#work break scribble to try to keep myself sane (not sane)

[spilledte]

"We'll make it through together, so please don't cry"

[zeldas-cigarrette]

⊱┊𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬. ↶*ೃ✧˚. ❃

— pairing; ⚢donna sheridan x fem!reader

— word count; 3.3k

— summary; Sophie organised an afternoon of speed dating for her mother. You happened to be a customer at the certain restaurant it took place, and it seemed as if Donna was more interested in you than in all the guys that came for her. (lots of fluff because I can’t bring myself to write smut atm. ) xx

— fluff 🍰₊˚.༄ ೃ -

—❥ author’s note; My obsession with Meryl Streep keeps me sane during all those exams I have atm… Again, I’m so sorry for not posting my requests but I tried finishing them all but when I read them again they were so insanely bad, I can’t upload them… I will rewrite them probably next weekend (if I have enough time). But thanks for sticking around although I’m not as active (which will change in a few weeks, when I’ve finished my finals).

..⃗.🕊•̩̩͙⁺⤾·˚ ༘ ◡̈ ꒰ 🥥 ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ˚ ༘♡ ·˚ ₊˚ˑ༄ؘ ✧˖*°࿐

🏷 tag list; @paulawand , @pearplate

The sun was already burning down when Donna found out about her daughter's plans for the afternoon. Apparently, Sophie decided to host a speed dating for her mother in some restaurant on the island. She wasn’t interested in the first place but for the sake of her daughter, Donna decided to give it a try - maybe she’ll find the love of her life? It wasn’t until both mother and daughter arrived at the chosen restaurant when the older woman started worrying about what’s to come behind those doors. The few birds that gathered on the windowsill started chirping as if they were trying to warn her, „don’t go in!” but it seemed too late for that. „I don’t know if this is the right thing Soph,” Donna lurked through the window, seeing a couple of older guys waiting eagerly for someone to entertain them. „It’s gonna be fun Mum, just let it happen,” and with the huge smile spread over the young girl's face, she pushed the door open. Quickly the smell of food surrounded both women.

Only a couple of women were interested in dating as well, everyone was already sat on separate tables only waiting for the main host to start the thing. On the first look, none of these men caught her eye, none of them looked attractive. However, who was she to judge? Said and done, Donna took a seat opposite of a man with full fair hair and glasses. The two minutes started in which they were supposed to get to know each other.

You were sat in the corner of the restaurant, observing the show you were offered from afar. The people, including the owner, were making a fuss about the speed dating someone had arranged. You had moved to the island just a couple of months ago and though such things as speed dating were a pretty common thing in England, it seemed to be hardly a thing around here. Chewing on a shrimp, you wanted to hold back the laughter when you saw the angelic-looking woman’s face when one of the guys seemingly told her an interesting fact about him. She didn’t look very happy with the selection of men. Luckily you had an amazing view of the ocean and you could watch the sun gleaming on the water.

For every passing minute, Donna regretted the decision she made. The first guy was as dull as his name, Tom had 15 cats. He told her a story of when a few of his cats got sick and vomited in his flat. It was a full-on ramble for two minutes not letting his opponent get to word for once. Donna wasn’t sure if she had control of her face, but if she wasn’t at least the guy knew how horrible he was. The next one - didn’t even introduce himself - was shy. So shy that he only stared down on his fingers. Therefore when Donna made the first move and told him a little about her life, he could only nod and blankly stare a hole into the hotel owner.

Sunken in a daydream, you scribbled something in your notebook hoping the words would turn into poems. When you first came to the island you had hoped to overcome the ongoing writer's block, but until now not even the alluring landscape could change that. It ever so often occurred that your eyes landed on the woman with the golden locks not sure if it’s because of how dissatisfied she looked or if it’s her that captured you. Often you came to this restaurant to get the words flowing or to talk to the owners. They have been welcoming from the first moment, so you decided to go there again and again until it became the only restaurant you’d go to.

Meanwhile, Donna was meeting the fourth guy that wanted to meet her. It seemed to be a better start than the rest of the guys, he wasn’t perfect but neither was he as self-centered as the ones before. Their conversation was good until he dropped the 'women belong in the kitchen’ bomb. It ruined everything for her. „Alright people, we’re gonna take a short break so everyone can let the impressions sink in,” Sophie quickly interrupted when she saw how uncomfortable her mother felt. Each of the participants got up and walked out on the terrace or ordered drinks from the bar. Donna scoffed and buried her head in her hands. „This is awful,” it was only a whisper but audible to her daughter. „I’m sorry, I really thought that you’re gonna have fun,” the girl replied. Without another word the woman got up and wanted to walk a few steps to stretch the tense muscles in her leg when she spotted you sitting in the corner of the room.

She took small steps to reach your table, she was curious about what you were doing there all alone scribbling in your notebook. At first, you didn’t notice her coming towards you, but when you did she seemed as if a halo would enlighten her. The notebook was closed in an instant when you realized that you were the aim she was about to reach. „Hi” you greeted her with a wide smile. „Hello, I noticed you sitting all alone,” it was obvious that Donna searched for an opportunity to escape the dating hell her daughter had organised. You saw in how deep of misery the woman was. „Would you like to sit with me for a while?” you requested and pointed at the chair opposite of you. The noise in the overfilled restaurant was deafening so the blonde woman didn’t bother using words and just pulled out a chair. „You don’t know in how many ways you just saved me,” she smirked and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear. You blushed but tried to hide it while leaning your face in both of your hands.

„I saw you’ve been busy over there, isn’t speed dating fun?” you teased not knowing if it was alright to overstep this line. „They’re all abhorrently boring and irritating,” the woman huffed and throws a disapproving look at the crowd of men. You couldn’t help but stifle a laugh, you’ve never had the problem with weird men. „I’m Y/n by the way,” you reached out your hand which she gladly shook. „Nice to meet you, my name’s Donna.” Even her name sounded angelic. The woman’s company brought you joy and even ideas for new poems came to your mind. „You could stay here until it’s over, I don’t mind,” you suggested avoiding eye contact, fearing rejection. „I’d love to,” it sounded like heaven to you. Therefore she stayed and every time you looked at her, you hated to avert your gaze the next second. Although Donna seemed to enjoy herself, the men on the other side of the room looked as if they were disappointed that she left. „One of their cats vomited in their flat,” she told you rolling her eyes. „Aww, I love cats but without the vomiting,” you giggled and tried to find out who it was by just scanning them. „It’s the blond one,” she pointed at a tall, skinny guy. „Oh yes, he absolutely looks like a cat guy,” you remarked dryly not averting your gaze from the giraffe-like man.

Sophie saw her mother sitting with you, smiling and giggling sometimes. She didn’t dare to make her comeback and go through another round.

„Would you like something to eat while you’re waiting for this to be over?” you asked shyly. „Actually, yes! I’ve been starving since we’ve come here and the conversations I’ve had didn’t make it go away,” Donna explained and bit down her lip. You waved for Elias, a waiter, for her to order. You’ve been exploring the island with him a couple of times and learned that he would rather like to work on the mainland as a teacher than work at his parent's restaurant. The food was served in less than ten minutes and she hummed while eating. „This has to be the best one I’ve eaten yet,” Donna declared while putting the cutlery on her plate.

Donna admired you for your kindness of letting her stay with you, she was lost in the eyes of yours and how your y/h/c hair was blown from the wind from time to time. The opened window offered her a marvellous view on the deep blue ocean. She felt safe in your company and the stories you’d told her about your future plans captured her. „Then why have you decided to come to Kalokairi when you plan on becoming a writer?” the older woman curiously asked. „Well, I had a very severe writers block and wanted to be surrounded by nature and I’ve a lot about this place in tourist guides so I decided to come here to get my writing flowing,” you explained. „Oh I’m sorry, I hope you’ve overcome it by now.” „I think I just did,” you cheekily replied. Unknowingly that your time was up by now, Sophie strutted over to the both of you.

„Mum, I’m sorry to interrupt but we’re done,” the young girl smiled while looking at you. „I’d really like to do this again,” Donna circled with her finger on the table, „I’ll just give you my address and you can come over some time.” Donna scribbled something on a napkin and handed it to you. You tried to hide the huge smile that was about to form on your lips. „Thanks, I’d also love to repeat this,” your whisper was barely audible. Donna just winked before leaving with her daughter, she was gone and left you with butterflies in your stomach. That day you’re writers block seemed to be gone and you were finally able to bring some words on paper.

»As I sat and looked at her and the rolling hills she sat upon I thought, what amazing luck I have that the world had created such beautiful things and given me the eyes to see them.« *

At first, you’ve been too afraid to drop that little poem off at her house, but when you gathered enough courage you just went for it. It was only when you arrived that you realised she was managing a hotel. You quickly dropped it off with your phone number written on it, not brave enough to give it to her in person. The following hours consisted of you having almost a nervous breakdown not wanting to receive rejection again. You had enough of that for a lifetime. Was she even interested in that way or was she just being nice? It took her until the next morning to get back to you, but when she did, it brought your heart to quiver.

She invited you over for a walk along the coastline by sunset. Whenever Donna laughed, it felt as if the world was changing for the better, and she smiled like a goddess. When the sun was almost gone and barely visible, it made the whole island shimmer in a shade of magenta. The older woman seemed as if she took a liking to you, that’s when you realised the arm sneaked around you. It was that day when you never wanted to leave Kalokairi or the high you’ve been on since you first saw her.

—♡︎

Over the weeks you two had somehow developed an unspoken romantic relationship, none of you were brave enough to talk about the strong feelings in between. When Donna wasn’t busy working in the Hotel, you did almost everything together, sat by the beach while you used her as your muse for writing or you two cuddled on the couch.

You had sent your work to a publisher in New York when you had gathered a few more poems and one night you received an email. They actually wanted you in New York, the head of the company wanted to meet you first and if everything goes well he wanted to offer you a contract and an apartment in which you could get your words flowing. Although that sounded like a dream to you, so surreal and perfect to be true, your true new home was the island and the mere thought about leaving was too much. That’s why you didn’t tell Donna. You weren’t sure if this was the right time or if she’d even care.

„Why did they have to leave her out, just because she couldn’t pay for the country club?” the thing you loved about her, was that she always commented on the movies you watched. „It seems unfair to me,” you added and snuggled closer. You were partly on your laptop to check your mails for a confirmation on an order you placed. She was holding you close while her head was resting on yours. It was the smell of the ocean that comforted you and made your eyelids heavy. You had never stayed overnight at her house because you didn’t know if that was alright for her, so you fought against tiredness. Few strands of her hair slightly covered your eyes which only caused you to give in to your exhaustion more.

The steady sound of the movie and her beating heart made you even more tired until you couldn’t keep your eyes open any longer. A comforting wave of sleep hit you and soon you were comforted in a dream. It wasn’t until the woman you’d fallen asleep on moved abruptly, that you woke up. „Ouch,” you murmured and your head jolted in an upward direction. „I’m sorry I didn’t mean to wake you,” Donna sounded weird but you brushed it off due to the late hour. „Don’t worry, is everything alright?” you then asked while straightening your back. Only a light hum was a response to your question, she then focused on the movie again. Minutes passed and your eyelids started to feel like cement. „Okay, you know what? It’s not okay. I know going through your things wasn’t right, but your laptop was open and I’ve seen the email from the publisher and internally I’m going mad and-“

„Stop,” it was a short but loud enough interruption of her rambling. Donna's eyes grew wide. „I don’t mind if you’re going through my things, but before you assume something you could’ve asked me, because I wasn’t planning on going,” you didn’t want to snap in that way. Only a regretful „Oh..” broke the uncomfortable silence. You felt bad for speaking to her in that tone. „I’m sorry but I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, I just found you.” A small but proud smile formed on your lips, maybe the feelings were mutual. „I’m not going anywhere,” you quietly replied. Both of you started staring at the screen of the tv again, wordlessly. „Y/n?”

You hummed in response. „I think I love you.” „You think?” you laughed, „because I might love you too.” Her hands quickly found your face and pulled you in her direction, „Is that alright?” A slight nod confirmed and Donna’s lips found yours. They moved against yours in sync and that’s when you first noticed how soft they were, she tasted like peach and lavender. „Your hair’s so soft,” she mumbled when she stopped for air, after that Donna quickly found your lips again. „And your cute when you’re all worried,” you added when you gasped for air.

That night you stayed with Donna and fell asleep cuddling her. She wore a blue pyjama with puppies all over it, you were gushing over how adorable she looked.

—♡︎

„Come on we’re going to be late for the ferry if you don’t hurry up,” Donna rushed past you to turn off the kitchen lights. „Yeah yeah don’t rush me or I’m never gonna finish,” you replied and closed your suitcase. You were going home for your father's birthday and they wanted to meet the woman that you couldn’t stop talking about. „Ready?” „Yes.” Donna stretched out her hand for you and pulled you after her. „I hope they’ll like me,” she pondered while loading the suitcases in the trunk. „They will absolutely love you, trust me,” you said and helped her closing up.

The ferry was crowded as usual and you two barely had enough space so Donna demanded you to sit on her lap. „I hope we’re gonna catch our flight,” the woman mumbled and nervously checked her wristwatch. „Don’t sweat it, we’re gonna make it on time it’s still early,” you cackled, knowing that she was nervous. The ferry sailed over the water just as gracefully as a bull in a china shop. When the ferry reached the mainland, Donna and you quickly rushed to a cab and drove to the nearest airport. The sky was flawlessly blue, not a cloud could be seen.

Not a lot of people decided to fly to England on that day, you could count 17 people at the checkpoint. In the meantime Donna was a nervous wreck, the woman constantly fidgeted with the keychains. „Ew your hands are sweaty,” you joked when you took hers in yours, „don’t be afraid, I’m with you the whole time.” Donna forced a smile on her face then followed you on the airplane. It wasn’t a long flight, maybe four or five hours. The start was a rough patch, Donna’s anxiety of flying was at its highest and she was seemingly about to throw up. Luckily you could talk her down and she soon fell asleep.

Arriving in London Southend, which was close to your parent's house, your girlfriend's nerves seemed to be calmed and you almost thought she’d taken something. „Let’s get out of here, my brother’s gonna pick us up,” you declared as both of you got your luggage. „He’s very much into cars and all that stuff, so if he’s annoying you just tell him to shut up, I do this every time.” „Oh I hope it’s not getting too complicated so that I can keep up,” she stifled a laugh and cheerily followed you along to the exit. As usual, your brother couldn’t shut up about the new cars he is about to tune, but luckily the ride was only about 40 minutes.

Your father was fascinated by Donna, the two of them got along quite well and even your mother seemed to approve of your choice this time. There have been a few women she wasn’t fond of, almost hated them and in retrospect, she was right about them. As it got darker outside, your father's guests said their goodbyes and left one by one until only the five of you were left at the table. „We’re gonna go to bed, it’s getting late and I’ve got work tomorrow,” your father declared and clapped his hands on both of his legs before getting up. „Yeah me too,” your brother said.

„Wanna sit in front of the fireplace for a while?” you asked as all of them were gone. „Absolutely.” „Thanks for coming, I was afraid you wouldn’t like my family because of how crazy they are sometimes,” you whispered when you draped a blanket over the both of you. „They’re all lovely people, I’m happy they don’t seem to hate me,” Donna joked. „They don’t, they love you but maybe not as much as I do,” you sweet-talked. Her finger booped your nose before she planted a quick kiss on your forehead. „Can I hold your hand?” she quietly asked. You nodded, feeling her soft palms against yours was enough to make you feel safe. While you sat there watching the fire die out, the grip around Donna got tighter, fearing she’d be gone as soon as the sun rises. But she wasn’t, she was still there in the morning and the morning after and so on. You were happy with her, happier than you would’ve imagined.

* used a poem from atticus

[lyssismagical]

evermore

Just a Solid Vent Fic 

I wanna do 30 days of Taylor Swift-inspired fics (folklore and evermore) lmao but idk yet we’ll see lemme know tho 

 *

As a compromise for Tony not being able to pay Peter’s tuition to MIT thanks to his full ride, Tony bought an apartment right beside campus for Peter to live in, to ensure no awkward adventures trying to be Spider-Man with a roommate.

Peter’s still adamant about getting a job and paying for his food, phone bill, and any other things like clothing or entertainment.

And balancing classes, patrolling, and a job, isn’t easy, of course. But it’s always been better for him to work hard than to give himself time to think. It’s not like his mental health is on hold, but it’s easier to put it aside when he’s got so much to do all the time.

It doesn’t help that he’s also on the debate team thanks to MJ, and in the robotics club thanks to Ned.

When November rolls around and it brings the final projects, Peter pushes himself to the limit to keep up with everything.

He starts dropping his sleep to only a nap whenever he can squeeze it in, working all afternoon, classes all morning, and Spider-Man all night, and he starts making up excuses for anything that isn’t a number one priority.

He stops seeing his friends, stops calling May back, stops replying to Tony’s worried texts, stops helping out with his professors or the librarian or his classmates. He stops cleaning his apartment, letting dishes pile up on the counters and laundry go unwashed.

It’s bad, and he knows that, rationally and logically, he knows.

But that doesn’t stop him from doing it anyway.

Three weeks, he tells himself.

And he keeps pushing.

MJ shows up at his apartment out of the blue when he’s studying away, and he barely manages to clear the fog in his head to stumble for the door.

“I can’t talk right now,” he says before she can even say hello. “I’ve gotta study for my physics exam.”

“No, you’ve gotta chill the fuck out.”

He shakes his head, leaving the door open as he turns his back and heads into his kitchen for a quick snack so he can get back to his work. “No, I have to study.”

“Oh my god, you live in a garbage dump,” she says, eyes going wide as she takes in the state of his apartment. “When was the last time you washed a dish? Or, gross, your hair?”

He doesn’t bother responding, rolling his eyes and downing a protein bar. “Two weeks, now, and then I’m done for a month.”

“At this rate, I don’t know if you’ll make it through the next two weeks.”

Peter can’t help but roll his eyes again, part of him hating how much he’s lashing out despite wanting help, needing help, but unable to find the strength to stop it from happening as he brushes past her again.

“I know you’re stressed, I know you’re anxious about exams and papers and labs, but, seriously, Peter?” she says, following him to where he’s working in the living room, papers and binders and textbooks strewn across every surface. “You’re a genius, okay? You’ve been getting excellent grades all year. The only reason you might not do well on these projects is because you’re working yourself to death.”

He shakes his head, feeling very suddenly like he might cry. “It’s not that easy. Just… I don’t want to deal with this right now, okay?”

MJ doesn’t take that as a good answer, though, sitting beside him on the old couch. “I know you, okay? I know you better than most people do. I’ve seen you in some of the worst states you’ve been in. I know this. You can’t pretend that this is okay or normal or that this is you doing fine. I don’t believe it for a second.”

