#wrote this while procrastinating an actual essay are you proud of me

[applestorms]

i'm in a bit of a john mood atm, so i wanted to write a post about some of the things that i think fanon gets wrong about him. the biggest thing is that imo a lot of people flatten john a ton in considering him the poster child for Homestuck™ as a story, which sucks because i think it should go the opposite way around. he's the prototype kid, yes, but that just means his unique traits have interesting implications for the rest of the story and homestuck's core themes, not that he doesnt have any unique traits to begin with. john informs homestuck of its themes, the story doesn't inform him of his character traits; sburb gives him the kernelsprite, but he & his friends are the ones doing the prototyping.

so, then, what are those character traits? who is john as a person and how does that inform the story as a whole?

TL;DR: if jade's overarching story arc is about the struggle of loneliness & isolation, john's is about the feeling of falling behind your peers, which is why i think his ending the story depressed works so well

trapped in the s(u)burbs

okay, argument: SBURB is clearly pronounced "sss-burb," like suburb but skipping over the first u. when the kids enter the session they are basically trapped in the world of the game until they can beat it and make the new universe -> they are trapped in the s(u)burbs -> they are home, stuck.

this is a weird line of thought but it's kinda interesting to go through the ways that the (human) kids are trapped in their homes, both physically and emotionally. rose is stuck in that she lives seemingly in the middle of fuckin' nowhere surrounded by a forest, dave is stuck in his apartment due to being watched by an abusive parent, and jade, jake, roxy, & dirk are all stuck in the middle of the ocean. john (and jane) however? they're just in the suburbs.

idk how much this cultural context translates to people living in other countries, but john & jane's original neighborhood is the fucking Epitome of modern american suburbia. i cannot emphasize enough just how much i fucking despise neighborhoods like this: sprawling and empty, they are a modern labyrinth to navigate. every single house looks like it was copy and pasted one spot over, the streets are all named the same thing but with slight differences ("Bluejay Road" vs. "Bluejay Lane" vs "Bluebird Court" HELL), driving through them is agony and walking is impossible. my dad pointed out to me one time that every single house looks like it was painted with a different shade of baby shit and he was correct. and this is not even mentioning the people that live there: i don't want to overgeneralize too much, but these houses are usually pretty big and the fact that they're supposed to be a "safer" place to raise kids makes them decently expensive, so these places are generally very white, very upper-middle class, and you can just. Feel It in the air

so this is where john starts his story. the page (A1:82) was one of the first things that caught my eye when reading homestuck originally, even as a dumb little preteen the age of the characters themselves with barely any greater social consciousness. john starts the story fucking around in his room, talking to all of his friends online, and who could ever blame him when it's such an american wasteland outside. not to get too far into my opinions on american architecture, but if you live anywhere in the united states and ESPECIALLY the suburbs you are basically trapped in the house until you can get your license at 16, transportation entirely at the whims of where your parents can/want to drive you. it makes sense, then, that john's aspect is breath and so heavily tied to transportation, a desire to get out and moving and interacting with the world. the sick irony of sburb, imo, is how that desire is later twisted against him.

when john first enters the session, meteors are beginning to destroy the world and the rest of the entire human population of earth. but to a kid for whom the entire world feels so far away and empty, how much does that really matter? especially when your internet friends, the few people you actually care about, are just going to enter the same game and escape along with you. speaking of,

2. social anxiety & internet friends

one thing i really like about the alpha kids is the fact that you can kinda reverse engineer them and their core character traits from the beta kids, which actually still works within the logic of canon if you consider their biological relationships. not only do the alphas and betas share chumhandle initials, but the person they share with is also the person they are most similar to across generational lines:

rose & dirk are both anal retentive motherfuckers + rose's interest in psychology informs dirk's interest in philosophy/old greek dudes, roxy & dave care about their friends to a fault and serve their needs constantly (emotionally vs. practically, maybe; and also maybe are in love with all their friends to some degree or another too?), jane & jade both have ties with their respective universe-iteration's first guardian and are mentally separated from everyone else at the start of their arcs (jane by not believing roxy and jade by getting prospit visions).

imo rose & dirk have the strongest connection and jade & jane the weakest, and each kid is also pretty unique on their own + informed by their more direct familial relationship too, but i think the chumhandle connection is key in understanding how the characters were initially created in terms of basic personalities, likes, dislikes, etc. since it fits with the stacking nature of how homestuck as a whole functions, both as a story and a world.

so: john & jake. i think fandom has actually done a good job with learning how to appreciate jake better in recent years by figuring out just how much of a persona he puts on to hide his intelligence, but since this is a john post, what's really interesting to me is how that might inform the way we view john.

to start, there are some really obvious connections between john & jake that are as clear as jake's first letter to john (A4:1955): both like pretty shitty movies, are allergic to peanuts, and they're practically identical in terms of appearance. what i see as the key connection however, which informs the entirety of homestuck's medium, is their shared social anxiety.

jake is a very socially anxious dude. all of the alphas are characterized by their inability to communicate and navigate interpersonal relationships, but this is especially true for jake, and i think the most obvious evidence for this is in the specific kind of character that he creates for himself. while realistically we know that jake spends most of his time (pre-brobot, at least) watching movies alone in his room, he specifically likes to take on the persona of an adventurous, extroverted action hero, charming and gentlemanly and generally a dumb jock. it's the dumb part that's important here: jake pretends to be a dumbass himbo so that when he fucks up and hurts people when he manipulates them into doing what he wants, he doesn't have to shoulder as much guilt/blame. he plays up being stupid specifically to avoid the agony of people being mad at him, caring way too much about other people's opinions (A6A2:4587). it's why the trickster arc is so painful for him, and also why he is so non-confrontational.

john is also pretty socially anxious, though i think it's a lot more subtle for him since john's upbeat personality isn't entirely a facade in the way that it is for jake. the most obvious evidence for this is again the fact that he only talks to, like, three people online and his dad. despite being 13, none of these kids ever mention jack shit about school or the other members of humanity about to be murdered by meteors from their own game, and i think that's more than just a necessity of the story considering how much homestuck seems to value realism (at least in terms of characters' emotional reactions & arc). john's dad (as pipefan413) clearly knows the neighbors since in the serious business chatting app you can see fedorafreak & the others also talking about escaping meteors, but the existence of any other kids in the neighborhood is unknown, though i would think likely considering john's early arc is set up to be as normal as possible to set up for the crazy bullshit later. (there's also the whole thing about john's peanut allergy + fear of the "peanut gallery" so)

since homestuck tells almost its entire story through the chatlogs of awkward teenagers, this is one key place where i think john's personality informs homestuck: namely, in its focus on isolation, loneliness, and growing up. SPEAKING OF,

3. childhood ignorance

jake isn't dumb, john isn't dumb, but why do so many people think that they are? for jake it's pretty clearly cause he wants it that way, but for john... i think it's cause he kind of. is? but also, he isn't. let me explain:

john often comes across to me as the most 13 year old 13 year old in the cast of homestuck. he's a sweet kid and intelligent enough for his age, but when that age is 13, there's not necessarily a lot there. john has also had the closest (closest. there's still a lot of weird shit there) thing to a Normal™ childhood out of the entire cast of homestuck (and yes that includes jane, she was the heiress to a corporate empire avoiding assassination attempts at 16, please don't call that shit normal), meaning that, in my opinion, a lot of his (lack of) maturity can be attributed to growing up pretty sheltered. where dave and rose had to contend with overt childhood abuse through toxic/neglectful parents, and even jade had to deal with a dog-parent & dead grandpa, john got a dad that actually cared about him.

this is not a bad thing in and of itself, but john being sheltered does mean that by the time they are actually entering the game and interacting with all these other worlds & alien peoples, he is imbued with a certain distinct ignorance of the greater world that becomes a very significant weakness in a story fucking dripping with semi-omniscient narrators that live to make you suffer. and, from the way he scribbles on the walls (A3:1049), this is something john is both aware of and frustrated with, calling himself a FOOL, tying to the tarot card (#1, his role as protagonist), the harlequin thing (clowns & their incredible pull on the meta of homestuck), & his anxieties (feeling ignorant & out of your depth stepping out of childhood into a world much broader and more complex and cruel than you're prepared for)

4. not a homosexual

i think i'm gonna run out of space here, so i'm just gonna copy & paste some hussie commentary here & maybe reblog this w/ some analysis of john & karkat's dynamic/parallels as "leaders" later (and maybe some june thoughts too):

5. successfully saved the world: the hero is depressed

okay, so earlier in part 1 i ended with a question:

but to a kid for whom the entire world feels so far away and empty, how much does that really matter?

i mostly left the answer to this implied earlier since it made more sense for the transition, but i think homestuck proper does give us an answer to this: it does matter! it just isn't until the end of the story, after they've won the game and finished the session, that it really starts to set in the extent of what they've lost.

so this entire post was largely motivated by another post i read earlier, which questioned why john in the snapchat credits didn't just go to live with the crockers. i gave a long ass commentary in the notes on that post, but my conclusion was basically this: john is depressed (!!!) and depression makes you apathetic & lose all motivation to do anything.

i've focused a lot on john's early life and the beginning of the story in this post, which is maybe in part because i've been rereading from the beginning recently, but also because john kind of loses touch with everyone else in the story as soon as he enters the session.

i think this is often read as just being a product of john's classpect, heir of breath. john doesn't just inherit breath when he godtiers, he also becomes it in a very literal sense (can't fucking find the page where he transforms into wind but ugh, whatever), so he when he literally loses touch with the reality of the story after gaining his retcon powers, it follows with the thematic concept of him being breath. this isn't bad, but i think it also goes further, again connecting with that idea that john is basically the "main character" of homestuck, which is actually a very unfortunate title as it means john in particular gets very wrapped up sburb & the story as a whole in a very literal sense. again: retcon powers.

for all my frustrations with the execution of the retcon, i can't deny that it makes a shit ton of sense for john to get those kinds of powers, since his character and position as the starting kid has always been so closely entwined with the story of homestuck as a whole (see: the entire rest of this post). it also ties back to that idea of john being particularly vulnerable as a naive kid in a world of maliciously omniscient characters (e.g. doc scratch, but also vriska/terezi & all of the trolls to some degree), puppetted around by the story and slowly losing all connections with "reality" and the rest of the cast (his friends!!)

you know all those scenes where john starts interacting w/ the shittily-drawn caliborn versions of all his friends? (or this page: (A6I5:6207)) that has always come across as kind of sad to me, because it feels representative of john's (lack of) connections to his friends by that point in the story. he gets so swept up in Plot Bullshit that he basically loses most of the contact he has w/ the people that were his closest friends for years (ik people hate inversion theory but he & karkat really are complementary in some ways), and that loss of connection just exacerbates his previous anxieties about being ignorant. the conversation between him, dave, & karkat on the meteor is really revealing of this (A6A6I5:7487). where dave & karkat & everyone else got three years to sort through their shit together, john was getting dragged off to make the story make sense again, technically completely losing everyone he had known and grown up with. it's not just that dad crocker is different: everyone is different.

(this also has the kind of even more depressing alternate implication that john doesn't even really get the chance to feel that difference outside of jade, since he wasn't able to connect with "his" original dave, rose, etc. in the pre-retcon timeline regardless. great!)

john's depression has always been one of my favorite parts of his character arc tbh, which ig is a weird thing to say, but it just makes so much sense to me as the next step in his story, if not the true conclusion. it's only after winning the game that john really starts to catch up with everyone else in terms of maturity and understanding, and by that point, when everyone already feels so far ahead, how could he possibly catch up? (the answer is that he can, just not alone, but it is that exact feeling of not being able to that makes him isolate in the first place. depression is a fucking shithole)

so much of homestuck is about loneliness, but in turn so much of homestuck is also about social connections, about the people around you that you love and care about and change your life. where karkat is able to heal the connections of the people around him by helping them through their interpersonal relationship bullshit, john gets caught in the wind of the plot and loses his connections, thus losing his ability to really mature as a person at the same rate as everyone else (not to mention how he might've felt behind in the first place). but still, even w/ john's arc ending on a heavy, perhaps unsatisfying note at the end of homestuck proper, i like to think there's still a lot of hope for him: after all, his dearest friends and family are all right there. he just needs to get off his ass and start talking to them.

(sidenote: while editing this part of the post, i suddenly realized just how sad it is that karkat and john talk so goddamn little in all of the post-canon shit. which fucking sucks actually because karkat would be the perfect person to yell at someone until they finally get off their ass and start trying to be a person again, exactly what john needs after the game imho. pumpkin route you are forming in my mind)

uhh anyways, i don't know how good of a job i did at tying this post back to my original goal, but if you read this far, thank you. i have been typing nonstop for like four straight hours (ᵃⁿᵈ ᵗʰᶦʳᵗᵉᵉⁿ ᵐᶦⁿᵘᵗᵉˢˀ) and i think my right ring finger is about to fall off.

bonus: 6. john is hussie???

OKAY, actual finale, this is quick and dumb but this idea comes pretty much entirely from a couple random lines of hussie commentary from a john & dave conversation on (A2:324):

John makes some pretty sassy quips here. I like the "15th day in a row" line, which makes sense since I was the one who actually said it in a real conversation about this.

most people make the connection between hussie & dave (& dirk, i suppose) since dave's sense of humor is basically just unfiltered hussie, but this comment makes me wonder what was put into john too (though i suppose you could consider all fictional characters imbued with some aspect of their author). i'm not super into psychoanalyzing hussie as a person through homestuck itself, but if you're into that, here ya go.

[tumblydovereviews]

What Failing NaNoWriMo Taught Me

This is a change in subject from the usual media posts, but I wanted to try and broad out the scope of my writing a bit.

If you are even remotely familiar with the online writing community, you will probably know what NaNoWriMo is. Every November, writers from all around the world scramble to start an all-new story and to finish that very story by the last day of the month. And, did I mention that this novel needs to be 50,000 words at the least?

Being the bored person I am, I decided to take a risk and try the challenge out. And thus, half my October was spent forming a new world with new characters and a unique plot. On November 1st, I gathered up my supplies, booted up my laptop and started the grand journey into the wild west that is NaNo season.

Obviously, if you read the title of this article, you would know how that went.

I wrote only approximately 29,000 words for my novel. That's it. Out of the 50,000 words I was planning on writing, I barely made it half-way through.

But yet, despite my technical failure, I don't think competing in NaNoWriMo was a complete waste. I learned quite a few lessons from the journey, both writing and non-writing related, and I'm here to share them with you.

Hydrate, hydrate, HYDRATE: Like many others, I have trouble keeping a consistent amount of water in my daily diet. Somedays, I'll hardly drink any at all and on others, chugging down is all that I'll do. A few years ago, my lack of hydration actually landed me in the ER on an IV. Most of the time, we are taught only to drink water to keep our bodies going. But, I learned that when I was sufficiently hydrated while writing, I could go on for much longer periods of time compared to when I was thirsty. As it turns out, drinking water and fluids can also have a positive impact on our brain function!

Create goals based off your personal style: I'm not too bad of a chronic procrastinator. Like all of us have, occasionally I'll put projects aside towards the last minute, but for the most part, I'm a pretty good worker. My problem is working consistently- I concentrate much better in controlled bursts of time than in a long session, but at the same time, I don't like leaving work unfinished. If I start a chapter, I'm going to finish it no matter what, for better or for worse. For NaNoWriMo, I decided to aim on finishing at least one chapter of my story per day. That way, I would have a manageable amount of work while still staying productive in the process.

At the same time, life is WAY more important than writing: Throughout November, Thanksgiving, school, and the start of the holidays in general impeded my ability to write as much as I could have. And that's okay! Writing is just one part of my life, not my entire well-being. I try to divide the different aspects of my life into certain 'parts,' from my academic part to my author part for tumblydovereviews. This helps me to throw away any worries I mayhave about another 'part,' and instead focus my whole self onto one part at a time.

Grow a closer bond with your characters: I loved my characters. I thought about them throughout the day and as I wrote. I came up with their favorite activities, movies, and foods, and imagined scenarios for them in my head. In a way, this made writing them easier as I knew more about how they would react and why.

And, if no matter what you try, you still fail NaNoWriMo...: That's okay! Remember, the entire point of this challenge is to have fun while also completing a story in the process. No matter what happens, I'm proud of you for trying. You're doing great!

Will I decide to complete NaNoWriMo again next year? It remains to be seen. But one thing remains clear: even through my failure, I still love to write. I still love to read. I still want to create stories and worlds and essays. And, nothing will stop me from doing that.

[the-ethereal-lorestar]

Meta Writing/Literary Analysis, Fandoms & Gushing about TJLC Explained

Those of you who wrote meta for your fandoms, wrote fanfiction, and made fanart, I am inspired by you. I watched a series of YouTube videos about someone dedicating their channel to one show that they love and analyzing it. It made me think about some literary analysis papers I made while studying in college.

I'm a procrastinator. I don't have any papers that I haven't done at the last minute while studying in college for my English degree. Usually, I'm not proud of the papers I made, although I made good grades on them. I wonder if I wouldn't feel so bad on the papers I wrote if I hadn't procrastinated? Most likely.

These are some topics I wrote about. I plan on rewriting them in the future, but how long that will take is beyond me. I have an idea, but it would be interesting to know how many people are most interested in which topic.

Topics:

Is Shakespeare sexist or feminist?

Why do I like the Movie Howl's Moving Castle when people around me are confused by it?

(I don't quite remember the topic exactly) Study of the Dystopian Genre with Larissa Lai's Salt Fish Girl

Homeschool, and why it's better then public school | How Public School could've Affected my Growth

Some info on these topics:

The first topic on my list was a set theme from a premade list by my teacher. I found it interesting for the fact that when I read Shakespeare I was getting mixed signals by his views. I found a paper that I could've added to the paper, but I couldn't 'cause procrastination.

The second point on this list is when I realized that although I loved these movies, my immediate family and other people close to me were confused by the movie? It was a exploration on my standards in the media I interact with. I usually go with the potential of the thing rather then if the actual thing is good. Is the movie Howl's Moving Castle objectively good?

The third point on the list is the testament of my burn out from going to college. I couldn't focus on anything I wanted to. Let alone read the dystopian classics within a week. This paper is where I want to circle back to the most, because the book Salt Fish Girl, became one of my favorite books, and the topic is fascinating to me.

The last point is self-explanatory. I used this book about homeschooling in high school and found a lot of good stuff in there. I also went back to the topic while I was in college. I envy the people who was so into the media and subjects they loved, and looked to how I was taught growing up to see if I could've been like my peers if I had been in a different school setting.

Unfinished Topics and Literary Analysis in the Future:

What YouTube channel inspired me to write this post, design a blog, and want to write my own Meta in the future for fandoms I enjoy?

TJLC explained

YEARS too late finding this channel, but I'm still glad I came across it. Was a sort of dramatic irony, watching her channel after the fact of series 4 of BBC Sherlock (for those who don't know, TJLC is "The JohnLock Conspiracy" for having Sherlock Holmes and John Watson actually be endgame).

Despite this, even if they never came back for her retrospective after series 4 aired, I still would've found her analysis spectacular. I don't think it mattered that it was "wrong" (for those who watched it understand why I put this in quotations, for those who don't, watch her videos, it's worth it), but how well executed it was.

I adored how they included mirrors, parallel's, symbolism. I mean, there were a lot, lol. It made me think about writing in symbolism differently. It's like a how-to video on writing subtext and exploring characters and symbolism. The phone stands for the heart!!!

I had no idea that there was meta for the theories of TJLC. I never heard of essays of fan theories referred to as "Meta" before. After I finished the videos, and read their fix-it fic (I'm pretty sure it could be considered a fix-it fic, she re-wrote series 4), I thought about my unpolished papers.

Here's the fic they wrote, if anyone is interested:

I'm hoping that making my blog on Wix would help me kick myself in gear into doing these things. Maybe a different environment could help. I dunno why, but for some reason I'm convinced of this. In three weeks, May 15th, I'll give an update. Whatever helps.

[espithewarlock]

Some end-of-2023 asks that didn't get asked but I'm answering them anyways! Some are from AO3 Wrapped and some are from the more general 2023 reblog.

How many works did you publish this year?

20! It's so much more than I thought I would post, let alone write!

What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

Bittersweet, That Glitter (aka, Dragon!Pierre) by a long shot. I love the fantasy & worldbuilding and it's some of my best stuff. (I also loved dropping it on Sol unexpectedly and having her start shouting at me within a minute of posting it. Seriously, AO3, you chose then to be speedy with email notifications??)

What work of yours has the most hits?

My Pierre/Charles/Max Soulmark AU. Probably because it's one of the few chaptered fics that I have and probably because it's lestappen tagged. Of my oneshots, Omega!Pierre just beats OnlyFans!Charles by a few hits.

