#this is practically the length of what i've written anyway just worded differently

[walkingstackofbooks]

I started writing a short thing ages ago about Julian's relationship with Garak being pretty toxic and his friends being worried about him - but it all being accidental on Garak's part because loving, adult relationships are new to him and understanding human feelings doesn't come naturally and he's just trusting and relying on Julian to say if something's wrong.

Meanwhile Julian's never had a healthy relationship either, so he's also not aware anything's wrong. He's like, in love and 'happy enough' but also too anxious to say if there's something he doesn't like in case Garak rejects him over it and he'll take Garak being a bit rough over not having Garak any day.

But I started it way too long ago to remember any of the thoughts I'd had on actual details, and now I can't actually picture the type of relationship and what's happening between them in order to finish it off 😅 So obviously now I'm spending time writing a different summary of it, rather than actually thinking about it, even though I'm sure I could probably find those red flags Garak's giving off if I let myself ponder a bit more....

(... if anyone does have any ideas for the red flags Julian's friends are spotting, I'd love to hear them - I'm definitely not above letting you doing my thinkign for me :P )

OH - and the main point of this is that Julian refuses to listens to his friends, meanwhile Garak's hearing the rumours and seeing the truth in them and starts worrying why Julian's so content to let himself be treated in a way his culture apparently ought to ahve to=aught him is "bad". It's supposed to end well haha

[penmansparadise]

Tommy Shelby ~ Dust in the Wind

*I DON'T OWN THIS GIF* *CREDIT TO GIF OWNER*

*I do not give anyone permission to repost my work in any way (translations included)*

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.5k

Warnings: Discusses infant loss/stillborn, ANGST, mild language, possibly ooc Tommy

a/n: Alright, well, it has been quite some time since I've posted on this site. First, let me get a few things out. 1) This is the most self-indulgent piece I have ever written, so if you don't want to read it, please just keep on scrolling. 2) This does not mean that I am ready to start taking requests again or that I will be regularly writing again. As stated before, this is a very self-indulgent piece because I just experienced the loss of my daughter, who was born prematurely. It has completely wrecked me, and I have just finally decided to start writing again. I am trying to navigate my loss and thought maybe writing would help. It did, and although this piece is a little darker than I usually write, it was therapeutic, and I wanted to share it because I am proud of my work. I did write it as a reader insert, but if you all read it and think it would be better as an OC story, I'll change it. Anyway, this is the first time I've ever written for Tommy, so please forgive the potential out-of-character actions he has in this story. Also, it has been a bit since I watched season 3 so forgive any mistakes. I took some liberties with the story by adding different children for Tommy and Y/N and some of the things that happened in the show. Well, I hope you enjoy this story, and would really like to know what you all think.

§

Y/N was no stranger to death.  It was Small Heath, for goodness’ sake.  Death practically ran in the water.  Being deeply entrenched in the Shelby family since she was a young girl only made her acquaintance with death’s steely grip all that much closer.  She had been to more than enough funerals in her 29 years of living.  She was present at the cemetery when her father finally drank himself into his grave, she was there to mourn when consumption took her mother, and she showed up to support Ada when they buried Freddie.  Y/N was always there when any of the Peaky boys were killed in the line of action, and she even showed up for her elderly childhood neighbor’s funeral.  But this time, it was different.  She wasn’t gathered in the woods on the outskirts of Small Heath to mourn for someone else.  There wasn’t a stranger tucked away in the wagon standing in front of her.  The Shelbys weren’t gathered to bid farewell to a distant relative or friend.  The Lees weren’t generously providing this funeral for a price.  No, the whole Shelby and Lee families were there for her and Tommy this time.

            The heat from the flames washed over Y/N’s face, making her sweat a little, but she didn’t move.  She wanted to be as close as she could possibly be.  If she had it her way, she would have jumped into the wagon and let the flames swallow her whole, but Tommy’s hand tightly gripping hers anchored her to the ground.  It had only been a few days.  It couldn’t have been more than four, but with how time was moving, it felt like a lifetime had passed.  The flames roared on, and Tommy squeezed her hand a little tighter, causing Y/N’s throat to tighten.  She swallowed down the sadness trying to claw its way out of her.  Y/N wasn’t going to break down in front of all these people.  She didn’t want to cry at all, for that matter.  It felt like it had been an endless stream of tears, and Y/N was done.  If only her aching heart would catch the memo.  Y/N’s eyes traveled the length of the flames until they landed on the little plaque one of the Lee boys carved for the wagon.  “Lily Eleanora Shelby,” it read, and suddenly, the sadness returned with a vengeance.  Y/N shut her eyes, and the events that led to this day played in her head.  She was supposed to be happy.  She was supposed to be full of unadulterated joy.  She was supposed to be cradling her newborn baby girl.  But she wasn’t.  Instead, she held onto her husband’s hand like a lifeline as she watched her daughter’s wagon burn.  One day.  That’s all it took to completely destroy her.

            Even as she stood there, watching the flames devour her daughter’s wagon, she still recounted everything she did four days ago, trying to figure out what could have possibly led to this result.  Four days ago, she was a cheery 29-week pregnant woman.  A stay-at-home mom who, with the help of their maid Frances, cared for her and Tommy’s three-year-old son, Benjamin.  That day had started like any other.  Tommy was already out, and she could hear Frances chasing Ben around his room.  The little boy’s giggles echoed through the house, and she remembers smiling as she slid a hand over her round tummy.  Y/N couldn’t wait for Ben to be a big brother.  She got ready like any other day and eventually made her way to her son, who welcomed her presence with a hug and a kiss.  The little boy rubbed her tummy, planted a chaste kiss to her navel, and smiled at her. 

            “I just wanted to let my little brother or sister know that I love them too, Mommy,” he had said, causing Y/N’s heart to clench.  Even at three, he was a charmer, just like his father.  She knelt to be at eye level with her son and lifted her hand to cradle his face.

            “You’re going to be a wonderful big brother; do you know that?”

            “Of course I will be, Mommy.  I’ve been practicing sharing my toys with Frances and making sure I listen real good to you and daddy.”  He said, standing up straighter to exhibit his full height.  “Frances says I need to be a good example for the new baby, or else Santa won’t bring me any presents this year for Christmas.  How outrageous is that, Mommy!?”

            Y/N stifled a laugh before brushing Ben’s hair back and looking up to see Frances smirking from her spot by Ben’s block tower. 

“I’m sure Santa won’t forget about you this year, honey.”  She told her son.  The boy gave her a toothy grin before trotting off to continue playing with his blocks. 

Y/N returned to her feet and watched Ben for another minute before retreating to the new nursery.  It was already put together, and she often found herself hiding away in that room.  She glided her hand over the bassinet and let the soft fabric tickle her palm.  The walls were already decorated with paintings of horses, some of which came from Ben, who insisted that his younger sibling have them.  She sat on the rocking chair and gently rubbed her hands over her stomach, earning a little kick from her unborn child.  A soft laugh fell from her lips as she looked down at her growing bump.

“Sorry to disturb you, love.”  She whispered, her hands still rubbing slow circles.  “Mommy just wanted to let you know she loves you very much.  And so does your big brother, who is very excited to meet you.”

Another kick came.

“You’re excited to meet him, too?  I’ll have to let him know.”

“Daddy loves you too, just in case Mommy forgot to mention that.”  Tommy’s voice came from the doorway, causing Y/N to look up.  He gave her a full smile, the one he reserved only for her and their son, and it fell over her like a warm blanket.

“Mommy was just about to get there.  Had daddy not interrupted her,” she said.  Tommy hummed in response as he floated across the room to kneel before her.  He looked up at Y/N through his lashes and said, “Sure you were,” before removing her hands and planting a soft kiss where they had just lay.

“Daddy can’t wait to meet you,” he whispered against her stomach, his warm breath radiating throughout her body.  Tommy looked up at Y/N before standing and pressing his lips to hers.  When he pulled away, a smile matching his spread across her face.  She was beaming.  She had dreamt of being in this position for many years as a teenager, and now it was real.  Thomas Shelby was hovering over her very pregnant figure in their unborn second child’s nursery.  Their lively three-year-old son’s muffled laughter ricocheted off the hallway walls.  It was everything she ever wanted, and she was so happy.

“What’s that look for?”  Tommy asked, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“Nothing,” she hummed, gaining a skeptical eyebrow raise from her husband.  “I just love you.  That’s all.”

Tommy nestled his face into the crook of her neck, peppering kisses along the exposed skin.  Then he pulled back, looked into her eye, and said, “I love you more than you know, Y/N.”

He gave her one more swift kiss before standing and sauntering out of the room with a smirk.  The rest of the day went by like any day usually went.  She sat around and read, played with Ben, ate lunch at 1100, put Ben down for a nap at 1230, and then went back to reading.  Tommy was in and out, balancing work from home and the office.  She could tell that day was extra tiring from how he sighed every time he left the house.  It was after Tommy left for the last time of the day that Y/N got the idea to wander down to the kitchen.  When she entered, the cooks were hard at work peeling and slicing vegetables.

“Good evening, Mrs. Shelby,” the head chef began, “is there anything we can do for you, ma’am?”