He opens his mouth to fight back, to argue, to try to convince her otherwise, or maybe just to kick her out. But he hesitates.

After the Snap’s reversal, she was the one who devoted all her time to taking care of him. He was such a mess of PTSD and depression and emptiness, but she was there. She kept the lights on for him, she brought him food and water, held him after nightmares, talked him down from panic attacks every other day. She was there, despite everything, she was always there.

Tony was too far and he never wanted to bother May, so he regularly would drop by her fire escape where she would patch him up after patrols, and occasionally, let him sleep next to her and make sure to get him to school on time.

She’s always been there.

She’s held him together, kept him sane, helped him through it all.

It wouldn’t be fair to get pissed.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, shoving a hand through his mess of greasy, tangled curls. “I’m such a mess, I’m so sorry. I don’t mean to be a bitch, but I just… I don’t know what I’m doing. I feel like I’m drowning.”

And she nods because she’s always understood, always known what he means. She puts her hand over his. “You deserve a nap. C’mon.”

He goes to shake his head, looking to where his lab is only half-done, he’s only a few chapters into the textbook to get prepared for his exam, rough notes scribbled out for a paper.

“No, c’mon. You’re taking a nice nap. You deserve it,” she repeats, tugging more insistently at his wrist.

But he shakes his head this time, pulling his hand away. “If I stop, I won’t be able to start again.”

“Peter-”

“I’m serious, if I take a nap or a break or take a second to breathe, I will crumble and I won’t be able to put myself back together in time for these due dates. I won’t get back up. I just-” He stops, taking a deep breath and rubbing at his wet eyes. “I need to keep pushing for the next two weeks and then I can fall apart.”

MJ shakes her head, fingers wrapping around his thin wrist. “That’s not healthy. And it certainly wouldn’t be right for me to let you do that.”

“I’ll fail my classes if I don’t do well on these assignments and exams. I need to keep going. I know it’s bad, but if I get into bed, I will fall into a slump and I won’t get anything done.”

Surprising both him and what seems like herself, she nods, holding onto him a little tighter like he’ll disappear before her very eyes. “Fine. But I’m going to stay here with you and make sure you don’t die over the next two weeks, alright? And you have to listen when I tell you to eat or watch stupid reality TV shows with me.”

He hums out an agreement, letting himself slump into her side, eyes focusing in on his mess of homework laid out before him.

“Come on. Step one, is getting you showered and in clean clothes because you smell like you spent the night in a dumpster.”

*

MJ does exactly as she promised she would. She calls it a ‘mental health sleepover’ and they set up camp in the living room.

She calls in sick for him at work for most of the week, telling them that he caught the flu and wouldn’t be back until after his exams, and even then, he’d already booked most of Winter Break off to go home to New York.

There wasn’t much she could do, in all honesty, it wasn’t like she could force him to sleep or take a break without a fight, but she could make him healthy meals and stop him from going out patrolling, which was enough to take a big load off his shoulders.

And she occasionally can convince him to watch those dumb reality TV shows, which occasionally makes him fall asleep on the couch for at least an hour or two.

It helps, of course, but it doesn’t solve any of the problems.

As soon as he’s finished exams, he’s going to drop, he’s going to fall, he’s going to drown, let the waves take him.

And nobody will be able to help him then.

“I booked your flight home,” MJ says over dinner and while he’s finishing up his lab report. “My flight’s a few hours after yours, so I’ll be with you until you board and then the Starks will pick you up.”

“Thanks. I really owe you one,” he says, only half-listening as he starts on his paper.

She grabs him by his shoulder and makes him turn to her laptop screen. “Say yes to the dress time. Your paper can wait a bit.”

“There’s only so much I can procrastinate,” he says but he’s already closing his laptop and tucking himself into her side, and shoulders finally relaxing.

She starts the episode, on a low volume, and presses a quick kiss to his temple.

By the time they’re onto the second episode, Peter’s slurring out his insults to the dresses some of the women pick, making fun of the different styles, and blinking getting longer and longer.

“That neckline?” Peter goes, giggling into MJ’s shoulder. “Especially with those shoes?”

“You’re a bitch.”

“I know, but seriously?” he laughs again, a little window into the person he once was. “I mean the first option wasn’t bad, but the choice of a grey dress in the first place…”

MJ’s voice goes all soft and gentle when she next speaks up, “Come on, go to sleep, you can afford to take a little break.”

And he nods sleepily against her shoulder, tucking himself just a little closer, making himself small against her side. It’s simple, for now.

*

As soon as he’s done his last exam, he can feel the adrenaline wearing off, disappearing from within him, all energy draining from his very veins.

He goes straight home afterwards, ignoring everybody who tries to stop him for a chat. And as soon as he makes it to his apartment, he goes straight to bed, tugging the sheets right over his head.

He shouldn’t do this, he knows. He should call MJ, ask that she drop everything for him again because he can feel himself slipping, but he won’t. He can’t. He doesn’t even know when the last time he saw his phone was, let alone have the effort to leave his blankets and try to find it. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t have it in him to care.

He feels empty and exhausted and strung out. Carved hollow. Putting everything he has into the past few months, he feels like he has nothing left to give.

There’s a knock on his front door, but he doesn’t move.

A few minutes later, his phone rings, somewhere in another part of the apartment. It rings again and again, a symphony for him to pass out to.

*

Time passes strangely when he’s this deep in a depressive episode. He doesn’t know how long he’s been huddled under his blankets, hiding from the world. It could’ve been anywhere between a couple hours and a few days, he doesn’t know.

His phone continues ringing, far away and echoing through his dreams, tears sliding down his cheeks at random intervals, hands trembling where they’re tucked under his chest.

He feels like he’s drifting away, collapsing into himself, fading away into nothingness.

He feels empty, hollow, gone.

He gave everything he had into school and work over the course of four months, and he has nothing left to give anymore. He’s nothing more than an empty well.

And he doesn’t know how he’s supposed to pull himself together, pack, get a flight home, and pretend to be one hundred percent for Morgan.

He’d rather just die here, in this cave he’s built, ghost-like and fading away already, than have to face another soul.

*

When he hears his front door unlocking, he knows he should be worried. Nobody has a spare copy of his key except for Ned, who already went home to New York a few weeks back.

He knows it should be at least a little concerning that somebody is breaking into his apartment, but he can’t find it in him to care. He doesn’t have the energy to move or hide or try to protect himself.

He just curls up a little tighter and hopes that this won’t be his last day.

“Peter?”

He lifts his head, just enough to see over his cave of his blankets.

And standing in his bedroom doorway is Tony.

“Hi,” he breathes, curling up a little tighter, knowing he’s safe.

Tony slips into his room and sits at the end of his bed, one hand on Peter’s ankle. “MJ called when you wouldn’t answer your phone or let her in. She knew something was up.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I saw something like this coming after you finished your senior year and spent two weeks sick and depressed. I thought you’d be home in time before you started feeling so run down, but I guess I was wrong.”

Peter doesn’t know how he’s supposed to respond to that, so instead he lets his head fall into the pillows again.

“I’m not going to make you do anything yet, I think you could use a bit more time here. Though, Morgan thought two days sleeping was plenty, I think another one might do you well. But tomorrow, we’re going to get you fed and showered and your apartment clean, and then this weekend, we’ll get a flight home. Sound good?”

He nods, though he’s pretty sure he would agree to pretty much anything so long as the decisions are taken out of his hands.

“Come here,” Tony murmurs, sliding into the space beside Peter, arms open. Peter finally feels at home when he crawls into the awaiting hug. “MJ mentioned Say Yes to the Dress bingeing, you feel up for making fun of more dress choices?”

Peter laughs half-heartedly against Tony’s chest, tucking himself into him like a child would, and nods, breathing in the soothing scent of motor oil and expensive cologne.

He knows he’ll fall apart again, he knows that it’s not going to be a permanent solution, but the time being, he has Tony’s arms around him, a reality TV show quietly keeping them company, and the relief of having time to feel miserable before he has to pick himself up, it’s enough for now. It’ll be enough.

He’ll be okay with people like Tony and MJ at his side.

He’ll be okay.

Taglist: @littlemissagrafina  @fancyxparker  @romeoandjulietyouwish @c-artara @shadedrose01 @likeaphoenix13 @misskirkstark @you-get-killed-walk-it-off @kitkatwinchester  @emo-girl10 @justme--emily  @hold-our-destiny @imalivebecauseirondad @spiderman-peterman @dykeragee @maryserrao @heeeyitskay @parknerandirondad @lilacsandlilies4 @loveliestdisappointment @joyful-soul-collector @genderfluid-and-confuzled @fallenstar07 @gyurolls @sdottkrames {Let me know if you wanna be added or removed}

[pressedinthepages]

Brontide

noun. the low rumble of distant thunder.

Fandom: The Witcher

Pairing: Jaskier x Reader

Word Count: 3633

Rating: E  

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24245866

a/n: so once again, this ran away with me. this wasn’t a prompt, just an idea from my brain.

Warnings: filthy smut, oral sex, penetrative sex, female reader

A storm is raging, Jaskier and Reader confess their feelings for one another and have an exciting night

The sudden crack of thunder shoots you back to reality. It’s late, and you’re huddled up in a tavern in the middle of nowhere. Geralt has long since retired to bed, but both you and Jaskier are still lingering among the empty tables and abandoned tankards. You know that Geralt trusts the bard to take care of himself, but you just can’t bring yourself to leave him after one too many incidents involving a scorned spouse and a very sharp blade. So, you’ve resigned yourself to keeping guard from a dark corner with a little window, listening to the most ancient song of rain nourishing the earth. 

    You’ve been alone for at least an hour, the barkeep shoving the last dawdling drunk out of the doors and bolting the doors behind him. He gave you both a kind smile and retreated to his own dwelling above the tavern, leaving you alone with the bard.

    Jaskier has been strumming quietly across the room, apparently working on a new composition. Every now and then you’ll hear him mutter a curse under his breath and scribble on his parchment, but otherwise he’s not said a word since the last patron left. You’re thankful for this, for even though the bard’s voice is one that rivals that of a most holy angel, you sometimes long to just listen to him play his lute. The sounds are made ever sweeter by the music of the rain and the all-encompassing scent accompanying it, something earthy and old, older than time itself. You rest your head against the windowsill, drifting into daydreams about roaring waves, wood creaking under long, calloused fingers, wet rivulets of rain dripping down collars, and blue eyes that snatch your breath without care of you needing it back.

    Alas, you were not allowed long to lose yourself in this dream, the thunder cracking and rumbling across the sky, echoing through the little tavern and sending your mind darting back to your body in an electric jolt. Jaskier notices you start, and moves to gather his journal, tucking it and his lute into his case.. Slinging it across his back in a well-rehearsed move, he moves towards your table where your heart is still beating a bit quicker than normal. 

    “You know, you don’t have to stay down here with me,” the bard says with a small smile. “I can take care of myself.”

    “Well, while Geralt may let you roam into any royal pantry you please, I’d like to make sure you keep your head attached to your shoulders,” you quip back, earning a small chuckle in return. You tuck these little moments away, when you both can allow yourselves the luxury of laughter and peace instead of the relentless march of death and misery and heroics that Geralt follows. You’d never admit it, but you’ve found that the only thing that keeps you remotely sane these days is the lively man in front of you, surprising you at every turn. 

    What always surprises you most is how freely he gives his affections. Every kind person that he meets gets his light touches, his honeyed words, and his smile that could make even the most crotchety Witcher’s lips turn up at the edges. You’ve gotten all of this, but you’re so hungry for more. You’ve had a taste of his allure, and you’re addicted. He is your weakness, and you are terrified of him ever finding out. He could have just about any person on the Continent, why would he ever give you more than what he already gives so easily. 

    Jaskier holds out a hand, which you accept, rising to your feet. Your foot catches on the edge of the table though, and you tumble forward. Jaskier gracefully catches your fall, his hands steady around your waist and your hands latching onto his doublet and you never want to let him go. You’re close enough to be sharing the same breath, and Jaskier whispers your name with a reverence usually only employed for prayers to the gods.

    “Are you alright?” His voice has shifted, rumbling through you like the thunder, untamed and powerful. You bring your eyes to his, intent on answering that you’re absolutely fine, thank you very much. But when your gazes lock, it is like all of the world is holding its breath, with only the rain pattering on the windows to signal that the continuation of time. Jaskier’s hands around you tighten, and you settle into them, regaining your footing but not stepping away. Your hands slowly move up his shoulders, catching on the little threads and seams. When your fingers ghost onto his exposed collar, you feel rather than hear his breath hitch and he gently pulls your body tighter to his. You’re both moving as if pulled by a siren song, one that you’ve never heard or sang but know the words to nonetheless. Jaskier rests his forehead against yours, tenderly brushing his nose with yours. Your eyes flutter closed, not believing what they’re seeing as though your dream from earlier never actually ended. 

    “May I kiss you?” you hear him whisper, and you can almost feel his lips move against yours as he says it. You smile to yourself, moving ever so slightly to tilt your head up to meet him.

    “I would be quite disappointed if you didn’t,” you murmur, and before you can take another breath his lips have captured yours for just a moment, still hesitant and careful. He pulls back, worried that he’s pushed too far, but your lips chase and meet his once more. It’s as if all of the stars in the sky have aligned as you melt into his embrace. Your fingers thread into his hair, earning a sound born of pure sin deep in the bard’s chest. You suckle on his lip, licking into his mouth as he grants you further access. He tastes of sage and citrus, painting pure sunshine in the torrential downpour on the other side of the doors. A groan is pulled from your chest, a question and a promise in the sound. 

    You pull back from each other, still holding fast and sharing the same space. One of Jaskier’s hands cups your face, his thumb brushing your cheekbone as you catch your breath.

“Jaskier,” his name spilling from your mouth like pebbles along the bottom of a rushing river, “stay with me tonight.”

His mouth turns up into a smile, one filled with more hope and pleasure than you’ve ever had the good fortune of witnessing. He gently grasps your hands, leading you backwards to the little room you’re taking refuge from the storm in.

You tumble across the threshold, lips never parting, Jaskier’s foot kicking the door closed as he pushes you further into the room. You feel the bed at the back of your legs, and you push your hands under his open doublet, sliding it off of his shoulders. The garment hits the floor, and with his hands freed, Jaskier grasps the sides of your face, pulling back only enough to get air. You move your hands to his, grateful for any piece of him you can grasp. 

“I am afraid I am a fool, love,” he says, gently lacing his fingers through your hair, releasing it from its simple tie at the back of your head. Your hair flutters down like letting out a breath you hadn’t known you’d been holding, and you peer at Jaskier hoping that he’ll elaborate without you prompting. Ever predictable, he continues, his whispers warming your cheeks with every word. Less predictable, however, are the words he says.

“I feel as though I’ve loved you since the moment you entered my life,” he murmurs. “You filled a hole in my life that I didn’t know was empty, and I am terrified of finding it hollow once more.”

You feel your eyes start to glisten, holding Jaskier impossibly tight. You gather every bit of courage that you carry, and say, barely louder than a whisper, “Then I too am a fool, for I have been trying to win your heart not knowing that it was already mine.”

You bring your mouth back to his, rekindling the heat with your confession. Your hands travel back to his chest, the fabric of his chemise soft and worn with time. You pull the hem of the shirt from where it is tucked in and Jaskier lifts his arms, breaking your kiss only for the time it takes for the shirt to join the doublet on the ground. His arms wrap around your waist, lips meeting yours once more, firm and persistent. Your nails scratch lightly through the hair on his chest as his fingers move to the laces at the front of your blouse. You notice he’s quite good at multi-tasking, unlacing your shirt while also kicking off his boots, making you a little jealous since it feels like you wouldn’t be able to form two coherent thoughts while in his arms.

Jaskier’s hands push your blouse down your arms, his mouth moving to any newly exposed skin, kissing and suckling every place he can reach. His hands, calloused and rough from years of music and travel, leave goosebumps in their wake as they travel to your back, intent on unlacing your corset. Your hands travel down, down his chest to his waist, finding him warm and wanting. You palm him through his light trousers, and you feel his fingers lose their place, lost to his own pleasure. He regains himself quickly though and practically tears the damned thing off of you, discarding it with the rest of your clothing. 

His hands find purchase on your hips and he pushes you backwards, forcing you to sit on the edge of the bed. Jaskier moves to his knees, pulling your boots off and chucking them dramatically over his shoulder. You chuckle lightly, pushing back a stray piece of hair from his forehead, cradling his face in your palm. He sighs and leans into your touch, content with this moment of tenderness amidst the desire. 

“This is how I feel every time you grace me with your smile or your laugh, sweeter than any song I could ever dream of writing, drawn to my knees to worship you without a second thought,” Jaskier utters, running his hands up your thighs. Your eyes prickle at the honesty, the overwhelming joy of caring and being cared for in return. Your hands find his and you stand, leaving him kneeling before you. You bring his hands to the laces on your trousers, with an unspoken request. Jaskier sits up, leaving hot kisses along your stomach while he deftly unties the laces. He hooks his fingers into the waist of the pants and pulls them, along with your smallclothes, to the floor, where you carefully step out of them. He moves to stand, hands sliding up your legs and under your chemise. You’re not sure you’ve ever been touched quite like this before, as if he is feeling skin for the first and last time. Your skin is kissed by the cool air in the room as it is exposed, Jaskier standing to his full height and lifting the undershirt over your head. It soon joins everything else on the floor, and you are finally blissfully bare before him. 

He hums appreciatively before taking your hands in his and takes a few steps back, resting his weight against the wall behind him. He plants a lingering kiss to your fingertips before lowering them to his trousers. Your hands tremble, not something born of anxiety, but of impatience. We should really wear fewer layers you think to yourself as you untangle the knot that secures the band of his pants. Your hands slide along his hips, and you move them downward, bringing the trousers and underclothes with you. You wind up kneeling with one knee on the floor, and you help Jaskier step out of the clothes. You lift your gaze, and are met with the most beautiful view you’ve ever seen. His cock is standing proud, flushed and straining with arousal. You flick your eyes back to his, silently asking permission. He lets out a trembling breath and nods, never breaking your gaze. You settle between his legs, gently running your nails up his legs, scratching the hairs and feeling the muscles that twitch beneath your touch. 

You let out a hum and wrap your hand around the base of his cock, feeling the passion and power and heat. Jaskier’s head is thrown back against the wall with a thunk, gasping out a string of disjointed syllables. His name falls from your lips, and you lean forward, trailing the flat of your tongue from your hand up his length, circling the tip before pulling him into your mouth. He still tastes of sage and citrus, but there’s something else, something distinctly Jaskier, and it’s intoxicating. You moan around him, pulling him in further and his knees buckle, his fingers threading through your hair and settling at the crown of your head. You move slowly, sliding your lips up and down, giving little twists of your wrist around the base of him. His breath is short and ragged, a gale of wind carrying leaves and flowers and promises. Your free hand glides up to his chest and back down his leg and back up again, this time roving to his backside and giving a little squeeze. His cock twitches in your mouth and you taste the salt of his arousal, just barely pearling at his tip. You suck in your cheeks and release him, the pop echoing in the little room. Your hand still works itself along the length of his cock, twisting at the end, then suddenly Jaskier stutters out your name. You release him, sitting back on your heels and looking up at him, quirking an eyebrow.

