#writing exercises are just for me to work on putting words down without overthinking

[fuckyeahdindjarin]

Butter

Joel Miller x F!Reader

{ Main Masterlist }

Rating: None

Summary: What if Joel doesn't forget to buy himself a cake for his birthday? But by the time he remembers, all the bakeries in his neighbourhood are closed - except yours.

Warnings: No outbreak AU, pure fluff, mentions of baking and food, meet cute, some sexual tension but very mild stuff compared to my other fics, single dad!Joel being a sexy menace, reader has a nickname related to her job, reader has an accent similar to Joel, very lightly edited, not my best work, but I'm in my writing for fun era 💁🏻‍♀️

Word count: 3.6k

Notes: It's here! This was an exercise in speed writing, and just putting words to paper without overthinking anything. I really enjoyed writing this sweet little piece, this is dedicated to @psychedelic-ink who has been the biggest cheerleader for this idea since day one. Happy birthday to our favourite single dad who never lived through a cordyceps outbreak ❤️

September 26, 2003 was supposed to be a good day.

It’s Friday, after all. Not that the weekend is relevant to you anymore, with Saturdays and Sundays being the busiest days for business. But you have a date for once tonight, and you’re determined to enjoy it.

If you can get the goddamn security shutter to close, that is.

Standing on your tiptoes, you pull futilely at the bottom of the metal shutter with both hands, but it refuses to budge. You lament the sweat seeping through the fabric of the nice dress you changed into, the hem reaching almost indecent heights on the back of your thighs where it’s climbed up. And you don’t have to look at your reflection to know that stress has already smudged the edges of the eyeliner you hurriedly painted on as soon as you got the last customer out the door.

You can be forgiven for not noticing the wash of yellow headlights over the windows of the shop front and the sound of rolling tyres as a truck pulls up on the curb outside the bakery, until a gravelly voice pipes up behind you alongside hurried footsteps.

‘Ma’am, please tell me you’re still open.’

You tap on the ‘Closed’ sign through the window without turning around, determined to wrangle the shutter into submission. ‘Bad luck buddy, come back tomorrow. We open at nine sharp.’

‘No I can’t, I’m so sorry, but I need a cake now.’

Curiosity turns your head, and over your shoulder, you find a broad-shouldered man in a dark tshirt and casual jeans standing a respectful four paces away. Under eyebrows sloping downwards in a pleading angle that matches the slant of his moustache, his warm and imploring eyes are on you.

‘I’m sorry, sir, but I really need to go,’ you say. ‘Can you give me a hand?’

‘Look, I’ll do you one better. I’ll fix the shutter for you for free - if you sell me a cake.’

You purse your lips, the prospect of saving on what looks like an inevitable repair bill tempting. ‘You can fix it?’

‘I’m a contractor,’ he replies, reaching into his back pocket to pull out a battered looking wallet. ‘Here’s my card, if you think I’m bluffin’.’

Miller & Associates is printed in bold across the top, and underneath, is presumably his name and cell number. Glancing up at him, you say, ‘Look, Mr. Miller, I really want to help, but I’m late for a date, and I’m all sold out of cakes today -’

‘I’ll take anything you got. Cupcakes, cookies, whatever you have left,’ he cuts in, then apologises in quick succession, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. ‘I’m sorry to be so pushy - I’m not, usually - but I promised my daughter I’d bring something home, and by the time I remembered, this is the only place I could think of. Please.’

You feel the exact moment your resolve crack, and then fold like a goddamn lawn chair. What can you say, this contractor really knows how to work those puppy eyes, and you can never say no to a man who refuses to let their kid down. 

Especially when the man looks like this.

Shooting off a text to your date to push back your dinner plans, you nod towards the door. ‘Alright. C’mon in, Mr. Miller.’

‘Nice place you got here,’ he remarks politely, hovering by the entrance as the fluorescent lights flicker on, his manners impeccably southern. 

‘You don’t have to flatter me, I’ve already let you in,’ you joke, lips quirking at the way he flusters. ‘But I appreciate it. You been here before?’

When he smiles, you notice the corners of his eyes crinkle charmingly. ‘No, but I know I’ll be comin’ back.’

‘I wasn’t lying when I said I was out of ready-made cakes,’ you tell him, holding the door open to the kitchen so he can come in after you. ‘But I have some cake layers in the fridge so I can put together something fairly quickly.’

He ducks his head in a manner that tells you he’s not used to demanding things, and protests, ‘I don’t want to put you out. I meant it, if you just have some cupcakes or somethin’ -’

‘Listen, you promised your daughter a cake, didn’t you?’ you interrupt.

He shrugs. ‘Well, yeah I did -’

‘I’m guessin’ it’s for a birthday?’

He nods sheepishly. ‘It is.’

‘Well, as a baker, ‘mfraid I can’t let a cakeless birthday happen on my watch, Mr. Miller,’ you insist, opening the fridge door with a flourish. ‘Let’s see what we have here. Cake for three, I assume?’

‘Two, actually.’

Hopefully you’re as discreet as you think you are when your eyes drop to his left hand - his fourth finger is conspicuously ringless.

Interesting.

You hum, considering the mismatched options in your inventory. ‘It’s gonna be a bit of a Frankenstein’s monster of a cake, if you don’t mind. How does chocolate and vanilla layers with cookies and cream frosting sound?’

‘Sounds perfect,’ he answers without skipping a beat. ‘Thank you, ma’am.’

You shake your head, hands full of cake rounds wrapped in cling film as you nudge the fridge close. ‘Please, call me Bri, Mr. Miller.’

‘And you can call me Joel,’ he says in return. ‘Is Bri short for somethin’?’

Laying the cakes on the work surface, you reply, ‘Yeah, Bri for brioche, like the bread. It's a silly nickname.’

The single dad surprises you with a low whistle. ‘Can’t say I saw that comin’.’

You grin. ‘You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, Joel.’

You don’t often have an audience while baking, and you find yourself talking Joel through the steps while you prep everything for assembly.

Swirling a spatula through the tub of buttercream you made earlier that day, you explain, ‘I just need to whip up some of this frosting so that it’s nice and soft for putting the cake together. You wanna help me break up some Oreos so we can make it cookies and cream?’

‘I’m all yours, chef,’ he says, one corner of his mouth curling into a teasing smile that has no business warming the apples of your cheek as it does. ‘Just tell me what to do.’

While your Kitchenaid whirrs to life, whipping air into the buttercream, Joel wields a rolling pin, smashing a generous helping of Oreos into crumbs in a Ziplock bag. The almost exaggerated care with which he moves speaks to inexperience in the kitchen, and you muse that either his kid makes up for it in that department, or they live off takeout.

Eventually, he picks up the bag and looks at you in a question. ‘I think I’m done?’

You smile and tap the lip of the mixing bowl. ‘That’s perfect. Why don’t you tip in the crumbs straight in here?’

Before you can step back to allow him space, Joel’s taken two strides towards you, and his arm brushes your shoulder when he lifts the bag and tilts the contents into the frosting. He’s warm and solid, and damnit, he smells good - like sawdust and sweat.

The thought comes to you unbidden - what a man.

There’s a lull, and only when you feel the weight of eyes on you do you realise that you missed his question.

‘Did you say somethin'?’ you squeak, embarrassed.

‘I said, is this ok?’ he repeats, nodding at the mixing bowl.

You nearly stumble over your words. ‘Yes, yes it’s perfect.’

He watches you closely, a touch of concern in his brown eyes. ‘You ok there, honey?’

‘Yup,’ you chirp, far too cheerfully. ‘Just need to mix it all up now -’

If you had your wits about you, you would stir in the crumbs first and set the machine on low. But this man somehow stole said wits by sheer proximity to you, and you accidentally start the Kitchenaid on high, an indignant yelp escaping you when Oreo dust flies aggressively out of the bowl along with a splatter of white buttercream that lands squarely on the front of your dark knit dress.

‘Oh shit!’ you cry out, frantically turning off the mixer. ‘Shit shit shit!’

Over your panicked mantra, Joel is calmness itself. ‘Hang on, honey, I gotcha.’

He makes a beeline towards the sink, grabbing a tea towel and wets it under the tap with a bit of dishwashing liquid. It all screams competent single dad, and you find yourself staring at his unfairly large hand, mapped with thick veins, holding out the damp towel for you to take.

‘Thanks,’ you stutter self-consciously, the tips of your ears hot while swiping at the stain. ‘That was a rookie mistake. I promise I’m actually a good baker.’

He gives you a wink to put you at ease. ‘Don’t worry, I believe you.’

Starting over, the mixer hums as it gently incorporates the Oreos until the buttercream is a speckled grey and doubled in volume. ‘Looks like it’s ready. You wanna taste, Joel?’

‘Sure,’ he says. ‘D’ya have a spoon or somethin’ for me?’

‘You can use your fingers,’ you reply, and it's too late to take it back.

You feel the back of your neck heating up when he shoots you a meaningful look, just a touch of mischief in the tilt of his lips. 

‘Can I, now?’ he teases.

You try a nonchalant shrug that probably comes off as painfully awkward. ‘This batch is just for you, I won’t tell the health inspector if you don’t.’

Joel chuckles, his strong shoulders quaking. And so you watch, shamelessly, as he raises his right hand, index and middle fingers at the ready, before diving into the metal bowl, scooping up a generous dollop of buttercream. There’s a peek of his pink tongue when his plush lips part, and then he sucks his fingers into his mouth with a gratuitously loud moan, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows.

When he turns to you with a pained expression on his face, maintaining eye contact all the while licking an errant streak of frosting off the side of his middle finger, you gape at him for a whole five seconds before you manage to unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth.

‘Good?’ you barely manage to squeak.

‘You betcha, honey,’ he declares, then adds, ‘Mind if I double dip?’

He doesn’t mean anything by it, you know it, but a hot flush runs through your body and you swallow thickly. ‘You can do whatever you want, cowboy.’

You don’t think you’re imagining the wicked glint in his answering stare - you’re getting yourself into trouble, and don’t you know it. 

Clearing your throat, you attempt to thwart your mind's dangerous descent into the gutter by changing the subject. ‘So, I can do somethin’ really snazzy that I think your daughter would like - do you know what a piñata cake is?’

He shakes his head. ‘Sounds dangerous.’

‘Hardly,’ you chuckle. ‘It’s a cake filled with sprinkles, so when you cut into it, it’s a sprinkles surprise!’

He lets out a playful sigh of relief. ‘As long as there’s no whackin’ involved, it’s good by me.’

You gesture at him to follow you across the room. ‘And here’s the fun part - you get to choose the sprinkles.’

Joel whistles at the reveal of your compulsively organised sprinkles cabinet, each shelf sorted by colour, shape and size. He quips, ‘Is this what the inside of your brain looks like, honey?’

You grin. ‘Pretty much. What’s your daughter’s name?’

‘Sarah.’

‘What colour does Sarah like?’

‘Any and all shades of pink.’

‘I can work with that.’

Now that everything is ready and waiting on the work surface, you pull out a lazy Susan and plonk a cake board on top of it, dusting your hands dramatically. ‘Alright, Joel. Ready for the magic to happen?’

Making himself comfortable next to you, he leans on his elbows, and your eyes are immediately drawn to the way his tshirt stretches and strains over his back. ‘Go ahead, I’m ready to be impressed, honey.’

Filling a piping bag full of the cookies and cream buttercream, you ask, ‘You wanna get your hands dirty?’

He raises his palms in surrender. ‘I’ll leave it to you, I don’t want to make you any more late for your date.’

You’re used to working with much bigger cakes, so this one doesn’t take you long. With a cookie cutter, you carve out a small circle from each cake round, then you stack and fill the layers with buttercream. After loading the shaft in the middle with all manner of pink sprinkles, you stopper the top with the cake cut-outs.

‘How old is Sarah turning today?’ you ask conversationally while you spin the cake around, smoothing on the crumb coat.

Joel looks up, surprised. ‘Oh, it’s my birthday today, not hers. ‘

‘Wait, what?’ you cry, throwing your hands up. ‘I made this cake with Sarah in mind - it will literally be vomiting pink sprinkles!’

‘I’m a girl dad. I like pink,’ shrugs Joel easily.

You huff, using an icing smoother to make sure the buttercream is even all over the cake. ‘I would pop the cake into the freezer to firm up before adding a final layer of frosting if I had the time, but this will have to do.’

‘It looks great,’ Joel assures you as you put the finishing touches to the cake, with buttercream swirls all around the top and a final baptism of sprinkles.

‘There, all done. Lemme box it up for you and this bad boy is ready to go.’

‘Amazin’, thank you so much,’ he grins. ‘Please, lemme do the washin’ up while you’re at it.’

‘Oh, Joel, you can’t,’ you protest, but he’s already grabbed the mixing bowl and all the bits and bobs stained with buttercream. ‘You’re the birthday boy!’

‘Least I can do,’ he shoots back over his shoulder, already halfway to the sink.

‘Well no, you promised to fix the security shutter for me, remember?’ you call after him.

‘Damn, I was hopin’ you’d forgotten about that.’

Joel cleans up with a practised air, humming under his breath as he waits for the water to heat up and the soap to lather. You watch him from the corner of your eye while you secure the cake inside the box, throwing in a birthday candle for good measure. You’ve just tied a nice ribbon around the cardboard box when he puts away everything in the drying rack and wipes his hands dry.

‘Didn’t expect you to be good at that,’ you tease, moving towards the door.

‘Sexist much?’ he jokes, no real bite in his retort. Then by way of explanation, he tells you, ‘I work late, so Sarah usually cooks and I wash up afterwards.’

‘Sounds like you guys make a good team.’

Joel helps with the lights and locks the door, and you stand to one side when he grabs the security shutter and forces it into submission by brute force. You can’t help but stare when the bottom of his tshirt rides up, revealing a soft sliver of belly underneath, his biceps bulging and back rippling as the shutter is finally forced shut in a metallic ripple.

You give him a smile. ‘Well, happy birthday, Joel.’

‘Thanks again for the cake.’ He looks around, as if looking for your car, but the sidewalk is empty except for his truck. ‘How are you gettin’ to your date?’

‘I was just gonna call a taxi.’

‘No, you ain’t,’ he nods towards his ride. ‘C’mon, I’ll give you a lift.’

‘Oh, no, it’s late, and you should be getting back to Sarah -’

‘I spoiled your date, so please, let me,’ he insists, holding the door open on the passenger side. Hop in.’

Joel takes the cake off your hands and puts it in the backseat carefully, putting the seat belt over it while you climb in. Glancing over your shoulder, you see toolboxes and newspapers on the floor, and it smells like paint and wood dust.

‘Sorry it’s a bit messy, occupational hazard,’ he apologises as he straps himself in. ‘So, where are we goin’?’

‘Do you know the steakhouse on Third Street?’

‘Vaguely,’ he replies, pulling smoothly away from the curb. ‘It sounds fancy.’

‘You been?’

‘Nope, I barely have time to go anywhere nowadays. It seems like I’m only ever in bed, or at work, or in my truck.’

You turn to smile at him, admiring the way his his thick fingers around the top of the steering wheel, making it look so small. ‘I feel you. Small business owner, am I right?’

‘I hear ya,’ he shoots you a smile. ‘So - what’s the deal with tonight? First date?’

‘Fourth, actually.’

He wriggles his eyebrows suggestively. ‘Fourth date? You know what happens on a fourth date, honey.’

‘I don’t, actually. Tell me, what happens on a fourth date?’

He blows out his cheeks, and admits, ‘Honestly, I can’t tell ya. I haven’t been on a fourth date since 1991.’

You burst into laughter at his unexpected answer. ‘You’re such a dork, Joel Miller.’

When the truck rumbles to a stop outside the steakhouse ten minutes later, he looks at his watch and announces, ‘Here we are, only fifteen minutes late.’ Squinting through the windshield, he points at a man smoking outside, an impatient frown on his face. ‘That him?’

‘Yeah, that’s him,’ you nod, but you stay put in your seat, in no hurry to make a move.

Joel nods, tapping his tidily trimmed nails on the steering wheel. ‘So I’ll swing ‘round tomorrow after work with my toolbelt? ‘Round six thirty?’

‘A toolbelt? What a sight to look forward to,’ you rib, slowly reaching for the seatbelt and unbuckling it.

‘Hell yeah, it’s got a special clip for my Nokia and all,’ he adds mischievously.

'You must fend off the ladies by the dozen,' you tease.

'Daily,' he answers without skipping a beat.

You probably shouldn’t have, especially not with the guy who you’re supposed to be on a date with glaring daggers at you through the windshield. But there’s something cackling in the air between you and this man you just met not an hour ago, and the way the streetlight filters through the window, backlighting his messy curls and scraggly beard, that has you throwing caution to the proverbial wind.

Impulsively, you lean across the gear shift, your left hand finding purchase on his knee before pressing your lips to the side of his whiskered jaw, your kiss fitting right into that little heart-shaped patch on his beard. 

You’re not sure who’s more taken aback, but you don’t have time to find out. 

‘Happy birthday, Joel Miller.’

He smiles after you as you hop out of his truck.

You’ve just sold your last cupcake of the day when the bell over the bakery door rings. And sure enough, it’s Joel Miller crossing the threshold, right on the dot at six thirty.

‘Hey, Bri,’ he waves, hovering half-in and half-out of the shop, a slight awkwardness having set in overnight.

But it's ok, you're happy to pick up where you left off. Putting your hands on your waist and a cheeky grin, you quip, ‘Wow, you weren’t kidding about that toolbelt, huh?’

Your chest swells as you watch him thaw with an easy smile, and he banters back, ‘I’m a man of my word, honey. You ok with me gettin’ to work now?’

‘Yes, thank you. I’ll be cleanin’ up back in the kitchen, I’ll join you when I’m done.’

Joel shoots you a thumbs up. ‘Great. I’ll grab the ladder and get right to it.’

When you emerge fifteen minutes later, he’s on the fourth rung of the ladder, tinkering the rolling mechanism with a screwdriver and a studious frown on his brow. He looks like he’s wearing the same thing as yesterday - you can believe that he’s a man who buys the same tshirt in bulk - and he smiles at you when you duck out of the shop.

‘Did Sarah like the cake?’ you ask in casual conversation.

‘She went nuts over the piñata surprise,’ he replies. ‘And the cake was delicious, there were hardly any crumbs left when we were done with it. She says we’re definitely ordering a cake from you for her birthday.’

‘I like the sound of that.’

‘How was your evening?’ he asks, glancing down at you from his perch. ‘Did you find out what happens on a fourth date?’

You let out a dry laugh. ‘Yeah, I did, actually. He dumped me.’

Joel freezes, a scowl darkening his countenance. ‘Oh shit, what? Why?’

You shrug, leaning your weight on the ladder as you look at the ground. ‘I mean, I did show up an hour late in some other guy’s truck. And I guess probably shouldn’t have kissed you on the cheek right in front of him.’

You startle when Joel’s fingers slip under your chin, tilting your head up towards him. ‘It’s all my fault. I’m so sorry.’

‘Honestly, you don’t look that sorry, Joel Miller,’ you joke.

He cocks his head to one side. ‘Well, I can't lie, I think you deserve better than him.’

‘Do you now?’ you prompt. ‘Who do you have in mind?’

Joel peers at you from under long lashes with a half-smile that's almost shy. He dodges your question, and says instead, ‘I didn't mean to ruin your night, let me make it up to you, honey.’

‘How?’

Deftly, he climbs down the ladder, landing squarely on two booted feet, his presence comforting as he looms over you, his eyes warm. ‘Can I buy you dinner?’

‘Like - a date kind of dinner?’

‘Yeah, like a date,’ he nods.

