#Anyway I’m editing again because first I have no energy to write the new chapter

[lieutenant-amuel]

I’m editing the old chapters of WBTL again. The fourth chapter, and oh my goodness Ángel is so insensitive, it’s insane.

[itsphoenix0724]

could i please request a part two to the az x reader, but now she confronts rhysand?

Hold Me Gently (Azriel x Reader)~ Bonus Chapter!

Warnings: mentions of negative self-talk, depression

Word Count: 1k

Hold Me Gently

A/N: Hi Anon! Thank you for requesting, I appreciate the visit to my inbox! I wasn't ever really planning on writing a part 2, so I called this a bonus chapter because it's not essential to the main story. I hope you enjoy it, and feel free to come again <3 as always constructive criticism is welcome! I wrote this very quickly so it's not edited I apologize!

The River House lawn shook when your feet finally touched the perfectly manicured yard. You had waited until Azriel was finally asleep in your bed before you had come, he might try to stop you, but you’d given yourself a pretty damn good headstart. Your power throws open the doors with a blast of unrestrained energy, and it’s Feyre who sees you first as she runs down the stairs. 

“What’s wrong?” Your High Lady asks concern filling her eyes as she attempts to cup your jaw. You hold her at arm's length. This isn’t a battle she’s a part of. 

“Ask your mate,” you growl back, venom filling every inch of your veins as you tear past her heading right for Rhys’s office. If he wasn’t there you’d bring the entire house down around you to find him. Feyre looks after you in shock, probably mentally reaching out to Az to ask what was wrong. Or maybe she warned Rhys your fury was coming fast because he’s sitting at his desk like the picture of ease. 

“What can I do for you?” Rhys purrs from behind his desk, he’s put on his High Lord mask today. If this was how he wanted to play so be it. 

“Do you enjoy hurting your family?” That clearly wasn’t the question Rhys thought you were going to ask as his eyebrows raised in shock. “Or are you just that intentionally blind that you refuse to see what you’re doing to Azriel?” A dark glint lights in Rhy’s eyes as he leans forward, the picture of a calm perfect predator. 

“And what, pray tell, am I doing to Azriel?” He sends a wave of night-kissed power your way, trying to bank the rising flames in your chest. The authority almost makes you want to cave, but you hold strong. 

“So I suppose we’re going with intentionally blind then?” The flames rise higher, the ash threatening to drown your lungs. “You know that his work is harming his health, and yet you continue to use your brother as a weapon anyway.” Red clouds your vision at the lack of reaction from Rhysand, you might get violent quickly if it continues on like this. Feyre bursts through the door a minute later, coming to rest on the arm of Rhys’s chair. 

“Azriel doesn’t know you’re here.” She says it matter of factly and you nod. “We make decisions in this court together, that rage should be equally targeted at me,” Feyre says with finality but that doesn’t make it true. 

“Feyre, with all due respect. You are not equals in this.” both of them blink back in surprise and Rhys looks ready to rage war. Good, now he finally knows how you feel. “It’s nothing against you, but you are still a new member of this court. Rhys has known Azriel for 500 years, and you have been here for five, it is not the same. There are still things you don’t know about this family. You didn’t grow up with Az, you don’t know him like he does. You are my High Lady, and I will always love you, but you have no ground in this.” Feyre settles, opens her mouth to say something, and then closes it again before nodding at you to continue, moving to sit in the armchair beside the bookcase. You settle your hands on the desk looking at Rhys like you want to sever his head from his body as you address him again. “You continue to treat Azriel like something to be used, you know how he feels after every mission, and yet you order him to continue anyway. You know that it makes him feel worthless, and I’m here to say that enough is enough. You don’t get to turn a blind eye anymore because if it doesn’t directly affect you or Feyre you choose to ignore it.” 

“Azriel swore an oath to this court. He knew what the position entailed.” Rhysand states calmly, rising to meet your eyes. 

“He made that oath 300 years ago when he was barely a young adult. Things do change over long periods of time whether or not you want them to.” You scoff, raising your eyebrow and leaning closer into his space. Even as you see the temper rising in his eyes you won’t stop until Rhys sees what he’s been doing to his brother even if you say something that might get you exiled from this court. “What? Going to send me on a week-long hike now because I’m telling the truth?” The dig is obvious and dark power starts to pulse in a way that makes your knees want to buckle. You refuse to sit, this is your mate you’re defending. 

“As his High Lord, he does this court a great service. If he has an issue he can come to me himself.” Rhys snarls out. Feyre looks like she’s readying herself to jump in between the two of you if need be. 

“As his brother, you should care more about Az than any service he does for this court. If you want someone tortured, get off your ass and do it yourself instead.” You challenge and Rhys is rearing up to say something again before you hold a hand out. “Look what you’re doing to him if you don’t believe me.” Rhys grabs your hand and you show him Azriel after his latest mission, pouring every ounce of self-hatred you felt from Az into the memory. Rhysand yanks his hand away and finally sits back down when Azriel himself finally throws open the doors to the office. 

“I came as soon as you called,” He looks at Feyre who nods back at him. Rhys just stares at his brother, and Azriel’s eyes dart back to you as you give him a sheepish wave. You only feel remorse for the dark circles under his eyes, and for having his sleep interrupted. “What’s going on?” Rhys clears his throat, rubbing his hands together before speaking again. 

“It’s come to my attention that I’ve been neglecting your mental health, and for that, I’m so sorry.” Rhys nods at Azriel, silver rimming his violet eyes. “Take some time off, and we can reevaluate when you get back.” Azriel widens his eyes, a look of understanding passing between the both of them. You turn to leave when Rhys calls your name, “Thank you for telling me.” You nod and take your mate home so he can finally get some well-deserved rest.

[wiseatom]

hi! i was wondering if u were willing to share what ur relationship to writing as a writer has been recently or when you first started out? maybe also like how you envision a piece before you start writing it?

my problem is that i only seem to want to write when i'm REALLY entrenched in a fandom and that hasn't happened since i gave up on harry potter a few years ago. so i'm pretty out of practice, and i wasn't that good to begin with, and i don't even really consider myself a writer, but i just have so many ideas for the characters that i love that i feel like i need to write them down!!! any advice?

anyway i just love your content so i thought i'd ask. no pressure to respond tho haha :)

hello!!! i am absolutely willing to share because i’ve had a very similar experience to you!!

i’ve had a really weird relationship with writing fic. i wrote and published around 400k words of fic from the time i was thirteen to when i was sixteen, and then literally just. stopped. for several years, lol. i got really into art around then, and spent more time and energy on developing that skill set vs writing, and i just found it very hard to balance the two (and i still do!!). i wrote a little and posted a little when i was around twenty one/twenty two, then stopped actively writing again until last year. i completely get where you’re coming from as far as feeling out of practice, and i also really only want to write when i’m deep into a fandom — i can’t tell you how many unfinished fics i have sitting in my google drive because of how many times my interests have shifted over the years lol. it’s a crime ❤️

my best advice is to stop getting so caught up on whether or not you’re a “writer” (whatever that means to you! it’s different for everyone!) and whether or not what you’re writing is “good”. writing is a skill, and like with any skill, you can’t get “good” without being “bad” first. i put these in quotations because i use these terms very loosely — creative skills in general are annoying and hard, because your brain learns what “good” is faster than you are able to actually produce. that’s why blocks happen! because you feel like nothing you’re coming out with lives up to the learned standard you have in your head. sometimes your standard/your ability match, and then your standard pulls ahead and your ability has to catch up. something i’ve found that’s helped my writing so much is making sure i’m reading more, because being well-read increases that standard, and your ability WILL get there. you just have to fumble and flail a little for that to happen.

which leads to my writing process! it depends on what i’m writing — i mostly write one-shots, but i have a multi-chapter in the works that is Scaring Me because i haven’t written anything multi-chapter since i was sixteen lol. i don’t have any master doc with writing ideas, so each new idea gets it’s own separate document. once i make a new doc, everything i’ve thought of for that idea goes in there: dialogue, a certain sentence, concepts i can’t turn into a sentence at the moment but want to later, etc. with dialogue, i find it easiest to script it without dialogue tags. isolating the lines of dialogue like that helps me hear it in the characters’ voices, which helps me identify when things are out of character or worded weirdly. when it comes to actually writing the scene the dialogue is in, i just follow the script and re-write with dialogue tags, narrative introspection, etc. i usually have the beginning of a fic in my mind, script all the dialogue associated with the idea, and then go back and write (mostly) chronologically around everything. it’s very disjointed, but it’s what works for me! with multi-chaptered fics, i make a pretty rough outline so that i can make sure certain ideas don’t get lost and that themes are cohesive.

editing is a whole other process, because like i mentioned earlier, it’s not productive to get caught up on whether something is “good”/“bad”, so when i’m writing, i try to treat it as a very rough draft (emphasis on try, bc this is easier said than done, lol). once the draft is done, i go back through and absolutely tear it apart, like to the point of bullying myself lol. since i use drive to write fic, my first run through is just making comments on things i think need to be reworded, awkward parts, etc. then i go through the entire thing again on suggestion mode and make those changes, and do a third reread to see how everything is sitting. yes, this process does make you sick of your own fic before you even post it ❤️ after the third run through, if everything is good to go, i’ll plug it into ao3, fix the formatting, and then read again in post preview because i’m a little insane! i accidentally hit post instead of post preview for it’s a choice, so i am still finding formatting issues weeks later lol. but anyway! i find that doing it this way helps my ability match my standards a little better!

i am SO sorry that this is so long omg. i hope that this answered your questions and helps at all!! thank you for enjoying my content and letting me ramble for four paragraphs!!!

[echo-bleu]

As my Encanto hyperfixation goes away (I went from 100 to 0 surprisingly fast given that it hasn’t been replaced), I find myself looking at all the fanfic loose ends I’ve left lying around. I am quite determined to use this in-between-hyperfixations time to work on my original project, Singer Street, and I’m half-hoping that the next hyperfixation might be on that project. I may or may not be procrastinating on that by taking a look back ( @t-lane-writes i might need a kick in the butt) but at the same time I think I need this to be able to move forward.

This is going to get rambly so I won’t make you all scroll past :D

Over the years I’ve left a bunch of unfinished fanfics behind as I moved fandoms, and I regularly get sad that I couldn’t finish them. That’s especially true of the more advanced fics in which I poured a lot of energy and time and emotions. I’m constantly wondering if I could just make a little effort and finish them just so I can lay them to rest.

- Gifted fics: Nope, not gonna happen. The Underground is technically unfinished but it ends in a really good place. I think I might edit the end note and mark it as complete actually, just so I can say it’s done. All We Stand To Lose... it ends terribly but I really had no precise ending in mind and I can’t get back into this one enough. If You're Still Breathing was never meant to be a full fic anyway. I’m way too far from these characters now even though I still love them, and my writing style has evolved too -- not to mention that the fandom is fully dead.

- RNM fics: The fandom is still alive and I still have friends there but... I pretty much hate what the show has become. Season 3, which was awful imo, did give me enough of a boost to continue the one unfinished fic that still had a real place in my heart, our hands clasped so tight. I think I’d like to bring it to an end, because I’m actually pretty close and I still like it. It took the backburner again when I blocked on the flashback chapter and then fell headfirst into a new hyperfixation, but I’ll give it another try at some point. There’s maybe 3-4 chapters left to write (3k-ish words each) so it’s not a lot, and I feel like it’s worth it. The other WIPs I can barely remember and none of them were advanced enough anyway.

- Shadowhunters fics: I was looking at my folder the other day. There are so many fics I started and didn’t finish. There are a few one shots that I’d like to just clean up and bit and post as very short fics/snippets just because they’re pretty good, and it doesn’t matter than they’re not really finished. I might give this a try today. Beside that, the only really advanced WIP I had is the time we've been given. I don’t know about this one. I like it, but it’s maybe not close enough to my heart to actually put in the work to finish it. As it is, it was maybe halfway done with the plot I’d planned. I could maybe cut some stuff and just give it a nice epilogue -- I’ll have to look at what’s possible there.

Oh, and I also have sparks filled with hope, my mutant AU that I never posted. Um. It’s pretty advanced but it’s been so long since I even thought about it. Yeah, that one’s not going to happen.

- Hamilton fics: This is the fandom I’m kind of reverting back to now. It’s a bit frustrating in the sense that the fandom is so small now that it barely feels worth it to post fics at all, but those characters are the ones on my mind, though not in a hyperfixation way anymore. So. I have one fic that’s finished and awaiting betaing, part of the the things we used to know series. I meant that series to be a lot longer but it’s fine as it is. I have one project that I still vaguely wonder about that I don’t think will ever see the light of day unless I get a sudden burst of inspiration, I think I can lay that one to rest too.

And I have Eyes On The Horizon. It’s my most advanced fic, I’ve written almost 80k but it’s nowhere near done. It’s been read by a total of two people so far, it’s the first long fic I’ve written without posting anything. It’s proved to me that I’m capable of writing something without constant feedback (I’ve had amazing feedback from my beta and it’s been enough). It’s taken the backburner during Encanto phase but I still really really love it. So I’m on the fence about it. Basically I see three possibilities. 1) Start posting it, keep working on it on and off and hope for the best, knowing that it’s unlikely that I’ll ever finish it. 2) Chop it into parts. As it is, it’s too long, the pacing doesn’t work really well, and I have too much planned. It’s basically three different genres and three different novels into one. So I could simply finish the act I’m in, which would make it a character-focused kinda slice of life thing, and tell myself that maybe one day I’ll write a second part with the more plot-focused part. 3) This fic is barely fanfiction as it is, it’s so far from canon. If I can find a way to tighten the plot and to change the worldbuilding enough that it’s fully original (here it’s not really the Hamilton part that’s a problem, but the Sense8 inspiration) I could rework it into an original novel, and I think it could be really good. But there would be a lot of work and a lot of questions to ask myself, too.

I... don’t have an answer to that one yet.

- Encanto fics: I essentially have two, and a third that I barely started and that will not see the light of day, that’s okay. Nothing In This World is very advanced but also not even close to the end, but I don’t want to abandon it completely because I think it’s one of my best works yet. I’ve really reached the depth of nuance and emotional complexity that I want to be at with this one. I think I’m going to try to tighten the plot a bit more to make it shorter and keep going, but definitely not as intensely.

The Pirate AU isn’t going to be written. I’m still drawing the characters, and I’m going to try and do the whole family. I’m shelving the fic (I only wrote about a chapter). However, I’ll keep the plot in the back of my mind because I definitely want to write an og story like that someday. Not the exact same, but there are elements I really like.

- Original projects: Singer Street is my current project. It has a full plot, it has all the character it needs, I JUST NEED TO WRITE IT. STOP PROCRASTINATING ECHO.

I had this one post-revolution fantasy project that I’m shelving for now, but the good thing about og projects is that they’re not subject to fandom whims. I might go back to it. I might transform it into something else.

And I have Eyes, if I decide to turn it original. I really could. I’d need some solid reflection about one specific representation-related aspect of it, and to really figure out what’s important and what I want to say.

So, to recap.

- Maybe finish Hands (shouldn’t be that much work) - Have a look at which SH one-shots I can post as is or with minimal work, maybe look at Time, then shelve everything else - Post that Things we use to know fic whenever possible, then have a serious look at Eyes, which might require rereading it and talking it over with my wonderful friends/betas/writing buddies - Try to keep going with Nothing, but don’t force it - WRITE THAT GODDAMN NOVEL, COME ON YOU CAN DO IT

( @t-lane-writes is going to be very cross with me about this, I should only be thinking about Singer Street. But. At least my mind is a little clearer.)

[postmodernbeing]

Shingeki no Kyojin Headcanons: Paradis Soldiers, drunk edition

Hello, Postmodernbeing here. So, I have been re-reading SnK manga due its 4th and final season. And chapter 123 really inspired me into writing this headcanons. I wrote them thinking in some Morden AU, but I believe that they could easily work for the canon universe. I hope you like this as much as I did. 

IMPORTANT: I kept some canon elements that I read in a few posts from interviews to Isayama. //  For obvious reasons, all the characters are 18+. // I do not own Shingeki no Kyojin. // This post does not exhorts the abuse of harmful substances such as alcohol. // English is not my first language, so I appreciate your patience.