Y/N clasped her hands behind her back as she rocked back and forth on her heels like a guilty toddler.  “Um,” she said, “actually, yes, there is.”  She stepped into the kitchen and moved her hands to rest on her stomach.  “I was thinking that maybe tonight you and the rest of the staff could take the evening off and allow me to cook dinner.”

The head chef’s eyes widened at her statement.  Everyone else stilled for a brief moment, waiting for him to speak.  “Oh,” he stammered, “b-but, Mrs. Shelby, and please forgive me if I am overstepping, but shouldn’t you be resting instead of cooking?”  His eyes dipped down to her protruding abdomen before landing back on her face. 

“Resting?  I rest all day.  Really,” Y/N said, waving the chef’s comment off, “it would be nothing.  I actually miss being in the kitchen.  It’ll be nice.  Therapeutic.”  She couldn’t miss the wide-eyed stares from everyone in the room, but she chose to ignore them.  When they didn’t move to leave, she stepped forward, placed a gentle hand on the head chef’s back, and began leading him out of the kitchen. 

“Trust me,” she said, “I’ll be fine.  Thank you for your concern, though.”

Once she ushered the staff out, she began working on dinner.  It had been a long time since she cooked, but it came back to her like riding a bicycle.  She couldn’t escape the excitement that bubbled inside of her as she fell into a groove preparing dinner for her family again.  She boiled the potatoes the staff had peeled, sauteed the peppers and onions, and braised the beef that was in the refrigerator.  About an hour into cooking, a dull pain emanated from her lower back and into her hips.  The dull pain slowly morphed into a pressure that she just assumed was normal 29-week pregnancy symptoms.  It’s just the baby getting comfortable.  The baby is just moving around and pressing a little harder than usual on my cervix.  She ignored the feelings and finished cooking before asking the kitchen staff for help to bring the meal into the dining room.  Once the table was set, Frances went and fetched her boys, alerting them that not only had Y/N cooked dinner, but she had also served it.  She greeted the boys in the doorway of the dining room and gave each a kiss before they all sat to eat.  That pain returned in her lower back and hips, making it hard to get comfortable in her seat.  She let out a low groan of discomfort, and Tommy placed his hand over hers to gain her attention.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his eyebrows knitted together.  She swallowed another groan that threatened to come out and nodded with a strained smile.  Y/N could tell that her weak answer did nothing to reassure Tommy, but he didn’t press her. 

“How do you like the meal?”  She asked, doing her best to not sound strained against the constant pressure she felt pulsing between her legs.

Before Tommy could answer, Ben nodded with enthusiasm and stuffed a heaping scoop of mashed potatoes into his mouth.  “I love it, Mommy!  This is the best dinner I’ve ever had,” he said through his mouthful of food. 

Y/N smiled, but it must have looked more like a grimace because this time, Tommy stood up and moved to her side.  “Y/N,” he said, placing his hands on her shoulders, “are you sure you’re okay?  Should I have Frances phone the doctor?” 

Y/N grabbed his hand and squeezed it as she looked up to her husband.  “I’m fine, darling.  I promise.  Let’s just finish dinner.”  She pulled his hand to her mouth and pressed a kiss to his knuckles.  Then, using her head, she motioned for Tommy to sit again.  He stared at her for another moment, the line on his forehead deepening, before sighing and retaking his seat.  She kept her discomfort under wraps for the remainder of dinner because Tommy didn’t mention anything until after they had put Ben down for the night and were about to crawl into bed.  The pressure and pain had only grown in that short time, and she was beginning to get nervous.  She was sitting on the edge of their bed, eyes shut, and taking some deep breaths when Tommy’s hands landed on her thighs.  She could feel him kneeling between her legs, but she didn’t open her eyes.  She didn’t want to admit that her anxiety was consuming her or that the pain and pressure had turned into abdominal cramps.  It wasn’t until she suddenly felt the bed beneath her sopping wet that she looked at Tommy.  He looked down and saw the fluid dripping from her nightgown and their duvet before his gaze landed on her.  She could see his mouth moving, but his voice was drowned out by her rapidly beating heart.  Something is wrong.  She thought.  This shouldn’t be happening.  I’m too early.  Tommy pushed away the hair that had begun sticking to her sweaty forehead, and then ran out of the room.  His voice was distant, but she could have sworn he said something about calling Polly and Ada.  She wasn’t sure because all she could focus on was the sharp pain that was puncturing her abdomen and the immense pressure building between her legs.  Before she could comprehend what was happening, Tommy scooped her up and lay her on their bed.  What about the sheets?  I’m going to ruin the bed. 

She must have said those thoughts aloud because Tommy quickly said, “Don’t worry about the bed, love.  We’ll get another one if we have to.”  The pain was only getting worse, and she had to shut her eyes and bite her tongue to prevent a groan from escaping.  She didn’t know how much time had passed before Polly and Ada came rushing into the room, shoving Tommy into the hallway.  When it was just the three of them, Y/N finally let out a guttural moan.  She didn’t remember this much pain when she gave birth to Ben.  Something is wrong.  Something is not right.  Those words chanted in her head like a mantra.  Polly set her up on her bed while Ada used a wet towel to wipe away the sweat beading on her face.

“Just breathe, Y/N,” Polly chirped soothingly in her ear. “Ada and I are here.  We’re going to take care of you.”

Anxiety coursed through her veins and unfurled in her gut when the pressure between her legs began to increase.  She tried to cross her legs and prevent the inevitable from happening, but Polly and Ada wouldn’t let her.  Tears of pain and fear streamed down her cheeks.  She wanted to scream at them to stop and let her try to stop this urge to push.  But the pain and pressure were too much, and the only sound that came out of her mouth was a low groan. 

She could feel Polly’s hand between her legs, and the words “crowning” and “push” floated to her ears.  Ada took her hand, and Y/N tried with every fiber in her body to not push, but her body had other plans.  She held her breath and begged her body to stop forcing her baby out of her, but it was too late.  The pressure was building.  Climbing to a peak that felt like it would rip her in half until suddenly, she felt relief.  Her heavy breathing filled the room, and she waited impatiently for the tell-tale cries of her baby, but they never came.  She opened her eyes and looked at Polly and then at Ada.  They both just stared back at her, and Y/N knew something wasn’t right. 

“Y/N,” was all Polly whispered, and she knew.  The silence was deafening.  She lay there, completely exposed, bleeding, and sweaty, and waited, but her baby gave her nothing.  Her eyes shut and then, without any strength to stop it, let out a crushing wail.  The tears overflowed, and when she opened her eyes again, she watched the door burst open and Tommy storm in.  He moved over to where Polly held their baby and looked down at their motionless child.

“Why isn’t she crying?”  He asked. 

It was a girl.  I had a baby girl.  Even through her tears and sobs, she could see Tommy’s chest rising and falling at a rapid pace.

“Why isn’t she fucking crying, Pol!?”  Tommy’s voice boomed through the room and mixed with her loud cries to create the saddest song.  She could see the distress in the slant of his shoulders and how he ran a hurried hand through his cropped hair.  He didn’t wait for anyone to answer his question before bounding across the room and landing on the floor next to her.  His hands found hers, and she could feel them shaking.  His lips pressed to Y/N’s forehead and cheeks, absorbing only some of the tears that continued to cascade down her face. 

“It’s okay,” he whispered, but the way his voice cracked in her ear told her he didn’t even believe those words.  “I love you, Y/N.”  She could hear that his words dripped with the same despair she felt.  “You know that, ey?  I love you, and it’s going to be okay.”

Tommy’s words echoed in her head as she watched the fire blaze around her daughter’s wagon.  She wanted to be convinced that his words were true, but she couldn’t bring herself to believe them.  When the funeral finished, they all returned to Arrow House, where the wake was being held.  Even being in a crowded room surrounded by family, Y/N felt alone.  Her whole body was like radio static – unfeeling.  Tommy’s hand was on her lower back the entire time, but she still felt like she was floating away.  Nothing could tether her to this reality anymore.

Several people approached her and Tommy, and with every person, a new empty comment emerged. 

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” which loosely translates to, “Boy, that sucks to be you.”

“I can’t even imagine what you’re going through,” which means, “I’m really glad I’m not dealing with that!”

And, “At least you still have Ben,” equates to, “You shouldn’t be upset when you still have one kid alive.”

With every consolation tossed at her feet like the change she used to find on the ground when she was a child, this unknown sensation began to build in her chest.  It was heavy and wild, like an untamed animal.  It was red and bared its teeth, ready to bite.  It was something Y/N had never felt before.  She was usually understanding, calm, and collected.  She wasn’t hot-headed or easily provoked.  But now, she was quickly discovering that what she was feeling was rage.  Hot and stormy, it ravaged her insides, and instead of beating it back into its cage, Y/N leaned into it, letting it hold her battered and broken soul up.

After the wake, Y/N let her sadness swallow her.  She hid in one of the guest rooms daily and even went as far as to avoid Tommy.  She couldn’t bring herself to look at him because every time their eyes met, two things happened.  1) she could see the grief he was carrying like cinder blocks chained to his neck, and 2) she could see the way he looked at her like she was a broken piece of artwork now.  She knew she was a shell of the woman she once was, but it hurt her even more to know that Tommy saw it so plainly in her, too.  He didn’t see her as the strong, independent woman he fell in love with.  No, now she was a ghost of her former self, and she couldn’t take his pity for having lost their daughter and herself. 