You can’t help the dig. ‘And you were just sayin' you haven’t been on a date since...?’

He flashes you a smirk, and you shiver when his hand brushes your waist. ‘Since 1991. Tough sell, I know - but I thought I’d give it a shot.’

Running a finger along his sharp jawline, softened by the endearingly untidy beard, you have to bite your bottom lip to keep yourself from giving away too wide a grin. ‘Why, I think I have a good feelin’ about you, Joel Miller.’

Catching your wrist in his fingers, he presses a sweet kiss to your knuckles, the rough graze of his stubble chasing goosebumps across your skin as his eyes smile at you. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow then, honey.’

More notes: I hope you enjoyed this sweet little oneshot 🥰 I really leaned into the fluff and I have no regrets. Comments/reblogs/asks are much appreciated as always! I don't have plans for a second part right now, but a smutty follow-up is always a possibility...

The adorable dividers are by @firefly-graphics 👩🏻‍🍳

[naomi121406]

🌕 Lunar Melody 🌕

🌕 A pop-culture spell to strengthen your psychic abilities (such as clairaudience, claircognizance, etc), inspired by Fatal Frame IV 🌕

A Lunar Melody is someone's unique tone, tied to their identity and gifts, their very soul. This Lunar Melody can change pitch according to the person's emotional state and general health. We all hear it unconsciously, and not being able to hear your own Lunar Melody (according to the games) can cause a foggy mind, partial or complete memory loss, dizziness, headaches, emotional distress, among other things. It is also said that people with stronger lunar melodies have a stronger connection to the spiritual realms, the Afterlife, and are often mediums. According to lore, Lunar Eclipses are times when the veil between worlds are thinner and in the games, the Lunar Melodies of people are more receptive, for good or for bad, during this time. So let's try to use that in our favor! Doing this following exercise at a time when the veil is thinner will help you identify what gifts you have but maybe didn't know about, and strengthen the psychic abilities that you already know of. Kind of like stretching a muscle that's been atrophied, with the Moon's help.

⚠️ An older version of this spell was posted by me a long time ago and now seems to be lost. I'm posting this new (and somewhat improved) version as someone asked for it, and it may be of use to others aswell.

🌕 You'll need:

A lunar eclipse, ha. If it wasn't obvious by the title and inspiration, you'll be performing this ritual under a lunar eclipse. Partial or total, your choice, but I think it's safer to do it for the first time under a partial eclipse.

A consecrated mask. Preferably of some organic material (thick paper or wood). Paint it entirely with black ink/paint, that has been previously mixed with a drop of your blood. If you don't feel comfortable working with blood, saliva can work as a substitute (as a personal concern of yours, a tie to you) or even better, tears, as they relate to your sight. After you've painted it, let it dry outside under a Full Moon, asking for the Moon's blessing.

Five white candles.

A bowl of water (preferably a dark bowl, or some scrying bowl)

Music player and a song of choice.

A notebook and pen to take notes.

🌕 Steps:

🌕 First you'll have to define your workspace. I recommend that you create a circular sacred space with a radius of at least 60-70 cm around you. You can use a rope to mark the circle or not, that's up to you. Then set up your five candles on this circle, forming a five-pointed star. Open sacred space as you normally would (if you call on the elements, deities, etc, this would be the time to do that)

🌕 Set before you, inside the circle, the scrying bowl. Best if you can see the Moon's reflection on the water (doing this outside is best but not necessary). Call on the Moon God/Goddess of your choice, and ask them to bless the water and guide your sight.

🌕 Using your music player, play the song you've chosen to meditate with. You can use the Moonsong from the games (said to calm people's soul) or some other that resonates with you (see what I did there?). When you do, first say "Spirits of Song, of chimes, drums, flute, piano and string, lend me your guidance tonight".

🌕 Then, the meditation. Or the frenzy. Put on the mask. You can choose to stay still or dance. If you stay seated, gaze into the water, and try to make out shapes, pay attention to any sounds, emotions, smell, word or image that comes to your mind. Write them down when you're done. If you dance, offer your dance to the Moon and let it guide your steps. Placing the bowl on the center of the circle, dance around it and pay attention to the sensations of it, without judgement. What do you see in your mind's eye? pay attention to what you hear, smell, feel. Don't overthink it in the moment, just let it move through you and only care to remember it for later, so you can write it all down, and you can analize it all you want after it's over.

🌕 After you've written down your notes, you can close your sacred space as you normally would, give thanks to the Spirits you've called to aid you, and even leave a small offering out for the Moon afterwards if you wish.

🌕With Love, Nao🌕

[aletterinthenameofsanity]

Izzy Amnesia Fic Writing Update/Musings on Writing Process

So, I'm working on the Izzy amnesia fic and for SOME REASON on my semi-regularly scheduled writing break, decided to go check out my old fanfic account. Nostalgia, maybe? I don't know. But it turns out that I've been using songs as fic titles almost since I started writing fic in 2014 at the age of 14 (and holy shit, it's been almost ten years, can y'all believe it?), and that took me down a path of old bands I haven't listened to in YEARS.

This, however, has had an unexpected boost to my writing: turns out listening to the emo/hard rock bands you listened to in early high school puts you in EXACTLY the mood you need to be in to write an angsty amnesia fic. (Also, twenty one pilots, for some reason? Whoops? Not my fault that "Car Radio" still elicits an insane emotional response.)

I will encourage anyone in a creative rut/in need of inspiration to check out the music you liked in high school. There is something to be said for how sound alone can trigger the energy of a time when we were far less self-aware and thus less self-judgmental of our work and wrote for the fun and joy of creation. I wrote a lot of garbage, but it's MY hot garbage, and I wouldn't be anywhere near the writer I am today without my (questionable) contributions to the Glee and Hetalia fandoms ages 14-15.

After being in a writing rut for nearly a year now (one I've only gotten out of since I started writing for OFMD, it's nice to yet again be reminded that writing has, most of the time, not been a frustrating pursuit full of overthinking, questioning myself, and criticizing myself; it's often been an exercise of passion, joy, and hell, a bit of spite at canon- the perfect combination.

TLDR; I've just hit 18k on this fic and I'm still a few thousand words away from finishing, but a musical gift from my teenage self is really assisting me.

Oh, and thanks to those who have been lovely enough to encourage me/write/draw/make cool things as I've gotten into OFMD and back into writing (@fool-for-luv @khruschevshoe & @possumsmushroom)! Hope this next update doesn't take too long!

[altschmerzes]

do you have any tips for how to get yourself to write, and more importantly, how to like your writing? i used to be so confident and sure of my skills in writing but recently it seems like i can never put down actual words, and when i do they just come out flat. it’s the worst possible time for this to be happening too 😭 i really look up to you as a writer and admire your dedication and your ability to write consistently so if you can, help please!! 🙏

first of all thank you so much for your lovely words!!! i'm beyond flattered that i'm someone you look up to in writing, you're so kind to say so, and i've been pleased with my own consistency recently tbh. it's not always like that, i go through long stretches not being able to get myself to write, which is always frustrating and upsetting.

anyways in terms of getting yourself to write and, more importantly, to like what you're writing, here's what i've got for you my friend!

telling yourself that you're not going to care about it being perfect is the only way to get through it, i think. i do what i call 'flashdrafting' which is the fastest and shittiest version of something. i don't even pay attention to punctuation and full sentences, i just slam through stream of consciousness as much as possible without thinking about it. i get really into the groove doing that and then i move that text to the bottom half of my screen and type at the top, just retyping what i wrote into full sentences and paragraphs, adding details, etc. it helps me not overthink things too much.

i also do sprints in discord! i'm in a couple of servers with people i write with and doing those timed writing exercises helps me not only get a couple sentences out at least, it engages a communal aspect that is really helpful to me. of course this only works if you have like. a server to write with people in, but similar effects can be achieved setting a timer for five, ten, fifteen minutes etc. or just telling yourself fuck it, i'm adding 100 words to this story.

writing the parts you're excited about first can also help, i think. of course then it's a pain in the ass to go back and lay the groundwork for them or connect the scenes but sometimes that helps you realize that maybe you didn't need the parts you weren't excited about in the first place, or it'll give you motivation to get through those parts.

if you feel like you really hate what you're writing, switch to something else. that's what i do. i think it's really easy to get n one's own head with any creative endeavour, especially writing. you probably hate it mostly bc you wrote it. i end up hating a lot of the stuff i write and even if i'm lying to myself when i say it, i get through that by telling myself 'you hate it bc you wrote it, it's not that bad'

and, finally, having people to write with/get excited about writing with/hype your writing up. i cannot emphasize how critical this is. i would not have gotten anywhere in any of my projects if it weren't for the wonderful people - here, on anon or with a name attached, or in my dms, or otherwise - who are cheering me on and hyping me up and getting excited with me. it's hard to feel like your writing is garbage when someone you respect and enjoy talking to is telling you it rules, yknow? and it can be hard to build that kind of community but honestly, it's just about showing up i think. join a server if one exists, start messaging with writers you like, just start posting about your writing. building that community is like. i wouldn't be writing nearly as much as i do as often as i do if i didn't know it mattered to other people too.

[simpforsix]

okay so i know a lot of people are anxious about public speaking, and also that school teaches you nothing about the art of public speaking, so i’ve decided to share some tips! these are all things i’ve learnt after doing debate for six years and giving speeches since i was ten, so these are all things that actually work. these are all based around giving speeches in a classroom setting.

first, preparing to give a speech.

1. write out the speech. once you get more comfortable i suggest switching to bullet points, but that’s pretty daunting without experience with improvising/memorization. write it out in large, clear font, so that you don’t have to squint and you won’t lose your place as easily when you give it.

2. read the speech out loud. learn the flow of the words, and change things around to make it flow better. replace words you struggle with. start practicing looking up from the paper as much as possible. if you find you’re losing your place, use bright markers or pens to divide it up. practice projecting your voice.

3. mark up your paper as needed. mark places to breathe, places to speed up and slow down, and changes in volume. add in dramatic pauses and what emotion to use at different parts. keep reading it aloud with these. this is part of the art of public speaking, and with practice will come naturally. these aspects also set your speech apart, and make it easy to get good marks in the presentation. 

4. time your speech. most of the time you’ll have a time limit, and you need to know where you fall. you need to read it out loud a couple times and time it each time, to make sure that variation still falls within the time limit. 

5. give the speech to an audience before the day of the speech. my former debate coach used to have public speaking anxiety, and he would give speeches to stuffed animals to practice. you can also give the speech to family or friends. even just one person is better than none. this will prepare you to give this speech for an audience, and will also show you the variations that come with that. afterwards you may want to add in more places to breathe to account for anxiety and projection, as well as any notes they may have.

now, let’s talk about the day of. you wake up and you’re anxious, you can’t stop thinking about the speech, and you’re overthinking everything. 

1. put on clothes that make you feel comfortable and confident. make sure you can breathe deeply. i personally like doing some eyeliner since that makes me feel more confident. if needed, rings are good for subtle fidgeting.

2. listen to music that makes you feel confident. i have a specific debate playlist of artists like lizzo, doja cat, and ashnikko. try imagining yourself looking badass while giving the speech to this music. also, it’s pretty hard to be insecure while screaming the lyrics of truth hurts.

3. you’re probably not going to be able to stop thinking about the speech, but you can channel that into something more productive. read over the speech, double check your marks, put all that energy into preparation. this will also help convince you that you’re ready, since you’ve done everything you can. don’t make any big changes though, since you haven’t practiced them.

4. prepare your voice. i use this for tournaments so a lot of this probably isn’t necessary for a short class speech, but it helps you feel more prepared. drink some tea or suck on some cough drops, and make sure to drink lots of water. anxiety makes you sweat, and your throat needs water. you can also do any vocal warmups or exercises you like.

speech time! how do you put all of this into a speech when you get called up?

1. walk up with confidence. even if it’s not real, it makes you look better.

2. when you get up to the front, do whatever you need to prepare. arrange your papers, get into a comfortable stance, and look up. look up before you start talking. this way, you can pick where to look as well as prepare yourself. pick three different spots on the back wall to look at. looking at the wall makes people think you’re making eye contact without you having to actually look at them. if you are allowed, i also recommend using your phone as a timer.

3. when you’re ready, start talking. take a deep breath and give the speech as you’ve given it so many times in practice. trust your markings, and don’t deviate from what you’ve prepared. try to only think about the words. it’ll be over before you know it.

4. only look at the back wall or the tops of people’s heads. facial expressions will throw you off, so don’t try to figure out if you’re doing well by looking for reactions. people tend to think making eye contact in a speech just means looking up from your paper, so you’ll get good marks if you look up every few seconds to stare at the wall. 

5. what do you do if something goes wrong? well good for you, i have a lot of experience with fucking up a speech. i’ve cried at the podium, had panic attacks, forgotten my speech, and pretty much any other fuck up you can think of.

if you lose your place and can’t find it, just find the closest place and keep going. it doesn’t matter if you repeat a sentence or skip one, but pausing for a while looks bad and will throw you off. 

if you can’t catch your breath, take a few seconds to breathe deeply and keep going. if you’re still out of breath, your best bet is to try to make it to the end of your speech. sometimes taking a drink of water can also help.

if you have a panic attack and can’t finish, i know from experience that people tend to be pretty understanding. try to arrange a time to redo it, and you can also ask for there to be as few people in the room as possible. sometimes people will also permit you to submit a video.

if you get interrupted, try to talk over it. some interruptions are brief, like a loud cough or a notification sound. some aren’t, like heckling. take a pause to wait out the interruption, and allow someone else to deal with it. if nobody deals with it, take advantage of the power you have as the person in the front of the room. ask for any timer to be paused, and then you can be as polite or passive aggressive as you want. 

no matter what goes wrong, just continue on as best you can. people should be understanding about factors out of your control. if you try to keep going no matter what, most of the time you’ll gain respect and your marks won’t be too badly influenced. 

and now your speech is over! just sit down and relax. the worst part is over, and you’ve done all you can. also, i promise it didn’t go as badly as you think. even after years of public speaking i still think that every speech i give sucks. i’ve given speeches i thought were terrible that ended up winning me a medal. and even in classes where i’ve listened to the speeches of people without my experience, none of them have done a bad or embarrassing job. besides, no matter how badly it went, it’s over. 

[kinetic-elaboration]

November 19: Miller/Bryan, Defect

Miller/Bryan, Canon-divergent sometime in S3 I guess, ~700 words

Eh. This didn’t flow smoothly for sure, which doesn’t make me feel confident for getting back into writing, but maybe this practice will ultimately help. Just a little writing exercise thing.

*

Divisions grow, until eventually they’re exes living in two different settlements, each surrounded by its own walls. For a long time, the two groups do not speak to each other. An icy silence, a frigid stretch of winter. Bad blood. You'd never think that up in space they were all neighbors. Crammed together and bordered by nothing but blackness, an abyss, whole childhoods saturated in lessons about their humanity as a light for the future, and all that, they had to survive together or not at all. Now they put miles between them, stretches of forest, arcs of rolling hills. Frozen, calcified silence.

In Miller's view, the Farm settlement has stuck itself in the past. They're in Ice Nation still. They've never left. They're buried in snow. He can't entirely blame them because he's seen his friends killed, too; he's fought in wars, too; he has his scars and his bad nights, too. He's never actually forgiven anyone in his life. But damn has he gotten tired of carrying around burdens that only bend his own back. He doesn't understand choosing your own sickening rage over alliance, and peace, and growth.

Last time he tried to explain this, Bryan said he was too trusting—spit it out like an insult—and he wondered if they'd ever known each other at all.

Trusting. The last people to save his life then turned around and tried to kill him. The boyfriend he welcomed home from the dead packed his bags in the middle of the night, left at dawn with his people, absolutely stone-faced when he said it, as if Miller hadn't been his people since they were fourteen years old. Too trusting. It's pure fucking selfishness, his own form of survival, and Bryan, he thinks, should understand that.

Summer eases in after a long, wet, and chilly spring, and they start meeting by the river near the old Dropship site. It's a good cover. He feels like a spy, talking low over the rush of water as it nearly overflows the banks, still swelled with that year's snow, listening for sounds sneaking in underneath it or above. Bryan tells him that Farm had a hard winter, and Pike is losing his grip. The whole situation— Well. There's no satisfaction to it. Miller listens with a grim expression as Bryan talks and talks.

"It helps to have friends," he says once, vaguely, his fingers playing with Bryan's fingers as they hold hands, palms crushed into the dirt.

Bryan snorts. "Sure. Easy for you to say. We're just so used to seeing enemies on both sides."

Miller could tell him, hey, I was dropped into this hostile world all alone too. And it didn't get better. He's been thrown aside again and again, belongs nowhere some days, wears a Guard jacket that doesn't fit him, longs for that time when he had exactly what Bryan thought he wanted: a small band of allies for whom he'd kill or die, the simplicity of knowing you had who you had in your corner and you could trust every single one. This world's too big for people like them. The complexity is dizzying. He doesn't even know what he longs for anymore.

"It's not about politics," he answers instead. "It's about what you think is more important, your alliances, this shit that sounds good on paper, or your... your real human connections." He can't say friends because it sounds too lame, and because it would seem like he is talking about them, and they were never only friends.

"Sounds like the same thing to me. Who you trust."

"It's not. It’s— You can't trust everyone who spouts the stuff you want to hear." He pulls Bryan's hand up, kisses the heel of his palm still dirty with bits of soil, hard so it hurts and his lips taste like earth.

"You mean I should only trust you," Bryan says, voice perfectly level, gaze unflinching.

"I'm saying that the people I'd die for, they're the people I'd abandon everything for. That's loyalty you feel in your gut. You can’t rely on anything else out there, Bry. That’s the only thing I’ve really learned down here.”

[wajjs]

A NAME IN SONGS

I’ve been thinking of ways to get in touch with other creators and to try and establish a back and forth relationship in which we all support each other—because, honestly, that’s one of the most amazing things fandom has to offer for all of us. That is, the fact that we can talk to other creative people and connect with them, even share what our creative processes are like both for feedback and just for fun!

So with that in mind, I decided it doesn’t hurt to try and do something myself to get the ball rolling. Hence, this post.

To get myself out of a writing funk, or even a writing block, I use songs as inspiration. I’m sure most of you do the same thing. Though to make it engaging and to make myself step out of my usual writing approach, the purpose of using songs as inspiration is that I have to write whatever idea the song makes me think of while listening to it. This way I can't plan beforehand and I don't have a minimum number of words established, either, which takes away a lot of the pressure.

The idea is to get something out quickly, without overthinking and with minimal to no editing while in the actual process of writing. On top of this, I also like to add another spin to it, to make it more challenging and fun:

The first letter of each song has to spell out a name.

Like this, I have a common theme throughout the short stories, and that helps getting those first dreaded words down on the digital page.

As some of you might know, I’ve done this before when I spelled out Jason Todd’s name in songs (here’s the AO3 series if you want to check it out). This time around, I’m planning on doing the same with Hal Jordan’s name.

The way I choose the songs is by putting my music library in shuffle and then I have to pick the first song that fits the criteria of spelling out the name with the first letter.

Also, the best thing about this is that there’s no time limit! The idea is to use this as an exercise (it works both for writing and for art!), so you can take your time working your way through the song list.

Everyone is invited to use this idea and join me in the struggle of getting through rough patches in our creative processes. It doesn’t even have to be about the same character I chose, or the same songs I ended up picking! There’s absolute creative freedom.

So if you choose to do this as well, please feel free to tag me so I can check your work out too and share it (no matter the fandom) — that way we can support each other.

Under the cut I’ll include the song list I’ll be working with from now on until I’m finished, for those who are interested!