    He is so beautiful like this, chest heaving and flushed, hair pointing every direction, putty beneath your fingers. He’s fucked out on the feeling of you, and you can’t help the little swell of pride that washed through you. Jaskier holds out a hand, just as he did earlier in the evening, and you rest your hand in his. He pulls you up lightly, kissing you until you see stars, his arousal still pressed between your bodies. “Fuck,” he exhales, pulling back to regain some sort of composure. After a heartbeat, his eyes open, glinting with more than a little mischief. He leans down so that his mouth is at your ear, and he whispers, “go lay on the bed, love.”

    You pull out of his grip, lingering at his hands, gently pulling him with you towards the bed. You lay back, sinking down into the pillows’ soft embrace. Jaskier climbs after you, settling himself so he is straddling over you. He settles back onto his heels, looming over you. He reminds you of old tales of the gods walking among humans, and in this moment, you can believe them all. He reaches to you, his hand snaking to the back of your neck to pull you into a searing kiss. His other hand moves to your breast, kneading the soft flesh until you arch further into him with a gasp. The hand behind your head pulls you to the side, exposing your neck for his attention. He leaves little kisses along your jaw as he moves, finding a spot just under your ear that makes you whine with the barest touch. He deepens the kiss there, sucking a mark into the sensitive skin. Both of his hands are on your breasts now, and it is all you can do to run your hands along whatever skin of his you can find. Jaskier pushes you back so that you are laying once more, and he takes each of the raised peaks of your breasts in his mouth before moving to settle between your thighs. 

    “May I?” He asks, and you gulp, nodding feverishly. You’re sure that even if you had tried to answer with words, they wouldn’t have made any sense with how mindless in arousal you are. He pushes your knees up and apart, laying on his stomach so that he is level with your sex. Jaskier’s hands run up your legs, meeting at the apex of your thighs, and he spreads his thumbs to meet at your center. He parts you, fully invested in his inquiry into your pleasure. His tongue runs along the length of your cunt, suckling at the bundle of nerves at the top. Every nerve feels like it’s on fire, every muscle seizes, everything outside of this little room ceases to exist. Your hands fly to his hair, hips rocking like a ship in a storm against his mouth, your head falling back against the pillows, eyes screwed shut. Jaskier drinks you like a man who has never known water, or ale, or apple juice, and now never wants to know. He swirls his tongue around your clit, humming at the taste of your pleasure. Words are tumbling from your mouth like the rain against the windows, constant and indistinguishable noises of gratitude, prayer, and pleas for more, more.

    Jaskier shifts so that he has one arm draped across your hips, holding you down, and with his other hand he thrusts two fingers inside of you, intent on learning you as well as he’s learned his instruments, for he’s sure that you would make the most beautiful music. As he withdraws them only to thrust them back in and again and again, you lift your head to look down at him only to find his piercing blue eyes already on you. Your hands tighten in the priceless silk of his hair, causing him to suckle, thrust, and moan against you all at the same time, and the relentless storm is suddenly inside of the room. Every color you’ve ever seen flashes behind your eyes, there is a dull roar of thunder in your ears, and every wall you’ve ever built in yourself cracks and shatters under his watchful eye. In that moment, there is everything, and nothing. 

    Jaskier brings you back to yourself, his attentions never wavering. He coaxes you back down and kisses the inside of your thigh as he climbs to hover over you once more. You pull him down, tasting yourself on his mouth, dragging a gravelly moan from your chest at the feel of his cock, still warm and weighty and wanting against your stomach. You hook your legs up and around his hips, trying to pull him ever closer to you. His forehead rests against yours as he looks down, lining himself at your entrance. Jaskier brings his eyes back to you as he pushes forward, slowly sheathing himself in one smooth motion. He stills, letting you adjust to him. You feel so wonderfully full, and you gently clench yourself around him. His head falls to your shoulder, his lips against your neck. 

“Fuck,” he grits, his voice marbles on cobblestone, “do that again.”

You squeeze once more, and Jaskier only growls, low and long. He pushes himself up to rest on his hands before he moves his hips, pulling almost fully out of you. You whine at the loss of touch, only for the sound to puncture itself as he drives so impossibly deep within you. You dig your fingernails into his shoulders, grasping for some semblance of reality in this world of bliss. He sets a steady pace, but it is too soon not nearly enough. One of your hands falls to knead your breast, looking for any friction to bring you further. With a deep, guttural sound, Jaskier loops his arm under your waist and shifts his weight so that he pulls you so you’re sitting in his lap. 

He fucks up into you, hard, spearing up into you, finding the spot within you that makes you feel like you could devastate planets from existence. The sound that spills from you is a mix between a gasp and a prayer, trying so desperately to hold onto something anything in this moment. You feel Jaskier everywhere, every angle inside of you, every touch, every kiss, every huff of breath along your skin. Outside, lightning strikes to ground and your own lightning flies up your spine, a strangled cry falling from your lips as your storm washes away the rest of the world. Your cunt clenches Jaskier like a vice, and his teeth sink into your neck as his pleasure overtakes him. You’re oversensitive, but you gently rock against him, coaxing every last moment of euphoria from him. 

As he comes back to himself, you stroke your hand along his face and pull him into a kiss, still passionate but now sated. Jaskier pulls himself out of you and you feel his spend trail down your thigh. He lays you back down onto the bed and stands, moving to the little dresser to retrieve a small damp cloth. When he returns, he leans in for another kiss, gently moving the cloth along your body to get you clean. He throws the cloth over his shoulder with the same ridiculous bravado as earlier when he finishes and climbs back into the bed, pulling you to lay against his side with your head against his chest. You feel his thumb brush along your arm, and as you rest a hand on his chest, you find comfort in the sound of his heart, strong and steady, lulling you to sleep. 

*Geralt loves the sound of rain, but Gods does he wish it was a little bit louder so he didn’t have to hear everything from the next room over.

[abovethesmokestacks]

Distant Connection 2/7

Pairing: Bucky x reader

Word count: 985

Rating: General audiences

Warnings: none

| Distant Connection Masterlist |

Thank you so, so much for the support and reblogs and comments on the first chapter! It’s making me maybe a teensy bit less nervous about this whole endeavour, and also excited to post again. Stay safe, and I hope you enjoy chapter 2.

Chapter 2: Introvert Olympics

“...so, I guess that’s something we need to take into account when we get to present budget issues.”

It’s day ten, new week, same face that looks from you to something on his screen or scribbles in a notebook. It’s… surprisingly easy. Even better because you haven’t been greeted by a furry butt since Alpine decided to make an appearance. James- Bucky, he said to call him Bucky and even though you haven’t it still applies - is a good collaborator. If that’s because you’re both stuck at home and trying to do the best out of a crappy situation and thus maybe having a little more patience with each other, is hard to say. But he’s knowledgeable, has a few years of project work under his belt and is happy to both take and give advice. 

It could be worse.

A ding sounds through the connection, J- Bucky picking up his phone and rolling his neck.

“Alright, time for a break. I can call you back in fifteen minutes.”

“Oh.” Why does that all of a sudden sting a little? Like he can’t wait to get rid of you. Maybe you’ve misjudged just how well the two of you mesh. “Okay. Sure.”

“Unless… you want to… stick around and have coffee together? Or tea? Coffee? I don’t know, do you drink either?” Bucky flounders, and how is it possible for him to sound so unsure all of a sudden?

“Both, actually, but I might actually go for tea. Caffeine makes me, you know, energized, and I can’t exactly run a marathon in here to get rid of the energy so I can sleep at night.”

Bucky snorts and nods, “I hear ya. So, um, gimme five minutes to get myself coffee? And maybe feed the monster?”

It’s kind of nice. Apart from the fact that the only tea you have home is the one you bought by mistake that tastes of grass, and you can tell Bucky tries not to laugh as you keep grimacing at your mug. It’s easy. There’s not really much talking, not between you at least. One of Bucky’s room mates ducks in and asks something off-screen, you think you hear Alpine meowing when Bucky goes to put away his mug. It’s a good little pocket of calm before you’re back in work mode.

The next day, he doesn’t ask. Just keeps the feed going. Coffee, terrible tea, minding each other’s business. Alpine makes an appearance on Wednesday, apparently patting at Bucky’s leg for attention and he lifts the cat onto his lap.

“He looks used to that.”

“Oh, he is spoiled, absolutely. He claimed this chair when I brought it home over the weekend before we started, and looked so betrayed on Monday morning when I wouldn’t let him nap in it,” he laughs, scratching under Alpine’s chin and the cat stretches his head up until he almost loses balance. “He’s good though. Keeps me sane. And drives me insane. But mostly the first one.”

You take a sip, grimace. Fuck, this is becoming unbearable, you need actual tea and not this… torture. “I wonder how everyone else is coping. God, I would pay to be a fly on the wall of the guy who had the office next to mine. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was scaling the walls on day two.”

“Yeah, one of the guys I live with is struggling a bit. He’s not good with working alone. I mean, he can do stuff on his own, he doesn’t need someone to hold his hand, but he’s struggling outside of the whole work environment with other people around?”

“I mean, I miss everyone, too. Kinda. I mean, they’re fun to work with. But I gotta say, this isn’t horrible? Like, having to work from home, obviously. The reason behind it is though.”

There’s a sage nod from the other end of the screen, Bucky taking a sip from his mug, and ugh, maybe you should give in and just have coffee. “I know. I was a little nervous about how I’d cope, but it’s been fine. Being a little introverted helps. Like, finally something I’m good at, just sitting at home, working quietly, not talking to anyone for a majority of the day. Well, anyone but you.”

His eyes bulge the second the words leave his mouth and he almost knocks over his mug. It’s almos a little cute. “Shit. That sounded wrong. It’s- I’m- This is good. I mean, working with you and talking with you and seeing you. Shit. What I’m saying is-” His mouth is left agape as he struggles to work his way out of the hole he’s digging himself into, while Alpine paws at him and looks highly annoed, and you laugh again, loud and pealing, and Bucky mock-glares at you.

“I’m gonna shut up now.”

“Please, don’t. This is the most fun I’ve had all week,” you say between fits of laughter. “And if it’s any consolation, I’m the same. I don’t mind this. Although between the two of us, I’m clearly a little more hardcore because I live alone.”

“What, we’re doing introvert Olympics now?”

“I might be. I think you’d be disqualified because first off you have room mates, and second, you also have a cat.”

Bucky’s face scrunches up in a smile, “Okay, fair. But I still spend a majority of my time alone, and the monster is not nearly as helpful as you’d think.”

“We’ll be fine when this ends.” You’re not sure where that comes from, but it seems the right thing to say. You have no idea for how long this lockdown will go on. Social distancing until further notice, Fury’s weekly update had read on Monday.

Maybe it is introvert Olympics after all. You look around your apartment, and for the first time, its size and its silence feels just a little unnerving.

[romioneficfest]

The Moment I Knew

Title: The Moment I Knew

Prompt/Day: 9 - Their Wedding Day

Tumblr name: 

Rating: K+

Brief summary: At the dinner table during he and Hermione’s wedding, Ron stands up to deliver his groom’s speech before the first bride and groom dance, about the moment he knew she was the one.

Warning tag: brief mention of sleeping together, doesn’t go past that; brief mention of alcohol, brief mention of potentially-PTSD nightmares

“Witches and wizards, if I could just have your attention, please! And I mean it, because I’m getting real tired of clinking this fork against this wineglass like some Muggle —no offense to my in-laws, of course—, and if I try to charm them to do it I’ll probably go overboard and it’ll break and that won’t be good for anyone… So if I could have your attention, please! … That’s better.

“We’re here today, together as we have so many times before, not so you can all take advantage of the complimentary alcohol we’ve so kindly provided (I’m looking at you, Hagrid, I know that’s your third tankard), but to celebrate the fact that Hermione has officially agreed to sleep with me and me only forever —ouch, you don’t have to pinch me, I know I need to apologize to your parents again, but it was too good not to say it— but no, really, it’s because this beautiful, brilliant witch next to me has somehow agreed to spend the rest of her life with me. Now that’s luck, folks, and take it from someone who’s seen Felix Felicis up close.

“Marriage is new. It’s scary, yes, not in the ‘snatchers are chasing us across a forest and we’re gonna die,” but in the way good things should be. And like all things new, a lot of questions come with it. Like how do we choose whose side of the bed is whose, and commit to that forever? How do you raise a kid without screwing them up too badly? And how on earth do I learn how to sort a sock drawer? These questions all look forward, into a future I’m overjoyed I’m getting to live, but there are some questions that lead me to look back. And from those recollections, a single question stands out, one that I change the answer to pretty much on the daily, the one I think over every night as I go to sleep next to this beautiful woman: when did I know she was the one?

“Like I said, I change the answer to this one on the reg, because living with Hermione Granger means she gives me a whole new reason to fall for her every single day, and with every passing day I spend next to her not an instant goes by that I don’t think ‘she’s the one' all over again. We’ve known each other since we were eleven, after all, and I’ve loved her pretty much the whole time. Yes, Harry, stop looking at me like that, even in first year— nearer the end, I’ll admit. So if you asked me to pick out just one instant when I knew, when I was sure— well, mate, I’d be hard-pressed to find just one.

"I could say it was yesterday, when I’d scarcely woken up and I was still all groggy, but my eyes managed to open just enough for me to see her already sitting up in bed, frowning down at her book and scribbling something onto it. Seven thirty in the morning, and the woman wasn’t just reading, she was annotating! I dipped back into sleep, sure, but to see her entranced by her reading just never gets old— which is a good thing, I guess, because I don’t think I can count on her ditching the books anytime soon.

"I could say it was a few months ago, when she got me surprise tickets to a Cannons game —it wasn’t even my birthday or anything—, and then she spent the game telling me all these facts, because she’d read a book to be able to understand my favorite team. I didn’t even mind— I complain about her lectures, but the truth is, I think I learn more from them than I ever did at school.

"I could say it was a couple years back, when she proposed we move in together because ‘oh, Ronald, how are you going to manage on your own'— and it’s true, I don’t think I could’ve, because she keeps me sane and grounded in a way no one else does. I told Harry back at the beginning of seventh year that we wouldn’t last two days without her, and though I think he needs her less now that he’s made snogging my sister his full-time job, it certainly holds true for me. It’s pretty simple: I don’t know what I’d do without her.

"I could say it was even farther back, the first time I met her parents, where I was practically soiling my pants because I was so nervous they’d think I wasn’t good enough for their daughter —which they might think now, honestly, after all the things I’ve said in the space of the last five minutes— or that there’d be something wrong with me. And she sat me down, in a little bench a few steps from her driveway, and she held my shoulders until I was breathing normally and she told me they’d love me: not just because I was the man their daughter loved, but because I was Ron. She countered all the things I’d spent my life fearing: she told me I was good, she told me I was enough, she told me she was lucky to have me. And besides, she said, if they didn’t like me, it didn’t matter, because she loved me more than anyone else could. Let me tell you, when we walked in arm-in-arm, I wasn’t shaking anymore, and if you ask me, that’s a more magical feat than any advanced spell she’s conjured, which (if you know Hermione’s wandwork as well as I do) is no small thing.

"I could also say it’s been every time I’ve woken up with a start from a nightmare, thinking I’m still there, feeling the cold weight of the locket against my chest, and she’s been right there to hold me, to warm me up again and let me cry it out on her shoulder, to lull me back to sleep in the comfort of her arms and her kisses. That’s a good estimation of when, because every time it happens, I can’t help but just be overwhelmed by how lucky I am to have her.

"I could say it was the time she first kissed me, when I finally showed her just how much I cared and, sure, basilisk fangs on the floor don’t make for a very romantic setting, and when I told Harry it was 'now or never’, I wanted that 'now’ to last me an eternity. I don’t need to tell all of you how hard and terrifying fighting a war is— and I don’t know if I could’ve done it if it hadn’t been for that kiss.

"I could say it was when she was— when we were— at Malfoy Manor, and all that existed in my head was her screaming, and how much I wanted it to stop. I knew nothing would be the same if we didn’t get out of there together, and I wanted more than anything to storm up and protect her, to save her— I made a promise to myself I would. The feeling didn’t go away for the days at Shell Cottage she spent in my arms, and it overjoys me that, by marrying her, I’m able to keep fulfilling that promise forever.

"I could say it was that time she almost killed me with her bare hands after I came back to the forest, and she didn’t talk to me for a few days. I was back with my best friends, I’d destroyed a Horcrux, the mission seemed going well; I should have been exhilarated, but all that I thought was that the only way it’d all have been worth it was if she would give me one of her lovely smiles again.

"I could say it was when we shared a dance at Bill and Fleur’s wedding. Sure, I swept her up partly to get her away from Viktor —hello, by the way, I know you’re sitting there all broody at a table somewhere—, but as she was steering me across the dance floor (because the thing about Hermione is that she always leads, and I’m perfectly happy with that) and I was holding her hand in one of mine and her waist in the other, it felt like that was where I was meant to be. Like things just fit.

"I could say it was when she helped me clean up the ink spill over my homework back in sixth year. Y'know, I actually told her I loved her then— really, I said, "I love you, Hermione,” and she had the audacity to say I shouldn’t let Lavender hear that, as if I wasn’t gonna see her blush. To this day, I’m not sure she knows I meant it. Well, now I know she does.

“I could also say it was when I almost died from that poisoned mead, and she kept me company at the infirmary every day. She read me books too advanced for me to understand, she just sat there and did her homework by me, but she was there with me, like I was, back in second year when she was petrified and couldn’t even hear me— but, Merlin, was I glad I could hear all the things she told me during those days. That’s the thing about Hermione— she’s always got something fascinating to say.

"I could also say it was when she attacked me with birds —blimey, Hermione, a lot of these moments have to do with me almost dying or you almost killing me, maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all- ouch! I’m kidding…—; like I was saying, when she attacked me with birds, in sixth year too. A spell I’d never seen before, and of course, her being Hermione Granger, it worked, and I was picking at scabs for a week after that. Strangely, though, it didn’t feel so bad: it felt like she cared. And it gave me hope for us.

"I could say it was when she made that Edgecombe girl’s face flare up in boils, when she gave up the DA— it was brilliant, it really was, and it showed me a different side of her. A wilder, more violent side, perhaps, but a new side of her for me to love. Besides, I guess, in the moral scheme of things, it sorta knocked her down a notch from her pedestal, which to someone like me was splendid news.