Eren Jaeger

Isayama himself has mentioned that Eren has a high tolerance to alcohol. I'd like to respect that fact (although I'm not 100% sure about that since I read it somewhere around internet). I do imagine that Eren is the friend that ends up taking care of everyone when they're totally wasted, but he also finds the time to have fun and drink because he doesn’t really like watching over every single one of his friends or counting all the shots that they take.

His behavior doesn’t really change a lot when wasted. I picture that he might speak a bit higher than usual due the deafening effect of music and alcohol. Also, he takes a bit of time before replying a question, etc.

Apart from that, do not expect him to dance like crazy over some table. He would agree to some karaoke, though. Or even to compete in a videogame/party game if Jean challenges him enough. Usually, Eren likes to keep his cool and watch everyone have a good time. Eren’s a simple man.

In some AU, he would be the designated driver if no one else offers (cough Armin cough), or in case that all his friends are totally wasted. Eren also makes sure that his pals arrive home safely before turning the engine again (so thoughtful, aw). In case that everyone takes a taxi or some uber, Eren would ask them to send a message to their group chat before going to bed just so he’s sure everyone is safe. Even if he knows some of them will forget or fall asleep immediately after arriving home.

Mikasa Ackerman

This girl rarely gets drunk, let me tell you. And not because she doesn’t drink, she drinks a lot. Mostly because she follows Sasha into all she dares her: beerpong, shots, you name it. Even though, Mikasa prefers traditional beer, she’s into trying new things such as different tastes and alcohol levels (she’s fearless). I do imagine that Mikasa realizes she’s drunk when tries to stand from anywhere she was sitting, rather for going to the kitchen for a glass of water or to the toilet (she knows  drinking water is important in order to keep her body hydrated and avoid hangover).

First thing she notices, besides the dizziness, is her face utterly blushed. She smiles almost immediately, Mikasa is more open with her body language albeit her use of words remains limited. She knows how to stay rational.

She’ll never admit how much she enjoys being invited by Sasha to have some drinks. Mikasa’s happy that she’s able to be her partner in beerpong, even if Sasha makes her lose from time to time. Her favorite game secretly is “Never have I ever…” because all her friends end up sharing too much, or some truly funny anecdotes that feed her little laugh (please, protect smiley Mikasa).

Mikasa has been designated driver only a couple of times since she keeps falling asleep after getting wasted. Nevertheless, she never fails into leaving a good night message to her friends when arriving home. Mikasa thinks that’s the perfect way to thank the squad for the great moments they shared.

Like Eren, she prefers casual reunions or stay-in-home parties. But if she’s noticed that the rest will attend to some bar/club she’d rather be there, protecting them (just a little before passing out too).

Armin Arlert

How do I say this politely? Please, keep him away from alcohol. He gets so drunk, so fast it’s almost funny. Definitely, he starts feeling a bit sleepy because he feels so relaxed. But if Armin keeps drinking sure thing, he’ll start feeling more energetic and perky. He’s the first one that gets into the karaoke thing, although he likes to share stories from the books he reads too, Eren is the one that listens to him with the most attention (and soberness).

Armin also laughs a lot being drunk, you could tell him any nonsense and he’ll burst out laughing. Sometimes he also tries to make jokes but fails funnily enough, he can’t make one coherent sentence. That’s a good sign most of the times, for he’s reaching his limits and his friends cut his consumption (which it’s really not that much).

That’s why it’s common that Armin offers himself as designated driver those nights that he might had a beer or two. He’s very responsible when he acknowledges there won’t be a chance to stay the night (for they are partying at a club or a stranger’s house). Armin is used to take his friends till their front door, he might be small, but he wants to be sure everyone will be alright and safe.

Against all odds, he enjoys a bit more of pubs since he became with time, less aloof than his childhood friends. Although, he’s not that meticulous with the remedies against hangover. Giving him the result of headaches for the next 24 hours at least.

Jean Kirstein

Jean has a higher alcohol tolerance, and he even tries to avoid excess of said substances. However, he always fails colossally 80% of occasions. He’s not precisely awkward or a bad drinker, but it’s definitely hard to keep up with his energy and enthusiasm when he’s drunk. Jean’s not the most responsible drinker neither but he manages to stay rational enough. One could say that he becomes more reckless with what he does and says.

…Such as climbing up a table and dancing like crazy. He would absolutely spend most of the night dancing and he’s not bad actually. The thing is, that his ability comes from the drunk effect rather than actual skill. When there’s no music to be heard, he likes to organize the games with Sasha and Connie. Jean also yells a lot more, and he doesn’t admit it but he runs out of patience faster if his friends aren’t excited to follow the flow of the games (we know he refers to Eren most of the times).

Therewith, he keeps his cool and sincere attitude. His friends know that Jean doesn’t need to be drunk to be open and honest, so they trust in his drunken words too. Which leads us to the next point, Jean loves bigger and more elaborated parties. But only because he knows all his friends could engage in activities that they actually enjoy. From screaming and running to keeping it quiet in a sofa.

He doesn’t worry easily, but if someone asks him to take care of them, he will offer his help without trouble (those are the 20% remaining of occasions in which he doesn’t get that drunk). Jean got the designated driver role only one time, for his friends decided that he sucked at following the GPS and spend too much time taking ‘shortcuts’ every three blocks. It would take the rest of the night trying to get to their homes.

Sasha Braus

Like Jean, Sasha has a medium tolerance to alcoholic beverages, but she tends to mess that up when stuffing her mouth with snacks and junk food. She insists in eating before drinking (and after too), so it’s not unusual to watch her running into the bathroom at the middle of the night because of nausea. To everyone's surprise, she has a wide knowledge of different drinks. From the best wines and its respective cuts of meats, to the strangest (and cheapest) mixtures for the sole purpose of getting wasted.

Even in sober state Sasha isn’t shy at all. So, beware for she’s the mastermind behind the party games. Sasha always promises tranquil reunions but deep down everyone knows shit’s getting down every-single-time. She knows the basic games such as beerpong, “never have I ever”, “truth or dare”, and she has a talent at asking the most awkward questions. But her real potential reveals when she dares her friends into weird and dangerous challenges.

Sasha definitely becomes more direct and energetic. She has let her real accent show a few times before and even if she gets a bit embarrassed she’s too drunk to care (Mikasa is the first one that shuts their mouths if they try to make fun of her, canon of they being the best friends ever, yay).

She loves to dance and sing, making a disaster of the house/club they’re partying at. Connie tries to calm her down before anyone else, but fails because just like her, he’s delighted with the jokes and pranks they pull together. Sasha knows that Connie stays close to her in case she’s feeling more dizzy than usual and she’s forever thankful for that. Lastly, she has never offered herself into that designated driver role, and that’s what her friends are thankful for. So, everything’s reciprocal, one could say.

Connie Springer

Connie has just a bit more of tolerance to alcohol. It’s common that Sasha, Jean, and Connie end up drunk at the same time. They laugh when they realize this. The first signal into Connie’s drunk state is him talking about everything that passes through his mind, from conspiracy theories to the most absurd yet profound questions. And finishes his quasi rational speech with bad jokes, although he doesn’t really need alcohol to tell them.

He promises himself every single time that he’ll take care of Sasha but ends up following her into all her dares and extreme games (some of them almost illegal). Connie is the first person than anyone runs to if they want to throw a bigger party. He feels flattered to this, he’s truly popular and a great company to anyone. Seems obvious at this point, but I'll say it anyway: Connie really enjoys club parties.

I already mentioned that Connie gets along with anything that Sasha comes up with. But Connie himself has a repertoire of anecdotes and pranks. He can recommend you the best pubs and the cheapest (and interesting) clubs. He doesn’t admit it, but this also strokes his ego. Maybe he does have some genius in him, at least for these topics.

Connie is also the most chaotic drunk, all he does (or tries to) is funny. He has the craziest anecdotes. Like that time when his friends found him asking for directions to a public trash can, or that one night when he had a fight with Jean because he didn’t accede to shave his head to match with Connie’s. Or Sasha’s favorite, she’d dared him into smelling Eren’s arse for some bet they had about his smell. Mikasa was not happy.

Sincerely, this boy brings life into the parties if he desires so. Howbeit, he got his friends’ backs if they have a problem with aggressive drunken guys. Connie has jumped into fights just so he protects his friends (Armin, more than anyone else due his big-smart mouth). Truth to be told, Connie fights quite good when drunk. His protective side is a wonder, y’all give him lots of love.

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Kismet {8}

Henry Cavill x Famous OFC Aliya Taylor

Warning: Plot, Tiny Slow Burn, Mild Cursing, Dialogue Heavy, POV Changes, Small Time Jumps

Words: 6.6k

Summary: Aliya is a singer turned model turned actress. Since she was fifteen, she’s been creating her empire in the entertainment world. As the daughter of a famous fashion model/designer and Hollywood director, you’d think life is easy for her, but her past has been anything but easy. Due to past trauma, she’s forever changed and no longer trusts any man that is not in her family and a select few in her team. She’s sworn off love and serious relationships and has planned never to fall again, but love isn’t something that can be planned. It just happens when it’s meant to. Can Aliya outrun a love that seems hellbent on holding tight to her, a love that is Kismet?

If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!! 😘  

As always, thank you so much for reading. ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Interactive***

Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 |

-Henry-

The minute he woke the next day and the alcohol had worn off; he instantly regretted his actions. His head was pounding and his nose stuffy, which was always what the morning after a drinking fest looked and felt like for him. the pain in his head made him painfully aware of everything he’d said to you. More than half of him wished he would have just held his peace and moved on, but the other side of him—the stubborn bull side felt nothing but satisfaction from what he’d done. It was time, especially seeing that you completely had the wrong idea about who he was and his character. He couldn’t help but wonder what you thought about your conversation, but instead of dwelling on it, he decided to push it to the side and do the logical thing. Move on.

 It was now five days since that conversation, and though it felt strange the first couple of days to not send you a message when you ran across his mind, he did it and adapted. He now was throwing himself into work because there wasn’t a shortage of it. Most days, he was in pre-production for Witcher two, and that in itself was a lot of work. Production decided to kick fight choreography up a notch because last season wasn’t badass enough. The choreography this season was definitely taking it up several notches, and it meant more long hours of training and even more potential for him to be hurt.

By week two post convo, he was steadily counting down to his vacation time. Training was kicking his ass, and the more and more days that passed, the more he thought of you. That wasn’t all though, the more the way he thought of you changed. In the beginning, he thought he was infatuated or possibly obsessed. When he was around you, he always felt as if he wasn’t in control. He felt like there were forces that were controlling your interactions and pulling a starry blanket over his feelings. He expected this time away to act as a purge, but it hadn’t, not in the way he’d anticipated.

 “Come on, her name is Becca, and she’s super cute,” Alisha said.

 “Why is it that all my brother’s wives want to set me up?”

 “Because we care. You’re too great of a guy to be alone,” Halley complimented.

 They all nodded, and his eldest brother painfully squeezed his cheek.

 “Plus, look at this face,” Nik teased, making all of them elate.

 It had been like this since they were kids. Nothing had changed.

 “I’m perfectly fine being alone,” he answered.

 “Doesn’t mean you should be,” Amee piped out.

 No matter what, he said it wouldn’t be good enough until he gave them what they wanted. He had no intention of doing it, though. He wasn’t sure if it was really his loathing of being set up or because he didn’t want to pretend to want anyone else. Whatever it was, it had him declining to their annoyance. He could stick it out for the next two weeks until he got out of London.

  -Aliya-

“You fucked up, plain and simple,” Amaya blurted out as she flipped through a magazine.

 You rolled your eyes and tried to continue writing notes to the song you’d just wrote. As sure as you were that it was pitch black outside, you knew she wasn’t done—not by a long shot. A minute passed in silence, but as projected, Amaya began again.

 “Just explain to me why you don’t want to be happy.” Amaya tossed the magazine aside, giving you her full attention. Still, you ignored her and kept your eyes glued to the note pad.

 “Liya, come on. At some point in your life, you’re going to have to be honest with yourself.”

 She was right. For the last few weeks, you’d spent a lot of sleepless nights doing just that. Since Henry’s call, you’d been forced to look at your situation in a light you’d ignored. It wasn’t that you were doing it maliciously. It was just easier and neater to see the worst in every situation hence the worst in people. You’d been the girl who dug deep for the best in people and only focused on that and their potential for too long. It made more sense from a survivalist standpoint to be different.

 You’d went back and forth and round and round your situation, and perhaps you were too quick to jump to conclusions. The bottom line was the things he said had affected you, more than you liked and more than you could ignore. A few days after his call, you saw his picture in The Sun. He wasn’t alone. It looked like he’d had a long night of partying. You deduced it was probably the same night he called you. Though he was obviously drunk, he still looked so damn good. In the last few weeks, you’d thought about him a lot. On several occasions, you’d taken up your phone for the sole purpose to stalk his Instagram or even scroll through your gallery to gawk at his pictures. Never though, did you attempt to call.

 The main reason was that you hated being the one in the wrong. You hated feeling like the asshole and what was worse was that you also hated apologizing. So, you bit your tongue, pushed your thoughts and emotions aside, and just hoped time would make it all fade. It didn’t.

 “Aliya!”

 Closing your notepad, you stood. “We’re going to miss the flight.”

 “Whatever! It’s a private jet. It’s your private jet.”

 You were already out of the room, which meant thankfully, you didn’t have to see her face. The drive to the private airfield was about forty-five minutes. For the entire ride, you could feel Amaya’s annoyance with you. she didn’t say one word. Instead, she kept her nose buried in her phone scrolling her life away. It was okay with you; you had plenty of work to do. Plus, you knew this wasn’t over, not by a long shot.

 Sure enough, twenty minutes into the flight to London, she was back at it. The difference between Amaya and Alicia was simple. Where Alicia liked to leave me be until she knew the perfect time to go in because she knew the perfect time would come when you would be more receptive to it, Amaya preferred to go in all the time. She was always on one hundred. You loved both your best friends dearly, and they both spoke to different sides of you, but sometimes you wished they were wrong a lot more often than they were right.

 When you got pulled into a phone meeting, you were grateful and even more so when it lasted for almost two hours. By the time you ended the call, Amaya was napping. Though you thought the silence was what you wanted, it was a blessing in disguise. It meant you now had peace and quiet to think, and your thoughts more often than not went right to Henry.

 When you landed in London and checked into the hotel, it was after midnight. Once you’d taken a shower and answered a few emails, you popped two sleep aids in hopes they would knock you out because you needed all your energy tomorrow.

  -The Next Day-

Hectic was an understatement for how your morning and afternoon had been going. One of the great things about being you was that when you got bored with one career avenue, you had three more to distract yourself with. For the last several months, you’d been focusing on your acting career and had been able to complete two films and three guest appearances. In between acting gigs you were also able to do a few modeling events, including Fall and Spring fashion week.

 What had fallen to the wayside was your singing career. It was almost time for you to fulfill your contractual obligations by releasing another album. You’d been focusing on writing new material for the last few weeks, and tonight you were putting on one of the last stops on a mini-tour your team had planned months ago. The travel alone was killing you. You were exhausted, even more than usual. With every show, you felt your body telling you it would soon be time to slow down or stop for a few months. You needed a break.

 “I should have flown in days ago. I hate feeling like this isn’t perfect.”

 “Aliya, it’s fine,” Alicia countered.

 The perfectionist in you didn’t believe her.

 “I promise. I wouldn’t lie to you. You have to go anyway. The show is supposed to start at six; it’s already three.”

 She was right. Though you hated it, you would have to cross your fingers and hope things looked cohesive. After finishing up the last-minute wardrobe adjustments and a quick pep talk with your dancers, you made your way back to the hotel to get in a little bit of pampering before having to get back to the center for prep.

 As you laid on the table and enjoyed your deep tissue massage, you allowed the worries to float away. There was nothing you could do about it now anyway. You were also sure it was perfectly fine, and just your obsessive nature taking over. Tuning everything out, you focused on your meditative breathing. Before you knew it, it was time to get back to the center to get into wardrobe and put on a show worthy of the hundreds that were spent on tickets. You were determined to perform your ass off.