What work was the quickest to write?

I started Take, Take Me Over at 6:30am, wrote 1.9k words, edited, and posted it by 8:30am. (Then I went to the gym and found the perfect song inspiration. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ )

What work took you the longest to write?

Another Deep Dive All The Way Down (aka, the Carlando Coffeeshop AU that's a companion to Mermaid!Charles) probably had the longest time start to finish because I kept procrastinating writing the ending.

What’s your shortest work of the year?

I wrote exactly 1,016 words for the short-fic prompt challenge, Trading Controllers, and I'm impressed at how much story I squeezed into just over a thousand words.

How many kudos in total did you get this year?

I'm sitting at 2,307 while I'm writing this and that is simply insane! I'm done posting Coffeeshop and I'm hoping to get a few more on that one since it's now 100% complete. Honestly, the fact that over two thousand people have liked my stuff enough to say they like my stuff is incredible!

Which work has the most comments?

By sheer number? Soulmark AU at 66 comment threads, but that averages to 3.9 per chapter. Mermaid!Charles has 4.1 per chapter, for comparison. Of my oneshots, Nymph!Pierre has 8 (including an ESSAY that makes me 🥰), Baker!Pierre has 7, and OnlyFans!Charles has 7.

What do you listen to while writing?

I actually usually listen to Twitch streams. The video game music + the commentary/content gives me something to flip back to while I'm thinking over story ideas and doesn't pull me out of the writing flow like listening to distinct songs.

Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

It's so hard to pick just one! Here's some of my favorites: 1. The 'little squid' bit from Nymph!Pierre 2. The whole meet-cute scene from Baker!Pierre (+ Kimi's "But that did not go well") 3. The line from Dragon!Pierre after he leaves ("Now that he knew the warmth of Charles' hands, of his mouth, on his body, there was no way the sun could compare.") 4. The absolute heartbreak of Pierre saying goodbye to Mermaid!Charles 5. OnlyFans!Charles pointing to himself ("what a coincidence! I also like your shirt.")

Talk about a new friend you made this year

Literally everyone in the Calamar's Club, but especially Logan & Sol. Sol for being the sweetest person ever, letting me be insane about dragons, and inviting me to the server after seeing me shout into the void for friends. Logan for dragging me into the chaos, the constant encouragement of everyone, and for making me melt every time they react to anything I post.

How was your birthday this year?

Excellent! I visited my sister, went to her wedding dress fitting, and we saw the musical Six! It was my first time seeing it and it was AMAZING.

Favorite book(s) you read this year?

The House in the Cerulean Sea by TJ Klune & The Near Witch by VE Schwab

What are you excited about for next year?

Posting my PWFE fic, meeting up with a local-ish fandom friend, and hopefully planning my first overseas trip!

If you could send a message to yourself back on the first day of the year, what would it be?

Read your fucking comments, Espi! You could have been making new friends and having fun conversations all year and you were too much of a coward to try that until ~September~. Most of them are lovely and you should ignore the ones that aren't!

Did you keep any New Year’s Resolutions?

Yep! I resolved to start lifting at the gym (instead of just doing cardio) and I've made pretty good progress! Going to continue into next year for sure!

[onecanonlife]

Wilbur wakes up one morning to find white in his hair. This is—irritating, for several reasons, but that’s all it is. An annoyance. A distraction.

There’s nothing deeper at work here. There’s nothing wrong at all.

(Or, the stresses of the presidency give Wilbur a white streak of hair earlier in canon, and somehow, this serves as the cry for help he can never bring himself to make.)

(word count: 6,249)

(first part) (third part) (fourth part)

——————–

Part Two

He tries to pen a letter to Phil. It’s more difficult than he remembers.

Dear Phil, he starts, and that’s good, that’s fine. All is well here in L’Manberg, he continues, and that’s good too. But from there, he’s stumped. What next? What does he tell him about? This is the part where he’d launch into a cute story, something Fundy got up to, or some trouble Tommy caused. But nothing comes to mind. Nothing recent, anyway. But the last letter he sent to Phil was—a month ago? Two, now? So he needs to write, because Phil’s far from a helicopter parent, but he still likes to know what he’s up to. Will still worry, if he gives him a reason to.

So, he needs to finish a letter. Needs to stop procrastinating.

He could write about Niki’s bakery. He can’t remember if he told Phil about it or not. He probably hasn’t, not if it’s truly been that long since his last missive. So he sets his pen to work, scratching out a few more sentences, and he reminds himself that he doesn’t need to be overly verbose. Phil doesn’t need an essay. Just a paragraph or two to assure him that he and everyone else are well, that he’s having fun, that he’s thriving.

Telling him about the bakery will work for that. Except, then, after a bit, he ends up writing, It eases my mind to visit. Truly, it’s one of the only places I let myself relax, and—no. No, that won’t do. That will make him sound as though he’s stressed, and he doesn’t want Phil to worry about that. There’s nothing Phil can do about it, and he couldn’t stand it if the admission led his father to think any less of him. He’s not going to—to start complaining to him. That would be ridiculous.

So he scratches the line out and continues on, except then, he writes, I worry that I’m shirking my responsibilities, but then, I’m probably doing that anyway, simply by virtue of not being, and he stops before he can finish that sentence, because, no. Simply, no. He is absolutely not telling Phil that.

He bites his lip. He’s already scratched out enough that he’ll probably need to start an entirely new draft anyway.

He sets the tip of the pen to paper.

I’m exhausted, he writes, but my mind won’t allow me to rest. Too many shadows in too many dark corners, I suppose. Too many thoughts circling. It’s like a hurricane in my head, and I should be in the eye, but I think the storm wall has caught me. I’m tossing in the air, at the wind’s mercy, and I’m afraid of what will happen when I fall.

I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know why I ever assumed that I did. And I feel afraid, because my inadequacies are failing everyone around me. I have to protect them, have to keep them safe, but sometimes I close my eyes and see everything aflame, or I see Dream and his friends flooding into the Final Control Room. We were betrayed, there. I’ve never told you this, but we all lost a life. Me, Tommy, Tubbo, and Fundy. I couldn’t do a thing to stop it. Somehow, I never thought that dying would be terrifying for me, considering who my mother is, but it is. I was so scared, and I still am.

I think I’m a disappointment. I think that if this country fails, it will be my fault, and it will only be right if I go down with it. My people have little faith in me, and they’re right not to, but I can’t bring myself to step down, because at the end of the day, I’m addicted to the power and responsibility. I’m nothing without it. If I can’t manage this, then how can I deserve the trust and faith that others have placed in me?

Most days, I think that everyone hates me. Most days, I think they’re right to do so. I can’t trust anyone. Not completely, not fully, no matter how much I love them. I feel very alone.

He stops writing. Reads it over. Feels his lips quirk up into a wry smile. He’s certainly not sending that.

But the smile fades away after a moment. He supposes that he hoped writing it all out would make him feel better, but if anything, he feels more tired. Drained. Wrung out. Blank.

He fishes around for a new, unmarred sheet of paper.

Dear Phil, he writes, All is well here in L’Manberg. The city is thriving, and my people are well. I really do want you to visit sometime—but not yet, of course! We’ve been having a spot of trouble with creeper holes lately, and I don’t want that to be your first impression. Between you and me, it’s just a little bit embarrassing.

It’s been a while since I last wrote. I do apologize for that; I don’t know where the time goes. There’s always so much to be doing, and I’m more and more thankful for this chance every day. It’s a lot of fun, having a country of our own, and we’re all working to make it as good as it can be. You should see Niki’s bakery—you haven’t tasted heaven until you’ve tasted something Niki’s baked, I swear. She’s a goddess, really, an essential pillar of our society. Baked goods make the world go round.

Tommy and Tubbo are well, and getting into just as much trouble as usual. Fundy grows up more and more every day. I’m so proud of them all.

Be careful of undead infants, and tell Technoblade I said hello, if you get the chance.

All love,

Wilbur

He sets down his pen and rereads. He’s satisfied with that, and more importantly, Phil will be as well. Now all that’s left is to let the ink dry and—

“Hey, boss man,” Tubbo says, opening the door to his office without knocking. He startles, violently. “How’re things coming?”

His heart shouldn’t be racing. It’s just Tubbo. But he came in without warning, which is—irritating. It’s irritating. That’s what it is. He feels himself flushing, just slightly, but surely it’s annoyance.

“There’s a lot of ‘things’ you could be referring to,” he says. “Are you going to be a little more specific?”

“Nah,” Tubbo says, meandering further into the room. But it’s not a regular meander, it’s a Tubbo sort of meander, which means that he’s here for a purpose. He just doesn’t want to reveal it just yet, or perhaps he’s figuring out how he wants to approach it. “Just wanted to know about general things. Big, vast things. Deep things.”

“Deep things,” he repeats, nodding. “Not much of that going on at the moment. Not a lot of deep things in paperwork.” He pulls the nearest sheet of paper closer to him; technically, that’s what he ought to be doing, not writing letters to a father that’s worlds away. He scans the words; it looks like something complicated about trade, something that sets his head to pounding already. The words swim, like they’re dancing, like they’re taking glee in the way he can’t comprehend them.

“I thought there were lots of deep things in paperwork,” Tubbo says, and he looks back up. “I thought that’s why the print is always so small.”

“Maybe,” he says.

“It makes sense to me,” Tubbo says. “Wilbur, is your hair really white?”

He freezes. “What?”

“Niki said that your hair is turning white,” Tubbo says. “Like an old man’s.”

Anger flares. He thought—he didn’t like that she found out about it, but he at least thought he could trust her with it. Thought that she would keep it to herself, that she wouldn’t let it spread to others, to others that might take it and try to use it as a knife to his jugular. But here is Tubbo, and Tubbo is so obviously staring at his hair, eyes flicking across his forehead and around his ears, and he won’t see anything. He double-checked when he arrived at the office; all of the white is under his hat. But he doesn’t like that Tubbo is looking, that Tubbo is actively trying to see, that Tubbo is treating him like some kind of curiosity, and that Tubbo surely must have some sort of opinion and that opinion cannot be anything but—

“Niki said that hair can turn grey or white if a person is very stressed,” Tubbo says, casually. “Are you very stressed, Wilbur?”

Oh—oh, fuck. Is that actually a thing that happens?

“I told her, it was a bad dye job,” he mutters, glancing back down at his paper. The words remain incomprehensible, but he’s not focusing on it. He nudges his pen with his finger, latching onto the light clicking sound it makes as it rolls and then comes to rest.

“Yeah?” Tubbo asks doubtfully. “What, were you trying to dye your hair white?”

He grits his teeth. “Was there something you needed, Tubbo?”

“Nothing I needed, really,” Tubbo answers. “I just wanted to see how you’ve been doing. Seems like forever since you came out of this office. Do you live in here now or something?” He keeps talking before Wilbur can reply, which is just as well, since he might as well live here, considering the state of his room. “And I think I’ve got a new design for a TNT cannon. Kind of streamlined, you might say, if you wanted to check it out. But I think you should just come and hang out with me and Tommy sometime. You never really do that anymore.”

He has a few feelings about TNT cannons. He doesn’t think about TNT too often, because when he does, his mind fills with fire and smoke, and his heart starts beating faster, climbing into his throat, and he wants to run, wants to run far and fast and away, wants to sit and shake until his body can’t move anymore, even when he knows very well that nothing around him is exploding, that his country is secure and his friends are safe. But some days, he can’t so much as smell smoke without a memory rising up to overwhelm him.

Once, he found himself zoning out in the middle of a conversation, a nearby campfire taking him far away from himself, and be barely returned in time to cover for his lapse.

He’s not a fan of TNT cannons, and he can’t bring himself to pretend to be, not even for the sake of Tubbo’s enthusiasm. And—

Hanging out with him and Tommy sounds nice. He misses them, he admits, and some part of him misses the old days, the first days and weeks and months on the server, when it was them and a dream and his fingers dancing on the frets of his guitar, his voice strong and steady and hopes high on the wind, words ready at his lips and Tommy a force of chaos at his back and Tubbo clever and quick by his side, and he just—misses it. Misses them. Misses it all, misses the days before so much was riding on his shoulders.

But he hasn’t the time.

“I’m sorry, Tubbo,” he says, and tries on a smile. “I’m a bit busy right now. Take a rain check?”

“Sure,” Tubbo says, and shrugs. “Later, then. You say that a lot, though, do you know that?”

He winces. Tubbo smiles. He means no harm. Probably. He thinks he would know if Tubbo meant him harm.

And then, Tubbo leaves, and the tension leaves him all in a rush, leaving him—exhausted. Exhausted, and near tears, for some reason, but he blinks those back. That can wait. He doesn’t cry in his office. That’s unprofessional; anyone could walk in on him, and then where would he be?

What was he doing before Tubbo came in?

Right. The letter. He glances it over, scoops it up, and tucks it away in an envelope. He’ll chuck it at the next crow he sees.

---

It’s Tommy who barges in next, a day later, though at least this time, he’s somewhat expecting it. Because if Tubbo knows, then Tommy knows. That is simply the way of the world. He has a difficult time imagining anything ever coming between those two, even information that would be better kept to oneself.

“Why the fuck is Tubbo going on about your hair, then?” Tommy says, with no preamble, and despite himself, Wilbur smiles. That’s Tommy, all the subtlety of a charging bull. And the question is just as irritating as it was yesterday when it came from Tubbo, but he’s more prepared for it this time. He looks up from his work—work that he’s actually doing, at the moment, and he feels rather proud of himself for it—and meets Tommy’s gaze squarely.

“I’ve had an unfortunate encounter with some hair dye,” he says. “The hair dye won.”

“What the fuck?” Tommy says, but there’s already a laugh in his eyes. Good. Tommy is fairly easily deflected, he’s learned. Because Tommy looks up to him, he knows, and that means he’ll willfully look away from any evidence suggesting that perhaps he is not worthy of admiration after all.

It makes him sick, the way he’s thinking about it. Makes him feel like he’s using Tommy, somehow, taking advantage of his affection, when really, that’s the last thing he wants to do. Tommy is his little brother, his little brother by choice, by years spent on the road together, by hushed conversations in the dead of night as the stars bear witness, by all the little intricacies they’ve learned about each other as time continues to pass. Tommy is his little brother, which means it’s his job to protect him, as best he can. He’s done a piss-poor job of that lately. Tommy only has one life left now.

So he can’t fail him again. And perhaps it’s selfish of him, but he doesn’t want Tommy to think he’s failed, either. If it ever turns out that Tommy hates him, he thinks it might kill him.

“Can I see?” Tommy asks, and he prepared for this, too, braced for it. With a long-suffering sigh, he sweeps his hat off his head and angles his face forward, letting Tommy take a good look.

“Satisfied?” he asks.

“Holy shit,” Tommy says. “How the fuck did you manage that?”

“Very impressively,” he says, and puts his hat back on. He’s sure to tuck all the white back under it. It’s a practiced motion, by now. “Or perhaps not very impressively, as it were.”

“Well, it looks sick,” Tommy says, and Wilbur glances at him immediately. He doesn’t seem like he’s lying. He seems almost—impressed? But he sees him looking right away, and immediately backtracks. “Sick as in disgusting, obviously. It makes you look old. Like an old, old man.”

Tommy’s joking, of course, is all bluster and smoke, no fire. But something in his chest stings, and he realizes that the words hurt, and more than that, they hurt because it’s an echo of what he tells himself. He doesn’t like to look in the mirror anymore—though he never did to begin with, actually—but he is well aware of what he looks like. The white hair is just one more symbol of his failing faith, his lack of ability to handle the job that he set himself out to take in the first place. He should be able to do this, and yet, he can’t, and the white hair—well.

After what Tubbo said, it can only mean that he’s weak. Physical proof of his incompetence. That’s really the only way to look at it.

“Shut the fuck up, child,” he says. “Why don’t you go and find a juice box to drink?”

“Oh, fuck you,” Tommy says, and the song and dance is familiar. Tommy rolls his eyes at him—the disrespect in this house is unbelievable—but he turns to go, and that means that Wilbur’s won.

What he’s won, he doesn’t know. Some more self-disgust, maybe. That’s what it feels like.

Lying to Niki. Lying to Tubbo. And now, lying to Tommy. What a stunning specimen of humanity he is. Working through them all like he has a checklist.

And then, Tommy stops in the doorway and looks back.

“Wilbur?” he asks. “You really are alright, aren’t you?”

And that gives him pause. Tommy’s not supposed to ask him that question. If anything, he’s the one who’s supposed to be asking Tommy that.

“It’s just that,” Tommy continues, “I don’t see you around so much, these days. Except for when there’s a problem, and you come out to try and solve it with, with your words and shit. Diplomatic shit, innit? You do that, but you don’t just—you never come to just spend time with us anymore, like how it used to be. And I just sort of miss that, you know? So I was thinking that maybe we could try and do that again, sometime soon? Just, hanging out, like the good old days?”

The good old days.

He doesn’t quite have the heart to tell Tommy that the good old days are long over, that they have been long over since the day Sapnap came to arrest them all for starting a drug empire and the forest around them was set ablaze, since the day they declared independence from the Dream SMP, since the day he in all his naivety declared that all they had to do was ignore the conflict and it would pass them by, since the day he was proven so very, very wrong. Since the day he learned that as much as he values his words, his diplomacy, his efforts toward nonviolence, some people only recognize power in iron and steel.

Since the day he watched his men, his comrades, his family die around him, and knew that he led them to that fate. Since the day Tommy traded his life and then his discs for their independence, and he knew that he couldn’t do a thing to help.

The good old days are long gone. The good old days belong to a different version of him, one that was young and hopeful and stupid, one that had no idea what he was getting into. And he likes to think that he’s still hopeful, that he still strives for a better future, but—

He’s learned. Nothing comes easy, here. There will be no more halcyon summers. The days are getting colder, and there will be no more rest.

“Sure,” he says, and this lie tastes far more bitter than all the rest. “I’d like that.” He gestures at his desk. “I’ve been really busy, but I would like to spend time with you. I’ll let you know when I can, alright?”

And Tommy believes him. He sees it in his answering smile, and he hates himself.

“Sounds good, big man,” Tommy says. “See you later then, yeah?”

“See you later,” Wilbur agrees, and then Tommy, too, is gone. He’s alone in his office, with his duties and his thoughts, and neither of them are kind.

Not that he thinks himself deserving of much kindness.

---

He waits two weeks before visiting the bakery again. It’s not completely intentional; he doesn’t have much time to get away anyhow. But part of it certainly is. He doesn’t want to come again so soon, doesn’t want to know how Niki’s going to look at him, doesn’t want her to poke and prod at something that isn’t important, that is a minor, irritating detail. He doesn’t want to discuss it, and he thinks that Niki might try, so he stays away.

But not forever. He can’t bring himself to take so drastic a step, even if his visits are a bit of a distraction. One that, perhaps, he can’t really afford.

So he steps inside and immediately wants to backtrack, because Niki’s not the only one here. Fundy and Jack Manifold are both sat at the counter, and both of them are looking at him now, having swiveled in their seats to watch his entrance. And that means he can���t leave, because if he leaves without saying anything, they’ll ask him why he did that, and he’ll have to make up something to avoid admitting that he’s been a little bit terrified of interacting with people lately. Because absolutely no one can know that.

Because it’s stupid. Pathetic. He’s pathetic, and he’s become quite accustomed to that word. It seems to live in his head now, like it’s made a nest in his brain, a little roost. Pathetic. Everything he does feels pathetic to him, and probably to everyone else around him.

“Oh,” Jack Manifold says. “Hi, Wilbur. Didn’t expect you in.”

Fundy doesn’t say anything. Just blinks at him, tail swishing. He finds that he doesn’t know what to say. But he needs to think of something, some reason for being here, and if he can manage it, some excuse for extricating himself quickly. The silence has gone on just a little too long, and he’s been standing in the doorway for a full five seconds now, and he needs to come in completely because it’s weird, what he’s doing, and they’re going to call him on it.

And then, Niki pops her head between the two of them, leaning far over the counter, resting practically all of her weight on it.

“Wil!” she says, and smiles. “I’m glad you came! I’m making honey bread, and I know you like that.”

And just like that, he relaxes. Not completely, but to ask that of him would be to expect the impossible. It’s enough.

“I do,” he agrees, and steps further in, letting the door close behind him. “Seems I have good timing.”

The tension in the air—imagined or real? He’s not sure—dissipates. Jack grins at him, raising a glass of—probably not alcohol? He doesn’t think Niki keeps alcohol stocked in here, or at least, none other than the cooking variety. Might be milk. And Fundy still doesn’t say anything, but his tail keeps twitching, and his eyes keep darting between him and the empty stool next to him, and he really hopes that’s an invitation, because that’s how he’s going to take it.