"I could say it was all throughout that summer before fifth year, where we spent so much time alone at Grimmauld place, laughing in a bedroom and avoiding my mum’s cleaning craze. I got to be with her, just her, for weeks on end during that time, and it showed me just how much I liked being alone together.

"But I think, even through this myriad of all-good-answers, I think there’s one moment that shines through them all, that deserves its place as the moment I knew. It was the Yule Ball, fourth year, and I was wearing some rather atrocious dress robes I’ll never forgive my mum for —even if she murders me, by the look on her face, after I’m done talking—, when Hermione came down the stairs, looking like a dream in blue. She was radiant, and she flashed me one of those irresistible grins over her shoulder as she took Krum’s hand and took to the dance floor with him. Fellas, there are plenty of reasons to be jealous of a world-class Seeker, but at that moment, his Quidditch skills weren’t particularly what I envied. That was when I knew she was the only girl I’d ever see like I saw her that night, even if I had to spend my whole life chasing after her.

"But tonight, the chase is over. And tonight, it’s my turn: she’s dressed in white now, not in blue, but she still looks like a slice of heaven; she looks even happier, if I dare say it, and it’s my hand she’s letting guide her to the dance floor now, for our first dance as husband and wife. But before I dance with her, I just want to take another moment to tell her how much I love her, and how —at long last, after all these years, though there’s never been a shadow of doubt in my mind— she’s made me the happiest man in the world, because I’m marrying the only girl there’s ever been for me. And how I hope, in her life —our life—, I can make her even half as happy as she’s made me since the first day she barged into my train compartment and demanded to know my name.

"Cheers!”

[dontshouta]

warm

summery: You work the night shift at the local cat cafe and anticipate the appearance of a certain cat lover. pairing: aizawa shouta x reader word count: 1956 note: hi ! this is my first mha lil fic so pls,,,,, go easy on me

Your chin was pressed neatly into the palm of your hand as you stare into the abyss, mind unpresent while the clock ticked by. The cats were lounging languidly on the various cat towers and couches, some hopping about with unrelenting energy while others simply watched, their sharp eyes slanted ever so slightly in the quiet atmosphere. You stifled a yawn, casting a quick glance to your watch before sighing. You were in for a long night, Tuesday nights were always hauntingly slow. At least you didn’t have to deal with obnoxious customers, you decided. You didn’t mind the quiet, either. While one was in the company of several dozen cats, it was hard to complain. Your mind was in a different place, anyhow. Sometimes, a certain hero would drag himself into the establishment, eyes bloodshot and droopy while he’d make his way to his designated area in a corner near the register. He was your favorite.

With all the limited interactions with him he sure did make you feel brainless. It felt like all rationale would be packed neatly in a box with a pretty bow and yeeted violently out the window whenever he graced the establishment with his presence. 

Regardless, you hoped he’d come in tonight, as you hoped he would every night. Whenever he was in the establishment, the two of you would rarely make conversation, you were always too anxious to make any in fear of bothering the quiet hero. You would usually find him napping with several cats snuggled up on his chest and a hint of a smile donning his scruffy face. At times, you’d be tempted to snap a picture of the adorable moment before you, but would ultimately decide that that would be a serious breach of privacy. Pro hero or not. 

Your night always seemed to brighten whenever you would hear his light snore between the purring cats around him. Without even doing much of anything at all, he still managed to make your chest feel warm. You rolled your lip in between your teeth. Maybe if he comes in tonight, I could make some light conversation. Your cheeks blossomed with heat. What if I say something stupid? I don’t wanna embarrass myself! You huffed at your conscious and decided some small talk wouldn’t hurt anybody. If he even came in.

You busied yourself with your nightly duties, not wanting to stay later than you had to, all the while humming to yourself and occasionally singing softly to the rowdy kitties. You loved those irritable puffballs with every fiber of your being, giving them all the love they certainly didn’t want with a smile on your face.

The bell in front rang softly, signaling a customer had arrived. You tried to cool the growing smile on your face, yelling a quick Be right there! before rushing towards the front. You nodded to yourself, trying to get your confidence up before greeting what you hoped was your favorite customer. Any normal person wouldn’t have gotten their hopes up that quickly, but you were pretty accustomed to the hero’s schedule. No sane person would enter a cat cafe in the dead of night. In passing, you wondered why the cafe’s hours were so late.

You blew out a calming breath, a welcoming smile plastered on your face as you steadied your nerves. Your eyes met his familiar tired ones immediately, your smile softening as you took him in. He looked just as mysterious as he always did, chin buried in his scarf, hair wild, and hands deep in his pockets while he stood. He scanned the pastry display case with the smallest hint of interest, giving you some time to stare unabashedly at the hero. He looked so magnificent in the warm glow of the cafe, his nose the cutest shade of pink due to the winter air outside. You could stare at him all night if you could. Most nights, you did. Not in a stalkery way, tough.

His eyes finally met yours with a raised brow. You bolted upright, cheeks blushing uncontrollably at being caught red-handed. Oh gosh he probably thinks I’m some weirdo. I haven’t even greeted him yet! Gosh I could throw up. Your mind was racing a mile a minute, overcalculating the man before you and completely forgetting to do your job. What if I just blew my chances with him? Nonsense, some staring wouldn’t completely shatter any hopes I had with him. What were you even thinking, thinking you could openly stare at this god among men? Wait, what chances? I had better chances getting wailed on by a homerun baseball than getting in any sort of relationship with him. You heavily preferred the latter, though. Your brow scrunched anxiously as your thoughts spun like a hurricane in your mind. He cleared his throat, looking at you pointedly. He looked amused. You wanted the ground to swallow you up right then and there and condemn your life to an eternity of solitude within the Earth’s core. 

“Good evening! Welcome to NekoNeko Cafe, how may I help you?” You greeted shakily, shoulders tense to your ears with a nervous smile. His lips twitched, barely hiding his amusement. You wanted to pout, maybe even scream a little? Okay, that’s a little extreme. He found your floundering absolutely hilarious. You couldn’t wait to get home and throw yourself an extravagant pity party. 

“A blueberry muffin.. Please.” He mumbled softly, expression back to neutral. You blinked, almost positive he would’ve rubbed salt into your ego-wound. You then mentally kicked yourself, you didn’t find him to be a rude man at all. Quiet, sure, but never rude. To you, at least. Your anxiety plagued mind just couldn’t help but dredge up the worst possible scenarios.

So, silently thanking the universe for blessing you with an equally attractive and respectful man, you opened the display of sweets and carefully grabbed the tastiest looking blueberry muffin the cafe had to offer at the moment. Your shaky hands offered the pastry to the tall man who accepted it mutely, his rough hands grazed yours ever so slightly, shocking you to the core. You retracted immediately, blushing furiously at basically nothing. You mentally kicked yourself. Harder this time. With a steel toed boot. You had no idea why you were so jumpy, it’s not like this was your first interaction with him. Yet, you were acting like a schoolgirl who was too scared to confess to their crush. Which, yeah, that’s kind of what was happening. You cleared your throat, hoping he wasn’t watching you as closely as you thought he was and punched the order into the register.

“That’ll um, be $2.46..” Your voice was barely above a whisper, afraid it would break under his gaze.

“Sorry, sweetheart, what was that?” 

You jolted upright again, blinking owlishly up at him with the utmost surprise. Did he really just-? Did he just call you sweetheart? Surely, your ears were deceiving you. Maybe he said meat fart? You felt your whole body burst into flames. Too warm.

“I- I- I said… tha-that’ll be $2.46!” You were embarrassed. But oh-so flattered. You couldn’t believe he had called you sweetheart. You were on cloud nine, your heart hammering in your chest as you watched him pull out the cash with heart-eyes. Your mind had turned to mush, you could sing. No, that’d be weird. 

I want him to call me sweetheart again.

He placed the money in your open palm, fingers lingering this time, before pulling away completely. Were you going crazy, or was he flirting with you? 

“Keep the change, sweetheart.” He teasingly winked before leisurely heading to his designated spot.

There it was again. Sweetheart. AND a bonus wink? Your legs felt about ready to crumple underneath you. You stole a glance his way, watching him take a small bite of his muffin while his feline friends crowded around him. A breath escaped your lungs, finally feeling free from his calculating gaze while his attention was on the playful kitties. 

You couldn’t let your interaction end for the night. He was flirting with you, right? You just couldn’t let it die now. You eyed his abandoned receipt, a blush creeping up on your cheeks again as a plan formulated in your mind. You snatched the receipt before you could change your mind and hurriedly scribbled your phone number onto it. You thought about drawing a cute little heart next to it. You dropped that thought as soon as it materialized in your brain, crushing it under your mind’s foot and spitting on it. You decided you had enough embarrassment for the night.

With renewed confidence, you stomped over to the unsuspecting man who was offering his muffin to the calico curled up on his chest. 

You bowed deeply, offering the receipt in both your extended hands. Now you definitely felt like a pitiful schoolgirl.

“You.. you forgot your receipt!” You exclaimed, still bowing. Your face felt like it was steaming, embarrassment dripping out of every pore. You hoped he would relieve you of it, and soon. You couldn’t bow forever.

“Ah, thank you.” He mumbled, gingerly taking the receipt from your hand and studying it intently.

“It was no problem!” Your mind couldn’t stop screaming. You felt like an absolute fool. Run away! Now! While you still can! You turned on your heel briskly and made a mad dash for the register. Or, at least you tried to.

A strong hand wrapped around your wrist before you could make your grand escape, giving it a strong pull in the opposite direction. This is it. This is how I die. Your mind whirled, feeling extremely hot and clammy. 

You made contact with a hard chest. When did he stand up? Goodness, he’s so tall, I’m gonna throw up. You rubbed your aching nose, trying to calm your queasy stomach. And anxious mind. And erratic breathing. Why were you freaking out? A little rejection never hurt anybody. It’ll humble you and make you never want to make the first move ever again. His hand was still around your wrist. He was pleasantly warm. You hoped he couldn’t feel the gross heat emanating from your skin. 

“Sweetheart if you wanted my number, you could’ve just asked.” He whispered, his body bent slightly to level his mouth to your ear. You shuddered involuntarily, you heart rate spiking at the proximity. He smelt like mint. A little like citrus, too. A hint of sweat made itself known, it didn’t bother you though. He’s a pro hero, what can ya do. Suddenly, his words hit your brain like a ton of bricks and you spluttered, taking the tiniest step back.

“I- Well- You-!” You blew an exasperated breath out and stomped your foot like a preschooler. “Well, maybe if you didn’t walk away after your little flirting escapade I wouldn’t have had to doodle my number on your dumb receipt.” You were being too defensive, you knew that, but you felt like you had to justify your high school antics. Especially when he was looking so amused. 

He chuckled, retreating from your personal space and standing to his full height. Not really though, he was slouching. You found it endearing. No he’s making a fool out of you! Not. Endearing.

You had a marvelous pout on your face, arms crossed, and toe tapping away as you awaited his response with bated breath. 

He stuffed the receipt into his front pocket and shot you a cat-like smirk. You genuinely felt like he shot you right in the moment, that stupid smirk doing more to you than it should have.

“You can expect a call from me then, sweetheart.”

[domakconix-blog]

Welcome to me camp!

My attempt at making a blog.

What do you even do in a blog? I don’t know what to do or what to write in it, but I do really want to create one, so here she is! I would want to make this chill-n-informal as possible and just type whatever I’d like to clack on my keyboard.

Shaving the Ice

Maybe typing in an introduction could be a good place to start. I could share a lot of sh’tuff about myself, but I don’t think knowing my favorite color is not really interesting. Knowing the amount of teriyaki and oyster sauce I pour into my cup of noodles in a kiosk near the campus library is too specific. By the way, its six and eight tablespoons respectively. I like’m salty like my sweat during a hot day doing fieldwork.

Anyway, let’s start with my name. Hi, I am Dominic! Yes, I let people know my first name, whatevs. I am a college student trying to understand what the heck emm doing. No, seriously. I entered university under a degree that I am not really quite familiar with. Even though I am treading in uncharted territory here, I could somewhat easily say that I am enjoying myself.

I know that no one would read these post-clackers of mine but doing stuff like this would help me cope up. We all know that there is this pandemic crisis going on and being in the house all day is not really something that could make anyone stay sane, so I though that I could do something like this and just type my thoughts and stuff.

Sketch-n-Shtuff

I do have a Twitter account going under the handle @domblerone! (Follow me there for real good shit!) I don’t even enjoy Toblerone. I just thought that it sounds cool but I guess it’s just meh like a Toblerone. If you taken a peek and see what’s over there, I do digital art! (and maybe some kvetchin’ here and there) 

Ever since I convinced my grandmother to buy me a Wacom tablet that’s on sale for around a hundred bucks, I have been collecting a bunch of .SAI files of unfinished work. They range from random scribbles of something that I don’t even recognize to files with around a hundred plus layers. I don’t even know how people can create amazing works of art with only a few layers. Like, what the fuck? To be fair, I abuse my blending modes.

My pen and tablet have always been my sword and shield in many fights and the scratches on it are the reminders that I should change my nib already, but my cheap-ass says that I should just use sandpaper to smooth it up. I don’t even know where I can buy nibs. Again, I just use sandpaper like using water for cleaning your paintbrush.

Other than making digital paintings, I do nothing. Heck, no. I know that I am boring, but emm not that boring! (No offense to people who just sit and do art all day. Kudos to you peeps!) I usually just relax’n with me Switch and play Animal Crossing or just a quick game of Mahjong on the new Clubhouse Games. I am also trying to learn Russian through Duolingo and by reading reference books and such. (I forgot to play today, oh menn. I am dead). I also binge watch on YouTube and listen to MrCreepyPasta or Blue_Spooky for my daily dose of nosleep or LetsNotMeet. I don’t really like watching series or movies, so Netflix isn’t really my cup of tea. I can’t stand to sit all day and marathoning a whole season. Well, sometimes, I do watch a movie or two of whatever my mother is watching at the moment and do get invested in it.

Of course, my favorite hobby, sleeping.

Diving in REM Land

This is the part I am quite excited to type in about. Along with my favorite hobby, I do like to recall or even write down what happened in my dreams. I want to share more of me traversing REM Land, but I guess an introduction to it would be fine for now. I am no means an expert in dreams or the thought behind them, but I do like to share some of my experiences with them. Sometimes, I like to tell a tale or two to my friends when this topic arises because menn, dreams are like some sort of acid trip (No, I don’t do drugs, lol).

After crying and having a breakdown due to the stress due to the exquisite life of schooling, I tend to have sleep paralysis. I do have this sleep demon that always shows up when I have these episodes. He just stands there by my side and does nothing. Can’t really take note of any physical details (well of course, he ain’t physical) because he is just some humanoid shadow. Regardless, he is there, looming. I’ll call him Fred. Just thought of it right now while typing. Fred the Sleep Demon, Something, or Other.

I do have this recurring dream, err nightmare, when I was a child. I can’t remember anything about it. My memory of it is just a blank void, but the feeling is pretty nausea-inducing. Every time I have this dream, I just jolt upwards and head straight to the bathroom to vomit my dinner. It’s weird. I really have no word for it other than it’s sickening as fuck.

I want to share more of this, but I guess having a separate entry for this is better.

Lightning Round

Let’s do an info dump here, because I want to do something else now that I can’t think of anything to talk about, ahe.

Favorite Color (LOL): Red or Maroon. I do something like cyan.

Something to munch on: I like sushi or sashimi. Not a weeb, I just like the taste of dead fish.

Something to push munch: Coffee float is my go-to beverage. It tastes like heaven if heaven was coffee and chocolate mixed with ice to keep it as cool as winters in Yakutsk.

Have a pet?: I do have a fish as a pet and its name is Bloop. Creative, ‘mright?

My jam: I listen to Indie Folk, Folktronica, and Alternative Rock.

Games I play: I like horror games like Silent Hill or Fatal Frame. I also play Pokemon, Animal Crossing, and anything I find quite interesting.

Hotel?: Trivago.

Anyway, I am all out of time now (says who?). I am now going to have a snack break. I haven’t tried eating cereal with coffee as a substitute for milk so that’s what emm going to do next! Thanks for reading me random typing. I’ll try to keep this blog aflame, don’t worry. This won’t be like my Instagram that fell into the depths of hell. I’ll also post some art here so that this won’t be just seas of grey.

Thanks for coming to my Fire Talk. See you next time!

[malumsmermaid]

I’d Do Anything-4

Prev.     Next

Word Count: 1,959

Warnings: slight smut

This is a quick one, just running a little more background on Calum, Ashton, and Lily, hopefully, but I feel good about it

When Calum went back to work two days later, he called for a meeting with the budget board. He had had many conversations with Ashton about how unfair it was for Lily to only be considered a personal assistant and today was going to be the day he got that changed. She had been there as long as Ashton and Calum had, had been part of the foundation of the company, and fleshed out so many of the successful ideas that the boys had had. She did as much if not more for moving the company forward than they did.

Ashton and Lily were out checking up on a branch a few cities over and had no idea what Calum was doing. He had made the calls he needed from his car as he drove to the office and went straight to the board room, sitting down in the chair at the head of the table, leg bouncing as he began typing up a few points on his laptop to help him keep focus. He knew that Ashton couldn’t call this meeting because everyone he’d called were aware of the rumors that Ashton had feelings for Lily, and therefore would dismiss him asking to get her a raise or change of title, which would result in a raise. He wanted to get it taken care of before word got to anyone at the company that he and Lily were together, and especially before it got to the top of the chain. Calum was usually the one sent for negotiations with other companies because he was so good at keeping his feelings in check, or just not showing them on his face, so he was going to treat this the same way, hoping to succeed even if it was brought up that Lily has always been his best friend next to Ashton.

Twenty minutes later everyone was assembled and Calum stood from his chair, pushing it back in and greeting everyone. “I called you guys here to talk about Lily O’Donahue’s position at this company.” He could feel everyone in the room tense, seeing a few chairs wiggle as the people occupying them shifted. He took a breath before continuing, “Miss O’Donahue has been working alongside myself and Mr. Irwin since before we even a solid idea for this company. The three of us were sitting in class, Lily in the row in front of us, and Ashton and I were spitballing business ideas back and forth while we waited for the professor to show up. Lily turned around after one and started expanding on it. We wrote every word she said down and invited her to lunch after class was over to keep going over it. We continued meeting together, planning the start to this company and getting ready to present it so we’d have somewhere to go when we graduated in a couple months. The two of us were working retail and Ashton was at KFC, so we really wanted to have something solid to go on to. We had already been friends before that, having studied and worked on projects together so we knew each other’s dynamic, as well as our dynamic as a group. When we presented this company to our partners, once Lily was out of the room they suggested that she be Ashton’s assistant and we were young and dumb and agreed to that.