Although clearly grieving, Tommy didn’t seem nearly as phased by their loss as Y/N.  He was able to jump back into work, and now, nearly a week since the wake, he was back to being fully invested.  If Y/N were being honest, she envied Tommy for being able to distract himself.  She couldn’t do anything but hide from the memories that haunted their home and do her best to still be a good mother to Ben.  When a week finally passed since laying her daughter to rest, Y/N knew she had to do something.  She would talk to Polly and beg for some sort of work.  She didn’t care that Polly insisted that Y/N take some “time to heal.”  She needed a distraction.  Being in Arrow House felt more like a prison than a home.

Y/N got dressed and began to head for the door after handing Ben over to Frances.  But, as she approached Tommy’s office, she could hear him talking.  She peeked through the tiny crack to discover John and Arthur sitting at Tommy’s desk. 

“Ada’s handling the Communists.  She’s got someone on the inside who’s giving us information,” Tommy stated.  “And,” he shuffled papers around on his desk, “I’m…dealing with Father Hughes.”

“And what about the horny princess?” John asked, leaning forward and adjusting his jacket.  “You gonna figure out where her family keeps the jewels?”

Tommy waved him off.  “I already know.”  That single statement had both his brothers and Y/N leaning forward just slightly.  Tommy lay a large blueprint on his desk, causing the brothers to stand.

“They keep their entire collection in this strong room.  There’s no way to get in from above without a key,” Tommy stated, flattening the paper and looking up at his brothers. 

“So, what’s your plan, brother?”  Arthur asked like a good soldier.  Tommy straightened slightly, and Y/N could tell he was a little uncomfortable.  He pulled a cigarette from his case and slid it across his bottom lip before lighting it and taking a drag. 

“We’ve gotta tunnel in,” Tommy said without hesitation.  Those four words landed on the Shelby men like a grenade, and Y/N could almost feel the atmosphere shift at the statement.  None of them moved.  It was evident that the idea of tunneling hadn’t been a thought in any of their minds since the war.  Tommy cleared his throat. 

“I know,” he began, “but there’s no other way.  I’ve already got Johnny Dogs ready to help.  He’ll set up camp where we’ll start the tunnel.”

The air was thick, and again, neither of the brothers spoke.  She knew they didn’t like the plan, but they would comply because Tommy was giving the orders.  Y/N watched as John and Arthur fiddled with their suit jackets, their anxious energy hitting her like a baseball bat to the face.  It wasn’t until Arthur blew out a puff of air and ran his hand through his messy hair, exposing his apprehension, that Y/N knew what she would do.  Without even a second thought, Y/N opened the door to Tommy’s office, and all three men turned to face her.  She was only adding insult to injury as the silence in the room became even heavier.  Neither of her brothers-in-law had seen her since the wake, and the uneasy energy was almost palpable.  Tommy stepped toward her but didn’t get too close, which Y/N could see his brothers noticed.

“Y/N, is everything alright, love?”

Her eyes flitted between all three of the Shelby men for a moment before finally landing back on Tommy.  She knew she probably looked like a deer in headlights.  Her stare was frazzled, and she knew she looked a bit harried.  But she still squared her shoulders and stated with the most conviction she could muster, “Let me help.”

All three men’s eyes widened to the size of saucers, but only one spoke. 

“Excuse me?”  Tommy asked, incredulity lacing each word.  There was no going back now.  Y/N had to double down on her commitment.  So, she waved her hand toward the blueprints on Tommy’s desk. 

“With the tunnel.”

Tommy’s eyes turned a shade darker, and Y/N could see his jaw tick.  She only glanced at John and Arthur for a second, and they both looked like they might choke on the thickness of the air.  She felt like she might, too, but she held her ground.  She was not a fragile porcelain doll and could help her husband like she used to.  Tommy coughed, then turned to his brothers and, in a calm voice, asked, “Would you mind giving me a moment with my wife, boys?”

Neither of the brothers wasted a second before hustling out into the hallway.  Once the door shut behind them, Tommy’s steely gaze landed back on Y/N.  Before, she would have felt a little nervous under Tommy’s intense glare.  She had never inserted herself into his shoddy business in the past.  But now, she didn’t care.  She needed a distraction and a way to prove that she was still a force to be reckoned with even after her loss.  Y/N could see Tommy trying to contain his anger as his nostrils flared and his fists clenched and unclenched at his sides.  His eyes shut for a brief moment as he took a deep inhale.

“Are you fucking insane, Y/N?”  He finally asked, his voice level.  Y/N’s mouth fell open, and she reared back just slightly.  But before she could say anything, Tommy continued.

“You’ve been avoiding me, your husband, for a week in our own home, and when you decide to finally speak to me, that is what you say?”

Y/N rolled her eyes.  “Tommy.”

“No, Y/N!”  He shouted, causing her to startle.  “You can’t just move past this!”

That statement made Y/N see red.  In the week since Lily’s passing, Tommy did precisely that.  Y/N’s spine straightened, and her whole body became rigid.

“Why not!?” she shouted back, stomping toward Tommy.  “Is that not what you did?  Pretend like we didn’t lose our daughter?  You threw yourself into your work.  Why can’t I do the same thing?”  Her chest was heaving, and as badly as she didn’t want them to, she could feel tears pricking at her eyes.  She hated that she was a frustrated crier.  Her fists were in tight balls at her sides, and every muscle in her body was flexed.  She was ready for a fight.  She was prepared for Tommy to yell back at her.  In fact, she wanted him to yell at her.  She wanted Tommy to tell her how stupid her idea was and that she was out of her mind.  She mentally begged Tommy to scream at her for barging in on his meeting with his brothers and even thinking about tunneling.  Y/N wanted to feel the passion he usually had toward her before they lost their baby.  She needed him to reassure her that she was not a lost cause he was housing but his fierce wife.  But he didn’t yell.  The fire in his eyes dimmed, and his features softened.  The pity eyes were back, and she was struck by the sadness she was trying to escape.  She shut her eyes in a lame attempt to avoid looking at her husband and keep her tears at bay, but it was futile.  The tiny droplets fell down her cheeks, and when she opened her eyes again, Tommy was right in front of her.  He lifted his hands to cradle her face, and she hated how she melted into his touch.  It had been a week since she even looked at Tommy, let alone touched him.  She couldn’t lie, she missed him.  But it was easier to hide from the pain and suffering they both shared than deal with it head-on. 

Y/N let out a shaky breath and looked into her husband’s eyes. 

“Why can’t I, Tommy?” She asked, barely above a whisper.  “Let me help you.  Please.”

Tommy’s thumb stroked her cheeks, wiping away a stray tear.  He cataloged her features, and for the first time in a very long time, she wished she could see into Tommy’s thoughts.  She stared at him and hoped that everything she wanted to say was conveyed in her eyes.  I’m no longer the same woman I was a week ago.  I’m a failure as a woman and a mother.  I’m alone, letting my thoughts eat me alive.  I’m scared you won’t love this broken woman I have become.  Her eyes pleaded for Tommy to let her prove that she could still be the same person as before.  She needed to prove to him and herself that she wasn’t hopeless.  But when Tommy shut his eyes and let out a sigh, she knew his answer before he even said it. 

He looked at Y/N and said sotto voce, “You know I can’t, love.”

Y/N’s body went rigid, and that new familiar sensation began to bubble in her gut.  She could feel it rumbling and swirling, mixing with her fear and sadness, creating an uncontrollable fury.  It burned like venom, but she found herself welcoming the sting.  Her once soft features hardened, and Tommy noticed the change immediately.  Her stare was blank, and the joy that used to fill it had vanished.  Before losing her daughter, she never understood why the war had changed Tommy.  She supported him while his experiences ravaged him, but she never knew why he returned with a harder exterior than when he left.  But now, after suffering such a devastating loss, she understood.  There is no coming back from witnessing a tragedy. 

Tommy’s rough thumbs brushed against Y/N’s tear-stained cheeks and bent until his forehead rested on hers.  “Where did the woman I married three years ago disappear to?”  He said, his breath fanning over her face.  He pulled back, his distressed stare locking Y/N in place, and whispered, “I know she’s in there.”

The words stung like a slap to her already bruised ego.  She could feel the weight of that question in every bone of her body.  All her fears began raging a war inside her head, and she could feel her armor cracking.  She could feel the tears clogging her throat, burning as she swallowed them down.  Her lungs felt like they weren’t getting nearly enough oxygen, and she was only seconds away from either crying or breaking something.  With a swift step backward, Y/N separated herself from her husband.  She hated to admit that her body yearned for Tommy’s hands back on her, but she batted that thought away as quickly as it appeared.  Tommy slowly lowered his hands back to his sides, and she leveled him with a callous stare.

“That woman is gone, Tommy,” she spat.  “She burned to ash with her daughter a week ago.”  She could see the way her words landed on Tommy like bullets striking his chest.  Some of her felt bad, but the angry beast slowly becoming her new persona convinced her she did nothing wrong. 

Y/N waited for Tommy to say something, anything, back to her, and when he didn’t, she turned and reached for the door.  Confidence that felt different from what she was used to coursed through her body like electricity.  She was a little scared of who she was becoming, but those wild and fiery feelings of rage were the only things that brought her peace.  Before pulling the door open, she turned back toward Tommy and said, “If you won’t let me help you, Tommy, I’ll find someone else who will.  You forget, my roots run deep in this business, too.”