He slides onto the seat, letting his coat fall behind him. His hat, he keeps on. He’s not laying his face on the counter today. Not with other people here. He probably wouldn’t have anyway, tempting though it is. He always feels sleepier in here. It’s probably the warmth.

But he won’t fall asleep.

Niki’s gone back over to the ovens, inspecting her bread. He can smell it on the air, fresh and sweet, and his stomach twists. Has he eaten today? He’s not sure that he has. Though he definitely did yesterday—evening. He thinks. Definitely. A couple apple slices shoved in his mouth, swallowed without really tasting them. But it counts.

“What have you two been up to lately?” he asks. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Not too much,” Jack Manifold answers easily. “Mostly been hanging around Tommy and Tubbo. Getting into mischief, you might say. Nothing too serious or anything!” he is quick to add, seemingly remembering exactly who he’s talking to. “Nothing—I mean, nothing illegal, no, sir. Not us. But, you know, it’d probably be best not to share the details.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “Fair enough,” he says. “As long as it’s not something that I’m going to have to clean up later.”

“We’ve already cleaned up,” Jack says.

“Good.” He looks at Fundy, and affection blooms in his chest, sudden, almost overpowering. His boy’s grown up of late. He can barely remember it happening. It seems that only yesterday he came up knee-high, and now, he’s a man in his own right. But still his little champion, always. “How about you? I know we haven’t been fishing yet. I’m sorry—you know that’s the first thing on my list when I finally get a bit of time.”

Fundy glances away. “I know,” he says. “I’ve been fine.”

“I’m glad,” he says, and Niki saves him from having to say anything else—though why he thinks of it as a rescue, he isn’t sure—by walking back over and placing some bread on the counter before them.

“Fresh from the oven,” she says, “so it’s hot. Be careful.”

It smells nothing short of divine. Niki smiles, pleased, as Fundy and Jack reach for a piece right away, and he isn’t far behind them. Though he tries to be a little more neat about it than the other two are being. The way they’re digging in, he’d think that they’re starving. Frankly, he can’t blame them for it, not when it’s Niki’s food on the line, but he still tries to have a bit more decorum.

“Niki,” Jack says, mouth full, “you are an angel among mere mortals.” Fundy doesn’t say anything, but his tail is swishing happily.

Niki rolls her eyes, and takes a bit of bread for herself. “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” she admonishes. “But thank you, Jack.” And then, her gaze drifts to him, and he finds himself stiffening. For no reason. It’s Niki. It’s just Niki. He trusts Niki. She’s basically his best friend, and he’s comfortable here. He is. This is a place of safety, as much as there are such places to be found. Safety, true safety, is not a thing that exists, not really. But here is as close as he can get to it.

Why can’t he let himself unwind?

Is it because Jack and Fundy are here? He hopes not; that wouldn’t be fair to them. They are his countrymen, his citizens, and more than that, Fundy is his son. What would that say about him as a parent, if being around his child makes him nervous? Not just nervous in a I-hope-I-don’t-fuck-up-my-kid way, but in a I-don’t-feel-safe-here way?

But his shoulders are stiff, slightly hunched. He can’t force them down. So he has to hope it’s not too obvious, that the lines of his coat disguise the hard set of his posture, a stance that indicates he thinks there’s a threat, if they know how to read him right. Which they shouldn’t. They shouldn’t.

“How about you, Wil?” Niki asks, and he takes another bite of bread. Small, so as not to get crumbs everywhere, and he swallows before answering.

“It’s as good as always,” he says. “Do I have to say it?” Though it sits heavier in his stomach than usual, but she doesn’t need to know that.

“I’m glad,” she says. “It’s been a little while since the last time I saw you. You are eating properly, right?”

It’s concern, not an accusation, no matter how misplaced. The question shouldn’t raise his hackles. But it does, and all that’s left is to keep it from showing, to keep it from his voice.

“Of course I am,” he says, and before he can get anything else out, Jack laughs.

“Wouldn’t do to have our president starving on us,” he says, and his voice is light, full of laughter, joking. It’s a good thing that Jack feels comfortable enough to joke with him. He’s glad, because—he doesn’t know him all that well, definitely doesn’t trust him, not yet, but Tommy and Tubbo seem to like him, so it’s good that he’s fitting in, that he’s found a place, that he likes it here. Though liking isn’t always enough to stop the betrayal before it comes. He ought to keep a closer eye on him, just in case, but—that wasn’t the point of this.

The point is that, joking or not, Jack is completely right. It wouldn’t do to let his eating habits interfere with his duties. He’s already weak; is he going to add malnutrition on top of that? Never mind that he often doesn’t feel like eating, these days, that he really only has an appetite when he’s here, in the bakery. He needs to keep his strength up so that he can get things done. And he can’t force himself to sleep, so that problem is out of his hands, but he can force himself to eat.

Jack couldn’t have known what he was prodding at, of course, when he made the comment. But he takes another bite of bread anyway. It’s tough to swallow, even though it tastes delicious. He doesn’t know why. He’s never had an issue eating Niki’s food before. He hopes this doesn’t become a pattern.

And he hopes it’s not because there’s other people here. It would be an explanation, at least, but not one he likes. The implications there wouldn’t be—good, to say the least.

“Jack,” Niki says quietly, admonishingly, and he wishes she wouldn’t, because he doesn’t want Jack to examine what he’s just said, to analyze it as anything other than a joke. So he musters a smile, a quirk of an eyebrow, and Jack grins back at him.

Safe territory. Level ground, even footing. Relatively speaking.

And then Fundy pipes up.

“Hey, Wil,” he says, and Wilbur wonders, suddenly, where he picked up the habit of calling him ‘Wil’ or ‘Wilbur’ more often than he calls him ‘dad’. Not that he minds it, but it’s curious. Could it be from him? He himself calls Phil by his name more often than not. Perhaps it’s genetic. But then Fundy continues, “Is your hair actually, like, turning white?” and Wilbur is no longer interested in thinking about little details like that.

He’s tense again. Tense enough now that they can probably see it, even without looking too hard.

“Why is everyone so interested in my hair, lately?” he asks. “It’s just hair. Grows out of everyone’s head. Except for yours, Jack Manifold.”

“Point,” Jack Manifold agrees, but there is a gleam in his eyes, behind his glasses, that says he too is interested in the direction this conversation has taken. Not ideal.

“It’s just that,” Fundy persists, “it’s a little bit weird, right? If it’s turning white like that? Is that normal?”

“It’s not ‘turning white,’” he says, which might be a mistake, because he’s lying through his teeth, now. “It was a bad hair dye incident. Nothing you need to be concerned about.”

Jack laughs. “How’d you manage to fuck up hair dye that badly?” he asks, and the way the question is phrased is irritating; he doesn’t want Jack to start thinking he’s an incompetent fool who can’t dye his own hair properly. But he’ll also take this line of questioning over the other, so perhaps it balances out.

Except then, Niki splays both her hands on the counter. Any earlier levity that she had is now gone.

“Is that so?” she says. “That’s not what you told me.”

His heart is pounding again. He really, really hopes that he’s not developing a condition of some kind. He’d know if he were having a heart attack, wouldn’t he?

“I’m pretty sure that is what I told you,” he says, and Niki shakes her head.

“No, you told me that it wasn’t dye, when I asked,” she says. “And then you said that it was, but you were lying.”

She doesn’t sound angry, which is perhaps the worst thing about all of this. She doesn’t sound angry that he’s lied to her, taken advantage of her trust and fed her a blatant falsehood. Her voice is calm, matter-of-fact, and there’s a glimmer in her eyes that isn’t annoyance or betrayal or any of the other emotions she should be feeling. Instead, it’s concern. That blasted concern again.

He doesn’t deserve it.

“Really?” Jack says. “Huh. Well, what’d you do that for, then?”

He’s changed his mind. The worst thing about all of this is that there are other people present. That he’s not alone with Niki, which would still be an undesirable situation, but manageable. Jack Manifold and Fundy are both here, staring at him, expecting answers that he doesn’t want to give, and Fundy—

Why is his son looking at him like that?

“Why are you all so pressed about my hair?” he demands. “It’s hair. You don’t even see it.”

“I mean,” Fundy says, “like I said, it’s just kind of weird, right? I don’t think hair just turns white for no reason. Not unless you’re really old, which you’re not, I don’t think. So I guess we’re just curious about what the reason is.”

He doesn’t want to talk about this. This isn’t why he came here. This place, this bakery, these people, it’s supposed to be an escape from his responsibilities. The only one he allows himself, even though he knows he shouldn’t. It’s the one place where he doesn’t have to think about his own failings, where he can relax a bit and let himself be, if only for a little while, but here they are, pushing him on this, and he doesn’t want it. Doesn’t want to be reminded of his incompetency. And they don’t know, can’t know exactly what they’re doing to him, but—

He slams his hand against the counter, sudden emotion boiling over. They all jump, the three of them. Niki’s eyes widen, and Fundy’s ears press back against his skull.

“Then don’t be,” he snaps. “Leave it the fuck alone. It’s really none of your business, is it?”

There is a moment of silence. The only sound is the crackling of furnaces.

“I guess not,” Fundy mutters, and he realizes what he’s done.

He’s just snapped, lashed out at his friends, his countrymen, his son, and for what? Because their questions are stressing him out? He should have turned around and left the moment he saw them in here, no matter what they would have thought, because this is worse. This is so much worse than that, and now he feels like an absolute shitstain of a human being. What kind of person gets so fucking upset over questions about his hair?

“I’m sorry,” he says. Too little, too late. “I didn’t mean—” Fundy is looking at him. They all are, and suddenly, he can’t bear it. Not any longer. “I’m sorry. I’ve got a lot of work to do. I really should be going. Thank you for the bread, Niki.”

It’s painfully transparent, and he is very aware of the fact that it’s the exact same way that he rushed out of the bakery when he was last here. Except this time, there are more people here to witness his shame.

History repeats itself, he thinks, bitterly. History repeats itself, and it only gets worse.

But he’s not staying here. He can’t. He just—can’t. Because he feels very upset over such a stupid little thing, and he’s upset that he’s upset, and now he’s upset other people, and he can’t stay here any longer, because if he does, the gods only know what’s going to fly out of his mouth next.

“Wil, please stay,” Niki says, but he’s already standing.

“Be seeing you all,” he says, and the door isn’t far, but it feels like miles, because he can feel their stares burning into his back as he makes his exit.

“Aw, wait, Wilbur, you don’t have to—” Jack starts, but he’s out the door. He’s out the door, and he lets it swing shut behind him, and the words cut off. He doesn’t have to listen to them. So if Fundy says anything, he doesn’t hear it, and he wonders why that makes him feel so much worse. Worse than he does already, which is no mean feat.

His stomach growls. He’s hungry. How many bites of bread did he take? Two? Three? Not enough to be filling. But somehow, he already knows that if he seeks food elsewhere, it will turn to ash in his mouth. And he can’t go back, not after the scene he’s just made, so he’s going to have to be hungry. Which is fine. He’s fine. He’s fine, even though he’s just fucked everything up, and he rather thinks he might not be able to show Niki his face ever again. So, no more bakery. No more safe place, and wow, he is being a dramatic fuck, isn’t he? But he can’t help himself. He never can.

He should have known better from the start. There is no such thing as safety. No exceptions. He should have tried harder to remember that. And he’s not angry, not anymore, not really, because they weren’t aware of the hornets’ nest they were stirring up; rather, he’s angry at himself, for losing control, for letting himself react, for not being able to handle a simple question with the poise and calm that is expected of him as president.

For being weak. That’s what it comes down to. His weakness. Persistent, and now, persistently on display.

He does a lot of screaming into his pillow that night. It doesn’t help. And sleep, it seems, is determined to continue its avoidance, so the night stretches long, and even his tears eventually run dry.

---

The next day, Niki comes to his office.

[pemfrost]

For the bingo what about spideydevil hogwarts AU . Good luck on your bingo!!

Thank you if you do it.

Thanks for the prompt :D

So, this is like 3 times longer than I wanted to make these bingo fics lmao. Oops 🤷‍♀️. It still could use some polishing, but I'm terrified that Peter will find another plot thread if I poke at it anymore.

Bingo fic 1/?

As much as he devoted himself to studying, Peter could not bring himself to care about Divination. The whole class reminded him of cringe inducing hacks he'd seen on t.v. growing up. Except, no one was jumping out with hidden footage to debunk it. Everything appeared hollow: randomness assigned meaning. And, while Peter didn't often procrastinate, he found it harder and harder to work on his Divination homework the more weeks that passed. 

There was one silver lining, though. Another student, one he'd held a torch for from afar, was in the class with him. That too, turned out to be hollow and meaningless until today. Despite having a class together, Peter still had no real reason to approach Matt. However, he stumbled into the opportunity in his usual Parker way: completely on accident. 

His procrastination on his Divination assignments reached a plateau, and, despite his ability to work quickly under pressure, Peter was late to class. When he'd finally made it -ten minutes late and scribbling the last lines on his essay- he'd thought the repercussion would be a lecture. Or detention. The usual stuff Hogwarts professors liked to through his way.

Instead, the professor welcomed him to class in her airy way and quietly assigned him a partner for the project she was currently guiding the class through. "Ah, Mr. Murdock, please join Peter for the remainder of class." 

By stoke of luck, Matthew Murdock had been an unlucky third wheel in another group, and made no fuss about changing seats. His usual partner was in the infirmary; the exact cause was the subject of many rumors. Peter was rather fond of the theory that Foggy was involved in a fight with the group of slytherins who often tired to bully Matt, but anyone involved was keeping their lips zipped tight. 

It wasn't a glamorous impression, but Peter was thankful for the opportunity. 

"Do you know what you're doing?" Matt crossed his ankle over his knee and leaned back in the cozy chair across from Peter. He nodded to the steaming cup of tea in front of him, raising an eyebrow. 

Peter nodded, then mentally kicked himself and verbally answered, "Yeah. I read over the basics last night." 

It was a basic tea leaf reading, and the set up was quite straightforward. The professor was kind enough to provide hot water and a selection of tea leaves at each table. Though, she did note they would have a better reading with their own supplies. 

"Good. I started my tea already, so you can read mine while yours-"

"Mr. Murdock." The professor tapped the cup in front of him with her wand. "You must start over. The leaves are easier for your partner to interpret when they are brewed just for them." With a flick of her wand, his cup was replaced with an empty one and she glided off towards another set of students. 

Matt sighed and reached for the tea selection, deftly selected Earl Grey and pinched a healthy amount of leaves into his cup. Peter followed suit, choosing one at random without reading the labels.

"Don't you care for tea?" Matt's gaze was slightly to the left of where Peter sat, his face not giving away his thoughts. 

"I do, I'm just not picky." His pulse quickened. This was the most they'd spoken in years. He watched Matt's hands as he poured the hot water into their cups, tracing the calluses earned from long hours in the greenhouse. 

"Now we wait." Matt sat the pot back to the side of the table and leaned back in his chair. 

The tea would need to steep for at least three minutes. There were many things to do during that time to ensure a good reading, or so the professor said. Holding the cup and thinking about what you wanted the leaves to tell you seemed like a good option, but Peter really didn't believe in fortune telling enough to meditate over his tea. Another method was to talk to the person who was going to do your reading. And the third, and one Matt seemed keen on, was to silently wait and let what happens happen. 

In Peter's opinion, silence was something to be broken

"Uh," Peter shifted nervously as watched the steam rise from his cup, "how is Foggy? That was a hell of a match last night, shame he missed it."

"He's fine." Matt's voice was flat. "He should be discharged in time for dinner."

"That's… good to hear." Peter eyed him nervously. Matt was a year ahead of him and in a different house, meaning they had very few direct interactions. Yet, Peter knew a good amount about him. Or, rather, he knew what the Daily Prophet said and what he'd observed with his own eyes didn't always match and had drawn his own conclusions. 

Coming from a muggle family meant Peter had very little frame of reference for most things, and he could only try to compare having an Auror as a father to having one who was a cop. Matt was a third year when his father was targeted by a group of dark wizards and Matt was caught in the crossfire. 

Peter, always in search of knowledge, desperately wanted to know which curse caused Matt to lose his vision, and which spells gave him a sense of the world around him. As far as he could tell there was no braille equivalent in the Wizarding World. He didn't ask, of course. He had more sense than that, even in the pursuit of knowledge. He wanted to know Matt first, because he seemed like a cool -and handsome- guy.

Even if he was callous enough to just ask, it wasn't like he had many opportunities to do so. This was actually their first class together in Peter's six years at Hogwarts- and would be the only one since Matt would be graduating in a few months. 

Despite having no real social interactions, Peter was well aware of Matt, and would have been even if his story wasn't in the papers for months. The very first time Peter stepped foot into Hogwarts, he was so enthralled with the majesty and magic of the castle -- until he spotted Matt. It was silly, and, even though Peter couldn't name the sensation back then, that moment stuck with him. 

Peter had read everything he could prior to entering Hogwarts, dreading being behind his peers who grew up in the Wizarding World. His heart was set on Ravenclaw, drawn in by the lure of knowledge and like-minded students. That was until he locked eyes with Matt from across the hall and, for a brief moment, yearned to be adorned in red and gold. Reason won, and he was proud to be sorted into Ravenclaw. But, part of him always wondered. 

"Thank you." Matt's voice jolted him from his reminiscing. 

Peter wasn't sure what he'd done to deserve thanks, so he deflected with a joke. "Hey, I'd be thankful too if someone rescued me from the 'Dream Couple'. More like 'Most Annoying Couple'." He tapped his index finger on the table towards students Matt was originally teamed with, rolling his eyes at how closely they sat together.

A small chuckle escaped Matt and Peter's chest puffed with pride. Matt was such a serious person, he hardly ever smiled or laughed, and then it was almost exclusively with Foggy. 

"For that, too, I suppose. I meant to thank you for being the only person in this class… probably the school… who hasn't ask me… about… it."

Oh. Peter looked away, embarrassed by how many questions he truly wanted to ask while simultaneously reeling from the fact Matt apparently paid enough attention to notice. "It's not my business. Besides, there's way more things I'd like to pick your brain about."

Matt raised an eyebrow, "Like?"

Peter opened his mouth to list off a litany of botany questions, but was cut off before he managed a single syllable. The professor stared down at them, "It's been long enough, time to drink your tea, be sure to do your rotations. Read the leaves immediately, take notes on your findings before looking up their meanings. Then, give your reading to your partner. Ideally, you will know each common symbol by heart by the end of the term, but for now use your books."

They dropped the conversation, following her instructions and downing their tea. Peter was pleased with his random choice, noting hints of citrus. 

"Here," he pushed his empty cup towards Matt. As he took Matt's cup, he wondered how Matt would read his leaves, but didn't ask. 

Peter peered into Matt’s cup, trying to find patterns in the chaos of leaves. Eventually, his eyes focused on the task and he could make out what he thought were symbols. He wrote down his list and set the cup and notebook on the table. 

Across from him, Matt was focused on Peter's cup. He ran his wand over it, then his hand, then with a flick of his wand his quill automatically made a note. 

"You'll have to teach me that sometime," Peter said before he could stop himself. 

Matt paused, lips pursed.

Peter continued, "If I could direct my quill to write, it would save a lot of time when I'm trying new potion ingredient substitutes. The constant starting and stopping to note every step and change I make is such a juggle."

"That's pretty dangerous," Matt said with an amused lilt to his voice. "Though, I suppose teaching you that would make it slightly more safe."

"Yea, it would be negligent for you not to," Peter's heart raced as he teased the handsome student across from him. 

"We should probably do the readings." Matt shifted, "But we'll figure out a time that we're both free, yeah?"

Peter nodded, "Yeah."

"I'll start, if that's okay."

"Uh, yeah. Did you need to look up your symbols? 'Cuz I have no idea what some of these mean."

Matt heaved a large reference book into his lap, "I'm doing it on the fly. Let's see…" He waved his wand over the pages and ran his index finger over the text. 

Peter didn't put much stock into fortune telling, but he was curious what Matt would read in the leaves. 

"So, your leaves are interesting. There is a small ring or letter 'O' at the top, so either a love interest is close or you have something important with someone with an 'O' name." He continued on without waiting for Peter's reaction or input, "There is a spider that spans both the present and future, which could mean you have a choice to make soon which will have a huge impact on your life. But, there is a smaller thing that could be a spider, too? So maybe you have a lot of choices to make?"

Peter shrugged. The close love interest piqued his interest, though he was more curious what Matt would say about it. Maybe he would be given a beacon of hope, a sign that Matt noticed him too. 

