning anger.

"I think we're done for the day."

"Simone."

"We'll try again tomorrow." She spoke, set in her words. I didn't want to stop her because, at this point, I needed some space away from her.

It's so fucking frustrating.

I keep failing and failing and failing, yet I'm always expected to get back on my feet unscathed and ready for more action. I'm not this resilient person I'm putting on to be and it's becoming harder and harder each day to pretend I am.

Why can't I get it right?

I sniffle softly, my throat becoming tighter and tighter as the minutes ticked on mocking me.

"You not getting on the ice, today, Icey?"

I look back at the deep soothing voice, matching it to a handsome face.

A really handsome face.

He was much taller than me and leaned against the railing of the steps, his hands stuffed into his jeans pockets. He was clearly freezing, goosebumps running up the side of his arm. I'd become used to the cold, so much it was like a second kind of blanket.

His skin was stark against all the white that surrounded us, a dark brown that reminded me of hot cocoa- the juxtaposition being a beautiful contrast.

"What'd you call me?"

"Icey. I don't know your name, so I just made up a lil something." He paused before licking his bottom lip. "Hope you don't mind."

"I don't. What was your question?"

"Are you not going to get on the ice today?"

"I'm not feeling it right now."

"Damn, I was hoping to watch you." He sounded genuinely disappointed and I was a little shook, starting to chew on my bottom lip.

"You watch me all the time?"

"Not all the time-"He said quickly, kind of flustered, "I just like the way you move and the sounds- I guess you do your thing or whatever." He finished off, studying my features sheepishly.

"I don't know if you're trying to be nice-"

"I'm being honest." Chuckling, I couldn't help but shake my head at him.

"Well, thank you for that. That's the first compliment I've heard about my skating in years."

"You can't be serious."

"I am."

"If I could get out there and fucking hurl myself across a block of ice every day, everyone would see it and everyone would be respectin' me and my talent."

"You're making it sound so insanely impossible."

"Not everyone can do it. " He paused again slickly starting to smirk. "Not everyone can do it the way you do."

"Stop hyping me up, stranger."

"Amir." He said quickly, his name becoming locked into my head.

"Stop hyping me up then, Amir."

"Well Stranger-"

"Janelle." I said making him let out a breathy laugh.

"Well, Janelle- I'd love it if you tried again."

"I don't know."

"I think your discrediting yourself too much. I know your coach yells at you about how you fuck up on this or mess up on that but- you still look breath-taking. Like a real-life figurine but with passion and grace."

I blinked unsure of what to say or how to feel.  Standing up straight, I leaned on the rail and gave him a small smile.

"Okay, I'll give it another go. Maybe your seeing something I don't."

I stretched to touch my toes then put my arms outward, my pose before I began.

Starting off slowly, I did an easy figure eight, looping in a circle.

I was in the air for a couple of seconds before landing on my feet, my arms in the air as I kept my balance. I couldn't dwell long in my excitement as I launched into a toe loop, spinning the exact way I should.

His straight white teeth were on display as I stood still finished with my performance. He clapped loudly, whistling too as my own grin grew wide on my face.

"I knew you could do it!" He yelled, His support making my heart thump harder in my chest as I bounced up and down in place.

"I don't know what you did but-"

"I didn't do anything that was all you!"

He gave me another thumbs up from the door and then turns on his heels leaving me alone in the great big space.

I didn't know what to think, or how to feel.

Well, I felt good- confident even.

I started to skate again doing the triple axel once more and I wish Simone was here to see it.

See that I could do it.

He made me think about why I loved skating so much, why I had to keep this dream alive.

When I was younger, I used to spend a lot of time at my Grandma's house.

I didn't realize at the time it was because my father was unstable and he struggled to make things better for our little family.

At GiGi's house you could never expect but so many channels but on satellite, there was this one channel where figure skating was played regularly.

Little Janelle was captivated- it was the only thing that could keep me quiet because it was so beautiful and pristine. Princesses dancing on my screen, twirling on the ice in their gorgeous costumes and slicked up hair-dos.

None of these girls looked like me and I wanted to be one of them. I wanted to become someone

I expected my daddy to treat my dream as unrealistic but I didn't expect him to be as dismissive of it as he was.

When you're little you think that you can do anything and when you're supported in that, you keep aiming for stars beyond your reach.

My dad never had that philosophy. Aim for easy goals makes failure and heartache, not an option, so life goes smoother and you feel more settled.

