#hang on I gotta re-write something in my fanfic now

[rawkghoulsupreme]

I had a thought at work while listening to CMLS and decided that it would be far easier to write it than draw it. So here's my first lil' Ghost fanfic!

Centered around the final Re-Imperatour show.

Warnings: Anti-Christ theory at play. SFW

Wordcount: 566

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

Call Me

The energy in the arena was electric - as though the clouds hanging above everyone’s heads in anticipation of what would become of their beloved Papa could combust into a lightning storm at any moment. Even as the lights began to glisten behind the white curtain, something that had become the usual for this tour, felt different.

But nothing was. The curtain dropped and Kaisarion rang out to the pleasant screams of fans. Copia pranced out, glittering in silvering gold jacket and sang his soul out. Then Rats. Then Faith. Spillways, Cirice, Absolution, Ritual… It was all the same. Much to the dismay and happiness to the crowd who sang and wobbled along anyways. Then came time for Call Me Little Sunshine and out came Copia in his dazzling papal robes with jewels that sparkled more radiantly than the stars in the sky.

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

“You will never walk alone. You can always reach me. You will never ever walk alone. Even when you’re dead and gone-”

The arena went black and the lack of music was swiftly filled in by shouts and screams.

This was it.

Were they dragging him off stage now? Were the Ghouls and Ghoulettes tearing him to pieces? Was it awfully timed electrical malfunction? The longer the dark silence went on, the less it seemed like the audience would get any closer to an answer. The shouting and outcries began to die down and a low murmur passed over the crowd. Nearly five minutes had passed now and not a peep had been made on stage or a light turned back on. Maybe it really was something wrong on the arena’s end. Just before people started to get up or leave to get some answers - the answer found them.

Call. Me.

The screams returned briefly. The voice - it was his. Copia was alive… for the moment. But it sounded different. Distant. But booming all the same as it rang out through the venue. A few moments more passed.

Call. Me.

It sounded like a demand. Or was it pleading? Each word was emphasized by a single beat. Now, the crowd was starting to get it. Several voices rang out. “Papa!” or “Copia!” shouted out. But the voices were few.

Call! Me!

His voice rang out again, louder as the crowd’s excitement grew.

Papa!

Call! Me!

The voice of thousands rang out, competing with the booming of Copia’s very own voice.

Papa!

This time, he replied to them faster, sounding closer somehow than ever before.

Call! Me!

Papa!

Suddenly, the lights flashed back on and the music made way in a startling cacophony of familiar instruments. Standing there, center stage behind the microphone stand was their beloved Papa.

Wasn’t it?

Copia remained in the robes he had started out the song in - but he wasn’t the same. His mitre had been cast to the side, laying on the ground a few feet away as if thrown haphazardly. In it’s place were two curved horns, spontaneously grown from his forehead while his hair had grown to his shoulders and was nearly silver all the way through. He slapped his hands together then opened his arms wide.

“You can always reach me! All you gotta do is call me…”

He wasn’t going anywhere. Not as long as they needed him; not as long as a single one of them felt alone. Now, they’ll know what to do.

[marvellouslymadmim]

Hey! Aspiring fanfic writer here; I was wondering if you could talk a bit about your writing/editing process and how long it all takes.

Thanks!

Welp, roughly the same extremely long amount of time it takes to actually answer an ask, tbh 🙃

So...I only know how my brain works, and I can only tell you what works for me might not work for you, and that's OK. I'm breaking into two separate bits, because I almost never do writing and editing at the same time.

And as far as a timeline, honestly it just depends. On life factors, what my hormones are doing at the time (jfc like the week before my period, I have zero creativity, motivation, or attention span), if I'm having trouble with a particular scene, if I'm getting consistent positive feedback (yes, I can totally admit that I write faster when I know a particular reviewer is following along with every update), etc.

WRITING:

First, you gotta just...be fixated, I guess. Particularly if it's an AU, I sit with it for a long time before I ever write a word. I go over scenes, think about how the world changes, what stays the same, what *has* to stay the same to keep the characters true to their canon personalities. I sit with the characters for a long time, too--not just the main characters, but the supporting cast, too. In order to predict someone's future, you have to know their past. Most of our present actions are actually reactions to past events, when you think about it. The better you know your version of the character, the easier every other aspect of writing will be. I don't know how it is for other people, but I don't ever "feel" like I'm writing. I feel like I'm "witnessing", and the characters are simply doing whatever they wish. (***this is gonna be a thing during the editing process, too, so hang on to that)

Then once I have a general idea, I choose a title. Generally, I do not even start a word document until I have a proper title to put on it. The title is part of the theme and aesthetic to me, and it grounds me in the overall arc.

Once that's done, it's time for outlining. I generally wait until I feel this weird almost tingling in my left arm (weirder still bc I'm right handed) and I'm practically vibrating with a need to WRITE THIS STORY NOW. Then I put on some Bear McCreary (honestly, any videogame soundtrack will do, as they are literally designed to help you maintain focus and keep pace) and fucking go to town. For me, it helps to do this with pen and paper, so that I can go back up and squiggle little notes in the margin, rearrange the order, etc, far faster than I could on a computer.

Important note: the outline is not the end-all be-all. Some things don't make it to the final print. Some minor storylines get tossed or characters simply...take a different path than I expect. I will continue re-writing and updating the outline as I go along. On average, I usually have 5-8 outlines per story, and they're often 3-10 pages long. I also have a posted outline, which is a log of all the scenes that did make it to the final product. 

Then, it's the actual writing, at long last. I have found that I write best at the start of my day, before the noise and static of daily life comes in. So I wake up around 5am and spend 90minutes writing before beginning my workday routine. I have the Word app on my phone and may continue adding bits in throughout the day at work, if I get a moment. However, after 5pm my brain is usually fried and no more creativity happens. On weekends, I try to have one morning where I "sleep in" til 6am, and then write until at least 10am, sometimes 2pm, if I can get away with it.

The hardest part still is knowing when to transition and when to skip to the next chapter/scene/whatever. This is like...zero percent helpful, but I liken it to Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart's definition of pornography: "I know it when I see it." It may seem like a scene is circling, and sometimes it means you gotta leave the room a bit earlier bc the scene has already served its purpose. Other times, it means ya gotta stay with it a bit longer, because there's something the character is trying to say. Give them patience, and give yourself patience, too. Explore the scene and its dynamics. You won't know til you know and even then, sometimes you won't be entirely sure. That's ok, too. Part of the process. Remember editing will happen and you can decide then (hell, you can literally re-edit after it's been published, I've done that before too and added a note on the next chapter for any readers who might have read the first version 🤷🏻‍♀️ not ideal but still functional).

EDITING:

I do simple edits (spelling, grammar, etc) just about every morning as I reread what I wrote the day before, which is a refresher course for the day's writing session. But big "real" editing generally doesn't happen until right before posting.

Now, here's the ***issue from writing: sometimes, something just "doesn't work" in a scene. Again, you'll know it when you see it. The words a character is saying feels clunky. The pacing feels off. Something just...ain't right. More often than not, it means either I haven't truly sat with a character long enough to know their true motivations/backstory, or I am not giving characters the proper time/space/impediment to make the actions or say the things they're currently making/saying. I'm trying to force the flow, rather than letting it ebb and breathe when it needs to.

Absolute ProTip: You spent HOURS writing this scene. It's got some REALLY GOOD moments and lines in it. It doesn't work but you can't just delete it. It's your LIFE. I struggle with this A LOT, and I have found a solution: create a second "outtakes" document to cut and paste those scenes into. Sometimes I still keep moments or bits of dialog. Sometimes I later use bits in a later scene. Sometimes I never look at it again but I still feel secure in knowing that if I wanted to go back and use the original scene instead, I totally can. I don't think I've actually ever gone back to the original, tbh, but it reduced my anxiety about deleting the scene and starting over.

So back to the scene that doesn't work. I take it apart, figure out *at what exact point* it stops working, then work back up a few lines to see where the shift actually begins. More often than not, it's because I'm having characters express their feelings in ways they actually wouldn't. (people very very very rarely actually say what they're thinking/feeling, and you have to relay it in other ways). So I have to keep the internal monologue of what they're actually feeling/thinking, while figuring out how that actually translates via tone, body language, and what they do and don't say.