"Ah, and this at the bottom! It's a very clear anchor, meaning a stable future." Matt tilted his head towards Peter, "You do not seem impressed with your reading."

"Nothing personal, I just don't think these things are more than carnival tricks and fun games."

"Fair enough," Matt chuckled and set his notes to the side, folded his arms on the table and leaned in. "Now mine."

Right, Peter had to figure out Matt's. He pulled out his own book and looked over the page of symbols. "Well, let's start with what I know without reading paragraphs of contradictory symbology. So, there is a ring -or 'O'- at the bottom and it's pretty big. Future relationship? Or someone with an 'O' name? And there is a smaller one of the same in the present."

He paused to look at his notes. "Uh… I think this is a ladder? Which means travel in your future. And a Knife in the future meaning a fight. Umm, I wrote down a snake, but it could be a worm? Which… is a bad omen or a secret enemy."

Peter glanced up at Matt, and was about to apologize for accidentally reading a bad future for him when the Professor approached their table. 

"Ah, let's take a look, then, shall we?" She gently plucked Peter's tea cup up from in front of Matt and swept her eyes over the leaves. "Oh, my. You have a small romantic notion towards someone that has lasted a while but hasn't grown into anything more. You have several challenges which will appear in the near future and your decision to take them on or ignore them will drastically shape your life. Those choices are why a lot of your future is fuzzy, but if you remain true to yourself there is great prosperity and even greater love waiting for you."

She looked over Matt's notes and pointed out the symbols he missed. Peter sighed, he was ready for the class to end. At least he had his study not-date with Matt to look forward to. 

"Let's have a look at the other one," She said as she lifted Matt's cup from where Peter set it. "You have a recent romantic notion, it is small and very new, but you will have a journey before it can grow. There are a lot of small victories in your future, but they can be overshadowed by betrayal. I see a powerful romance in the future, but it could be lost if you're not careful."

Matt seemed to hang on every word, but quickly folded his arms when the Professor finished her own reading. Was he taking it seriously? Peter made a note to ask later. There were some interesting parallels between their readings, giving Peter a sliver of hope of his feelings being returned despite the absurdity of fortune telling. 

"Overall, not bad for your first times. Keep studying, there will be a practical component to the final." With that, she drifted towards another group, leaving Peter and Matt to clean up. 

"You're a muggleborn, aren't you?" Matt wasn't looking at him, but Peter could feel the weight of his attention pinning him to his chair. "Foggy is too," Matt added quickly, "and has the same opinions on this," he waved his hand generally. 

"Ah, yea. It's a bit… "

"I get it. Don't worry, no judgment here. Still, the reading was a bit uncanny."

Peter huffed. "It's easy to assign meaning to a vague set of events."

"Is that so?" Matt tilted his head. 

"We're teens, so it's not uncommon to have a crush. And everyone has a journey at some point, or choices to make. That's life. And it's not unusual to get married later in your life."

"True." He calmly began to clean the table. A swish of his wand and his cup was clean. "So, you do not deny liking someone."

Well, that was unexpected. Peter sputtered, searching for a string of words to put together as his pulse raced. "I- well- that's- I-"

Matt had the audacity to laugh at him, and the sound alone was almost enough to make Peter's embarrassment worth it. Almost. "Why so embarrassed, I thought it wasn't uncommon?"

Peter busied himself with clearing his side of the table. "So, you're not denying it yourself?" He leaned into the hope the conversation sparked, imagining his feelings being returned. Tea leaves be damned, Peter made his own fate, and if he was given the chance there was no amount of future-telling that could ruin what he felt for Matt.

Their conversation dropped when the professor requested everyone's attention for a short lecture before the end of class. It was important information they would need for their test, but Peter's attention drifted to Matt. By the upward tilt of Matt’s lips, he was well aware of Peter's distraction. 

There was a flurry of activity after class, and Peter didn't have any chance to speak with him further. However, Matt was true to his word and sought Peter out over the weekend. The weather was fair, creating the perfect opportunity to study together outside and away from the prying eyes of their classmates. They found a shaded area and set up their makeshift study session under the shade of a tree.

"I think I got it." Peter waved his wand over a fresh piece of parchment, whispering the spell Matt taught him. The tree bark dug into his back, and Matt’s cologne was distracting, but he could feel the tingle of the spell working. His quill sprung to work, jotting down a few lines of potion ingredients before sputtering out and falling to the page. As it rolled to the side, he sighed and leaned his head against the tree. 

"It takes practice to keep it writing longer, but you've done more than I expected for your first lesson. You really are every bit the genius they say."

"People talk about me?" Peter was top of his class, but he didn't think his grades warranted discussion with the 7th years. 

Matt shrugged and knocked his shoulder into Peter's. "I may have asked around."

Peter's heart somersaulted. "Oh? What, uh, else did 'they' say?"

"That you're a smart ass."

Peter nodded and leaned towards Matt, "Go on."

"Peter…" Matt's breath ghosted over his cheek sending a thrill up his spine. 

"Matt…" Peter continued forward, gently pressing his lips against Matt's. For a brief moment, Matt pressed back; then suddenly there was a large distance between them. 

Peter's lips felt cold. 

"Sorry. I-"

"Don't be, I-I kissed you." Peter fumbled to put his quill and notebook into his bag. "I thought-"

"Peter." Matt's voice was soft, unsure. "It wouldn't be fair to you."

Peter stared down at his notes, trying to make sense of what Matt was saying. 

"I graduate in a few months." He held up a hand when Peter started to protest, "and I've just been accepted into a school in Germany. I leave right after graduation to get a head start with their summer law program."

"But-"

"We would have an expiration date, Peter." Matt's eyes were closed. There was a rigidness to his posture which made Peter suspect there was more he wasn't saying. 

"Ok. Then just friends."

Matt inhaled sharply, like he hadn't expected Peter's reaction. "Friends. Yea, I'd like that."

With that, they settled into a rhythm for the rest of the school year. Studying together when time allowed, ignoring the tension between them whenever they accidentally touched. Whenever the tightness in his chest returned, Peter reminded himself of their tea readings and imagined a future where they shared a happy ending.

----

Woo, thanks for reading!

There is a part two I'm working on where they reunite as professors several years later. I actually started that first then switched gears when Peter made a reference to their past. Hopefully I'll finish it soon so it's not so much of a cliffhanger lol. 

[weaverofthreads]

On the process of writing a novel...

Ok, so this began as a DM to a very dear friend who had said they were super excited to work on a novel of theirs that they'd abandoned for years, but they felt a bit lost when looking at the project again. They had "too many characters, too many intrigues" and they didn't "know how to create order" for all their ideas. They didn't know "what to keep, what to remove, what to change" and wanted to know if I had any tips.  

I began to reply in messages and then realised I needed to make a whole post out of it, so here it is! All 3k words of it. This is for you, darling! I hope it helps.

Things I found extremely helpful when planning my novel for NaNoWriMo this year, after also taking some time off from it.  

Most of this comes from Alicia Lidwina’s Four-Part article on her NaNoWriMo prep process, and setting up a writer’s notebook, for 2018. You can find the link to the first part here and I highly recommend you check out the whole series of articles for a more in-depth read. 

Content of this ‘essay’: 

Preparation, Groundwork, and Materials

Project 'Stats' & Overview  

Mood, Moodboards, and Key Imagery

Things to Consider, and Important Bullet Points

Get to Know Your Characters  

Chronological Order

Tangential and Preceding Events

Basic Premise, Plot Definition, Sub Plot Ideas  

List of Locations

Scenes

Chapter Outline

NaNo Plan

Additional Notes and Tips for Writing

Ok. Let's begin.  

First of all, I'm not saying that this is the only way to write or organise a novel. It can be tackled in as many ways as there are writers in the universe. This is just the method I used to get my ideas crystallised and organised. 

Preparation, Groundwork, and Materials.  

Take your preparation seriously. I bought a cheap but still nice A4 sketchbook with blank paper for maybe £2 at the local hobby store, and used it solely for the purposes of being my Novel Notebook. It doesn’t have to be a pretty, perfect, Aesthetic(TM) journal at all. Its function is to act as a route-guide through the process.  

I bought a cute sticker from Etsy and used it as the front cover design so that I liked the book and that it felt a little bit special, without being too intimidating to put a mark in. Then I left the very first page blank, and opened it to the first double page. On the left, I wrote ‘Contents’ and then moved on to the right and wrote ‘Project Stats and Overview’.  

I used a pen that was comfortable to write with, which for me was important. I’m a very tactile person, and having nice paper and pens (not necessarily fancy), made the process feel good.

Project Stats and Overview

This is the bare bones of the book, and includes details such as:

Project Working Title: (in my case it’s Weaver of Threads)

Targeted Wordcount: (to give yourself an idea of the scope, but it’s not necessary. For me it’s 50-100k)

Genre: (for me, fantasy)

Series: (will it be one book or more? For me, probably more than one, and at least two).  

Inspiration: (here you can jot down all sorts of things which inspire your world and your writing, and it can be anything. In my case, I began with “density and lore, and feeling of being grounded in a real world from LOTR and Tolkien.” And I went on to include other writers and novels in the fantasy genre, as well as elements from our own world, such as Mongolian herding communities and way of life, the history of the Persian Empire, and Renaissance Florence!).  

Project Timeline: Give yourself a structure, and be realistic. If you know you’re a slow writer who’s prone to distractions, be generous, but if you’re someone who responds well to short deadlines, tighten the time frame up a bit. I said “November 2020 - November 2021 for the whole manuscript” because I know I’m a procrastinator who gets dejected if they shoot past intense deadlines….

Editing Deadline: December 2021-January 2022. I know I can edit fairly quickly, so I made this one much shorter.  

Main Requirements Prior to Starting: What do you need to get sorted before you can get going? It could be purchasing a laptop or figuring out a magic system. In my case, it was the latter.  

What Happens in your novel?: This is not ‘what do your characters do?’, but what, in one sentence, actually happens in the book. For Fellowship of the Ring, you could say ‘a diverse group of people assemble and set off together with the goal of destroying the Ring’. LOADS more stuff actually takes place, obviously, but that’s probably the key thing that happens in that book. So, write the same thing for yours. I’m not going to tell you what happens in mine, because that would spoil it :).  

That took up the first A4 page of my writer’s notebook, and after that, I moved on to Mood and Key Imagery. 

Mood, Moodboards, and Key Imagery

On the left hand side of the page, I wrote down the words and concepts that sprang to mind when I thought of the novel itself. These were in no particular order or placement — just a random cloud of ideas in a rough column on the left hand side of the page — and they included: history, mystery, love, friendship, betrayal, nostalgic, homesick, sense of belonging, sense of place, searching, closeness, secrets… etc. etc.

Then on the right hand side, I wrote down five key words that I wanted to associate with the novel. These would form the ‘visual aesthetic’ in the background of my mind, and could be very easily expressed with a moodboard.

This same process (writing down words and creating a moodboard) could be achieved on a website like Pinterest. Take your time with it, find the right visual clues that really match the essence of your story, and create a final mood board with a limited number of panels that will be your novel’s ‘true north’ when it comes to feelings. If you're artistically inclined too, you could draw sketches of things relevant to your world too.  

While this stage is really important for solidifying the feeling and mood of the novel, don’t get stuck here and spend forever procrastinating on Pinterest or whatever. Once you’ve crystallised that ambiance, it’s time to move on. It’s also perfectly fine to come back to this at a later stage if you find yourself running out of inspiration or drifting a bit. Daydreaming, drawing, mood-board-ing are all great ways to work on your novel on days when you don’t feel like writing.

Things to Consider:

Alicia Lidwina asked herself some questions which helped me get past the ‘block’ that I’d created when thinking about the novel, and those were:

What scares me about this story? (in my case it was the scope of it - it was easy for me to get lost in over-thinking tiny details and get too overwhelmed to handle the big picture)

What will readers take away from it? (in my case, I hoped that it was a sense of friendship, people from desperate cultures finding common ground, and a sense of being grounded in a real, tangible world.

What is its selling point? (essentially, why would an agent/publisher choose yours over the next one in the pile?). Don’t be bashful about this. This is your notebook, so if you’re proud of a feature or aspect of the story, write it down. In my case, there is no ‘Big Bad come to destroy the world’, no Chosen One who is the only one who can stop it. There is an antagonist, but it’s on a personal scale, and that’s the selling point. It’s about two people going on a personal journey to uncover a lost piece of knowledge that’s arguably not all that world-changing on its own, but which means the world to them.  

What will be the three biggest issues in writing the first draft? Identify the three biggest roadblocks, and then take a bulldozer to them. For me, it was time management, getting mentally stuck, and the sheer darned effort of it becoming overwhelming!

Important Bullet Points  

These are five key facts about your novel, distilled from the sections above. They include: What’s at the heart of the story? How long is the story? What’s the narrative focus of the story? What are the maximum number of main characters? And the maximum number of supporting characters (this obviously doesn’t mean you can’t have other, less important characters too!)?  

Relationship between the two main characters is forefront

50-100k words

The novel’s focus is on the characters’ main goal (had to be more vague here so I didn't give it away)

2 main characters

3 supporting characters  

If you find you’ve got too many main characters (not necessarily a bad thing to have a lot of characters - look at A Song of Ice and Fire after all!), then figure out whose story you want to tell here. You can always write another story with other characters in a connected novel, or a sequel. You don’t have to tell everything all at the same time.  

Speaking of characters… 

…Get to Know Your Main Characters:  

Here you can write character sheets for each of your main characters and cast. There are hundreds of these templates available on the internet, asking questions like ‘how would your character react to [insert event]?’ etc. to get to know your character. If this isn’t your thing (it isn’t mine) then at least write down some useful information about them. Rough height and weight, hair, eye and skin colour, general temperament, and any other defining physical or mental traits. 

Next came the Chronological Order

This does not have to represent the final order of the novel’s structure, nor the order in which you write the manuscript, but you need to know what happened within the timeline, and when, in order to be really clear when you’re telling the story. You can write the manuscript out of order, and you can tell the story with flashbacks or in a different order, but you need to have the underlying chronology securely in place so that your writing makes sense and so that you don’t confuse yourself or the readers in the process.  

Preceding and Tangential Events

These don’t need to be in the novel itself, but it may be important to define the sequence of events that also led up to the moment where we pick up your story, and what is happening elsewhere so that you can be sure of these too. In my case, I defined the events that concerned one of the supporting characters’ lives so that I knew how and why they were at the point they are in the story. It relates directly to - and heavily influences - the events of the novel, so I needed to have this person’s history nailed down as well, even though I don't tell it all explicitly in the book (because that would be unnecessary and a bit dull).  

Basic Premise, Plot Definition, and Sub-Plot Ideas (plus writing a synopsis)

Alicia Lidwina defined the story premise helpfully with the following formula:

Story Premise = Main Character + Desire + Obstacle

Pick a different colour for each of these components, and write a short paragraph to explain them in the context of the novel. Alicia Lidwina used the following:

[Main Character] “Harry, an orphan who didn’t know that he’s a wizard, [Desire] got invited into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and wanted to live his school life to its fullest, [Obstacle] but a certain Dark Lord who killed his parents is trying to rise into powers again and kill him in revenge.

Do this for your novel, and keep it really short.  

Plot Definition: This is even shorter than that! It’s a single sentence!! It’s most closely tied to the desire of the character, and lies at the heart of the story. It’s most likely a distilled version of the ‘what happens in the story’ from the Project Stats page, so check that to see what you wrote there.  

Sub Plot Ideas  

Five bullet points (no more) for things that are happening concurrently and which are related in some way to the main story. For me, Kae and Tomas are doing their research, so that’s the main theme, but beneath that there are a few other related incidents.

Writing a Synopsis - developed out of the points in this section, and includes:

Who the main character is

What the stakes are (the story premise is your guideline)

What the main plot line is

How the MC resolves the problem in the main plot line

How the book ends.

List of Locations  

Start with the main ones and add to it as you go on. Write a little bit of information about them so that you have something to refer back to. I also drew a big old map which I found very helpful and also really fun to do.

List of Scenes

It’s very important to map out every single scene that happens in the novel. Use your timeline to help with this, but remember a scene is not necessarily a chapter. You can have more than one scene within a chapter, but try not to have too many.  

I used small post-it notes (sticky notes) and wrote down things like “M joins K’s clan at the fire and K learns about magic” and “K studies at Citadel, intro to Citadel, magic, and characters” as separate scenes. Once you’ve written down everything that is going to happen (this will take some time! Get a drink and some snacks ready, and go slow), you can stick them into your notebook in the order you’d like to tell the story. Some chapters may have just one scene, while others may have two or three. I didn’t have more than two in any of my chapters, and actually ended up splitting some scenes that I’d made too vague in this section into more chapters. It doesn’t have to be set in stone, but it will form a road map.  

Additions and Notes:  

I left a section of the Scene Outline bit of the notebook blank for things to add in as I went along. I haven’t used it yet, but I might.  

Chapter Outline

I arranged the scenes into the chapters already by sticking them in order, but you could do a chapter outline separately after this. It’s up to you. 

NaNoWriMo plan:  

I did this back in October, and wrote down the main goal for nanoprep, which was to finish the background info. Breaking that down further, I listed - magic (how does it work exactly), geography, and politics. 

After that, it was just a case of writing the 1667 words a day. *spoilers, I got distracted and didn’t do NaNo this year* . What I should have done, was break it up into chunks and write down my goals so that I had something tangible to use as a road map, and I will be doing that now for the novel as I take it up again outside of NaNo. Having check boxes and manageable goals really works for me. Find what will work for you, and if it turns out not to, adapt!

Some final pointers and tips:

Set regular goals for yourself. Whether you work by saying ‘I’ll write 1000 words a day’ or ‘I’ll write something every day’, make a structure for yourself. If you slip and miss a day, week, or month (I didn’t meet NaNo this year because I chose to work on another project instead *slaps forehead*), don’t beat yourself up. Writing is a craft and it takes a long time and a lot of discipline to master a craft.  

Your first draft does not have to be good. At all. Your first draft is just words on paper. A first draft is the block of marble taken from the quarry, and subsequent edits and reworking is the process of carving the sculpture itself. The editing that is done by the publisher or the professional you employ to edit it for you later, is the final polishing. Don’t be demoralised if the block of marble seems very rough when it first lands in your studio. That’s ok!  

Take regular breaks. Writing is hard work, and most people can’t concentrate on something successfully for longer than 55 min's, and if you’re doing that, you’re already doing really well. Personally, I’m at 15-20 on a good day. Write in little sprints of ten minutes or so, and then get up and stretch, look out the window, maybe leave the room, come back in with a fresh approach.  

Stretch your hands, and wear wrist braces when you work. Seriously. I gave myself tendinitis on my first major project, and couldn’t use either hand properly for weeks. The ones I have are these, and they allow me to work safely for much longer.  

Keep hydrated. Have a bottle of water on the desk in front of you between your arms as you type and sip it, otherwise you’ll forget. 2 litres a day is usually recommended, but know your body and drink accordingly.  

Treat yourself. Whether that’s something as simple as a decadent hot chocolate after your first chapter/chunk/sprint is done, or a new notebook or a pen or that sticker set you wanted on Etsy or literally anything nice, reward yourself for the hard work you’ve put in, with tangible things you can look at or experience and say ‘I have that because I did the work’. It’ll help with your sense of achievement, especially if the project is a long one.  

Join a local writer’s group for feedback. With the current Covid-19 chaos, this is probably not possible right now, but getting constructive feedback on your work from someone who hasn’t been cocooned in the project in the way you are, but who respects you as a writer and wants to help you grow, will be invaluable. It’s too easy to exist in a little isolated bubble and think you’re doing ok, when in reality you could be creating bad habits which will be difficult to break later. By these, I mean things like ‘filler words’ you don’t realise you use, or other pit-falls it’s easy to tumble into when you can’t see the wood for the trees…It’s intimidating, and it might take some courage to work up and do, but I promise it’ll help you grow. You don’t have to do what the people suggest, but it’s great to get outside opinions all the same.

Submit work to writing competitions. This will help with showing agents and publishers later down the line that you’re not only committed, but hopefully talented, and will help you to push yourself. Use the world of your novel for the setting, and get to know it by writing short stories on the competition’s theme set there.  

Read. Read the writers you admire, and read them ‘actively’ - figure out exactly what it is about ‘that’ sentence that made you shiver, and use the same techniques in your own work (don’t plagiarise, obviously, but if it was alliteration that made the sentence work so well, use it yourself! Perhaps it was the metre of the line? Great, now you know a rhythm that will drive a sentence forward or slow it down etc.)