  -Henry-

He couldn’t have gotten out of tonight no matter what. He’d tried. When Charlie announced to everyone that Heather had made plans for their adults' date night, he rolled his eyes. Now that he thought of it, it was around the time that Amee tried to set him up with that woman. This was supposed to be a blind date, and since he’d declined, he was here alone while all his other brothers were snuggling up and whispering to their significant others.

 Here he was an hour and ten minutes into your show, and he’d never had more fluctuating thoughts and feelings. At first, it was surprise; then annoyance, then it transitioned into awe until it moved to arousal and admiration. Now he was stewing deep in all of them, and it was not a good look. Your voice was incredible. He’d always known how talented you were. Your stamina to dance and sing blew his mind. Then when he watched those dance moves closer, it was impossible to keep his thoughts pure. It also didn’t help that the outfits you were wearing only fueled his imagination more.

 “What’s wrong with you? You said you liked Aliya Taylor,” Amee shouted over the music.

 Plastering a smile on his face, he nodded. “Yeah, she’s great. I’m tired.” It wasn’t a complete lie.

 When you came out for the final song in a flowing low cut white gown and barefoot, he staggered backward when he envisioned you walking down a flower aisle.

 “Fucking hell!”

 All eyes snapped to him, and the curious looks on their faces only had him needing air even more.

 “I—I’m gonna get a head start to the cars.”

 Not waiting for a response, he turned and walked through the crowd, not daring to look back at you.

   -Aliya-

Amaya and Alicia laughed together at something on Amaya’s timeline. No doubt it was some picture of one of her boy toys. You sipped from your flower decorated porcelain teacup while staring out over London to the Eye. Just behind it, Big Ben stood tall and proud as it chimes for four o’clock echoed through the city. This was a city you’d spent a lot of time in thanks to your grandparents on your father’s side. Not as much time as they’d like, but there was only so much free time you had. Big Ben and the Eye were two of your favorite things about London.

 You should have been on cloud nine after another successful show and checking another thing off your extensive to-do list, but you weren’t. You felt almost as gloomy as the rolling clouds in the sky that threatened rain.

 “You seem depressed.”

 Alicia’s voice had you turning back to them you softly smiled. “I’m not.”

 “You look it,” Amaya slid home.

 Rolling your eyes, you finished your cup of tea and gently placed it on its matching saucer with a shrug. “I don’t know what to tell you then.”

 Amaya then gasped with a smile in her eyes. “I know what it is. You’re finally missing your grade A prime beef of a man.”

 Snorting, you shook your head. “Oh god. Try again.”

 “You might be right, Mya,” Leece started placed her elbows on the table to peer at you closer. “This all started the night we had dinner with him. What’s his name again?” Both of them pretended to wrack their brains to remember his name, but they knew damn well what it was.

 “Ah, Henry,” Amaya cooed, making you roll your eyes even harder.

 “Both of you stop. You’re not funny.”

 “We approve.”

 “I second that,” Alicia added.

 “What? Really?”

 “Are you kidding? Yeah. Not only is he gorgeous, like drop dead gorgeous, but he is also super nice. Throughout dinner he was very courteous and sincere. You know I’m a good people reader,” Amaya attested.

 “He’s funny, and he seemed to be genuine with his efforts to get to know Mya and me. He also was putting in effort into proving something to you.”

 Sighing, you took a few sips of your water.

 “Honestly, I couldn’t find anything wrong with him.”

 “Really? Perfection?”

 You couldn’t believe your ears. Yes, you’d suspected they liked him, but the perfect word was just uttered. It was never spoken of, not by them.

 “Pretty much,” Amaya doubled down.

 “Wow.”

 “Tell me about it. Move on that before some other chick does. He will not be single for long,” Amaya added.

 For some reason, this was the first time you’d thought about that, and you couldn’t believe it. She was right. He was gorgeous, among other things, and women already fawned over him. He wouldn’t be licking his wounds much longer. A knot formed in your gut, and a sour taste in your mouth followed. Glancing away from their penetrative gazes, you looked around the restaurant and nearly dropped the water glass when you saw Henry across the restaurant laughing. This was the first time you’d seen him in person since your breakfast in New York weeks and weeks ago, and he looked great.

Your eyes drank him up, taking their time soaking up every detail of his face, the slight stubble that decorated his chiseled jaw, his perfectly imperfect smile, his hair that fell slightly longer than you remembered. When he spoke again, you watched his mouth move and quickly got lost. You didn’t have to hear his words. You knew how he spoke them. You knew the effect his voice had. At the thought of that effect, you peeled your eyes away and tried to keep them on either Alicia, Amaya, or the table. Of course, it was impossible. Your eyes continuously found him, and it was on him they remained until you forced yourself to look away.

 “What do you keep looking at?”

 Amaya glanced around the restaurant. You knew she’d found him because when she turned to face you again, her smile was as wide as a thief's.

 “Oh ho ho, looks like fate is on mine and Leece’s side.”

 “Stop. Be cool, act natural. Don’t make a scene,” you pleaded.

 “Look at that, same place, same time, just mere feet away.”

 From the tone of her voice, you knew she was tempted to fuck with you.

 “Stop, Amaya. Don’t.”

 “Why?”

 Trying to keep your voice down and the panic from your face, you pleaded again. “Just don’t.”

 Amaya studied you for a few moments before she nodded in defeat. Relief flooded you. Though you tried, you couldn’t get your head back onto lunch and off of him no matter how you tried. The three of you left shortly after passing his table on the way out.

 Thanks to a little free time, you, Amaya, and Alicia were able to soak up some shopping in London and before getting back to the hotel for a quick change, then dinner. Even though you tried to stop thinking about Henry’s face earlier, you weren’t the least bit successful, but you played it off like everything was cool. You didn’t know if you fooled either of them, but you really didn’t care. You were so ready to get the hell out of London.

  -That Night-

Big Ben’s chime for one in the morning ringing out all around you. It was yet another night of sleeplessness. From your seat at the window, you could feel the nice breeze. It still smelled like rain, but for whatever reason, the rain was staying away. Finishing your glass of wine, you sighed out and nearly leaped out your skin when your phone rang in the quiet room.

 “Hello?”

 “What’s wrong?”

 You smiled from the unexpected sound of your gramaw’s voice. It was like the concrete gate you had around your heart that was constricting it to the point where it was challenging to breathe loosened.

 Sighing, you leaned back, reclining against the surface.

 “I think I fell in love,” you whispered.

 “In love?”

 Hearing the words said back to you made you close your eyes and shake your head.

 “Yeah, at least I think that’s what I’m feeling. I can’t sleep well, not that I could before. I feel a little depressed, and I can’t pinpoint why, but when I think about it, I feel this way when I think about him. Not to mention, I think about him all the time. Christ, I even dream about him.”

 Pausing, you glanced at your phone to find his picture there. It was the last thing you’d been looking at before tossing your phone away.

 “I truly feel like I did something wrong, like I was wrong,” you confessed.

 “Have you talked to him?”

 Hitting your head back, you groaned. “Not since he called me and told me I’m missing out on him and gave me all the reasons why I should realizing I’m missing out.”

 You couldn't help but smile at his words as you remembered them.

 “Do you feel like you’re missing out?”

 Your Gramaw always knew the right questions to ask. She was one of the few that did, one of the few that you’d even listen to. Bowing your head, you sighed again.

 “Maybe. Normally I’m sure about someone and sure that I don’t need or want them in my life, but with him—I have doubts with my snap judgment.”

 “Oh no, snap judgments are never a good thing, Aliya.”

 You groaned hearing the disappointment in her voice. “I know, jeez do I know.”

 “What do you feel like doing?”

 You scoffed, if you knew that you wouldn’t be going through this struggle.

 “I’ll be to you in a few days. I’ll see you soon.”

 “Your heart, Aliya, not your head,” she cautioned before you ended the call.

 For the next thirty or so minutes, you paced the balcony of your room as you debated with yourself over what you were going to do. After psyching yourself up as much as you could, you bit the bullet dialing Henry’s number before you talked yourself out of it. After one ring, you almost hung up but forced yourself to stick through the terror running through you. Two rings passed, then three. At the fourth you began to lower your hand to end the call and then his voice echoed through the speaker.

 “Hello?”

 You froze drawing a blank and forgetting for a moment you had a voice.

 “Hello?”

 “Hello,” you whispered.

 The rustling on his end was loud but brief.

 “Aliya?”

 Swallowing the lump, you took a deep breath. “Yeah. Hi.”

 “It’s after one in the morning. Is everything all right? Are you hurt?”

 Your heart lurched, and a soft smile spread across your lips. “Yeah, I’m okay. I’m not hurt,” you assured.

 He sighed, then yawned.

 “I uh—I know it’s late or early. I know you, um, probably have something better to do than be up. I’m sorry if I woke you,” you half rushed and stuttered out.

 “You’re rambling, Aliya.” You stopped your pacing then and slapped your forehead.

 “Yes, I am. I do that when I’m nervous,” you blurted.

 “Why are you nervous?”

 Pausing, you gripped the rail on the balcony and used it to center yourself and get your nerves under control.

 “Well, I’m about to ask the man I told I wouldn’t be with to meet me somewhere at nearly two in the morning. I’m—sending major mixed signals.”

 Henry didn’t speak right away. Instead, he waited, making you chew your bottom lip as your anxiety increased.

 “Why?”

 “Wh—why? Why what?”

 “Why should I?”

 Stunned, your jaw dropped. “Oh, wow, out with the hard questions. Okay. Um—well—you should meet me because uh—it’s not often that I realize I was wrong or did something wrong and when I realize that, I like to say so.”

 Again the silence over the phone stretched for long moments. After a full minute of it, your anxiety peaked.

 “Still there?”

 Henry sighed. “I’m here. I’m thinking.”

 His voice sounded so deliciously deep. Either you had woken him, and this was his sleepy voice, or he was purposely giving you that sexy baritone.

 “By all means. Think as long as you need to. Um—I’ll be at the eye until 2:30. I um—I hope you show. If you don’t, I understand, really I do and no hard feelings.”

 Quickly you ended the call and panted as if you’d been running a marathon all in an effort to calm yourself down. It had been years since you’d put yourself through something like that, and you had a feeling it was only the beginning of you making amends.

Being Aliya Taylor afforded you some perks, and one was being able to have access to the eye well after closing. All it took was one call, well two to be exact, and voila, you were sitting in one of the cars anxiously waiting for Henry. You had no idea if he’d show, and the more and more time that passed with him not magically appearing, the more and more your brain worked overtime. The scenery helped a lot, but when you glanced at your watch and saw that it was almost 2:30, the scenery could do no more. Your nerves and anxiety had erupted like a volcano.

 “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

 Spinning, you saw Henry at the door still on the platform. You released a relieved sigh, realizing he hadn’t stood you up.

 “Good thing I’m not—anymore.”

 Henry stepped into the car and took a few steps to you but stopped when he was still a ways away.

 “London after two is not safe,” Henry informed.

 “I know.”

 The doors closed, and the contraption began moving.

 “How in the world did you get them to open this for you?”

 Smiling, you shrugged. “I may know people in high places,” you replied, which made him smile.

“This is one of my favorite places in London,” you announced as you walked around the car, taking care not to get too close. You didn’t know if you could handle it right away, and you had to feel him out to see what his coming really meant.

 “Why?”

 “You can see all of greater London from here and out to the countryside if you really look once you’re up high.”

 Henry also walked around the car, mirroring your intentions. Neither of you came close enough to touch one another.

 “How often do you come to London?”

 “A lot. I have some family here, plus I prefer the countryside.”

 “So you have some British blood,” Henry inquired, half a question, half a statement.

 “I had to. Only the Bris would dare think to send their daughters off to finishing school,” you quipped.

 Henry’s laugh filled the car, making you smile widely. He walked to one of the many windows turning his back to you. Slowly you looked over his broad back, taking in every detail. Your fingers could still remember what the dance of his muscles felt like underneath them, and they itched to feel them dance again. Taking a deep breath, you fiddled your fingers.

 “Uh--I hope I didn’t interrupt anything important by asking you here. Like I hope I didn’t impose on—anyone.”

 You were fishing, it was obvious, and you felt no shame.

 “Eh, who needs sleep anyway. I can sleep when I’m dead,” Henry replied with a shrug of those magnificent shoulders still keeping his back to you.

 “Were um--were you uh—sleeping—alone?”

 Your heart was pounding so loudly you could swear he could hear it. He didn’t speak or turn around. He just stood there torturing you. You wondered if he knew it was sheer torture what he was doing. Did he even care? The longer he remained quiet, the more you freaked out until you decided to backtrack all the way back.

“I’m sorry. Don’t answer that. It is absolutely none of my business. I don’t even know why I asked that,” you rushed out, rubbing your forehead from embarrassment before beginning to pace the car.

 That was when Henry chose to turn around.

 “I know a woman doesn’t say something she doesn’t mean, and usually when a woman asks a question, she wants to know the answer either to prove herself right or in hopes she’s wrong. What is it for you?”

 His voice made you stop in the midst of pacing to watch his mouth as he spoke. There was something poetic about how he spoke, and it always distracted you. Nibbling your bottom lip, you thought about how to respond. You were already tired of the verbal Olympics and talking around each other.

 Sighing, you rolled your eyes. “Henry--.”

 “You know that’s the first time you’ve said my name without the word goodbye in front of it.”

 That made you snap your mouth shut. Had it?

 “That’s not true,” you protested.

 “It actually is. I was beginning to think you like saying goodbye rather than hello.”

 You took a step to him. “That’s not true. I like saying hello way more than goodbye,” you defended.

 The neutral look on his face gave you no confidence to go on, so you rolled your eyes and continued to walk around the car. This would be harder than you expected, you thought.

 “I was sleeping alone. I’ve slept alone for quite some time now,” he informed just as you were looking out of the window to the city.

 “Look, Henry, I-,” you began again, but then henry cut you off.

 “That day in New York those weeks ago, I should have plain and simply laid it out for you. I should have told you everything. I was with Francesca--.”

 “Don’t, don’t, don’t. I honestly don’t want to know.”

 “But you need to know. There is no way you can begin to trust me or begin to let yourself gravitate to me the way you’re entire being wants until you know,” Henry slid out. Pressing your palm to your abdomen, you tried to slow the butterflies that began flitting.

 “I was with Francesca for about two years. The whole time I knew she wanted a family in life. She was always vocal about her wanting to get married young and have kids. I knew, but I never paid attention to it. I was away filming something for a while, and when I came home one weekend, I caught her with someone else.”

 Your eyes widened, hearing his words.

 “turns out she was beginning a relationship with someone else, someone who she thought would lead to marriage and kids,” Henry added. His voice held steady, but you could imagine the pain going through those memories again.

 “I’m sorry.”

 Henry shook his head, “It’s not necessary. After a few months of her trying to make amends, I thought we’d try again.” He scoffed then rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m a hopeless romantic. After months of trying, I knew it wouldn’t work, but I kept a relationship of sorts with her.”

 You understood. They were bed buddies.

 “I then met Abby, and what started as a fling developed into something more. Long story short, I got wind of a rumor she was using me for fame and money, so I distanced myself from her. after some time of her telling I had it all wrong, I decided it was easier keeping her around though my heart wasn’t in it. I wasn’t juggling them. I hadn’t slept with either of them in a long time. I just—I felt it was better to have someone who misses me and wants me than living the lonely actor life.”

 His honesty had you frozen. When he began to explain, you hadn’t expected him to reveal so much. You expected a bare minimum explanation, but what you’d gotten revealed so much more about him. You felt bad.

 “I guess allowing the attentions and affections to remain is just as bad as juggling them. I was playing with their hearts. I’m not proud of it.”

 Henry dipped his head, showing he felt some shame for his actions.

 “When I met you, I realized although I had these two women sort of vying for me, I was still lonely, but those moments we were together, I didn’t feel alone. I felt--,” he paused as if trying to find the right word. His hesitation made you look down.

 You knew what you’d felt.

 “When I met you, I felt someone I’d never felt before, something I don’t fully understand. I don’t know what that means, but I know I want to find out—with you.”