Hal Jordan in songs:

Hunting High and Low - A-Ha

Alive and Kicking - Simple Minds

Losing My Religion - R.E.M

Just Breathe - Pearl Jam

Otherside - Red Hot Chili Peppers

Rocket Man - Elton John

Domino Dancing - Pet Shop Boys

Alive - Pearl Jam

Nutshell - Alice in Chains

Thank you so much for reading till the end :-D

[daenqyu]

— love language (3) sero hanta

pairing: sero x fem!reader

warnings: swearing 

a/n: i’m so sorry this took me so long to upload:( but i hope you like it! this is my first time writing for sero and God, i love him so much pls 🥺

love language masterlist

sero’s love language is: quality time

we all know our man sero is very chill and laid back, 

so i know for a fact there’s nothing he loves more than spending some quality time with his s/o

you guys could be doing absolutely nothing, but as long as he has you by his side, he’s happy

that means lots of dates

not just formal or fancy dates,

but also just hanging out in his room while watching a movie

or even just studying together 

one of his favorite things to do is to take naps with you

he likes the way you cuddle him, specially when you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer 

it makes him feel all warm inside 

plus he loves how needy you get when you’re sleepy hehe

not really the clingy type, but lives for the way you frown whenever you’re in the same room and he’s not giving you any attention

and you better bet he’s gonna tease you 

“something wrong?” he asks when he notices you glaring at him, even tho he already knows the answer to that

“i’ve been here for almost an hour and you’ve barely even looked at me”

has to bite down on his lip to prevent himself from smirking

“hm, is someone in need of my attention?”

“you know what? i’m going back to my room”

you’re only kidding, but nevertheless sero takes ahold your arm and pulls you down, once again, unto his bed

he’s on top on you, wearing a cocky ass smirk that makes you scoff and look away from him

he chuckles at your childish antics before pressing kisses all over your face 

and you only last 3 more seconds faking being annoyed before bursting out in giggles

doesn’t really take long before you guys are heavily making out 

what can i say? he gives in way too easily to that pretty face of yours

and your lips too lmao

he also really likes surprising you whenever he has the chance

like this one time he randomly knocked on your bedroom door at 5AM just so you could watch the sunrise together 

and how could you ever get mad at him for waking you up so early when he looks so damn ethereal with the sun rays hitting his skin?

answer: you can’t 

he’s a simple man,

all you gotta do let him know you appreciate his presence (one way or another) and he’ll love you forever 

a frustrated groan leaves your lips after you fail yet another attempt at trying to solve the fucking math exercise. you’d been stuck on this for half an hour now and you felt like you were going insane; no matter how much you reviewed your notes or how many times you redid the formula, you just couldn’t seem to get it right. and it was pissing you off. you take a deep breath before covering your face with your hands, trying to calm down and not let the tears fall. it was silly, but you were pressuring yourself and not being able to do something as simple as this exercise made you feel dumb. 

sero watched you from his bed, where he was also finishing up his homework, and couldn’t help but feel bad for you. he had asked you multiple times if you needed his help, but every single time you said you were fine and that you could do it alone. clearly that wasn’t the case, but for some reason you kept thinking:  if i’m unable to do this, how am i supposed to become a hero? how were you supposed to save people and bring a smile to their faces when you could barely pass your exams? you weren’t like bakugou or todoroki, who were incredibly powerful and smart. were you even worthy of being in class 1A? the more you thought about it and questioned all of your abilities, the more uncomfortable the lump in your throat became. 

suddenly, you felt sero turn the chair you were sitting on around and gently prying your hands off from your face. his eyes looked for yours, but you were too busy staring at you lap; you didn’t want him to think you were stupid or fragile, that something like this was enough to make you cry. but he didn’t care about that. he just wanted to make sure you were okay, and so, he takes your chin in between his fingers and forces you to look at him. his heart feels heavy when he sees the tears falling down your cheeks and the way your lower lip wouldn’t stop trembling.

but what hurts even more is when you try to speak up and apologize. 

“m’sorry, i know i-i’m being stupid but-”

“baby,” he cuts you off, eyes gentle as he looks at you. “you’re doing great, okay? but you need to take a break,” before actually helping you stand up, he wipes the tears away with his thumb and kisses your forehead. the action makes you want to cry even more, but for a different reason. he’s everything (and probably more) you could’ve ever asked for. “come on.”

sero takes your hand and leads you to his hammock before laying down on it, you frown your eyebrows in confusion. does he think we can- but before you can even finish the thought, he pulls you down on top of him, making the hammock shake violently. 

“hanta we’re gonna fall!” you look at him with eyes wide open, as if asking him what the hell was going through his mind, but he just chuckles and holds your hips. that makes you scoff before hitting his arm.

“ouch! no need to get aggressive.”

after he reassures you that you’ll both be fine, and that if you do end up falling he’ll catch you, you snuggle yourself against his chest and try to get comfortable. you rest your face on the space between his shoulder and neck while he wraps his arms around your torso, his hands tangled in your hair as he runs his fingers through it. both of you stay quiet for a while, and the feeling of sero’s fingers makes you extremely sleepy, but before you can fall asleep, he speaks up. 

“i know i don’t say this often, but i’m proud of you. you work so hard and i admire you so much for that, but you need to take care of yourself too. school can be stressing and difficult, so it’s important to take breaks when you feel like it’s too much. and just because you can’t do something doesn’t mean you’re stupid, baby.” it was as if he had read your mind, reassuring you on everything you were overthinking earlier. once again, tears fill your eyes at sero’s heartfelt words and you glance up, only to find him smiling down at you.

without thinking it twice, you connect your lips with his in a tender kiss. he’s a little taken aback at first, yet doesn’t waste any time before kissing you back eagerly. one of his hands gently caresses your cheek, which is a big contrast to the way he’s kissing you, but the action makes goosebumps appear all over your skin. sero is very passionate when it comes to the things he likes/enjoys and you’re no exception to that. that’s why his kisses always leave you feeling breathless.

“thank you, hanta.”

from that day on, sero constantly checked up on you just so he could make sure you weren’t overworking yourself and you guys even started having study dates every wednesday. he knew you could do anything you put your mind to, because he believed in you, and he didn’t mind having to remind you or helping you with whatever you needed. after all, that just meant he’d get to spend more time with his love. 

[elminx]

Happy August!

August is a 4 Universal month (8 (August) + 5 (2021) = 13 = 1 + 3 = 4) in a 5 universal year. With both Venus and Mars currently transiting Virgo, the energy is strong this month to get organized and/or get yourself back on track for your 2021 goals.

The setup: Saturn in Aquarius and Uranus in Taurus are still square to one another and will be through December and into 2022. Pluto in Capricorn, Jupiter in Aquarius, and Neptune in Pisces are lined up ~30 degrees apart from each other. We have four plants plus an asteroid retrograde throughout August: Jupiter, Saturn, Neptune, Pluto, and Chiron. This signifies a more "yin" energy signature that is out of alignment with the forceful fire energy of Leo season.

The TL:DR: As the Sun and Mercury transit Leo, they are going to relight up our fixed t-square involving Saturn and Uranus early in the month. You may be able to break through the big blocks in your life during this time but only if you can step away from your ego. This month is full of mixed messages and misunderstandings - we are all trying to figure out our new lives right now, give yourself and your others a metric fuckton of space. The work you put into your life is what you will get back out of it - go slow and keep putting one foot in front of the other. Expecting expedited results is a recipe for disaster.

There's a lot going on in the cosmos this month - there's rarely a day that is aspect-free and they are, for the most part, challenging. This has to do with our lineup of outer planets - see the details for more information.

The Nitty Gritty:

As we enter August, our Sun-Mercury conjunction is lighting up our long-term square between Saturn in Aquarius and Uranus in Taurus. This is our unstoppable force (Uranus) meets immovable object (Saturn) energy. Something has got to give to make way for the After. Much of how August plays out for you will likely be dictated by how you have been working with and processing this long-term aspect.

If 2020's motto was "Change Before You Have To", this Saturn-Uranus square is the "Have To". Uranus is the lightning on the Tower card - the change that is unavoidable. All you can control is how you react to the change.

Yeah, that's probably a terrifying concept. I get it. But I also firmly believe that when you stand aware in the middle of the maelstrom, that's where the true magic happens. In the moment of liminality, anything is possible.

August is the maelstrom. This shouldn't really come as a surprise but I guess that some people have their heads really far inside the sands. The storm never ended, we just got a brief reprieve. I hope that you all took good advantage of it - I know that I did.

For the rest of the month, all of our personal planets will be making complicated aspects to our outer planets - this is because of the angles. It's definitely echoing the roller coaster vibe of 2021's "5" energy - you'll see that continue next month as September is a 5 month in a 5 year.

Expect epic highs and abysmal lows. Probably to have your stomach drop out from under you at least once. There's a lot going on, try to harness Mars in Virgo's ability to roll with it and worry about figuring out the details later. Mars in Virgo is very in line with August's 4 energy: make a list but keep it open-ended, show up and do the work. Amanda of Wise Skies Advice called this month "Focus Pocus" and I'm in agreement there - what you focus on grows.

There's a lot of magic to be found in August, but you need to keep your focus. If you get wrapped up in your emotions, or worse, the rising collective fear, it will be easy to lose your way. Don't feed the monster. This is especially true for empaths and other highly sensitive persons.

Dates to Pay Attention To

8/1: Sun conjunct Mercury in Leo, Mercury opposed Saturn - thoughts will be very close to the surface and potentially heavy. Watch out for the stories you tell yourself, especially about Saturnian topics: government, contracts, money, marriage - this will be in effect all through the first week of August and through the new moon

8/2: Sun opposed Saturn, Moon square Mars - this is likely to be a frustrating day. Where do you need to slow down? Where have you been pushing in a direction that is only resistance?

8/3: Venus trine Uranus, Moon square Venus - the anecdote to this malaise is to try something new

8/6: Sun square Uranus - watch out. Lie low. Stay away with explosives - observe that physically as well as metaphorically. Where is your ego getting in the way of what you need?

8/8: New Moon at 16 Leo conjunct Mercury - Depending on how comfortable you are with Mercury energy, this moon may feel enlightening or anxiety-making. Practice good self-care - soothe your system with calming crystals or nervine tea if you need to.

8/9: Venus opposed Neptune retrograde: that lie may come due today - watch out for dishonesty, especially with yourself

8/10: Mercury opposed Jupiter retrograde: What is your inner truth? What do you believe? Does it align with what you know now? What needs to be re-evaluated? Again, how you perceive this will likely have a lot to do with your relationship with Mercury.

8/11: Mercury enters Virgo, Venus trine Pluto retrograde - Mercury is at home in Virgo - expect communication to become more orderly and precise over the next three weeks. The Divine Feminine may be experiencing a rebirth at this time.

8/14: Moon in Scorpio square Saturn retrograde in Aquarius - this lights up that Saturn-Uranus square...again. Watch out, friction is likely to be high.

8/16: Venus enters Libra, Moon square Mercury, Moon square Mars - Venus is at home in the sign of Libra, expect some of our focus to be on our relationships (of all kinds) during this transit. The energy of the day will likely be volatile and moody. Both your words and your actions may be misunderstood at this time - exercise caution.

8/17 Sun in Leo trine Moon in Sag, Moon square Neptune retrograde - a lovely fire trine but watch out for illusions - all that glitters may not be gold

8/18: Mercury conjunct Mars in Virgo - work for it. Keep putting one foot in front of the other. Slow and steady wins this race.

8/19: Sun opposed Jupiter retrograde, Uranus retrograde at 14 Taurus, Moon conjunct Pluto - The energy is likely to feel at once larger than life and impossibly deep. Whether you enjoy this will have a lot to do with your personality and comfort levels. It's always wise to go slow when a major planet like Uranus retrograde but Sun opposed Jupiter may not let us do that.

8/20: Mercury trine Uranus, Moon trine Venus, Moon conjunct Saturn - you might get flashes of insight at this time but it is unlikely that you will be able to implement them just yet. Hold tight. This day also lights up our Saturn-Uranus square - stay aware and cautious. Avoid arguments.

8/22: Full Moon at 29 Aquarius, Mars trine Uranus, Sun enters Virgo - this is wildcard energy, engage with care. This again activates our Saturn-Uranus square - stay aware and stay cautious.

8/23: Venus trine Saturn retrograde, Moon opposed Mars, Moon conjunct Neptune retrograde- emotions, especially around close relationships, are likely close to the surface. You may not have all of the information or may be lying to yourself.

8/24: Mercury opposed Neptune retrograde: another big reveal - watch the news, listen carefully to what the people in your life are saying

8/25: Moon in Aries opposed Venus in Libra - moooooody. Remember great things happen when you stop being a moody cow. Give your others a break.

8/26: Mercury trine Pluto retrograde, Venus in Libra opposed Chiron retrograde in Aries - the new message is one of independence and accountability, do you hear it yet? What part of you needs to be reborn to get you on track?

8/27: Moon conjunct Uranus, Moon square Saturn: the moon activates our square again today - same old - be cautious - this is happening 4x every month right now, it's not "new news" just something to stay aware of

8/29: Mercury enters Libra: this isn't a great placement for Mercury. The idea of giving two sides equal air time without account for its truthfulness is a failing of Mercury in Libra thinking. Watch out for overthinking and analysis paralysis.

Do you like my work? Please consider supporting my writing by Buying Me A KoFi.

[yanderecandystore]

Hey, I love your work alot you're an incredibly skilled writer and always look forward to seeing your notification pop up! Is it ok if I request Adrien pinning a male reader down while they're alone?

A Adrien solo headcanon? How fun, boo!

Sure thing.

Sorry boo, even if I really liked your idea I've been having a lot of headaches (sorry if it's tmi, but: Periods fuckin sucks-).

I hope you don't mind if I redo your ask another time, probably a better one shot than- Whatever the hell I was thinking when writing this XD

TW/Tags: bullying but like- That's no surprise lol- // mentions of past encounters // perhaps mutual simping? // short hc, sorry about that boo ;-; // Terrible quality for an headcanon

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ��ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

Sorry I don't have a title- [Yandere!Bully OC (Adrien) x M!Reader - Headcanon]:

You have been running around this place for quite some time now, Amaryllis Academy is quite big after all.

You suspected that someone like him would not have enough stamina to continue pursuing you like this. And the truth is that he didn't have enough of an athletic build to hold it for so long, he just changed his strategy.

You also weren't necessarily interested in exercising everyday, you could say that maybe you two have the same amount of stamina, the difference being that you decided to waste it all while trying to run from him- And he decided to plan a way to corner you.

No one can blame you for falling so easily to that, but let's be honest- You should have seen this coming the moment he stopped chasing you and started coming forward very calmly.

"Why didn't I stop running as well?" You thought out loud now that you find yourself in a no ways out situation, great, just great.

You were choking on your own air- Completely out of breath having a hard time bringing more oxygen to your lungs. You take a look back and notice who was walking in- Wow, how surprising.

"- Ugh, come on-" you were not really pissed off, or surprised, or even scared anymore, you were just tired of having to run from this guy. One would think that someone like him isn't capable of hurting a single fly, but those who doubted him would end up having a big wake up call- Just like you did.

Do you remember now? It was in a similar situation like this- You were cornered, out of breath, your legs were giving up and couldn't even fight anymore. The only difference from that moment to now was that there wasn't anyone else here, except you two.

No audience this time, this was the backstage and you two were the actors getting their costumes out. At least that's how he saw it, to you it was just like any other time he would bully you. How wrong were you to think that.

He didn't make any attempts at running at you, and as you tried to help yourself on the walls beside you, he clapped at your latest performance.

"- Bravo, Are you happy with yourself now? That you managed to make a fool out of yourself?" His voice wasn't as bored as he usually was, it sounded filled with sarcasm with a hint of true anger in it.

Despite that, you weren't sure what he was talking about. I mean- You know what happened, but you can't recall a single moment where you have made him so pissed off.

"- You tried your hardest to get me to this point, and congratulations- You did it-" Adrien was holding himself from lashing out as much he could, he was feeling humiliated and the fact you're so unaware as to way makes him want to choke you. Put his arms around your neck and force you to at least look at him when he is talking with you.

You tried to remember what could have possibly made him so desperate to get back at you, and as you do, you can feel your blood pulsating inside your skull- You can recall one incident that happened yesterday.

Yesterday, you were avoiding Adrien as best as you could, while also trying to make new friends that could help you get away from him for a bit longer. You started talking with a shy girl in your class, you thought that it would be easier to get to know someone who is mostly alone all the time then going straight to the popular crowd- Who would absolutely dismiss you or even do worse things considering Adrien's influence over them.

You started talking to a girl you thought to be an outcast just like yourself, maybe you two could have been friends- But that didn't last too long after you realized exactly why she would be so distant from other people, apparently she was one of those who were… A little too into other people's relationships, more specifically your relationship with Adrien.

She only started talking with you because of how much time you spent with Adrien, how suspicious it is for someone like him to be so clingy towards you. Her endless nagging was horrible but even worse was how she had planted the idea in her head that you two have been dating or something- You tried arguing that Adrien has done nothing but bullying you and distancing yourself from others, but she couldn't really listen to you, or even care enough to try.

You were heavily reconsidering your options, after all it didn't seem like you two would really work out together- But before you considered ditching her, Adrien had confronted you about walking around with her.

He was acting like his usual bratty self, keeping himself calm and still holding that stern look in his face, but the actual contents of his speech were a bit concerning- It sounded like he was really jealous of you hanging out with a "creep like her", as he said.

You tried calming him down to not create a bigger scene, but your new "friend" had pushed Adrien to end up bumping on you, which only made the situation to escalate.

Adrien took this whole thing as a plan you both created to make himself seem like a fool, this was just an attempt to get his attention and he fell for it- He got red and started yelling at you two, his threats sounding like barks.

That's why he was chasing you today, at least that's why you thought so- Although the truth was a bit deeper than that, dearest. That whole event didn't slip through his mind even when he was asleep, he dreamed about the incident- Although with a thin veil of something a bit… Uncalled for in his opinion.

In Adrien's head, the accident made it look like he was hugging you, which made him get flustered and panicky. He had a dream about the whole scene happening again, but without your friend and without any of the other students, it was very pathetic of him to imagine a scenario where you would be there for him, to get him when he falls, how wishful.

He blames you for such a dream, just as if he would blame you if he ever got a dream about you cheating on him- Regardless of how your actual relationship is currently.

His own delusions and anxious thoughts would get the best of him, and that's why you're in this exact situation- Feeling out of breath with no one to save you from Adrien.

You felt yourself almost lose your balance and almost hit your face in the concrete, but thanks to Adrien slamming your back against the wall you didn't need to scratch your face, at least that's a positive.

You didn't pay much attention to what he was saying, you were just kinda pissed off of having to deal with this brat's bs everyday. Although, you're very aware that Adrien can be a bit more than just a brat, sometimes you have to remind yourself of that- It wouldn't be pretty to make him mad.

Bullying you, hating you, liking you, loving you- All are so difficult to manage everyday, it's too much work for someone like him. It's exhausting overthinking about you every day.

"- …. Sigh- You're very annoying, very, very annoying…." all that anger that was previously in his voice has almost gone away, being slowly replaced with tiredness. Key word being "almost", he was tired but not over his own jealousy yet.

You didn't want to provoke him considering how, well- Dangerous this situation is, or could be if you do the wrong thing. It's a 50/50 chance of you finding a way to comfort him without him lashing out once again. Then again, nothing can prevent him from getting the wrong idea of your actions, so choose wisely your next move, dearest.

🍭꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍰꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖♡🍮꒰⑅ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱˖🍭

[amazingmsme]

Would You Be Ever So Kind?