Enjoy it. If you’re not enjoying what you’re doing, it’ll show in the work. Take a step back if you start floundering, and ‘interview’ yourself about why it’s not fun any more. Refer back to the sections in the notebook that helped to clarify the plot/process, and see if you’ve wandered away from them. Make yourself answer questions like: ‘What is the main reason I don’t want to do this?’ ‘What is the character’s motivation?’ ‘Should I scrap this section?’ (don’t delete it, but cut and paste it into another ‘scraps’ document, and then start afresh from the last place you were happy with. Nothing is wasted - it all goes into building the world and getting to know the characters, even if it doesn’t get explicitly told in the finished product, so don’t be afraid to do that last bit).  

Good luck!

I hope you found this helpful, and if you have any questions or things you’d like to add to this, please feel free to send me an ask here on Tumblr.

If you’re a new writer hoping to get an agent or publisher, you might also find this post on ‘talking to a published author’ helpful or interesting.

If you would like to keep up to date with my own novel’s progress, you can follow me here on Tumblr, as well as on my writing Instagram @rnpeacock

[jebazzled]

it ain’t your muse! (shut up & write, ft. rihanna)

You nerds are always talking about your muse. My muse this, my muse that, I have no muse, my muse went the way of the dinosaurs, if my muse comes out of its burrow and sees its shadow I won’t be able to write for six weeks.

Shut up about your fucking muse!

It is true that you might go through periods where it is hard to find time and energy to write, or negative experiences in a writing community might leave you with anxiety surrounding writing. But by and large, writers block is something you can overcome! 

Please, for the love of god, let me help you. 

Writing is a muscle, and you’ve got to exercise it if you don’t want it to atrophy. 

This tutorial is a bit of tough love about y’all and y’all’s diddly-darn muses, and some advice for snapping yourself out of it!

So here’s the thing about writing, my loves. You have to actually do it. 

TERRIBLY inconvenient, I know.

I’m not here to tell you how to manage your work-life balance or how to manage your time. If you’re not writing much because you straight up don’t have time to write much, my advice is simple: pare down on your characters, focus on the plots that matter most to you, and spend some mental health juice on reminding yourself that there isn’t an RP Prom Queen, and even if there were, it’s better not to live or die by that bizarro crown. 

But if you’re having trouble writing because of Your Muse... I’m cracking my knuckles. 

We’ve all written with folks before - or been that folk before - who need a very specific set of circumstances if they’re going to write: they need time to Pinterest, need to listen to a specific playlist, need to get in the mindset, need the thread to scratch a very specific itch and need all of it to come together before the moon passes out of a waxing gibbous. As a fellow dev ho, I understand the appeal of writing to suit a mood, of vibing to a playlist, of prioritizing the stuff you’re going fucking feral for, of having the stars align while you do the thing. But if you’re like this when you’re writing for other people - 

well, you’re making things difficult for both you and your writing partners! We can’t control the external constraints on our time, e.g. work and school, and we can’t always control the nonsense our psychology spins to keep us from writing. But some things are within our control, and by god, if there is any control to be had in the year of Mother Sappho 2021, don’t you want it? 

At least some of your writers block is probably dumb as hell. So let’s beat the shit out of that part.

Anyway, if you’re yakking on and on about how your muse demands a bottle of red wine and a scented candle and fairy lights and soft socks and the blood of the servant, willfully given in order to spit out 200 words, or whatever... 

it’s not that fucking deep.

Writing is a muscle. It’s like any other muscle: you need to exercise it. 

If you’re training for a 5k, you don’t sit on your couch listening to “Eye of the Tiger” until race day. You get your ass off the cushion and pound the pavement. You probably start by alternating walks with short bursts of running. You probably don’t work your way up to actually running 5k at a time for a few weeks. And once you’ve run that first 5k, you don’t go sit on your couch to listen to “Eye of the Tiger” until the next race. You keep running to stay in shape for the next race.

Writing is like that. 

What you write does not have to be perfect. 

You can work on the post for six weeks and there will still be things you could change. You know what change your writing partner would have appreciated most? If you’d posted it for them three weeks ago. Don’t let perfect be the enemy of good. 

Cut yourself the same slack you cut for your writing partners. Do you yearn to keelhaul them if their reply isn’t worth a National Book Award? No, because you’re not an asshole. They’re also not an asshole. Everyone is reasonable here. Write something that responds to what they gave you and that gives them something to work with. Not every single post has to be capital-I Inspired. ✨

What you write does not have to be a vibe ready for the Goop newsletter. 

I was a creative writing major in college, and I was always having to turn stuff in for class that wasn’t exactly what I wanted to work on: a short story set in another country when I just wanted to write a play with puppets, an essay about food when I would rather write one about a weekend drive, etc. 

Sometimes, you write what you write when you write it not because it’s getting you hot and bothered but because you’ve owed a reply for A While and you feel bad about keeping someone waiting. It will still be fun, because you chose to do that thread with your character and someone else’s character for a reason, and that reason stands, even if your monkey brain is yearning to play with that slime that makes fart noises when you put it away. 

(Pro tip, here: don’t do threads you don’t actually have any interest in writing! It is less awkward to tell someone, “I am not interested in my character weed whacking your character’s lawn” than to waste their time with 10 posts of it before telling them, “I am not interested in my character weed whacking your character’s lawn.”) 

The more you write, the easier it is. 

Let’s talk about running again. A couple of years ago, I went on a bit of a kick with the running. I ran at least three times a week. I would bring my running shit with me to work so I could run in the park near my office. I would make running dates with friends. I would reward myself with a bagel from my favorite cafe if I did a run. And you know what? Once I got myself past the hurdle of pulling on my running clothes and lacing up my shoes, I enjoyed myself. When I ran 5k without slowing to a walk, I was proud of myself. When I told myself, “let’s do another loop at the park!” and stopped to take a photo of the sunset, I enjoyed myself. I would not have enjoyed myself if I hadn’t hit the goddamn pavement.

Put your ass in your fucking chair. I don’t care if you don’t have the right scented candle. Write 50 words. Right fucking now. I’ll wait.

Write another 50.

Now write another 100.

How long did that take you? Some days, it might take you 90 minutes to write 200 words. But that’s 200 more words than you would have written in 90 minutes of browsing Pinterest waiting for an angel to come down from heaven and write this post for you. 

All that bullshit you do to Feed Your Muse? It’s stalling, you idiot. 

The more you make yourself write instead of just thinking about writing, the easier it will be to actually fucking write. 

I used to sit and stare at posts for hours and hours and hours before submitting them, so worried about the post being good enough. When I moved to a neighborhood with an aboveground train line, I was able to write on my morning commute, and writing every morning - even if only the 200 words I could crank out on mobile in 30 minutes before work - got me out of my weird writers block crutches and security blankets. It didn’t take as much effort to write, anymore. I wrote over 200,000 words in 2019, and over 300,000 words in 2020, when I had barely any commute at all to use on writing. I didn’t magically have endless hours of free time. I just wasn’t wasting my free time pretending that being on Tumblr counted as writing. 

Tough love: doled out. And now:

TIPS & TRICKS FOR BEATING “””Writers Block”””

Stop acting like Writers Block is real. It’s not that it’s not real, but by telling yourself that you have Writers Block, you’re making it worse for yourself. You’re making excuses for yourself. I used Writers Block to stall writing my Topics in Creative Writing: Folktales portfolio for 3 months, and you know what happened? I still had to turn in the fucking portfolio, because the person I was writing for didn’t fucking care about my fucking Writers Block. And you know who had to sit her ass in a chair and write 30 pages of folktales in a 24 hour period? Me. It’s almost like my Writers Block was just PROCRASTINATION. 

Set a timer. If you’re looking at your list of replies owed and you’re feeling like it might be easier to “do character dev” and “build a playlist” than to write your posts, break the task into smaller pieces. If your server has a sprint bot, use it. If not, set your own timer.  Organize your list of threads with the ones you’ve owed replies on the longest at the top. Set your timer for 20 minutes and see how much you can write for the oldest post you owe. Not done? Set the timer for another 20 minutes. Keep setting that timer until that post is done and you can drop it in the tags channel. Now do the same for the second oldest.  CRANK! THEM! OUT! If you find that it’s depleting your creative energy, that’s not unusual! When I get to this point in my own posting habits, my oldest replies owed are usually for Albus Dumbledore, a character I write specifically because I hate him. It is often easier to knock out all his posts in one chunk rather than shift voice, so this ends up working out nicely. 

Don’t indulge your stupid stalling tactics. Do you typically get sidetracked by Pinterest? Put your phone away and close that tab. Do you get absorbed in lining up the perfect music for writing a post? Write in silence, asshole. Do you need to be in your favorite chair with the right lighting? Go sit on a park bench and write on mobile.  It’s nice to write in idealized environments. I rented a treehouse last summer to write 10k on a novel! I get it! But you absolutely can write in other environments, if you have to. And if you can get yourself to write on a dark skin on your iPad at an airport in the Midwest while waiting for a flight - well, shit, think of how much you’ll be able to write on a laptop when your diva ass demands are properly met!

Don’t take on shit you don’t want to write. I fully admit that these tactics feel a bit like homework/chores/a to-do list for what is of course a fun hobby. You know how they say “love what you do and you’ll never work a day in your life?” If you don’t take on plots, characters, and threads that don’t have a lick of interest or excitement for you, this shit won’t feel like a hassle. 

Hope this whips all you little miscreants (myself included) into shape! Now quit your yapping and start writing. 

[fullwets]

shoeydaniel's top works of 2020 ❤️

I was tagged by my dearest darling @captainfuu like . two entire months ago. and by the literal MVP of this hellsite, @eight-hearts, today 🙈 thank you both so much!

i’ll tag @pierreswrists @pierrelli @jeeperslatifi @estebanoconz bc i am a massive fan of all of ur work. only if you want to! grrrr i was gonna tag everyone first but then i procrastinated and now everyone’s done it already

Rules: It’s time to love yourself. Choose your 5 favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you’ve brought into the world. Tag as many writers/artist/etc. you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works! 

5. over the last ~14 months or so I’ve started drawing again!! Literally while procrastinating for finals I drew Harry Styles in the margins of my class reading and was like “oh shit i can draw?” The rest is history. I am going to cheat and include multiple drawings as one entry on this list kjhdksjhd. Here’s my F1-related sketch dump

4. in the same vein - here’s another, non-f1 sketch dump

side note: I have nicknamed this era of my drawings “The PearsonVUE.com/Military Collection” bc i was trying to use up a stack of branded post-its from my dad’s old employer 💀 rip pearsonvue postits. im so glad we finally ran out bc there were like 500 of those bitches.

3. all my heart finds true

long story short @pierreswrists wrote something in the tags of a reblog that inspired me, and I said we should turn it into a fic together, so we wrote a fic about love letters and crossing an ocean to be with someone you love, and then I had to take a break from writing said fic bc I was falling for her and i didn’t want to associate us with maxiel, and here we are four months later, in a relationship. It’s embarrassing. Anyway. I’m proud of what we made! And it was very very cool to create something collaboratively.

2. yellow, yellow, gold, and ochre

My precious, precious, horror fic! I call this one “savior pierre” in my head, and it was entirely inspired by the events of Monza 2020, and it’s gen (yay for being a Normal Human Being), and it made N compliment me and now we’re friends!!!! Eeeee! Writing horror was actually very fun and I hope I do it again some day.

1. Heels turned black

despite the fact that i no longer produce maxiel in any form, i am still SO fucking proud of this fic. I made friends through this, I entered the F1 fandom through this, and most importantly, it’s my favorite piece of writing I’ve ever completed. I love the way I wrote it, I was blown away by the response people had, it felt so satisfying to complete. I don’t think there’s much else to say. J once made a post about how much she loved it that I still have saved in my drafts to this day. L left me not one but several essay-length comments filled with red-gold emoji that made me gasp when i received them. S read it immediately after she was released from the hospital and now we’re girlfriends. htb really truly is the culmination of my year.

[eleven-times-lively]

The Twins - Part 1

In which Fred and reader welcome their new bundles of joy into the world.💕 Masterpost

Summary: The first children of Fred and reader are born as the couple beings their adventures in parenting and the first real trial of marriage. With a bit of angst IM SORRY. Word Count: 6845 oops Note: So I kinda forgot I had to do this lol. I wrote this at 1am on Friday cause I had two history essays due that I procrastinated hehehe.

You found him in the kitchen and wrapped your arms around him from behind. “What’s this for, love?” He giggled as he turned to face you. You cupped his face in your hands and looked him right in the eyes, “I’m pregnant.”

The tears quickly began to well in his eyes, his emotions processing before his thoughts. “You’re, pr-”

“Yes, Freddie! Pregnant! We’re going to be parents!” He picked you up into the air like you were no more than a feather. Embracing you in the tightest hug he ever had he nuzzled into your neck. 

“How do you know!? How long have you known? How far along are you?! Did you tell anyone else before me? This is amazing! Are you okay?” The amount of questions--both spoken and underlying--that he was throwing at you was unreal.

“I’ve been vomiting, I’m two weeks late, and yes it is amazing!!!” You pulled him into a deep kiss as you celebrated together.

“We need to tell everyone!”

“Woahhh… slow your roll, Weasley. I think I should head to the doctor first. And besides, you aren’t supposed to tell anyone for a few months in case something… happens.” His face contorted a bit at the last part. He had just found out about the little bean inside of you and he already couldn’t bear the thought of something bad happening. “Here, sit down. Can I get you anything?”

You let out a light chuckle. “Fred I’m not diseased. I can’t be more than a month pregnant, it’s almost as if I’m not at all.”

“I knowww,” he groaned, “but you have our baby in there, and I need to protect you at all costs.”

You blushed at his words. “A cup of tea wouldn’t hurt I suppose.”

***

Three days later you and Fred were seated in the doctor's office, practically vibrating with nerves and excitement. 

“Mr. and Mrs. Weasley! Nice to meet you! I’m Dr. Bloom. Congratulations on the news!” Dr. Bloom was the peppiest woman you’d ever met. She couldn’t have been more than five foot two and her dusty brown curls bobbed about the room along with her. “Now, when did you find out?”

You sat up a bit straighter, matching her warm smile. “About three weeks ago I missed my period, and I’ve been dizzy and nauseous ever since… Although I just put the pieces together a few days ago,” you added with a chuckle.

“Great! So you could be about a month along already! How exciting!” She grinned at you and Fred, seemingly more excited for the baby than you two were. “Now normally we would wait until about seven weeks to do an ultrasound, but because we aren’t entirely sure how far along you are we may as well do one today. Mrs. Weasley if you’d please hop up here and just life your shirt a bit.”

You stood and did as she asked, and Fred gripped your hand once you were settled. 

“Now this may be a bit chilly!” she remarked as she began. Her gleeful face quickly contorted into a cross between confusion and concern. You could practically hear Fred’s heart sink as you both feared the worst. “Mrs. Weasley, how far along did you saw you were?”

“Well I missed my period about three weeks ago, but we did skip protection at the beginning of… last… month…” you’re words trailed off as you realised.

“How fun! Mr. and Mrs. Weasley I’d estimate that you are about six weeks along! Good thing I did an ultrasound, it’s the perfect time!” You and Fred grinned at each other with all of the passion in the universe.

“Could we um… is it too soon to see the baby?” He asked sheepishly.

“Of course not, Mr. Weasley!” She grinned up at Fred… very far up. “Here’s the little bean!” She turned the monitor and your heart melted.

“They’re beautiful,” Fred sighed, the tears welling up in his eyes. “Y/n, love, that’s our baby.” Now you were crying.

“Oh… wait.” Dr. Bloom piped up, except she didn’t sound even the least bit concerned. She turned the monitor back to herself as she searched the screen. 

“Doctor?” Fred questioned, a hint of fear pricking at his words.

She turned back to you, practically jumping out of her seat. “Mr. and Mrs. Weasley you are having twins!!” She practically shrieked as she turned the monitor back to you and Fred. “See? There’s one and there’s the other! Now, it’s too early to tell the gender but you do have two separate amniotic sacs so they could both be the same or you could get a boy and a girl!!”

You and Fred looked at each other once more before wrapping in a tight embrace. “Twins!” You both exclaimed in unison.

“Twins!” Dr. Bloom chimed back. “Twins are quite rare at your age, Mrs. Weasley. Do they run in either family?”

“I have a twin brother,” Fred replied, sounding quite proud of himself. “I can’t wait to tell Georgie!” he whispered to you.

“How fun! Aren’t genetics so interesting!?” She once again grinned up at both of you, both now standing. “Now I should mention that this immediately makes the pregnancy high risk.” Even while delivering somewhat concerning news, she still sounded chipper. “You’ll have to have more ultrasounds, you’ll get a lot bigger, and there is a chance you’ll have to go on bedrest for the last few weeks or you’ll have to deliver early. However, it is a good thing that you two are so young because that reduces all of these risks by a lot!” There were smiles around the room as she handed you the printed picture of the sonogram. “Oh! I almost forgot! Your due date is around early January, of course expect mid to late December since twins are usually born around 36 weeks rather than 38 to 40.” You and Fred thanked her as you headed out of the office.

*** Two months later...early July...14 weeks pregnant.

“Ugh! I look like a whale!” You cried out as you tried to tug your dress on. “Whyyy twins!? I’m barely four months but I look huge already!”

“Nonsense!” Fred piped up from behind you, peering in from the doorway. 

“Honestly I can’t believe I didn’t know until six bloody weeks! I was already showing then I just thought I got fat!”

“Nonsense!” He repeated. “You are bloody stunning, love.” He walked over to you and placed a kiss to your shoulder before crouching down and placing both hands on your belly. “No matter what you look like, you’ll always be gorgeous in my eyes.” He placed a kiss to your belly before standing up again and placing a kiss on your lips.

“Yeah you say that now, but wait until after I have these beans and I’m all saggy,” you chuckled, a tear pricking at your eyes at your true thoughts behind the joke.

“Still beautiful,” Fred kissed you again, laughing. Then he noticed the tear rolling down your face. “Love, what is it! For real, tell me.”

“I’m massive! And these stretch marks! I mean seriously, why do these have to be a thing?! You’re gonna see me after I have our babies and question why we even got pregnant in the first place.

“Y/n! Stoppit, please. These stretch marks are a sign of power and strength. What you’re doing is a bloody amazing thing, especially since you’re doing twice the work. You are the strongest, most fearless woman I know, and no matter what you look like, that won’t change. I can’t stand to see you talk about yourself like that,” he spoke softly, running his hands through your hair as he went. “I’m not walking away until you say that you love yourself no matter how you look. And you have to mean it.” He smiled down at you as he moved behind you to look at you in the mirror.

“I know you love me, Freddie. Thank you. These changes are just...hard,” you sighed a bit as you spoke. “But I love myself, and my body, and all of the amazing things I’m doing right now.” You smiled at him in the mirror. “Happy now?” There was humour in your tone but he could tell you meant what you had said.

“Very.” He kissed the top of your head before he spoke. “Now, we have a busy day. I told mum to gather everyone at the Burrow to share the news, although of course I didn’t tell her that bit. So we are heading there, then we have to take the photos to send out the announcements to everyone else, and then we have our visit with Dr. Bloom later.”

“I’m exhausted thinking about doing all of that,” you added with a laugh. “Can you believe it’s already our third visit? And we get to find out the genders today!” You added with a smile before trailing off, “Of course, only if you want to.”

“I’d love to find out what you’ve got in there, love,” he laughed at his remark, “But only if you do. And I suppose it doesn’t matter all that much in the end, does it?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well it’s all up to them anyway. Boy, girl, somewhere in between, maybe it’ll change. I don’t know, I just want them to be happy and be who they are.” You almost burst into tears at his words.

“I love you, Fred. And our babies.”

“Love you, too.” He gave you a kiss as you both headed out of the bedroom door to apparate to the Burrow.

***

You and Fred tried your best to hide the bump as you came up the path to the front door, but of course everyone noticed as soon as you stepped inside and you were met with a barrage of excited comments.

“Fred Weasley I haven’t seen you in mo-, Y/n you’re pregnant!!” Molly shouted.

“Oi! Look at you, y/n!” Ron and Harry said in unison, “Congratulations!” Ginny and Hermione followed.

“Well would you look at that,” Bill uttered in surprise, “my baby brother’s going to have a baby of his own!” You and Fred exchanged knowing glances, wondering if you should tell them the extra surprise just yet.

“And you didn’t even tell me, your own twin brother!” George scoffed, sounding fake annoyed. “Congratulations, mate!” he said as he patted Fred on the shoulder, “and y/n you’re looking radiant as ever.” You just rolled your eyes and laughed.

“Actually…” Fred began, “we have an extra surprise.” This was met with puzzled looks all around. “Georgie, I guess twins run in the family cause we’re having our own!” This only welcomed another wave of excited shouts from the group.