I told him I wanted to be an Ice Skater and he told me I could clean the ice. I'd have an even better chance of working at the concessions.

You can only teach what you know, so I couldn't even be mad.

No matter what- I have to skate. I don't know if we've all got our destiny determined for us before we're born but I know that this one thing, I was always meant to do.

I know it's just a stupid sport but it's my passion and when you're so passionate about something you're willing to put your heart on the line consistently to see it through, you can't just abandon it when shit hits the fan.

Even when I fuck up, it's like I did it. I got a chance to fly even for seconds all on my own and when I come back down from my high still standing, it's a rush I refuse to let go of. When I succeed it only gives me more reassurance to keep going, never stop because there's a chance you're going to make it and people are going to know your name.

So no matter the circumstances, I gotta push as far as this skating shit will take me.

Because its the closet thing to a dream, I've ever wanted to be real.

@fullofmelaninsarcasmandepression @chaneajoyyy @bakarilennox @domdollass

[nctriple]

Let me be honest, not that I haven't been but let me be honest about how I've actually been. I don't have the motivation to wake up. I don't. I would wake up at hours I should be awake by now, feeling tired, and then going back to sleep and sleep and sleep. Because sleeping is bliss and the dizziness I feel in my head every time I try to wake up isn't helping either as if someone had put some sleeping gas in my bed and all I want to do is sleep. Maybe it's my fault that I haven't been going to sleep when I'm supposed to but I hate the feeling of going to sleep, only to toss and turn in the pitch black darkness of my room and think about how everyone's doing or how every so often the small dark thoughts that creeps over me slowly blooms into something bigger that I thought I've tried my best to burry away. So I scroll through my phone until the sun rises. Whenever I see that my friends from the other side of the world are struggling and I reach out to them because I want to help but they don't open up so I just nod my head and tell them that "I'll be there if you need me" with sadness looming over my head. Maybe it's because I seek validation, I feel the need to be needed by someone else, or maybe just because of the fact that there's nothing I can do but stand there and watch the ones I care about suffer in the distance, either way, I crumble into little pieces even more. I hate watching the people I love suffer while there's nothing I can do, especially when I realized that there's something that I indeed can do if I wasn't spending my time sleeping the entire time, but it's not like I can force anyone to open up to me and it's too late, so the best I could do is just sit there until they ring a bell at my desk and tell me that they need me whenever they do. And the waiting in itself hurts because just like a puppy waiting to be adopted, the longing hurts and sometimes you won't even be chosen at all and had no choice but to be given up on. I feel useless, I feel worthless, I feel like the things that I do today can no longer bring an impact to anyone's life ever again, I feel like I'm not needed and that I can be replaced easily and that there's someone out there who can do a better job in being a child, a sibling, a friend, a partner, a person than me. I can't comfort the people I love anymore, I can't do things to make them smile anymore, hell, I can't even make myself smile as much as I used to anymore. I promised that I will never choose to go away forever and end it all, but how many people have made their promises with me only to break them later on, especially when they know how much it meant to me? And I'm scared. I'm scared to talk about how I'm feeling because I'm scared of being a burden to anyone or to make anyone's day worse. I'm scared of people invalidating my own feelings when I think there might be something wrong with me. I'm scared that the moment I talk about how I'm feeling, people will start going into panic mode when all I need is someone to just listen to me rant or a hug if possible. I tell people to talk to me, to open up to me about their own problems, yet here I am, not being able to do the same. You would think here is where I would start to understand maybe whatever I'm feeling now is the same as what everyone else is feeling, but I don't. Because I see people opening up to one another other than myself, I see people sharing bonds and becoming stronger with one another while I'm outside like an outcast in the distance and I don't know what to do and that hurts. I have friends but at the same I feel so lonely. And maybe the whole reason I couldn't even see my future in the first place is because I don't have a future to begin with. Maybe I just don't belong in the future with everyone else. Maybe I just don't...

[evesbeve]

Exactly one year ago, I posted my first Ninjago fanfiction on Tumblr

(Yes, this is one of these big and personal posts, but bear with me for a second ^w^)

I've already talked about how much Ninjago means to me, and what a positive impact it has had on my life, but to celebrate a year into this fandom, I'd like to focus on its community here on Tumblr.

I've always been into Ninjago. In fact, I started watching it back in 2011, when it first came out!