The "something ain't working stage" can take LITERAL WEEKS. I sometimes have to walk away for awhile, or tackle it only on days when I know I have hours upon hours to truly work on it. I keep circling back around, and eventually, the knot works itself out. Persistence, and insistence that "good enough" isn't actually good enough, are key. (this is why you have to fixated on the story you want to tell--because some days, it's going to take every ounce of that obsession to keep you going and keep you on the track of telling the story you wanted to tell, rather than settling or switching to an easier tack)

Sometimes, editing is a breeze. I don't change much, I may go a little more into the character's inner world here or there. Once you've been doing this for awhile, you'll just know when a story hits all its marks--and you'll also know when it's not, when it could be more or do more, and you can figure out how to get it there. There isn't a precise formula for it, it's more like cooking without an actual recipe to follow--a dash here, a bit there, you'll know it when you taste it.

And I'll leave you with this unsolicited bit: just write. Write often, write about everything, write what makes YOU passionate and happy, and absolutely write for yourself. Edit the fuck out of it, if you need to. Get a beta reader, if you need to. Get someone to just bounce ideas off, if you need to. And don't post it until you're truly ready and it's something you genuinely want to share. If someone gives constructive criticism, take in on the chin and move on (keep the notes, if you think they're valid, and toss em if you don't--you'll never be everyone's style of writer, so know that sometimes, people just won't be the target audience). Know that you'll grow and you'll learn and you'll find your own voice and like any skill, you'll develop a second nature about it--all those parts where I say "you'll know it when you see it" or "you'll feel it" absolutely come from spending a literal lifetime (28 years) writing stories, and thirteen years of writing fanfic in particular. It's ok if you don't see it or feel it right away. It takes practice. And you will have an audience at every skill level, no matter what (finding that audience? different story altogether...).

All totaled, this process can take anywhere from 3months to over a year. Stories are like children, I've found: they each develop at their own pace, and some may need more time and assistance than others. But they're still pretty wonderful. (except the bratty stories. they're the worst 🙄)

[sweater-daddiesdumbdork]

Sweaters Any Fucking Fic Challenge Masterlist

Anyone that joined in my first challenge, THANK YOU for making this everything that it was. Everyone's hard work and stories were just incredible, the prompts really made into something special, and I'm just blown away with how incredible all of it came out. Thank You, Thank You, Thank You! Below you will find all the fics entered. 

All the writers on this list are so talented with there characters. I highly suggest looking at there Masterlists and exploring some of there other pieces. I am so pleased with everyone who participated, and I hope you all enjoy the hard work and love they all put into these pieces.   

Why Are You Awake Right Now? written by @evans713 Chris x Y/N. You must resist the temptation to call Chris. No matter what, you even recruited the help of your best friend to keep you away. But of course, You can't sleep, and it's getting so hard to keep yourself occupied. This was so good! I was held in so much suspense the entire time.  

Bucky and The Bed (5) written by @that-damn-girl Bucky Barnes x Y/N.  You and Bucky are stranded in the middle of a snowy nowhere when there is an ‘electronic blackout’ during your mission. With no back ups or any way to contact your team, you take refuge from the worsening weather in the only small house you find  in miles. Not to mention, with no power, Bucky has become your personal heater and there’s only one bed.

The Lockscreen (Drabble) written by @stuckonjbbarnes Steve x Stella (OC) Steve asks for his phone back from Stella while they (Bucky as well) are all hanging out. Stella finds Steves background quite amusing, but there is payback as well. Very Cute preview to stuckonjbbarnes upcoming fic. 

Piss Baby written by @lielullabye Steve x 10percent Reader. Steve apparently has a bit of a jealous side when it comes to you. Especially when your enjoying yourself while hanging out with Thor. Will this come between your friendship? Really love her 10 percent reader Masterlist and everyone should go check out the dynamics between these two. 

On The Run written by @iwritethingstoo Dark!Gambit/Remy LeBeau x Kimi (OC) Kimi made a choice, and that was to stay with Remy although Hunted by the X-Men. Once a decision is made, she has to return for something valuable left behind. But can it be retrieved before all hell with the X-Men break loose? Really awesome! action packed and a damn good time. 

Logan's Peace written by just-marvel-fanfics Logan Howlett (Wolverine) x Dr. Marabel Roche (OC). Logan has himself a little slice of paradise, a safe haven. But it is a place, or is it a person? To watch these two interact is a true treasure and absolutely adored these two. Note- Sadly this blog had to be deactivated. But she did write this story specifically for me, it will stay on this list. It was a marvelous piece of writing, showing us her personal characters. 

Morning Lovin' written by @donutloverxo Ransom Drysdale x Y/N You have to head into work, but Ransom has other plans for you. Unfortunately your life isn't one of luxery like his is. But he has ways to have you change your mind. 

Bad Things written by @nellblazer Dark!Biker Bucky x Y/N Bucky is in a Mood. When life seems pretty basic, everyday, in you walk in search of your dumbass biker brother. Bucky can't help notice you right away and takes a liking to you. He knows who he wants now. So good, and gotta say I fell hard for Bucky in this fic.  

Hurt written by @just-the-hiddles Sir Thomas Sharpe x Clara Appleton (OC) Clara never thought her life would be that exciting.  That was until Sir Thomas Sharpe appeared in her father’s office and set her life on a different path. This one had me guessing to the end! SURPRISE ENDING! Loved the twists and turns! 

Alpine? written by @buckeroonie323 Bucky Barnes x Y/N Bucky, with the help of Sam, if preparing a surprise for you. So you MUST STAY OUT OF THE KITCHEN. So hanging out in the living room, you happen to see sweet Alpine... with a whole new look. This was so sweet and I loved how adoring Bucky was.  

Nothing Hard About It written by @yespolkadotkitty Geralt x Jaskier. Geralt sends Jaskier down to retrieve an item needed to deal with a quest. While the bard is occupied, Geralt deals with some thoughts racing through his mind. Or tries to. Really loved how they were portrayed, and such a great read. 

Almost Forever (3/3)  written by @what-just-happened-bro Loki x Jesse (OC) Years after the snap and the Avengers decide to take one more chance at it, one more shot at stopping the mad Titan Thanos Snap. If they can retrieve all the stones, is it possible? Jesse is challenged with old faces, old feelings, and maybe they can save the world. Bring back all that was lost. This was such a stunning conclusion. With lots of surprises to be had. Main Story Masterlist found Note- Sadly this original story was on another Blog that had gotten shut down. Should Satan rewrite it on her new account, I will be re-adding to the list. But her Masterlist should absolutely checked out as she is recovering fics lost and writing new ones. A writer with multiple talents, there a bit for everyone.  

I Think I have Been In Love With You for Years-  Part 1 Part 2 written by @deboryanne Peter Parker x spiderwoman Y/N. Peter and You are on a mission that has a slight hiccup. Afterward, you are dealing with a whole new issue, and this isn't quite as easy as being able to just swing away to safety with your Spidey web. So good, and Love the chemistry these two characters have. 

To Loose and You'll Lose It Prologue: Well Fuck Me written by @what-is-your-plan-today and @icanfeelastormbrewing Jake Jensen x Stella Stevenson (OC) Clay and the team is all set to bust up a Children's Sex Traffic Operation with the help of an inside woman. Moving forward, it's time to welcome her to the team. Excellent co-written story, honestly this story has a bit of everything, and you're left with just wanting more.

Broken-hearted written by @nekoannie-chan Steve Rogers x You. Steve and You have a wonderful 2-year-old daughter, Sarah. But the snap takes her away, and you both must rebuild from this tragic loss. If there's a chance to fix it, he has to take that chance, right? So good and really love the angst built into this fic. Shows the characters immense strength. 

Merchant of Death written by @chris-evans-indian-fanfic​ Mob Thanos and You. Feared and Respected, a giver to the less fortunate, Thanos has made a name for himself. But that doesn't much matter to you when he's brought into your emergency room. He though can't get enough of you and sets out to make you his. Can you fall in love with a Mobster and still have your values? This was such a great read, incredible from beginning to end. You felt for both the main characters and that ending. Oof! Stunned me. Everyone should go read this fic. 

Annoying Your Neighbors 101: A Guide Book By Steve Rogers written by @fandomsandxfiles-writes​ Steve Rogers x You Going undercover with teammate and friend Steve, you both go to investigate mysterious circumstances in a seemingly nice neighborhood. Your cover? Newlyweds just settling down. Can you two catch the culprit, or are you two catching feelings instead? Damn! I absolutely loved and adored this piece. So damn good. 