“Twins!” Fred and Geroge exclaimed in unison, sharing the most excited faces you’d seen in a while.

“How wonderful!” Molly exclaimed, lightly touching your belly, “how far along, y/n? Do you know the genders yet?”

“Fourteen weeks, and we find out today!”

“Fourteen weeks!” George gawked, “Happy birthday to you Freddie…” Fred just rolled his eyes at his brother.

“Fourteen weeks and you’re already huge!” Ron piped up, earning a slap from Molly and Fred. “Heavens no I didn’t mean it like that! I just would’ve thought you were a bit farther along. My apologies, y/n. You look amazing.”

“It’s fine, Ron, I know,” you said, genuinely meaning it, “you get a bit bigger with two babies.” you laughed.

You all sat and talked for a few hours. Discussing everything from how you found out, when you told Fred, and how you felt about it. You noticed it was nearly time for your appointment, so you and Fred rose before saying goodbye to the group and apparating away.

***

“Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, good to see you again!” Dr. Bloom said, chipper as ever. You and Fred looked down at her, smiling. “Y/n, you know what to do, dear. Will you two be finding out the genders today?”

You and Fred looked at each other expectantly before pronouncing a resounding “Yes!” in unison.

“Fantastic,” Dr. Bloom laughed as she got started. “Alright Mrs. Weasley, the babies look amazing, perfectly healthy and the size we’d expect for fourteen weeks.” She smiled at you and Fred as she spoke. “Are we ready to have a look?” You and Fred nodded and grinned. “Alrighty, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, you are having girls!”

“They’re both girls?!” Fred exclaimed, both stunned and overjoyed.

“Yes! Congratulations!”

You and Fred embraced, both crying.

*** Three months later… end of September… 26 weeks pregnant

“Twelve weeks to go, love,” Fred said as he rubbed your belly, “can you believe it?”

“I certainly cannot. But I can believe that I wanna have these babies and be done with pregnancy,” you groaned. “I’m so excited to meet our beautiful baby girls, Freddie.”

“Me too, y/n. I’d never imagine you’d be so eager to give birth. I mean you look radiant and don’t all women just love being pregnant?” Fred muttered as the two of you were cuddled on the couch.

“Are you serious?” You asked, looking down at him.

“What?”

“I mean look at me!,” you exclaimed as you stood, looking at his seated figure on the couch. “I’m absolutely massive and I still have three months to go! I waddle when I walk, I can barely go upstairs without having to take a break at the top, my ankles and back hurt constantly because I’ve already gained thirty pounds and I can barely keep anything but toast down!” you continued, practically yelling, “I mean, how in the world could I be happy right now!”

“Cause you’re carrying our children…” Fred said softly, standing up and resting his hands on your belly. “Our daughters are in there, y/n.”

“I know that, Fred,” you sighed, “and I can’t wait to meet them. I’d just rather be done with this pregnancy. It’s been horrible! Does everyone feel like this?”

“I mean I know you’re extra hormonal but I think you’re overreacting just a bit, love.” wrong answer, Weasley.

“Excuse me?!” You shouted, taking a step back from Fred. “You try gaining this much weight, carrying TWO children,and being in constant pain!” You were yelling now.

“Y/n, I’m so sorry, I- I don’t know where that came from…”

“Yeah? Well you said it so there has to be some truth behind it, Fred. This is my pregnancy, not yours. I’m allowed to feel however I want right now and you can’t say a damn thing about it! At least make an effort to understand what I’m feeling.” You walked away and out into the gardens before he could respond.

Fred came outside to find you about thirty minutes later, wanting to give you some time to cool down. He found you lounged on the chair in the garden, a tear rolling down your cheek. “Y/n? Love, I-”

“I’m sorry, Fred.”

“What? Why? You have absolutely nothing to be sorry for,” he nearly whispered as he crouched down next to you and wiped the tear from your cheek.

“I exploded on you for no reason. I hate yelling, especially when it’s at you, especially when I have our daughters in me. I feel bad.”

“Love you absolutely had a reason to be upset, I made a horrible comment cause I wasn’t thinking. I’m so, so sorry, y/n. What you are going through is a massive change, and you’re right, I can’t even begin to comprehend what it’s like. It’s your body, your emotions, your experience and I stepped on that. I’m sorry.”

“I know. I love you so much, Freddie. And you’ve been absolutely amazing throughout these past six months. I couldn’t have asked for a better husband.”

“I love you, y/n, very much and I hope you know that.”

You slowly and painstakingly rose to your feet before taking his hand and heading inside.

*** Three months later… Christmas Eve… 39 weeks pregnant

“Fred!” you shouted from your bedroom at your husband. He was busy getting the gifts together so the two of you could head to the Burrow for the Christmas festivities. You were huge, tired, and pretty miserable given that you were now a week past your due date of December 17.

“What?!” Fred called out when he reached the bedroom having sprinted upstairs. He’d been on edge ever since your due date and every time you yell his name he thinks this is it, I’m going to meet my daughters. “Is everything okay? Is it time!?”

“No, Freddie,” you said slightly chuckling with an apologetic look on your face. “I just wanted to show you my Christmas Eve outfit.” You looked extremely festive in your red sweater, leggings (you had chosen jeans just ditched them for comfort), and little booties, which all came together with the little Santa hat atop your head.

“You look amazing, love. Ready to go?”

“Absolutely!” Fred went downstairs and came back up with the gifts and from the bedroom floor he grabbed your bags to stay a few nights at the Burrow. You didn’t even have the energy to apparate yourself, let alone go downstairs to do it.

Moments later you and Fred stood in the chilly air outside the Burrow. He quickly ushered you inside while struggling to balance the three bags he was holding.

“Freddie! Y/n!” Molly called out. “Here y/n, please sit,” she offered out the stop on the couch she was just in. You sat down rather fast for your condition, grateful to be off your feet. Molly took the bag of gifts from Fred as he went upstairs to put your bags in his old bedroom, which you’d reluctantly have to share with George and Angelina. “So how are you, darling? The kids are all outside gathering more wood for a fire, and probably getting into trouble,” she chuckled, “Can I get you anything?”

“Oh no, I’m perfectly fine thank you Molly.” She seemed satisfied as she hurried away to call everyone else in from the snowy backyard. The once quiet living room where just you and Arthur, who was asleep, sat quickly filled with Weasleys and their companions.

“Y/n! So great to see you, love,” Ginny smiled warmly at you.

“No babies yet?” Harry asked.

“Unfortunately not,” you chuckled. You answered other questions from the many Weasleys as you greeted them all. Fred then came running down the stairs when he heard everyone.

“Georgie!” he shouted, leaping into his brother’s arms.

“Well hello, Freddie!” he laughed as he hugged his brother. Everyone found various seats around the living room as they asked you more and Fred more questions.

“When is your due date, y/n?” Hermione asked.

“Well it was December 17, but as you can see we’ve since exceeded that.”

“Do you know the genders? If so, why haven’t you told me, er- us?” George questioned.

“We do know, and all in due time, brother.” Fred laughed.

“Are you nervous? Scared?” Charlie asked as Bill shot him a look.

“Extremely,” you and Fred said in unison, exchanging glances. “I’m just so scared I’ll do something wrong, you know?” Fred continued, “Like what if I’m not a good father and I mess them up somehow?” he asked, voice shaky.

“Freddie,” you said softly as Molly spoke up.

“Fred, honey, you’ll do great! Your father and I have surely raised you right and you’re a bloody amazing person, dear. You’ll be one of the best fathers out there!” This was met with affirming nods and ‘mhmm’ from around the room. Seemingly calmed down, Fred took a deep breath as Fleur spoke up.

“Do you have any names in mind?”

“A couple,” you responded, “we definitely want them to have some sentimental or family value to them.”

“Little George Weasley Junior!” George exclaimed. “Or Georgina,” he quickly added.

“They aren’t your kids, you git,” Fred laughed. “Perhaps their middle names could be Molly and Ginevra.” Fred quickly realised his slip, earning a death glare from you as he turned pale as a ghost. He quickly corrected himself, “Or maybe even William, or Percy, or Charles, or… uh… um George, or Ronald, or even Arthur.” He was rambling and it was obvious he was only trying to cover up.

“Y/n Weasley do you have two baby girls in there?” Molly asked, grinning.

“Yes I do! But they aren’t identical,” you said proudly. “We were hoping to announce it tomorrow but someone can’t keep his mouth shut,” you laughed. You and Fred were met with more congratulations and excited sentiments, and Ginny looked like she was about to explode.

“Two baby girls!” she exclaimed, “Harry, we may have to have our own soon!” Harry just froze in his spot and paled.

After many hours of conversation between everyone, it was getting late.

“Alright, kids,” Molly spoke up, “bedtime.”

“But Mummm,” George whined, “ we aren’t children anymore.”

“Then why are you whining like one George Weasley?” Everyone snickered as George turned red. Everyone retreated upstairs to their childhood bedrooms.

“You know, Georgie, sharing a room was great when we were kids but now we’re adults with wives and it’s rather unfortunate.” Fred said to his brother.

“I think it’s quite fun,” George responded, “like one last sleepover before you and y/n are boring adults with kids.”

“Hey now Georgie,” you chimed in, “you seemed awfully excited about these babies a moment ago.”

“Well of course I am, y/n! I can’t wait to meet my little nieces, but I will miss my brother.”

“Oh you wish I’d leave you alone, Georgie,” Fred laughed. 

After getting organized and settled you all climbed into your respective beds. At least they weren’t too close to each other. It was quite difficult to squeeze into the twin sized bed with yourself, Fred, and the baby bump. You eventually made it work and found yourselves cuddled closer than ever, though neither of you seemed to mind.

***

You and Fred woke up Christmas morning to an empty room and the smell of breakfast creeping up the stairs. 

“Morning, love,” Fred whispered sleepily. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, love,” you said as you kissed him. He helped you out of bed before the two of you got ready for the day. You and Fred went downstairs and were met with warm smiles from the Weasleys.

“Morning you two!” Molly smiled at you from the kitchen, “Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas, Molly, and everyone else of course!”

After breakfast everyone found a place in the livingroom and around the tree, elated to receive their Weasley jumpers. As she was passing them around Molly whispered only to you, “I made you one a bit bigger. It’s not for pregnancy cause I figured you’d have the babies by now, but I figured it’ll be nice right after you have them.”

You felt a tear prick at your eye, “thank you, Molly.”

“Of course, dear,” she said, then continued at a normal volume, “I was going to knit some for the babies but we don’t know their names yet! As soon as they’re born I’ll get to work!”

Gifts were passed out between couples, in-laws, and siblings as laughs and smiles were traded around the room. You were about to give Fred his gift when you felt that dreaded pain in your lower back and abdomen. You stopped mid-movement to clutch your stomach, clearly in pain.

“Y/n?” he asked. Between your noises in pain and his questioning, you had the attention of everyone in the room and quickly felt yourself turn red. “Is this what I think it is?” 

“Yeah, I think it was,” you responded once the contraction subsided.

“Merlin!” Hermione gasped, and Fred only turned stark white and didn’t know what to do.

“Is it time?” Ginny asked, sounding more than a bit concerned. Her voice matched the face of everyone else in the room.

“No, I don’t think so. That’s the first contraction I’ve ever had. It’s either my body giving me a little ‘preparation’ one or this is early labour.” Fred winced at ‘labour’.

“Could it be false contractions?” Molly asked, placing a hand on your shoulder.

“I don’t think so. Dr. Bloom said that at this far along any contractions are probably real. She also said that I wouldn’t be able to talk through them, which I couldn’t, and that they’d last at least forty-five seconds. Was anyone timing that, by chance?” you chuckled, expecting the answer to be no.

“Actually, yes,” Hermione spoke up, “fifty-two seconds precisely.”

“Do… do we need to go to the hospital?” Fred asked, finally out of his daze and finally able to speak. 

“No, dear,” you and Molly both said. You took a deep breath before continuing, “Dr. Bloom said early labour is confirmed when you have at least two an hour that are forty-five to sixty-five seconds long. And to notify her and get to the hospital when they are five minutes apart and at least two minutes long, or whenever my water breaks.” Fred winced again at that. “There’s still a chance that could’ve just been a… warning contraction,” you said looking around the room, “Even if this is labour, can we please go about the day normally? I’d like to enjoy Christmas.”

“Of course, love,” Molly said, “but you’re going to the hospital as soon as it’s time, Christmas or not.”

About forty minutes later, you had another contraction. You were in the kitchen talking to Bill as he was washing up dishes from breakfast. 

“So have you and Fred gotten the nursery set up? I’d sure hope so considering you’re in labour,” he chuckled.

“Well I may not be in la-” you groaned in pain as the second contraction hit.

“Y/n? Is it-” You could only nod your head in response.

“Well I guess I’m in labour,” you chuckled.

“Forty-nine seconds,” he told you, and you were grateful he had counted. You thanked him and walked off to find Fred after assuring him you were completely fine.

Bill finished up and everyone was in the living room. You came back downstairs to share the news. “Looks like I’m officially in labour, everyone!” You were met with cheers, everyone knew it would be soon considering you were overdue.

As the day went on you kept having contractions, and it was like the world would stop spinning whenever one would hit you. Whoever you were in the room with would stop whatever they were doing, count the time for you, and not resume their actions until triple-checking that you were okay. You had also been keeping track of the minutes between contractions, holding steady at about thirty-five. You and Fred went to bed early that night as you were so exhausted from the contractions. You could barely sleep as the contractions kept coming. You’d hoped that they would just hurry up and get you into active labour, but they stayed at no less than thirty-three minutes apart.

Another contraction woke you up the next morning after what couldn’t have been more than an hour of sleep. You just stared at the ceiling, uncomfortable until the contraction passed. Fifty-six seconds. You assumed it was rather early as Fred, George, and Angelina were still asleep. You wandered downstairs, expecting mostly everyone to be awake, thinking it was a normal hour knowing the twins always sleep in. Instead you were welcomed by early morning darkness, save for Percy and his small table lamp. 

“It’s barely even six, what’re you doing up?”

“Barely slept, didn’t realize how early it was.” He shrugged and put his book down for you. The third-born Weasley was quite a unique being. Priding himself on his neatness, intelligence, and punctuality, he was already dressed in his daily suit. Come to think of it, you weren’t sure you’d ever seen him in anything other than a suit.

“Still only a half hour apart?” he asked as he headed to the kitchen.

“Unfortunately,” you sighed, “twenty hours now, Percy.” He sighed in content as he handed you a mug of tea, which you then thanked him for.

“What do they feel like? Is it terribly painful?”

“Eh, I wouldn’t say painful. It’s more like pressure and squeezing. I’m sure they’ll hurt more in active labour.” And as you finished your sentence a contraction hit you.

“Merlin,” Percy said when it was over, “that was sixty-one seconds, y/n.”

“That’s the longest one yet,” you said, looking slightly concerned, “and I had one when I woke up, which couldn’t have been more than twenty-five minutes ago.”

“Well I guess things are finally speeding up, eh?” You smiled at him as you sipped your tea. You had always taken a liking to Percy. Sure he was nearly two years older than you, but you had always had the most in common. You can recall all of the late night conversations you’d shared in the Hogwarts library when you and Fred had just started dating.

*** 

It was around four that afternoon and your labour was finally starting to move along. You were just so happy to be almost done with pregnancy that it was like a little celebration everytime you had a contraction, although they were getting more painful. You were out in the garden with Fleur when another one hit.

“Exactly! So these rose-” you froze in pain, the worst it had been yet. You could see Fleur counting silently, her lips moving and eyes darting around in concentration. When it was over you let out a tired yet excited sigh. “How long?” you asked eagerly.

“Seventy seconds, mademoiselle!” you had confided in Fleur about your struggles and she was now just as relieved as you were. “How long since the last?”

“Fifteen minutes!” You practically cheered. You had been in labour for thirty hours now, and not even active labour yet, and you were over it. 

The day went on and the contractions got closer and closer together, but of course more and more painful. By eight that night they were nine minutes apart and Molly made you sit on the couch, not allowing you to get up. “I know it’s not time to go yet, but you need your rest, y/n,” she said, “you have a lot of work ahead of you. Let me get you some tea, love.” She gave you a sympathetic smile before walking away. 

Not ten seconds later you groaned loudly in pain as another contraction hit you. Luckily Ron had been in the living room and was crouching at your side in an instant. You whimpered as the pain took over, just wanting it to end. The contraction finally subsided as Ron was running his hand up and down your leg. “Eighty-two seconds now, y/n. Almost there!” He gave his lopsided smile before standing up. “That one seemed bad, are you okay?”

“That one was pretty bad, but I’m fine. Thank you , Ron.” He smiled again before returning to his seat. Molly had been in the doorway and was smiling proudly at her son. She handed you your mug of tea.

“Let me go fetch Fred, love. He’s been outside with Georgie shoveling snow but I’m sure you’d rather have him with you.” She walked off before you could thank her or respond.

Moments later Fred joined you on the couch. Laying back and settling you between his legs so he could place his hands on your belly. His warmth enveloped you and would surely be comforting with the next contraction. “Hi, love,” he whispered, “how are you?”

“Miserable, Freddie,” you answered honestly.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he kissed your head. A few minutes later another contraction hit and you tensed against Fred. He gently rubbed your belly and whispered in your ear, helping you through it.

“Eighty-five seconds,” Ron piped up. “Getting closer!”

You smiled at him, silently thanking him. “I think I just want to go to bed now.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, dear,” Molly said, “you’re getting very close and if your water breaks while you're asleep you may not notice.”

“I probably won’t be doing much sleep, but I know I shouldn’t go up.”

“Just relax, darling,” Fred whispered, “I’m right here, you’ll be okay.”

It was now ten thirty, and your contractions were now just under seven minutes apart and very very painful. A particularly bad one hit you as you let out a small scream, you were breathing heavy when it was over. The entire group was in the living room, practically watching your every move.

“Just shy of two minutes, y/n.” Ginny said.

“Thank you,” you said. “You can all go to bed,” you addressed the group, “it’s late.”

“Nonsense!” George said, “We aren’t sleeping until you have those babies.” Everyone nodded and agreed with him.

“I think it’s time to head to the hospital, love,” Fred said.”

“No, Fred,” you replied, a little more sternly than you had intended. “They aren’t five minutes apart yet and they aren’t two minutes long.”

“Love, you’re in a lot of pain and the contractions are barely seven minutes apart any more. That last one was three seconds shy of two minutes.”

“I said no, Fred. I will when they get to six minutes, okay?” He just sighed and placed another kiss on your head.

An hour went by and you were seemingly stuck at seven minutes apart. The pain wasn’t any worse or any better, it was as if you were stuck in labour limbo. You’d been in labour for thirty eight hours now. Various Weasleys had drifted in and out of sleep, but everyone remained relatively alert and they all were at attention when a contraction hit. And after a few more minutes, one did. You let out a louder cry as this one was particularly bad.

“Merlin, that was only six minutes since the last one!” Charlie said, realising what this meant. “Two minutes and two seconds.”

“Love, can we please go now?” Fred asked. “You promised we would when they were six minutes apart.”

“Just a few more contractions, Freddie. They may not stay that close, it could go back up.” Fred only groaned.

“Y/n,” Molly began, “you know I love you but that’s not usually how that works. Speaking from experience, you know I have done this a few times, I think you should go.”

“I don’t want to…” you muttered quietly, but mostly everyone still heard due to the night time silence.

“What’s that, love?” Fred asked.

“I don’t want to go.”

“Well I know you don’t just yet, we can wait a little bit if you’d really like.”

“No, Fred, I don’t want to go at all.”

“Pardon? I don’t think mum would like it very much if you had our babies on her couch.”

“I scared Fred,” you whimpered, holding back tears which inevitably came down. Everyone in the room was looking at you with either concern, sympathy, or both. “I can’t do this… I can’t do this…” you were fully crying now.

“Love, what do you mean? Of course you can do this. You’ve been carrying our babies for nearly ten months now. You’re the strongest woman I know, you can do anything.”

“I know, I’m just scared that something bad is going to happen.” Molly crouched down next to you when she heard that.

“Y/n, I was bloody terrified the first time. We were so young just like you and Fred were. I had all of the same feelings, and believe it or not they all came back again with the twins even though I’d done it three times before. I’ll be honest, having a baby isn’t easy, especially when you do it twice in one day, but I know how strong you are and I know you can do this.” She took your hand in hers and smiled at you. “So would you like to go to the hospital now, love?”