Later on, I discovered fanfiction. It was like a dream come true, to read original stories about my favorite ninja, and to write them myself too! Eventually I began posting them, and I must say... They weren't good XD

But hey, I loved writing them! So I did just that - I kept writing and writing, until... Well, I grew out of Ninjago when I reached 7th grade.

But last year, I decided to rewatch the entire series during Christmas break. It was like falling in love with my favorite ninja all over again.

And who would have thought there would be an active fanbase here on Tumblr?

I remember scrolling down the tag and smiling at every single artwork and piece of fanfic (+ memes, of course. Who can forget about memes?) that I found.

(And bruh, discovering bruiseshipping? Holy FSM, that was truly a Christmas miracle.)

On December 28th of 2017, I made my first Ninjago Vocal Cover.

The feedback I got was incredible. I had never, ever received such positive comments before, and the encouragement to do more helped me get out of the bad mental state I was in.

So I got writing again.

If I was going to post Ninjago, I was going to post Pixane.

So I did do that, and on January 1st of 2018, I posted my first Ninjago fanfiction in years.

Did I post it as soon as I finished it? Yes!

Had I beta-ed it? ... No...?

It was still a huge step for me though! Once that story was up, I was on freaking fire.

To make you understand, I published a total of 30 Ninjago related stories (and that was just the stuff I made public!)

I have never produced this much content before!

If that wasn't enough, I picked up my YouTube channel again, occasionally made some art, and heck, somehow I got motivated to clean up my room to make space for LEGOs.

I even had the pleasure of hosting a collaborative project with around 30 people! (Yes, the new one is on the way, we're all still working on it :D)

Suddenly I was motivated to do stuff, I wasn't sad all the time, I made new friends!

All that is because of YOU.

I'm just a random girl from Greece that happens to like a bunch of LEGO ninja. Yet, you've treated me with so much kindness, and made me feel like so much more than that.

I'm not oblivious to the fact that I am known inside this fanbase. I just want to make sure you know that you made my voice loud.

And for that, I am greatful.

I am greatful for the joy you've given me, and the memories I was able to make because of you.

I've always wanted this blog to be a place of positivity. It makes me so incredibly happy that you can seek to it to get away from everything else, that it makes you happy.

This blog, is our blog.

So I'd like to take a moment to personally thank a few people from this community that played an important role in my life in 2018. If you don't want to go through a big thank you list, that is totally understandable, so I'll put it under the cut. To those of you who are leaving this post now,

Happy New Year!

Before I start, I'd like to say that it would be impossible to include every single person I know into one post. If you're not in here but you're still relatively active, chances are I don't know you personally (but I have probably noticed you!) OR I accidentally forgot to include you, in which case I'M SO SORRY, AAAA!

Without any further ado!

Thank you @diamantdrache, for drawing me like three times without me even asking, holy crap ;w; You're so amazing dude, I'm always happy to see you around. Keep being awesome!

Thank you to @strawberryhipster and @kunoichi-of-fangirling for always screaming with me about Pixane!

Thank you @i-am-the-bluejay for making me laugh through your amazing bruise fanfics! They never failed to cheer me up :D

A special thanks to @parachutingkitten, for, gosh, everything. Discovered your fanfics during a very hard time, and trying to solve the mystery behind them kept me going. You're so kind and sweet to me all the time, and I'm so happy we ran into each other!

Huge thanks to @volzorra for dropping by my inbox to tell me the randomest of things! I adore everything you do, keep it up!! :D

Thanks to @panwitha-plan, @purplerose244, @monstriframinerva and @ninjago-rewritten for making me giggle whenever you pop up in my feed and notifications! You guys rock 💜

A big one to @ninjakitten1699 for coming up with such amazing scenarios featuring the one true mastermind of Ninjago - Dr. Kitty Saunders! Not only that, but somehow you always remember what stuff I like, and tag me in funny posts (and angst bc I live for that) and making my day! Thank you so much for everything!

Thank you @coco-jaguar for being a mom to all of us in the fandom, and organising such cool events like the Secret Santa!

Thanks to @loud-quiet-and-fragile for going through 100 of my posts at once and commenting at every single one! You're just so fun to be around, and my mood instantly improves when I see you!

You knew it was coming, @nightlybirdie! Thank you, for always responding to my yelling about your art, and for yelling on my content as well! You're one of the sweetest people I know, I'm seriously so happy we met!