On The Run written by @donutloverxo​. Steve Rogers x You. You are married to Steve and come to the realization that things are not always picture-perfect. Then comes a time where Steve is accused of helping a terrorist as well as refusing to sign the accords. You both go on the run, and learn the truth, he was helping his best friend Bucky, who was wrongfully accused. Being on the run means you all have to share close quarters. You and Steve have to get a bit creative at times to be together. Really wonderfully written and I just love the multitude of feelings this reader goes through. SMUT. 

Tempest written by @stargazingfangirl18​. Ransom Drysdale x You. Non Con/Dark. Read at your own risk. Knives out spoilers. Ransom returns home late after Harlan's party, and he isn't himself. Anger and Malice simmer in him, and he turns those frustrations out on you. Once he had his hands on you, there is no getting away. I have a dark soul, and this spoke to me. I loved it, it was exciting, a little scary and Ransom was a force to be reckoned with. 

Blood Roses written by @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho​ Dark!Steve Rogers x You. You dont know who you are, but Steve is your devoted husband making sure to remind you as well as take care of you. Or so you thought. But things are suspicious and the further you dig into the clues, the more the truth comes out. 

[mego42]

I 100% agree about wanting more fanfic lists! I honestly think it's the best way to get a variety. Everybody has personal preferences, if someone, who mostly reads long, fluffy au Brio fic, is making recs, they're not likely to mention short, angsty, canon Brio (which is understandable and fair!) so ideally someone else, who does like those, would also do recs. I'm pretty sure I've read or at least tried the vast majority of Brio fics, but the recs often make me re-read the fic and author.

YAAASSSS!!! I mean like, okay, I v much get why people have issues with rec lists, and I def do not by any stretch endorse the idea that recs/rec lists should be considered anything other than one person sharing a think they liked, but to me a lot of the issues (the same fics/authors getting recced, feeling like awesome fics/authors are going unrecognized) can be solved by more reccing, not less. everyone’s got different taste and different stuff they look/read for and I am extremely pro sharing that.

Idk, I think about it like this: in a previous internet life I was a YA book blogger and I lived and died by recs from other bloggers whose taste and preferences I knew. I mean, you know, I’d check out a book bc the premise sounded interesting but literally the first thing I would do was go to Goodreads and look for a handful of people who tended to like the same books I did and see what they were saying about it bc that was the best way to get a good idea of if I wanted to give it a shot. Or, on the flip side, there were some people whose reviews I followed bc I knew we v much did not read for the same things so if they hated a book for X, Y and Z reasons, I was probs going to like it (one thing about book blogging is if you want to keep current, you do not have a lot of time to mess around, snap judgements are key but that’s a whole other thing and idk if it’s even relevant anymore bc that landscape has changed so much). 

ANYWAY, the point is, I got in the habit and now I do the same thing with fic bc, tbh, I don’t have a ton of time to read, esp not when I’m actively writing which, with the exception of the last week or two, I’ve been doing p non-stop since I got here. All of which to say is, I am desperately in favor of fic recs for purely selfish reasons, I need them! Give them to me!!! Please!!!!!

That said, I uh, am v bad at returning the favor and I recognize that (I think I’ve made what? two rec lists for this fandom?) so I will try to do better to live by my own, idek what this is, moving on and here are 10 recs not really thematically linked by anything other than I’ve read them and loved them and don’t think I’ve put any of them on one of my rec lists yet (and if I have, my blog is a trainwreck I cannot be expected to remember what’s on it LET ME LIVE):

The Goodest Boy by EnsignDisaster

There’s a key turning in the lock and Buddy rushes over to greet his Master excited for her to meet his new friends. The door opens and he dances around Master’s feet rejoicing on the fact that she’s made it home. It's been literally forever.

“Hey Buddy what’s wrong? Need to go potty? Need to pee-pee?”

“Nah he’s good we took him out.”

Master does something very unMasterlike, she drops all the food she’d brought in on the ground and screams. It’s a non traditional avant garde type of hello…Buddy loves it. Mostly because while Master taps furiously on her small light box and sits tense in the corner opposite his new friend Buddy can lick up the egg smashed on the hardwood floor.

Buddy! The! Dog! POV! no further explanation necessary. Technically WIP, but it covers the whole pilot in a way that could be read as standalone (THOUGH THAT WOULD V MUCH GIVE ME A SAD though, when did the show forget the Bolands had a dog? so maybe that’s a tragic casualty of canon, idk)

May The Moon’s Silvery Beams by @pynkhues

Emma hums in agreement, and Rio turns her around to sit her on the counter, grabbing one of the older looking boxes of muesli while she kicks her legs out, heels bumping back against the counter, watching him. He gropes around the inside of the box, finally just opting to pull the plastic cereal bag out and peering inside. He can’t quite keep the grin off his face when he sees the wad of cash lining the bottom. This woman kills him, she really does.

Then there’s a little face peering up beside him, trying to peek into the box.

“What is it?” she asks, and he tilts the box sideways so she can see inside.

The upside to not getting here until s3 is that old fic is new to me! Huzzah!! Idk how many of y’all have already read this on but if you haven’t I highkey recommend. Extremely cute take on what if Emma woke up when Rio and came by to collect his/Beth’s/whoever's money during the shutdown. Cannot believe I’m reccing kidfic. Witchcraft!!!!!!

Maybe You’re My Fantasy by ohmisterjapan

He fucking loves the involuntary. It speaks to how he likes to unlock chaos and walk away. He's been called a control freak before and it felt like such a misunderstanding of him - he's all about self control but he doesn't want to control others. It's more that he enjoys revealing to them how little they can control themselves. It's more that he likes to stand still in the eye of someone else's storm and pick coldly through the wreckage.

Another oldie but a goodie. This fic is more like an extended character study (first chapter Rio POV, second chapter Beth) and I LIVE FOR THIS KIND OF SHIT. I really really really love the take on both characters, it really digs in and pulls out some nuances that made me sit and think about my own read of them and I love it.

A Shock Of Blue by mintletters16

“You don’t look very well. Would you… like me to get you a glass of water or something?”

Her voice is low but smooth, laced with a softness that cuts straight though to his core. Strawberry blonde locks fall gently just above the pair of magnets freezing him in place.

He can still feel the chaos tearing through his veins - emanating from the gold plated gun stuffed in his waistband - and suddenly he can’t be here anymore. Can’t meet this wide-eyed gaze that’s been locked on his for the past God-knows-how-long anymore.

Can’t see blue alive and concerned when he just left it cold and void somewhere in oblivion.

She’s looking at him like he’s on the brink of madness. He thinks maybe he is.

Apparently, it’s backlist rec day over here and I’m not sorry. This one is another technical WIP but the chapter works as a standalone (BUT if the author decided to return to it I WOULD NOT BE MAD). It’s a what if Beth and Rio met pre-canon and it works so!!! well!!!! The tension and fascination and build are all *chef’s kiss* plus the writing is gorgeous and lyrical and ugh, I love it.

for a moment we were strangers by openhearts

“We got stuff,” Rio motions with a nod to the backpack Beth hadn’t noticed when they arrived hanging on the back of one of the chairs at the island.

She swallows and turns back to the dishes, realizing Rio apparently means to sleep there , assuming the place isn’t bugged.  Or for some kind of cover story if it is.  She turns and fixes Rio with a narrow-eyed stare, studying his face, the corner of his jaw especially prominent from the angle she’s looking up at him.  He’s methodical about drying each dish and setting it back on the rack, maddeningly ignoring her hard stare, so when he goes to take the next plate from her hands she grips it tightly and gets his attention.

“Hey.”

“What you on about now?” he asks, irritated.

It gets her gut uneasy, how he’s just . . . there, settling in, in ways he never had before, no matter how nonchalantly he would let himself in through her locked doors.  

“This is,” Beth tries, failing, to find words for it, “. . . it’s weird .”

This one takes place post 204 and Rio and Marcus end up spending a long weekend staying with Beth and Emma for reasons (that work, for the record, I’m just not trying to summarize rn) and it’s domestic and cute but honestly my fav part of it is how weirded out Beth is by how easily they slip into sync. The story does an excellent job balancing where they are in canon (uneasy post-sex truce) with a snapshot of what they could be if they got over themselves (HA! as if) and Beth is DEEPLY FREAKED which makes her slow slide into realizing she could maybe sort of kind of oh shit like it/him??? that much more satisfying.