 Finally, able to release the breath you held, you took another, then cleared your throat. “I’m not juggling two guys. I was dating two guys, but not sleeping with both. I was with Liam first, and we had an okay relationship. We were busy, never saw each other and when we did it wasn’t for long. He um—he got annoyed and broke up with me. He said I was impacting his work, and he needed to focus.”

 You remembered how he’d said it too. He’d said it like you were the one to blame for the roles he’d gotten or hadn’t gotten.

 “I was fine with it, and during those five months apart, I met Jesse. We worked together and had fun and began dating. It wasn't anything sexual. Then Liam comes back and wants to pick up where we left off. I told him about Jesse, and he was fine with it.”

 The shock on Henry’s face almost made you laugh. Alicia and Amaya were also surprised they’d chosen that unconventional path. Amaya, of course, thought you should have kept it secret from both of them.

 “One day, Jesse sees Liam and me out, and it pissed him off enough to end things. Three weeks later, I lay it out for both that I don’t want to choose, and I don’t want anything serious. They were both fine with it, and so it went on. Six months later, I decided I needed to be on my own to focus on work and me. They didn’t like the decision. They call and text me to try to—rekindle something.”

 Henry scoffed, and you watched a soft smile tickle his lips.

 “I haven’t physically seen either of them in weeks, now maybe months,” you finished.

 Henry was quiet for a few seconds before he snorted.

 “They were mad.”

 “Angry?”

 “No, mad, bonkers,” Henry clarified.

 “Oh, crazy.”

 “Yeah. To be okay to share you, be willing to do something like that. I couldn’t do that,” Henry informed, making you smile in the process.

 “Well, men do crazy things.”

 “I can attest to that, but I’d never do something that crazy. I can’t share what’s mine. I won’t.”

 Your eyes locked, and your body swayed toward his. It was like he was metal and you a magnet. Everything in you wanted to be close to him. The more you tried to fight the pull, the harder it became to breathe. The harder it was to breathe, the dizzier you became.

 “I—I—I—I,” you began before gulping the knot in your throat down that was making you speak in a raspy whisper. “I don’t—know what this is.”

 Henry nodded.

 “I am not used to not knowing and being out of control,” you continued.

 “You feel less controlled too?”

 You couldn't help but to nod. Once you did, Henry took a step to you. You took a step back.

 “Hold on. I like control. I like control a lot. Anything that threatens that control is not for me.”

 Henry’s eyes lowered but only for a moment before he was looking right back into yours.

 “But—I really want to find out why you make me less controlled,” you finally admitted.

 The uncertainty on his face spoke volumes.  “What does that mean? Where does that leave this—us?”

 You chewed your bottom lip; you realized how ill-prepared you’d been.

 “Honestly, I didn’t think this meeting out that far. I only planned up to when you showed up. I’ve um—I’ve been winging it this whole time.”

 His smile started small but spread wide in seconds; then, he laughed loudly.

 “So you won’t mind me making a plan?”

 Oh lord, you thought, feeling his alpha pop out. You bit your bottom lip again.

 “What kind of plan?”

 Henry closed the remaining space between you. Every step he took had you shaking even more.

 “A plan that I’ve envisioned every night since brunch.”

Stopped in front of you and held you captivated by his gaze and the sheer dominating energy rolling off of him. The way he stood there taller than you made your mouth run dry.

 “Jesus, you’re freakishly short,” Henry teased in his perfect Englishman voice.

 Smiling, you shook your head. “I know, I debated wearing heels but didn’t—I wanted you to see me normal for someone reason I don’t under--.”

 Henry’s sudden movement cut you off. He dipped down the entire foot he overshadowed you and lifted you into the air to hold you flush against his body. Then he lowered his lips to yours, taking and keeping control of an intensely passionate kiss. A kiss you hadn’t known you craved until it began, a kiss you were not prepared for. You moaned against his lips, and that moan triggered his. Wrapping your arm around his neck, you clung to him, and every sensation you were feeling and even new ones he was awakening within you.

 Slowly, Henry pulled his lips from your, but he kept your body to his. You kept your eyes closed, relishing the lingering effects.

 “You’re shaking,” Henry whispered.

 “So are you.”

 You opened your eyes and gazed into his as he slowly lowered you back to your feet.

 “What else is part of your plan?”

 Henry's smile spread across his face. “For me to carry out any other part of my plan would be completely rakish of  me.”

 His smile was adorable, but still intimidatingly sexy.

 “I take it you’re not a rake.”

 “Not in the least.”

 “All right. So, alternate plan?”

 He smiled again. “Still pretty rakish.”

 With that, he brought his lips back to yours, but this time he didn’t pull back for several long minutes.

 Though you knew people in high places, it didn’t mean you could keep the eye open all morning. After three trips around, the two of you got off then walked around London holding hands and eating ice cream. It was such a weird sensation allowing someone to hold your hand. It had been a long time since you’d ever wanted to. The entire time you laughed and talked about everything and nothing at the same time. One thing was clear; neither of you was in any rush for your time together to end.

 But end, it had to. When Henry walked you back to your hotel, it was almost time for the sun to come up.

 “Home safe and sound,” Henry joked.

 “Yes, thanks to Superman.”

 “No, no, I’m just the man. Henry Cavill.”

 He held his hand out to you. Smiling, you rolled your eyes.

 “Now is when we get to this?”

 His goofy smile and shrug had your head skip a beat.

 “Aliya Taylor,” you said, shaking his hand.

 “Nice to meet you. Mind if I call you Aliya or Liya, that's all a mouthful,” Henry teased.

 Your laugh was loud, and you had to clamp your hand over your mouth, remembering what time it was.

 “Yes, you can call me either. Can I call you Henners or Hank?”

 “No. My friends call me that.”

 “So, I’m not your friend?”

 “If I have anything to say about it, which I do, then no. I don’t want you as a friend.” Henry replied, making you smile like a little girl at Christmas.

 “Then what do you want me as?”

 Your eyes lingered for a few seconds before Henry was pulling you closer to brush the back of his hand against your cheek.

 “For now, I’ll settle for my girlfriend.”

 The man was an expert at charm. You bit into your bottom lip and tried to stop smiling. “Girlfriend, wow. That’s a loaded title. What does it entail?”

 “Well, for one, it entails being your true self with me, accepting my true self, being there for me when I need you, letting me be there for you when you need me or when I need you, allowing me to be your strength when you’re weak, your hope when you’re hopeless. Allowing me to grow with you, learn with you. Giving me your time and attention, enough of it so what we have can grow. Trusting me and letting me spoil you rotten.”

 If he weren’t holding you against him, you would have fallen back.

 “Is that all?”

 Henry leaned closer kisses your cheek. “To begin.”

 “And if I refused to be this girlfriend you speak of?”

 “Then I’d just have to convince you,” Henry cooed.

 “How?”

 Right on que, Henry dipped his lips to yours. The second they touched, you moaned and held him close. Why resist when you could enjoy it, you thought. His tongue swirled with yours before he nibbled then sucked your bottom lip. When he pulled back, your eyes remained closed.

 “I’m convinced.”

 Henry pecked your lips once, then twice. “Good. Girlfriend.”

 Your eyes locked again, and you forgot all common sense for what felt like an eternity.

 “Eh-em—I have to be on a set in the morning.”

 “Which is now,” Henry filled in.

 Still hazed in the brain, you stuttered and smiled like a fool.

 “Mm, did I stay out all night?”

 “You did. I hope it was worth it.”

 Smiling, you kissed his jaw. “We’ll see,” you whispered as you backed away from him, making your way to the door.

 “Good morning, Henry.”

 He smiled again, watching you disappear inside the hotel. As you walked to the elevator bank, you couldn’t stop smiling or stop the butterflies that had been flying all night in your stomach. As you stepped onto the elevator and watched the doors closed, you recognized the feeling you felt as happiness. It had been absent for a long time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[mallowstep]

how do you find the energy and motivation to write like... everyday?? i literally cannot write unless i am possessed by a thought in my brain and forced to spew out everything onto paper. and then i cant look at it again ot edit it. like, i really love writing and if im forced to do it for school i will, but i cant write for myslef.

practice.

first, i want to say that i am going to describe how i write, but it is not necessarily going to work for most people, because it has to do with my own psychology and mental health.

second, i want to say that i view writing as writing for pleasure or writing for work. poetry, for example, i write for pleasure, and i would not apply what i am going to discuss to poetry. that happens when i have something to say. it is OK to not want to write for work. that's acceptable and encouraged.

third, i want to dispel a myth. writing consistently is not about motivation. it is about discipline. and you should take heart in that, because motivation is hard to control. you can't force yourself to want to do something, no matter how hard you try. but if you build up discipline, you can learn to do it anyway.

i'm not going to go into that now, because i'm coming at this from the specific perspective of someone with adhd who uses pressure to force myself to function, which is...a hard balance to strike, and not something i can strictly recommend. it does work for some people. i think of it as an arch.

but i digress, i said i wasn't discussing the specifics of how i function in day-to-day life, lest i encourage others to do as i do.

okay. so. where am i going with all of this?

part one: a long, fairly incoherent ramble about me and mental health and writing

well. i don't think the idea of writing for yourself is very helpful to a lot of people. i do write for myself. but that doesn't get my ass in the chair and my fingers on the keyboard. the thing that does that is not social obligation to others, either, it is the firm knowledge that putting words on paper is going to keep me from falling apart.

i don't do that for myself. i don't do that for anyone but the human need to hold yourself together. i am very happy i feel that need at the moment, and every time i have stopped writing* in the past ten years, i have lost that need.

* writing here should really be replaced with a broader term. creating things. making things. working with my hands and something real. but writing is the best thing i know to fill this in myself.

writing does not feel optional. i started writing seriously when i was not-quite-a-teenager and had untreated depression. it was desperate, then. the need to know i was capable of feeling emotions. since then, writing has been different things at different times. it has been a social need. it has been a creative need. it has been a demanding drive. it has been something i drag myself to do because i know it is good for me.

i don't have to write. i could paint, or draw, or knit, or code, or any number of things. i have used all of those things, and more, in the past, but writing is something i also enjoy.

sometimes writing is dragging myself to the keyboard. it is not always a flurry of words as an idea seizes me. it is, "i am publishing the next chapter of ashes because it is monday and that is what i do on mondays." but.

it is monday, and that is what i do on mondays.

i hate not posting every day. i hate it. i am Untethered. i spent ca. three weeks over the summer completely disconnected from time, but. i post ashes today, it is monday, i move on, i go through the days and they are not the same.

i hate not posting every day. i know that i would be doing better if i could just break through and start again, but figuring out how is hard. some things i know (ibtwicm is stressful because another person is involved, and that means that i cannot work with betas, even though the one i have is absolutely wonderful and i adore her), but other things are just that nebulous idea of not enough time to start.

i don't always have the energy to write. some days are bad. some days my head hurts. i don't have the expectation that i will never miss a day of posting. i've taken plenty of time off. but i like the rhythm.

anyway. let me try to turn that incoherent ramble about me into something...actionable?

part two: what i tangibly do

i have a schedule. that is not requisite, but it saves me from making decisions. i have a schedule and i have fics and one-shots and they all slot into that schedule by arc. i could have done it by anything, but arc was convenient.

anyway.

i figure out what i'm posting when i wake up in the morning, and i try to skim over what i've already got before starting my day. i flick back and forth between writing and whatever i am doing throughout the day.

(which is why, as i transition back into my normal pace, the thing i have been doing to fill the gap will diminish. less au chatter snippets etc, because that is what i have been doing instead of writing.)

by the evening, i'm usually close to done with the draft. i spend a solid chunk of time patching it up, then i do a round of edits, finish my other work, do line edits, and post.

if i have time after that, i start looking at tomorrow's post.

that's it. sometimes i don't want to work on something. too bad. it's on the schedule. or even, "too bad, we're posting something today." unless i am having a bad (read: low spoon) day, i do not waver in that expectation for myself.

in fact, i think the only way ibtwicm will get done is if the final chapter two chapters go up un-beta'd, because the deviation from routine makes me impossibly frustrated with them. we shall see.

anyway. i have spent years building the discipline to be able to do that. if you rely on motivation, do not think you can just flip over and magically learn how to turn an empty page into words because you told yourself that is what you are doing right now. so.

part three: how to build discipline

i said i won't be covering this, and i'm not Really. i'm going to tell you how to get started, and i am going to be the Bad Guy. i am not capable of doing this kindly. there are other, better, resources i encourage you to seek out.

so. you can't start by just. throwing yourself into it. it won't work, it'll be frustrating, etc.

you want to figure out what a reasonable word count/day is for you. i shoot for 3k words/day, but i figure as long as i'm above 1k, i'm happy.

[aside: if you are going to be writing a lot in a day, please take care of your body. have good posture. know how to hold yourself. etc. i credit years of playing piano as giving me strong wrists and nice, curved fingers, and exercises to build and strengthen the same muscles as you use for typing, but just keep this in mind.]

anyway, there's no right number. 100 words is enough. it should be -- what works for me is a number that's just slightly higher than what i can do comfortably, because it means i have to be focused, which keeps me on track. i think this is important. it is not the only way.

and then you just meet that goal. if you're new to this, writing 100 words every day might be hard. you don't have to limit yourself to 100, just hit 100 every. single. day.

eventually that will feel easy.

"i don't feel like writing," you will think, "but i've figured out how to get around that."

then you either feel happy with what you're doing or push your word count up.

me? i don't measure how many words i write, because i've already done all of that. for all i bemoan research and being stuck, i'm generally exceptionally effective. i don't think that's bragging; i think the number of asks i have answered with scenes i whipped out of nowhere demonstrate that.

i have spent years getting to the point where i can open up a blank page, on a day when i feel like crap (emotionally), when i have no ideas and no motivation and every word i put on paper feels robotic and stiff and terrible, and still finish what i started. it's hard work. it might not be worth the effort. but. that's what i do.