Tommy let out a dry laugh.  “You’re really threatening me, now, ey?”

Y/N’s grip tightened around the cold door handle, and, through gritted teeth, she growled, “It’s not a threat, Thomas.  It’s a promise.”  Without a second look, she flung the door open and stepped out. 

John and Arthur straightened at her abrupt appearance, and she just brushed past them, letting her feet carry her toward the front of their home.  She knew they heard her and Tommy’s conversation, but she didn’t care anymore.  This newfound boldness that her bereavement had granted her washed away any and all anxiety.   

“Hope you enjoyed the show, boys,” Y/N tossed over her shoulder toward John and Arthur.  “Next time, I’ll sell tickets and make talking to my husband more worthwhile rather than a waste of my time.”

She didn’t turn back around to see their reaction to her words.  Instead, she showed herself out and hopped into one of Tommy’s many vehicles.  She would find another way if he wouldn’t allow her to help.  The image of a tall Jewish man whom she briefly met a while back when Tommy first started expanding into London entered her mind.  She knew exactly who would be more than willing to give her a hand in her effort to help the Shelby family – Alfie Solomons.

[pizzaronipasta]

Computer Cursive

Okay so, I've had an idea. Y'know how the reason why the world's writing systems look so different is often because they were developed for writing on different materials? Well, to my knowledge, there hasn't ever been a writing system developed from the ground up for handwriting on a computer using a mouse. Which is a shame, because other writing systems are so ill-suited to mouse handwriting.

The Latin alphabet was originally carved into stone. But then a cursive script came around so it could be written on paper more easily. Who's to say the same can't happen with mouse handwriting?

So I tried my hand at making my own "computer cursive." Since precision with a mouse is much harder than with a pen, chisel, or stylus, I tried removing as much fine detail from the letters as I could while keeping them distinct and recognizable. Specifically, producing strokes of precise shapes is especially hard, so I prioritized making the arrangement of strokes recognizable, no matter how the strokes themselves ended up looking. Also, since long continuous lines are less than conducive to digital error correction (ctrl+z would remove a whole word instead of just a single letter or less), and because the risk of making an error gets quite high after only a short while of continuous marking, the term "computer cursive" ended up being something of a misnomer. It was best to keep letters disconnected from each other, thus not fulfilling the definition of a cursive script. However, "computer cursive" makes for a convenient shorthand that's reflective of the thought process behind its creation, so I'm sticking with it.

Anyway, here's what I came up with:

So first of all, it looks cool as shit if I do say so myself, though that's probably just because of the calligraphy pen brush I used (and I recommend you do the same if you ever try using this). But in seriousness, I'm very happy with how easy it is to recognize most of the letters here, and the rest are easy to get used to.

Some usage notes:

the letter c should start going diagonally down and left, and gradually curve further downwards. it doesn't matter how far it ends up curving, as long as the curve is noticeable

the letter k needs its bottom-right stroke to be curved as seen in the image, or it'll look too much like an h

yes, the letter o is a triangle. deal with it

p and q are distinguished by the lengths of their rightmost strokes: p's is longer (roughly as tall as the other stroke) and q's is shorter

r and v are distinguished in the same way: r's is longer (taller than the other stroke by a noticeable margin) and v's is shorter (more symmetrical). also, r's stem should technically be vertical while v should technically be completely symmetrical, but that isn't a feasible distinction to reliably make in practice, so don't worry about it

the letter s should start going diagonally up and left, and gradually curve down and around to start going diagonally down and right. it doesn't matter how far it ends up curving, as long as it fits this description

the letter u should start going straight down, or down and slightly right, and gradually curve further right. it doesn't matter how far it ends up curving, as long as the curve is noticeable

In general, don't worry too much about it looking tidy—it's specifically meant to be serviceable despite inevitably looking sloppy from time to time.

[monstersandmagicians]

Anyways, cheered when I checked my inbox this morning. Been waiting months for this announcement.

So, thoughts:

-Avallon Hotel and Spa: obvious Arthurian connection here. Healing springs. Will be fascinated to see the level of significance here - I think Maggie typically names with easter eggs in mind whereas I try to dig as deep as possible when analysing these choices, so we'll see.

-WONDER: so, Stiefvater said that she is trying to writing Wonder as opposed to Horror. The synopses, especially the QBD one, are written as if for a gothic-ish sort of novel, the sort that leaves you feeling claustrophobic. Considering the effect Sinner had on me, I do trust Stiefvater to achieve what she is setting out to do.

-Synopsis: again, the sort of synopsis I would read, think has the good bones for a story, but know it will make me depressed so I'd skip. Again, I have faith.

-"class conflict, an ensemble cast, about four different kinds of love": from the email. Book's set in the Appalachian mountains in the 1942, so the class stuff will be good. Willing to bet on some good sibling content, even though we only have two named characters. Obviously, this will be an adult novel, but I feel its going to sit comfortably next to The Scorpio Races in my head.

-Cars: nothing has mentioned cars, even the bits that have talked about it being a Stiefvater novel. Still, I expect cars, in loving details.

-June Hudson: Okay, so June Hennessy was my first thought on seeing the name, then the fact the book is coming out in June. Hudson? All I've got is the Hudson River folks. From the synopsis I don't think I can make an assumption about which way Stiefvater's taking her character, but I'm assuming she's a Responsible, Practical one. Is described as enigmatic

-Tucker Minnick, FBI Agent: Love the name, again, look forward to finding out where the components were plucked from. Despite working for the FBI, the main synopsis* suggests he hails from the Appalachian. Class conflict bound up in one man?

-Cover: so, a cover had been included. It's white and purple with a house on. Generic and I don't see people pitching a fit over it, but it includes a "sticker" saying "Cover to Be Revealed". That makes sense, we're ages out from the release. Still, feels like the publisher creating problems for Stiefvater there. Looking forward to the real cover and I hope it feels more Stiefvater-y, even if others aren't fond of it.

-The Listeners: while I'm stomping on hornets' nests, the title. Simplistic, but evocative. Would love to know what is listening to who and how many ways this title can be applied.

-Betrayal: the QBD synopsis uses the word betrayal. Could mean anything, tbh.

-The Nazi Thing: has the potential to be really interesting and insightful, if Stiefvater hands it well. Considering her experiences with fandom, I imagine she has proceeded with more caution than others (*cough*Chibnal*cough).

-Length and Date: According to QBD, the paperback is 416 pages (a very satisfying number). Penguin has the hardback at 384. This suggests longer than MI, shorter than CDTH. Penguin has release date at June 3rd, while QBD (Australian Bookstore) has the 10th. The email just says June, so I would say, expect early June.

-Bears: I would rather approach a bear than the TRC fandom, tbh.

*(QBD synopsis differs from the one Stiefvater released; doesn't include Minnick at all)

[goodluckclove]

I've never really written anything serious at length at all. All I have this one story I want to get into and write every page, because I am so attached to the characters and world I've designed. Yet, I can't find myself doing so because of that attachment. I feel as don't have anywhere near enough experience to ensure I do the world that I'm so invested in justice.

I've thought doing other writing projects to learn and gain that experience, but I just can't bring myself to care about the practice beyond "if I throw random words on this page, maybe my future words for will be as cool as I want them to be"

I've got one thing I want to make and only thing only, but how do I get to the point of making that thing if meaningful practice seems so difficult?

Okay so I hope you're prepared because we definitely need to have a conversation about this as I cannot properly get into the whole deal without you being able to respond and tell me your thoughts right goddamned now. Still, I have a few pages I need to write so I can give you some insight now to consider before I try and force you to talk to me.

Different people create in different ways. Some people, I think, can direct a story from start to finish in their heads, turn it into a step-by-step outline, and use that as a guide to complete a book exactly as they planned and enjoy it. I've heard this happens so I have to assume it does, but I have never and will never be that type of person.

I love Songbird Elegies. I am absorbed in the world I created and the people that inhabit it. My Spotify algorithm is fucked because I pretty much only listen to the massive playlist I made for songs I associate with the series. At the same time, I know my own creative process enough to understand that if I get too attached to the specifics of the story it'll only harm my ability to write it productively.

There was a point where Edgar's abusive mother was supposed to find him in New Orleans and arrange to meet at Cafe du Monde. The main two get there, unsure what they'd find, and it's revealed that Scott has secretly contacted all the other Birthrights Edgar met in Bluerose to meet there too and offer emotional support. I loved the thought of Edgar, someone who has felt alone for the entirety of his life, suddenly being in the middle of a massive web of unconditional support at his most terrified.

Yeah that scene will never happen. It's on a completely different path now.

I don't want to be one of those people to sort of waggle their fingers and say how your characters have a life of their own, but also I do have a history of psychosis so like fuck it I think I'm allowed to say that. I think a lot of writers have similar experiences, and maybe some of them to the intensity that I do. I don't hear Edgar's voice in my head without my wanting to, of course, but by the time I started book two I had enough of a sense of his character to be able to listen when he said I do not want to be a few hours from where I was abused for decades anymore. It's my story, but I've done this long enough to know when to pass the reigns for a while.