Not So Careful by @bensonstablers

When he doesn’t answer, her eyes go to his but he’s too busy watching the letter opener which is still pressed against the back of his hand. Curiously, Beth runs it up his arm, careful not to press too hard, and smiles a little as he shivers. Pulling her leg up onto the bed, she shuffles closer to him before pressing the tip of the sword to his chest and slowly circling his left nipple with it, being sure not to get too close.

“You ain’t gotta be that careful.”

And when she lifts her eyes to meet his, he’s got that look. The one that always makes a lump form in her throat and for her to fall back into bed with him without a single thought of what they have to do that day. Only thing is, this time they’ve got nothing to do for the rest of the weekend and well, staying in bed the entire time had seemed like an appealing idea so she allows herself to give in a little to that look.

It makes me EXTREMELY SAD that knifeplay ranked so low on the kink survey so I’m gonna need y’all to check out this V V V EXCELLENT example of it and come back and tell me you’re sorry and you voted wrong. I am v reasonable what are you talking about.

love (where it wasn’t supposed to be) by @lilliloves

"You know what I can't stand?" Rio asks, stepping closer. It's a rhetorical question but he pauses for a second and watches Dean sniff, watches a bead of sweat trickle down his forehead, watches him shift on both his feet as he contemplates making a run for it.

"A guy who don’t realize how good he's got it." Rio continues, looking Dean up and down in disgust. "A guy that will literally fuck up a good thing just to get his dick wet."

"Yeah, well I can't stand a guy who can have anyone he wants but chooses the married woman he's not entitled to.” Dean shoots back. "And I really can't stand the fact that you're always in the room with us even when you aren't there."

And who brings him into the room Dean hmmmmm????? Jk, jk (or am I). In this one Rio catches Dean out on the town with another woman (bc of course he is) and tries to call him out but whoops! gets called out himself. I really love the like, idk, undercurrent of wistful regret in this fic. I love Dean straight up calling Rio out on his feelings (spoilers but there’s an exchange right after this one that made me straight up holler), and, you know, obvs I am here for Rio making Dean feel like an ass. 

Hell Is Other People by makemanybraver

Rio: We're in Hell, Elizabeth! If you don't think you belong here, then repent! Don't fuck everyone in the room in hopes that you get to go out!

Beth: Why do I have to repent?!

Rio: Because you did some fucked up shit in your life, Elizabeth! You keep doing fucked up shit here, too! And you think you don't belong here!

Beth [screaming at the top of her lungs]: Because I don't!

This fic is existentially bonkers and I love it. It’s the kind of experimental format/homage/what have you kind of thing that I L O V E. Based on No Exit by Jean-Paul Sartre, Beth, Rio, and Fitzpatrick are stuck together in a room in hell for all eternity. What more do you need, honestly.

Working On Things by odenkirk

Unknown Hold up, Elizabeth. I'm really thinkin about you here.

Beth turned her face into the pillow, effectively suffocating herself for a moment, but thinking it was a good trade off for the way the cool silk of her pillowcase chilled her skin.

She lifted her head to glance at the still sleeping Dean before replying.

Beth I'm thinking about you too. But this can't happen.

She wanted him to know she wanted him, but she also thought that admitting she was already there would save Rio from trying to convince her. She wanted him, but morals had to win just once in a while.

YES this is technically Beth/Dean while also being Beth/Rio BUT it’s also sort of Rio/Dean and I am HERE FOR THE DIVERSITY OF SHIPPING leave me alone who asked you.

Five Times He Knew What She Was Thinking, and One Time He Didn't by JoeyLee

Aight, so tell ‘em I was hittin’ it. Said deliberately blunt, eyes locked on her face the whole time, just to see those blue eyes widen. She looked so shocked that he almost laughed, so he softened it teasingly just to keep her going. Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart, tell ‘em we were makin’ love.

Then he just watched her, just watched her face, just fucking fascinated. Her lips were parted and her eyes were big as saucers, and…there it was. Before she could look away flustered, he watched the thought go through her mind. Him and her together.

He wondered what she was picturing or where. Them in the back seat, her bed, a motel?  Her on top or him from behind or his face between her legs?

Whatever it was, the blush started immediately, and he watched it bloom out from her cheeks to her hair. Then she was tearing her eyes away to gulp a little.  But it didn’t knock her down for long before she was looking back. And then, wait, was she actually asking him how to go about telling a fed they were fucking?

Okay this is another technical WIP but works as a standalone. I am absolutely fucking feral for character POV takes of canon scenes and this is a supremely excellent take on Rio POV of some notable scenes from the pilot through 204. Imo it brilliantly captures Rio’s voice and I love it a lot. 

HEADS UP I am absolute shite at tracking ao3 to tumblr unless people have specifically told me someone’s ao3/tumblr name SO if you recognize any of the non-tumblr authors on please lmk so I can tag them and YES I recognize that I am asking y’all to do things for me throughout this entire post and I’M SORRY OKAY I’M A WHOLE ASS MESS LOVE YOU BYE

[dc41896]

Not It

Pairing: Chris EvansxBlack Reader

⚠️: None, all fluff as usual🥰!

“FOR EVERY TIME YOU MESS UP, A CIGAR GOES IN THE JAR!!,” a fed up Jon Taffer shouts at the staff of the latest bar he’s chosen to help.

You and Chris only planned on watching one episode of Bar Rescue out of curiosity and boredom, but here you both were glued to the couch at least five episodes in wondering how, or if, the small business’ issues would get fixed. Lying under you with one leg hanging off the sectional and his fingertips lazily grazing up and down your back, your head pressed against his chest listening to his steady heartbeat and slowly rising with every breath he took.

Remembering how things were the first few weeks you were here, you mentally laugh at yourself and your slightly unorthodox actions. It’s not that you weren’t comfortable living with Chris, you had about eight months under your belt before the quarantine started.

However in those eight months, the most either of you had done in terms of staying together was spend a weekend at the other’s place. Quarantining, and for God knows how long, would mean spending every waking moment with each other and while you were excited, you were also extremely anxious.

When you first arrived at his Boston home, you were mesmerized by how beautiful it was. Chris loved the simple things in life, but don’t be mistaken, he did have taste which could definitely be seen from his house. It was also so warm and inviting that you wanted to instantly curl on the couch with your blanket and watch your favorite movie. Seeing how nice everything was though, you were honestly afraid to mess up something.

Looking back, it was a bit of an irrational fear, but you didn’t want to do anything that would make Chris have second thoughts about asking you to stay with him. Or about being with you.

So your days after consisted of cleaning up after every little thing you did and being careful of every move you made. Even when talking to him you began speaking and laughing quieter than usual, mostly replying with a smile and simple nod.

Of course he noticed this too, along with your constant cleaning, and began to feel that maybe you were uncomfortable because he was slacking around the house.

This idea resulted in him cleaning more behind himself and everywhere he’d go in the house, which made you feel worse and thus how the cycle of you both inadvertently trying to out clean the other began.

It continued like that for about a week until a very much needed revelation by an unwelcome guest.

Making his way back to the living room from his office, Chris hears your panicked screams prompting him to run in the kitchen and see you perched on the countertop.

“What?! What’s wrong?!”

“There’s a spider right there!”

“Babe seriously?! I thought something bad happened,” he chuckles letting out a sigh of relief with his hand on his chest.

“Something almost did happen! It could’ve bit me! And you would be equally as scared if you saw it.”

“I’m sure it’s not that-,” he starts before seeing the brown spider, roughly the size of his hand, crawling towards his foot. Shrieking, he hops on the counter next to you holding onto your arm.

“You were saying?”

“Okay okay you were right, now how are we gonna get it out of the house?”

“We?! Why we?”

“You’re gonna make me deal with that all by myself?! And here I am thinking you loved me,” he tisks shaking his head.

“Ugh alright! Um..okay so I’m gonna throw this bowl over it and cover the spider so then we just slide it outside and it can be free.”

“God you’re so smart,” he smiles kissing your cheek as you pick up the medium, plastic bowl near you.

Lightly tossing the bowl in the spider’s direction, it misses the target landing an inch away from the bug and causing him to jump, which made you and your boyfriend jump as well clinging onto each other.

“Welp that’s all I got. You gotta kill it Chris.”