[pebblysand]

of breakable clay [extended author's notes on chapter viii of castles]

oh my god. it’s out. jesus christ.

okay first off, before i dive into anything, i know i’ve already done this in the actual a/n but i would like to wholeheartedly thank @whiffingbooks over on discord for helping me with figuring out the structure of things fic. although i have to admit i did not, at all, do what i told you i would do, talking it out was massively helpful in figuring this one out, so thanks a million. secondly, i would like send all of my most sincere and affectionate thanks to @whizzfizz on here, who mother-of-god basically designed this entire chapter and listened to me rant, and rant, and rant about it for days on end without complaining. i’ll go into a bit more depth later on, but THANK YOU.

now, a few facts on this chapter before i dive further in:

wordcount: 19168. i legit would apologise for this but i promised i wouldn’t so i’m not going to. that’s growing up people. don’t apologise for yourselves haha.

soundtrack: so i’ve never mentioned this but each chapter kind of has a soundtrack? like a song that i listened to on loop while writing this. here, i would basically point you to the entire spotify of a band called barns courtney (there’s one album and a few eps), i basically listened to all of their songs on loop this past month. i feel like they have such a strong gryffindor energy, in the good, the bad and the ugly. this chapter is definitely sort of an ode to gryffindors so their music was a very big inspo. if i had to point you to one song, it would probably be dopamine.

favourite line: ‘I dig my fingernails into the inside of my palms and it feels like the blood that comes out is already boiling.’

what is this chapter about? now, that’s an easy one. survival.

okay, now, spoilers under the cut.

ugh. holy fucking shit. i’m actually at a stage right now where i strongly believe that no one on earth will want to read this because everyone probably hates me right now for the choices that i made, especially after i made you wait almost three months for this shit. i always feel like whatever i’ve put out was the hardest chapter to write so far but this one was really out there in terms of struggles - i’m really sorry it took so long, but here we are.

there are reasons, though. first, as i said in my may round up, i didn’t really start writing this until about a month ago, because a lot of things were happening in my life that i needed to take care of. i took exams (which i passed!!!!), my mum had a health emergency, ireland added france to their mandatory quarantine list (it has been removed as of yesterday thank. fucking. christ) and i started a new job. it was a lot.

anyway, this being said, when i did get to writing this chapter, as mentioned above in the thank-you section, i kind of first struggled with the structure of it. now, you will see this is a recurring theme this time around but for this, my instincts were telling me one thing, and my brain was saying something else.

basically, what came first here wasn’t the actual content of ginny’s letters (more on that, obviously, in a minute) but the ‘mood’ i wanted for the chapter. i wanted to recreate, both for harry and for the reader, this sort of idea of being completely immersed in a book or a story. like, you know the kind of mood where reality just kind of blends out, where you start reading something and just. cannot. stop. i don’t think he’s much a reader (at least not canonically) and so i wanted this to take him by surprise, for her to take over his life with her words. i explained in the previous a/n [link] i chose to have ginny’s war be told through letters (basically, i thought it would be the best way to narratively tell her story), and i really wanted harry to experience what she’d lived through almost first hand.

now, interestingly, my idea for how to do this originally was to have the letters sort of be interwoven into the events of 1999, throughout the next couple of chapters (meaning this one and chapter nine). i had this idea in my head of him living through ‘real life’ things but not being able to take his mind off her letters, with the letters also sort of echoing the events that were happening in 99, etc. having the two plot lines develop at once and meet in the middle, kind of.

and i tried to write that. for a long time. spoiler alert, it didn’t work. i think the reason is that every time i sat down with it, i felt like i was doing a disservice to both stories. i mean: 97/98 is important, but 99 also is, you know? and by taking the narrative in and out all the time, it was like you couldn’t concentrate on one thing. it was just very messy and didn’t have the intensity i was originally aiming for because it kept being dragged out of whatever was the main action at the time. i wanted harry to get sucked into the narrative, for her letters to take over his life, but in the end, the impression i just got was that the whole thing was confusing af. instead of deeply caring about both, i couldn’t bring myself to care either for ginny’s story, or for his.

also, i just kept hitting a wall: a wall called harry. basically, i knew that the next two chapters (i.e. eight and nine) would stretch from january 99 to june 99. and for the love of god, no matter how many times i turned it around in my head, there was - to me - no way that harry as we know him would just pace himself to read her letters throughout all those months. like, harry fucking potter isn’t the kind of guy who ‘paces’ himself. he’s the kind of guy who doesn’t sleep for a week to get through it all, you know? this is everything that he’s wanted to know since last may, he’s been desperately looking for answers up to this point, there is absolutely not way in hell that he’d wait it out nicely until june. it felt ooc to have him read the letters over a few months. and i just kept hitting that wall over and over. i considered, at one point, building him reading the letters into flashbacks but flashbacks of flashbacks were, again, quite messy, and i don’t think her letters would ever be something he’d volunteer to re-read, so. clearly, it wasn’t working.

then, i think on a random sunday a few weeks ago, i just went back to the drawing board and was like: okay, say we just write all of the letters and go from there, what would happen? by the end of the day, i’d written 12,000 words and that was that, really.

now, the second difficulty, once i’d decided that was…. what you all probably want me to talk about.

i know this is probably not what you want to hear but: i didn’t really plan this? like, i understand that a lot of people have sort of a headcanon about what happened to ginny in that year in hogwarts but i … don’t. like, as planned as this fic is (which it is, i know where i’m going, i promise) that was always a bit of a blank-space-tbd in my head. i think that this story, as hinny as it is, is mostly about harry. and while i knew what i wanted for harry from her telling her story (for him to get sucked in, for him to realise that his war wasn’t the only war in the world ‘cause he’s been bloody self-centered so far, for him to realise that his plan to protect her didn’t exactly work because it didn’t cater for who she is, etc.), i wasn’t really sure what that story was. i mean, i knew it was going to be bad and traumatic, obviously, but i didn’t know what would happen. and still, to me, what i wrote is a version of that year. it’s not really my headcanon (i still don’t really have one), and i definitely accept other versions, if that makes sense.

this being said, i obviously had thought about it a little. i remember writing chapter one with that line: ‘They have sex for the first time, that day – his first time and it feels like hers, too, but he wouldn’t dare ask, not anymore, anyways’ and thinking i wanted to leave the door open. to me, it was a door completely open: it could have indeed been her first time, or she could have seen someone else (consensually) during that year, or she could have been assaulted. i honestly didn’t know but yeah, that was always a possibility in the back of my head.

then, to tell you the truth, when i wrote the first version of this chapter (the 12,000 words i mentioned earlier), it wasn’t there. i sat down and decided that i wasn’t going to go there. firstly, because, while you probably don’t know this, i’ve written about sexual assault before. my previous long fic, children, in another fandom, dealt (in part) with that. and i didn’t want to be the-fic-writer-who-writes-about-sexual-assault. especially because trust me, there are people who are a lot more legitimate to talk about this than i am. i also didn’t feel like it was necessary to the story, i could do without it and still explain ginny’s early behaviour in the fic, explain her trauma, and have harry realise the things i talked about before. secondly, i’ll be honest: i know this isn’t what people in this fandom want to read. the hinny pairing is mostly about love and fluff (which i love, btw, don’t get me wrong) and i was like, ugh, i don’t want to face the angry comments. i’m writing this a/n the morning before posting so i admittedly don’t know what the reaction will be but i do anticipate a lot of annoyance with me. i knew that a lot of people wouldn’t like it if i went there, and it was just easier not to.

but then, as i started editing, there was a comment (and this, ladies and gentlemen, is a testament to how much your comments fucking matter, okay?). a comment that i remembered reading on the previous chapter and could not get out of my head, no matter how much i tried. well, hello, @whizzfizz. i’ll happily give credit where credit is due. it read:

This made me think of something you mentioned earlier in the fic (possibly Ch1) about Harry not being sure if he was Ginny’s first but that it felt like it. I wonder if this is something that is going to come up in her letters to him.

and, so, it turned. around and around in my head, and i couldn’t get it out. and i kept saying to myself: no, you’re not going there. no, you’re not going there. and then, one night, i caved. i was like, fuck, i need to know if this person really meant what i think they meant by this. and so we talked. a lot. and, i did a lot of thinking. about women. about wars. about violence against women as a an inevitable weapon of war. about ginny being harry’s girlfriend, or ex-girlfriend (more on that later), and what that would have meant in their world. and @whizzfizz, you said something that in the end really sold me. you said: ‘at this point, i don’t think it would be realistic for it not to have happened.’ and, that was that, really.

because i was right, initially. amycus/ginny (ugh, the idea of a pairing makes me throw up in my mouth a little but yeah, there it is) isn’t necessary to the story. but i believe it to be necessary to what this story is trying to show. the plot held well without it, no questions asked. 12,000 words of the da and their battles, of ginny’s rebellions. it was fine. but i think i wanted more than fine. to me (and i appreciate how fucking pretentious that is, please slap me in the face *eyeroll*), castles is more than its plot. i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again: this is about what is behind ‘all was well.’ it’s about trying to paint a realistic picture of their lives. and that includes the war. and realistically, as far as i’m concerned, knowing how humans fight their wars, knowing our history and the history of violence against women construed as a weapon in literally every conflict there ever was, there is no way that this didn’t happen. ginny says it herself: for us girls, it’s just the way wars are fought.

so, i did go there. and the whole fandom probably hates me for going there, but i sort of stand by it, i have to say. to be honest, on a sort of subconscious level, i kind of wonder: didn’t i always know i was going to go there? like, this fits perfectly into the plot to the point that i think it was probably in my head for much longer than i care to admit. now, i’m so, fucking excited to write next chapter because i finally get to write happy things, and hinny getting back together on rock solid foundations of openness and sharing, and trust, and i’m so, so glad. there are a couple of scenes in the next chapter that i’ve been working towards for months and i’m so, bloody excited to write them. everyone might hate me and i might just be writing this fic for myself now (lol), but again, i stand by the decisions i took. to me, it fits.

phew. okay, now that huge thing is out of the way and explained, here are a few more jumbled thoughts:

the more i think about it, the more i think that my reason for not wanting to be the-fic-writer-who-writes-about-sexual-assault is a bit ridic. children and castles, in that way, are so, so different. like, i appreciate the overlap between the silk fandom and the hp fandom is probably ridiculously small but if you’ve read both stories, they’re obviously very different. one thing that both stories centre on, though, is consent. and to me, that’s probably the most interesting element of ginny/amycus, and the most interesting element of writing characters within a restrictive pov, rather than an omniscient one. like, do i think ginny/amycus is rape? yes. 100%. do i think that ginny thinks it’s rape? that is a much more interesting question. she says it a number of times but i think to her, this is all about control. i think that because of what happened to her with tom, she’s someone who is terrified of losing control of her mind and of her own agency. so as not to lose that, she’s willing to do whatever it takes. it is a ‘you can control my body, but not my thoughts,’ sort of narrative. and, she never says it outright because i think psychologically she’s just not there yet, but tom is everywhere in these letters. and as her world just spirals out, she hangs onto the very few things that she can control: her relationship to harry, and her willingness to do what it takes for them to survive. she initiates the ‘relationship’ with amycus in an attempt to control her fate. later, as she explains to harry she feels a lot of guilt over what she did, and like a lot of sexual assault survivors, she thinks it was her responsibility. because i’m in harry’s head most of the time for this fic, i’m not sure i’ll ever really get to discuss that at length, but it’s definitely something that i wanted to show. another interesting question is: does harry think it’s rape? i think at that point in the fic, he doesn’t have the education, nor the vocabulary for that. i think instinctively (because he is someone who is very instinctive), he doesn’t blame her. if he blames anyone, it’s probably himself. he understands the necessity to do what you have to do to survive and thinks that no, no matter what she claims, that was not consented. that’s kind of what comes out in his annoyingly inarticulate letter to her at the end. beyond that, though, i think he’s a bit lost, just like she is.

on a mildly related note, there is something that i've been seeing a lot in the comments and that i feel like i should maybe address? namely: harry's reaction to ginny dating other people. i assume similar comments will be made about his reaction to ginny/alecto (meaning that he still decides to write to her, at the end of the chapter). i've seen a lot of people observe that he's much more 'chill' about it in castles than in canon. fair point but is he, though? like, he isn't happy about it in castles. and he's jealous as well. but he was never entitled in canon. he was jealous, yes, the chest monster and all that, but he never really did anything about it, and never really impeded on her right to see other people. now, this being said, i agree that in sixth year he might have thrown a tantrum, had she done what she did in castles, but that was sixth year. it was before the war. before he lost half a dozen people. before he had to adult bloody fucking quickly. this being said, i do think castles-Harry is more 'subdued,' i suppose, than canon harry. this is a choice i made early on, which to me is related to the fact that he kind of lost his 'voice' during the war. i mean, it took him six months of people talking shit behind his back to do a press interview to defend himself. i think with ginny, it's a lot of the same. he's a boy who blames himself a lot, and generally doesn't particularly think he deserves the people in his life. to me it's an evolution of his character within the the world of castles. i'm happy to agree to disagree on it, but to me it makes sense within the character evolution and the way the fic's gone, so to speak. now, obviously, he'll grow out of that in due course, but we're not quite there yet.

regarding their relationship, now, i have to say: one headcanon that i did have for this was her not outright telling everyone they’d broken up. i’m sorry, that plan was shit. i just don’t buy for a second that she would willingly have gone ahead with it, and i don’t buy for a second that tom wouldn’t have used her had he known they’d been together, ex girlfriend or not. plus, i think she needed something to hand onto, and that was her relationship with him. her letters. the belief that they would be together again. without it, i don’t think she’d have survived. and i think that summer after the war, they were totally on the same page, for different reasons. both of them kind of saw their relationship as the one thing that kept them afloat, the one good thing they had, partly also because they’d idealised it for so long. she says it as some point, it wasn’t a relationship, it was a lifeline (another sentence i came up with as a response to a comment, lol) and while that is toxic and was meant to crumble at some point, it was necessary for them, both during the war, and in the early days after it. i think her last letter to him is painstakingly correct on that one.

regarding canon, i know i’m bending a couple of things here, which i just wanted to quickly acknowledge: 1) i know jkr has said it’s teddy remus lupin. i just can’t believe, for a moment, that someone who hated himself as much as lupin did, canonically, would name his son after himself. naming his son after his best mate who died to young to become problematic though? i totally see it. so yeah, creative licence, it’s teddy james lupin in this house, lol. 2) when they meet neville in dh, he kind of hints that they’ve only just started to use the room of requirement a couple weeks ago. the text however, only says they’ve only been staying in it full time a couple of weeks ago. i needed them to have somewhere where to meet with the da and stuff, so i bent that a bit. it’s not strictly canon, but it’s also not not canon, if that makes sense.

on seamus blowing things up and talking about eight hundred years of oppression? full disclaimer, while i am french, i have been living in ireland for long enough to become eligible for citizenship in less than six months (yay!). i know some people have said that seamus is a bit of a cliche in the books/films and all (the only irish character keen on blowing things up, haha *eyeroll*), but i actually kind of love it? like, the whole thing about the cranberries and zombie at the start of the fic has been in my head for much longer than i care to admit. i love the idea that there’s this whole muggle war going on at the exact same time that no one ever talks about and actually, i find the idea of wizarding ireland v. muggle ireland and the whole political structure fascinating. like, is wizarding ireland an independent state? what’s the story there? i have a whole seamus fic in my head, partially on this topic, that i might or might not write one day.

lastly, i know this may sound a bit weird but i need to say it: once i’d figured out what and how i was writing it, i bloody loved writing this chapter. first stylistically, i really wanted to mimic the style of how i’d written the magazine article in chapter 5 (i.e. not writing out the whole thing but writing out in text the excerpts that harry focused on) and i love how that turned out. i think it was a good way to balance her words and his, kind of merging them into one, big narrative. second, as a writer, it was so fucking interesting to write someone who knows how to write, which believe it or not i’d never done before. additionally, i loved the challenge of editing this because it was like: i’ve got to edit this, but not too much? i was very careful about modifying and polishing too much of ginny’s speech in the letters because i obviously wanted it to sound like someone who was just writing as the words came to her, without polishing the words, the punctuation, etc. like i usually would. i wanted her to have quirks (she says ‘you know?’ a lot) and i played with her capitalisation and punctuation a bit too. i know these aren’t necessarily noticeable details but it was definitely something that i thought about and that was very fun and interesting to write, as a format.

wow, okay. this was LONG but i think i have everything i wanted to say. if you’ve read all of this (whyyyyy?), thanks so much for sticking around. if you’ve got any questions, anything i didn’t address, do let me know, anon or not, my ask box is open. now, i would love to say i’m going to chill or something, but the truth is that i have to a) actually do a last read through of the fic, lol and b) put it out. this is what i get for writing the a/n before finishing the damn thing, i guess. i’ll rest tomorrow, lol.

lastly, in terms of next chapter, realistically, i’d say eight to ten weeks. i have a full time job now and also, writing this was fucking exhausting and i need to take time out for a bit before coming back to it with a fresh mind. i will be writing other stuff though, i promise. i have a couple of prompts to get to (thanks!!!) and a couple of other ideas so i will probably be posting in the meantime, just not castles.

lots of love,

p.

[heroineimages]

Tagged by @theoutcastrogue. (Her post)

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/artists/etc. you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works! 

Thanks so much, sweet rogue, for tagging me! Firstly, this is exactly the kind of thing my therapist tells me I need to do for myself more often. Secondly, I tend to fixate on reading back over my past writing, so this gives me an excuse to do just that. Under the cut because there’ll be several writing excerpts and it might run long. Tagging @chenria, @9musesandanoldmind, @queer-trans-amazon, @jeanjauthor, and anyone else who wants in!

1. I did a lot of tinkering on Hero Forge after they released the colors and new engine. Firstly, I found it therapeutic and helpful for my anxiety. Secondly, I have a tendency to create stories for the new OCs I come up with. In particular, I like coming up with themed versions of the twelve base D&D classes. My favorite so far is the Desert Elf minis and their story.

2. My second favorite Hero Forge buildup was the Muskets and Snow designs, pitting Frost Elf tribes against musket-armed, multiracial commonwealth soldiers, once again based around the D&D classes. (Check my Hero Forge tag for more mini designs!)