Over the past four years she’s continued to do hard work for us. She’s fleshed out so many projects that we’ve come up with, including the one I was working on in Australia the past few months. She does so much more than just fetch coffee, send memos, and get our presentations edited and ready to show to whoever we’re going to talk to. It’s unfair that she’s still only got the title and pay of a personal assistant and I would like to suggest that we change her title to Chief Business Advisor and adjust her pay to suit that very title.”

Calum finished, staring down everyone at the table. He grabbed his tumbler of water and took a long drink before sitting down in his seat again, folding his hands and looking at everyone in the room, waiting for an answer to his proposition.

~~~~~~~~

After Calum’s lunch break he sat in his office with the blinds open and he saw Ashton and Lily walk back into the office. His face broke into a grin and he rose from his desk, making his way through the room and stepped into Ashton’s office before the door swung shut behind them.

“Hey Ash, and hello Miss O’Donahue, Chief Business Advisor.” he said with a grin.

“What did you do Calum?” Lily said, jaw agape as she put her purse down on the couch.

“Got you the title and pay you should’ve had from the start, that you deserve from all the work you’ve been doing for us for four years.”

Ashton let out a loud whoop before clapping Calum on the back, excited that his friend had finally gotten to have the conversation that they’d been talking about for the past year. Calum beamed at him before looking over to Lily.

“They’re willing to give you your own office too, if you want it.” Lily stared at him for a moment, before shaking her head and breaking into a grin. “I feel like I work better in you guys’ offices, helps me to advise you.”

Calum smiled, nodding at her and opening his arms for a hug. She threw herself into his arms and Ashton joined the hug too, the two men holding her tightly. “M’sorry we were idiots and agreed to you just bein’ my assistant.” Ashton whispered, pressing his lips to the top of Lily’s head.

Lily shook her head, “Never would’ve asked for you two to do anything to change it. Getting to work with the people I’m closest to is plenty.”

Calum sighed, rubbing her shoulder, “It wasn’t what you deserved, doll. You do so much for us. We gotta make sure everyone knows that. That our girl keeps us sane and the company running.”

Ashton smiled quietly as he pulled away, beginning to unpack his bag as the other two moved to the couch, Calum continuing to explain what everyone had agreed upon during his morning meeting.

*******

It was around noon, a couple of weeks later, Ashton was in his office working on an idea for a new project, when Calum came in, telling him he was going on his lunch break. Ashton simply nodded, eyes not leaving his computer screen and Calum walked off, letting the door close behind him. A bit later someone came in to tell him that the mail had arrived. Ashton nodded, rising from his desk and rubbing his eyes before striding over to where they kept the mail. He had a few letters, but he spotted a package on Calum’s pile, and picked it up, glancing over the label. It was one that he had been waiting for all week, telling Ashton several times to put it on his desk if he was out when the mail came, it was important. Calum hadn’t mentioned it today, not that Ashton remembered too much that Cal had said, being mid-thought when he came in, but he figured the same applied, so he began to walk to Calum’s office after setting his own mail on his desk.

He froze at the sight before him when he walked through the door. Lily was spread over Calum’s desk, still dressed, for the most part, he assumed, considering Calum’s head and shoulders were disappearing under the skirt of her dress. Calum’s back tensed the second the door clicked shut behind Ashton, though Lily didn’t really seem to notice that there was now a third person in the room.

“I…I thought you went to lunch.” Ashton stammered out, still in shock.

Calum’s back visibly relaxed at the sound of Ashton’s voice, a single hand appearing from under Lily’s dress to vaguely gesture at their position. Ashton swallowed, nodding slowly, mostly to himself. It had been a while since he and Calum had been involved in a threesome, and he’d half forgotten how much Calum enjoyed being between a girl’s thighs.

“The uh…the package you wanted me to look out for showed up.” Ashton said, slowly, trying not to look at Lily, but looking at where Calum’s body disappeared under her dress felt somewhat worse.

He heard a low hum that seemed to come from Calum and waited, Calum holding up a single finger from the same hand as before, moving it to rest on the edge of his desk after he’d signaled Ashton to continue to wait. Ashton bit his lip and tapped his foot anxiously, opting to just look around the office instead. However, he didn’t miss when LIiy’s back arched off of Calum’s desk, and he noticed the tie Calum was wearing earlier in her mouth. Ashton squeezed his eyes shut, biting his tongue, as she went limp, her hand resting on top of Calum’s.

After another minute, Calum slowly came out from under Lily’s dress, careful not to expose her to Ashton as he stood. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before striding over to Ashton, taking the box from his hand. He read over the label quickly before nodding at Ashton, “Thanks Ash.” He said, setting the box on an empty chair, opening his mouth to say something else when Lily stirred on the desk, a small whine coming from her. So instead, Calum shot Ashton an apologetic smile before moving behind his desk, fingers gently removing the tie from Lily’s mouth as he began cooing to her, fingers running through her hair.

Ashton finally came to his senses and backed out of the office, door swinging shut behind him as he clipped back through the main room to his own office, going straight into his bathroom and locking the door behind him. He stared at himself in the mirror, fingers roughly running through his curls before gripping tightly to the edge of the counter, knuckles turning white. “I gotta ask Lil on a date.” he whispered, staring at his reflection before nodding to himself, quickly composing himself and walking back into his office.

Just after he had finished eating his own lunch, Lily walked into the office. Ashton looked up at her as the door closed, trying to tell if either of them was going to acknowledge that he had just seen her spread over Calum’s desk with Calum beneath her, Ashton not even aware if she processed that he had been in there. Instead, Lily began explaining to him what had been in the package he brought into the office and why Calum had been so anxious for its arrival. Ashton nodded when appropriate and scribbled a few things down that she noted as being important.

When she made it clear that she had finished, sitting on the couch and opening her laptop, Ashton decided to just get it over with. He put his salad bowl aside and moved over to the couch, sitting next to her. “Hey, Lil,” he started, licking his lips anxiously, “I was thinking, and I’m still not sure about the whole poly thing yet, but I think it would help if we went on a date. So what do you say, dinner at my place, Friday? I mean, if you and Calum don’t have plans.”

Lily smiled, reaching over and squeezing his hand, “Friday is fine, Ashton, okay? I’m looking forward to it.”

Ashton let out a sigh of relief, leaning over and pressing a kiss to her cheek, “It’s a date.”

Tags: @astroashtonio

[gunsandshipsandtheradio-blog]

The making of a raid

Pickle Inspector

Looking up at the clock, you make ready for your meeting with Eridan Ampora. You've already let front desk know to welcome him when he arrives and that you are expecting him.  You've made some coffee, though you have preparations for tea at the ready...always good to have both on hand.  You think you even have hot chocolate if it comes to it.  Good to be prepared. The recent events are still fresh on your mind. Hell they're even fresh in your clothes considering you still smell smoke.  Gangwars are on the horizon, all hell about to break lose.  It was going to take a lot to keep the city from being thrown into absolute chaos, so the opportunity to take an offensive strike at one side seemed beneficial.  If only to have it be one less firebombed locale when the gangs get ahold of it, and to show that the law isn't just being completely idle. You sit at your desk and take a pull from your own coffee mug as you wait for Ampora to arrive.  Always the mystery of what information is about to be given. For all you know, it could just be idle rumors and nothing substantial.  But any lead is a worthwhile lead. 

Eridan Ampora

You aren't going to be early but on time. You are dressed okay, not your usual, your hair is a little out of place, you look like you are lacking sleep. And it isn't a lot, but this are the dead giveaways that you feel out of your depth. You are about to start gambling with your life and a single mistake here could make you lose. But a war has started, and you aren't letting Scratch use you in it. You have to cut ties now. You bring a back with the letter that Scratch sent you, and other papers of the multiple times you scheduled his announcement. You have with you the blackmail evidence as well, but that you will show if the situation gets desperate. You ask at the front and they tell you were. You have been here before but for entire different reasons, and this time you knock on the Inspector's office and wait for the cue to go in. This is it.

Pickle Inspector

"Come in." you say as you stand with as much pep your voice can muster, but if Eridan was looking a bit out of his depth then you likely match him quite well as you hadn't had much time between running fire assist and roping off scenes and organizing officers.  You are quite certain you would count as an energy drink for a vampire what with how much caffiene you likely have in your system right now. Still, no time for dilly dallying.  You extend out your hand for a handshake as Ampora enters.  "Thank you for taking the time to come in."

Eridan Ampora

You give him a handshake quick "Thank you for having me so soon... This is urgent but I won't repeat myself more than that." and then take a seat. You both look terrible and that is whatever you think.  Your fins are down resting neatly down, which makes you look like some sort of sad puppy dog constantly. "Is there a procedure for this or should I just go for it? I hope you understand what I'm about to tell you might sound crazy... but well... I don't know where else to go." You hope you aren't laying it too thick, but hell, the line between pretending to be nervous and actually being nervous blended for you a long time ago. You browse through your bag, knowing where everything is, just trying to make the motions. You take out a record inside it's paper case and neatly put it on the table.  'Angel's Lounge commercial' marked on the side on black with multiple dates. "This is..." You catch your own words in your throat. No, not yet. "Have you heard this one?"

Pickle Inspector

"Considering some of the madness that takes place in this city, you'd be surprised how sane you may sound." you say with a chuckle as you make your way back to your seat, extending an arm towards a chair for Eridan to sit if she wishes.  "But no, there generally is no procedure...please go at a pace you are comfortable with." As he places the case on the table, you look it over. Seems part n parcel for the tapes you have seen. Commercial reel, Angel's Lounge.  The name somewhat sounds familiar but you aren't sure if it is because you heard the advertisement of because you  had heard the name on the street.  "I believe so...a smoking lounge if I recall right?"

Eridan Ampora

"That is the cover. It's in neutral territory. But it isn't..." You take one last deep breath. "Doctor Scratch himself, leader of the Felt, came to the radio station a few months ago and pressure me to work for him. All I had to do was to play that ad for his... bar. It is a bar, which is why the ad asks you to ask for 'Angel'. It's all a cover up... And I would be fine, we all would be fine. And if I told anybody I was going to-" Get exposed. Unimportant really. "And with word of the street of upcoming confrontations I couldn't take the risk to be stuck with it."(edited)

Pickle Inspector

At the mention of Scratch himself, your eyebrows raise.  It was rare, the leader of the Felt engaging in any activity on his own...and not just delegating it to an underling.  This isn't the first time you've had a tip to a speakeasy, but for one to be in the neutral territories and to have such a backer...that certainly was interesting. You nod.  A couple questions come to mind that make you suspect this is not the entire tale. After all, the ad seemed innoculous enough why the need for such a thread to begin with...but you opt to not ask them quite yet. "I see.  Well, I can definitely say that is certainly something of interest to me and mine.  Do you have any documents of the contract for the advertisement? Reciepts for who paid for the airspace?"  Better to ask for evidence before trying to nitpick his story.

Eridan Ampora

To that you give him the envelope Scratch himself sent you. It contains the script for the ad,  and instructions that say: 'Mr. Ampora, please see enclosed what you will need for the ad. Keep it light and friendly, as discussed previously with my employer. Kind regards, J . H .'. You make a face by looking at it, clear distaste as it mere sight. For the first time in the conversation your fins show themselves fully just to go into resting position once you take your sight out of the letter. "I didn't want to give him the space, no matter the payment. You don't mess with gangs, we were booked due festivities anyway and well october fall back. Particularly mine...  He said the bar was someone of his debt, that he wanted a secret why he was doing this and I wans't in the best state of mind after the fog and the coma. Being in a room alone with that man..." You snarl. "Nothing more than that really, would have been banished off the books if hell didn't break loose."

Pickle Inspector

You put on a glove before picking up the envelope. Not that it will matter much, all that you know of Scratch is that the man may as well not have fingerprints.  But, better safe than sorry.  Reading it over, your eyes dart the letter.  J.H....enough for you to likely know the name but frustratingly vague enough for deniability.

Still, that wasn't going to stop you from pulling down the sales records of who bought that building, who owned the lease, and who all funded its creation...there was at least a strong chance if you can't nail Scratch himself you could take a stab into some of his organizations holdings and support. You glance over to Eridan.  "Could you describe him? What he looked like? Scratch that is."  You have no doubt it is him, but the confirmation is always nice.  "I have no plans on having you testify, I assure you.  This is more for my own curiosity."

Eridan Ampora

It sure is a good thing you decided to wear gloves yourself, for entire different reasons that is. Your hands aren't to be seen in their current state. You don't smile but you look visibly less tense at that last part. Good, the less entangled you can get in this mess the better. "Well Inspector..." You refresh your memory, not that you have forgotten, but is to organize yourself. "Short,  human, mismatched eyes, one green one not. Small scar on his face, left side I think... where the skin meets the hairline, and no hair, shaved to the skull if I'm not mistaken... was wearing a suit." You are satisfied how this is turning out. The entire thing that is, but its too soon to celebrate, it won't be over until you are out of this office.  Of one of the best investigators in the city none the less. "Do you require anything else?"(edited)

Pickle Inspector

Another read of the paper, then a slow lookover the reel of the dates and times.  A few questions were certainly on your mind...sadly.  Did you doubt the truthfulness of his story? No, you have no doubt the interraction is honest. And you have no doubt as well this speakeasy is as he describes it...though you will have to work double-time to see about trying to hook the Felt's involvement in it before they hide their trails. "I think I'm mostly good, though just to check, you are the owner of the station?"

Eridan Ampora

"Not completely no. But you could easily say that I feel they would fall apart if I wasn't around. Even before I was allowed to have a show I've worked there." You still have a boss, you still have obligations, but details get fuzzy when you are also management. And those two particularly are aware of how much you actually direct the entire place, you don't own the radio station but you sure control it. "There are other two people who make decisions with me, but I have a big say on everything that goes."

Pickle Inspector

You pull out a sheet of paper to scribble down some notes.  If Eridan glances over, its simply time and dates from the reel along with the name of the locale and such.  If there is anything else on your mind, it doesn't show on your expression. A pause. "Ah! My manners. I'm sorry. Would you like coffee? Or some scones? Tea? I apologize, I meant to ask that at the start..."

Eridan Ampora

Your guard down? Nope. But... "Scones would be nice, do you have muffins? I guess that's asking too much. Scones and tea would do, any tea." You close your bag. And here is the question of grace, the important one that otherwise you are going to have to pry out of your relationships. "Is it... possible for me to know when the crackdown happens... I would like to have my brother out of the area just in case."

Pickle Inspector

A blink, then a puzzled glance.  "I....might?"  You lean over and rummage through one of your bags.  "I don't suppose banana muffins are a thing you find suitable?"  with that, a wrapped muffin is placed on your desk.  Chances are you would have forgotten to eat it for lunch anyways really. Writing down a few more notes, the question is pondered as you pull together a few other thoughts and hunches.  "I believe something can be arranged to give you a forewarning Mister Ampora."  The detail of him having a brother is noted, something to be considered later among other things.   "I'd rather you have a chance to keep yourself and your close ones out of harms way if possible.  That said, and this is a very far what if considering who is involved...if we are able to link this all back to the Felt and Scratch, would you consider testifying?"

Eridan Ampora

"Oh no this are good, trust me I'm a sucker for anything sweet, thank you ."  You are wolfing that muffin down, oh it so  good. Quite indecent of you, but that's how you roll. Your sweet tooth takes the best out of you. You swallow and clean  your mouth with a handkerchief before you answer to anything else however. "I would be very thankful. I know two of my loved and hated ones will be kept informed of everything due their jobs but well not everyone I know is in the force." One last bite, this one however you answer without the elegance showed not so much as 20 seconds ago. "If I'm not kidnapped or killed by then..." Another bite. "I probably will. But I'll wait to see how the panorama goes before giving a definitive answer." Bite, and done, what a good muffin.

Pickle Inspector

You nod.  "Understandable. If things do get to that point, we'll definitely be doing what we can to keep you safe.  Officer Piexes speaks quite fondly of you.  Officer Zahhak...not at all. But I'm sure the sentiment is there." There is a slight smirk to your expession as you say it.

You finish writing and turn the paper to Eridan. "This is more just you agreeing to release the letter and tape over. It will not be brought up in any situation save for if someone tries to argue that these things were forged or coerced from you.  Other than that your involvement will be left to an absolute miminum unless permission from you is granted."

Eridan Ampora

Your fins move up and down at mention of both, you are satisfied with both mentions actually. You did that. The smug expression in your face is a good change from all the previous stress. Huh. You take out your fountain pen from your bag and sign where it's necessary. "Good." Actually give him one of your short smiles before it goes back to your serious expressions. "Thank you  Mister Ingleton. I hope we can talk again when its not urgent." You doubt so.

Pickle Inspector

"It'd be nice wouldn't it. We keep encountering one another when the stakes are high don't we."  There is a chuckle but the tone sounds more tired than amused.  "Once again, thank you for this lead.   We'll definitely be looking into this post haste.  If anything else comes up, please do not hesitate to get in touch with me again." The papers are put away, and you realize by the time the tea is done steeping there would be that awkwardness of you both standing about with business finished already.  So instead you offer your hand to shake it again, inwardly hoping the tea request is not something Ampora was really hoping for.

Eridan Ampora

You wish you could just sit down and have tea with someone but you have to go, you both are busy, you both have to prepare, and with the wheels in motion on your end you are ready to get Sollux and company ready. "I will." You shake his hand again, this time softer than the entrance one. "I'll be going now. Busy day...Good luck, Inspector." He is going to need it. And with that you exit calmly. Very calmly. It's not until you are at least a block away from the police department that you start celebrating for a few seconds. Fuck yeah.

[sunyoonandstars]

BTS scenario 3.2.: Them seeing your evident self-harm scars (for the first time)

Scenario

You are in a serious relationship with them but have somehow managed to hide your self-harm scars up to this point. However, for some reason they are coincidentally faced with your scars. These are their reactions:

angst / fluff / tiny bit of smut

Disclaimer / trigger warning: The following text contains mentions of self-abusive / self-harming behavior and scars. Do not read if it may trigger you!

If you are struggling and need someone to talk, know that you can always contact me. I have personal experience with mental illness and self harm. I don’t know what you may be going through, but I know you can make it! Love yourself!

Mental health matters!

2. Min Yoongi / Suga 