AN: Wow this took ages but I finally finished my first Twin Peaks fic! I can’t recommend this show enough, it’s suspenseful, funny, eerie, & just all around a great time! My man Cooper is adorable okay, I just know he’s a huge lee don’t judge me. This is a heftier one shot (just over 5k) cause I added some plot! Hope you enjoy the fic!

Cooper was stressed, there was no doubt about it. Windom Earle was always one step ahead it seemed, and closing in. His dreams weren't providing much help and it felt like he kept running into dead ends.

Since Major Briggs's return, he'd been enamored with the White Lodge. He could feel it's influence, though barely so. It was like he was standing on a beach, barefoot, information and enlightenment lapping at the tips of his toes. So close, yet it pulled back before it even reached his ankles. Teasing him. Dangling the answers right in front of him, but just out of reach. He needed to know what he needed to do to take that final step into the pool of knowledge that laid before him.

Right now, he sat in the conference room with Hawk. He stared at the other man with his usual perceptive gaze.

"If one were to... connect with the White Lodge somehow, how would they go about it?" he asked.

Hawk shifted in his seat as he thought for a moment. He tilted his head, pondering the question. Finally, he spoke. "It is rare to do so without being invited. But not impossible. I believe if you tried, someone with your unique sensibilities might be able to manage it."

Cooper's brows raised and he leaned forward in his seat. "How?"

Hawk shrugged. "The few I've heard of said they had experienced great joy. A mother who found out that she would soon have a grandchild. A man who proposed to his girlfriend. A boy who rode his first roller coaster. They had all experienced intense, positive emotions and the following night, had strange, yet peaceful dreams. Dreams that held answers to certain questions they had."

Cooper nodded, hanging on every word. "And how would I go about triggering these- positive emotions?"

Hawk smirked and shook his head. "I don't know, why don't you propose to someone?"

It took him a second, but his own lips quirked into a smile. He wagged a finger at him, "That was a joke, wasn't it?" Hawk chuckled softly.

"Yeah, it was. But I don't know Cooper, try and do things that make you happy. Take a break, maybe go on a walk to clear your head. Maybe go have some of that pie you love so much," he suggested. Cooper made to stand, grabbing his things.

"Will do Hawk, I shall try these methods as I brainstorm other activities that might induce such happiness." He gave him a tight lipped smile and a quick thumbs up before heading out.

He did end up trying Hawk's suggestions, but with little success. He had even eaten as many slices of pie as he could until he felt like he would burst. All it resulted in was a belly ache that plagued him the rest of the night until he fell asleep. With no strange peaceful dreams, he might add.

The next day he had started jotting down every positive emotion he could think of.

Joy Excitement Happiness Fun Funny Love...

Upon second thought, he marked that last one out. It had only brought him heartache and agony that still plagued him.

Hm. That was a shorter list than he thought it would be. Now was the matter of finding ways to trigger said emotions... He started to think that perhaps this wouldn't be as easy as he had thought. He pulled out his tape recorder.

"In my efforts to reach out to the White Lodge, I have discovered that intense feelings of happiness can bring about interesting dreams. In doing so I have also come to realize that such levels of joy are... unattainable with conventional methods. As it turns out Diane, it will take a lot more than eating five pieces of pie and petting a rather cute dog. I plan to stop by the library and pick up some literature on the psyche of happiness." He clicked the recorder off.

He'd spent the first half of the day doing as he'd said. It was much more boring than he'd anticipated. But at least he'd gleamed some information from his impromptu study session. Joy was triggered by certain chemicals in the brain, and certain stimuli releases them. Exercise was a common method, but it wouldn't be enough for the level of happiness he needed to reach. One thing that might prove to be more effective was laughter.

Laughter seemed to really be the best medicine, or at least that's how the books made it seem. Though just laughing for no reason wouldn't cut it. He needed a reason to laugh: something to make him happy. For him, that was enough to go on.

He arrived at the sheriff's station, pouring himself a fresh cup of coffee and stepped into the foyer where Andy was hopelessly trying to flirt with Lucy. She'd humor him occasionally, but Cooper knew she liked watching him struggle for her affections. She'd even told him so.

"Yes?"

"Well Andy, to be honest I believe you're the happiest one in here," he started. He lit up like a Christmas tree at the

"You really think so? Well that's awful kind of you to say."

"How do you do it? What keeps you in such a good mood all the time?" he asked. Andy shrugged.

"Well gee, I don't know. I guess I've always been this way. I try not to overthink things, my mama said people who do aren't very happy," he said. Cooper hummed in thought and nodded. "I just try to appreciated the little things in life, like the woods and all of you," he said honestly. Cooper wasn't expecting that and felt a warmth grow in his chest Hmm. He supposed he meant something to these people, after working together for so long, but hearing it aloud was nice to hear. Within his work, he was rarely shown appreciation least of all open affection. It felt nice.

His expression softened and he gave him a small but genuine smile. "Thank you. I appreciate you too," he made sure to let him know the feeling was mutual. He went into the empty conference room and grabbed one of the stacked donuts. He took a moment to admire the organized arrangement, noting how a few stacks of two were short one or were gone completely. He pulled out the tape recorder, pressing the button down and talked into it.

"After studying at the library, I now find myself at the sheriff's office. I briefly spoke with Andy about what makes him happy, and he gave the the sage advice of appreciating the little things in life. I know people often say to do so, but people rarely follow through. I'm trying to be better. I stand here looking down at the conference table that has donuts laid out on sheets of paper towels. Donuts are stacked two atop each other, and there are two rows of twelve. Lucy sets this up for us every night before she leaves. I never really gave much thought about how much time she puts into doing this... I find my talk with Andy was rather helpful. I will continue to try and do as he suggested."

He clicked it off and grabbed a donut, taking a bite. He took out his note pad and tapped his pencil against his chin. He started writing down things he liked or that made him happy. He started by listing off names, followed by animals and food. He even wrote down his favorite kinds of trees. Surprisingly, he found he felt lighter after doing so. A soft smile graced his features as Harry walked in.

"Hey Coop, what's got you all smiley?" he asked, his own lips quirking up upon seeing the other man in a good mood. He held up the page.

"Oh nothing, just listing down some things that make me happy. Hawk told me a few instances of people who were able to connect with the White Lodge after experiencing immense joy. I did some reading and found that certain chemicals can cause such emotions. I just need to find a way to trigger them," he explained. Harry hummed in thought, and gestured to the list.

"May I?" Cooper nodded and handed it to him. He skimmed through it, a soft smile of his own appearing on his lips.

"I make you happy?" he asked, dimples shining.

He nodded, tilting his head down shyly. "You all do. You each have such unique and charming qualities."

"Well, uh, thanks. That means a lot coming from you. I don't know anyone else who's more unique and charming," Harry said. Then he cleared his throat and looked back down at the list. "Nature seems to really make you happy. You get a chance to try out that lure yet?" he asked to change the subject.

Cooper shook his head. "No, I've been so busy I haven't had the time," he admits.

"Well, it's a pretty slow day for once. I figure I can take some time to help in your efforts," Harry said, as though he didn't just want to leave work and go fishing. Cooper smiled brightly at him.

"I'd love that," he said earnestly. "Allow me to swing by my room and change." The sheriff nodded.

"Sure thing. I'll meet you by the trail just past the waterfall," he said. After jotting a few more things down, Cooper leaves for the Great Northern. He changed into his jeans and pulled on a flannel. He talked into the recorder as he buttoned his shirt.

"Don't get me wrong Diane, I do enjoy my suit. But sometimes it just feels better to wear something more comfortable." He clicked it off and went to the mentioned trailhead. Harry was already waiting for him, fishing gear in tow.

Cooper furrowed his brows as a smile pulled at his lips as he looked at the sheriff. What was that God awful thing on his head? He let a few snickers slip out as he parked.

"Interesting hat ya got there," he mused, making Harry grin.

"You like it? My lucky fishing hat," he said, pointing up at it. He nodded, not bothering to hide his grin.

"Lucky huh? We'll see about that," he said, taking a pole from his grasp.

"What you don't like it?" he asked teasingly.

"Aú contraire. I find it quite amusing," he said with a wide grin. He reached up and flicked one of the dangly rubber tassels from a lure.

It was a floppy bucket hat, tan in color and adorned in tacky bright lures. Harry was grinning ear to ear, adding to the goofiness of his look. It was impossible not to smile at him. He swatted Cooper's hand away with a short laugh.

"Let's just get down there while the fish are still biting," he joked, punching him in the arm lightly. Cooper beamed as he followed him down the dirt trail. It didn't take too long before they were at the water's edge and found a fallen tree to sit on. Harry opened his tackle box, pulling out a folded throwing net to catch some live bait. Cooper watched as he tossed the net into the water over a school of minnows, pulling it back to them  and dumping them in the bait bucket. They each reached in and grabbed a fish, piercing it on the hook to cast it back into the water. Now, they wait.

They exchanged fishing stories, going back and forth as they waited for a bite. Harry's line was the first to go taught and he snatched up his rod to start reeling. Just as his fish was getting close to the bank, Cooper's own fishing pole began to dip slightly from a few tentative nibbles. Just as Harry reeled it in all the way, Cooper's line shot off and he quickly started reeling as well.

He unhooked the big mouth bass, inspecting it with a proud gaze. "Hell yeah, this'll cook up nicely," he said, placing it in the cooler he brought. Cooper's fish was putting up more of a struggle. He leaned back with all his body weight, biceps flexed and straining as he fought the fish. "Seems like you caught a lively one," Harry said. Cooper spared him a glance and a tight lipped smile; he would've definitely flashed him one of his signature thumbs up if he wasn't preoccupied.

After about 20 minutes he managed to bring the river monster in. It was a large male salmon, easily identifiable by the bright red coloring and large back hump that occurs during mating season. It was well over three feet and flopping on the bank. It seemed that trout weren't the only ones attracted to a green butt skunk.

At first, Cooper didn't know what to do with a fish this size. He placed his hands on it to lessen its flopping before straddling it. Placing one hand on its head to keep it pinned, he held his other out to Harry. "Pliers," he asked for the tool and he gifted it to him. Just as Cooper wrapped his hand around it, the salmon raised its ugly head up and bit his hand. When it flopped back down it yanked his arm down with it.

"Ow-hey!" Cooper exclaimed, steadying himself and smacking the top of its jaw until it released him. He pulled back his slightly bloody hand and removed the hook. He looked to his side and saw Harry stifling his laughter. "Yes I'm fine, thanks for your concern," he sassed, but the amused grin on his face let him know he was only teasing.

Harry was just short of cracking up. "Ihi'm sohorry, you okay?" he asked, grabbing some bandages.

"Yeah, just a few puncture wounds. Nothing I can't handle." He managed to pick up the still struggling fish and brought it back to the water's edge.

"After all that trouble, you're not keeping it?" he asked. Cooper shook his head and released it, watching it leave with a splash.

"Nope. Anything that puts up that hard of a fight deserves to live another day. Besides, I don't really have anywhere to cook it, and I'm not real big on salmon," he explained. He rinsed his wound and accepted the clean bandages, wrapping it up nice and tight.

"How very sporting of you," Harry said, and he meant it. He recast his rod as Cooper pulled out his recorder.

"Thank you," he said, flashing him a smile. "Update on the fishing. I just caught a large salmon and in the process of unhooking it, it bit me. Despite my tired arms and punctures, I found the experience enjoyable. It was... thrilling but not in the sense that I'm accustomed. It was a mundane excitement. Perhaps this feeling is what will help me contact the White Lodge."

He clicked it off and found Harry studying him. "Mundane excitement, huh?"

He nodded. "My line of work is often exciting, but the stakes are always higher. I find it refreshing to feel a rush of adrenaline when mine or someone else's life isn't on the line."

Harry shifted a little closer. "You really think this feeling might be what gets you to the White Lodge?" he questioned.

"I do. But I don't think it's one particular event or emotion that will get me there. From what I've read the optimal amount of endorphins and serotonin come from a range of feelings. Based on my study session at the library, I'd say that a mixture of excitement and laughter would be my best bet," he mused aloud.

"Too bad there's no comedians in town, I bet that would do the job," Harry mused. Cooper allowed himself to smirk.

"I suppose if I stare at that hat long enough, I just might burst into giggles," he said in a teasing manner. Harry's jaw dropped at the playful insult.

"Hey don't dis the hat!" he exclaimed, a hand flying up to cover the top of it protectively.

"Don't worry, it was more of a jab at your taste in fashion," he said good naturedly.

"I'll have you know that's worse. When did you get so sassy anyway?" Harry asked. He chuckled and poked his side in retaliation. The corner's of Cooper's mouth twitched as he flinched away.

"I can have my moments. I do spend a lot of time with Albert," he mused, rubbing the slight tingles from his side when suddenly it hit him. There really was no easier or faster way to pump his body full of adrenaline and endorphins, even if the reaction was more forced than voluntary. The results would be the same, wouldn't they? His eyes widened at the realization.

He clapped his hands together loudly, making Harry jump. "That's it!" he exclaimed, excitement showing on his face from his revelation.

Harry furrowed his brows in confusion. "What- Albert?" he questioned, not following Cooper's train of thought. He shook his head, smiling now that he finally had an answer to his dilemma.

"No, tickling," he clarified. Harry cocked his head, a smirk on his lips. He was intrigued.

"Didn't know you were ticklish Coop." If Harry squinted, he thought he could see the hint of a blush on his cheeks.

"I am, and it's a good thing because right now, it's the only thing I can think of that might work to get me to the White Lodge. Don't get me wrong, I do enjoy fishing, but the bite did put a damper on my mood," he grumbled, glaring at his bandaged hand. You could start to see blood seep through the white cloth.

"So a last resort kinda thing?" Harry asked. And was Cooper crazy, or was he a little closer? Cooper nodded.

"Exactly. So uh, would you be so kind as to..." he trailed off, and in lieu of finishing his sentence he wiggled his fingers in the air, hoping he got the message. Oh he got it all right. Sheriff Truman was grinning like the cat who ate the canary.

"To tickle you?" he asked for clarification. The ghost of a blush on Cooper's cheeks darkened. "Yes that." Suddenly Harry was straddling his legs, pushing him down the rest of the way.

"Ya don't have to tell me twice!" he exclaimed.

"You don't have to seem so eager," Cooper said, already squirming. It was the last coherent thing he said before Truman's fingers began prodding his sides. He gasped and soft snickers began to fill the air. There was no point in trying to hold back; he'd be laughing soon enough regardless, and the whole point of this was to create the right concoction of emotions and chemicals in his brain to reach the White Lodge.

Harry kneaded his sides and Cooper yelped, hands instinctively shooting down to protect his sides. You'd think with all his special training that he'd be defending himself better, but he was only weakly slapping at his hands. To be fair, he was practicing a lot of self restraint by not just crawling into the river to save himself.

"You got a nice laugh Coop, ya know that?" Harry asked with a genuine smile. Cooper nodded, mouth open in a wide grin as laughter flowed freely from his mouth. "Ihihihi've been tohohold!"

"Whoa now, I can't have you going all cocky on me like that. Guess I'll just have to knock you down a peg," he teased, walking up his ribs. He shook his head and snorted, nose scrunched as Harry scratched between each rib. The higher his fingers climbed, the louder and more frantic his giggling became.

Just as Harry reached the top of his ribs, he stopped. Cooper sighed in relief, thinking he might be done. He wasn't so lucky.

"Do me a favor and lift your arms up," Harry said, not even trying to hide his mischievous smirk anymore. He curled in on himself, chuckling nervously and shook his head.

"Nohoho," he giggled, wrapping his arms around himself. Harry cocked his head, arching a brow.

"No?" he asked in amusement. Cooper shook his head again to confirm.

"And why not?" he asked, hands on his hips. The sight alone made Cooper feel giddy with anticipation.

"Ihi'm not supid Harry, I know you'll just tickle me more," he answered with a wide smile. Harry snorted out a short laugh.

"I know you're not. And I promise I won't," he said, hiding his crossed fingers behind his back. Cooper gave him a skeptical look. "That's a lie."

"Hey I said I'd promise! Have you ever known me to break a promise?" he tried to convince him. He eyed the sheriff up and down and decided there was a 50/50 chance he'd just attack again, and this little game of theirs was fun, he had to admit. So he took that chance, already knowing the outcome.

He lifted his arms slowly, tentatively as he watched the other carefully. His arms were halfway above his head when Harry smirked down at him, flashing his crossed fingers out from behind his back. Cooper's eyes widened and he moved to bring his arms back down, but alas, it was too late. He immediately darted for his exposed hollows, scribbling over the shirt clad skin. His flannel didn't offer much protection and he was soon thrown into deep hysterics.

His arms came crashing down, laughter freely escaping his smiling mouth. He only succeeded in trapping his hands, however he knew better than to try raising his arms a second time. "You lihihihahar!" he squealed. Harry smirked and picked up the pace, grinning wider when the agent's high pitched giggling turned more frantic.

"If you cross your fingers it's a freebie," he claimed. Cooper shook his head, grappling to shove his friend's hands away.

"Thahahat's such bullshihihit!" he called him out. And yeah, it was bullshit, but Harry couldn't let him get away with saying it was.

"Think you just sealed your fate Coop," he teased, kneading his belly and sending him into a steadier stream of giggles.

"Nohoho dohohon't!" he whined, legs kicking weakly, or rather, weakly for a special agent like himself. Harry scoffed, not even trying to hide how much fun he was having.

"Don't? Don't what?" he asked, drumming his fingers. Cooper's giggles sputtered out as he shook his head, fist pounding against the ground.

"Ihihi'm nohohot falling for thahat one," he forced out through his laughter.

"Falling for what? I can't know what not to do if you won't tell me," he said, sounding so innocent that you almost wanted to believe him. Almost. Cooper wouldn't make that mistake again.

"Dohohon't mahake it wohohorse!" he pleaded. Harry shook his head in "defeat" and clicked his tongue.

"Damn, I was really hoping you'd fall for that," he lamented, hands moving down to squeeze his hips. Cooper convulsed, jolting up slightly and trapping his wrists. They held each other's gaze for a moment, Cooper's eyes full of an excited kind of fear while Harry's shone with an evil sort of mischief.

"Bad spot?" he taunted, giving another squeeze. He evoked the same reaction as before, but this time with an added squeak. Cooper went completely still, cheeks rosy as he gasped for breath. There was no use in lying, he'd be proven wrong anyway. He nodded shyly, looking anywhere but Harry's smug face.

"Good." He immediately drilled his thumbs into the divots of his hips as he gently squeezed them with the rest of his hand. Cooper instantly burst into a tidal wave of cackles that drowned out the sounds of nature around them. Even when thrown in hysterics, it was still a joyous, beautiful sound. It was smooth and had a deep tenor to it that made you feel warm inside. His nose crinkled adorably, and his mouth was open wide in a constant smile, allowing his melodious laugh to ring through the air.

“How ya holdin’ up?” Harry asked just to check in. Cooper was too busy laughing his heart out to answer with words, so he flashed him a thumbs up instead. He shook his head and chuckled at his signature gesture.

Encouraged by his reassurance, he continued his journey downward by squeezing his thighs. Cooper snorted loudly and his blush darkened.

"Aw Coop, I didn't know you snorted! Do it again," he taunted, pinching and scribbling his thighs until he snorted again.

"Nohohooo," he whined in embarrassment, hiding his face in his hands. Harry was having the time of his life.

"Remember bud, you asked for this," he reminded smugly.

"Ihihi knohohow! Shuhut up!"

"I don't think I will. In fact, I think teasing makes it better, don't you agree?" he asked, scratching along his inner thighs. Cooper squealed and clamped his legs together to protect himself.