Thank you to @kara-is-so-ninja!! For not only having such an amazing AU, but for spreading joy everywhere you go! I admire your work so freaking much, but I admire you as a person even more. Thank you for always putting a smile on my face 💜

Thank you @ninjagojed, for being so easy and fun to talk to! I enjoy your company to death!

HUGE THANKS TO MY WONDERFUL DAUGHTER @lindsey-chr-not-found!! I've known you for so long and, its amazing we found each other again! Thanks for screaming to me about our ideas, and, well, for letting me adopt you XD

A big thanks to @echojulien for being such a supportive friend, and always there when I'm in need of our boy Echo!! :D

This is where it starts to get really difficult to fit things into a single paragraph...

To @hottchoco, who is basically one of the reasons I started shipping bruise in the first place, thank you for opening my eyes. Thank you for being that one person that is somehow into all of my fandoms at once, and screaming to me in random about them. Thank you for, even though we have different tastes sometimes, being respectful no matter what. Thank you, for being my shoulder to cry on when I need it. Thanks for everything dude :D 💜

Thank you @spinharmony, for creating a server where I made such amazing friends, and for BEING one of those amazing friends. It's so easy to talk to you about anything. You're always there, whether it's screaming about our misunderstood favorite characters, or talking about our problems. Thank you so much for just being there. I am so lucky to be able to call you my friend 💜

Thank you @hollsheadcanons!! You were one of the first people I met in this fandom, and definitely someone I was comfortable with since day one. We spend so much time just meming and yelling, that I literally feel like there's nothing to be afraid of when I'm with you. You make all my problems disappear, but you're also here to comfort me when I'm in need of hugs. Words are not enough to describe how much you mean to me. You're one of my best friends in the entire world, and for that, I thank you. Love you so much Holls!!💜

And finally, @clumsinessinperson and @ninjagoruinedmylife. You two, it feels wrong to talk about you separatedly because we're always together! I don't even know where to begin with you guys, I just love you so freaking much. No matter how upset I am, you always lift me up. You're so understanding of how I feel, and I know I can always count on you for anything. I just can't believe how close we are, and how many things we've created and been through together. I want you to know that you mean the world to me, and I love you so much. Thank you for being my friends. I love you 💜

To everyone reading this, regardless of being in my list or not, thank you so much for being part of my year, and for being part of my life. Thank you for everything 💜

[cosmicsnowcryptid]

Hey, hailey. First of all, I must say, I REALLY admire your work. I'd love to make a blog similar to yours, with my own works of art and my own writings and all that, but I have one serious problem: confidence. My confidence levels are -1000, as it stands, and I can never leave anything online for more than an hour before I take it down. I can't even ask out of anon. Do you have any advice?

I inspired you?

[looks around] 

You sure you have the right blog? Hailey? Me? Do you mean @haleyscomett-art? She’s the actual arti- oh, you’re sure. Well, okay. I don’t know why that’s the case, but that makes me really happy. Thank you for the kind words!

I have gotten this question a few times and danced around it a bit, but I think it’s time I give a real answer.

This one’s a little long, so here’s a quick table of contents that you can skim to see if you’re really interested.

Part 1: Believing that you have the talent within you- lessons from Van Gogh

Part 2: Letting others see your imperfect art, and being okay with it- lessons from Mark Fischbach

Part 3: How to keep going, even when you don’t feel too confident- lessons from Lin-Manuel Miranda, with a guest appearance 

Part 4: Yay! We’re done! Here’s some closing thoughts.

Part 1: Believing that you have the talent within you- lessons from Van Gogh

I used to do the same thing- post and take down immediately, sit in my own anxiety, simultaneously hope that people saw it and that no one saw it. It’s a confusing feeling, and I understand.

Here’s what I’ve got to say about that.

There is something in you that wanted to post your work. It’s not that you want attention- there are plenty of ways to achieve that. No, you wanted your work to get attention. And why is that? Because deep down, you know it’s good.

Bear with me on this one, because I know you’re already frowning and telling me that it’s not. But hey, don’t interrupt me, lovely, ‘cause I’m not done. 

There are two kinds of “good”. There’s good in the technical sense, which is what you’re talking about. Smooth lines, good shading, proper proportions. And yes, those things are important. But the second type of “good” is much more important, and it’s the emotional kind. Passion for the subject. Care taken to create the details or the colors- or the vulnerability to crash things that may not make sense on a page because it reflects what you feel. The clear love it takes to put in the sheer amount of time and effort required for art. You give the art emotion, and the viewers will have emotion as well.