Min Yoongi, having first-hand experience with mental illness, would probably be most understanding and handle the situation rather gracefully, I can imagine. Of course, he would be tormented by the mere thought of you struggling and suffering alone, but he would put aside his personal feelings for now and remain calm in order to give you a much needed feeling of security and comfort …

You and Yoongi had been serious for about two months now. Your dates so far had mostly consisted of shared naps and quiet nights at home, spent in amicable silence or sharing honest, meaningful conversations, listening to music, cuddling, kissing, or you merely witnessing the genius that was your boyfriend at work, silently keeping him company while he was composing or writing lyrics at every given place and hour. Whenever inspiration would strike, Yoongi would stop whatever he was doing and scribble onto anything he could get his hands on, often times some old receipt or a random napkin. However, right now the two of you are stuck in an elevator, on your way up to the rooftop of a skyscraper for a photo shoot with the boys who are already on location. Fifteen floors are still ahead of you, when you notice that certain look in Yoongis eyes. The sparkle that lights them up, whenever another new line, melody or arrangement crosses his mind. He stops in the middle of the deep kiss you just shared - since you decided to at least make the best of the privacy this seemingly endless elevator ride entailed - and absentmindedly takes a step back, biting his lower lip, lost in thought. „Need a pen?“, you ask. He barely nods his head, his eyes still fixed on your face without really seeing you. He’s in the zone now, and you know in moments like this time is of the essence. Yoongi takes the pen from your hand without looking, his lips soundlessly forming words. „Paper“, he merely says, his tone demanding and impatient. Frantically, you search your purse and jacket pockets. Unsuccessfully. „Can’t find any“, you reply, and without hesitation he takes your wrist into his firm grip, rucking up the sleeve of your oversized sweater. Instinctively, you try to pull back your arm and cover up again, but you’re already too late. You can see the expression on Yoongis face change as he discovers the lines stretching over the inner surface of your arm. Once deep, even gaping cuts, now slowly healing, the scars numerous, some of them still bright pink and clearly visible, others already fading, appearing white against your fair skin. His eyes linger on the scarred tissue for a painfully long moment before Yoongi slowly lifts his gaze again to meet your hesitant one. You don’t dare to move, afraid to wake him from his paralysis, scared of how he might react. But he merely stands there across from you, just as motionless as you are, his eyes locked with yours, apparently searching for something. You can’t even tell if he is breathing. „Oh, y/n …“, he suddenly sighs, lifting his hands to cup your face with them, gently pulling you in for a long, infinitely soft kiss on the forehead. For a while you just stay like that, his forehead against yours, before he pulls back to meet your eyes once again, his dark, full of heartbreaking sorrow and bottomless affection. Seeing Yoongi so hurt by something you did to yourself finally breaks your resistance. Silent tears start streaming down your face, distorting your view of his surreally beautiful face shining pale in the unforgivingly bright lighting of the elevator. „Oh, y/n“, Yoongi repeats, his voice barely a whisper now. For minutes that feel like an eternity you remain motionless, having lapsed into silence, solely lost in each others eyes, while the elevator passes one floor after the other. Until it abruptly comes to a halt, doors opening. Immediately, you turn to hide your tear-streaked face as a dressy young couple steps inside the booth, obviously staring. It doesn't take much more than one of Yoongis glares to make them rethink their decision. „You might wanna take the next one“, you hear him hiss, your face buried in his chest, his words followed by silence, then the sound of the elevator doors closing. „Hey, y/n, it’s alright, we’re alone again“, he softly mumbles into your hair, putting a hand to your chin to try and get you to face him again when you show no reaction. „Come on, look at me, y/n, will you?“ Gently, he takes your face between his hands and raises your head, so you have no choice but to comply. Ashamed, you blink away angry tears. Because, yes, you’re angry. Angry at yourself. „I hate this“, you mutter under your breath. „Hate what?“ Grimacing, you gesture towards your red face and puffy eyes. „This. Crying in front of you like that. Because of something like that. Being so weak. Literally everything about this goddamn situation. Man, I even hate elevators! They make me feel claustrophobic. We really should've taken the stairs.“ Yoongi can’t help but smirk at your irritation. „What? Is this funny to you, Min Yoongi?“ „No, not at all“, he replies instantly, dead serious again. „This is everything but funny, y/n. But I just can’t fail to notice all those little things about you, at least a dozen of them every day, which make me happy and you unique and more precious to me with every second passing. Like the way you act when you’re embarrassed, how you try to conceal it with adorable angry outbursts, pursing your lips, just like you do right now. These little things make you you. Exactly like those scars. They’re just as beautiful as you are as a whole. Which does not mean I condone them.“ The tone of his voice leaves you holding your breath. Incredulous you look down at your arms, each of them embraced by one of Yoongis strong hands, his thumbs slowly, carefully, caressing your scars, sending shivers down your spine. „They are a part of you now, a part of your past. But this is over now, do you hear me? There is absolutely no need for you to do this to yourself anymore. I know, I know, easier said than done. I’ve been there, believe me. Sometimes it feels like harming yourself, in any way, really, is the only thing that can and will keep you sane. But that’s not true. There are other ways. And you have me now. I’m not claiming that I’m some kind of savior. I’m really not. And I don’t want to fix you. I know I can’t do that and I don’t need or want to. You’re a work in progress, just like we all are, and a fucking masterpiece at that. I’m far from perfect myself and am working on becoming a better human every single day. Since I met you, I feel like I finally get to be the best me I can be. I recognized the strength you carried at first sight. You are a rare light in this world in your own way, my beacon, my beautiful muse. You don’t always have to smile in order to shine. The fire within you burns brighter than anything I have ever seen, no matter what fuels it. And I will not allow it to be diminished.“ The elevator sounds a hollow chime, announcing your arrival. Before the doors can even open, Yoongi randomly pushes a handful of buttons without even looking, not taking his intense gaze from your face, and the lift starts moving again, downwards this time. „Did you hear me, y/n? I am here now. So, whenever you feel dead inside and like hurting yourself is the only way out of the numbness, tell me, I will make you feel again. When you feel like you can’t go on anymore, like everything is just too much, too hard, I beg you, fucking tell me, I will stay by your side throughout it all and help you carry the burden. And if you, for some reason, hate yourself, tell me, and I will do everything in my power to convince you of the contrary. When the pent-up anger threatens to get the better of you, let me know, I’ll gladly be your punching bag. Like, literally. Hit me anytime, as longs as it helps.“ A dry chuckle escapes your lips at the mental picture his words paint. Yoongi notices, clearly satisfied that he managed to lighten the mood a little. „And, y/n, whenever the emotional turmoil raging in your chest becomes too much to bear again, too much to breathe, tell me, we will find ways and means to release your stress and even get something ... good out of it, if you get my drift.“ He winks at you mischievously, eliciting a feeble, still teary-eyed smile from your lips. „Oh, I do get your drift alright, Min Yoongi“, you whisper against his lips, kissing them softly at first, the kiss, however, quickly growing much more firm and passionate, predatory even in the end. Out of breath you break apart, leaning your foreheads against each other, still panting as the elevator finally arrives at the top floor. „But you really got what I meant, right, y/n?“, Yoongi asks, all of a sudden back to serious mode again. „I wasn't kidding. I meant every word I said. You are such a compassionate, brave, strong human being, it amazes me every day anew. And, at least to me, you are the most incredible, beautiful thing on this entire planet, so I will do whatever I can to protect you. You are not alone anymore. As long as you let me, I will be there for you. And for that it doesn't matter what you look like. Your body is merely a vessel to carry you through life, which is bound to change with time, and your scars are only evidence of the battles you have won so far. Of course, you are beautiful on the outside, too, but what I admire most about you is the way your mind works, the way your soul shines whenever I look you in the eye, the way you touch me, you move me, you see me. And I want to get to know you. Every. Single. Part of you. Even if it means getting a glimpse of your darkness once in a while. Because I fucking love you, y/n. Everything about you.“ Stunned, you look up at him, since this is the very first time you heard those certain three words leave his lips. Except if he was talking to Min Holly, of course. „Did you just …?“, you stutter, wide eyed, dumbfounded, as the elevator doors slide open. „Yes, stupid, I just said it, okay?“ Yoongi turns away to step out of the elevator, an embarrassed smirk curling his lips, his cheeks blushing slightly, if you’re not mistaken. Quickly, you pull down your sleeves again and follow him, struggling to keep up with his fast pace, unable to hide the bright glow on your face. „Did Mr. Min Yoongi, Motionless Min, the too-cool-for-you future stone block, just accidentally confess his love to me for the first time ever? In an elevator!?“, you can’t help but tease him. „Alright, alright, would you keep it down, please?“, Yoongi hisses, unsuccessfully pretending to be annoyed, as the two of you enter the location of the photoshoot side by side. „You know what?“, you whisper into his ear, leaning in close, so the staff won’t hear you. „I love you, too, Min Yoongi. And as soon as we get home I’m gonna show you just how much.“

*****************************************

I hope you enjoyed it and could maybe even take some comfort from it. 

Thanks for reading! Take care! You are loved! 💜

Here you can find my Masterlist if you feel like checking out more of my BTS fiction!

All GIFs used are NOT mine. Credit goes to the initial creators. Thank you for your hard work and dedication.

© 2017 @a-r-m-y-g-i-r-l ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

[wonderwonderhowido]

Year-end meme time! I have been answering these questions once a year without fail since 2006. Maybe one of these years I’ll stop, but not for 2017.

Was 2017 a good year for you?

Yes! In February I decided I wanted to quit my job and go to Brazil for 3 months. I quit my job and moved away from NC in July, left for Brazil in August. I had a short-lived but intense romantic relationship from April-July. We drove across the country together. Brazil was really challenging but overall amazing. With the exception of a couple periods when life was too hectic, I kept up with my yoga habit. I think I made it a full 8 months without skipping a whole week actually? Maybe it was 6 months, I forget now, I just know that it was an important milestone for me at the time because I have never managed to keep up an exercise routine that long before. I spent more time at the ocean and by the pool than I have in most other years of my life. I lost some weight. I stayed relatively on top of my shit (bullet journaling really helped, when I was doing that), and stayed sane. I read a fuck ton of Harry/Draco and BTS fic. I took a lot of chances with people I had only just barely met. It has honestly been a pretty stellar year for me personally, the mounting sense of despair over the external world aside.

What was your favorite moment of the year?

Being in the ocean with kids climbing on top of me, demanding to be tossed into the waves.

What was your least favorite moment of the year?

Nothing actually stands out. I had some pretty low moments of crying over certain things in my life, but nothing I can talk about on the online, and besides since none of them were reacting to specific things they all sort of blend together in my memory anyway. I did cry whole buckets while leaving my goodbye party in NC and continued to cry when I got to my ex-BF’s house and then cried myself to sleep, but it feels sort of not right to call that a least favorite moment, just cathartic.

Where were you when 2017 began?

At the same new years’ party I was at when 2014, 2015, and 2016 began. That night was kind of a mixed bag for me, although I did get a new years’ kiss, which I will probably not be getting this year.  

Where will you be when 2017 ends?

One of my oldest friends in SLC is hosting a “polar plunge” at her house, so I’m going to do that. I probably will not be taking any kind of plunge myself but I can provide emotional support to those who shall.

Who will you be with when 2017 ends?

My friend Jennica and her husband. I have no idea who else, I don’t think I know most of their friends these days.  

Did you keep your new years resolution of 2017?

Looking at the half-assed resoluations I made…. Lmao, no I didn’t, but then my goals for the year changed rather drastically in February when I decided to upend everything, and I feel pretty good about how I followed through with all that stuff.

Do you have a new years resolution for 2018?

Have another list of resolution-ish intentions I have, I still would not call this list whole-assed but hey:

-complete a 30 day yoga challenge (I am on day 7 already, actually, so if I keep up with it I'll knock this one out before the end of January)

-don't let more than 4 days go by without going to yoga (other than when I'm traveling)

-don't let more than 2 days go by without writing (other than when I'm traveling)

-write original fiction at least three times a week, even if it's just like, scribbling down 100 words of a writing exercise (again, other than when traveling)

-read at least 25 books

-read at least 20 short stories

What was your relationship status? Did you break up with anyone?

I was in a relationship from roughly April-July, we broke it off before I left for Brazil. I dated other people in there, although no one for as long as I dated him.

How many one-night stands?

I think four? Idk depends on what you consider a one-night stand. And I made out with lots of different people, which was fun.

Did you make any new friends in 2017?

I made a lot of new friends in Brazil! I’ve made some new friends and reconnected with old friends through kpop. I seem to have made some new friends in SLC, which has been really nice.

What was your favorite month of 2017?

Probably September. April really ranks up there, too.

What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?

I turned 30!!! I think on the day of I went to work, got taken out to lunch by my boyfriend, swam in my apartment’s pool, and started watching Boku No Hero Academia, also with the boyfriend. I had a small party for myself over the weekend, if memory serves. It was really nice, low key and happy, I really enjoyed turning 30 and have been very much enjoying my thirties since. I remember thinking that I was going to feel angsty and panicked about turning this number but that never really hit. It was mostly just good.

How many different places did you travel to in 2017?

Ashland, OR; Wilmington, NC; Charlotte, NC; from Carrboro, NC to SLC, with stops along the way in Birmingham, New Orleans, a town in Texas that I have forgotten the name of; in Brazil: Fortaleza, Taiba, Manaus, Tefe, Mamiraua Reserve, Monte Alegre do Sul, and Sao Paulo.

Did anybody close to you die in 2017?

No.

Did anybody close to you give birth?

Yes, K and E.

Did you miss anybody in the past year?

I missed my NC friends a lot after I moved away. I missed Brazil and my people there.

Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?

Other than public figures, no, not really.

What were your favorite movies that you saw in 2017?

Loving Vincent, Thor: Ragnarok and The Last Jedi.

What was your favorite song from 2017?

I have not done a great job of keeping track of which songs I’ve listened to the most this year, but: Silver Spoon/Baepsae by BTS; Nights by Frank Ocean; Soldados by Legiao Urbana; Don’t Take The Money by Bleachers; The Louvre by Lorde; Ultralight Beam by Kanye West; Young by The Chainsmokers.

Did you have a favorite concert in 2017?

Bleachers and MUNA in Charlotte! Also Chance The Rapper.

Did you drink a lot of alcohol in 2017?

I feel like yes but I think I did less getting super drunk than in previous years.

Did you do a lot of drugs in 2017?

Not ‘a lot’ but I was not expecting this to be the year that recreational drugs came back into my life. So ‘a lot’ by my usual standards, I guess.

What kept you sane?

Yoga, walking, and journaling. This is a very boring and literal answer, sorry, but it’s true. I’m sorry to be one of Those People but exercise and mindfulness are the reasons I’m able to be off anti-depressants.

What did you do in 2017 that you’d never done before?

Traveled to a foreign country by myself. Tried cocaine. Wrote fanfiction commissions. Taught english classes. Learned how to samba. Used a bullet journal. Did goat yoga. Interviewed a creator I admired. Went to a club by myself.

What dates from 2017 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?

-August 21, the day of the eclipse and the day I flew to Brazil.

-July 28-29, my last days in NC, the night one of my cats spent in the bathtub of a friend’s apartment, and the days I spent frantically moving out of my apartment.

-The Women’s March. Both because it was one of the very few times this year I felt politically empowered, and because that night I had a really fantastic tinder date with a woman who had also been at the march. This was only a couple days after I’d been dumped by the girl I was seeing, so I felt very spitefully pleased about the timing of it all.

-April 22. At my old job, we opened up a new public preserve, an event everyone in the org had been working to make happen for years. The event itself went extremely well and was super gratifying, and then that night was one of the early and really great dates with the guy I was dating.

What was your biggest achievement of the year?

Quitting my job in a way I feel good about. Making Brazil happen. Moving out of my apartment. Sticking with yoga. Finishing my otayuri Spy AU. Writing all the fic that people commissioned me for, even though it took me forever and a day. Paying off my credit card post-brazil.

What was your biggest failure?

I am disappointed in myself for not trying harder to write and publish more nonfiction, even though I felt all this momentum in that direction after the McElroy piece I wrote in May. I am also disappointed in myself for losing steam on the novel I started in 2016. There are some conversations I wish I had had with important people in my life, that I always chickend out on having. There are some feelings I wish I had been able to leave behind, but couldn’t.

What was the best thing you bought?

Other than plane tickets, probably my chromebook. It does not feel real at all that I bought that in 2017, though. This year has been five years in one.

Compared to this time last year, are you:

a) happier or sadder? happier

b) thinner or fatter? thinner

c) richer or poorer? poorer

How did you spend Christmas?

With my family in SLC, like I almost always do. We opened presents, my dad and I went to yoga, I read a lot of kpop fic, in the evening we went to a dinner party at my parents’ friends house and I ate a lot of really good food.

What was the best book you read?

If I manage to finish The Female Man today, I will have read 23 books this year, not counting the 6 Animorphs books I reread and the gazillions of BNHA manga chapters. That’s actually more than I thought I had read, and maybe I should make my books goal for 2018 a larger number, hm.

But anyway I think the best book of those was probably The Basic Eight by Daniel Handler or Blind Assassin by Margaret Atwood. I also loved Swing Time by Zadie Smith but I read that at the beginning of the year so it sort of feels like a lifetime ago.

How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2017?

Well for half of it I’ve been either living out of a backpack or in my pajamas almost 24/7. Also I got rid of most of my wardrobe. So I guess minimal?

What would you like to have in 2018 that you lacked in 2017?

A new Carly Rae Jepsen album!!! And greater financial security, a home in a city I’m happy about living in.

What do you wish you’d done more of?

Writing original fiction and freelance writing. Exercising more discipline in my writing life, in general. Mindfulness exercises when I was upset. Taking photos of people I wanted to remember.

What do you wish you’d done less of?

Sweet jesus do I wish I had spent less time mindlessly refreshing apps on my phone, particularly twitter. Also pointless angsting about personal relationships. Gone on less Tinder dates that I knew weren’t going anywhere.

What are your plans for 2018?

Going to Japan in May with @corvidyouths and @globsavethequeen!!! And getting a job in New York or LA or DC or, who knows, somewhere else that I haven’t though of yet.

Quote a song lyric that sums up your year:

Well, I don’t know how much of my year this actually sums up, but these lines have been rattling around my head more than anything else. From Nights by Frank Ocean:

I ain't trying to keep you Can't keep up a conversation Can't nobody reach you Why your eyes well up Did you call me from a seance You are from a past life

[azvolrien]

The Island of Stars - Chapter One

Hello! I will be honest, I have no idea how long this one’s going to be.

At age fourteen, Una signs up for a school trip to the island headquarters of the Order of Night. Things, inevitably, do not go as planned.