"Ihihihi said shuhuhut uhuhup!"

"I'll take that as a yes then," he smirked, and even winked at him. Oh he would never live this down. Not if Harry could help it.

He started skittering his fingers atop his knees, and Cooper shrieked, legs kicking out frantically. "Nohohot thehehere!"

Sheriff Truman didn't listen and instead squeezed around his kneecaps. Cooper tried to curl in on himself, laying back on the ground when he failed due to laughing too hard. Though when Harry went to scratch the backs of his knees, he barely laid a finger on him before a fist connected with his face.

Harry recoiled and grabbed his bleeding nose, letting out a pained chuckle. "Damn, ya got me good Coop," he said, still managing a smile. A hand covered Cooper's mouth from shock.

"I am so sorry Harry! I tried to refrain from hurting you, but my instincts took over," he quickly apologized. Harry shook his head, grabbing his other hand and pulling him up to a sitting position.

"Heh, it's okay. Guess I got what I deserve," he mused. His nose had already stopped bleeding, but it left a thin trickle above his upper lip that he wiped away.

"You were just helping me out," he said, patting his shoulder. "Thanks by the way," he said, cheeks still tinged pink.

"Any time," he said with a warm smile. "So, did you have as much fun as I did?" he asked teasingly.

"I'm not answering that," Cooper said, looking away. Harry barked out a laugh.

"I think you did." The FBI agent only hummed. Harry spotted his tape recorder and nabbed it.

"Hey give it!" Harry held him back by placing a hand on his chest and pushing him away as he pressed the record button.

"Hi Diane, Sheriff Truman here. I think it's safe to say Agent Cooper will be successful in his resilient efforts to reach the White Lodge. That's all." He turned it off, wearing a smug grin.

"Proud of yourself?" Cooper asked in amusement.

"Oh very. It's not every day that I get to reduce the famous Agent Cooper to a giggly mess," he said, wiggling his fingers at him. He subtly curled in on himself, chuckling nervously.

"R-right. And it won't be a daily occurrence, unless you want retaliation," he warned.

"We'll see about that," he smirked. They were both distracted by a tug on Cooper's line. He grabbed his fishing rod and started reeling it in.

When they returned to the sheriff’s office, Andy gasped seeing Truman’s swollen, bruised nose and Cooper’s wrapped hand.

“Good lord you two did you get in a fight or somethin’?” he asked with concern. Harry smirked and nodded, casting a glance towards the agent. 

“You could say that.”