“Why me? You saw it first.��

“Yea but I’m terrified of them and have been since I was little so I can’t do it.”

“I’m terrified too!”

“I guess we’re staying here all night then because neither one of us is gonna touch it.”

Sauntering into the kitchen with his tail wagging, Dodger pauses seeing the eight legged creature crawl along the hardwood floor; bending down to almost touch it with his nose.

“Dodger leave it alone bud, I don’t need you getting hurt,” Chris orders. However, Dodger chose to ignore him and instead lifted both his front paws to land on the spider a couple times before picking it up in his mouth and walking towards the patio doors.

Looking at the both of you with his head tilted, Chris climbs down the counter to let him outside where he placed the spider on the ground and returned back inside with a light shake of his fur.

“Yay, you killed it Dodge!,” you smile climbing off the counter to hug him. “As you could see your dad wasn’t gonna do it so thank you bubba.”

“Don’t even, you know you weren’t gonna do it either! Like you said we both would’ve been on the counter all night,” he replies as you both laugh.

“You know, that’s the first laugh I’ve heard from you in a while.”

“What are you talking about? I laughed at that joke you told this morning.”

“Yea but I mean a genuine laugh. The ones where the corners of your eyes and nose crinkle and you cover your face because you think you look funny when actually it’s the most adorable thing.”

Smile falling, you look down avoiding his gaze as you continue gently petting Dodger.

“Y/N talk to me, what’s going on?,” he asks kneeling down beside you. “If I’m doing something to make you uncomfortable or it’s the house-,”

“No! It’s not you or the house Chris it’s just...I don’t want to mess up anything.”

“What could you possibly mess up?”

“I don’t know, anything! I could get a stain on the couch or one of your pillows, or I could accidentally knock over a family heirloom and then you’ll hate me.”

“First off I could never hate you, so please get that out of your mind. Next if something did happen I can easily fix or replace it, it’s just stuff it’s not important. And if it is, it’s somewhere safe” he answers. “Is that why you’ve been cleaning so much? And acting different?”

Nodding your head, a small sigh escapes your lips as your eyes concentrate on the pup’s brown and white fur. “I was worried and scared that overtime with us being under the same roof there’d be something I did that you couldn’t deal with and you’d feel like this was a mistake. Or that we were a mistake.”

“Y/N look at me,” he says guiding your chin so you would meet his eyes. “You could smack me in the face and I’d still want you.”

“...I’m concerned but also flattered..?,” you softly laugh along with Chris who slowly nods in agreement.

“Okay that probably wasn’t the best way to say it. What I mean is it’d take something monumental for me to think something like that, which I know would never happen. You have nothing to worry about because I love you the way you are, flaws and all even though to me you don’t have any. ”

Holding your face in his hands, his thumbs gently rub against your cheeks making you giggle.

“So please don’t change yourself trying to be perfect for me or anyone,” he smiles leaning in to softly kiss your lips. “Also want to hear something funny?”

“Hmm?”

“You were cleaning to not seem messy, and I was cleaning because I thought you thought I was messy. So we’ve basically been re-cleaning behind each other this whole time,” he chuckles.

“And I thought you cleaning meant I wasn’t doing it to your liking,” you reply shaking your head.

“Well, at least the house is spotless,” Chris laughs along with you as Dodger moves to try to lick his face.

Jon screaming at yet another owner brings you out of your memories as you lift your head to prop on your hands folded on his chest. Gazing up at his beard and brunette hair grown out a little past his ears, you contently sigh making him look at you at smirk.

“Liking the view?”

“Of the giant dork? Yea he’s alright,” you giggle making him chuckle. “Hey I have a question for you.”

“Lay it on me.”

“Let’s say we bought a house and I got stuck in the basement. You come down to get me, the whole place is covered in spiders, including me. Would you leave me on my own or fight through them?”

“Of course I’d help you,” he smiles sitting up to kiss your forehead. “I’d probably need therapy after and would burn down the house though, but no I wouldn’t leave you by yourself.”

“Aww you’re so sweet.” Sliding closer to his face, you peck his lips multiple times before lying in the crook of his neck and breathing in his scent.

“I might want to send Dodger in first though since apparently he’s the exterminator of the house,” he laughs reaching down to lightly pat the sleeping dog’s head.

Taglist: @literaturefeen @crushed-pink-petals-writes @honeychicanawrites @honeychicana @lady-olive-oil @themyscxiras @fumbling-fanfics @melinda-january @lovelymari4 @curlyhairclub @renfrewscorner @secretmysteriousperson @plokyu23 @fullofmelaninsarcasmandepression @nunubug99 @felicity-x0 @ellixthea @jojolu @jnk-812 @brwn-sgr @captainsamwlsn @wildfirecracker @nina-sj @iammyownlover @chaneajoyyy

If anybody wants to be tagged, has asked to be tagged already but don’t see your name, only want to be tagged for certain people I write for, or no longer wish to be tagged just let me know🤓!

[bigskydreaming]

So, for Lightning Crashes, can I ask why you went with the choices you went with? Why Ethan & Aiden? (I was under the impression you didn't like them) Why the whole thing with Kali? What happened in Beacon Hills to get everyone together without Scott by the time the story starts. Why the Chimeras as Scott's primary pack? I just reread all five chapters and I'm insanely curious as to what your thought process was because its insanely addiciting.

LOL I’ll have to tackle this in parts so as it not to get too long, but shorter answers first:

1) Why Ethan and Aiden - this one’s pretty simple actually, as its due to what I often say about rarely disliking CHARACTERS so much as just specific ways characters are written. There’s almost no character I can think of offhand that’s just literally someone I can’t think of ways to write them that I’d find likable, interesting or compelling....pretty much all of my frustrations with characters stem only from them so often being written contrary to that, or even more often than not, like....my frustration or dislike of them is just carry-over from being so fed up with other people justifying, glorifying or clinging to the very things I despise about how they’re written.

*Shrugs* The funny-not-really-funny-so-much-as-just-obnoxious thing about Ethan and Aiden is they always had the ingredients to be potentially interesting and even sympathetic characters. Literally the only thing the show had to do differently in order to make me like them instead of dislike them is....not make them complicit in Boyd’s death, let alone then have that complicity largely dismissed or ignored afterwards.

And since I, like an intellectual, simply choose not to have fanfic ideas where Boyd is dead (with the literal exception being Carnival of Souls, since that one is basically entirely about the various character deaths Scott himself felt a degree of guilt towards as of the time he died in S5, with the point being ‘hey what if these characters got to flat out say, oh no, its totally fucked that we’re dead and there are people who absolutely should feel guilty about that but you are pretty much the only one who SHOULDN’T, so make like you’re Lazarus, get up and go give everyone else hell about this instead of settling for staying in a hell of your own making cuz you think you deserve it)’......

Like, that’s really all it takes. I write a version of the show where Boyd is alive and the twins didn’t do a damn thing to him or the others around for 3A, and I have no problem writing a version of those characters that I like instead. Its basically like making every fic a fix-it fic where one of the fixes being tackled is “how do you keep certain characters from being disliked or hated for antiblackness,” and the plot twist is “don’t write them being antiblack.”

Course, I still have trouble coming up with premises or angles from which to write them in any canon-based story that DOES take 3A into account, because like, it doesn’t matter HOW I write them at that point, the characters I’m writing still contain in their core premise of ‘this is who the character is as of the start of this story’ the fact that they were already complicit in Boyd’s death, and thus there’s no getting around the fact that like, any kind of positive approach to their characterizations at that point in MY mind still carries at least some degree of like....me ‘forgiving’ them for their part in Boyd’s death or deciding that ‘they’ve suffered/tried to make up for it enough’ by that point, and like...that’s just not something I’m remotely interested in writing, because frankly, I don’t think its my place to decide that or that my take on what that looks like matters worth a damn.

But AU Ethan and Aiden who never even met Boyd until Chapter 4 of my own story....they’re more or less just Ethan and Aiden shaped characters with similar dialogue patterns, as far as I view them while writing. 

(Also, it literally was in large part just a logistical thing as well. Like I actually started writing LC back in S4, and part of the whole premise was I wanted Scott to have his own other pack formed from actual characters who I could pull from elsewhere without taking away from the pack that might conceivably have formed in his absence. I made up Diego because having a Calaveras present is literally a plot point to address problems I had with S4 and its (lack of) aftermath, but I wanted everyone else to at least come from the actual show, and there were only so many characters that were actual options at that point. So its more like logistics is WHY I used Ethan and Aiden, but the above reasoning is why I was able to despite my dislike of them on the show, and without the latter - I think at least - influencing how I wrote these particular versions of them.