If you create an entire world in your head and you get too exact, there's no room to explore. And exploring is the best part of writing, in my opinion. When I needed to practice I didn't do it by throwing unrelated words at the wall, I did it by trying to write the idea I had and adjusting it until it either worked or I lost interest for the time being. Legitimately, 13 novels in, this is what I had before I started Blind Trust:

"What if magic was like...a disability? But it was supposed to help the already disabled. But it gets appropriated by primarily neurotypical wizard-types - somehow. And some guys...fall in love...yes."

Less than a year later and that is roughly fifteen percent of the current plot. And it kicks ass.

Anyway that's how I roll and it works for me. I love my characters desperately and usually get a sense of my protagonists that boarder on the delusional. Those are my qualifications to say that the best thing someone with a mind like me could do is focus less on every detail and more on the potential that comes with the people and the premise.

And write your thing, man. Give it a shot. Experiment and don't panic too hard if your plan doesn't work. It won't be perfect at first which is good because then it could become even better.

Get ready man, we're definitely talking about this more one-on-one.

[goosedawn]

//Oh gods, welp, here I go [cracks knuckles]

//Tiny farmer Techno Au,,,, prepare for some future lore cjkhcxk

Timestamps from: "I Became the Mayor of Skyblock" by Technoblade

--

(5:39) "I decided to call in an old rival..." - Technoblade

Techno continues on with his life for days on, but finally, he somehow finds his way to society again, seeing that the entire town has been taken over by a tyrant of a mayor. The townspeople called for aid, and from the depths of his cold heart, he decided to help (....what do you mean he only did it so people would buy his potatoes-).

For a bit, he did his work by himself, only getting help from some other living scarecrows (listen, I really like the idea of some scarecrows coming alive [cough] PHIL [cough]), TimeDeo and Jyn (...? Is that how you spell their name?). (Dunno what the process for taking over the mayor would be exactly but,,, chchskdlcx,,,)

But you can only do so much work with... living scarecrows. With a bit of reluctance, he calls for help from SquidKid. And then together they defeat Dante :]

(Also, it's funny to think that the town has a mayor that they've never seen. All they know is that the previous mayor is gone, and the new one is pretty chill. /Lh)

--

(6:31) "Is there any way to do the teleport room without just like.. guessing?" - SquidKid

(6:36) "You are like... little baby, watch this." - Technoblade

-

Being tiny has its perks.

"Wait, what do you mean you can solve this maze in an hour or less?"

Techno turned towards the bigger hybrid, crossing his arms as he nonchalantly stared up at them. SquidKid only gives him a baffled look back, their tentacle-like hair slightly sprung up to further show their confusion.

He knows this only because he's known the man for far longer than they've known him.

He knows more personal information than should be shared, somehow finding the other farmer's parent's numbers along with a few other things. He had jokingly pocketed away the parent's number in the back of his mind, although, he had no real plans of ever using it. Well, maybe he had played with the idea of calling SquidKid's parents to dunk on the fact that a wild borrower had been winning their competition, but he ultimately decided not to for obvious reasons.

He knows the hybrid's schedule like the back of his hand, having to work around it for the better part of an entire year. Using that knowledge, he had sabotaged countless of SquidKid's tools, poking small, unnoticeable holes into their hoses and irrigation systems.

And he knows SquidKid's behavior from how they speak to how they express any sort of emotion. Lies were easily debunked from the small twitch of the corner of their mouth as they suppressed a smile, and anger was easily shown from how their strange hair pieces would spike up.

Yet, he can't help but feel slightly at unease in front of them. He supposes it's only natural, seeing that there's a huge height difference between them. Plus, this was practically the first time they've been closer than two fields of length in between them. Well, disregarding the times he's gone snooping around the bigger farmer's place, but that's neither here nor there.

"Squid, look at me," he raises his hand, gesturing towards himself, "I'm tiny, yes?" the squid hybrid nodded slowly, and he pointed at the stalks of tall fern and crop, "to you, this would basically be a wall you can't get through. For me, though...."

He jumped off his perch, tightly holding his trusty bag and sliding towards the flora before easily disappearing behind the thicket and appearing moments later at eye level, holding the stalk of the crops easily,

"It's easy to go through."

SquidKid makes a quiet 'oh' sound with another nod of their head, looking slightly in awe. The amazed look turns to one of confusion again, though, and he awaited their next question with a raised eyebrow, "but... the maze is big, how are you going to get through it all without tiring?"

Techno grinned, lifting a hand to his mouth and loudly whistling. He doesn't hesitate to slide back to the floor as a blur of white fur bounds towards him.

"Carl!" he exclaims, wrapping his hands around the rabbit's fluffy neck and combing through the fur with his fingers. He backs away to pull out a broken-off piece of a carrot, feeding it to the eager bunny before turning towards the astonished squid hybrid with a grin, "my noble steed," he waves a hand towards the still feeding rabbit.

"You tamed a rabbit," they dumbly point out, having to metaphorically pick up their jaw off of the floor.

"Yup, I did. you can stop gawking now," he huffed, "you're going to catch a bug with your mouth if you keep your mouth wide open."

"...And you named it Carl?"

"What kind of question is that?" he snorts, shaking his head, "yes, I named him Carl, and yes he's going to be the one helping me through the maze. Any other silly questions?"

The man stumbles over their words for a second, and he amusedly watches from below, "I- yeah, yeah, you bozo," they finally settle on saying.

"Alright, cool, I'm going to go find the exit now," he turns away from the hybrid, climbing on the back of the rabbit's back, "see you there."

He doesn't give SquidKid the chance to respond, already setting off through the thicket. And he sure doesn't suppress the grin that crawls up his face as Carl bounds past stalks and stalks of crops.

Having distracted SquidKid enough to get away, the bigger farmer had barely thought to ask how they themselves would traverse the maze.

They must have realized soon enough, though, since not seconds later, he hears a strangled yell of his name along with a loud groan.

--

Pain, it's been too long since I've written something /Lh

--

"(Also, it's funny to think that the town has a mayor that they've never seen. All they know is that the previous mayor is gone, and the new one is pretty chill. /Lh)"

When the townspeople come to greet the new mayor, they come thinking that it's SquidKid who's done everything since it's always been SquidKid going into town and doing the talking- the scarecrows being unable to do so for obvious reasons, and Techno unable to do so without revealing his entire existence.

So when the sheepish farmer calmly explains that he's just a helper of the mayor, they're... rightfully confused. At first, they want to know the real identity of the mayor, but SquidKid wearily tries explaining that said mayor really doesn't want to be revealed. They only conceded when he shakily points to the unknown farmer's territory, most of them getting the message.

Techno is very thankful that SquidKid doesn't take his title and also doesn't reveal his existence.

-

"It would have been so easy for the squid hybrid to just pluck his tiny form from their back pocket and shove the wrathful spotlight onto him.

He wasn't even able to even escape now as he found himself stuck in the hybrid's pocket. The crowd had come quickly after SquidKid had removed the other mayor for him, and he remembered feeling panicked as he stared at the other hybrid. The next thing he knew, he was shoved into their pocket.

He couldn't get out without tumbling to the ground with a splat, and, even worse, the possibility of one of the townspeople pointing him out with gossip-drinking eyes was incredibly high too.

He shakily gulped, greedily taking the air around him as he tried to stay calm. He never liked being near anyone- not even the scarecrows - so the second-hand contact with his past rival was not the finest experience.

"I- uhm," the squid hybrid stumbled over their words, "t-the mayor really would rather not... have the entire town to greet them.."

The crowd hushedly mumbled to each other, and one straggler called out, "well, tell them to come out anyway!"

By the Blood God, he hated this. He shrunk to the bottom of the pocket. This was one of the worst worries for a borrower; he had already been pushing his limit with the scarecrows and SquidKid, but this was another level for him.

"...Uh, well, in that case," he felt SquidKid shift, and a hand brushed over his pocket. He tenses, waiting for the fingers to tug him out and waiting for SquidKid to finally prove that they're not as kind as they look, for them to finally get some semblance of petty revenge.

"You can find them over there." He pauses, confused to as why there's no hand reaching down for him. The words finally dawn on him, and he's both relieved and perplexed to what SquidKid could have meant by that.

But hatever they've done has made the crowd fall unnaturally silent, and so he's at least a little relieved for that too.

The same voice that was brave enough to speak before pipes up, "you mean the ghost farmer?"

....He didn't know that the townspeople had come up with a name for him, but he's suddenly thankful that he's gained enough popularity that people stop and gawk.

"Y...Yes," SquidKid slowly acknowledges the villager, "they were the one orchestrating all of this. I was just helping with the... talking parts," the hybrid is silent for a moment before they burst into a stammering mess,

"And- uh, I-I should take my leave now, b-because I should really h-head back and ch-check up on them," he feels the bigger farmer start to take a few steps back, supposedly away from the crowd, "I'll answer any questions later!"

He has to push against the fabric to keep himself from bouncing around in the pocket as SquidKid starts running. He faintly hears the townspeople shout for the male, but it's muffled through the fabric.

As it starts to seem as if the squid hybrid would never stop running, they finally start to slow down, their breaths coming out labored and airy.

He doesn't speak up for a moment, letting the other regain themselves first. When they finally seem well enough, he speaks up,

"That's the best you can come up with?"