Everyone in the room looked at you expectantly awaiting your answer. You could hear the collective sigh of relief when you nodded your head. The house was quickly alive in an instant. Molly helped you to your feet, everyone put on their winter jackets, Fred called Dr. Blom, and George grabbed the hospital bags. In an instant you had all apparated away to the hospital where you were quickly ushered into a room. The nurse had gotten you situated and into the bed as the Weasley family removed their coats and hats as they found places to sit or stand around the room. Your contractions were four minutes apart now and your water had broken. Fred and George stood on either side of you, squeezing your hands and helping you through each contraction however you needed. Dr. Bloom burst into the room a few minutes later, looking rather peppy for it being midnight, as she began to ask you all the standard questions. You had started to answer, but Fred took over when another contraction hit. Dr. Bloom estimated you had about twenty more minutes to go. Your contractions were now two minutes apart and lasted nearly three minutes. You were showered with words of encouragement from all around the room and George and Fred kept your hair out of your face and rubbed your shoulders. Just as Dr. Bloom has estimated, twenty minutes later she declared that you were ready. “Alrighty! Everyone except the father out!”, a nurse declared as the room burst into a flurry of activity.

“You heard her, love,” Fred began, “out you go.”

You wanted to laugh at his joke but another contraction came over you. “Alright Mrs. Weasley,” Dr. Bloom said, “you can start pushing now!”

About ten minutes of horrible pain later, Dr. Bloom announced, “here’s the first baby, born 12:34 am on December 27, 2002!”

You and Fred both began to cry as the screaming baby was placed on your chest. Sure she

was red and wrinkly, but she was yours. “Ready for round two, Mrs. Weasley?” After a longer amount of time Dr. Bloom spoke up again, “And here’s baby number two! Born 12:50 am on December 27, 2002!” The second baby was placed on your chest and you and Fred were still crying. After a short time, two nurses came to clean the babies up as Dr. Bloom finished what she was doing. Not ten minutes later the babies were handed back to you in their little caps and hospital blankets. 

“They’re beautiful, love. Fantastic job.”

“Thank you, Freddie. But I suppose you had a part in this as well.” You both chuckled as

Fred gently ran his finger over the cheek of the baby closest to him. The girls weren’t identical, but they may as well have been. Every single feature was the same, all except the hair. Both girls were born with a full head of hair, and the only difference between the two was that one had the trademark Weasley red hair and the other had your hair color. The rest of their features were practically a direct copy of Fred. “Would you like to hold your daughters?”

Fred nearly fainted at those words, his daughters, he gently cradled each baby in his arms, whispering to each of them. “Hi, loves. I’m your dad. And that’s your mum over there, she’s the bravest woman you’ll ever meet. I can’t wait to bring you two home.” You practically melted at his words. After a while longer the rest of the Weasleys were brought in and welcomed by you and Fred, who each had one baby. They all remarked over how both girls looked just like Fred, and how the hair was the only difference.

After a moment you spoke up once everyone surrounded the bed and you had their attention. “Everyone,” you began, slightly holding up the red-haired baby in your arms, “this is Cassiopeia Ginevra Weasley.”

“And this,” Fred began with the other little girl in his arms, “is Calliope Molly Weasley.” There wasn’t a dry eye in the room as everyone admired the newest Weasleys.

“You did have the names picked out!” Bill exclaimed. Molly and Ginny were crying the most, looking overjoyed at the babies named after them.

“I love the names, y/n,” Percy said, “you could call them Callie and Cassie for short.” There was a collective ‘awww’ around the room as everyone had realised what you and Fred had done.

After another hour or so of everyone admiring the babies, you started to drift off to sleep. Everyone agreed it was time to be heading home to give you so much-needed rest. You quickly fell asleep, happy to not have to worry about contractions anymore, as Fred set the girls in their little carts before sitting in the chair beside your bed.

“I love you, y/n,” he whispered, “and our new family.”

[lesbeet]

not to be a nerd but i accidentally just wrote a whole impromptu essay about editing ndjsdksksk im throwing it under a cut bc it's fucking inane and really long but honestly... i just want other people to become as passionate about editing as i am lmaooooo

i also recommend 2 books in the post so if anything at least check those out!

quality books about editing... *chef's kiss* a lot of the basic ones (including blog posts online n such) are geared towards beginners and end up repeating the same info/advice, much of it either oversimplified or misrepresented tbh. but i read one yesterday and i'm reading another one right now that really convey this passion for editing + consideration for it as its own sort of art and i just!!

it's such a weird thing to be passionate about lmao but i AM and i've spent a lot of time the past year or so consciously honing my craft (ik i mention this like 4 times a week i'm just really proud of how much i've learned and improved) and kind of like. solidifying my instincts into conscious choices i guess?

and these GOOD editing books have both a) taught me new information and/or presented familiar information through a new perspective that helped me understand something differently or in more depth, and b) validated or even just put into words certain preferences or techniques that i've developed on my own, that i don't normally see on those more basic lists i mentioned

btw the book i finished yesterday is self-editing for fiction writers: how to edit yourself into print by renni brown and dave king, and the one i'm reading currently is the artful edit: on the practice of editing yourself by susan bell.

the former was pretty sharp and straightforward. the authors demonstrated some of their points directly in the text, which was usually funny enough that i would show certain quotes to my sister without context

("Just think about how much power a single obscenity can have if it’s the only one in the whole fucking book." <- (it was)

"Frequent italics have come to signal weak writing. So you should never resort to them unless they are the only practical choice, as with the kind of self-conscious internal dialogue shown above or an occasional emphasis."

or, my favorite: "There are a few stylistic devices that are so “tacky” they should be used very sparingly, if at all. First on the list is emphasis quotes, as in the quotes around the word “tacky” in the preceding sentence. The only time you need to use them is to show you are referring to the word itself, as in the quotes around the word “tacky” in the preceding sentence. Read it again; it all makes sense.")

and like i said, i also learned some new ideas or techniques (or they articulated vague ideas i already had but struggled to put into practice), AND they mentioned some suggestions that ive literally never seen anyone else bring up (not to say no one has! just that ive never seen it, and ive seen a lot in terms of writing tips, advice, best practices, etc) that ive already sort of established in my own writing

for example they went into pretty fine detail about dialogue mechanics, more than i usually see, and in talking about the pacing and proportion of "beats" and dialogue in a given scene, they explicitly suggested that, if a character speaks more than a sentence or two and you plan on giving them some sort of dialogue tag or an action to perform as a beat, the tag or action should be placed at one of the earliest (if not the first) natural pauses in the dialogue, so as not to distance the character too far from the dialogue -- bc otherwise the reader ends up getting all of the dialogue information first, and then has to go back and retroactively insert the character, or what they're doing, or the way they look/sound while they're giving their little speech

and like this was something ive figured out on my own, mostly bc it jarred me out of something i was reading enough times (probably in fic tbh) that i started noticing it, and realized that it's something i do naturally, kind of to anchor the character to the dialogue mechanic to make sure it makes sense with the actual dialogue

so like. ok here's an example i just randomly pulled from the song of achilles (it was available on scribd so i just looked for a spot that worked to illustrate my point djsmsks)

the actual quote is written effectively, but here's a less effective version first:

“Perhaps I would, but I see no reason to kill him. He’s done nothing to me," Achilles answered coolly.

see and even with such a short snippet it's so much smoother and more vivid just by moving the dialogue tag, not adding or cutting a word:

“Perhaps I would, but I see no reason to kill him.” Achilles answered coolly. “He’s done nothing to me.”

the rhythm of it is better, and the beat that the dialogue tag creates functions as a natural dramatic pause before achilles delivers an incredibly poignant line, both within the immediate context of the scene and because we as the readers can recognize it as foreshadowing. plus, it flows smoothly because that beat was inserted where the dialogue already contained a natural pause, just bc that's how people speak. if you read both versions aloud, they both make sense, but the second version (the original used in the novel) accounts for the rhythm of dialogue, the way people tend to process information as they read, AND the greater context of the story, and as a result packs significantly more purpose, information, and effect into the same exact set of words

and THAT, folks, is the kind of editing minutia i can literally sit and hyperfocus on for hours without noticing. anyway it's a good book lmao

the one i'm reading now is a lot more about the cognitive process/es of editing, so there's less concrete and specific advice (so far, anyway) and more discussion about different mental approaches to editing, as well as tips and tools for making a firm distinction between your writer brain and your editor brain, which is something i struggle with

but there have been so many good quotes that ive highlighted! a lot of just like. reminders and things to think about, and also just lovely articulations of things id thought of or come to understand in much more vague ways.

scribd won't let me copy/paste this one bc it's a document copy and not an actual ebook, but this passage is talking about how the simple act of showing a piece of writing to someone else for the very first time can spark a sudden shift in perspective on the work, bc you'll (or at least i) frantically try to re-read it through their eyes and end up noticing a bunch of new errors -

or she talked about the perils of constant re-reading in the middle of writing a draft, which is something i struggle with a LOT, both bc i'm a perfectionist and bc i prefer editing to writing so i sit and edit when i'm procrastinating doing the actual hard work of writing lmao

it's just this side of fake deep tbh but i so rarely see editing discussed like this--as a mixture of art and science, a collaboration between instinct and technique, that really requires "both sides of the brain" to be done well.

and because of the way my own brain works, activities that require such a balanced concentration of creativity and logic really appeal to me. even though ive seen a lot of people (even professional writers) who frame it as the creative art of writing vs the logical discipline of editing. but i think that's such a misleading way of thinking about it, because writing and editing both require creativity and logic -- just different kinds! (not to mention that the line between writing and editing, while mostly clear, can get a little blurry from up close)

but like...all stories have an inner logic to them, even if the writer hasn't explicitly or consciously planned it, and even if the logic is faulty in places in the first couple of drafts. when you're sitting and daydreaming about your story, especially if you're trying to figure out how to bridge the gap between two points or scenes (or, how to write a sequence of events that presents as a logical, inevitable progression of cause and effect), the voice in your head that evaluates an idea and decides to 1) go with it, 2) scrap it, 3) tweak it until it works, or 4) hold onto it in case you want it later? that's your logic! if an idea feels wrong, or like it just doesn't work, it's probably because some part of you is detecting a conflict between some part of the idea and the overall logic of your story. every decision you make as you write is formed by and checked against your own experiential logic, and also by the internal logic of your story, which is far less developed (or at least, one would hope), and therefore more prone to the occasional laspe

but while ive seen a number of articles that discuss the logic of writing, i don't see people gushing as much about the art of editing and it's such a shame

the inner editor is so often characterized as the responsible parent to the writer's carefree child, or a relentless critic of the writer's unselfconscious, unpolished drivel

and it's like... maybe you just hate thinking critically about your work! maybe you view it that way because you're imposing external standards too fiercely onto your writing, and it's sucked the joy out of shaping and sculpting your words until they sing. maybe you prefer to conceive of your writing as divine communication, the process of which must remain unencumbered by lessons learned through experience or the vulnerability of self-reflection, until the buzzkill inner editor shows up with all those "rules" and "conventions" that only matter if you're trying to get published

and like obviously the market doesn't dictate which conventions are worth following, but the majority of widely-agreed-upon writing standards, especially those aimed at beginners, (and most especially those regarding style, as opposed to story structure) have to do with the effectiveness and efficiency of prose, and, in addition to often serving as a shorthand for distinguishing an amateur from a pro, overall help to increase poignancy and clarity, which is crucial no matter the genre or type of writing. and even if you personally believe otherwise, it's better to understand the conventions so you can break them with real purpose.

so editing shouldn't be about trying to shove your pristine artistic masterpiece into a conventional mold, it should be about using the creative instincts of your ear and your logic and experience-based understanding of writing as a craft to hone your words until you've told your story as effectively as possible

thank u for coming to my ted talk ✌️

[lovemesomesurveys]

What was the best job you’ve ever had? I haven’t had a job, yet. :X

Would you rather open a used clothing store or an antique store? I don’t want to open a store at all. Do you think you would want to own a gift shop?

Have you ever wondered if your friend was an alien? ...No.

Do you have a troublesome medical condition? Yes.

What’s your most annoying neighbor’s name? I don’t know their names.

Would you have started a business in high school if your parents had let you? In high school?? Uh, no. I don’t want to now, as an almost 31 year old, I certainly wouldn’t have wanted to as a teenager.

What sport would you have joined if your parents had let you? It’s not that my parents didn’t let me, I just had no desire whatsoever to join any sport.

Do you have any tough life decisions to make soon? I’ve had a few I’ve had to make for awhile, but I’ve neglected doing so.

At what time of the day do you usually have the most energy? Energy? What’s that?

Do you consider yourself gifted and talented? I’m not at all.

Do you love your enemies? I don’t have any enemies.

Magenta, aqua, or coral? I like all 3.

Do you like the color orchid? Yeah.

Would you rather be a wedding photographer or a nature photographer? I don’t want to be a photographer.

Have you ever had an ulcer? Probably TMI, but I’ve had/had what’s called pressure ulcers aka pressure sores. Or perhaps you’ve heard them called, “bedsores.” Mine stem from being too thin and bony and as someone who spends all their time sitting (except obviously when I’m sleeping or just lying down and even then I have to be careful about not doing that too much either. Basically it’s about not being in the same position for too long)... it can cause problems.

Do you have a canker sore right now? No. Ugh, those are the worst.

Are you interested in health and wellness? I don’t take care of myself like I should. :/ Would you ever be a fitness coach? Ha, no.

Do you ever question whether something that makes you uncomfortable is a good thing or not? Yeah. Like, something that makes you uncomfortable doesn’t necessarily means it’s bad. It depends on why it makes you feel that way. Perhaps it’s because it will cause change, which can be scary. Perhaps it’s something that causes you to step out of your comfort zone. Perhaps it’s something new that you’re not familiar with. Those things would make you uncomfortable, but could end up leading to something positive. There’s certainly things I’ve been putting off for those reasons that could possibly lead to something good if I ever just took the chance.

Do you think for yourself? Yeah, which is something I’m proud of because I can think outside the box, question what I hear/read and not just go with the flow <<< Yeah, I’m that way as well. I don’t just take everything at face value or not look into anything myself. I can’t say that I’m never influenced by others, though. 

Do you live life on your own terms, or do you do what everyone tells you to do? It’s complicated. I feel like the past few years I’ve been living on my health’s (physical and mental) terms more than anything. I feel like I’ve been robbed the past few years. There’s also a lot of things I should be doing that I’m not and that’s my own stubborn choice. Then I have doctors and my family all telling me what I should be doing.

When was the last time you spent time with God in nature? When I last went to the beach, which was back in September. Who knows when I’ll be able to go back now. D:

What color is your bike? I don’t have one.

Are you due for a hike? I don’t hike.

Do you ever wonder why some people think they’re better than others? Some of it’s because they feel they have to boast themselves because they think it makes them look better. They feel they like have to impress others and thrive off the attention. Deep down, they actually struggle with not feeling good enough.

Do you have too many hangers? I have enough.

Have you ever created a themed scrapbook? For a class project in high school. Pilates or yoga? I don’t do either.

How often do you eat dessert? I’ve been on a brownie craze for the past couple months for some reason. I’m obsessed with these mini brownie bites we get at the store. I’ve also been having my brother bake brownies for me sometimes. Nothing beats a hot, ooey gooey brownie fresh out the oven.

Do you own a pair of cute workout pants? I have a crapload of leggings and a few pairs of Adidas leggings and track pants. I’m not athletic at all, nor do I work out, but they’re comfy and cute.

What’s the trendiest item you own? Clothes wise? My Adidas clothes and shoes.

Do you get irritated by people who lack common sense? YES. 

What’s the best drink you’ve ever had at Starbucks? I’m a white chocolate mocha, caramel macchiato, or seasonal coffee drink gal.

Did you pull an all-nighter last night? I’ve been doing that the past few months. :/

When was the last time you wrote an essay? Back in 2015, my last semester of college.

Do you enjoy writing essays? I wouldn’t say I enjoyed it. I was a major procrastinator and worked under pressure, but I always did really well. I stressed myself out more than anything.

Do you enjoy learning? Yeah. 

What is the most dominant color in your closet? Black.

Do you own anything periwinkle? Yes.

Do you know anyone who is colorblind? Nope.

Do you have any Irish in you? Yes.

What is your favorite name that starts with a Z? I don’t have one.

Have you ever felt like you were going to throw up while you were at school? Yeah. What color are your running shoes? I don’t go running, so my shoes aren’t running shoes to me, but I suppose my Adidas are technically running shoes.

Do you wear hoodies? I love hoodies. Can’t even think about wearing one right now; though, cause it’s so freakin hot and gross.

How many pull-over hoodies do you own? A few.

Do you own a princess crown? Nope.

Do you love anyone? I love my family.

What’s your birthstone? Ruby.

[ladyadalicialove]

Me, says I will be on hiatus and probs won’t post anything cus exams and essays

Also me: procrastinating very hard

Don't mind me just salty about the new episode and what not...also I don’t want to finish my essay.

Anyway since Chat Blanc was basically fanservice that served no significant purpose to the plot of the show other than "what if" scenarios. I've decided to share some AUs to put some good wholesome content back into the fandom. 

Also I need to write these things down before I forget....

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Previous Holder is now your Babysistter AU

(I don’t have an actual name for it lmao suggestions?)

I’ve had this one in head for a couple of months now. The premise of this AU is the miraculous doesn't just come with the Kwami but a ghost/apparition of the previous holder. Unlike the kwami's they aren't what makes the suit or have any magical abilities. Rather they are just glorified babysitters, looking after and guiding the new holder the best they can. Some are some magical rules with them though:

Only the miraculous holder and thier Kwami can see them, when they are still in their civilian forms.

 They don’t disappear when the holder transform.

When other miraculous holders are transformed they can see other holder’s apparition, but when they undo the transformation they can no longer see them. 

The holders and kwamis can touch them as if they were real, but they phase through everything and everyone else.

I liked the idea of the holders prior to Marinette and Adrien being a pirate and a sailor who fell madly in love. They unfortunately died together and never had kids so when they came back as “mentors” for two lovesick teens they adopt them so quickly.

Adrien gets Captain Noir, the most ferocious and seductive pirate of the seven seas! And she absolutely adores Adrien and quickly assumes a motherly role in his life. The captain doesn’t like that he is alone in the mansion and gives every second of her attention to him. She calls him her "big kitten" and tries to ruin Gabriel's day every second she can. She also despises Nathalie but tolerates Gorilla.

Marinette gets Commander Bug, a stoic and ever so suave solider of his majesty's Royal Navy. He is very chill and helps Marinette to calm down when she starts acting up. Since he is a high ranking soldier, he often assists Marinette in creating strategies to defeat villains in both her hero and civilian life. Tbh he is a very reliable guy and very sweet. 

Honestly the two of them basically become parents to the two lovesick teens... and I imagine the story would literally be them ready to throw hands with Gabriel and Lila. Commander bug though ever so serious, meets Lila and immediately takes on the Captain Noir’s more... vulgar traits. 

Commander Bug: Hey Marinette *nudges her* Dead men tell no tales. 😎 *makes obscene gesture towards Lila*

Marinette: FOR THE LAST TIME IM NOT MURDERING LILA

Tikki: no wait maybe he has a point

Captain Noir: Ye really need to scupper that deadbeat father of yours off the side of this building. Hey Plagg, do ye think I can take custody of Adrien??

Adrien: I’m not throwing my father off the building!! He can be nice!!

Captain Noir: Oh no ye have Stockholm syndrome... maybe I can cure it with some rum?? That always helped the new sailors who were home sick! 😱

Adrien: oh my god I’m only fourteen 😦

Plagg: *laughing hysterically* at least you can drink your woes away!!! 😂🤣

And yes they both like the Couffaines mainly because they live on a boat. 

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Mythical Miraculous AU:

I wrote and planned this one before it was revealed there are multiple miraculous boxes. So in this universe let’s just say that the events of feast never happened. Prior to the “episode” Fu relinquishes guardianship and loses his memories. Let’s say there is no sentimonster that caused the downfall of the monks but rather Fu causing the temple to burn down another way. How? Maybe he left a torch unsupervised and burned the place down. Why? Idk that’s just how it’s happening now.

Anyway this AU stemmed from doing so many OC drawing requests in January. And I created seven miraculous OC's whose kwamis/concept are based on the seven virtues. They are also all based on mythical creatures.

In the story I imagined that Marinette is 17 and was giving guardianship over the miracle box some time ago. One day while messing around with it, she discovers that underneath the ying and yang centre piece there was cyclinder compartment that contained a parchment. Unrolling it had printed on it six locations along with the name of the miraculous associated.

Tikki informs her of the seven miraculous that were created as backups if the the miracle box or miraculous’ were ever stolen, lost, destroyed etc. Basically the last resort. Thus they needed to be kept out of the miracle box and in the world and always ready to defend. Hence they were given to families across Europe/Asia who promised their loyalties to the miraculous cause. 