The thing about the chimera members of Scott’s pack is I actually went back and REWROTE everything as of Chapter 2 and edited the new versions in to replace what I’d had, in order to include them, because like.....you know me and my fixation on smaller/less utilized characters and their untapped potential. I liked all the chimeras from day one because there was so much that could be done with them and once it was apparent the show really wasn’t going to do much with them period, I decided well instead of writing a whole separate fic in order to explore their characters more, I could just integrate them into Lightning Crashes and tackle a whole bunch of werebirds with one stone, y’know? And then I decided ‘oh no, but I love them’ and I realized too late that adding eight additional characters to a story like LC would almost inevitably add another 100K of plot and sideplots, because what is brainpower even, other than a myth or a Tall Tale, y’know?)

The whole thing with Kali is just a mix of plot and personal issues and projection-upon-the-main-character, and its not the first time I’ve written that particular premise nor is it the last. I’ve done it with Dick Grayson fanfic as well of course. Its kinda just a thing with me. That trope I often come back to for non-trope reasons. There’s a lot of complicated reasons for that, some that are of course pretty obvious but others that are less so, and its a bit much to get into in depth. By which I mean, of course I will, I have no filter and that’s been too well and too long established to bother with one now plus the thing about being so casual about when I’m writing my own issues into fanfic means its not like people aren’t going to draw their own conclusions anyway even if I don’t elaborate so there’s not really any real point not to, lolol. Other than time spent doing so, which means I’ll do that later. 

Since now, answering the part about how things worked out differently back in Beacon Hills to lead to the Hale pack forming the way it did while the LC McCall pack formed elsewhere, has inevitably lead to me pulling out the LC file and actually working on it, with the DG story in question as well being open in another window now, because hot tip, the real most effective way to get me to update or add more to literally any story ever is just to get me talking about it. Since it re-energizes me about whatever I was thinking about or wanting to write about that led me to start it in the first place, and also since I’m a perfectionist who ultimately turns to story-telling because I think whichever way I go about writing one IS the best way for me personally to say whatever it is I want to say with one, this inevitably gets me going hang on, there’s a better way to describe what I’m talking about here and its like, via writing the actual story, so hold my beer, gotta go do it right or what’s even the point of answering lololol. Ohhhhh, meeeeee. I’m so deep and inscrutable, honestly what the fuck.

[bilgisticallykosher]

Sanders Asides: Are There Healthy Distractions? reaction

Pre-anything: I'm not expecting to love this one as much as the last episode. Nothing terrible, but the disgusting trash man intro is just a hard thing to beat.

I’m expecting this to be SvS part 2. I'm expecting some sort of reaction and conclusion to Virgil's reveal at the end of DWIT. I'm therefore looking for any sign of confidence from Virgil immediately pointing to him being Deceit. I think it's likely not going to be addressed until late in the episode. Virgil angst until he comes back. Will Deceit be wearing Virgil's current hoodie? People have theorized that since he took notes on Roman's advice, it's possible for him to be better at pretending to be someone else. Especially someone who pops in, as opposed to rising up. 

I'm also anticipating Thomas to come up with a different solution to the callback/wedding thing. Namely, Logan asking him if he'd just speak to Lee and Mary Lee, and ask to celebrate another time, more privately, and if he could go to the callback. Like, there's definitely a reason Deceit threw Logan in the back where he thought he'd have less influence. 

I'm also waiting on Roman angst. We needed to meet another character (there's no way it wasn't Remus) before entering Roman's room. 

OH GOSH they're doing animation, right? Or, another medium? That's gotta be for Roman's room! I was thinking maybe stop-motion or fluid animation. I'd also LIKE Deceit's name reveal, but I'm not sure we'll get that. 

Post-title screen. I thought this was an old TS & Friends I'd missed. I, didn't love Frozen. This is an understatement. Okay. Still really like the name Sanders Asides, it's funny. That's. Hm. Well, it looks like Virgil. In a different outfit? Intriguing. So, distractions, like distracting yourself from wedding/callback? Also, "Are there healthy distractions?" Almost like "Can lying be good?" (At least, I have misremembered the title as "Can distractions be good?" at least five times already.) 

Okay I'm also focusing too much on my theory and supporting it. I know Frozen has been used as a metaphor for Depression and/or other mental illnesses, so, maybe that's why Virgil's the focus in the title screen? 

WATCHING! Y'know, despite the Jewish thing, I've only ever seen two episodes of The Goldbergs, didn't really get into- YES HELLO THOMAS. What. Is this an actual ad? Why does he sound like a pirate? HA! He acknowledged it. "What the hell is that accent?" Idk, a little Remus, a little midwest? 

Okay, that was the opening? Wondering if the red jacket plays any special significance, or they just saw it and bought it. 

I like the effects of the A. Virgil is. There already. Hnnnnnm. I dunno, man. This is supposed to be part of the chronological series, right? Oh it's a skeleton onesie! Canon onesie for Virgil! 

WOAH EVERYONE! Ooh, Roman's Beast? I wonder if that'd change depending on what show either actual, or character, Thomas is in. They're all there! Different order, too!

OH MY GOSH is this taking place twenty minutes after DWIT? IS THIS DECEIT??? I failed at not pushing my theory, whoops. I'm still suspicious. (Roman's floppy horns.)

Literally nobody believes that you didn't put all Frozen answers in, Ro. "I don't wear those anymore, they're too childish." Still waiting on Logan angst, too… probably after Roman. 

"Thomas is in a bad place" Virgil looks uncomfortable, but he also didn't seem so offended when Roman pulled his "twenty minutes ago" line. Well, it's definitely Logan, "Thomas is at home." Haha. Also, Roman's hood falling down was hilarious??

Okay, screw it, I'm pushing this. Virgil did learn last episode that repressing problems isn't the way to deal with them. But I feel like Deceit would also keep pressing for them to acknowledge why he feels bad? Also, Thomas's face, wow, discomfort. 

I don't get the "Thomas in the movie" joke, it's a snowflake? "Or neutral." Burn! "This weird ice cutting song." Man, where's the Critic? "Externalization" he had a little smile, guys. 

Some Logan vs. Patton tension AND some Logan vs. Roman tension. "Fear will be your enemy." Virgil looked at, Thomas, I think? Damn guys, this might actually be Virgil. 

Okay I watched this four times, Virgil and Logan do not shout Joan. And Thomas does it sadly afterwards. "Passage of time," This might actually be Virgil! 

I just choked! Oh my gosh, you guys, he is naked my throat hurts from not screaming. I'm having trouble getting over this. This cannot be a shock to anyone, but I want to hear him say "I sleep in the buff" several thousand more times. 

"Did I screw everything up" oooh, I was wrong, it's Virgil, but who cares, buff. Thomas is looking at his phone, is it not too late for callback? 

WOAH going right for Patton's throat! Ahaha, the tallies were hysterical. 

"Why have a ballroom with no balls?" "*snrk*" Don't lie, Thomas, that's hysterical. 

Patton's sadness and "without trust issues" hmmm. Shut out [her] whole life, is this supposed to be a comparison to anyone? Logan's "hey, yeah!" Is oddly hilarious. 

Is the "he" that Virgil's talking about the director? "Well she really shouldn't be letting go of anymore of her clothing." Oh my gosh. 

Oh, today is April 13th! The wedding is at night, so is he already missing the callback? ICE TOILET!  Remus, my god. Also, just noting, minus hair and makeup, this is some easy Remus-ing for the crew. They didn't have to deal with the whole outfit. 

Good point, Logan! This is not how Roman shows affection! Especially towards Disney! You guys, what if Roman is Deceit?... No, he hasn't been pushing the callback enough. But like. Beast/Prince symbolism? Hm. I'm watching him. 

Wait, what the hell party? I, I'm confused, wait he's telling Thomas's friends? That doesn't sound like he's going to the wedding? Who is "he"? If he were missing the wedding, it'd be him talking about Lee and Mary Lee.

Unless he sent someone else to the wedding in his stead? So he could go to the callback? Did he send Deceit? That's. Unlikely. But misrepresenting his side? Idk idk. 