Cooper quickly stepped in before he could reveal anything too embarrassing. “Nonsense, I got bit by a fish and his line broke when he was reeling one in and he smacked himself in the face with the fishing rod,” he easily lied. Harry’s smirk grew as he hummed in “agreement.”

~~~~

That night, Cooper had a peaceful yet strange dream. He opened his eyes to find he was laying on a white fainting couch. At first he thought he was in a room, but upon inspecting his surroundings, he realized he was in a vast open plain. The floor was marble tile and the empty space around him looked to be white at first glance, but was in fact an extremely pale pink.

Out of the nothingness walked Laura Palmer. Instead of the low cut black dress she normally wore in his visions and dreams, she wore a white flowing gown. It billowed behind her even though there was no wind. Cooper sat up on the chaise lounge and stared at her as she approached.

"Windom Earle is not the biggest threat," she spoke softly and clearly, her voice like a bell. It was strikingly different than her Black Lodge counterpart. "The other you is." He leaned forward in his seat.

"The other me?" he asked. She nodded, a halo of light illuminating her from behind.

"In another world he escapes. Use your second chance wisely and leave the Black Lodge before he does," she advised.

"How can I do that?" he asked, soaking in every piece of knowledge she offered up.

"The Black Lodge is disorienting. You must not show even an ounce of fear or self doubt. In that other world, you did not leave until 20 years later. In another, the Lodge annihilated your soul." Cooper stared at her intently.

"And how do you know these things won't happen again?" he asked.

"Because infinite universes bring infinite possibilities. Use the tools I gave you and you will receive a different outcome," she said. Laura walked up to him and cupped his face in her hands, placing a kiss on his forehead. She leaned in and whispered, "Thank you for giving me justice."

"You're welcome," he said back. His vision faded to white, then to pitch darkness. He jolted awake with a gasp, reeling from everything he had learned. His chest heaved and he reached for the recorder on his bedside table.

"Diane you won't believe it, but I just had the strangest dream..."

[himooonlight]

who are you? pt. 2 (reggie x reader)

pairing: reggie x reader

word count: 4.8k

plot: you dream about reggie constantly and when you see him perfoming with julie, you decide to ask her about him

warnings: reggie is too cute. that's the warning

A/N: english is not my first language and this is my first fanfic, so please, be nice ok? enjoy :)

you can read part 1 here

- What? How can you know that? - Julie asks, sounding surprised. - No, Luke, I don't know her.

  Reggie's gaze is fixed on me. I feel chills rising from my belly to the tips of my ears so I shake my shoulders, trying to get rid of the sensation.

  - Alex, don't do that. - Reggie says, looking in my direction. Confused, I turn around looking for Alex, but there is nobody there.

  It's amazing how realistic the hologram is. It's almost like I can see the colors of Reggie's eyes clearly, even his pores and freckles. I search for a projector and find nothing, so I decide it's time to stop ignoring my questions. Reggie has already confirmed that he is who I imagined, so it's Julie's turn to clarify what kind of madness is going on.

  The acting classes haven't prepared me at all for the moment that I find myself questioning my own sanity.

  - Are Alex and Luke part of the band? - I ask to no one in particular. I accept responses from Julie or Reggie. Maybe I prefer Julie, since Reginald is a synonym for craziness in my mind. - Reggie never told me their names.

  - Can't you see them?

  - No. Are they here too? Why can't I see their hologram as well?

  Reggie gives a short sarcastic laugh, something I've never seen him do. Be ironic. That was not as attractive as his easy-going personality, his funny and flirtatious ways and his warm smile. It seemed to clash with his version of my dreams and I wondered if maybe it was all a lie. It could be that I had created that Reggie completely and as much as the happiness I felt for him was not a lie, it could be that he, as the person I loved, did not exist. Still, I wanted to be close to him and be able to love him from up close.

  - We are not holograms and I thought you already knew that. - He replied. - No, Alex, it's okay. I can't explain, but I just know she is important. It's natural, just like you can tell when it's time to go to the bathroom, you know?

  I look at Julie waiting for her to say something, mainly because I prefer not to think about Reggie's comparison of his feelings with an internal sphincter alerting his brain about his physiological needs.

  Julie doesn't seem convinced, but she looks defeated.

  - I think we have a lot to explain, but we need time. Can you meet us after class? In the chemistry lab? It's my last class of the day. - She says, looking tired and conflicted. I really don’t want to make her feel that way, but I am already too irritated at the way I handled things before. I'm almost mad at my own personality.

  I am basically a shy person. However, there's a lot of different personas within me that can appear depending on who's around me or where I am. The original Y/N, the person I am independently of the environment or how I am with, is irrationally careful. I prefer to observe people, not bother anyone, not speak too loudly if it is not necessary. That's why I am not offended that Julie doesn't know me; because I am unapologetic for my personality - I am not ashamed of not wanting everyone to know my name, no matter how much I like the art that puts me in the spotlight.

  Maybe art is different for girls like me and Carrie Wilson, for example. She performs for other people while I do it for myself, to help and express myself. I'm still not sure what kind of person Julie is, possibly a mix of both of us.

  - I think I'll spend the rest of the day with... what's your name again? - Reggie says, looking a little more like the version of my dreams.

  I was excited before, but now I am just questioning my own decisions. I seemed to have complicated Julie's life and Reggie didn't seem so happy to meet me. The idea that I had created for that moment was certainly better in my head than in real life, because in my imagination Reginald would have explanations for me and would also fall in love easily. I blame it on my overthinking skills and stupid research, because according to what I had read, it was a case of "connection beyond life", not just a series of coincidences and feelings nurtured with patience. Apparently, we were soulmates. 

  Or it could be that I saw his band somewhere before and created the whole story in my mind. Detailed and with too many specific facts, but it's still a possibility.

  For the first time, I don't prefer to believe in the rational explanation. Sometimes it just takes a little bit of madness and magic for things to sound and be better.

  - My name is Y/N L/N. - I answer. - But in a dream you called me…

  - L/N! - A shout coming from the door interrupts me. Nick is standing there, looking weird. His dark jeans and long black jacket don't seem to match the boy who usually greets me with an excited and happy smile. It's something in his posture and in the way his eyes seem to call for help. He looks uncomfortable. - I waited for you in the cafeteria to help me with math, but you didn't show up.

  He doesn't say anything about Reggie, so I assume he disappeared again. I don't know what Julie's trick is, but I don't turn around to check so I don't look crazy.

  Nick's features soften unnaturally. He seems to be practicing some theatrical exercise, considering that his mouth forms and deforms a smile every second, imitating a broken doll. His eyes are on Julie, as if expecting a reaction from her and I wonder if he's using me to try to make her jealous. Which clearly wouldn't do any good. People don't even associate my name with his; everyone knows that I am only his tutor. And to me he is almost like a distant younger cousin.

  - Sorry, Julie was helping me with a song. - I lie, smiling weakly at him and adjusting my backpack. I don't like to lie because I'm bad at it, but we're not close enough for me to feel bad or anything. The actress persona helps at times like this. - But now I have to go to my next class. Thanks for the help, Julie. Tomorrow at lunch I'll help you, Nick. I'm really sorry, I completely forgot about it.

  I nod at her and widen my eyes when I see Reggie standing beside me. I turn completely to Nick and he doesn't show any reaction, so I just keep walking outside with Reggie by my side, looking at me with a funny look on his face. He walks sideways and I can't help but smile at the feeling of him so close to me.

  In order not to look crazy, I search my pockets for earphones and grab a script from the last play we worked on. I pretend to train lines while talking to him.

  - Nobody can see you. This is too weird. Shouldn't you be a hologram? - I ask, looking ahead and speaking quietly. There aren't many students in the hallways yet because there are still a few minutes before class starts, but I need to be discreet anyway. - Why can I see you then?

  In a wider step, he stops in front of me and starts walking backwards. I can look him in the eyes while I feel butterflies in my stomach. With his attention on me, I seem to have an entire zoo inside my stomach wanting to express how I feel about him.

  - I'm not a hologram. - He answers. - Do you know what happens to people when they die?

  - They turn to dust? - I try. Reggie ponders, but nods no. - They turn into stars?

  He laughs. In a precious way that seems to heal any pain I may feel.

  He laughs. And time seems to stop.

  Seeing his smile and his happiness in front of me makes me want to physically express what I feel, so before I can think about it, my arms reach up to hug him. In slowmotion, I see Reggie close his eyes and smile, as if waiting for my arms to wrap around him, as if he also wants a physical confirmation of affection. His cute dimples appear and I imagine that I, standing alone in the hall, look like an idiot.

  My arms go through him, so I pretend I'm stretching.

  - I wish I could feel you. - He speaks. His tone breaks my heart even when I thought it was not possible to feel more disappointmented.

I don't know what to say to him, so I don't say anything. It was natural in my dreams to walk hand in hand, touch his nose with mine, hug him and feel the warmth emanating from his body. Both dreams, as a man and in the recent ones as myself: I always knew that Reginald was there. As much as dreams were not part of physical reality, I seemed to really feel him, so I made an effort to demonstrate how happy he made me feel. And he also didn't hold back, always expressing with his body that he was there; either touching my hair, playing with my fingers, bumping his shoulders against mine, anything. I didn't understand how frustrating it could be to not be able to touch him until this moment. When this simple verb is all I desire.

  To touch him.

  But he is dead.

  I'm in love with a ghost that lived in my dreams.

  The two of us, defeated and without exchanging another word, get to the auditorium quickly. The door is open, but there is no one inside. We enter in silence and sit in the back. The comfortable black chairs and the maroon carpet are about to witness my madness when he sits beside me and puts his hand on mine. He stares at his fingers with intensity, making a vein in his neck pop a little. I can't help looking at him without reservations, mentally writing down his details. The way his face is triangular, his pink cheeks and his adorable asymmetrical nose. His lips are slightly parted and his hair looks so soft and inviting to the touch. I only look away from his face when I feel a light weight on my skin.

  He is touching my hand in a timid and almost imperceptible way. Shocked, I look at the position of our fingers, feeling hope run through my body. The intoxicating and numbing hope.

  Hope that he can be real.

  - I can hold a few things when I focus. - Reggie doesn't look able to focus on more than one thing at the same time though. - And with you I have difficulty focusing, to be honest.

  With that comment, I can't help but smile. My shock is exchanged with happiness to know that I'm not feeling all these beautiful feelings alone. That I'm not by myself, trying to understand the bad ones either.

  - Are you a ghost, Reggie? - The question rolls off my tongue with difficulty. It doesn't sound like a question; it's more of a statement. He confirms my assumption and I can taste the bad flavor that hope can give. It's a taste of disappointment, sadness, resentment. - And I am your unfinished business, hum? What does that mean?

  - I'm not sure what I need to do, but I know it involves you. At least I think so. And even if you don't feel the same way, you can see me, but not Alex and Luke. Until now, I thought we had unfinished business together, but maybe each one of us has separate things that we need to take care of. - His touch disappears and I miss him. I can't feel him anymore, but the weight of his words certainly make up for it. - We need to find out what's our deal.

  "Our deal". So romantic.

  Before I can answer, the teacher arrives with a group of students behind him. I wave at them and get up, sitting in the third row. I like to be close, but not too close. That way I have some space to ponder about wanting to participate or just keep watching.

  - Y/N. - Reggie calls. I can't say anything with so many people around, so I decide to ignore him. Mr. Ortega, the teacher, looks excited. We will start discussing the characters for the next play and he will probably comment on contributions to the story. - L/N. Darling. Cutie. - I still don't answer, but I can't help smiling. Listening to those things really feels like he's the Reggie from my dreams. - Pumpkin. Precious little nugget.

  My attention remains focused on the teacher, who decides to sit on the edge of the stage. He pushes himself up with his arms and turns his torso to land correctly where he wants to. It's amazing how most of the theater people seem to express themselves naturally, as if they can float. Most of my classmates also look like this, as if they don't overthink anything. What they wear, how they speak, their hand movements; everything is fluid. It's intriguing how different people can be.

  I assume I can be wrong too. Maybe the teacher thought long before he sitted there, maybe he thought about it over lunch. Maybe my classmates are nervous to answer simple questions, maybe even Carrie has her doubts about herself. People are also intriguing because you can never tell what's on their mind, how they truly feel, what's honest and what's just mean lies. 

  Most days I'm fine not knowing though.

  - If you don't answer me, I'll be mean. - The teacher starts talking about our choice between a musical or an immersive play (that he sounds very excited about). - You leave me no choice, Y/N. Hey, bowl of cereal that's been sitting out for like an hour. Tiny wet socks.

  He needs to stop before I start laughing while the teacher talks about his love for immersive theater. I look in his direction as if begging for him to stop, but Reggie sees it as an incentive.

  I couldn't have created his personality. Not in my dreams nor in real life. Reggie is interesting, quirky and too adorable for me to have invented him. My imagination is not so fertile as to be able to come up with a person as engaging as him. But it is no comfort to know that he is a ghost, that there is no chance that my dreams could come true.

  I was basically stuck on a roller coaster that I didn't want to go on. It was like I was at the top, happy to see the whole park and sad to know that I was going to fall soon. Ruthlessly, with the possibility of getting sick on the way, sure. Still there was no possibility of leaving or regretting being there. There was just the option of going forward knowing I couldn't be the same as I was before I saw the park from up there.

  - Rainy day. - He continues. I take a pen out of my backpack and flip the script over, writing a "stop it" in block letters. - Do you need to pay attention in this class?

  I look at the teacher, who continues to talk excitedly about our options for the play, and write "you've got 5 minutes", to which he responds by jumping in his seat. I keep looking ahead, but pay attention to what he says, leaving my palm facing up. He sees it as an invitation and leaves his hand over mine, without touching it. Reggie begins to tell a story of when he went to a kennel and saw a puppy named Y/N and wanted to adopt the little animal, but he found out in the worst way that he was allergic. He said he didn't care. Then he told me that he liked my perfume and that it reminded him of spring. And that he missed being alive. I write a "I can't smell you; what do you smell like?", which he reads quickly. He takes his wrist up to his nose and smells it.

  - I think I smell like autumn. - He shrugs. - I'll let you pay attention now. See you with Julie later, okay? Have a good rest of the day.

  Reggie leans over, like he's going to kiss me on the cheek. He did that in my dreams too many times, whenever he said hi or goodbye. It had started with a conversation about different cultures and ended with a promise to travel together - just words thrown in the wind. I remember waking up sad to know it would never happen. With him so close now, I can only hold my breath and hope he can kiss me.

  - Sorry. - He says, walking away before we can find out how his lips would feel on my skin in real life. He disappears before I can say goodbye.

  I am spring, he is autumn. Opposite seasons that will never exist at the same time in the same place. Both important, intense and simply different; both loved. It's still very bittersweet that such beautiful feelings can't blossom together; because when I bloom, he dies, just like autumn leaves.

  The rest of the class is focused on the choice of the play and I try my best to pay attention, but it's difficult to think of anything other than Reginald. I can only focus on something else when I am in the last class of the day and Nick sits next to me. It's math and I assume he's going to ask for help with his homework, but he starts the conversation questioning my relationship with Julie. His tone is not subtle curiosity, but more like someone who is going to ask for a favor.

  - I really just wanted to ask something about a song that I thought would be good for our next play. - I try to sound chill about it, but the way Nick looks at me makes me anxious. He's different, acting like he's playing a part I don't know about. I don't know much about him to bet on it, but I believe I am good enough at reading people to know that there is something strange about him today. - But is there anything I can help you with? I thought you were going to see her on Saturday. You did go to her house, right?

  He smiles at me and a shiver runs down my spine.

  - Yes, I went to her house. I just wanted to know if you guys talked about me.

  I answer a simple "no" and let my brain interpret his words and actions. His posture is too upright and there is an air of superiority in the way he moves. His body language looks different. He seems to feel like he is better than everyone and I never took Nick as pretentious. 

  He starts to draw something that I don't really identify at first, but I soon recognize the tarot card number one. 

  The Magician.

  The man in his drawing has one arm up and the other is pointing down, representing the magician's connection between the spiritual realms and the material realms. I can only tell this is the Magician card because of the four elements Nick draws on the paper: a cup, a pentacle, a sword and a wand. It symbolizes the four elements water, earth, air and fire, meaning that the magician has it all.

  Nick takes his time to draw the flowers and foliage around the magician, which makes me think that he believes that this person or feeling is very creative and clever. At least, that's the original meaning for the card. The boy also draws the infinite symbol above the head and when I think he's about to finish the drawing with the snake around the magician's waist, he stops.

  It's incomplete.

  The infinity symbol and the snake mean access to unlimited potential. Maybe Nick's magician doesn't feel so powerful. Maybe there's something holding him back.

  - Sneaky, huh?

  His voice is firm and low. He doesn't sound mad or surprised that I was in fact watching him. He sounds superior, like he is trying to tease me.

  - Sorry.

  I can't focus on the rest of the class because it seems that as much as Nick's head is turned forward, towards where the teacher is, it seems like he's paying attention to every move I make. How I hold the pen, how I breathe, how I write. It's nerve wracking.

  When the class is over and Nick leaves, I think about his drawing and notice a detail that I hadn't paid attention to before. Nick's quick fingers painting the magician's robe.

  It's a black robe. Nick's magician has a black robe.

  It's never a black essentially, because it's supposed to be white, alluding to purity.

  - Ready to go? - Reggie's head appears on the door. I pack the rest of my things and say goodbye to the teacher. She smiles at me, not knowing I'm about to speak to the dead.

  We really never know what's going on in someone's life.

  I take out my phone and put it close to my ear so I can "talk" to Reggie. My classroom is in the same corridor as the chemistry lab, but at opposite extremes. Because it's a big school, we have about 5 minutes to get there, especially with the slow pace he and I take. The boy smiles and does the same as before, walking backwards in front of me, so that we can talk looking at each other. I like that he also likes to look at me.

  - Tell me some of your stories. - He asks.

  Testing the waters, I tell him the same story I told a few days ago, in my dreams.

  - My mom once ordered two pizzas from different places because she had coupons. The two delivery guys arrived at our door together and one of them started singing "why can't we be friends" in a very funny way, but the other didn't like it very much. In the end I'm sure they exchanged numbers. Too much tension in the air, you know?

  - I can only imagine their faces. - Reggie replies. - But that's very smart of your mom. She sounds nice.

  - She is very cool. My dad is very funny and my older sister is… well, older. She is grumpy most of the time, but she has a good heart. Do you miss your family?

  I would miss mine for sure. I only have my mother, my father and my sister; the rest of the family decided not to accept my sister's girlfriend, which made the four of us form our own independent clan. No aunt, no grandfather, no cousin. Nobody else; we could only trust ourselves. As much as holidays like Christmas could make us smile fakely and reduce our lifespan a little with boring conversations, at the end of the day it is the four of us against the world. A cruel world that did not accept my sister for who she loved, which was stupid.

  - Yeah, a little. My parents didn't love each other anymore, but they were still my parents, right? It doesn't matter that they were a couple first.

  - And they will never stop being your parents. They can split, but even now, they're still your parents, Reggie. - He smiles sadly at me. - Don't you wanna see them?

  We stop for a while in the middle of the hallway. There aren't many students because most of them have already headed to the exit. I put my phone back in my pocket so I can extend my hand to him. Every contact needs to come from him, because no matter how much I focus, I can't meet him halfway. He has to go all the way by himself. He reads my intentions quickly and imitates me, holding his palm up. I can feel the pressure of his hand against mine and his timid warmth. His thumb gets between my thumb and pointing finger, almost intertwining our hands. His pinky is almost circling mine in a half hug. I stare at his eyes with love and adoration, hoping I'm interpreting right and he is indeed doing the same.

  He must be focusing a lot for this to happen.

  - Would you help me find them? - He asks.

  Reggie doesn't know, but with his hands on mine I'd say yes to anything and everything.

  - Of course! We'll find them.

  He starts walking again and I quickly put my hand down.

  - Thank you. But now, tell me: - His smile makes me smile too. I'm glad this version of him is very happy all the time. - did it hurt?

- Let me guess. When I fell from heaven?

  - No.

  - What?

  - Did it hurt when you fell for me?

  I roll my eyes and walk faster, passing him to get to the classroom before I can say that yes, it hurted. A lot. Falling for him was oh so sweet, but also hurtful.

  Loving him made me realize that distraction and destruction sound awfully alike and sometimes you don't understand which one it is. Distraction, destruction; both, none.

  What started as a way to feel more excited about life and its possibilities turned into something more, something bigger that I couldn't explain. In the beginning the dreams were entertaining, interesting. Just emotions not really related to me as a person. It was more about sensations, experiences. But soon enough I was thinking about him when I got up too, not just before going to sleep.

- Hey, Y/N. - Julie says as soon as I see her exiting the classroom. She's with Flynn, who probably knows everything by now. She smiles and waves at me. I wave back and Reggie does too, like the fool he is. - Do you want to go to my house? You can stay for dinner too, if you want.

  - I'll check with my sister. If I know her at all, she'll take me to your house and check with your dad if he's fine with everything. Is it ok?

  - Sure! - Julie answers. - Is she going to pick you up here?

  - Yeah. She'll be here any minute actually. You can text me your address and I'll meet you there.

  She hands me her phone and I add my number saved under "Y/N (who's very sorry about everything)". They wave goodbye while Reggie stays by my side.

  - I'll see you in a bit, right?

  He sounds unsure and I wonder if anyone would ever be stupid enough to leave him. His puppy eyes are too much for me to handle, so I start walking to the parking lot, where my sister usually waits for me. He follows me.

  - Of course. Even if my sister says no, I will text Julie and we will figure something out. - That would be the moment that I would give his hand a squeeze, just to make sure he knows I mean it. - Don't worry, okay?

  - I'm not worried. I have this feeling I'll always find you, so it's alright. - Before disappearing, he winks at me. - See you later, alligator.

  I'm still smiling when I spot Daisy's car and get in. My sister looks at me with her eyes half closed, silently questioning what happened for me to be in such a good mood.

  - Okay, I have boy problems. - I say. She doesn't drive, so she can still stare at me. - Big ones.

  - Like "his dead body is too big to hide" or "you like him" problems?

  - I like him.

  - It's a shame then. I could've helped you with the other one. - She starts driving and misses the way I roll my eyes at her answer.  - Why is it a problem though?

  - Oh, it's simple. He doesn't exist.

  - Too many fanfictions, huh?

  - Something like that. - I shrug. - Can you take me to a friends house? I'd like to talk to her about my boy problems.

As we drive to Julie's house, I wonder why I'd be Reggie's unfinished business and if I'll ever be able to meet him halfway, because we do share the same feeling, even though I didn't say anything to him before.

  I also feel like I would always find him.

  Doesn't matter when or where, I'd always find Reggie.

[eryiss]

Chapter Four - The Voicemail

Summary: Freed and Laxus live incredibly different lives. Freed is a corporate lawyer in the capital city, and Laxus works as a handyman in a countryside hotel. Despite their differences, their lives collide when Freed inherits a house in Laxus’ village, and hires him to make the derelict building liveable. But the closer they get, the more they seem to offer each other. [Fraxus Multi-Chapter]

This was written as my admission for Fraxus Day 2020, hosted by @fuckyeahfraxus​. Hope you enjoy it.

You can read this under the cut, on Fanfiction, or on Archive of Our Own. You can find the chapter masterpost here.

Chapter Four – The Voicemail

It hadn't occurred to Laxus how much he liked having a daily routine until he got one again. The last time he had every day of the week planned out was when he was in high school, as his university schedule was fluid to say the least. The lack of a routine had been a gradual thing, slowly allowing his days merge into a mess of passing the time and occasionally working on things around the hotel. He had been bored for a while now, but hadn't allowed himself to admit it.

Though now, with a day of work always available, Laxus didn't know how he had managed to pass so much time. Although Freed hadn't given him a strict schedule of when he should be working on the house and when he shouldn't – he claimed he knew a man like Laxus wouldn't waste his time, and Laxus was glad of the observation – Laxus had decided on dedicated work hours, planning out his whole day.

At seven, he woke up. At seven thirty, he'd do his daily workout at the gym. At nine, he'd make his rounds around the hotel to see if anything needed fixing or work. At ten, he'd go to the house and do whatever he had planned for the day.

He felt like an adult. It was a good feeling.

Climbing off the leg press and reaching for his towel, Laxus let out a satisfied groan. Morning workouts were new to him, having previously entered the gym in the afternoon for something, anything, to fill the time. He liked it, it was a good start to the day, got his blood pumping, and the cool morning air was refreshing on his still sweating skin on the walk back home.

He patted down the sweat from his face and stood up, walking to a matted area to do his warm-down stretches. He grinned a little at the feeling of burning on his legs, having upped the weights recently. As he walked, he pulled out his phone and flicked it on to see the time. He frowned at his lock screen.

One Missed Call – Freed Justine.

One Voicemail – Freed Justine.

Freed was back in Era now, as they had planned. He would spend the weekdays in the city, working in his office and meeting with his friends, while he would return for the weekend to oversee Laxus' work, offer his suggestions on what he was doing, and help out whenever he could; something that was happening more often now that Laxus had taught him a skill or two. This had been working for a few weeks, and they'd gotten it down to a fine art.