3. I added four chapters to my Legend of Korra gladiator AU last year, and commissioned a movie poster for it from my amazing artist friend, Telenia Albuquerque. I added a few fighting scenes and several explicit lesbian bedroom scenes that I’m kind of proud of, including a fun, racy striptease. In the following scene, Asami breaks up a meeting between Varrick and none other than Marc Antony after Varrick attempts to abduct her and poison her bodyguards, including Korra:

“You said our host tried to abduct you?” [Antony] continued, turning to Asami.

“Of course not!” Varrick interrupted, stepping between Asami and Antony. “We’re pals, right, Antony? You know I’d never abduct anybody!”

“Mm, I seem to recall you abducting Titus Atticus’s wife, as well as the late Clodius Pulcher’s favorite catamite,” Antony replied.

“Allegedly!” Varrick protested, turning away and crossing his arms. “I allegedly abducted Atticus’s wife and Pulcher’s catamite!”

“Everything you do is ‘allegedly,’” Asami glared.

“So you’ve had dealings with this bastard before,” Antony laughed. “Please, come in,” he invited, gesturing to Varrick’s office. “No doubt we can handle this like civilized people, miss…?”

“Asami Sato,” Asami answered, allowing Antony to take and kiss her hand.

“Ah! Master Hiroshi’s daughter,” he identified her. “I’ve heard about you, and I’m delighted to make your acquaintance.”

“I’m sure,” Asami agreed with a hint of smooth annoyance.

“Great, thanks a lot, Zhu Li,” Varrick grumbled as the six of them trooped into his office. “What the heck happened, anyway?”

“It would seem you underestimated Mistress Sato, sir,” Zhu Li informed him, [still tossed over the gladiatrix’s shoulder]. The armored pauldron pressed into her gut was really uncomfortable. “She already had her guards inoculated against our poison.”

“What? How could you possibly know that?” Varrick demanded, turning to Asami.

“I’m more intelligent than you thought, and you’re less clever than you’d like to believe,” Asami answered, taking one of the three chairs in the room. “And, frankly, that old Persian trick of poisoning the dancing girls’ lips isn’t as cunning as you thought. It was all a matter of knowing what poisons you have access to and researching which ones work on contact and can have resistances built up for them.”

“Smart,” Antony agreed, taking the second chair while Acainissa stuffed Varrick in the chair behind his desk. Hebasken and Acainissa took up positions on either side of Varrick’s chair, looming over him.

“Varrick, this other door leads to your bedchambers, doesn’t it?” Asami asked, pointing to the curtained doorway.

“Yeah, why?” Varrick frowned. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Korra, are you up for a bit of… revenge-sex?” Asami asked.

“I’m always up for revenge and sex,” Korra assured her.

“Take Zhu Li into Varrick’s chambers and fuck her stupid, please.” Asami instructed. “She’s a very intelligent woman, so I suspect that will take a lot of fucking to accomplish.”

Korra laughed and turned to pack Zhu Li through the door.

4. I’ve also made some progress on an older story I started a long time ago about my OC Elindra, a Drow paladin of the Red Knight who gets turned to a Drider by fanatics of Lolth. The following scene comes during the big escape from Ched Nasad between her and her dwarf cleric friend, Nell:

I used the glaive to parry the [Drider] warrior’s first assault. The snarly bastard was skilled, blocking and parrying my every attack, despite my Haste spell. And even if I did land a hit, my odds of breaking his Stoneskin were frustratingly small. I gave way instead, using my quickened speed to my advantage. An arrow flashed past us, announcing the return of the annoying ranger from earlier. I grimaced from frustration as another arrow shattered against my Mithral spaulder.

This was taking too damned long. No doubt the alarm had been raised and more guards and spell-casters were on their way.

Dueling with the warrior, I deliberately backed myself toward another aperture in the webs. I parried the warrior’s mace, managing to rap him across the face with the butt of my glaive. As he lunged again, I dropped my glaive and caught his arm. From there I leapt backward, pulling him though the gap with me. He caught the edge of the webs with two clawed legs, flipping us through upside-down. Still clutching his arm, my weight yanked him through the gap behind me.

A slightly larger Drider, I flipped myself onto his back, riding him downward as we plummeted. Gripping him by the hair, I screamed, “Smite Evil!” as we hit, slamming his head into the hardened webbing below.

The impact threw me from the warrior’s back, and I skidded onto my side perhaps twelve feet away. The warrior’s head was obliterated—a black, bloody smear across the calcified web floor.

“You alright?” I asked Nell as I picked myself up.

“Ye’re focking crazy, ye know that, Elindra?” Nell grumbled behind me, [still harnessed to my back]. “Ooh, that’s a pretty mess!” she laughed when I turned to look for a way back up. “Aye, let’s see ye Stoneskin protect ye from that shite, motherfocker!” she taunted the dead Drider.

5. And, lastly I’m happy with a lot of the progress I’ve made on my novel, First Empress. The following excerpt is a cute, racy little flashback scene of Elissa and Queen Viarra’s first time having sex:

“O–oh, gods!” Elissa groaned, catching her breath as she came down from her third climax.

Princess Viarra gripped the blanket on either side of Elissa’s shoulders, grunting as she thrust against Elissa’s leg to ride out her own climax. Broad, muscular arms trembling, her thrusts continued to get slower and more deliberate as she finished herself off. Her highness’s entire body shook one last time, and she gave a panting laugh before collapsing halfway atop Elissa.

They lay laughing and gasping for breath for long moments, their legs tangled together, their right breasts squashed against the other’s sternum. Princess Viarra’s arms splayed off to the sides while Elissa’s trembling arms clutched her love’s shoulders. Their shoulders were about even, but Viarra’s cunny now rested against Elissa’s knee. Their clothes lay discarded to one side with the wine they’d stolen from King Vaso and the erotic poetry they’d stolen from Prince Kallis. Above them, the peach trees of King Vaso’s orchard swayed in the afternoon breeze.

“I’m not squishing you, am I?” Viarra asked, her face still half-pressed against the tangle of brown and copper hair next to Elissa’s right ear.

“No,” Elissa laughed, wishing she had the energy to clutch her beloved princess tighter. “I feel safe beneath you,” she promised. “You make me feel safe and happy.”

“And you make me happy,” her highness assured her, turning her head to kiss and nibble at Elissa’s cheek. Elissa squealed and used one hand to try to push her away.

Unrelenting, Princess Viarra made a nasal, growling sound and pretended to gnaw on Elissa’s neck. “Grar! I just want to eat you up, you’re so sweet!” her highness declared, making exaggerated chewing noises against Elissa’s neck and shoulder.

Gods, her highness had gotten so strong the last few years, Elissa acknowledged as she squealed and giggled, unsuccessfully attempting to fight back. Viarra’s arms were probably bigger around than Elissa’s legs, and her shoulders were almost half-again as broad as Elissa’s. And she was tall. Possibly as tall as her mother as well as thick and big-boned, Princess Viarra was just too big and strong for anyone except maybe a wrestler or a gladiator to overpower.

Clearly Elissa would have to resort to guile instead.

Viarra shrieked out a series of giggles as Elissa reached up to tickle her sides. “Gods, no!” her highness squealed, attempting to push Elissa’s hands away. Unable to quite grab onto them, Viarra pushed herself away, laughing as she rolled onto her back.

Instead of renewing her assault, Elissa rolled over next to her, draping her left arm across Viarra’s chest and left leg across her waist.

“That was amazing,” Elissa admitted, snuggling up against her beloved’s nude form. “Thank you for being my first.”

“Thank you for being my first,” Princess Viarra countered, wrapping an arm around Elissa’s bare back. “I never imagined sex would feel like that.”

“You seemed to know what you were doing,” Elissa observed. “I mean, I could tell you were trying out techniques and all, but where did you learn them?”

“I asked Captain Vola,” her highness admitted looking over at her. “She’s pretty candid about sex advice, and even Captain Kellor admits it’s usually good advice. Part of the reason I brought you out here was because I wanted to try it, and there’s no one I’d rather try it with than you,” she added, reaching over to stroke Elissa’s cheek.

Elissa blushed and smiled, stroking her love’s powerful belly. “I’m glad you did,” she admitted, unable to think of anything else to say.

[the-pen-pot]

Changes.

Before I begin, I'm pretty sure you guys all know I'm unemployed and have been for yonks. I was self-employed running an online jewellery store and a SAHM until Brexit. Since then (about 2016) I've been privileged enough to be able to adjust family finances so my spouse brings in the money and I keep the house ticking over. Sort of. Just to give you some idea of why an actual JOB never seems to feature in my ramblings)

As some of you know, I battle with depression. It hit me hard after finishing Gilded Cage back in about 2015, and while I've been medicated and had therapy since (both of which I no longer have access to), it's not the kind of thing that is ever really cured. One of the areas of my life that it's had the biggest impact is in my creativity. Writing is hard. Not while I'm doing it, but just getting started. I've developed a few different coping mechanisms, but the problem (which in my head I call inertia) is pretty persistent. It exists in other areas of my life too (tv shows, games etc): just finding the energy to *start* the thing is hugely challenging. Most days I manage it, but some days I don't get out of bed.

I think I've spent the past five years trying to get back to "normal". At first, it seemed a sound enough strategy, but it's pretty much time to admit that maybe I need to ditch that idea. This year in particular has shown everyone, I think, how much of an illusion normal is (and probably given us all an intense hatred for the phrase "new normal" which I hear all the time and it makes me want to beat someone's face in.)

So, I need to stop comparing what I'm doing now to what I've done in the past. I've been collecting fears because they're pretty excuses ("You'll never write anything as successful as Gilded Cage again. You've peaked; give up. No one will like it so why bother.) and I do like to cling to them as I give myself another reason to stay in bed all day. I need to acknowledge that different tactics worked for me in the past, but they'll no longer cut it, and I really need to find new strategies. Which, of course, is a mess of trial and error, some success and probably a dollop of crash-and-burn failure too.

So what's the plan?

Good question. I've already implemented some changes in my life to help since finishing The Riven Crown in 2017. (That was pretty much pure escapism and denial of my issues fic and I love it to this day because it let me completely ignore the issue for 18 months and didn't turn out too badly).

I started my patreon to help boost my self-esteem. To prove people were listening/caring/wanted what I write and were also willing to pay. (One of the neuroses from my upbringing is if you're not earning any money doing the thing, then that thing (and by extension you) is worthless. This is UTTER BULLSHIT and I know it but my psyche doesn't do logic). Patreon's been successful beyond my wildest dreams. Not only does it provide a good argument to my internal whinings of worthlessness, it provides my writing life with some external pressure. Before, all of my pressure came from me "You gotta update every week." which was challenging because I am simultaneously a hard-ass and a soft touch. I'd let myself miss my self imposed deadline and then loathe myself intensely for doing so. Not cool. Patreon allows me to externalise that a little bit more, which helps.

It also gives me fresh ideas, opportunities, and is an excellent way to connect with people who really, really like my work.

I also started using 4thewords to help with the inertia. It didn't. Not with the inertia bit, anyway. I still struggle to START THE THING, but what it does do is keep me going and keep me coming back, because by gamifying my writing, I'm giving myself other, smaller goals than "finish the chapter/story/thing" which, as we all know, makes a big goal easier to achieve. I'm not staring down the barrel of "Write 8 chapters and a smutty epilogue". I'm staring down the barrel of "Write 700 words to kill the critter and get cool gear" which is infinitely more do-able and also, I get cool gear. It feeds the positive reward feedback monkey brain and monkey brain likes that.

I need to do more, though, and mostly I think that comes down to trying out new strategies in the way I live my life to find a happy balance between getting things done and feeling worthwhile, and also getting the rest/downtime/whatever my neurochemistry needs to function. This is especially hard right now because I recharge through solitude. Like, utter solitude. Ideally, an empty house. Which has not happened since lockdown began in March. My home is currently also my husband's work and my kid's school, and that's not changing until at least September. I deserve a medal for not murdering anyone in the depths of an introvert-forced-to-socialise-constantly fugue yet, if I'm honest.

So next week (July 20th to 26th-ish) I'm taking a week off writing. (Sounds dead simple, doesn't it? But actually it's not.) What that means is I won't write during that week unless there's a project that's really captured my imagination and I'm compelled to do so. Will I still be posting? Yep. I'm angling this so that, hopefully, there'll be minimal delays to any scheduled postings.) After that I plan to gently increase the amount of writing/editing/actual "work" I do during the week. At the moment it's a bit hodge podge. I normally write a bit in the morning. 2000 words on a great day. On a not great day, maybe 100. I'd like to build that into something more consistent and productive, Monday to Friday. The idea is that roughly one week in every four, I'll take off from writing. 

It seems excessive. Even me looking at it right now, I'm like "that's a LOT of time off", but I think I need it. At least to start off with. I need time to just lie in bed and read fic if I want to. Time free of the constant, internal nagging of: "You should be doing x". Pre-planned, guiltless, time-off.

My hope is that it will help stabilise my productive/not productive patches into something workable that leads to a happier life for me, and more fic for you guys =D

Thanks for listening to me ramble!    

[amyscascadingtabs]

✨creator tag meme✨

i’ve been tagged in this by @feeisamarshmallow @dolston17 and @arnies-bitch and i love doing these every year (self love!) so, even though this year has been a year of far less fic-writing for me for various reasons... here goes ❤️

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 (ish) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

listed chronologically in terms of date published;

💫 i’ll walk through hell with you

i know i chose this one last year as well, BUT, i did write and publish the two-three last chapters of this in 2020 so i’m including it again. i’m so freaking proud of this one. it was an experience to write and i did SO much research and i had such fun with it. writing the two last chapters was such a high and i remember i wrote the sixth one in like three days where i just couldn’t stop. it was also the last fic i wrote and published with my original peraltiago kiddos leah and olivia santiago-peralta and it was lovely to get to say goodbye to them in style. plus the way i literally predicted trying.. my mind ❤️ (i do have a document of the similarities and how i worded it vs how the show did it... if any fan of this is curious)

a favourite quote: 

But what I was actually trying to say was…” Jake blushes, and she can tell there’s a moment of emotional sincerity coming. “I’m with you. I know that. I also know that as long as I’m with you, all the bad stuff is survivable, and all the good stuff is a million times better. And I’d rather have hard days with you, and Lee, and I guess soon whoever this is,” he holds his hand to her stomach through her sweater, “than good days with anyone else.”

“Me too,” she snivels, having to wipe the tears on her shirt sleeve because of course, this is making her cry. “How’d you get so wise all of a sudden?”

“Married you,” he shrugs. “And had kids. Also, I got hella old.”

💫 paper cut stings from our paper-thin plans

was this possibly the only fic i wrote this year that was (almost) baby-free? probably. i blame it on season 7. but yes; i wrote a fic about rosa dealing with her breakup from jocelyn and it was great fun and made me want to write even more rosa (which i did!). she’s just great, and writing her with amy is incredible. plus, i got such amazing guidance from @vernonfielding with this one which i think truly brought out the best in this story. 

a favourite quote: 

“I hate it,” Rosa mutters. “I didn’t get a fucking choice. I never knew how much of a difference that made.”

“Well, now you know. It sucks. But...” Amy leans her head to the side. “Maybe that’s a good thing, too?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“If it hurts, that means it mattered, right? If you miss something, then there was something to miss in the first place. It means you opened yourself up and built something of meaning with someone. I know that doesn’t make it easier -”

Rosa snorts. “No, it doesn’t.”

“But it might mean that something can matter again,” Amy says, fixing her eyes on Rosa’s. “Someday. Even if it feels impossible right now.”

💫 bracing for the winds i always summon

we all know i love some sweet amy content... this was one of the things i wrote early on in covid quarantine life, and it brings out a lot of memories. i do still consider going back and editing the last parts so they can fully agree with canon, but i’ve not had the energy quite yet. either way, i’m really proud of the way i wove canon and minor episode details into this one. we got such limited pregnant amy content and i wanted more! i’ve reread this one a ton of times, because it’s just.. satisfying to me. i answered a lot of my own questions in it. filling in the holes!!

a favourite quote:

She’s felt protective of this life since the day she found out about it, but it’s a great and positive change to be able to feel like she’s starting to know the child she’s protecting. She doesn’t know his name, although it keeps being debated, or what he looks like aside from the gray-and-white sonogram pictures, but she knows he’s most awake at night before they go to bed and that he moves like crazy to the sound of Jake humming renditions of his favorite Taylor Swift-tunes to him, and it feels like the most important information she’s ever known about someone.