"If he lied on purpose." MUSIC! Wait what's this about unsympathetic judgemental jerk? Who are they talking about??? This had better be revealed at the end. I went back, judgemental jerk used twice, and combative compatriot sounds like Deceit, what other "he" is there, but the Sides can't be seen by others, so????????

The music is still going. Rico? Oh, is that the answer? So is this unrelated to the wedding/callback? Okay, party isn't wedding. That was also an incredible act of breath control from Thomas. Standing ovation, dude. 

Oooh, the grounding thing! Ice machine! Ice machine is one of my favorite Shorts characters, guys, I love him, he a loud boy. "Deodorant" *excited noise*... oh, no that's fine. 

But I mean. Couldn't he do something now? Call or text an apology? Logan "have I mentioned that you called me cool yet" Sanders. Long ice powers list. 

I just realized that the voting hat was Deceit's! I- oh, he's just literally off-screen. I'm. Fairly certain that I was wrong now, yes. Virgil hissy. Ha, they didn't want to do Deceit's makeup. Understandable. Oh, is this the animation thing? 

"Love is an open wound" ooooh, nice. That was actually a cool re-write. In the buff. Is Thomas legit writing fanfiction now? 

I do not like the holiday season, I'm Scrooge. I do love Joan, though! DARK SIDE SWEATERS I would legitimately never wear them. Ever. Because X-mas. But eyeballs and demons. 

Logan angst is still incoming. 

So, it was tied to the main narrative, but… Virgil wasn't addressed? So, is it just loosely tied, but not necessarily sequentially? It's real cute seeing them all hanging out together like on everyone's fanfics, and that had to be crazy to edit. And hey, the Frozen stuff was better with commentary. But I'm still waiting on SvS part two, I think. And post-DWIT "fallout," but I did really enjoy all of them together being (relatively) cute. 

Sorry for being really focused on one theory. And, really, it's not like I'm disappointed with the episode. In and of itself, I liked it. It's just that I was expecting a direct continuation of the last two episodes, which this was not. And that's fine! I just, I hope we get that continuation. Like Thomas said, narrative has been building up for certain things, and they've been waiting on other aspects for a long time, so I'm sure they're even more excited to show them to us as we are to watch them. And have I mentioned editing? Must have been some job to do all that. Really great. 

[thestudyfeels]

How To NOT Be Depressed.

(Or If You Prefer — How to Be Substantially Happy About Life.) 

WARNING: This is one rollercoaster ride of a post. Proceed with extreme caution. For some, the staggering levels of insight may induce true purpose and re-establish their warrior spirit. For others, side effects may include grammatically incorrect hate or aloof eyerolls. We advise exiting if the said group includes you, for we're very tired of cleaning vomit off the seats.

Step aboard at your own risk.

If you’re one of the brave souls who stayed back to join us, I congratulate you for even I am scared of how crazy this post truly is. Alrighty then, kick back and relax folks, today we’re having a mature, adult conversation. Merely another cheery afternoon spent talking about life and its realities. Not too bad, eh?

Before we begin, spoiler alert! For those of you already turned off by the mention of 'depression’ and packing their bunnies to leave, sit tight. This ISN'T really about depression. This is about HAPPINESS. No clickbait. That got your attention, right butterfly? Nice, now stay.

A welcoming, maybe demanding A/N: Do me a favor and read this in one go. Maybe even plug in those headphones and listen to the songs dedicated to each part as you read. It's long, you have the new Riverdale episode to catch up on, but don't hop away just yet because (I had a couple moments writing this, alright) it's life changing. You'll prolly cry a few tears of realization, nod all nod-able body parts in agreement, beat your chest at random instants 'cause the hype’s too real, and perhaps, if it isn’t too much to hope for, finally go change your life for the better. In case you've forgotten, this'll remind you that there’s always hope, that you're a born conqueror, and you were made to THRIVE, not survive. Convinced? Kay, roll the cams.

   To clarify first-hand, no, I'm not depressed although I’ve experienced mild depression for a period before. Glad to say I'm out of it but I still struggle with tackling what I'm about to detail next.

Insert bitter voice, it’s this: My life is nowhere near I want it to be. Though I know vaguely what I wanna do, I haven't yet figured out how the hell I’m supposed to get there, or how my dream life is to be sketched out. It’s all a blurry mess. Which, to put it bluntly, hurts. I HATE feeling powerless and worthless, roaming about aimlessly.

There are many such moments where I hit the brakes to wonder why I’m not living THE Life already. There have been several times when I curl up and cry a frickin’ Amazon. There are horrible nights where I'm shaking with emotions, but they won't release, leaving me choked. (…not in that way, you hoes. Um, just ruined the dramatic mood with a lame dirty joke, sorry.)

   They say talking helps and that's why I figured I'd drop in. But perhaps more importantly, I wanted to hang because no matter how unfocused the lens may seem at my future, I don't consider myself a dopey loser incapable of the crazy dreams or wild bucket lists I fantasize about– and I thought I'd skip along to remind you that neither should you. (Or maybe I just came to sniff the new appetizers, who knows?)

PS: I also broke a sweat listing six ways to get outta depression– alternatively, to be more of a conqueror– because y'all are always pestering me with asks that go “how do I conquer omg send supplies” (Like, imagine a conqueror saying that! Oh, the crime, the atrocity!)

So yes, you're welcome. Have a feast with this litness.  

The main reason behind people being so frightfully sad, I’ve found, is a huge lack of fulfillment. We don't do what we love, for either— [ 1 ] we aren’t living life the way we want to (since we keep doing things we feel we're supposed to do) OR [ 2 ] because Mama, Papa and Mrs. Carter next door feel that struggling is the only way, and project their traditional beliefs onto us. Either way, whether or not we consciously realize this, subconsciously, we're all hurting because of it. Badly.

That lingering feeling of emptiness never seems to leave. You feel drained every night when you drop into bed, not because you gave it your all, but because you couldn't. And so, we do the next best thing. Drugs. Maybe not literally, but figuratively. We numb out this subconscious pain by binge watching Netflix shows. We deaden ourselves to that discomfort by reading smut in the bathroom or by playing dumb video games all day. We try (and fail) to extinguish this feeling of not ‘being enough’ by having silly flings or fake friendships.

And ultimately, we NUMB ourselves out to LIFE for we can't bear to live the way we're living. There's a reason why “How to Stop Procrastinating” posts are so popular (they’re a blogger’s most foolproof way of paying the month’s rent, and yes, even I'm guilty of a couple). We’re constantly having FOMO and tuning into others' highlights on social media– completely missing out on our own lives in the process. We fail to realize that the culprit is lack of genuine purpose more than zero self-control (or maybe it’s both, but that’s a tale for another day).

[On a side note, obviously I did generalize a bit– video games can be a passion for you, watching shows a way of winding down. But for most, they’re only DISTRACTIONS, just another way of ignoring the calls of life by hanging up the phone.]

   And here's the bitter truth about depression: The longer you wait to start living authentically, the more you start tuning out the inner cries wanting change, the faster your dreams start to ebb away, and the more you'll want to become insignificant. And to me, that's the scariest part of this journey to my dream life.

Nothing frightens me more than knowing that the moment I stop pushing, the very moment I give in to distractions and fears, my goals will stop manifesting themselves and I'll be stuck in this small town with its small people eternally. And THAT, I'm certain, won't be any more fun than working your way through a soggy ham sandwich, ironic as soggy is what life has become. (Yes, I have a thing against soggy sandwiches. They were a kid's worst lunch nightmare.)

   If you relate, and I’m sure you do (it’s probably why you stopped scrolling through cheesy fanfic for ten minutes to read this, I know you amigo) — here are six ways to NOT be depressed. Or more accurately, to gift wrap yourself some sweet ol’ happiness.

You're a Samurai and the Following Be Your Katanas —

Hol’ up. The second you reach the End Card, I want you to drop your Cheerios and implement at least THREE of these six strategies. Just follow the Takeaways, I've made this really simple. And as a rule, one of them has to be this one. (Look, don't whine. If you wanna climb outta that dark hole, you gotta put in some effort. So pop that booty, and let’s get down to business!)