Laxus could understand what Freed wanted without much difficulty. Sometimes there was a few issues – where Freed might not know the technical terminology for something and couldn't articulate his wants immediately – but they always quickly got over them. They were a good team, and work on the house was happening fast.

Though, Laxus did miss Freed sometimes. Plumbing was better with company.

Freed was good company.

They had fun.

At least Laxus did, anyway. Freed was somewhat enigmatic at times, but seemed to be enjoying himself. He was private with his emotions, and only smiled – really smiled – when he thought Laxus wasn't looking. Laxus had caught it a few times, and seeing the uncynical expression on the mans usually slightly stifled face was something Laxus was quickly coming to desire more often. He looked good like that.

As he said, they had fun…

Throughout their time working together only on the weekends, Freed had rarely called him. It had only been for specific things, like when a member of the preservation society visited to see their work wasn't destructive. So to see not only a missed call, but a voicemail, was unusual. Freed was a texter more than a caller, in Laxus' admittedly limited experience.

Laxus slightly rushed through his stretches, and once he was done, he walked towards the changing room and lifted his phone to his ear.

"Sorry if I've woken you," Freed began. "But could you perhaps see if I've left something in my room from Sunday."

As he listened and walked towards his locker, Laxus frowned. There was a sort of clipped attitude to Freed's words, and it confused Laxus. He'd always seen Freed as a relaxed man, even though it wasn't obvious. Freed was clearly smart, Laxus wouldn't be shocked if he was a literal genius, and with that there was a level of comfort in his skin. He never second guessed himself because he always thought he was right.

Maybe that was Laxus overthinking things, but that was what he'd concluded. But in his words, Laxus had heard just a hint of panic. It was unlike the man he had known while giving swift demands about what was to happen with his house.

"I brought some of my work over the weekend, you see," Freed continued. "And part of that was a contract that I've been working on. I seem to have left it in my hotel room, and I need to be sure that it's safe. It's confidential, as you can imagine, and I've made a rather large amounts of notes. So if you could call me back, please do."

Laxus ran his towel over his body, blasted himself with a thick layer of deodorant, and picked up his bag. Normally he'd shower and change into something other than his exercise clothes, but the fact that Freed had left a voicemail rather than just requesting a return call via a text meant this was something urgent. Laxus didn't know anything about the law – well, no more than anyone else – but leaving a confidential contract wasn't good. He trusted the people in Fairy Tail not to look at things that weren't for them, but Freed didn't.

As he rushed out of the gym, bag slung over his shoulder, he dialled Freed's number and listened to it ring. After a few moments, Freed answered.

"Laxus," He said in greeting.

"Hey," Laxus replied. "Sorry I missed your call, was at the gym and wasn't paying attention to my phone."

"Oh, that's a coincidence," Freed said with a small, forced laugh. "I just finished my PT session today."

Laxus didn't know Freed went to a personal trainer.

It made sense, he supposed. He was clearly fit, if the contract in width between his shoulders and his waist was telling. And when, two weeks ago, he rolled up his sleeves and showed off his veiny, strong forearms, Laxus might have been distracted to the point of nearly dropping a plank of wood onto his toes. He'd also gotten a glimpse of his biceps, and the plank had nearly splintered in Laxus' grasp.

Well, that was an exaggeration, but it was certainly a distraction.

"Small world," Laxus shrugged, then spoke again in a light, joking tone. Hopefully, he could lighten Freed's mood. "But you know they're a scam right, personal trainers. If you're trying to change your body type they're fine, but if you wanna keep yourself as you are then you don't need one."

"I suppose not," Freed mused, and Laxus grinned a little. When stressed, Freed could be distracted easily, apparently. "I work with him for status, honestly. He's the trainer for the elite, I like that."

"Makes sense, rich boy," Laxus teased with a grin. "I can write you up an exercise list if you want, it'll save you a couple grand."

"That'd be good, thank you," Freed agreed. "Wait, no. Stop distracting me. Have you found it?"

"Saw through that, huh?" Laxus grinned, but continued. "I'm a minute away from the hotel. But, if you did leave it here, the staff ain't gonna do anything with it. They would've handed it in to gramps," Freed made a placating noise. He didn't believe Laxus, clearly. "They're not gonna risk pissing you off Freed, you're basically keeping the place open being here every weekend. We lose you; they lose their jobs."

Freed did let out a laugh, and Laxus grinned at that. "You shouldn't give me that much power, Laxus. I'll misuse it."

"Don't doubt it," Laxus smirked, entering the warmth of Fairy Tail's lobby. He ignored the slight stiffness in Freed's joke, wondering if he had done it just for Laxus' sake. He nodded to Mirajane, who was at the front desk, still speaking into the phone. "Give me a second."

"Of course."

Lowering his phone slightly, Laxus walked to the front desk and leant on it. Mirajane looked the dishevelled man up and down, and her nose twitched at the smell of sweat and deodorant that hit her. She opened her mouth to speak, but Laxus put a hand up to interrupt her. Hopefully, she's understood by the state he was in that he was in a rush.

"You know if Freed left anything in his room? Some paperwork or something?" He asked. "Lisanna cleaned it, right?"

"She mentioned something being left, I think," Mirajane said after a moment thought. "Brown folder, she handed it to Makarov for safety. I think he wanted to let Freed know, but didn't know his number so was waiting for you to come in."

"It'll be in his office, right?" He asked, pushing himself from the desk.

"Yeah, but it's locked. He'll be here in an hour I think."

"Don't worry, I cut a key when I was sixteen," Laxus shrugged, grinning at Mirajane as he walked away, ignoring her when she said that he definitely shouldn't have a key. He brought his phone to his ear as he walked towards his grandfather's office. "They found it. It's locked in Gramp's office. I can look after it if you'd like."

"Well, I suppose I should have mentioned, that I need a copy of it here. Ideally with the notes I've made," Freed explained with a resigned sigh. Laxus bit his lip absently as he rummaged through his grandfather's desk draw, finding a brown folder.

"I could take a picture of each page, if you want," Laxus suggested, flicking open the folder. "'The Merging of Lamia Scale Designs and Mermaid Heel.' That the right contract?"

"That's it, thank you," Freed agreed, still sounding worried. "And you won't be able to send pictures, it's under data protection. If I get found out I'll be taken off the case at least, perhaps demoted for it. And our side will be immediately lose the case because of it."

"Best to avoid that then," Laxus nodded to himself. "I could scan it and email it to you, or is that the same issue? Or I could send it through the post if you can wait that long."

"I need it today," Freed sighed. "And yes, the email is the same issue."

Laxus sighed, running a hand through his hair. He knew that it wasn't really his place to be worried about the situation, but the fact that Freed wasn't as composed as he normally was had a disconcerting effect on Laxus. And, the two men were friends, and nobody would want their friend to feel stressed about potentially losing their job. Especially for something anybody could do; forgetting something at a hotel room was something most people did at some point. Any good friend would try to help.

"Well," Laxus said, clicking his tongue. "What time d'you need it? I can get the train and go to your office. If you don't mind me taking the day off from the house."

Maybe most friends wouldn't go that far. Maybe they would.

"Don't be absurd," Freed almost definitely shook his head as he spoke. "It's a long journey, it would be evening by the time you got home. I couldn't ask you to do that."

"If you need it, then you need it. And I ain't been to Era, so it'll give me an excuse…" Laxus' words trailed off. "What about fax? My grandad is one of like five people to actually have a fax machine for some reason."

"That actually might work," Freed said hesitantly. "The law states we can't replicate documents in a digital format, technically we wouldn't be doing that. So it should be fine."

"Great," Laxus grinned. "You have any idea on how to use the thing, 'cause I don't."

"They're quite simple, really," Freed said, a genuine chuckle entering his voice. Laxus grinned at it. "A child could use it without much explanation."

"You can drop that patronising tone, asshole," Laxus smirked as he spoke, switching on the machine. "And the only kind of child that'd know how to use this piece of shit is a kid from the Victorian years or some crap."

"Implying I'm from the Victorian era?" Freed questioned.

"You'd fit in there, I can imagine you with a stupid top hat and one of those big coats, walking with a cane," Laxus shrugged, squinting at the instructions on the machine's faded screen, absently thinking about just how good Freed would look in period specific clothing. "Think it might suit ya, actually. You'd look pretty s-swish."

Laxus paused. Swish. Swish!

Admittedly there wasn't many words to describe someone appearance that began with the letter 'S', but where the hell had 'swish' come from. Laxus had never said swish in his life, nobody this side of the damn millennium had said the word swish. Sure, he'd gotten away from his immediate reaction to thinking about his boss in old fashioned clothing, but why the hell had he covered it with the word swish. Swish!

At least he was distracted from the fact he almost readily admitted he thought Freed was sexy.

It was both a good and a bad thing, really. It was good, because the fact that Laxus wasn't worried about finding men attractive meant his time in therapy years prior was still hadn't left him, and he hadn't been kidding himself about the comfort he felt for his own sexuality. However, the fact he so nearly blurted out his attraction for Freed – his boss – was something he would have to be careful about.

"Of course I would," Freed said after a moment, voice a little distracted now. He didn't know what Laxus had meant to say, did he? He couldn't. "How are you doing with the fax machine."

"Yeah, you're gonna need to patronise me again, because this fucker ain't easy."

So, with a minimal amount of patronising, Freed walked Laxus through what he needed to do with the machine. It was a relatively easy process, made harder by the fact the screen showing the different options was almost impossible to see. But they'd made it through, and Freed had managed to get a copy of the contract into his office's fax machine without much trouble.

Laxus turned from the machine, only to see his grandfather looking at him, leaning on the doorframe. He hadn't heard the other man, too busy having been focused on the machine and Freed's instructions. How long his grandfather had been there, Laxus didn't know. Nor did he know exactly why the old man was looking at him with a raised eyebrow and an expression that was almost smug. Just as Laxus was about to make a motion to voice his confusion, Freed spoke though his speakers again.

"Thank you for this, Laxus," The mans voice echoed through the room, as Laxus had put him on speaker. It took Laxus a second to realise he had to reply.

"Ain't a problem," Laxus responded, a little self-conscious now. Makarov didn't change his expression. "So, you're fine now, right?"

"For today anyway," Freed sounded tired as he spoke, and the slight shuffling might have been Freed rubbing his eye with the palm of his hand; he'd done that a few times since they'd met. "I'm sure tomorrow will bring a further onslaught of problems."

"Guess that's what it's like being a lawyer," Laxus said with a forced chuckle, glaring at his unmoving grandfather to tell him to leave.

"I suppose so. I'm looking forward to seeing you when I get back at the weekend," Freed sighed tiredly again, and Laxus' gaze flickered over to his phone. "I should go, I have a meeting in fifteen minutes, and I should do at least some preparation for it. I'll talk to you later, I'm sure."

"Yeah, talk later," Laxus parroted, and the line went dead.

For a moment, Laxus and Makarov looked at one another. Laxus still couldn't identify exactly what the expression on his grandfather's face was, and he also couldn't help but feel angry that the older man hadn't left when he saw that Laxus was on a call that was private. But he knew that if he voiced this anger, his grandfather would annoyingly explain that Laxus was in his office, and that he had more a right to be there than Laxus did.

"So," Makarov eventually spoke. "Mirajane said that you came in early."

"You shouldn't have listened into my conversation," Laxus spoke in an annoyingly petulant tone.

"You shouldn't be in my office without my permission," Makarov retorted predicably, and Laxus rolled his eyes. "But I'll forgive you since you clearly needed to use my fax machine for your little phone date."

Laxus stood up – he needed to sit because the machine was tucked under Makarov's desk – and started to walk out of the office. The two of them had a good grandfather and grandson relationship, but Laxus often found the older man to be obnoxious. He made jokes about things that Laxus didn't find funny, with the intent of getting a rise out of Laxus, and the blonde knew that it was best not to give into it. Fucker.

He went to walk past the old man, but Makarov grabbed hold of Laxus' clothing and stopped him from leaving. He stopped, even though he could easily overpower Makarov, and looked down at his grandfather with an expression that clearly stated he didn't want to joke about his relationship with Freed.

"Don't get huffy," Makarov said, no longer teasing. "It just sounded like you were getting on. It was nice to hear you laughing."

"Great," Laxus said, again in a slightly petulant tone.

"You don't need to get defensive," Makarov said, walking into his office. "I was just happy. Most of the people you know live here and have lived here all their lives. And most of your friends are women. It's just nice to see you talking with another man and having fun with him."

"I can know a guy and not want to fuck him," Laxus grunted.

"You can. I was just a little shocked to see you like that. Laughing and joking with him. Especially since he was telling you what to do, you'd get pissy if it were me," Makarov grinned. "But if you say it's platonic, I believe you. I just enjoyed seeing you like that. Give an old man his fancies."

"Can I go?" Laxus muttered.

"If you want," Makarov smiled. "I like him though."

Laxus let out a small huff as Makarov removed his clutch on his clothing. The blonde found himself riled by Makarov's words. Not only had he intentionally tried to make Laxus feel self-conscious about his call with Freed, but he had also given some weird kind of blessing for a relationship between him and Freed. A blessing that Laxus neither wanted, nor needed. Laxus was an adult, not a kid who needed to be told what to do.

And Makarov didn't even know Freed! He was more complex than a call dammit.

But, as he walked away, his mind wondered to the end of his conversation with Freed. He hadn't fully registered it when Freed had said it, but now he thought back Freed's parting words were… interesting.

'I'm looking forward to seeing you.'

Not 'I'm looking forward to getting back to Magnolia.' Not 'I'm looking forward to getting to the weekend, so I don't have to worry about work.' Not even 'I'm looking forward to seeing what you've done on the house.' He had very clearly stated that he was looking forward to seeing Laxus. Which was certainly interesting.

And if Laxus found his annoyance at his grandfather dissipating slightly, replaced by a weird fizzy feeling in his stomach, then that was his business and nobody else's.

[kinetic-elaboration]

100 Days of Writing: Day Sixty-Three

I decided to catch up on The 100 Days of Writing and then I... accidentally wrote a large number of words. In my defense, this is like 2 weeks’ worth of questions. Also I skipped the ones I didn’t have anything to say about so actually this could be worse.

(I’m not even kidding, this is really long. I talk about writing rituals, tools for plotting, my thoughts on opening with dialogue and why I don’t like it, my favorite topics, the weather, and what length of fic I like to write.)

I’m tagging, and apologizing to, @the-wip-project and fellow participants @she-who-the-river-could-not-hold, @thelittlefanpire, @hopskipaway, @easilydistractedbyfanfic, @dylanobrienisbatman, and @fontainebleau22.

*

Day 49: How do you get yourself in the mood to write? Do you have a ritual?

Every time I tell myself I’m going to get back into doing these questions, I see this one in my bookmarks and go nope! and turn around. It’s not a hard question; I’ve just been having trouble consistently getting into the mood to write, so I feel like any answer I try to give to it will be, in some sense, a lie. Like do I ever get “in the mood” to write? Really?? Also, I feel like I’m relying too much on ‘ritual,’ building up ‘the perfect writing situation’ in my head, which at the end of the day is less important than just saying ‘I’m going to do this now’ and then doing it.

I do have some things I always do when I sit down to a writing session. I write on my couch. Almost always (unless I’m on an event deadline where I just have to write in bits and pieces whenever possible), I write in sprints—I use write or die to keep me actually typing and not staring into space. I write in order, and I often write a whole scene at a time. So before I start I need to have at least a couple solid opening sentences in mind, plus some kind of idea about what happens/needs to happen in the scene. In order to get in the right headspace, I usually spend some time just thinking before I actually get to writing. I reread my outline or notes, and skim whatever I might have already written on the project. Sometimes I look at images that help me get in the right mood. Sometimes I just imagine or daydream for a bit. The difficulty, especially recently, is in making sure I do this just enough and not too much, because then I get too caught up in my head and I can no longer translate what I’m seeing into words.

In a broader sense, I also have a building up to writing ritual—again, I think this is part of my problem, that I don’t know how to balance this build up with actual writing. In the hours/days before writing something, I turn it over in my head a lot. I practice different versions of those critical opening sentences. I play it out like a fantasy just to see if there’s a possible flow, even if the final version is different. Basically, I try to turn it into something that just needs to be written, that just needs to get out. But again—this can lead to overthinking and frustration.

The best way I can describe writing for me is that, when it goes well, I find a rhythm, or enter into a zone, where I can describe the images in my head in a way that’s both accurate and pleasant to read. But entering that zone or finding that rhythm is like jumping into a game of jump rope. If you don’t do it right, you’re just going to trip over your feet and get tangled in the rope. But if you do it correctly, it’s fun and exhilarating and you can keep jumping for a long time. Sometimes it takes me some false starts to jump in. And recently I’ve been having days where I just can’t at all, where I tangle the rope up so much I can’t unknot it. Those are the days I just have the same sentences repeating over and over in my head, sounding wrong, and I can’t do anything about it. On the other hand, I write in much longer sprints than I did a couple years ago. I used to only write partial scenes, maybe a few hundred words. Now I can write whole scenes without stopping, and on a few occasions, I’ve written multiple scenes or even whole stories without stopping. So in other words, when it works,  it really works. But it doesn’t always, and there’s not a lot of in between.

*

Day 50 What fic/story made you?

Um… honestly I’ve been writing, in general and fic specifically, for such a long time that I didn’t have a ‘maybe I can do this’ moment. I mean one problem I’ve never had is thinking I can’t do this. I had positive reinforcement for my school and academic writing, and for a long time my fictional stories were just for me, and I knew what I liked. Even just thinking about my fic writing… I’ve been posting fic online since 2006, and I’ve been in multiple fandoms. I don’t really have much connection to a lot of those early stories anymore. They feel like they were written by someone else, a little. I’ve also moved on from most of the fandoms I wrote for in my early fic days so I don’t feel like I can really judge them anymore.

That said… there is kinda an obvious answer for my Star Trek fic lol. I also have favorite stories, and stories that stick out even years after I wrote them, in all (or at least most) of the fandoms I’ve been in. But I’m not sure if that’s the same.

Also, I had two teachers who were really encouraging of me and who I still think about often. One was my seventh grade English teacher, who had us do a lot of writing exercises of various types, both large and small, including keeping writing journals we wrote in every day at the start of class. He once told my mom that I wrote well, not for a seventh grader, but in general, and to be honest I still think of that with some regularity and take a lot of pride and comfort in it. The other was my creative writing professor in college. I don’t think I did my best work for that class, but she was very encouraging and seemed to like what I did. At the end of the semester, as I was preparing my portfolio, she told me that if I didn’t want to do much editing, I didn’t have to, because my unedited work would stand on its own. Again, especially considering all the problems that I saw with my writing for that class even then, I really took that comment to heart. When I’m feeling very self-critical, I remind myself that even my raw scribblings have, perhaps, something to them, and it helps ease the excessive and unwarranted pressure I put on myself. These aren’t really stories about specific writing pieces that ‘made’ me but I do think they speak to that ‘maybe I can do this’ feeling.

*

Day 51: Do you use tools for plotting and what are they?

So, generally, no. Sometimes I’ll look at various writing/plotting/organizational tools as a method of distraction, but my actual process is very simple. I use plain old notebooks and pens, and word documents on my computer, to plan all my fics, from the one-shots to the multi-chapters. I start by writing down general thoughts and brainstorming, then I build a scene list and/or outline, and then, if necessary, I separate the scenes lists into chapters. Sometimes I break down the scenes even more, if I have additional ideas I don’t wan to forget or if I know I need to hit certain points in a specific scene. The process varies a little bit from project to project, but that’s basically all I do.

I did use Evernote to plan the (still unwritten….) Ark AU. I don’t know if that was the best program choice or if something else exists that would have more precisely met my needs. But that’s what I used and that’s how it is. It’s a little annoying that every time I open it, it’s been updated, and the interface looks totally different and I have to relearn where everything is. But the tagging system has worked decently to allow me to see the big picture of this complex, multi-strand, multi-character, multi-ship disaster epic of a story. I struggled to plot it for a long time because I didn’t know how to balance all of the different parts. In Evernote, I made one ‘note’ for each character, and one for each scene (in addition to miscellaneous notes about sub plots, relationships, questions, etc.). Then I tagged each of them, including tagging the scenes by chapter. So now I can look at a list of all the characters, or all the scenes, or all of the scenes in chapter 8, or whatever, but I can also look at just one particular note at a time, and not be distracted by anything else. That said, I do also have one note that is just a total scene list for the whole fic, which is pretty reminiscent of my usual outlining process.

So… somehow this helped me plot (tentatively) the whole thing, but as I’ve written almost none of it—I finished outlining this in February 2020 so in my defense… I think you can see why it stalled—I’m not yet sure if it was a successful experiment in a ‘plotting tool.’

*

Day 60: How do you start your chapters? Do you start with dialogue? Why or why not?

While I am definitely against prescriptive “writing rues” generally, as my own personal rule, I try not to start with dialogue unless I have a very good reason.

To be quite honest, I think it’s lazy. I do think that dialogue openings can be used well, if the writer acknowledges that they are intensely stylistic and, from a reader’s perspective, quite difficult. Even within fanfiction, where a line of dialogue (especially if accompanied by a dialogue tag or swiftly followed by a reference to the speaker) gives a lot more information to the reader than in original fiction, opening with dialogue still shoves the reader directly into the deep end of the scene, with very little to orient her. WHERE is the speaker? WHO is being addressed in the dialogue? WHAT is the context of the conversation? Who ELSE might be present in the scene?

There are reasons you might want to throw the reader in the aforementioned deep-end. Maybe it’s an in media res situation and you want to emphasize the overwhelming nature of the action—starting a scene with “Get down!” for example. Or maybe the overall mood is one of disorientation or floating or uncertainty, and you want to create the same effect in the reader.

But I think if you’re starting a scene with dialogue because that’s the first thing that comes to mind for you—the person who conveniently already has the setting, character list, and even future plot already in mind—and it’s just simplest and easiest to start that way, you’re doing a disservice to the reader.

For example, I actually am planning to start the next chapter of the Sleeping Beauty AU with dialogue. My POV character is in a room with multiple other characters, and she’s examining something meaningful to her and not fully listening to the conversation around her. So I want the dialogue to float around in the background, to feel unmoored, and to stand in contrast to the very precise, detailed thoughts and memories that she’s experiencing, which are grounded in physical sensations like touch.

I haven’t quite gotten it to work yet, though, in part because opening with dialogue and doing it well is, in my opinion, quite hard. The difficulty lies in alleviating the challenges the reader is experiencing and making the text fluid and easy to picture. You need to get all of that scene-setting information—the who, what, when, where, and why—in very quickly, but without being jarring. In this scene in particular, I have multiple characters, all in a comparatively unusual location, and I need to establish where they are, who exactly is there, how they’ve come to meet my POV character (which happens ‘off screen’ between the end of Ch5 and the beginning of Ch6), all on top of the character’s thoughts and feelings.

I know all of this very well. To picture the scene in my own head takes only a moment. I just think about it and I see all seven of the characters, where they’re sitting, how they’re positioned, what their facial expressions are, and I also know roughly what each of them is thinking and feeling. To describe all of this in words would take several sentences. Do I put all those sentences on the front end? Do I weave them in among other description and dialogue? Is all of it even necessary—maybe we don’t need to know who’s sitting in what order on the couch, for example.

I’ve gone over a couple of different ways to do this in my head, and I’m sure it is possible, but I’m struggling to get it all down in a coherent way. (Admittedly, I’ve only made one solid attempt. As I was describing above, I’m probably going to jump in with several false starts, and then it will suddenly click.)

My initial attempt to set up the scene relied heavily on dialogue, but when I read it over, what sounded snappy and interesting in my head just fell completely flat—because it lacked context and thus, any meaning. I think the gulf between how dialogue openings feel to the writer and how they feel to the reader is large. To the writer, they feel easy and natural. To the reader, they can feel forced and, contrary to the writer’s intention, serve as an additional reminder that this is a constructed narrative rather than an immersive experience—the opposite of natural. In other words, as I said, they’re a highly stylized form of writing.

To illustrate, this was my first try at the Chapter 6 intro:

"I still can't believe it," a lightly awed voice says from somewhere behind Clarke. "The Princess of Alpha Station really used to live in our quarters.”

She pictures Miller, sunk into the couch cushions, slowly shaking his head, the expression on his face equal parts satisfied and amused.

"Really? That's what you think is the oddest part of all this?"

"Yeah, Bry, I do. Would you prefer I gloat? About being right this whole time? Who says she's just a legend now?"

My current idea is to still start with dialogue, but to move back into a significant amount of description pretty immediately afterward, and only then add more dialogue. Even this is a little hazy, since I haven’t thought much about this fic in a while. But I do think it’s quite clear this won’t work.

As for how I DO start chapters/scenes/stories… I like to start with a strong image that sets the scene and mood of the story, and hopefully leaves the reader wanting to know more. Here are some examples of story openings I’ve written recently, which I like a lot:

When Bellamy is angered, deafening bouts of thunder shake the heavens.

The cawing of the crows—high, sharp, angry shots of sound. The buzzing of the telephone wires.

Marcus Kane's body shows up again in June, skeletal and rotting, six months after his disappearance at the turn of the year.

The sky has turned a bruised yellow, like the inside of a plum, by the time Bellamy starts seeing the robots in the fields.

At noon on the third-to-last day before Christmas, Murphy leaves the cafe, with a single peppermint mocha and a small paper bag, and heads right, walking parallel to the ocean.

The last one doesn’t seem as interesting but consider: you get the who, what, when, and where, the mystery of the paper bag and where he might be going, and also the immediate understanding that this is probably going to be a Fluffy Beach Christmas story—which is correct, that’s exactly what it is.