--

chKFCHKDSJFSDF oh my Primes, this is so LONG,,,, I have no idea how to write SquidKid,,,, plus, I had no idea how to like,,, oOGHgds,f,, pain.

Anyways, hope you had fun reading ALL of this cchjxcvxkdsf,,,

AAUBHJDUHFJHBFNDKUFHN WENDYYY /POS

i dont have anything to add this is just fantastic,,,,, DEO AND JIYN AS SCARECROWS AS WELL,,, FBJHDKUHSJHHDV,,,,,, i love that techno gets to have Carl still 🥺🥺🥺 and him leaving squidkid on the other side of the maze??? FHJBDJNJKBF

ALSO 🥺 squid protecting techno and not telling people abt him,,,,, aaajfhkdojfh good,, i also appreciate that everyone in the village just has to be like. "the ghost farmer is mayor????... well this isnt the weirdest thing thats happened to me"

SQUIDKID RUNNING AWAY,,,, "ill answer any questions later" djhshhjhjhbhbfhdjhbe

*holds this gently* aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa i adore

[belatedbday69]

thinking a lot about my writing process lately (jesus what's new) but I want badly to figure it out. this is a lot feel free to ignore

I've been thinking about the different processes I've used in the past and how they worked or didn't work.

I wrote Waiting for You over, I think eight months? I really took my time with it, and it's still the largest thing I've written only at 43k. It was a huge learning process and I feel like the dedication I had to really taking my time is responsible for that. I wrote when I was inspired and didn't plan ahead at all. It was the first time I ever tried to intentionally do a plot and when I finished I realized how little I really grasped plot. But was I wrong?

Part Time Heart came so fast that I didn't have time to name it something good. Only 10k but it's tight, and the moments are good, and I didn't have to think about it. It took a single week to finish and I have no idea what happened. I must partially attribute it to the fact that I hadn't written b*dk since finishing w4u and I'd read like seven books and a ton of fanfic in that span of time as well, so it was like the words and ideas were pent up, cooking inside of me or something. I don't know. I didn't have to outline, I just went for it because I had a very clear and close goal, and it was perfect. I had so much fun!

Lose This Number was...something. I tried really hard but I botched the end, simple as that. It's fine, like it's fine, but then I realized there were so many other issues...It feels rushed, like I need to put more details if I have an idea as big as that. I set out to write something that would be 15k and I did, but I think the story is more of a 50-60k story, and I just...left out, like, most of it, and then I forced an ending that felt strange. There's always the possibility that I could rewrite the story so it's that length, but the idea stresses me out because, well, I don't know! This is the story that drastically changed how I wanted to write the next one because I realized I couldn't trust myself anymore. W4u ended satisfyingly even if it was messy, PTH was an easy homerun, and I've a handful of scenes that I crafted the plot of with ease. I used to trust myself, but at this point I realized I couldn't anymore. I should have taken a break but I couldn't because I had my next fic to write.

you're a chicken if you don't is so cute and fun and I love it a lot. I wrote the first three chapters in three weeks and then took two months to post the last two. I used outlining a lot with this one, honestly in an obsessive way. I'm not sure if it helped. If it came out well, does that mean this is the right way for me? Anyway, I got scared to end it because I didn't want to fail again, but I powered through and gave it a good ending and I think this is growth compared to LTN. I didn't freak out, I mean I freaked out but I gave myself time and figured it out and it's perfect. So why am I second-guessing myself so much?

I have learned that I'm scared of endings, or not good at writing them, maybe both. that just means I have to practice. I could do shorter stories to practice this, or would that be fake practice because it's long endings I need help with? I think ramping up my word count to 35k for the next one would be good. Or maybe even 50, if the story feels right for it. Because I could do one of two things:

Continue this obsessive over-outlining because well, it must do something for me. Getting my thoughts down on paper surely doesn't have a negative effect. But it is easy to feel...uninspired. Like it's formulaic or whatever. I'm not sure if this is just because yacifd was so short that I really only had time for the main plot elements. But I think I just felt that way toward the end because I felt trapped?

Try to "trust myself" again and just start going for it. Feels irresponsible and like the wrong decision. I don't think I understand plot well enough to just go for it like that. But that also feels wrong?

See, I think I need to commit to something long and push myself again. No, I should gradually up the word count until I feel like I can see the entire story before I start. I don't know. I'll come back to this.

[thedragonslibrary]

I'm having problems communicating with my spirit companion. Like, I just can't do it. Maybe it's because I'm new, maybe I'm rushing it. But, opening my third eye and telepathy are things I don't know how to do. And everything I've seen so far is either too vague or something I haven't even heard of. So, could you help me? You could link me things or just write it out. P. S. Astral travel is scary but if I had more info and more real life stories I feel like is be more comfortable. Thank you.

Hi there!  I know this is an extremely belated answer, and I really hope you were able to resolve this situation.  But I’m going to go ahead and answer it anyway, since it may be helpful to someone now!

If you’re new to the idea of witchcraft, opening yourself up, astral travel, and the like, it can be really scary and overwhelming.  If you’ve already gotten yourself a spirit companion, it may be the first time you’re introduced to any of these things.  But there is no rush - your companion likely knew this going in, and they are not desperately trying to batter through your natural psychic barriers!  They are on the other side, being just as patient, waiting for you to be ready.

One of my all-time favorite books about opening yourself up psychically, which has exercises I still use to this day, is You Are Psychic by Debra Lynne Katz.  The book preaches an end goal of clairvoyance, but I find that even its first few exercises teach a lot about visualization, and its importance in energy and spirit work.  I recommend starting there.

The thing about spirit and energy work is that it is often going to feel like it’s “all in your head,” especially when you are starting out and don’t yet have the skills to tell the difference between yourself and “the other.”  But the most important thing for me is being able to explain this in a way that feels logical, even to those who might never have touched any kind of new age thing before.  So, yeah, I’ll say it - sometimes it feels weird and out-there.  It doesn’t make the most sense in a real-world context.  It doesn’t always feel real, you don’t always see visions clearly or in real-time, most people can’t hear the voices of their spirit guides in their physical ears.  Almost none of it is physical, actually.  A lot of it feels internal.

Telepathy can feel like you’re talking to yourself in your head.  Astral travel can feel like daydreaming.  Witchcraft can feel like saying silly words over silly items.  What brings it gravitas and power is what you bring to the table - how seriously you’re going to take it.  How frequently you’re going to show up.  I consider it to be a lot like this: I played in bands and orchestras for years.  Before, all instruments sounded the same to me, or I didn’t care to differentiate, even if I knew what they looked like and what they were supposed to sound like.  But I showed up every day and participated and listened for years, and now I know what each instrument sounds like, what it sounds like combined with others, and how that differs from my own instrument’s timbre.

So, if you’re just beginning to develop your psychic skills, start here.  It will take time, and practice, but your patience will reward you in time.

Learn how to ground:

Visualize a cord, or roots, stretching from the base of your spine and down into the earth.

Breathe deeply.  As you breathe in, imagine energy from the ground pulling up through that cord, filling you with light.  As you breathe out, imagine that light washing away any darkness or blockages with you.  

Work from your toes to your head.  Take your time.  If you feel you need to spend more time on one section, stay there for a while.  

When you feel you are done, imagine the cord detaching painlessly from your body.

Learn how to stimulate your third eye:

The third eye cannot be forced open (or if it can, it’s not extremely beneficial for you).  When doing the grounding/cleansing exercise I outlined above, take time to focus on the point in the middle of your forehead.  

It might naturally tingle, and one day you might feel its sensations come naturally to you.  But very few people can physically see with their third eye.  It’s going to be more about spiritually seeing - not with your eyes, but with your non-physical sense.

Throughout the day, imagine energy swirling around your third eye, like one of those twirling loading circles.

Interact with your third eye.  Press it with your thumb.  Think about it casually.  Put your palm over it and imagine giving it a warm glow of energy.  Put diluted oil blends on it (and be sure to wash them off later, if your skin is sensitive).  Take time to take care of it.

Repeat this often.  This is an elongated process with no specific end-point.

Create a psychic space for yourself:

Learn to enter and craft a space inside yourself.  This is especially helpful as a meeting place for you and your companions.  A good friend of mine calls her “The White Room.”  Mine looks like a treehouse.  Allow yours to fit your needs, and your personality.  Let it change and evolve as you do.

Find some quiet time to meditate.  You can use free, guided meditations on YouTube to help with this. Once you’ve gotten yourself into a meditative position and a quiet mindspace, imagine going somewhere in your mind.  Open a door, go down or up stairs, climb a ladder - whatever feels right.  Once you have done this, you will find yourself in a space.

This will feel like daydreaming, and it may not be entirely solid.  But you can make it your own place, and over time, with practice, it will solidify.  Fill it with furniture, paint the walls, fill the pantry with food.  Invite your companions over.  They may not feel tangible or may look/feel fuzzy.  That’s okay - they’ll get more solid over time.

Ah - whoops!  Surprise!  You just did your first astral travel!  Really!  It was inside yourself, but it was real.

And since you were looking specifically for other people’s astral experiences, this blog is pretty cool, although it’s not active anymore.  

Practice telepathy with your companion:

This is not going to be like telepathy in the movies at all.  It’s a subtler form of communication, and if you struggle with it, you can always try other communication techniques like pendulums, tarot cards, and automatic writing.