~~~

           “You know, your friends can come and study here too, if they want,” said Wygar without looking up from his desk. “I don’t want to single you out.”

           “Yeah, but I quite like studying on my own,” said Una, turning the page of her textbook and scribbling down a note. “’Sides, they’re all scared of you.”

           Wygar turned around at that. “Really?”

           “You’re a Combat-Master,” said Una. “And you’re really tall, and you’ve got your tattoo and your scar on your face.” Wygar reached up to rub the faint scar across his left temple. “They don’t listen when I tell ’em you’re harmless – they think I’m just saying that ’cos you’re my tad.”

           “Even Alwen?”

           “Well, no, not her. But all the rest – Bethan, Carys, Gwenno and the others, they all think you’re some kind of big stern warrior-guy. I mean, they like you, but they find you intimidating.”

           “Huh.” Wygar looked at his desk, where he was attempting to compile some lesson plans for the journeymen the following week. “Maybe I need to teach the junior apprentices myself some more, if that’s the reputation I’ve ended up with.”

           “Don’t try too hard,” advised Una. “It’ll just be embarrassing for everyone concerned.”

           “True enough,” said Wygar. “Still,” he said, picking up his pen again, “it’d be good to get back into teaching apprentices. Keep my hand in at the basics.”

           Una made a sound of vague agreement and turned her attention back to the textbook. “Hey, Tad?”

           “Yes?”

           “D’you know much about Bryndoc Bloodseer? Only I’m supposed to be writing this little essay about him – it’s not due in until next week – but this book isn’t being too helpful for more than the really basic stuff.”

           Wygar frowned. “Bryndoc… Was he that serial killer who tried using blood as a scrying medium?”

           “What? No, he was a Healer – a High Master from a coupla hundred years ago. According to this book, he was the one to really develop that spell the Healers do; the one where they use their magic to sense what’s going on inside you, so they can see if anything’s wrong without cutting you open, know what I mean?”

           “Yes, your Grandpa Wyatt’s very good at that.”

           “So they called him ‘Bloodseer’ because he could see what was happening in someone’s blood without using a needle or anything. But we’re supposed to be writing a bit about how he really came to refine the spell, like, and this book doesn’t have anything about that in it.”

           “No? Well, I’m not much of a Historian or a Healer,” said Wygar, “but I’ll tell you who might be a bit more helpful: Rhona. She was torn between the two Schools herself for a while – she’ll know all about it, I’m sure.”

           “I’ll ask her, then.” There was a short silence. “…Was that true, about the serial killer?”

           “Oh, yes,” said Wygar. “He thought it made a better scrying medium than water or quicksilver. It was quite a prominent case, a few years before you were born.”

           “I kind of thought it was just one of those stories the senior apprentices make up to scare you.”

           “No, it’s true. He died in prison a couple of years ago – they didn’t think he was sane enough to execute him.” Wygar looked back over his shoulder at Una and smiled. “Now, the one about the crocodile in the underground river, that’s made up. The water’s much too cold for a crocodile down there.”

           “That’s good to know.” For another few minutes, they both returned to their studies in companionable silence, before Una spoke again. “Tad?”

           “Yes?”

           “You know that trip to Starwatch the Seers and the Historians are organising?”

           “It rings a bell.”

           “Can I go? Or sign up for a place, at least.”

           “Starwatch,” said Wygar thoughtfully. “That’s up in the Sea Loch Country, isn’t it?”

           “Yeah, on an island off the coast. We’d be away for a week, coming back just before the Midwinter break. The Historians have been talking about some kind of planetary alignment they want to see. Not sure why the Seers have gone in for it, but it sounds really interesting.”

           “Well, I certainly don’t object,” said Wygar after a moment’s consideration. “But you’ll have to ask your mother.”

           “She said to ask you. Said it was wizard stuff.”

           “I suppose it is,” said Wygar, smiling. “Very well, you can sign up. I’m sure they’ll be happy to have you along, if there’s a place for you.”

           A week later, when the list of apprentices was posted on the bulletin board, it turned out that Una had signed up just in time: she was the final name on the list and the only junior apprentice, the other places all having been taken by seniors of various ages. In between classes, the rest of the term was spent gathering all the right kit, arranging transport to Starwatch, acquiring money for souvenirs – like most of the continent, the Sea Loch Country used the Kiraani zolot, rather than the Stormhaven crown – and generally preparing for the trip. Through some process that nobody told the apprentices, it was decided that the first and, by distance, much longer leg of the journey would be done magically, using a portal to walk directly from the College to Duncraig; the rest of the journey to Starwatch, travelling down Loch Gorm and out across the open sea to the island, would be done by boat. Hearing this, a couple of the apprentices started stockpiling seasickness medicine, and a lively barter economy developed until the Healers put a stop to it.

           Eventually, the day of the trip arrived, and the apprentices trooped into the School of Portals’ main hall that afternoon. The gateway itself had already been prepared, though it was not yet active: the solid granite arch, marked with strips of bronze and bearing half of a large quartz crystal at its apex, stood silently at one end of the room while the wizards overseeing the trip – two masters and four journeymen, split equally between the Schools of History and Sight – corralled the apprentices and ran their last-minute checks. A pair of journeyman Portallists let themselves into the hall and took up their positions beside the archway. A moment later, while the two masters quarrelled over some detail or other, the door opened again and Fayn trotted across the flagstones.

           “Mam?”

           In one swift motion, Fayn looped a thick woollen scarf around Una’s neck. “Your granny wanted you to have this,” she said as the other apprentices sniggered. “And your father agreed. Winter in the north is a lot colder than it is here.” The sniggers stopped. One girl started looking nervously through her bag, checking for cold-weather clothing. “Did you remember to pack your winter hat?”

           “Yes, Mam.”

           “And your messenger in case of emergencies?”

           “Yes, Mam.”

           “Good.” Fayn tied the scarf and ruffled Una’s hair with one hand. With great dignity, Una smoothed it back down and shot a glare at the nearest apprentice in response to his knowing smile. “Stay warm, and have fun. Looks like they’ve got the portal ready!”

           Una turned to face the gateway. The stone wall behind it had disappeared; instead, a view of a snowy quadrangle filled the arch, slightly distorted as if seen through moving water or a shimmering heat haze. Led by the two masters and herded along by the journeymen, the apprentices trooped through the archway one by one.

           The first thing that struck Una – and, from the gasps of shock and scrabbling for extra clothing, everyone else – was how cold it was. Stormhaven did sometimes get snow in winter, but it always melted swiftly and never lay for more than a few hours. Duncraig was less fortunate. The grass surrounding the stone archway in the centre of the quadrangle was covered in almost a foot of snow, while more coated every roof Una could see and icicles hung in freezing curtains along their edges. Shivering, she pulled the scarf up over her mouth and nose, suddenly very grateful for her mother’s foresight.

           Somebody laughed, and everyone paused in the middle of pulling on extra jerseys to look over at a figure lurking in the shadows of the cloister.

           “We’ve been expecting you!” The figure emerged into the quadrangle, and pushed back the hood of a black robe to reveal a pale-skinned man with shoulder-length ash-blond hair, black eyes, and pointed ears. He looked around the same age as Wygar, though it was often difficult to judge with elves. “The Stormhaven party, here to visit Starwatch, I presume?”

           “That would be us,” said the Seer-Master, whose name was Jones. “And you are…?”

           “Strix,” said the man, tucking his hands into the loose sleeves of his habit. “Acolyte Strix of the Order of Night. They sent me to guide you back to Starwatch, make sure nobody gets lost. The ship’s waiting down at the docks – captain wants to get going before the loch freezes too solid.”

           Master Jones blinked. “I… sorry?”

           Strix blinked back, looking just as confused. “You are coming for the alignment, aren’t you?”

           “Yes?”

           “Well, come on, then!” He waved an arm, beckoning them after him, and led them all off through stone corridors and out into the city. “Duncraig’s not like Stormhaven,” he explained as they walked. “They don’t have a school devoted totally to magic like your College. Instead it’s a department of the University, where they teach all manner of other things – science and magic together in one. We can appreciate that – we do the same sort of thing out on our island. The docks are a couple of miles from here, but not to worry; there’re carriages waiting, so you won’t have to carry your luggage all the way!”

           After almost fifteen minutes of navigating the University’s passageways, they emerged onto a broad street where several work crews were labouring to clear as much snow from the road as they could, and a short row of coaches sat with constructs in the traces. The constructs didn’t look particularly like any one animal, but were clearly built for the cold: each one was heavyset and thickly furred, with broad feet that would better allow them to walk over snow and ice. Another creature lounged in the snow at the head of the little column, and rolled onto its feet as it spotted Strix. One of the apprentices stifled a scream, but Strix merely grinned and trotted over to meet the animal: a wolf the size of a horse, wearing a leather collar around its neck and a thick cloth saddle on its back.

           “Is that a fenris-wolf?” asked the other master, who was called Gwyn. “I thought they only lived north of the Dragon’s Teeth!”

           “It’s a long story,” said Strix as he climbed onto the wolf’s back. “And one for another time, I think. There should be room enough for everyone in those coaches – won’t take long to get to the harbour from here!” He looked back over his shoulder, taking a headcount as the Stormhaven group clambered aboard the carriages. His gaze lingered on Una for a moment, and a very odd look came over his face: mostly a frown, but underlain by a sort of disappointed despair. He shook his head and adopted a more neutral expression when he spotted her looking, and kept it all the way to the Duncraig harbour where a bizarre vessel awaited. All the apprentices crowded to the edge of the harbour for a look, trying to peer down through the murky water.

           It wasn’t, by Una’s definition, a ship. It looked more like an animal of some kind – she couldn’t make out many details through the water, but it had flippers like a turtle or a whale – carrying the top half of a sailless ship on its back. Its head was crowned with a jagged bony crest, while reins like hawsers led up to the front of the… saddle, Una supposed.

           “That’s not a leviathan, is it?” asked Master Gwyn, eyeing the creature in the water.

           “Not quite,” said Strix. “But he is inspired by them. He’s a construct, purpose-grown in a big tank in the shipyards here – sort of a cousin to Narwhal, if you’ve heard of that one. Not bonded to anyone, though. Don’t worry, he’s too buoyant to sink, and he’s made the run from Duncraig to Starwatch more times than I can count! All aboard – we should get to the island early next morning.”

           He took another headcount as everyone walked up the gangplank. That time, he very deliberately avoided looking at Una, and waited until everyone and their luggage was on board before he dismounted and led the fenris-wolf onto the ship. The wolf, in contrast to its rider, snuffled curiously at Una as it reached her; she held out a hand for it to sniff and it licked her.

           “C’mon, Rionnag,” muttered Strix, holding the wolf’s collar. It gave Una one last sniff and followed the acolyte off towards the stern. Strix still didn’t look at her.

           “What’s his problem?” Una asked of nobody in particular.

           “Not sure,” said one of the journeymen, folding her arms. “I mean… I know you’ve had trouble in the past, but he’s an elf too, isn’t he? Surely he can’t have a problem with you…”

           Una shrugged, and went to put her suitcase in her cabin.

           Strix’s odd behaviour continued for hours. He was perfectly friendly to the rest of the expedition, answering the apprentices’ questions about life in Starwatch and the senior wizards’ enquiries about scheduling, but whenever Una wandered into his sight, that peculiar expression reappeared on his face and he hastily excused himself. It was only after dinner, when the sun had set and the construct-ship was halfway down Loch Gorm, that she finally managed to corner him. He was leaning on the railing near the prow, not far from the great wheel to which the construct’s reins were attached, humming to himself and looking up at the stars. The construct carried only the bare minimum of necessary lights outside the cabins and corridors of its saddle, and the sky was brilliantly clear overhead. He straightened up at the sound of Una’s footsteps, looked back, and immediately started glancing around for an escape route. Una resolutely blocked his path.

           “What did I ever do to you?” she demanded, her hands on her hips. “I only met you a few hours ago, but ever since then you’ve either been giving me weird looks or avoiding looking at me at all. So what’s your problem?”

           Strix swallowed and looked to and fro across the deck, but there was no help forthcoming. Finally he sighed, bowed his head, and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault, and I shouldn’t be taking it out on you. I just… suppose I thought better of the Wolf Followers. I lived with them for a couple of years.”

           Una blinked, and opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, before an appropriate response emerged. “…What the hell are you talking about?”

           “Look, kid, there’s no easy way to go about this… But do you know who your father is? What kind of man he probably was?”

           “OH, FOR ALL THE GODS!” Strix physically recoiled from Una’s fury. “Yes, I know who my father is! His name is Wygar Smith, he’s a Master of the School of Combat, he’s in his mid-forties, he’s taller than you are, and my mother would never, ever cheat on him!” She pushed herself up onto her toes, clenching her fists. Strix tried to lean back over the rail. “I’ve been dealing with people saying he’s not really my tad since I was born, and you don’t get to be one of them!”

           Strix raised both hands, either in surrender or to defend himself. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! That’s not what I meant, not what I meant at all!”

           “Then what did you mean?” growled Una.

           “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed, you just… You have sort of Wolf Follower colouring, but with your ears, you’re obviously half-elf.”

           “Yes?”

           “Look… Maybe things are different in Stormhaven, but where I’m from in the Northern Forest… There are a lot of superstitions about elves and…” He took a deep breath. “Usually when half-elves are born… It’s not from a happy marriage.”

           Una let out a harsh snort through her teeth. “Well, I am, thanks. Besides.” She folded her arms. “It’s my father who’s the elf. And I’m not a Wolf Follower, either. I’m half-Falkari.”

           “Falkari? Then-”

           “Yeah, I know. My mam’s the only one left, unless you count me.”

           “No, I was going to say – Stormhaven. Half-elf, half-Falkari. You must be Wygar and Fayn Smith’s daughter, right? I should have thought of that first, put two and two together at least, but…” He brushed his fingers through his hair again and smiled. “Sorry. You shouldn’t have had to spell it out for me like that.”

           Una blinked. “…You know my parents?”

           “Well, no, not personally. But I remembered a letter I got from one of my old clanmates; there was a series of disappearances in and around the Northern Forest, and the head of your College – the Stormlord, is that correct? – sent them to help deal with it. Years ago – it would have been before you were born.” He turned to gaze out to sea again.

           Una leant on the rail beside him. “Sorry I yelled at you.”

           “Nah, I deserved it.”

           She looked up at the dark sky, trying to pick out the familiar constellations. “You said you were from the Northern Forest?”

           “Originally, yes – though like I said, I lived with the Wolf Followers for a while. That’s where Rionnag came from, out on the ice fields.”

           “So how’d you end up as a… I dunno, as a night-monk or whatever it was?”

           “An Acolyte of Night? Also a long story, but the short version is that I’ve always been a bit nocturnal. I suppose I was happy enough in the forest and later with the Wolf Followers, but it wasn’t until Rionnag and I wandered back south to the Sea Loch Country and fell in with a group of Acolytes that I really felt I fit in. So I followed them over to Starwatch, liked what I found, and, well, here I am.”

           “So you, like, worship the night or something?”

           “Not exactly,” said Strix, smiling. “The Order of Night is… more of a philosophy than a religion. Worship of the various night gods is popular among the Acolytes – there’s a beautiful temple on the island – but it’s not a requirement. Ah, you’ll see everything for yourself when we get to Starwatch.”

           “When’ll that be?”

           “Oh, not until dawn, most likely. You should go and get some sleep.”

           The cabins were small – little more than a bed and a basin – but there were enough of them that each of the apprentices had their own and the narrow bed was surprisingly comfortable. Una woke after a solid night’s sleep in the dim, pale light before dawn and wandered up to the galley for breakfast. It stretched the full width of the vessel above the foredeck, with broad but sturdy windows providing a clear view in three directions. Clouds had gathered during the night, and though the water was calm it had turned a forbidding iron-grey. Up ahead, an island rose up from the sea. It was still too far away to make out any buildings, but low, gentle hills in the south grew into high cliffs and steeper, sharper peaks in the north.

           The construct swam on, and after another hour finally came to a halt in a small harbour nestled at the foot of the northern mountains, at the north end of a long sweep of black sand. Strix led Rionnag down the gangplank to the stone-built quay, and the rest of the passengers followed him. Once everyone was gathered on solid ground and Master Jones had taken a head-count, Strix grinned and lifted an arm to the cliffs above.