I’m not saying that I’m always creative or unique. I often start stories off with descriptions of the weather. And I have committed the ~~cardinal sin~~ of starting with a character waking up, heaven forbid. I don’t have any hard and fast rules for myself other than that I try to avoid dialogue, or at least, be careful about its use (another example: I use dialogue to start off Mad Women—but it reads like narration, until it’s rudely interrupted, a sort of in-joke/reference/twist). I try to match the mood of the story and, as I said, include something that will create a question for the reader, some version of why, that the rest of the story will answer.

*

Day 61: Do you describe the weather? Try changing a scene you wrote by adding weather effects.

After writing a book for the last question, here’s an easy one! Yes, I describe the weather. A lot. Often. In detail.

(Though if we’re talking about the Sleeping Beauty AU as my “current wip,” I actually don’t do much weather describing there, because 4 of the 6 chapters take place in a location with no weather.)

 *

Day 62: What is your favorite thing to write about?

Honestly I like to write about people being dramatic about their emotions. That’s what I’ve discovered while writing my surprisingly self-indulgent Troped fic: I want to describe people acting as if Everything was the Most Ever. It’s fun. Part of this is getting into the usual romantic tropes—longing, pining, exaggerated touches and glances and the like—but why stop at romance when you also have stuff like The Weather and Random Feelings to contemplate?

I also like setting scenes that I find soothing, which is part of why I like Seasonal Stories.

 *

Day 63: Are you more of a drabble/flash or a longfic/novel kind of writer?

I’m in the middle. I mostly write one-shots, and I’ve noticed that a lot of them fall in the 4-6k range. Long one-shots can get all the way to 10-12k but I feel like most of those are, semi-objectively speaking, too long, and would probably have been stronger if they were pruned down to 6k, or, better yet, never made it past 6k in the first place.

I have written some multi-chapters, or, uh, started multi-chapters, but I’m VERY bad at it. The only thing that makes me slightly less bad is being stubborn. Hence the existence of a WIP that I’ve had going for over 10 years now and refuse to call abandoned. Hence this year’s extended angst about the Sleeping Beauty AU, which is only 6 chapters but has taken me literally years to write. I don’t honestly know if I’ve ever finished a multi-chapter WIP, like, properly speaking. I’ve done some short multi-chapters that I wrote as if they were one-shots and then split up for ease of reading or, I dunno, just because. I wrote a Big Bang once, but it’s not very good. Nor very long, if I remember correctly. Generally speaking I probably shouldn’t be allowed to write novels lol—I have a lot of them in my ‘I should write this one day’ idea list—but as it so happens, no one can stop me, so here we are. I definitely have wild fantasies of writing multi-chapters with ease but I’m just a very slow writer and my ideas can’t keep up with my actual-writing. Thus one shots are much easier than multi-chaps, and one-shots on a deadline are much easier than ‘I’ll finish this whenever’ one-shots. One-shots written for events or exchanges also tend to be shorter (and, imo, better) because of the deadlines they’re written on, and are thus more likely to hit that sweet 4-6k spot than stories where I’m allowed to ramble at will.

All that said, I ALSO write a good number of drabbles/writing exercises. I used to write them more often than I do now, but still over the last five years I’ve produced 110,000+ words in free-standing scenes so like… that’s also a thing I guess.

[werevulvi]

It is the first day of yet another of my menstrual periods. Yes, I wanted to share that information with you. I want to be vulnerable and honest, for a moment. Being a woman can be a bloody mess sometimes, painful and feel shameful. And I'm writing this post to tell you why I'm not ashamed. After I've told you all about those embarrassing little things that no one wants to talk about, or hear about. That alone, you see, makes me wanna talk about it. You're welcome. This post might be very triggering for dysphoric females, but this is written with especially you in mind. But because healing is painful, I won't hold it against you if you'd rather choose to scroll past this. That is entirely up to you. The author of this post (me) is a mostly desisted/detrans woman, still male-presenting, formerly trans man. But despite my first hand knowledge of sex dysphoria, I am not particularly smooth when talking about what used to cause me dysphoria but no longer does. Sorry about that. Otherwise, I do mean well. And secondly, this post is for any women/females who get periods and just don't like it for any reasons, obviously. Now let's get right in there. *

At this point, a little over 2 years of not taking testosterone anymore, I know my body so well that I know exactly when my period will arrive, from a few days prior. I can literally feel my estrogen levels plummeting, which it typically does a few days before the uterus lining starts shedding, and this drop in estrogen production is a perfectly normal part of the cycle as a whole. Then progresterone will rise sometime during the period, and the estrogen will start increasing slowly again after you're done bleeding, and will be at the highest typically somewhere right in between periods. I tend to feel the worst when my estrogen is low, and the best when it's high.

I googled that stuff for my own sake, and I found it fascinating, and that it helps me understand what practical hell my poor body is going through.

How I feel that my estrogen is plummeting, is mostly physical, and a little bit psychological. First I get bloated and no matter how much I fart, my stomach feels tense and sometimes slightly painful. Then comes the hot flashes. First just one in a day, fairly mild. The next day it's stronger, and more than just one. That day I usually also get easily irritated, and my skin feels more sensitive. Everything feels more sensitive. It's as if I'm more exposed in some abstract way. The third day the hot flashes are really intense and often, I'm very bloated and the irritations are exchanged for a hightened awareness of everything I feel. Happier, curiouser, sadder, angrier, more of everything. Kinda like being drunk, but without the rush. I'm getting mild cramps, a light pressure deep within my lower abdomen. Like a gentle tapping on my door.

That is when I really need to make sure I have a pad put securely in my underwear, because she's close now, my period. Tapping on my door. I can feel it.

Late that day, or early the next day, I will get my period. It's always like that. Bloated, hot flashes, light cramps, hightened senses, then bam. First it's medium flow with mild cramps, so I can continue whatever I was doing and not really overthink what's going on. And no panic about staining my underwear, because I was already padded up to begin with. That gives me a feeling of security and control. Like already having coffee prepared for your untimely guest.

On the second day, however, and the following 2 after that, I will need to keep on my toes, change often and be very mindful of my clothes not getting stained, as well as exist carefully because of the pain and lack of energy. Those 3 days my flow will be extremely heavy, which requires an hourly change of the thickest possible pads, slow movements, and being generally very gentle with myself. My body needs to focus 100% on this intense process of shedding my uterus lining very fast and effectively. It's very delicate business, apparently. I will not be able to exercise, or do much of anything, during these 3 days, but I don't mind. I let my body do her thing, because she knows what she's doing, and I know best to be helpful, but not controlling. And I'm thankful that my body lets it all out so fast and effectively, allowing me to resume my normal life quickly after my period's arrival.

I'm also thankful for those 3 days of completely unashamed self-care. Yes, I will indulge in a lot of tea-drinking, movie-watching, hot showers, playing of World of Warcraft, doing low energy arts and crafts, incense burning and cupcake eating. Those 3 days are painful and draining, but they are also very healing, soothing and bring me closer to myself. They ground me, a lot. They are the painful reality that I need to sober up from my previous weeks of ranting about gender dysphoria, the up's and down's of living as a man while female, missing being on testosterone, obsessing about my gender expression, and so on. Those 3 days are when I close the door on that gender noise and... just exist with myself, my material reality, and remind myself that fresh pads, warm rice bags to soothe cramps, the need for comfortable clothes, and standing up for women's rights - are the only gender struggles I really need to be concerned with. Perhaps relatable to you as well. Perhaps not.

In other words, those 3 days may be the worst 3 days of the month for me, but they are also... kinda the best 3 days, and I don't want for my period to behave in any other way. It's perfect the way it is.

The 5th day, after the first mild-ish day and then the 3 heavy, is a medium flow again, and I'm starting to feel better physically. The cramps ease up and the bloating is gone. The hot flashes typically end sometime during the heavy flow. Then on the 6th day, my period is practically over, by my standards. Light flow, no cramps or any other issues, my life resumes to normal. The 7th and 8th day there will be some light spotting, enough to just wear a pantiliner, or even go bold and free-bleed in black briefs.

So that's how I experience my period, every time. But enough about the presumably cringey, awkward, gross, whatever you wanna call them, parts.

I wanted to talk more about how getting my period effects me mentally. It acts kind of like a "reset", not only in my endless gender chaos, but in everything. Those 3 days that I dedicate to self-care, as my body forces me to slow down and focus on being mindful, stop spinning about, sit the fuck down and re-think my situation. It definitely works as a natural "restart" similarly to going to sleep at night, but in a way that instead of just knocking me out, makes me more awake and more aware.

That sense of increased awareness and awakening, which hyper-activates my senses yet slows me down, is what also grounds me. It has become kinda like an unintentional meditation ritual. That as soon as the toilet paper turns red, everything slows down and I change. This change is vital to my mental health. It helps me rebuild myself a little, and I believe that has a lot of valuable healing properties. And that makes me thankful that I'm a woman, because I get to experience this very healing, grounding process, every month - which I had entirely forgotten about, for 5 years, when I was taking testosterone and my period didn't come.

I was of course relieved back then, that I could go on for years without a single period happening. I'm not gonna brush aside that it was a huge relief at that time, back when I was still busy being angry at my body and at nature for causing any females to bleed monthly, because it felt like a punishment for the crime of simply having been born female - but now that I have her back, my period, I don't want for her to go away. It's the ONE thing that makes me hesitate and doubt if I even wanna go back on testosterone again, despite really badly wanting most other changes. And I will grieve losing my period again, if I go back on it!

I need my period. I do not hate it. I do not feel ashamed of it. It's a painful process to go through, which I have somehow managed to turn into something beautiful, and something to be celebrated. Every time it arrives, my instant self-care routine is also a celebration. I look forward to this celebration, every month. I look forward to my period. Every. Single. Month. This is something I thought I would never, ever say. But there it is. I am thanking nature for that wonderful opportunity to sit back, relax, reflect and focus on what really matters: loving myself, and making the most out of the one life that I have.

I hope this post gave you something to think about.

[taexual]

HOLIC - 48 | jb x reader

pairing: Im Jaebum x Reader

genre: enemies to lovers au | roommate au

warnings: angst

words: 3.4k

disclaimer: i do not own the gif, please let me know if it belongs to you, so i can give proper credit

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The next few days passed by surprisingly quickly. You’ve set your mind on a fair number of things and finally relieved yourself of some of the exhausting doubts that have clouded your mind for as long as you could remember. Most importantly, you’d decided to quit your job at the gallery – and, thus, began your last week of work before you moved on, diving head-first into the dark unknown.

Knowing that you wouldn’t have to work there anymore and no longer having to stress out about your potential exhibition made every morning much easier as you no longer had to spend the first fifteen minutes after waking up cursing at every inanimate object in your way. On top of that, although plunging yourself into the abyss of uncertainty was relatively scary, you still felt alive with excitement. Not to mention, now you had much more time to find a new job, all while rehearsing the words you were going to say to Jaebum once Jackson finally called you with a way for you two to meet.

You had decided to start to work on a new version of yourself but, first, you needed to fix your relationship with Jaebum. That was the only broken thing from your past that you wanted to take into the future with you. No, “wanted” didn’t quite describe it – needed, perhaps. You needed this relationship to continue because you were afraid of your life without it. You were waiting for Jaebum to make the choice of where to go from here but, even though the reins were in his hands, you weren’t going to stop fighting for the one solid thing on an otherwise rocky foundation of your life.

This determination was a relatively new feeling for you but it was the only feeling that you were certain about. If, like Jaebum, you had to pick the most prominent emotion that you were feeling and put it into your art, you’d have picked the overflowing love and inserted it into all things around you until your surroundings were screaming as loud as your heart was.

Thinking of Jaebum was what made the wait for Jackon’s call so difficult. You went on with your life – or, tried to – choosing to busy yourself with work instead of sulking, but you couldn’t help but feel your mind wander back to him again. It was like the aforementioned love always pulled your thoughts towards him, never letting your mind stray from him for too long.

And that was how, after convincing Eva that you weren’t going to change your mind about quitting, you finished your day at work, and found yourself looking at the pictures of Jaebum you’ve taken on the day he brought you to Jackson’s studio for the first time. Looking at them brought back all the memories, especially accentuating the fight you and him had had before he gave in and finally played “Don’t Touch Me” to you.

You’d both done and said some awful things to each other that night and you could still recall how much Jaebum’s doubts about you made your chest sting. What made it hurt even more, however – actually, so much more, that for one passing moment, you thought you were having a real heart attack – was Jaebum’s confession that he was terrified of himself around you because he wasn’t thinking. Because he forgave and forgot, and kept giving you second chances every time you did something that raised red flags in his overly-alert mind.

The memory made it hard to breathe all of a sudden.

You’d been so angry and so upset with him for saying those things – for even thinking that you’d ever treat him in any way that he didn’t deserve – and then you made his fears come true by omitting the truth. By selecting which parts of your life you wanted him in. By lying, just like he was afraid you would.

Closing your laptop shut, you got up from the bed and left your room as you tried to breathe in through your nose and exhale through your mouth. It was a pathetic attempt to calm down, really, because it seemed as though your heart was now a whole separate being that was powered by your anxiety and had promptly gone into overdrive.

Breathing exercises didn’t help. Drinking water didn’t help. Lying down made it even worse.

It was the sort of wave of suffering and self-hate that you could have only been saved from if someone told you that everything was going to be okay. No, not someone—him. But he wasn’t here and it didn’t seem like it was going to be okay – hence why you were nearly shedding your skin as you tried to find a way to break out of the paralyzing chains of pain.

You’ve lived through the past few days worried and anxious but still in control. You’ve lived hoping and anticipating your conversation with Jaebum. You’ve considered what you were going to say. You’ve even rehearsed it all. But the consequences of your words is what pained you now.

You haven’t given Jaebum’s response any thought. You had set your mind on explaining yourself to him and giving him enough time and space to decide what he wanted to do but now the raw grips of panic were tearing you into pieces just at the thought of Jaebum choosing not to do this anymore. And the worst part was, you didn’t think it was fair for you to keep on fighting if he gave this up. He was just as mature as you were and he had certainly thought about this as much as you have – what would you even say if he told you to leave?

He had every right to let your relationship go because he deserved one where he would never be put in a situation like this. You didn’t think you had a right to search for ways to make him stay with you if your behavior proved to make him suffer. If you turned out to be as toxic for him as the girl you’d tried so desperately to save him from.

Suddenly, it felt like this was the last time you were standing in your kitchen. And, in a way, you were glad. You felt trapped here, in this room. You felt just as trapped in your own body – but the helpless feeling was slowly fading. Searching for an empty glass inside one of the kitchen counters calmed your heartrate down, replacing the desperate wave of fear you’d felt with a silent numbess.

It was as if a sixth sense had opened something up inside of your heart – subconsciously, you knew what was going to happen the next second, so your mind and body had to prepare in advance: you couldn’t possibly start to hyperventilate when Jackson finally called. And, as soon as you grasped the glass of water in your shaky hands, trying to keep yourself hydrated despite the pointlessness of the task, your phone finally rang.

You lunged for it, drops of water spilling on the kitchen island – empty now that Jaebum wasn’t here to eat meals with you – and nearly landing on your phone, too. You could barely keep yourself together when you saw Jackson’s name on the screen.

“Yes?” you picked up, the one word coming from the back of your throat and thus making you sound like you just woke up even though it was way past into the afternoon now.

“Hey. Sorry it took me so long to call you back,” Jackson started and you couldn’t help but notice the voices in the back of his call. You wondered if Jaebum was there with him. “I—I’ve found a way for you to talk to him.”

Your entire chest seemed to expand to provide more space for your wild heart as it continuously banged against every single rib in your ribcage.

“You did?” you asked, the words coming out in a huff.

“Yeah. There’s, uh, this party his label is hosting this Friday,” Jackson said, quieter now as if he was trusting you with a big secret. “We’ve both been invited and, even though he said he’s not going, I’ll drag him there myself. One of the producers owns this club downtown, so we’re getting a private lounge, and, you know, it seems like a good spot as any for a serious conversation. Away from the maddening crowd, so to speak.”

“Yes, yes, that sounds perfect,” you were nodding frantically. “Are you sure you can get him to come, though? Jaebum isn’t really someone that gives in to persuasion easily.”

“That’s true but alcohol makes this much easier for me,” Jackson replied. “He won’t miss a chance to get drunk. Especially amidst all that’s happening, you know?”

“Yeah. Right.”

“So, anyway,” he added quickly after catching the discouraged tone in your voice. “I’ll send you the address and let the security know you’re my plus-one.”

“Okay,” you inhaled deeply, “thank you so much. I-I—you have no idea how much I appreciate this.”

Shuffling was heard on the other end – from the sound of it, you assumed Jackson was avoiding a group of people that just walked past him – before he replied, “it’s alright. You can pay me back by getting back together. There might be a million-dollar song on the line here, yeah? He can’t write it if he’s not with you.”

“I—”

“I’ll see you Friday,” Jackson said. He must have known you could never find what to say whenever the topic of Jaebum writing a song about you was brought up. “Don’t overthink this, okay? Jaebum might not show it, but I have no doubt that he’s dying to talk to you, too.”

Friday turned out to be an eventful day. For one, it was your official last day at the gallery – handing in the employee badge that you’ve worn around your neck for the past few years was rather bittersweet: relieving, on the one hand, but also rather glum – but it was also the night of Jaebum’s party. It truly felt like today was going to be the last day of your old life – one last hoorah before you started a new era – and you even debated getting a haircut, to really imprint the change that was coming.

As it turned out, you didn’t have any time for a haircut. You barely had enough time to decide on an outfit before, packing up your phone, wallet, keys, panic, and anxiety, you walked out of the door of your empty apartment and headed downstairs to catch a cab.

The ride to the club wasn’t very long, so you didn’t have enough time to rehearse the words you planned to tell Jaebum one more time, but that didn’t really worry you much. You had a feeling your entire thought process was going to end up in shambles as soon as you saw him, anyway.

Once the cab stopped and you stepped into a busy street, it took you a good minute to find Jackson – if he wasn’t waving his hand like a madman, you’d have probably missed him – and then another minute to actually reach him as the people, crowding outside of the club, were very intent on pulling you to the back of the line.

“Hi, sorry there’s such a commotion here,” Jackson said once you finally made it to the door. “I’ve told them it wouldn’t be smart to throw a private party at a club that already goes over capacity every Friday night as it is but no one ever listens to me. Should we go in?”

You nodded, too out of breath to actually respond, and followed him inside. The security guard merely glanced at you before nodding and allowing you two to enter – Jackson, clearly, was a familiar face – and, before you could even prepare yourself properly, you were suddenly listening to the same loud, organ-clenching EDM song that Jaebum was probably listening to.

“Alright,” Jackson stated—and then repeated himself louder when you squinted your eyes as if that could help you hear him better. “Jaebum is upstairs. He got here first and I told him to wait for me in the lounge.”

“Okay—”

You had already turned towards the staircase at the back of the club but Jackson grabbed your hand. “Ah, hold on—you need a drink before you go see him. Let’s take a quick detour to the bar, yeah?”

You had to admit, that wasn’t such a bad idea, so you allowed him to pull you towards the bar where a few girls were already dancing on the bartop lit up by dozens of neon-LED lights. The atmosphere in the club was buzzing with life and it was so electrifying, you were surprised to find yourself loosening up even before you had your first drink.

Jackson took the liberty of ordering while you were too busy watching the captivating dance moves of one of the bartop girls – for someone who seemed as drunk as she was, her movements were surprisingly smooth and, honestly, rather captivating.

“I’m sorry if that’s out of line for me to say,” Jackson spoke, distracting your attention, “but you look different. How have you been doing?”

“Oh. I’m—well, I’ve been trying to move on from the things that made my life miserable,” you said but weren’t sure how much he heard because, just as you started to speak, the DJ changed the song, and the gaggle of young-adults next to you proceeded to screech at the top of their lungs. “Uh, unfortunately, I can’t move on from my own self, so I’ve been trying to make a change in my life instead. I-I guess that might be why I look different.”

“That’s good!” Jackson nodded enthusiastically, not hearing all that you’ve said but definitely catching the most important parts. “I didn’t say it was a bad different. What have you changed so far?”

“I’ve, uh—” once again, you got interrupted by the bartender bringing you and Jackson the drinks he’d ordered, “I’ve quit my job.”

Jackson’s enthusiastic smile suddenly faltered, “oh, shit. You did? What are you doing now?”

“Nothing, really. Searching for a new one,” you replied with a small shrug. “Something behind the stage, preferably. I’ve had enough customer service experience to last me a lifetime.”

He chuckled at this, picking up his drink and encouraging you to do the same. Somehow, you’ve never tried rum before but, after just a sip of the Cuba Libre in your hand, you couldn’t really tell why. It tasted far more like coke than rum and yet you could still feel the buzzing effects of the alcohol as it entered your bloodstream.

“Yeah, I suppose galleries don’t get the best specimen when it comes to clients,” Jackson said once he emptied his glass. “What about your exhibition?”

“Oh,” you took a final sip and put the empty glass down – carefully, so the girl dancing on the bartop nearby wouldn’t accidentally kick it over, “that’s not happening. I’ve said some pretty fancy words to Jiho the last time I saw him, so it’s over. I’m not really hosting one anymore.”

Jackson noted that you didn’t look overly upset about that – in fact, he was sure he saw you smile when you mentioned the last conversation with Jiho you’ve had – but he’s been around enough artists to know how deep the wounds inflicted by a crushed dream could be.

“Well, why don’t you come to me?” he offered.

You frowned, unsure what he meant. “What?”

“To work, I mean,” he explained. “You already know how big my family is on art. We’ve been investing in artists that aren’t just musicians. Actually, my very first job was modeling, did I ever tell you that? My parents hosted this whole photoshoot for me when I was, probably, two months old? The photographer said I was a star.”

You laughed. “Oh, wow, over twenty years in the modeling industry and you’re not even thirty. That’s impressive.”

“I know, right?” he played along, smirking. “But, anyway—why don’t you think about it? Not modeling, I mean. Photography. My family—they’re nice people. We look out for each other and it’s always art that comes first for us.”

It felt like a rather witty—and subtle, no doubt—way to chastise you for choosing to work with someone who thought of publicity before thinking of the art, and you felt your face heat up as you looked away from him.

“T-that’s good,” you commented awkwardly, not having expected to get scolded—yet again—on your decisions by someone who wasn’t Jaebum. You’d prepared yourself for his opinion only. “That’s a great attitude.”

“It is. I think so, too,” Jackson said, not noticing—or, choosing not to notice—your embarrassed state. “And you’re a talented artist. I understand that your mind is probably elsewhere right now—”

“Yeah,” you stretched nervously, “sort of.”

“—but do know that your dream isn’t entirely hopeless, okay?” he finished. “If you want something enough, there will always be a way to make it happen. I’m here for you.”

You’ve heard these words before but they seemed to have a different meaning tonight. Perhaps because you finally realized what the thing you wanted more than anything was.

“Thank you, Jackson,” you said, the thoughts of Jaebum being nearby doing the work that the rum and coke didn’t. You felt positively intoxicated already. “Seriously, I—I can’t thank you enough.”

“Don’t mention it,” Jackson waved his hand and then helped you stand from the bar stool as soon as he realized your mind could only be distracted from Jaebum for so long. “Now go. Talk to him.”

You exhaled shakily, closing your eyes for a few moments to mentally prepare yourself. “Right. I’m going.”

“Everything will be okay,” Jackson reminded you, “as long as you focus on what’s really important.”

You nodded one last time and then allowed his warm smile to push you towards the stairs, leading up to the VIP lounge where Jaebum thought he was waiting for Jackson.

With each step that you took, coming closer and closer to seeing him, you kept thinking about what so many people have said to you the past few weeks – if you wanted something enough, you could find a way to make it happen. They’ve all been talking about your ambitions in life – the exhibitions and the career as a photographer – but, the truth was, those were the things you’d have liked to have but they weren’t exactly the things that you wanted.

What you wanted the most in life – with ten more steps separating you from Jaebum – was to have a purpose. To have it and not to lose it. And you knew what the purpose of life was because you had it found it way before you met Jiho or even started to think about hosting any exhibitions.

Love.

As corny and cliché as it was, that was it. Everyone knew it but they liked to pretend that they didn’t. They searched for something else – money, work, children – but, at the end of the day, it always came down to love. The strongest emotion a living creature was able to feel, so much stronger and all-consuming than any shape or form of anger or hatred.

Knocking on the door and waiting, you were able to understand that love might have started wars but love ended them, too. Love was the beginning and love was the end. And – as you watched Jaebum’s red eyes appear behind the black door of the private lounge room – you knew you didn’t want your love to end. You knew you couldn’t lose your purpose in life.

“Jaebum,” you exhaled, the loud music from the club downstairs almost drowning out your voice. He stopped short at the sight of you. You couldn’t see it but, inside of his chest, a heart that seemed to freeze when he left your shared apartment, was slowly beginning to beat again. “Can we talk?”

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