Notice your thoughts throughout the day.  If you have unusual, stray thoughts, if you catch your thoughts responding to themselves, if you have strange urges to look at or interact with things you might not normally interact with, these are all signs that your companion may be attempting telepathy with you.

Like meditation, sit in a quiet space and let your thoughts drift.  Invite your companion to join you, and just let your mind go.  Are there any ideas or thoughts that feel out of place?  Anything that sounds like not your own internal voice?  

This can be a very hard process, especially if you’re not using any other communication method.  I personally learned to perform telepathy with my companions by first using a pendulum and alphabet board to talk with them.  Eventually, I was able to recognize what voices sounded like “theirs,” and differentiate them from mine.

You can read my post on communication for more info on this!

Above all, I feel I need to emphasize this: Your practice does not have to look like anybody else’s who has written their experiences on the internet.  It is allowed to be imperfect, unfocused, messy, and fun.  A lot of people, myself included, sometimes go to great lengths to make it seem as though when they are astral traveling, they feel as though they are physically there.  That level of immersion is very difficult to reach and can take years after years of practice.  I am not even there, I promise you.

Anyway, now that I’ve written an Entire Novel, I hope this was helpful to you or to somebody!  Thank you for asking!

[aasfandoms]

Hiya, I feel like I've asked this before but I'll ask again. I'd like a bit of writing advice if that's alright with you? Just, how do you write thousands of words without making your story feel like it has too much going on or without making it super purple and wordy? Your fics always strike such a lovely balance between long and not overly detailed. I just struggle to write 1000 words without accidently writing the entire plot in one chapter, even if I try padding it out a bit, it's still too short for my taste.

This is tough to answer because honestly most of it comes with practice, which isn't always fun but is necessary. I find that I can strike a decent balance by including descriptions of the scene or items/people in it (but don't OVER describe, or describe every little thing; you want to mainly give the general vibe/description, the reader's brain will fill in details), what the characters thinks about those things, and their physical or emotional reaction to anything that sticks out.

It also helps to just... add things. Add a tiny thing that happens here and there, doesn't have to be plot relevant, just a little thing that the characters notices then moves past, or a small detail that just expands your length a little. Or something a little bigger that better reveals the characters personality or thoughts.

Here are maybe some examples that might help (featuring BkDK A/B/O);

Instead of saying something like;

"He went to the club right after work and hurried inside. After paying the entrance fee he slipped through a crowd to get to the main stage, where he waited eagerly."

Try expanding and adding some little things;

"After work Katsuki rushed home to change into something nicer than his plain civilian clothes. He chose a plain black shirt with a purple button-up over it and black pants. There was an attempt to do something with his hair, but it did not work. Oh well. He brushed his teeth, hastily wrapped his gifts, and hurried out the door. Maybe, just maybe, he sped a little too.

It was 5:45 by the time he got to the club. He left the gifts in the car and hurried inside. “Has Zuzu danced yet?” He asked the lady behind the counter who took his cash and marked his hand.

“No, but he’s up next.”

“Thanks,” he scurried inside.

It was busier than two nights ago, but that made sense. It was Friday. Every pervert in the city was rushing to the strip clubs to spend their evening getting trashed and watching sexy dancers.

Technically, he was now part of that demographic, but he chose to ignore that fact.

The bar was busy but he didn’t give two shits about getting a drink or snack anyway. Instead, he pushed his way through the crowd to get to the main stage. A pretty female Omega was finishing up her dance, so he stood back until she was done. No sense taking up space that a paying customer could occupy. Wouldn't be fair to her at all. Once her song ended and she strutted off, he pushed forward and planted himself firmly against the stage.

His heart was racing. All he could think about was seeing Izuku again."

So we've added a detour to the house to change and get ready. We added a short conversation with the lady behind the counter. We've added his thoughts/observations about the club. We added a dancing lady that created more realism and lengthened our word count.

Additionally, by mentioning the counter lady and dancing lady, we've reminded the reader that there are other people in this world that effect it (instead of hyper-focusing on our two main characters) and we've shown how our character reacted to them and thereby gave him a little more depth.

We can tell he's eager and worried about being late by the convo with the counter lady. He was polite to wait and allow the dancing lady to make more tips instead of being rude and taking a spot from someone else, showing that even though he'd very focused/eager right now he still considers others and reacts to them, rather than ignoring them.

We also didn't over-describe the club. We know it's busy, we know there's a bar, we know there's a stage. Granted, this particular bar was described a little more in a previous chapter, but the general vibe was the same; we don't need details or the layout, just the important bits.

Here is an example of showing emotion through actions, not words;

Rather than saying;

"He finally received a text back. He stopped punching the bag to check his phone. He was eager to see what it said."

Let's do this;

"The text went unanswered for a few hours. Katsuki nearly forgot about it, so lost in showing this free-standing bag who was boss. He punched it hard enough to knock it over, then used his foot to force it back up. Just as he went for another swing he heard his phone chime. He nearly tripped over his own feet hurrying over to it."

It's a little longer, has a bit more character, has a bit of humor, and we've displayed that he's so excited to receive that text that he nearly fell over to see it. I like to include small, almost silly details like that because it feels human and it tells us what kind of emotions that person is feeling without actually just stating the emotion.

Another thing I like to do is bleed the real world or certain actions with characters thoughts. Here's an example;

"Hideki was standing outside, but his attention was on the dancer. Katsuki probably could have slipped right in past him, but he opted to just lean against the wall nearby and wait. His erection had, thankfully, disappeared, and these few moments alone allowed him to ground himself a little more. Stop exuding horny pheromones, exude some neutral or pleasant ones instead, straighten his clothes, check his hair, make sure he didn’t actually have any droll on his face, look presentable goddamnit."

Katsuki is taking a moment to gather himself and make sure he looks okay and we can tell he's nervous about it by the last 3 words, in which his inner dialogue has bled into what was real-world description.

We can combine these two things as well! Example:

"His schedule was next. It was the same as usual. Patrol started at eight. Lunch from noon to one. Patrol done by five. Same shit different day-

His phone chimed and he nearly dropped his coffee in the scramble to get it out of his pocket.

“The heck? You okay?” Eijiro asked.

“Shut up,” came the venomless bite. A text. From Izuku. Exactly what he’d been hoping for. His heart hammered in his chest."

His inner thoughts were cut-off my real world events and he reacted in a mild panic. By using very short sentences we can also show that his thoughts are racing and he's anxious to see what the text says.

When it comes to writing there are a lot of little tricks you can use to both lengthen your work and make it more fun to read. These are the ones I use most. Hopefully, it was helpful, or at least readable. I'm always happy to expand on something too or offer critiques!

Don't beat yourself up about not being as good as you want to be right now either. Like I said, it takes practice. My writing style now is very different from ten years ago and significantly better, but I've written and LOT of fics since then, read a lot of fics since then, and taken in writing advice I've gotten from others. It takes time to improve but that's no reason to stress! Have fun with your writing, you created it from nothing!

[teatotally]

I've just been rereading some of your wonderful longfic and you write such good action i'm so envious, especially Don't Wait Up for Me. Someone said it was cinematic and I think thats a good description. Whenever I try to write action I just can't or it doesn't seem very good, and I wonder if you have any advice as a writer and editor about how to write action scenes, or just any writing advice in general.

First, I have to apologize for taking so long to respond; it’s been hard to get back in the swing of things after surgery. Second, thank you so much for the lovely compliment, and I’m so glad you liked Don’t Wait Up for Me, because that’s one of my favorite things I’ve ever done.

To your question: I sometimes feel like I could write a book, just based on the sheer volume of crap I read for my job and the way all these things pile up for me, but there are hundreds of writing advice books out there, and some of them are even actually good so no one needs another one. :-D But I think there are some specifics to writing action, and in particular action within fanfiction, that are fairly unique and not always addressed in tutorials.

When I’m copyediting fiction especially, I often find my attention wanders or my eyes glaze over because of flabby or weak writing, and that’s just death for a scene where people are supposed to be doing stuff and hooking the reader. The same mistakes kind of pile up and up, and this is pro published stuff. Fan readers are pretty forgiving mostly, but a lot of these issues have an unconscious effect on us, we forget fics that could be memorable because we skimmed over stuff that should engage us.

Years ago at Slate, I copyedited a book review that made me laugh, because it was a lot of these problems in a nutshell:

His writing is riddled with clichés that are daily struck down by conscientious high-school teachers. The characters always think “for a moment,” as if a sustained thought is impossible in the Wagnerian world. “Silence” plagues the pages, and it often “follows” speech. The thunder claps “Whrromp!” Every glance is recorded, for no discernable reason—everyone is “looking” or “focusing” all the time. The faces repeatedly “light up.” People don’t smile—they “start to smile"—and they do things “a little,” even if much happens “all of a sudden.” Here is a typical passage: “Liz started to smile, then started to say something, then thought better of it. Her smile faded for a moment, while she seemed to concentrate on a thought.”