This is why you can see something that is astounding in a technical sense, but doesn’t really affect you too deeply. You analyze the perfect structure, and you say, “this is really cool! This couldn’t have been done better.” And you are impressed. But something feels… off about it. A little cold, in a way. Detached.

My father is a professor. This hangs on the wall of one of his classrooms. This is definitely art- someone worked hard on this and this shows obvious precision and skill. Now, it’s perfect for its purpose, obviously, but look at it as an art piece. You don’t feel anything when looking at it, do you? I mean, maybe mildly freaked out by the face, or a bit curious about the text, but it doesn’t invoke anything in you.

Now look at this.

Did you feel that? That little tiny feeling in your chest?

This is called The Starry Night Over The Rhone, and it’s by someone considered to be one of the greatest painters of all time. Vincent Van Gogh. You might have known it already, just by looking at it. (We’re pretending you didn’t read the title of this section. Shhh.)

Look at it again.

There’s no doubt that Van Gogh had technical skill, sure, but is that what really makes the piece for you? Because if so, I have some bad news for you. 

This was in a letter he sent to a friend. This is what it looks like without all of the emotional backing.

Now, I can hear what you’re saying. “But Hailey! That’s not fair to say, because the way he uses colors is a technical skill.” And you’re right! But let’s look at a photo of the actual place. (Source)

Take a minute to look at the sky. Now scroll up, and look at the sky in the painting again. 

He wasn’t painting the sky as he saw it. He was painting the sky as he felt it.

Now, I want you to look at this. 

I know you know this one. This is Starry Night. It’s a similar painting, but doesn’t it feel… different? It feels a little… sadder, doesn’t it? 

The first painting was the view from his apartment. The second one was the view from his asylum window.

Looking at them and knowing that… it makes sense, doesn’t it? Somehow, a little part of you is going, “yeah. I understand.”

I bring all this up to make an important point- if your lack of confidence is because you can’t draw straight lines, or your proportions are off, or the shapes are all wrong, you can throw those thoughts out the window. You say you keep sharing and deleting your art. You share it because of the emotional backing, and you delete it when you second-guess it based on technical skill. 

You don’t become a Van Gogh by deleting everything with faulty lines. Look at those faults. Address them head on. Say to them, “yeah, you aren’t right. You look off. I don’t like that. But the good news is, I can improve on this as long as I don’t give up. In the mean time, I’m going to put all my love into you, and that will be enough for now. It will make you good, because I care, and that’s half the battle.” Your emotional investment and skill is necessary to develop your technical skills, and if you have that, your art WILL improve. Period. Full stop. 

Part 2: Letting others see your imperfect art, and being okay with it- lessons from Mark Fischbach

Now I’m going to tell you a personal story about my own art.

“Seriously? You just used Van Gogh as an example, and now you’re going to talk about yourself?”

Yes, I am. I may not be Van Gogh, but I’d bet that you aren’t, either. I know a lot about lacking confidence in sharing art, and I recently learned a very important lesson about it that I’m about to share with you.

Also, stop interrupting me, hypothetical reader. It’s rude.

I have always lacked confidence in my own art. I tried posting some a few years back, and I got some anon hate for it. Then I quit art completely for a good two years. My confidence was so flimsy that one single rude person was enough to drive me from the hobby that I loved so much. I tried to get back into it when I went to college- I took a figure drawing class, sure that I could get on the right track. 

I dropped it halfway through the semester.

I thought I was done for good. I had pushed it away, gotten more realistic dreams. And then Markiplier hit 17 million subscribers.

Yes, the Youtuber. @markiplier. That one. 

No, get back here.There’s a point to all this, I promise.

I’ve followed him for years. I remember hitting 2 million (side note: I wish I had reached out to him back then instead of being such a lurker!) and I still watch his videos every day. He saved my life. Now, that’s a whole different story, but the point is that I felt as though I owed him a lot, and so I decided, despite my hesitation, to borrow my roommate’s drawing tablet and try again. 

By this point, I had not attempted to draw in years, and… uh… it really, really showed.

I wrote a whole gushy story about it (which you can read here- I won’t try to detail the whole thing again, because, as you can see, I babble way too much, and this is already impossibly long), which made this an even more vulnerable thing for me, took a deep breath, and posted it. 

Not even ten minutes later, someone tried to tear me down. 

Other notable asks include these gems:

“If you’re shy about your art, it’s for a reason.” 