Maybe she’s okay at making babies, Amy thinks. She’s wholly certain this child is too good for her, is still worried he’ll be taken away at a moment’s notice, but right now he’s here, and he’s making her want to try her best.

💫 (three times ‘cause) i’ve waited my whole life

i didn’t write very much this summer for several reasons, but what little motivation i had for writing, mostly went to this one. it was originally meant to be for father’s day and i published it in september, so i missed out slightly there, but i’m still really proud of it. writing jake and his feelings about fatherhood is something i’ve always enjoyed so much, and this was 13k words of doing just that. i’m proud of so much in this fic, and i’m really happy i actually finished it in the end. god i love jake and baby mac ❤️

a favourite quote:

Jake is amazed by how much better fatherhood has gotten with time. It was always the most amazing thing to ever happen to him, but it was so different when his son was a newborn. Mac was rarely awake for the first weeks, and when he was, he was either stuck to Amy for feeding or crying because he was overtired or needed his diaper changed. Jake always loved his son, but for the first month or so, he felt pretty useless around him. The daily attempts at bottle-feeding, and the precious times Mac fell asleep against his Jake’s chest as they walked around the apartment at night, had made up most of their bonding time together. It was still wonderful, and Jake can miss the time when Mac actually stayed where you put him, but in the end, it’s got nothing on what fatherhood is like at eight months in. Now, Mac interacts with them, laughing and smiling and trying to babble gibberish back at them when they talk to him. He’s always on the move, like he’s anxious to miss out on anything the world has to offer if he sits still for too long. Judging from the way he’s currently trying to use the tree next to them to get up to a standing position, Jake wonders how long they’ve got left until he’s walking. It’s clear that Mac has his own personality now, no longer just traces of it hidden in a newborn’s constant needs, and every day of fatherhood seems to bring a new adventure.

There had been a time when Jake wasn’t sure if he wanted this. Little did he know, it’s better than anything he could have dreamt.

💫 when all your heroes get tired (i’ll be something better yet)

last but not least, my second sleuth sisters fic of the year and second rosa fic too! i’ve thought about writing this since i watched lights out; i love writing rosa and amy so much and it’s always fun to write jake and amy from someone else’s perspective, especially as i think the choice by the show to have them keep their pregnancy private when everyone had already figured it out was so interesting. i love supportive rosa and i love the relationship she’s going to have with mac and i love her secretly loving babies. they’re so cute it’s fucked up!!!! anyway, yeah; i love writing rosa and this was such a fun challenge.

a favourite quote: 

There’s a tenderness even to the way she speaks to him, like love is packed into each word. Rosa thinks of the way Amy hid her pregnancy for months in fear that something would go wrong, and how scared she was that giving birth under less than ideal circumstances would somehow make her a bad mom. She doesn’t seem as scared anymore. Rather, there’s an air of quiet confidence over her when she’s holding him, and it’s moving to see.

“Slow down, McClane,” she whispers, thumb stroking over his cheek. “I know you’re hungry, but if you keep going like that, you’re going to puke, okay? We’ve been through this.”

“I’m proud of you,” the words spill out of Rosa, and Amy blinks.

“You’re proud of me?”

“Yeah, I’m proud of you.” A shy smile flutters across Amy’s lips. “But if you ever have another kid, I’m not going near you a month before you’re due, okay? I’ll transfer precincts or something. Never again.”

Amy laughs, but Rosa just stares at her, and she goes silent. “Got it. Cool. That’s fair.”

tags 2019/2018 ❤️

i’m tagging @johnny-and-dora, @letsperaltiago, @amydancepants-peralta, @b99peraltiago and @nessa007 to do some self love over any creations this year you're proud of ❤️❤️❤️

[chil2de]

It’s fine love, take your time with the responses 💕Yeah I heard he’s taking a break but he left things on a cliffhanger?!?! You have my sympathies. My sister was telling me about a flashback arc involving gojo and geto and I am pretty excited about that

No I get what you mean about gojo, I like him and I definitely wouldn’t say no to him in bed but… there’s just others that I like more. I haven’t even met yuuta yet but you make him sound so sweet 🥺🥺 I’m ready to protect this precious boy with my life

Just looked up naoya and you’re right, he’s so hot. Why do they make the assholes so goddamn pretty? From what you’ve told me and the pictures I’ve seen the song ‘quit’ by cashmere cat and Ariana grande seems like the perfect way to describe how I’ll feel about him (it could probably apply to toji as well)

Side note: I read some of the stuff you wrote for akaashi last night… babe they were all so good!!! God he’s so soft and you write him so well. Definitely sending in some requests for him once I finish my reread. You mentioned that you were planning a second part for ‘you’re lovesick, not homesick’ and I know this was months ago but are you still planning that? It’s fine if you’re not cause the first part was so amazing on its own

Oh the heels are no big, I wear them so often that now they’re kinda comfortable and only hurt when they’re new. But I get what you’re saying about them making your feet sore, when I first started wearing them a few years ago I was in so much pain. Hey I’m more than happy to help you get through all those sweets as long as you’re okay with me treating you to a spa day (this has become a game of ‘you hang up first’ and I refuse to hang up first but I am running out of things to say so you might win this one) - 🥰

aaaaa sorry this came so late dhfhfhsh i swear i posted this last night but perhaps not?? anyways hi again! it’s for his physical health i’m pretty sure he’s overworked considering the latest chapter was extremely sketchy and rushed. the gojo arc is *chefs kiss* despite us both stating he’s not our favourite, but i think with that one i started liking him a lot more

i kid you not when you said quit by cashmere cat i started BARKING i love that song so much! i mean it has views on yt but it’s severely underrated, considering ariana anyway and you’re so so right! i actually had the exact thought when toji and naoya were introduced, realistically irl they’re probably both the worst men you could get with LMFAO but... they’re just, built different? this is one of the many reasons why i kin yuuta so much, i’d get along with him and itadori so well it’s the crackhead energy sometimes ig

edit : the song that resonates with toji the most for me is wicked games by the weeknd, it’s literally.. made.. for him. i can’t fathom it, the lyrics were literally FOR HIM there’s a mention of scars and well, toji has a scar on his mouth + mental trauma

i haven’t written haikyuu for moooonths, seriously it feels like a whole millenia.. but i’m really glad that you liked my take on akaashi! he’s just so precious!!! protect him and yuuta at all costs i would trust both of them with my drinks at a party

i apologise dearly for cackling HAHAH but yea! i started writing the second part and kinda left it, i’m not sure why? it’s just one of those where i’d open up the document, stare at it thinking before leaving it to work on something else. this actually happened recently, and now i have a nsfw 4.5k word fic for takasugi sitting in my google docs that i just can’t bring about to polishing and finishing it off. i’ll try again tonight see if anything pops up, partially because there’s just so many characters that i can choose from as a whole across every fandom that it can get a little overwhelming, but i’ll be fine! pinky promise!

(hey though what if we pull a reverse psychology and just.. don’t hang up? you know? like those posts that are clearly edited to show someone being on a phone call for a year, except it’s real😳😳 okay no im joking HAHA my creative liberties have run up the wall, or maybe i’m just letting you win this one.. i’ll say the latter, take the win for yourself baby <3)

[1989dreamer]

Chapter 21 of Looking for a Place to Call Home

Still not editing before posting.

Still on AO3.

Thanks for reading

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Derek wakes up screaming.

He’d been dreaming that he was back in New York and that she—that Kate—had been torturing him again.

He can still feel the glide of her knife as it skimmed him, the skin peeling back, exposing his twitching muscles.

Without realizing it, Derek shifts into his delta form, scrambling off the bed and under it. He whines high in his throat, more human than wolf.

The lights come on almost immediately, and Laura and Cora crawl under the bed with him while Isaac tries to explain what happened to Boyd and Erica.

With his sisters by his side, Derek shifts back. “Just a nightmare,” he tells them.

Erica sits next to him and pats his back. “That’s okay. You’re okay. We won’t let anyone hurt you anymore.”

Boyd nods his head in agreement, and Derek wonders at the contentment he smells on him.

“You’re safe here,” Erica continues. “Do you want to talk about your nightmare?”

Derek looks at his sisters. “No. Not really.”

“That’s okay too.” Erica lets Derek burrow against her side, seeking comfort. He’s glad that she’s staying behind with him and Cora while Laura, Boyd, and John go to New York.

He is also grateful for the small mercy that he isn’t going with them. He isn’t sure that he would be of any help to them. He wasn’t kept in the same compound. The hunters he ran away from are not the same ones that abused his sisters.

Erica is a solid weight beside him, her arm around his shoulder, the chemical smell of her medication as comforting as her warmth. Secretly he hopes that she and Boyd decide to keep them, even if Laura is technically old enough to be his and Cora’s guardian.

He wants the stability that will come from living in a house, from having actual meals, and if Erica has her way, school. Derek wants all those things, but above all, he wants Laura to find her daughter. He wants to put their damaged pack together, like a puzzle with missing pieces. They’ll be stronger together. Even with Peter—if Peter can escape the murder charges.

“Think you can go back to sleep now?” Erica asks. Derek realizes that everyone else has gone back to bed now. Even Isaac is tucked in, his blanket pulled over his head.

Even though he doesn’t quite feel ready, Derek nods. Erica kisses his forehead.

“I’ll check on you in a bit,” she promises. “Do you want me to leave the door open?”

There is a nightlight in the hallway. She’s offering him a source of light so that he can still see. Except she’s forgot that he is a werewolf and doesn’t need the nightlight.

He nods anyway.

Isaac is already blocking the light from the overhead. He won’t mind the nightlight.

Derek watches as Erica switches off the room’s light and leaves the door wide open as she heads back to her room. Then, he climbs off the bed and pads across the hall to his sisters’ room. Laura lifts the blanket and he crawls between them.

In the three years that Kate had him, there was nothing Derek missed as much as his family. He’s glad that he still has his sisters. And if Peter gets away with the murder he’s committed, then he’ll have Peter too.

                                                                                                                    ~ * ~

Ramirez slams her head down on the table, the third time in an hour. Kincaid startles awake from where he was leaning against the wall.

“Sorry,” she apologizes. Kincaid grunts, moving to sit next to her.

Stiles spares them a brief glance before turning back to his work.

The list they’ve been studying isn’t long—only about seventy names—but they’ve been researching each one, trying to match faces with names. So far, they’ve made it through about fifty-five names and all they have is a tree of the deceased, all Hales in some way, and a few of the arson investigators. Most of the paperwork has been signed off by either Stiles’ dad, early in the investigation, or Sheriff Lahey.

The difference is marked.

Where his dad made little tick marks and initialed on every line, Lahey only signed at the bottom of the reports.

“Deputy Stilinski, sir,” Ramirez says, and Stiles lifts his tired eyes to her. “Look at this.”

She thrusts a stack of papers under his nose. Kincaid snores gently, leaning on Ramirez, while Stiles flicks through the papers.

“This is an insurance investigation.” He checks it against the arson investigative report and then checks the signatures on both. The arson investigation has been signed by the fire chief and his dad while the insurance investigation has been signed by Lahey and a new name, Garrison Myers. “Is Myers listed anywhere else?”

Ramirez points at to his name on the manifest. Number seventy himself. “It looks like he joined late.”

Stiles finds Myers’ card tucked away in a box of evidence. “He’s an insurance fraud investigator.” There’s only a number and a slogan on the card. Stiles makes a note to call the number in the morning. For now, he knows they need to call it a night and pack it up.

“Up to driving home?” he asks Ramirez. Kincaid is definitely down for the count, slumbering still. She shakes her head. “Neither am I. We can bunk here for the night and resume the search tomorrow.”

And tomorrow, he fully plans on meeting with the Hale children to see what they know.

Stiles puts the evidence back in its boxes and shoves them onto the shelves while Ramirez gently wakes up Kincaid. They head for the bunk room, and Stiles locks the evidence room behind them.

The bunk room is barely used, many of the deputies preferring to head home after their shifts, so it’s a little musty, but Stiles doesn’t care. He crawls onto the top bunk, Kincaid face-plants on the lower one, and Ramirez flops on the only cot.

Stiles is so tired that he hopes to drift off quickly, but his mind keeps buzzing, zipping from thought to thought in a way he hasn’t had to deal with since college.

Great. Looks like no sleep. He rolls onto his side and tries, unsuccessfully, to organize his thoughts.

Myers was investigating the fire for potential insurance fraud, which makes sense since the arson investigators determined the cause to be unnatural. But, the house was supposedly abandoned, so who would be collecting insurance on it? And how did they link the burned house with the murdered Hales? Why did they think Derek, long thought to be the only survivor, had set the fire and-slash-or murdered his family?

Before his untimely passing, Lahey had implied that he had evidence that Derek was involved. Why? Was he trying to cover something up? Is that why he’d brought in Myers to look into it?

Hopefully Myers will be able to shed some light when Stiles talks to him tomorrow.

And they still need to locate Deaton.

Stiles isn’t holding his breath that the former veterinarian is still alive. Peter Hale is an efficient killer. He’s already proved it three times. What’s a fourth?

When sleep won’t come even after breathing deeply and clearing his mind, Stiles climbs down and heads to his desk. He might as well research Garrison Myers and see if he’s investigated any other cases in Beacon County.

The night shift desk officer, Myrna Walsh, a deputy even greener than Kincaid, nods at him when he drops into his seat and he nods back at her. When his computer is fully booted, he enters Myers’ name and phone number into the Sheriff Department’s search log.

Six cases come back. Four closed and two on-going. The house out in the preserve is closed with a verdict of arson. Guess when the cops find the bodies of ten people with obvious non-fire related wounds, there’s no way to call it an accident, and Myers agreed by closing the insurance fraud investigation in favor of the insurance company not paying out.

There’s a photo attached to the Hale file, and Stiles downloads it, tapping his fingers as he feels an energy spike cresting in his veins.

He opens it and freezes. It’s Lahey in his Sheriff’s uniform, talking to a man. Stiles zooms in on the other man’s face.

It’s definitely his John Doe.

And if the picture is correct, then his dead John Doe is Garrison Myers.

It’s… Stiles doesn’t actually know how to feel about it because on one hand, now he knows who Peter Hale killed, but on the other, more pressing hand, valuable information regarding the Hale murders likely died with Myers.

Stiles saves the picture, labeling the people in it for Ramirez and Kincaid to look at tomorrow. They’ll have to looking into Garrison Myers and if he’s been reported missing yet.

He scrubs at his face, tugging at his hair. “Crap.” He can’t tell if the investigation is going well or not anymore.

It doesn’t feel like it is. It actually feels like Stiles is playing with half of a deck of cards that keeps exploding every time he thinks he makes progress.

“Fuck this,” he decides out loud, muttering angrily to himself. He needs sleep desperately.

Myrna waves him over as he stumbles back to the bunkroom. “Deputy Stilinski?”

“Yeah, Myrna?”

“This came for you today.” She hands him a thick envelope encased in an evidence bag. It doesn’t have a return address, and the flap is already neatly slit.

“Been examined?” He can see where it was dusted for fingerprints. He’s not holding his breath for evidence. It’s been that kind of case.

“Yeah. Nothing useful.”

“Contents?”

“Coded letter. For your eyes only, but I’m sure whoever sent it realized that more than you would see it.”

Hence the code. “Obviously.” Stiles weighs the envelope, the kind important ‘do not bend’ documents are sent in. He shakes his head, heading for the evidence room. He puts on a pair of gloves, grabs some evidence bags, and sits down at the table, spreading out the contents of the envelope.

There are seven pages, written back and front in code, all sealed in Beacon County Sheriff’s Evidence bags and initialed by Detective Benjamin Votsky, the only California state detective who lived in Beacon Hills and operated out of the Sheriff’s Department.

There is also a bagged single sheet of notebook paper with his name on it. Stiles picks it up first.

Deputy Stilinski, it reads, I am writing to you to confess my perceived involvement in a homicide. I want to make it perfectly clear that I knew nothing of what was going to happen nor how my knowledge would be applied to this heinous crime.