That’s the kind of writing that can just utterly kill action scenes. So what would I tell you to avoid that kind of stuff? :

1. Use strong verbs. If you can do one thing, it’s to use strong verb forms and avoid constructions with lots of to be verbs and -ing forms. If you consistently use five words where you could use two, readers can tire or tune out without even understanding why they do that. I read a lot of otherwise good stuff that just wears me down with the “he was going to have to” and “she was starting to think” and “he’d been working in” and “I’ll be needing to” or what have you. It doesn’t seem like much, but pages of that can drag your prose down fast and tighter forms can help–”he had/wanted/would have to” and “she thought (ran, cried, etc.)” and “he’d worked in” “I need to” and so on. Even in this paragraph, you’ll notice I’ve used mostly stronger verbs, not many helper words.

A lot of fan writers don’t edit themselves after writing, and this is one area where it shows the most. We tend to want to share our stuff right away, get some fannish love, or we have to hit a challenge deadline. But if you want to write better action scenes, reading over your work to find those places where you could tighten the verbs can really help. (When we speak, we might say, “I’m going to be reading over my work and finding weak verbs.” Totally normal. But in actual writing, punchier forms like “I will read over my work to find the weak verbs” are livelier, and that really adds up in action.) I spend the bulk of my fic time looking for places where I can use one or two words where I wrote five or six in the initital stage of getting it all down.

2. Omit needless words. Most editors I know respect, but don’t use, Strunk & White’s Elements of Style, because it was written by prissy old white guys and pointlessly fussy. But this one is advice that many of us would agree is pretty useful, and in an action scene it can be the difference between eyes glazing over and a rapt reader. It’s heavily related to the first point. 

There are some writers I love but who frequently put me to sleep with that five or six words where one or two would do issue. But it’s not only verbs where you see it. Speech is less formal, not carefully constructed or edited, so in dialog it’s not as bad, but when describing movement or setting, the tighter the focus, the easier it is for your reader to get caught up in the action scene. You’ll often hear writers lament certain words they use a lot of–just, really, sort of, a little, etc. We all have those tics, and it’s worth it to search and replace, because those add flab to the writing. They’re not inherently bad, and I don’t like discouraging new or learning writers from perfectly fine words (I have a HUGE rant about the “never use adverbs” bullshit which I’ll spare you), but it’s always illuminating how much we can undercut the action with a lot of filler words. It took me years to break myself of the habit of using finally, for instance, and now when I notice it I always ask myself when I edit if I really need it. Is everyone doing things just “a little”? I slice it out.

3. Vary your sentence structure and length. This is another thing I see a lot of with newer writers, where their sentences are often constructed in the same way (”Steve walked into the machine. The doctor injected him with serum. Howard was turning his machine on. Then Steve screamed and Peggy was yelling to shut it down.”). That’s an overly simplified example, but it’s stultifying. Action scenes tend to require shorter, choppier sentences anyway to make them dynamic, but a steady diet of that will put you to sleep. Including some details, using different types of words, playing around with clauses and phrases and listening to the cadence of what you write can really enliven things. Where can you combine two sentences, or three? 

4. Punctuation is your friend. This isn’t (only) because people are picky about punctuation: you’d be amazed at how punctuation can affect the pace of an action scene. Like, I see writers frequently add commas where they don’t need them, which once or twice, no big deal, but sentence after sentence where you’re taking that comma pause as you read can really grind the pace down. Fanfic isn’t academic or severely formal writing, and there’s nothing wrong with people punctuating how they hear things in their heads, but it can leave the reader frustrated or confused, and with action that might not be the desired outcome. Missing punctuation, or using the wrong thing, can trip people up and throw them out of that big action set piece, or fatigue them. 

I see it a lot with commas around a little, just as an example, where you don’t need them, and if you’re a writer who qualifies every action with that (”Steve smiled, a little”) it’s amazing how fast those add up. Em dashes (aka long dashes, double dashes) are a wonderful tool, but if every sentence has them, that slight pause can get frustrating, particularly if it’s in the middle of something that should be fast-moving.

5. Blocking. Make a little movie in your head, block it out. Know where your characters are at any given moment, whose hand is where, that sort of thing. (You can do this after you write the scenes, so you won’t bog yourself down in self-censoring.) Many people suffer from White Room Syndrome, where they can’t see any details about their world and everything happens in a white room—I always told students that if they did, then watch movies or TV and steal details and world-building from them, or just use stuff in your own personal life. But try to imagine it and block it out once you’ve written down the basics, so that your reader can follow along with you and see where the action is taking them.

Those are the main things I can think of off the top of my head. Whenever people compliment my action scenes, I realize most of that’s probably due to my ruthless self-editing in fic: I edit the fuck out of action segments to tighten, tighten, and then tighten some more. There are a ton of good grammar and writing books out there; one of my favorites, especially for beginners or people who aren’t sure about things like English-language punctuation, is Diana Hacker’s A Writer’s Reference. And practicing, examining what the writers you admire are doing, looking at your own work and seeking out constructive comments, can be so helpful. Fandom’s got a really rich group of people involved in creating fanworks, and many of them are willing to help you learn stuff or share their knowledge.

[leonawriter]

Hey Leona! I saw your post about writing a fic soon, and I was wondering if you could give me some advice. I recently got into redorbshipping, and I love your fics a ton! They, and a few others, inspired me to go ahead and write some, so I've been drabbling. What I was wondering about was when you feel confident enough to post your drabbles when they're snippets from a greater timeline. How do you know when it's 'ready' to post? (as opposed to a full chapter fic with a beginning and end?)

First of all - wow, thank you! I really appreciate it!

Secondly... for me, drabbles (originally the term meant ‘story of precisely 100 words’, but the meaning seems to have shifted to just ‘very short story’, which I’m fine with - I was never good at keeping length exact) are less something you have to be good at and more something you write as practice. I wrote a minific of Lance and Hunk from Voltron talking some stuff out just to get a handle on their voices; sometimes when the fandom is one I’ve written enough to get confident in, it’s more because there’s a specific scene in my mind that doesn’t need a detailed plot to be understood.

And, often, my drabbles aren’t from any sort of greater timeline. Or, at least, I don't see them as such.

But when they are, what I usually try to do is hint and imply what went before without going into detail. You don’t need to go ‘first this happened, then that, and then this, and now finally we’re here’. In a bigger story, perhaps it’s useful to give the reader a sense of the setting they’re in - but in a drabble, a really short fic, the importance is less on the setting and more on what’s currently going on. As long as the setting is clear, and consistent, it should be fine.

So, instead, you can have characters drop events that have happened in conversation - for instance, Maxie referring to ‘that one time you accidentally let Rayquaza out in the base entrance and we all had to deal with an angry dragon for a week, even after it was back in its ball’. From this, we get an idea of an event that may have had a big impact on them, as well as the people they mutually know, with it also being a shared memory to laugh over. Put together, they give the reader an understanding of the kind of timeline we’re in, as well as how close the characters are. 

Larger and smaller details can also be used - ‘You know Groudon likes spicy pokepuffs’ is a detail that can be said and adds familiarity, but a line such as ‘“Well, if you hadn’t gone through with your last crazy idea, we wouldn’t be in this situation!” May shouted over the wind, voice muffled by the scarf keeping the sand out of her mouth.’ would give you a great many details in one line of dialogue and narration, saying things such as: Maxie is having a ‘crazy idea’, that Maxie is speaking, that Maxie’s plan to have Groudon create more landmass succeeded, that they’re in a desert, and so on.

As for beginning and ending? Because each story needs one, and just because it’s short doesn't make it any different...

Often I find beginning harder than ending, I have to admit. Maybe I’m contrary like that. But both points come from the same origin of thought - how will the reader react to this?

With the beginning you want to directly engage the reader. You want to tell them, in the first lines, ‘this is a story you want to be interested in enough to spend the time reading’. I say that, because as someone with ADHD, if something doesn’t engage me, it can be really easy to switch off. With a thing like a drabble, that can mean going straight into dialogue, but it can also mean an interesting thought or bit of narration that leads me to wondering just what is going on, or what’s going to happen next. 

With the ending, I think the most important thing is to find somewhere in the story that’s in your head, where the action and dialogue slows down. There have been times in the middle of some of my longer stories’ chapters where I could carry the chapter on longer, but the scene - or chapter - has gone on long enough. It’s the same on the smaller scale.

With a drabble, you’re only looking to make the story about one key event. Perhaps that’s a conversation. Perhaps it’s a moment of introspection. Maybe it’s even while someone is doing a thing. But thing is - since you’re focusing everything on that one thing, once that thing is over, so is the story. You shouldn’t need to write more. You’re probably looking to condense things a bit to keep it all short, though. Which means more ‘not using elaborate terms and flowery language’ rather than ‘skipping bits’.

As for when I personally feel confident to post a thing... as I mentioned up there in the beginning, I see drabbles as writing exercise, getting the creative muscles moving. Yet at the same time, I’ll post a thing up if I feel like the voices are coming through strongly, if I think it’s successfully conveyed the idea or message I wanted to get across, and if I think there weren’t any mistakes. If I think it ticks all of those boxes, I just post it up.

Also, some of my drabble fics are the greater timeline. I can easily think of ‘Early Flames’ from Blue Exorcist, though I’m sure there are others. Stories where it’s told entirely in short fic form rather than chapters, and as long as the context is conveyed, you don’t need it to be a longer thing at all anyway.

(I’m sure I rambled on off topic at various points but I hope even some of this helped, anon!)