“If anything creative is your dream, you need a new dream.” 

Oof. That’s harsh, and I felt every word. It stung. And I probably would have given up again right there, if not for this:

Can you imagine the confidence boost I got from that? Because I’ll tell you, it went from 0-60 faster than a high-speed roller coaster, my friend.

After that, all I could do was draw. It reignited my passion, and I lost a lot of sleep just trying to make more and more art. 

In the span of a few days, I went from this: 

to this:

So, why am I telling you this? Is it to toot my own horn? No. To show off? Extra no. Do I think it’s perfect? EXTREMELY NO. In fact, I don’t think it’s even good! I could spend five straight days trying to fix his mouth alone, and I still wouldn’t be satisfied. But the point isn’t that it’s good objectively. The point is that it’s worlds better comparatively speaking. There’s a huge difference in skill level there, and that difference came from confidence. Not confidence that I’m any good, mind you, but confidence that I could one day be good, as long as I kept pressing forward, and sharing my progress with the world could only motivate me.

 I’m so fortunate that someone I admire so much reminded me of this, but you don’t need your hero to tell you that you’re good for you to feel confident. The only person who needs to convince you is you. I was actively rejecting it, which is why I needed it from an outside source- but if you are determined, you can make your own confidence. I’ll make a whole separate post on finding confidence at some point, but I know you’re tired of hearing me talk about myself in this part, so we’ll move on for now. Here’s the main thing you need to remember when it comes to sharing your art:

No matter your skill level, you are improving with every step you take. You can be proud of yourself for having the courage to be vulnerable and show the world a part of you. You are brave, and no one- not people who discourage you, not unimpressed friends and family, not cowardly anons who seek only to tear you down- can take that away from you.

Part 3: How to keep going, even when you don’t feel too confident- lessons from Lin-Manuel Miranda, with a guest appearance

Sometimes I really struggle with motivation, no matter how passionate I am. It’s just human nature. The problem is, when your motivation leaves and you stop working, you stop improving. That makes it so much harder to start again, because you feel like you’re starting over every time. You get trapped in a cycle that kills your confidence.

If this has already happened to you, it’s okay. There’s a beautiful concept called a second chance, and, despite the misleading name, you have a million of them. There’s no better time to try again than today. 

That being said, there’s only one way to stop this cycle from happening. In the words of a certain Shia LaBeouf meme: If you’re tired of starting over, stop giving up. I’m not linking it. You know the one.

Okay, maybe I’ll link it. Just once.

Now, this is easier said than done. Oh, do I know that. But the core of sticking with something isn’t staying motivated at all times. That’s just not possible. No, the way to keep going is to form a habit and commit to it. For this, I’m going to bring in my writing inspiration that I admire from a distance at all times good friend, Lin-Manuel Miranda. (I recommend you follow him on Twitter if you don’t already. He will be the light of your life immediately.)

@linmanuel wrote the musical Hamilton, if you weren’t already aware, and he’s the embodiment of the line, “How do you write like you’re running out of time?”

He never seems to run out of words. He makes everything he does look effortless, and he does so much of it. He’s just naturally gifted, right?

No. Not even, and I think it does him a great disservice to say he is. He became a talent powerhouse because he worked his butt off every day of his life in order to do what he loves. 

He wrote the soundtrack for Moana while doing 8 shows a week as the star of Hamilton, and that’s just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to his multitasking. You can argue about natural talent all you want, but that sort of thing doesn’t just happen because “he’s got more energy than me!”. It’s because of his steadfast dedication to his craft. He keeps going, whether he has inspiration or not. He stays positive and commits to putting something down on the paper, and he’s not afraid of making mistakes. 

Mistakes are how you learn. If everyone quit every time they made a mistake, no one would have ever accomplished anything, and that isn’t an exaggeration. Failure is how we learn. Don’t be afraid to keep trying, to keep building your habits, even when you fail. That’s the only true path to success. 

Part 4: Yay! We’re done! Here’s some closing thoughts.

You made it to the bottom! Wow! And this thing was really long, too. How’d you do that?

Well, I’m glad you did, because now I have the chance to tell you this: I believe in you, and it’s okay if you don’t believe in yourself yet. Sometimes, instead of having confidence or dedication or skill, you just need to believe that it’s possible to have confidence and dedication and skill, as long as you keep working on it. 

Keep going. You’ll get there. I promise.

And hey, you, don’t forget- I love you, and I’m rooting for you.