           “Welcome to Starwatch.”

~~~

We’ve actually seen Strix before; he was buying coffee in Chapter Three of Water Horses, and he represented the Order of Night in the fantasy priests thing I did a while back. This is his first speaking role, however.

[the-witty-kitty]

hello! i was scrolling through the a-level history tag on tumblr just in hopes of finding some inspiration to do work - although i still don't have the motivation to do so, is there any tips you could give me? i'm doing a-level history focusing on South Africa and America but am dramatically failing both, with very little knowledge retention. i have coursework coming up that i also have no idea how to accomplish.

((Oh hello low key shook that you’ve come to me because lmao I’ve had no idea what I’m doing throughout my sixth form life so far and high key flattered

Honestly, I relate to you on such a spiritual level because history modules have so much content in them that it’s overwhelming and makes me want to deck myself. Fortunately, the history department of my Sixth Form provide a content guide for us which, that and my exercise book, is the of base my revision.

Notes // Revision Book

Personally, I prefer to have all information for topics and sub-topics in one place which is handwritten out again in another book. These notes would be written into my own words and condensed down massively. Literally the most time-consuming element of my life, I wanted to scratch my eyes out. (Pretty colours kept me sane.) I’d also recommend bolding any key dates, historical characters, facts and figures and any key words that would help you.

Flash Cards // Mindmaps // Timelines

For me, physically writing revision on paper or in mindmaps or flash cards tend to help me to remember which is why I prefer it to re-reading notes or textbooks. (Some science bullshit in active memory or something idk) (Making them look #aesthetic helped to make the task less gruelling and insta worthy.)

Honestly, I would scribble notes and revision down on anything. I re-did mindmaps, notes, timelines, mindmaps, essays, questions, miNDMAPS. The repetitive element is the only thing that helped me to remember; it’s boring but I’d recommend it. Any A3 pads of papers are hella useful as well; I had a shit ton of these mindmaps and timelines up on my walls during March-May and it wasn’t pretty and looked pretty bleak but I guess it helped? After doing my flash cards and mindmaps, I’d re-do scruffy ones but without the use of my previous revision notes, that way I’d be using memory instead of regurgitating textbooks and notes.

Staff // Friends // Family

Exploit your teachers. Exploit the department. I feel pity for them after dealing with me, espesically after I spent the year sucking up to all possible staff members of the history department. A little bit of banter here, a little bit of teasing there and they were always there for me. They must hate me by now. I’d ask for anything and everything. Mark questions, mark essays, re-mark said essays and questions, ask for the mark scheme, sample essays, dates, figures, stupid knowledge that I didn’t need but interested me. Albeit I love history and the periods that we studied (Russian history oioi) but I would have not gotten any of it without some of the staff. A fav of mine - who doesn’t even teach me history this year but taught me a year prior through my GCSEs - sat with me 3 hours before the exam and went through everything on the Cold War and then it came up in my exam. He is a godsend. Use them, I’m sure they’re rad people.

I also babbled so much crap to my family, explaining all of the periods that we studied, all of the policies, strengths and weaknesses and all keys events. They had no idea what I was on about and most probably didn’t even listen but that’s fine I guess forget about me but it helped me to revise through memory not just repeating from my notes. Upcoming to my exams I would take on a teacher-esque role and repeat all of the content back to my friends; it was a two-way system: I’d think on the spot and they’d listen like a normal revision lesson.

(Wow man I’m such a nerd wtf I only just realised. I’m so sorry how long this is frick.)

Documentaries // Youtube

I’m so lazy wow. They help if you’re a lazy piece of shit like me, just actively watch them and even take notes so that you know you’re getting the most out of your time. I’d personally recommend CrashCourse on youtube. It’s got tons of subjects and topics and they’re between 10-15 minutes so it’s a quick burst of info that’s not too overwhelming. (Also I’m such a nerd and laugh at the inside historical jokes wow.)

Questions // Essays // Past Papers

Just do ‘em. My hand would cramp up so bad after doing one of these bad boy essays but gradually I saw improvement.

Make sure you 101% understand what you have to do in the question. Description? Analysis? Explanation? Comparison? The only way you’ll master identifying what to do and the technique is if you do past questions and get feedback. If you teacher doesn’t address faults as for them. (My ego was crushed so many times it hurt man. It hurt.)

Coursework

Unfortunately, I haven’t started my coursework yet - we’re starting straight way and it’s on Martin Luther King so quite the topic considering the modern day cough dickhead trump cough - however, I’m aware that we have to conduct our own research and gather quotes etc.

From past coursework related experiences, again I’d recommend using the heck outta your teachers. If you’ve got the time, do re-draft after re-draft. And if it’s a crap ton of work to do reduce it into sections of analysis of one historical source or on one topic, that way you have more accomplishments when you finish a piece and you’ll receive constant feedback as you go along, in which you can adjust your work accordingly.

If you are required to do research try and mix it up with written sources, accademic articles and historiography. Google Scholar is pretty rad and prevents you from seeing articles or sites that are bias and have bias opinions. I’d also recommend any government offical websites (typically with .gov) if you’re researching contemporary history within the last hundred years or so and need figures such as birth or death rates at the time etc. Your teachers most likely have a ton of physical book resources at their disposal which they’ll allow you to use. Again, that fav teacher of mine allowed me to borrow 5+ books on Russian 20th century over the summer for my Welsh Bac project so I’m sure you’ll find a kind sole like this one somewhere.

Although coursework is agonising, it’s arguably better than exams and allow you to have some control over the outcome so if you keep on top of it you can grab a nice grade before the summer and easily helped raise your overall grade.

(Pretty sure my coursework will be the final death of me because my exam board has a rule on teacher intervention and if too much help is given out marks are taken away which is such horseshit?? So check to see if there are any rules.)

Summary

Reduce school work and textbooks into your own language and book.

Make revision materials from your own notes - flash cards, mindmaps, timelines, poems, acronyms - literally anything just write.

Repeat repeat repeat - try not to turn stir crazy!

Highlight dates, historical figures, numerical figures, facts, and events.

Documentaries and videos are a time and energy saver.

Learn the question styles and technique and hand in essays.

Use any feedback given. Even read the examiner’s report if you can access it.

Coursework - try to get any feedback if possible. Bookmark any sources or websites used as you may have to reference if it’s a written piece.

Google scholar is exceptional at providing articles and therefore you’re not prone to any historical bias when researching your topic.

Government sites are scary but nice for juicy facts and figures.

Break it down into little easy chunks such as dates, policies, location or historical evidence/sources so it’s easier to see and handle.

Coursework will inevitably affect your grade and its more or less the only thing you can control so constantly improve it whenever and you’ll do amazing!

I hope at least one of these things help with your revision as everyone learns and revises differently. Honestly, I’ve only adopted this technique this school year and I’m sure next year I’ll have something new. I won’t shy away from the fact that history is my favourite subject and therefore revision for this area is not too gruelling, but I’m a lil nerd and mini revision freak so pls don’t be too overwhelmed.

I wish you all the best for the upcoming year and your exams! I’m always around if you ever want a chat so hit me up!

- Soph

[wordsfromjosie-blog]

Why I Write

The arts are not a way to make a living. They are a very human way of making life more bearable. Practicing an art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven's sake.   -Kurt Vonnegut

        E.E. Cummings is one of my favorite poets of all time. He wrote with polished abandon-  no capital letters, sparse punctuation, and a loose hold on the rules of grammar. Every line has meaning, double meaning, symbolism, and to most…..nothing at all.

     It is the nothing that intrigues me. I like writers who make the reader do work; the ones who add layers and make it look easy. They fool us into thinking that there isn’t a madman behind the curtain. But if we are honest,  true writers are mad. True artists are mad. It’s not an observation but a fundamental law.

..it’s no use trying to pretend that mostpeople and ourselves are alike. Mostpeople have less in common with ourselves than the squarerootofminusone.

         One can go to school and learn to write but still not be a writer. Writers and artists are born seeing the world differently. That mysterious creative source within cannot be taught or purchased at a university; it is darkness, it is chaos, it is a divine light and a fixed lens through which creative people are bound. This churning wellspring is often accompanied by the heavier burdens of anxiety, depression, social exclusion, and mental illness. Sylvia Plath spoke of the madness of creation during her last days when she was writing more than she was sleeping. I cannot find the exact quote, but to paraphrase, she wrote something like- Once one looks into the face of God, what is the remedy?

take the matter of being born. what does being born mean to mostpeople? if mostpeople were to be born twice they’d probably call it dying– you and i…we can never be born enough.

         I started writing poems and short little sayings when I was around 6 years old. My mother had an old (modern at the time) typewriter and the sound of the clacks and pings comforted me. By the time I was 8, I was writing short stories. I think I still have several of them tucked away somewhere. Back then we had a blue parakeet named Frosty whose cage was right next to the dining room table. He would make clicking noises right along with me as I sat typing away.

    When I was 10, I sent my first story to a publisher for consideration. I don’t even remember what the story was, but it was quite exciting to get my first rejection letter. I’m pretty sure the publishers knew a 10 year old had written the story but were still kind enough to encourage me to keep writing. I was driven throughout my school years to write short story after short story, submitting to contests, school newspapers, and magazines.

    As I got older, poetry called to me and I immersed myself in everyone and everything. Down I dove into layers upon layers of symbolism, turns of phrase, metaphor. If a person could drown in words, surely I drowned in poetry in my 20s. I was an impatient writer; things didn’t come as easily as I liked. It was no longer about the joy of creation but this manic drive to produce and be prolific.  I had yet to learn that the process cannot be rushed. Creativity cannot be forced. These things need the time and space to grow on their own.

We are human beings for whom birth is a supremely welcome mystery, the mystery of growing; the mystery which happens only and whenever we are faithful to ourselves...    

         As I hit my late 20s and 30s, I took a long break from writing seriously. Life had gotten complicated and desperate. I would scribble thoughts and bits of prose on scrap pieces of paper, book covers, anything that was near. All these little scraps of paper- how could I have known that they were holding me afloat? My father’s death, my son’s death, divorce, bankruptcy, depression, anger, the struggle to survive- all I had keeping me sane were these words and ideas.

    There is a really good book called Touched With Fire: Manic Depressive Illness and the Artistic Temperament that explores the idea of where creativity comes from. The same chaotic void that begets depression and other mental illness also seems to be the rich soil from which our most renowned artists get their best ideas.

...you and i wear the dangerous looseness of doom and find it becoming.  

         So why do I write? Because out of this darkness grows something beautiful. It is my salvation and my undoing; my soul’s purpose. It is my chance to make the time we have here on earth a little more bearable. There has never really been a choice; it is what I am here to do.

Miracles are to come. With you I leave a remembrance of miracles…never to rest and never to have: only to grow. Always the beautiful answer who asks a more beautiful question.

*Excerpts taken from E.E. Cummings’ introduction from New Poems.

*One of my favorite poems by E.E.Cummings is “anyone lived in a pretty how town”. You can read it in its entirety here: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/22653/anyone-lived-in-a-pretty-how-town

*One of Sylvia Plath’s last poems is entitled “Edge”. You can read it here: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/49009/edge-56d22ab50bbc1

[williamlwolf89]

6 Writing Motivation Tips That Work (Even if You’re Busy)

Feeling low on writing motivation? All you need is the right toolkit. Here are six tips that’ll change your writing game forever.

______________________________

You have lots of ideas you want to share with the world, but…

The motivation to sit down and write just isn’t there.

You open your laptop with great intentions, but end up getting trapped by your Instagram feed.

Maybe you even start writing — but ten minutes later succumb to an uncontrollable urge to get up and organize your spice rack.

Or perhaps you’re just tired. And who can blame you? You have so much going on in your life that when you get home from work all you need is your couch and your Netflix — not more work.

Therefore, you can’t help but wonder:

How do other bloggers and writers find enough motivation to write every day and finish writing entire articles and books?

Here’s the truth you don’t hear that often:

Writing Motivation Doesn’t Just Happen: You Have To Go Get It

Most successful freelance writers and bloggers have busy lives too.

Surprising as it may seem, they also struggle with tiredness, procrastination, and lack of writing motivation. No matter how successful you become, you will always have days when you feel uninspired, overcome with imposter syndrome, or when even watching the grass grow will seem more fun than writing.

So… what’s the secret?

It’s simple:

You can’t just rely on writing motivation to magically appear — you need to know how to create it.

The good news is, this is often easier than you think.

6 Hacks to Help You Regain Your Writing Motivation

Imagine that you’re building a new shelf. If you realize you have the wrong screwdriver for those screws, do you sit in misery and hope the problem will solve itself?

Of course not. You probably wouldn’t waste hours trying to force the screwdriver until it fits, either.

No, you would go to the shop and either buy new screws, or a new screwdriver (or if you’re lazy like me, go through all your kitchen knives and see if any does the trick).

The same happens with writing: when you feel stuck, you just need to find the right tool that will get you unstuck. And very often, if you hit the nail in the head (pun intended), you’ll be back into a flow in a matter of minutes.

Here are six very simple tips and mindset tweaks that have not only helped me regain writing motivation in my toughest moments, but also allowed me to create my best work ever.

1. Find Your Why, Then Stick With a How

For the first few months after I started my blog, I felt lost and unmotivated.

I kept reading articles about writing and blogging and trying different strategies a few days at a time, until I realized I was seeing no results.

It was frustrating.

Eventually, tired of shifting and indecision, I decided to invest in a blogging course — and everything changed. Sure, I could probably find all the advice I wanted online; but committing to one method and following it through to the end helped me eliminate all my doubts, stress, and decision pressure, and as a consequence my mind was finally free to be creative.

However, having a strategy isn’t enough.

Yes, taking that course has led me to develop my voice, write hundreds of articles, get thousands of subscribers, and sell my first online course. Without it, I wouldn’t be where I am.

But the truth is, despite technically knowing the path, I still lose motivation sometimes. I still get tired, busy, and stuck, and I still have bad days. In those moments, what keeps me going is knowing my purpose as a writer: to touch, inspire, and share knowledge that will help my readers become the best version of themselves.

To me, building a solid foundation of writing motivation takes two steps:

Ask yourself why you want to write

What’s the change you want to make in your readers? How will writing improve your life? How will it fulfill you? What’s the dream that will fuel your motivation on this journey?

Writer Benjamin Hardy created a journaling exercise where you identify something you want, and then you ask yourself “What about __________ is important to me?” enough times until you get to the “deepest why” behind it.

Here’s an example:

[Thing I want:] Writing.

[Question:] What about writing is important to me?

[Thing I want:] Expressing myself.

[Question:] What about expressing myself is important to me?

[Thing I want:] Sharing my experiences with others.

[Question:] What about sharing my experiences with others is important to me?

[Thing I want:] Making people feel seen and understood.

[Question:] What about making people feel seen and understood is important to me?

[Thing I want:] Bringing awareness to our shared humanity and making the world a better, kinder place.

Whether your dream is self-publishing a bestseller on Amazon or starting a blog to support people with breast cancer, set writing goals that mean something to you, and then…

Find a strategy that allows you to fulfill your why

Exploring different alternatives and learning from different sources is useful when you start, but if you want to see real results, at some point you’ll have to choose one strategy and stick with it. Therefore, find a course, a program, or a method, and follow it through to the end.

It doesn’t matter if it’s the best one out there — what matters is that it will remove stress and decision fatigue, and you’ll stay at one thing for long enough until it starts working.

Key takeaways:

Ask yourself why you want to write (use the “deepest why” exercise to help you);

Find a strategy that allows you to fulfill your why and stick it without getting derailed.

2. Spice It Up

Sometimes, no matter how sure we are about our purpose and strategy, we will still face most writers’ worst enemy:

Writer’s block.

When I get stuck with a difficult article, it can be hell to make myself go back to work the next day.

There’s nothing more demotivating than believing that you’ll never be able to write anything good again, that you’re a fraud and all your ideas suck.

It was Anne Lamott’s mind-shifting perspective on writer’s block that changed it all for me:

“I no longer think of it as block. I think that is looking at the problem from the wrong angle. If your wife locks you out of the house, you don’t have a problem with your door. The word block suggests that you are constipated or stuck, when the truth is that you’re empty.” — Anne Lammot in Bird By Bird: Instructions On Writing And Life

Next time you feel out of ideas or can’t solve a problem, try to fill that emptiness with something fresh by spicing up your writing routine.

For example, I often struggle with getting my brain going first thing in the morning. Therefore, instead of starting with my most important work, I often start the day by replying to emails from subscribers. This removes the pressure to be perfect and makes me confident that I can type something that doesn’t totally suck.

Here are a few ideas you can use:

If you write nonfiction articles for a living, spice it up with some creative writing exercises;

If you’re working on a long novel, take a break to work on your metaphor skills;

If you usually type on your computer, grab a journal or fill a stack of note cards with ideas instead;

If you work from home, spend the day writing at a coffee shop;

If you’re used to reading books and articles for writing inspiration, try listening to a writing podcast, watching a movie, or going to an art exhibition instead;

If you’ve been stuck for hours and nothing comes out, take a break.

Key takeaway:

When facing writer’s block, freshen up your writing routine with some new elements.

3. Take It One Step At a Time

One of the most common ways to lose your writing motivation is by setting big goals in a moment of optimism and then end up feeling overwhelmed.

I recently set myself a goal to write 50 guest posts in the space of two months.

Most of my writer friends tell me I’m crazy. Some days I agree, and I can feel my heart skipping a beat at the thought of the challenge ahead of me.

But there is one thing that keeps me sane:

Focusing on the next small step.

After some thinking and planning, I decided that the first step towards writing 50 guest posts was to write three headlines a day until I had a list of 50. So I just focused on that first step and chose not to worry about the rest until the right time came.

“Write three headlines” is not as scary as “start writing 50 guest posts.”

As I saw my progress, my motivation kept growing. To make sure I kept at it, I tracked my progress in my journal. Then, I gradually added more complex goals:

Reading five blog posts a day,

Writing for three hours in the morning,

Sending one pitch per day,

Keeping track of my word count,

Etc.

The key is to build up gradually: start really simple, build consistency, let that fuel your confidence, and then keep placing one foot in front of the other.

Key takeaways:

Set a clear goal (bonus: write it down where you can see it every day);

Define the steps you need to take to get there;

Focus on one step at a time.

4. Big Problems First

Before I started working on my 50 guest posts goal, I was writing on average one article every two weeks. Now, I have to gradually build up to two per day.

The amount of writing time I have available hasn’t changed — therefore, the only option was to write faster.

In her book 2,000 to 10,000, Rachel Aaron explained how she increased her writing speed to 10,000 words in a single day by spending five minutes before every writing session deciding what she would be writing about and scribbling it on a piece of paper.

“I didn’t describe anything, I didn’t do transitions or dialog, I wasn’t writing, I was simply noting down what I would write when the time came,” she explains.

As it has been proven that our brains are at their most creative first thing in the morning, I applied Aaron’s brilliant writing tip and started outlining my articles in my journal before breakfast.

Let me tell you this: never before has a 15-minute writing tip made me so clear-headed and inspired to start my writing day. Not only has this removed a lot of my resistance to start writing, but it also increased my writing speed from 500 to up to 1,500 words per hour.

Nothing will motivate you more than knowing exactly what you’ll be writing about before you start writing it — after that, all you need to do is type it.

Key takeaway:

Spend five minutes before each writing session thinking about what you are going to write; this will make it easier to get you started.

5. Create Your Focus Vortex

It’s time to address the elephant in the room:

How do you fight the procrastination that keeps you from writing?

The lure of just another YouTube video, the popping notification, the inviting weather outside…

Distractions can be one of the main culprits in keeping you from writing.

In an interview with Tim Ferris, Neil Gaiman shared his writing motivation secret that keeps him from procrastinating. It goes like this:

In order to make himself write, he takes his notepad to his cabin in the garden where there is absolutely nothing to do. There, he gives himself two options: he can either write, or do nothing at all. Eventually, doing nothing becomes too boring, and writing becomes the most appealing option.

I don’t have a cabin (or a garden, for that matter), but I have earphones: when I want to focus, I put on some music, and I stick a post-it to my laptop letting people know that I’m in my focus vortex and I can’t be disturbed.

The result? Reducing distractions is a great motivator: not only do I achieve more in less time, but I have much more fun in the process.

Key takeaway:

Create a writing environment that is free of distractions and encourages focus.

6. Fuel Your Mind

Productivity and motivation require an energized mind. Having an energized mind requires an energized body.

Do you see what I’m getting at? This might seem out of place, but it’s probably the most important item on this list: if you want to stay motivated, you need to fuel your body and your mind with the right foods, regular movement, and inspiring food for thought.

When I started noticing how intimately my health and well-being were connected to my productivity and writing motivation, I gradually started tweaking my habits and routine to optimize my creative power.

Here are a few changes I made:

Whenever I feel tired and unmotivated, instead of drinking coffee or stressing out, I drink a glass of water and do a sun salutation — it works like magic!

As I’m more productive in the morning, I started waking up at 5:30 every day and spend around an hour writing on my journal to unlock new ideas and brainstorm problems;

Every day after breakfast I take a walk with my partner where we discuss ideas for our blog, which keeps us fit and allows us to come up with our best ideas.

I’m not telling you to do the same things as me; all I’m saying is that there is a connection between body and mind.

So get up from the couch, roll your shoulders back, drink a tall glass of orange juice, and take a walk around your neighborhood while you listen to your favorite motivational speaker.

Key takeaway:

Fuel your mind and body with good foods, physical movement, and intellectually nourishing activities.

Reignite Your Writing Motivation

Whether you feel lazy, unmotivated to write, facing writer’s block, or simply stuck in a procrastination whole, the problem is not you: all you need is to find the right tool to get you unstuck.

Therefore, after you finish reading this article, don’t get trapped in a self-commiseration loop; instead, pick one of the steps above and commit to giving it a try today.

And who knows — your best work might be just around the corner.

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