It has only recently come to my attention that someone I spoke with nearly five years ago used my answers to her simply fascinating questions in order to perform that most horrible task.

I am not stupid, Deputy. I know I will likely be charged with accessory to murder even though the things we talked about were purely hypothetical—until she went and proved my hypothesis into a theory. Therefore, I have opted to 1) encode the information I am revealing and 2) not reveal myself until I can be guaranteed that I will not be charged with any crimes. The key to the code is simple, Deputy. It’s Mischief in its true form.

Stiles sets aside the page. He has a feeling he knows this person if “Mischief in its true form” is the key. Stiles assumes that the anonymous letter-sender means that the key is actually his birth name.

He finds a piece of paper and writes down in block letters his full birth name, shoving it into an evidence bag and sealing it, scribbling his initials on the seal. He then carefully puts all the pages back into the envelope in its evidence bag and carries it all back to the front desk.

He hands it to Myrna, along with the paper with his name. “Give that to Detective Votsky. That word,” Stiles points at his name, “is the key. Tell him to find me when he’s done.”

Votsky used to be a deputy under Stiles’ dad’s terms as sheriff. He’d made detective right before the shake up, so he’d managed to skirt the firing. He also has a specialty in codes, which is probably why he was given the evidence first.

“Will do. Hey, Stiles?”

Stiles pauses. “Yeah?”

Myrna looks at him kindly. “Get some rest. The case won’t get solved any faster if you’re not able to see something because you’re too tired.”

“Sure,” Stiles says. What else is he supposed to say? He knows he needs sleep. He’s just having trouble shutting off his brain. “Thanks.”

He walks away before Myrna can give him any more futile advice. He knows she means well, but there’s a reason she’s on the front desk now instead of Kincaid.

He climbs back into his chosen bed in the bunkroom, cramming his head under his pillow to block out the snores of Ramirez and Kincaid. Surprisingly, he manages to fall asleep in minutes.

                                                                                                                     ~ * ~

MP, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21

[pleasancies]

When You're In The Backseat pt. 3

content : lady whump, heat exhaustion, loss of conciousness, vomiting, held at gunpoint (minor)

wordcount : 900+

Whoo boy this part is difficult to write. anyhow this is pretty much the last part of when you're in the backseat. There will be a continuation, another chapter describing the torture that follows after the kidnapping but it'll have a different name and I think I'm taking a tiny break first lol. Anyway, enjoy!

Edit : apparently, I wrote a part four. And the break took longer because I was procrastinating. When I had an idea for a continuation, i forgot When you're In The Backseat Is supposed to be over. Lol

***

Amy blinked out a sweat that had run into her eyes. The woman doesn't bother to fix up her blindfolds. With some wriggling, it fell easy on her neck. The sun was well above the horizon. Amy saw an outstretched arm hidden among the tall grass. She was far from cold but it sent a chill on her spine. Did she really saw that? Amy gulped down the salive that starts to pool under her tongue. The headache had grown and gripped at the base of her skull. Pounding like her own heart that hasn't calmed down at all after the escape attempt. Her stomach churned.

"How are you feeling, Amy?"

"Dude, you just tased me. Doesn't that gives you a clue or something?"

The woman smirked. It annoyed Amy to no end. Yet she can't come up with an insult. Her brain's been mashed to goo. The woman took out a water bottle, drinking as loud as she can before hiding it back again. Amy needed that. The heat was rapidly sapping away all of her energy.

"Give me some of that water, come on."

"No."

Amy kicked at the driver' seat. The woman doesn't even look like she felt it and Amy is already out of breath with the third kick. Dark spots bloomed in Amy's sight. She squeezed her eyes shut. The car stopped.

"We're here," the woman announced. They're still in the middle of nowhere.

"This," Amy took a long deep breath trying not to retch, "This isn't a rest stop."

"It isn't." The woman steps out of the the car, holding an almost empty water bottle. She walked up to Amy, not opening the car door this time. She knocked at the window, "I'm leaving for a sec. Don't try to escape. Goodbye."

"W-wait what?! Where are you going? What the fuck is this? Come back!"

The woman doesn't bother to turn. She walked away, ignoring Amy's curses.

She's supposed to be glad the woman left her. Really, it's even easier to escape now that she's left. The woman might have left scissors, knives, things to rip off these duct tapes. Amy could take that damn reinforced car and drive it home. That woman's a fool! She's not gonna wait. Nothing good will come out of waiting. Assuming the woman even comes back.

Amy wriggled her way into the front seat. She's like a slug. Her head bobbed up and down looking at every nook and cranny for scissors, box cutters, anything that can cut! Unsurprisingly, there was nothing. Fuck it, she could try opening the door on the driver's seat. It's just as firmly locked as the others. The handle's ruined with bite marks. Amy cursed under her breath. With the duct tapes covering her arms and fingers Amy couldn't even take off her shirt. Moving had started to trigger her gag reflex. Amy leaned her head against the window, hoping it'd be cold. Nope, big mistake. It's even hotter than the seat Amy's in.

"Help!"

Was that even a scream? Heck no. Amy didn't expect her voice to sound so weak.

"Somebody help me!"

There's not a building in sight for hours. Let alone people. The dark spots clouded Amy's sight again. Yet she kept going. Her voice slowly crept to a whisper. It's the best she can do. It's the only thing she could do, with the heat pressing down on her brain.

***

The woman came back. Amy only realized that after she was awakened by the frigid breeze of the desert at night. She's slumped against the steering wheel, face down to her own vomit.

She's back? Who is she? Why did she take me here?

Amy wrinkled her brow, there's massive gaps of knowledge that she should know. This woman is bad news. Amy's kidnapped and possibly dying of heat stroke. But why and how it came to be—it's all a blank. Her head's made of cotton. She doesn't even register that she'd puke on the woman's driver's seat or took a slight satisfaction that her sick had gotten inside the car's radio. No, the woman grabbed her by the collar and shoved her into the ground before Amy could remember. Not that she could. She's probably delirious.

"Walk," the woman spat.

"M-mom? I—"

Amy's words were cut off as a burst of pain flared on her back. She let out a cry. Her eyes started to roll over her head and this time a slap snapped her awake.

"Get up, Amy. Walk."

It took everything for Amy to sit and not pass out. Everything around her is spinning, and she's not even sure if she's really sitting upright. Did she went blind? Amy couldn't see clearly. It's like she's looking through a key hole. She did that lot as a child. Amy's out of breath, again. She welcomes gravity pulling her face to the earth. Sand in your face is itchy as hell yes, but it was also cold. Amy could tolerate some beatings if it meant a few more minutes quelling the heat radiating from her body.

"Come on," the woman heaved her up. All of a sudden Amy is standing. Her legs wobbled and crumbled almost instantly. The woman gripped her even stronger. A cold thing presses against Amy's temple. A threat.

"Walk, Amy. It's that easy. Left foot, right foot."

"M'fucked, aren't I?" Amy muttered.

"Yes, but you'll get over it sooner if you'd cooperate."

Facing no other choice, nor barely remembering what's going on, Amy took a step forward.

[feather-dancer]

Which of your fics…

I got tagged for this by @dreamsarelikedragonflies​! I’m gonna stick to my Tales of Arcadia fics for this so nobody has to suffer the old that happened pre the big writing gap I had.

…did you think would get a bigger reaction/audience than it got:

It was a bit of a long shot particularly given it was the first thing I’d written proper in ages that’s public but probably Masks We Wear, Lies We Share. Character centric fics that don’t follow the lead of a franchise always are hit and miss and this had an extra handicap in being the form of the general goings on than “Here’s the plot hurtling away” but alas! It’s set when it is because of the UK cuts on the TV version and this was the easiest way to work around knowingly having holes in my knowledge.

…is your funniest:

Humour for me is not something I can specifically write for, it’s more incidental ( “Oh I swear he better just be on moral support right now or he'll catch these hands holding a warhammer”) though I will admit I do love how Cat with the canary and the last line of Trolls, fried chicken and walnuts came out in the drabbles.

…is your darkest/angstiest:

Ghosts he left behind 100%. The chapter I’m working on right now has Toby trying to come to terms with loneliness and the not knowing and one of those moments which is gonna hurt the reader more I’ve been plotting since January is coming too :D Grief and loss in forms other than death seems a very common thread in this thing not to mention thoughts keep turning back to Draal as nobody got a chance to reconcile with what happened before everything went off the rails.

…is your absolute favorite:

I’m gonna say Presence, elegance, an unmistakable dominance - Nomura because when Maestro came on shuffle I immediately burst out cackling as what the hell. Though I’m always biased for changeling banter at the best of times.

…is your least favorite:

I’d say one of the ones I’m writing right now that has been a constant fight to get the right vibe going because it’s an AU but not if that makes sense? It’s not that it’s bad by any stretch it’s more it feels like I’m wading through treacle trying to get the words to fit together right and the frustration gets to me. It WILL be done but it’s being defiant to the letter.

…was the easiest to write:

In a mystery to everyone including me, How to bond in the Darklands kicked down the door and essentially decided to exist over the space of 48 hours plus edit time. Second would go to the AU I’m writing right now as uh:

This was started just before midnight on freaking Saturday and it’s STILL trucking nicely.

…was the hardest to write:

Savouring Memories. I have very particular thoughts on grieving and moving because of my own experiences of being left adrift so often which I know aren’t shared by many so trying to write it in a way that can make sense to outsiders AND keep it in character woof.

…has your favorite line/exchange/paragraph (share it):

Shall I pick from the files I’m currently working on as a treat? No context nor which file I’m pulling these from to help keep the mystery going :)

Somehow this manages to be translated into stuffing him under her arm with an elbow tucked under his chest for support, his annoyance only grows when the opportunity is snatched for a photo to commemorate his brand new status as a living scowling handbag.

~

"Sounds more like an elaborate ruse to me, are your manners really that scarce?" She hisses back, refusing to move herself from the flickering warmth that is gradually returning the energy lost from her attempts to find a single door that would let a lone lady in from the weather. He lets out a hum in return, putting a mark in the book to properly give all his attention.

"No no, my words are as innocent as can be! If you are at all willing to indulge and trust my intentions are as so I can even prove it right now. All it will require is the lady's hand, if I may? I will not judge if you refuse." The hand is offered like it is there to tempt her with a form of devil's deal. She is clearly not impressed even before a reaction is snapped back a little louder than intended causing a few curious glances their direction.

"Do you honestly believe that you are so charming that you could speak a few honeyed words and have me at your beck and call? Sir, I must inform you that you are highly mistaken."

~

Deliberately eating slower to extend his break some more it is only after the final fry is devoured that Douxie checks his phone again for a reply to find he'd been sent an eyes emoji and there is not a force on earth that coulda wiped the stupid grin off his face.

One thought, well why not have a crack at it anyway?

~

"You do realise, Nomura, we wouldn't even be having this problem if you weren't quite so nosy, hm? Be thankful I gave you plausible deniability."

"Not my fault that's where all the best fun and or blackmail material comes from, is it?" She snipes back placing the tidied blankets to her side for whoever decides to deal with them because it certainly will not be her.

"Your domestic tiff sounded interesting who am I to ignore it."

…have you re-read the most:

Can’t say I tend to reread my own stuff except when I’m double checking something for a future chapter which hilariously happened last night actually as I somehow forgot in the space of a couple of hours Douxie grumbling about Latin. Everything goes through multiple proof read edit runs tho with the exception of drabbles. Ghost!AU Chapter 2 took AGES being such a beast of a chapter to run over it a few times.

…would you recommend to someone reading your work for the first time:

I’m gonna say Ghosts he left behind because it’s an actual chaptered thing that deviates from canon and gives you a good idea about my angst loving heart that seems to infect everything I write.

…are you most proud of:

Ghosts he left behind again! While it suffered and languished round the same time my mental health took another bad turn it’s been a consistent thing even when I could do little more than adjust the spreadsheet or chuck in a handful of words. The third chapter is nowhere near content complete but it HAS started moving again when I’m not completely sidetracked by other things which feels like a small victory you know? I love AU’s at the best of times and it let me alter one canon plot line a tiny bit just to see what would happen and take other people along for the ride because while I know the big story beats prior, when we hit the Eternal Night your guess is good as mine.

Tagging anybody who’d like to!

[ranaeissance]

I created a studyblr over the summer and was really excited to do well in my first year of college, but now that I'm actually in school I have no motivation to do my work anymore and it's preventing me from actually posting anything. Do you have any advice on how to get more motivated?

hello anon and welcome to studyblr! hmm how to get more motivated in what respect? posting on studyblr or doing work? or just motivation in general... either way i’ll try to address everything in the context of studying

gaining and maintaining motivation

motivation is extremely hard to maintain and is not lasting, that being said, i won’t be quick to recommend disciplining yourself because even that is harder if ‘re struggling to find motivation in the first place. however, you can make small changes that can contribute to better discipline and work ethic! these are just some little tips to make you motivated and hopefully improve your work ethic~

motivation

find something new and interesting to be excited about in your work - honestly, sometimes studying can be dreadful but if you try and find something to be excited then you’ll be much more eager to learn! finding joy in the little things will help you immensely. whether that be being excited at the thought of learning a new formula, teaching your stuffed animal a new concept, playing with new stationery or reading a new poem for class, looking forward to something will keep you on your toes. learning is exciting!

set goals for yourself - these will help in keeping you accountable and having something to work towards. they don’t have to be straight-forward but they do have to be achieveable, manageable, specific and realistic (i can elaborate more on this / goal setting in general if you’d like). along with your goal add the reason why you want to achieve it to increase the likelihood of you actually doing it.

Goal:

What: Finish The Picture of Dorian Gray by the end of the month

When: in two weeks

How: by reading # of chapters / # of minutes daily

Why: So I can fangirl to my friend about it and finally understand all the shitposts I see on my dashboard

try to find a study buddy or someone to hold you accountable - learning with someone makes the entire experience more fun!! so, if you can, befriend someone in your class or even find someone online to study with. even if you don’t share the same classes / course, you’ll still be able to talk with each other about your achievements, struggles, tips, advices, materials and resources~ this also applies with making studyblr friends!

share to others - relating back to the previous point, express your achievements and struggles to others / someone. the studyblr is a welcoming and inviting community that will readily aid you in anyway shape or form. especially at times of great academic success and hardship.

reward yourself - after finally accomplishing your goals treat yourself to something nice! i like to just lie on my bed , eat some snacks or watch films

discipline

sometimes we have days where we just don’t want to do anything. on those days here are some of my tips:

set three achievable tasks, daily - to do lists can bog you down. by setting three achieveable tasks a day it gives you an idea of what tasks are the most important and allows you to make a dent in your list.

track your progress - i like to do this by posting daily accomplishments or writing on my desktop’s post-it notes with the tasks i completed that day. this helps with visualising what you’ve accomplished

something is better than nothing - whether it be 5 hours or 5mins, any achievement contributes to something in the long run. we can’t always operate with high energy but as long as we do something we’ll get there in the end

an object in motion stays in motion - favourite saying to motivate me now (thx physics). essentially, once you get going, you get going.

studyblr

admittedly, i don’t frequently post original content, let alone studyblr content, but i am working on it. here’s some advice and things i also hope to do when posting original content:

make posts in batches - i usually like to take photos in large batches so i don’t have to consecutively shoot, edit and post onto my acc. however, lately i haven’t had the time or resources to just sit down and take said pics so i definitely recommend finding time to do so.

queued posts are your best friend - once you shot your batches start drafting and queuing posts up so you don’t have to post them yourself at a given time

not all posts have to be a e s t h e t i c pics - there are other forms of original contents like masterposts, “journal entries” or daily accomplishments. i like to do the latter two when i don’t have any pics taken so peole know i’m alive and studying haha

queue is your best friend - again, queueing photos (usually reblogs) is such a lifesaver when you go through periods of inactivity. some days i’m on tumblr longer than usual and my queued posts can reach up to 100. i usually posts / set the queue “timer” to 5 pics daily during peak hours on tumblr.

all in all, finding motivation and maintaining it is hella difficult but when mixed with discipline you can achieve anything, as long as you do something. goodluck and wishing you all the best! if you think i haven’t answered your question or would like to further talk my inbox + dms are always open 💞💗