Marinette decides since it’s summer break and she isn’t busy, to find each of them and get them to help in the fight against Hawkmoth. Tikki just rolls with it.

In no particular order these are the mythical miraculous and their holders:

London, UK ~ The Unicorn and Pegasus Miraculous of Kindness and Humility: They are currently owned by 12 year old British Twins, Iris and Ivy. They come from a rich family and only recently acquired the miraculous from their father and uncle. Ivy is all about sports and is extremely athletic, Iris prefers to read and paint. Apollo is Ivy’s kwami and he is a white unicorn, and Artemis is Iris’ kwami and is a black pegasus. The miraculous are anklets. 

Sovana - Tuscany, Italy ~ The Ogre Miraculous of Charity: Currently owned by Raphael, a 21 year old Italian guy studying Archaeology. He lives out in the Italian countryside with his parents and many siblings, he has a big family who owns a huge block of farmland. He is super kind and very charitable and received his miraculous from his Nonna. Orc is Raphael’s kwami and he is a selfish little bastard but he is huggable. The miraculous is a belt buckle.

Nice, Paris ~ The Pooka Miraculous of Diligence: Currently owned by Colette, a 25 year old French girl who is busy teaching six year olds, she doesn’t have any family as she was orphaned as an infant. She has always had her miraculous as she was left at the orphanage with it. She was unfortunately never adopted out, but she is extremely motivated individual with big dreams. Cinna is Colette’s kwami, she is quite lazy and often called Cinna-bun. The miraculous is a hair clip.

Kazan, Russia ~ The Phoenix Miraculous of Chastity/Abstinence: Currently owned by Orion, a flamboyant and arrogant 30 year old. He is extremely beautiful and a very proud man, and most would think he is a bit of a f*ckboi but nope. He is just saving himself for the right person. His father gifted him the miraculous when he was 15. Newborn is Orion’s kwami, and she is little b*tch and very stuck up. The miraculous is an armband.

Nazareth, Israel ~ The Griffin Miraculous of Patience: Currently owned by Nevaeh, a 16 year old revolutionist and active feminist. She has big ideas and big dreams that she hopes with enough dedication and patience she can achieve. Unlike the others, she received the miraculous from her dying neighbour, who was an old man in his nineties who had no children. Nevaeh may not be an intended holder but she is a brilliant one! Constance is Navaeh’s kwami, she is extremely wise and a soft speaker. The miraculous is a thumb ring. 

Seoul, Korea ~ The Sea Serpent Miraculous of Temperance: Currently owned by 19 year old aspiring pop singer Levi. Levi is extremely shy and laid back, he tends to be soft-spoken and polite.Often he dreams of being an Idol but his shy personality isn’t doing him any favours. His older brother was originally the miraculous holder but instead of accepting any potential responsibility he dumped it onto him. It was originally gifted to his brother by their mother. Sai is Levi’s kwami, he is extremely skittish and is just riddled with anxiety over the belief of the world ending. He is a bit of a conspiracy theorist. The miraculous is a fin pendant necklace.

Of course Marinette in three months convinces them all to go to Paris and stay there until the defeat of Hawkmoth. 

During her travels and time with them, she unravels the mysterious of these seven miraculous and their history. What are their abilities? Why do they specifically correlate with the seven virtues? How powerful are they? 

Ivy and Iris stemming from a rich family, rent out a lovely penthouse for the seven of them in Paris. Colette decides to be the legal guardian of the minors since she actually is French. Orion decides he is gonna be a dick. The rest are there for a good time and to kick a buterrfly's butt. And thus ensue chaos, pranks, romance and a whole lotta arguing. 

I can only imagine all the kwami’s and Marinette sitting, drinking green tea while watching these seven holders become absolute hooligans.

I already drew up concept art of them but they are not good sketches so yeah maybe I will show you guys another time.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Idk why I think this but I just figured everyone would hate AUs like this so I don’t bother posting these ideas especially if they are not fleshed out. I have so many but these are my most promising ones. 

The previous holder AU is one of my favourites because I had Captain Noir and Commander Bug’s story in my head forever. I love me some pirates. I know their whole miraculous story, like how they fell in love and why she became a pirate etc. The part where they become ghost mentors is a fairly new addition, been rolling it around for a month now and it is 100% caused by the shitty parenting via la agreste.  

The mythical miraculous one is extremely fun for me, but it was one of those AUs were I believed no one would like it so....yeah enjoy it?

If you wanna know more about each one send me an ask or send names suggestions!!

[mari-onberry]

12 days of Luka Day 4: Luchloe

Read on ao3

@lukacouffaineappreciationmonth

Chloe had been failing math for a while now, and was finally realizing that this problem wouldn't just go away with money. She was trying to stop depending on her parents, anyway, which is why she was going to a public university. 

She would have to ask someone for help if she wanted to pass. Problem was, asking for help wasn't her strong suit. She wished she could ask Adrien for help, but he had been studying abroad with Marinette. She was thankful for it at first, because it meant she didn't have to see Marinette rubbing their relationship in her face. But it actually proved to make things difficult, since she had depended on Adrien to tutor her most of the time. 

So, Chloe went through her options. There was Juleka, Rose, Alya, Nino... She frowned as she realized none of them would be very willing to work with her. She had hurt all of them. And Sabrina had been out of the picture since high school. She regretted treating all of them so badly, but it was too late. She had no one--

“Chloe? Are you alright?” 

She looked up from her math textbook to see Luka. Oh no, she thought, not the emo kid. “What do you want?”

“Do you need help?” It sure looked like she did-- she had been staring at her textbook for a while now without writing anything down.

“No. I'm fine.” She was defensive. She didn't need help, not from him. 

He knew she wasn't fine. He saw the frustrated scribbles on her notes that were all too familiar. So he sat down across from her. “What are you working on?” 

“An essay,” she said, humoring him. Maybe if she talked for a while, he would leave her alone.

“What essay specifically?” He said, joking tone in his voice, trying his hardest not to scare her off.

“I have to write about Kant for my ethics class.”

Luka had taken a similar class his freshman year, so he somewhat remembered ethics. “Well, if you don't mind, I've actually been studying to become a teacher, so I'd be happy to help.”

She really did need help with the essay-- it was due in two days and she hadn't even started the rough draft. And maybe Luka wasn't as bad as she remembered. She had been pretty closed off to everyone in high school. "Fine. But this is just so you can practice teaching, I don't actually need help."

He went along with her charade, or at least pretended to. "Of course. This is for me, not for you."

She nodded, and tried to suppress a smile, worried he might see her true feelings. 

"Okay, so have you done an outline yet?"

She looked at the blank document she had up on her laptop. "Uh, yes?"

He laughed, obviously caught on to the fact that she was lying. He explained to her how to start an outline and typed out the basic categories, but she was too busy watching his lips and fingers move as he did so. 

"Chloe? Are you listening?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, I am." She looked into his eyes, and suddenly realized how beautiful they were. Why had she never really looked at him? Now, she wished she had started earlier, because she could probably spend a lifetime just memorizing every detail of his face.

"Okay, can you write the next sentence, then? You're off to a good start now."

She looked at the document. She didn't remember what he told her, and she definitely didn't know what to write next. She quickly read over what he wrote and placed her hands on the keyboard. "Umm," she was ready to give up.

"It's okay, you can take your time. And if you're confused about any of it, just ask me."

Wow, she thought. He's actually a good teacher. She typed out a sentence that she thought might sound good, and he helped her edit it a little to flow well into her thesis, and in no time she had written the entire introduction. It usually took her at least an hour to get this far. 

"Okay, so next you should write your first body paragraph, and relate it back to your thesis. Do you think you could do that tonight and I could look over it tomorrow?" It was getting pretty late, and Luka was getting hungry, but he wanted to help her as best he could. 

Chloe didn't want to tell him how badly she procrastinated the paper, but she also needed his help if she was going to get it done quickly enough. And with him around, she felt as if her writing was also better, maybe even good enough for an A. And if that was possible, she knew her parents would be proud of her. "Look, pretty boy, I know you're trying to get rid of me, but the least you could do is at least help me finish my rough draft." She saw him check the time on his phone and got a plan. "If you want dinner we could get something to eat as we keep writing this?" That sentence sounded much nicer than what she was used to coming out of her mouth. "Or you could abandon me, making you directly responsible for me failing the class," she added to sound at least a little meaner. 

He just chuckled and answered, "Sounds like a plan."

His demeanor annoyed her; she was usually good at aggravating people, but he didn't seem the slightest bit bothered by her.

Since they actually had to get some work done, Luka suggested they go to an internet cafe, which was new ground for Chloe. She wasn't used to eating anywhere other than the 5 star restaurants her parents took her to.

Luka ordered a coffee and a scone for himself, and in seeing how lost Chloe seemed, ordered the same for her. They set up at a table in the corner, and Chloe continued to write her essay, and with him there she had pretty much gotten the hang of it. Every so often, she asked him to read over it, and he would edit it, silently until he was done. 

She liked watching him look over her work; she followed his eyes as they moved over the page and she imagined wondered which part he had read. Most of all, she loved how she trusted him to read what she had read, even if it was just some dumb ethics project. When she would do homework with Adrien, she wouldn't ever let him read her work, and instead just asked him about her word choice and whatnot, as if she was too scared he would judge her. Luka didn't give her that sense of fear, and in fact she was glad she was able to trust him to help her. She always had trust issues, so his was new for her. She took her computer back, happy with the amount she had gotten done. "Luka, do you think we could do this tomorrow too? I need to finish as soon as possible, and I would love your help again."

"Luka nodded. "Yeah, that's fine with me. I'll meet you here again tomorrow then. How's four sound?"

"That sounds nice." She was sad to see him leave, but was already looking forward to their meeting tomorrow. "Oh, and Chloe?" He called out to her from across the room. I think you forgot to be mean to me."

Chloe frowned and opened her mouth to object, but he had already gone out the door. Her face turned bright red as soon as he left, and she rushed out of the building quickly to try and hide her embarrassment. Despite his teasing, she decided she might “forget” to be mean to him more often.

[abbybowcutuvu]

Epilogue.

STATEMENT

My personal skill as a writer has grown in ways I wasn’t expecting this semester. I have learned to revise effectively and this has subsequently improved my organization and the effectiveness of my arguments. Being able to construct and really effectively tackle a thesis and develop an argument has always been a struggle for me. I still have much room to grow, but in practicing this semester with revising, I have come a long way. 

REFLECTION

Writing is a serious mental exercise. At times, you may not want to start, it can feel overwhelming to make yourself start to think. Really think. When you do start writing and your brain starts making sense of things, compiling and organizing information in your brain, creating, I start to feel alive. It Just like a good cry, or run, it feels amazing when you have finished writing. You have either created something you are proud of or you have learned more about yourself. 

Writing challenges me in ways that I couldn’t have foreseen. There have been times I haven’t wanted to think about certain things; yet, I have explored and worked through those unexpectedly hard and painful thoughts and come out the other side much better for it. I have created more than I thought I could and understood more about topics I hadn’t given a deeper thought to. 

Writing can also be used as a measure of growth. You can look back at who you were and how you thought of things in days past or you can watch as your skills are improving. Revising is an incredibly important aspect of writing, one that gets skipped far too often. I believe revising helps you to see your growth and learn from it. When you spend the extra time figuring out exactly how you want something written and how better you can represent your thoughts, you exercise your brain and grow as a writer. Writing is a skill that has to be learned and practised like any other. Writing courses are essential for everyone to take in order to communicate better and to practice this important skill. Both reading and writing help to literally improve your brain connectivity and improves your intelligence. Writing requires patience, diligence, and determination. Writing courses are among the most valuable and important courses anyone could take. Writing is the most important exercise you could possibly do. 

To whomever would be concerned for me,

I am an avid reader and movie buff. For the out-of-class Tumblr blogs, I chose to write and explore my favorite characters in some of my favorite books and movies. I had chosen carefully those who I wanted to write about. I chose characters from books and movies that I hadn’t seen in a while and it forced me to re-read several books and re-watch several movies. I wanted to really learn about certain characters and understand them in a way I hadn’t before. This class enabled me to look deeper into the novels/movies in a way I hadn’t needed to before. I actually struggled with some of the writings because I had a hard time understanding their motives and desires. It also changed certain perspectives for me. For example: in my writing of Ariane from Love in the Afternoon, I originally thought of the movie as a whole in a different perspective and had planned to write her character analysis in a much more critical way. However, when I took the time to think and write about her, my whole perspective on the movie changed. So while this assignment may not have changed my worldview in a larger sense, it really changed the way I understand and enjoy some of my most beloved fictional characters. It meant a lot to me. 

The opinion pieces were challenging for me. It was hard to write in a voice that was not mine. I write often in more formal ways but to write an informal piece from a different perspective and to an audience I was not familiar was certainly hard for me. This was new territory and something I had never had to do before. It is also something I probably won’t ever have the chance to do again. 

I have always had a hard time writing in less than what is my best work. I have never been able to just write for a grade. I did procrastinate much of the assignments for this class, with the exception of the out-of-class Tumblr project, but even so, I feel I spent the same amount of hours I would have anyway. I didn’t want to turn in work that wasn’t my best. I revised heavily on all the things I turned in and truly feel proud of them. With some of the out-of-class Tumblr ‘comments’ (rather than posts) I felt like I put less effort into them than everything else. I had a hard time truly finding material to engage with and think about in a serious way. 

I spent more time with the writing process than ever before this semester. This class forced me to write four whole drafts of a paper. I have never done that before. I do feel like some of my absolute best work has come from this and will certainly practice writing in this format in the future. I looked back on our ‘best piece of writing’ and then saw how I did on the research project and was astounded at my writing progress. I also applied this to a research paper I had to write for a different class this semester and got a much better grade on it than I would have otherwise. I feel this class has been particularly helpful for me. I was able to practice writing more than I ever have before. It truly is a skill that has to be practiced, and one that is incredibly important. 

Sincerely,

Abigail Bowcut

IN CLASS FREE-WRITE

How the hell do people not know who Bob Dylan is. Wow. He is a living legend. A poet. My favorite of his songs and probably my most favorite song in the world is called to fall in love with you. It is unfinished and I think thats why I love it. It’s magical. The words don’t make sense together but somehow they make more sense than anything. It’s love. Love not rational. Love doesn’t make sense. But somehow when listening to that song I feel love. I feel and relate to Dylan and understand. The fact that it is unfinished leaves so much for the listener to interpret in their own way. To imagine what they wish. I really want to pick up the guitar now. Learn all of his songs. I know most of them by heart already. Bob changes with time, just like any human. He has phases and is imperfect. I see it in your lips, I knew it in your eyes. My favorite line. Human relationships. Knowing someone and desiring to know them more than yourself. The curiosity to dive deep into someone else’s mind.

*Professor commented ‘beautiful’. Very much appreciated.

BEST ESSAY

Toward Understanding the Challenges Adolescents Face Online

https://abbybowcutuvu.tumblr.com/post/189644149484/toward-understanding-the-challenges-adolescents

*In comparison to my best essay written at the end of the semester I found my free write that I wrote at the beginning. How I was able to get my mess of thoughts from what it was to a developed piece I am pretty astounded by. Free writing is new to me and something I will incorporate in the future.

Research Project Free write.

Social media is the absolute worst, most negative, harmful aspect of the internet. The internet is the biggest change to our society to come about in the last century. It has changed our world for the better. For the most part. Science, research, access to information and communication has improved our society and more social change has come about because of the globalization that was made possible by internet. Social media is the exception to the many benefits of the internet. Social media is a disease. It is causing much more harm than good. There are particular social media mediums that are valuable. Forums certain social media outlets do help with social progress. I believe racism, homophobia, and gender issues are generally becoming better and I believe that certain social media’s have contributed to that positive social change. People share ideas and opinions and we learn why our parents are wrong and get new perspectives. However, I still believe there are many many negatives about social media. Particularly Instagram. Instagram is what I believe I will focus on. I want my project to be more specific than attacking social media in general. Instagram’s negatives outweigh the positives. For my project I want to investigate Instagrams negative influence on our youth; though I do believe it to be harmful to us all, the youth are much more susceptible. I want to do research on the psychology aspects. How are youth affected psychologically? Is our youth more depressed and anxious than the youths of previous generations? Are they more self conscious? Are they more or less ‘social’ than they were before instagram? How does looking at these carefully constructed profiles misleading our youth? How does constantly looking at altered photographs of models affecting our youth? Are our youth falling for deceptive instagram advertising? 

BEST BLOG POSTS

Eowyn: Shieldmaiden of Rohan

https://abbybowcutuvu.tumblr.com/post/188851079609/%C3%A9owyn-shieldmaiden-of-rohan-jrr-tolkien-wrote

Konstantin Levin

https://abbybowcutuvu.tumblr.com/post/189048211624/konstantin-levin-in-anna-karenina-is-one-of-my

Lester Burnham: American Beauty 

https://abbybowcutuvu.tumblr.com/post/189048874544/lester-burnham-american-beauty

Words can sometimes be…

https://abbybowcutuvu.tumblr.com/post/187678921274/timbllr-via-weheartit-words-can-sometimes-be

Judy Barton/Madeleine Elster 

https://abbybowcutuvu.tumblr.com/post/187632346389/judy-bartonmadeline-elster

[ib-suffering]

Update part 2

Hey guys, as discussed in my other update, I will discuss the other aspects of IB here, including: CAS, EE, and ToK.

Let's get ToK out of the way, because I didn't do too hot on that assessment. Though I had my suspicions why, a discussion with my teacher a few months ago confirmed why. I had known that I had done well on my presentation, and had worked hard on my essay, so it was hard to see a D pop up next to Theory of Knowledge. Now, before you scoff and skip this thinking, "I'm not taking advice from someone who nearly failed ToK," let me tell you that it was frankly a ridiculous reason why, but a good thing to keep in mind when writing your essay. I wrote my essay with a qualified thesis; therefore, I agreed with the prompt to an extent, but provided evidence to the contrary later on in my essay. If you've already caught my flaw, then congrats. You've scored well on the essay. For those who don't see the issue with this, are you ready? The IBO had a problem with the fact with the fact that I disagreed with the thesis. My teacher informed me that I wrote a well-crafted essay, but I couldn't score higher due to this. And while I had suspected as such, it was kind of a relief to have that confirmed. It told me that I didn't bomb it because of a lack of understanding on my part, but because I didn't complete the task as the IBO wanted me to. That may seem like a win-lose to many of you, but at the end of the day, I rather know that I have absorbed the material correctly. I am in school to learn, and the essays and exams are just the hurdles to overcome in the process of learning.

On a much happier note, I did extremely well on my EE. I got a B (Sure, it's not an A, but shit, I wrote probably the best essay I have ever written). My advisor was (and still is) very proud of me. As I said in my previous post, it was a philosophy paper, but it wasn't always a philosophy paper. It began as a biology paper, despite discussing the ethics of using a certain technology. When it was time to select an area to publish the paper under, I had trouble finding a subject area that fit well with my paper. After sitting down with my teachers, we concluded that the topic of interest fit best as a philosophy paper. This also meant that I would have to restructure the whole paper. Oh, and I had just over a month to do so, keeping in mind that winter break would be my last chance for revisions (we turn them in in early January to remove that responsibility when it comes to IA and testing season). Using the skills I discussed in my last post, I put some of my sources through this lens, while scrapping some and adding a few more. At the end, I actually had few sources (around 10), but in terms of a philosophy paper, this meant that I packed that paper with analysis. Within 2 weeks, I turned that heaping dumpster fire of an essay into a work that I was proud of. Do I think that paper could have been an A paper had I made these changes a few months prior? Yes. Am I proud of that B nonetheless? Hell yes.

Lastly, CAS. This was another thing that I sorta procrastinated, but the hours piled on fast. 150 hours feels like a daunting number, but in reality, it's nothing. 10 hour max? Alright, that 15 activities. Does your activity overlap into all three categories? Cool, you can get up to 30 hours out of it. That's a fifth of the way. I actually turned my CAS book into a tumblr blog, so if you wanted to check it out for some ideas, here you go. @cas-book-srs You'll notice that it seems it bit rushed (because it was), but I did fulfill the requirements. And just by doing stuff that I'd do normally, like hiking or cooking or cleaning dissection supplies. While I'll stand by what I said before and tell you that this is a great opportunity to try new things, that doesn't mean you have to try things like skydiving or painting, it can be something like trying new recipes (check me trying to cook authentic Chinese cuisine and kinda failing).

Alrighty, that's what I got for you in this post. I know I said that I might discuss IAs, but I wasn't quite sure how to condense that. However, if you want to ask questions about that, please don't hesitate.

Next time, I'll discuss my first year in college and how being in IB still affected my work ethic there.