Here’s the most truthful, though cheesy thing I’ll ever say: I would be nowhere I am today without this blog. If not for it, I would most likely be weeping in a dug-out hole somewhere, drowning in my salty little pond of tears and chiming every loser’s favorite words (“there's no point”). Creating this blog gave me a definite purpose – putting out fiery content, dipping myself deep into my newly found passion for writing and influencing, and connecting with other conquerors on the platform.  

I meet a lot of folks, whether at Sad School, Mouldy Mall, or Boring Bus stop, who always seem to be in a state of death-inducing boredom. When asked about their favorite thing to do, they’ll mumble “sleep” or “food” like Siri narrating your cat’s evening routine. And then you see adults, dragging through life mindlessly. Utterly clueless, floating like a piece of driftwood in an ocean bubbling with life. My sympathy quota gets overdosed everytime I think about it.

   To spell it out, find something to do. Anything! Learn a language, try some ballet, take pictures of your neighbor's rose garden, make an art piece and show it to your mom, stitch buttons onto shirts for fun, heck, make an entire shirt out of buttons, take a break from reading smut to write your own, frutify your farts, WHATEVER, just get up and move.

And here’s why – nay, not to keep you engaged or make you feel less worthless, not that bullcrap. It’s to put in gear the journey of figuring out what is the shite that you love doing. Too often we get stuck thinking about what our oh-so-great passion is. Get this, passion is energy. A spark for something. A magical fortune cookie which, when cracked, seems to explain everything, gives you the very reason for being alive. You can only feel that fire, that wild love, when you actually do it. So get cracking is all I’ll say!

Takeaway:

Attempt something. Nah, scratch that, imagine you’re in a sweet shop with shelves lined with free samples and try everything. Pick up that Polaroid cam, take that dreaded history course, buy that children’s cooking kit– in short, start working. Pull out all the stops, get curious, and get creative. In the process, if you promise to try hard enough, you WILL (money back guarantee) find out what makes your little heart burst with mad happiness and would willingly do for free, if needed, because you really are that crazy about it. And that, my dear, will be your oh-so-great-indeed passion. Have no doubt, you’ll never be “bored” again.

Real talk, having a dream is a big deal. And unfortunately, I’ve witnessed, rarely anyone has one to begin with. They’re either more dead than the cheap skeleton I bought for Halloween or believe they have a dream, but in reality, it belongs to mom, dad, or Uncle Sammy. Listen, doing something for someone you love (my Uncle Sammy used to supply me with cold cash whenever he came around, loved that guy) is great! YET, if you’re willing to throw away your life to fulfill others’ expectations, convincing yourself it's because they love you, even when YOUR lonely heart craves bigger things than just a marketing job, then you, my friend? Are the biggest fool. Don’t get offended, we both know it, this girl needn't ramble.

Recently, my relatives were over (nope, sadly not Uncle Sammy) and my cousin and I had a chat about life (correct, I grab every opportunity to do so). It wasn't very exciting I must say, he kept staring off into the distance (I wonder why), but what he SAID is what I'll talk about. After I’d gushed about my dreams, he asked skeptically if being an influencer would still be an ambition two years from now when I graduate. I raised my eyebrows, mock hurt, like eff you son, I ain’t giving up on my dreams! But that question got me thinking.

Life is wild. Unpredictable. An unexpected call, a single person, a random BLOG POST (cough) – can turn your life upside down, sometimes in the affirmative, other times not. This variability of life isn’t uncommon, and everyone experiences some part of it– unpaid student loans, failing startups, talent and art going unnoticed in industries dominated by wealth and connections, you name it. If all of that doesn’t make you run for the Himalayas and abandon any dreams, throw in a quick side dish of dysfunctionale famiglia with a sprinkle of self-image issues.

It ain’t easy, darling. The world is one cruel headmistress; it loves slapping awake the daydreamers and wishful thinkers. That hasn't ever actually stopped the dropouts and class clowns from building castles in the air though. And the common blueprint you notice they follow? Let me introduce you to…  Madness. Obsession. Maniacal obsession, to say. (Yes, I'm done playing with my words.)

   I struggled writing this point. A pestering voice in my head kept mumbling – They'll go back to doing the same sad shit anyway. Um, does anyone even read your posts? Lol, call yourself an influencer, hun. Hesitation started creeping in. Then the irony of the situation struck me. I laughed, shook my head and got back to typing.

We ran out of juicy gossip weeks ago, so here’s your tea served cold: insecurities and self doubt WILL get in the way. That whiny voice was just a mild version of what you face when you go all in. Fear traps you in its cage, and those who prattled behind your back now progress to talking shit in your face. Criticism and self doubt resurfaces, so unless your defenses are strong, you'll be crushed. Destroyed REAL quick.

When hell breaks loose (oh honey, and it WILL), your self defense comprising of maniacal obsession must be well learnt. Let them attack, mock, heck, drag you away from the desk and hurl you at the top of a damn mountain, but you better STILL hike back down, show them the middle finger, and continue working. That's how bulletproof you've gotta be. That's how madly do you have to love your dreams. And if you really think this will be a cake walk or want to continue complaining about Stuart being born with a silver spoon, hop off the train already. Your destination isn't on the tour list.

Look, my dreams terrify me. But they certainly make me feel more alive than complying with what every parent said about getting good grades and holding together a roof on my head. My ambitions set me free, give me a reason to fucking live. And yet, every now and then, something makes me question them. A fear engulfs me, some doubter proclaims I suck, someone I love is so blinded they can't see my vision. And that's okay. My defenses are way stronger. The next day rolls round, and you'll find me hustling again, thriving again. All because I know that even if no one reads my posts (the worst case scenario, I know y'all love me lol), someday in the future, someone will. I know that even if I’m not an influencer yet, if just one reader becomes a conqueror because of my words, it would be a win. A big win. I'd have done my job. All because I’m wildly, yes maniacally, obsessed with my dreams.

So hey, cousin? This influencer thing? This will be my dream long after I've graduated. Till the day I die, and maybe even then I'll rise from my grave to give a dead pal a lively pep talk. My watchtower has just been upgraded, so thank u, next.

Takeaway: 

“General, we've arrived!” Finally! Position those cannons, Martha, let’s talk them through the defenses. All aboard? AHOY MATEY! (wait, that was one for the pirates). Step one, dare to create a dream in your mind’s eye. The bigger, the crazier, and the scarier, the better. Doesn’t matter how impossible it is, don’t care how many voice their opinion against it, just imagine, keep a million possibilities in mind.

Once you see the life you truly want (you’ll know, everything will seem to zing)— have a sip. Become OBSESSED for that life. Thirst after that vision, itch to manifest it, and pine for the satisfaction that’ll come to your soul once it’s made a reality. Fall madly in love with the process and how magical it feel when you do it. And THEN, bellow a loud war cry and charge headfirst into battle, shields held high at all the criticisms. We conquerors never cared much for them anyway.

(play ♬) Picture this: forehead stamped with beads of sweat. Calloused hands working their fingers to the bone and eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration. Conjure an image where powerful beats are pulsing hard in your ears, synced with your own elevated heartbeats, and you’re thriving. Performing. Winning. Guess the secret to that? Preparation. Champions prepare. You can’t throw anything to the winds or rely on ‘luck’ or chance to conquer.

Tough days are in everyone’s calendar, be it your extra cheerful neighbor, Sally, or lone wolf classmate, Derrick. We’ve all found ourselves sulking over an awful situation, scooping into mint ice cream to forget mistakes, errands, and ghosting exes. Yet guess what? The solution isn’t the proclaimed “be positive!” or “It all happens for a reason, don’t you worry” - the key is coming up with a method to dodge the discouraging effect these hiccups have on us.   

So every bad day, I bring out a mason jar containing a knot of chits and one secret letter which is, on most days, kept hidden on the top shelf of my cupboard. I make myself comfortable on the bed, read all my bits of paper carefully, including the letter addressed to yours truly, close my eyes, and mentally fight back whatever’s bringing me down.

A short while later, I get up, now a warrior, and go slay the rest of the day like it was my last one on this planet. That jar is my jar. A Conqueror’s jar. One look at those powerful reminders, and I’m grounded once again, the beast within me now unleashed to kill.

Takeaway:

Honey, go get yourself a jar. Along with some papyrus and ink. Then start jotting down. Document past victories, future visions, fears that mean zilch to the person you’re about to become, batty goals you’ve still gotta chase, reminders that the majority will never understand what it is you’re tryna do here, and how that’s perfectly alright 'cause you'll find your conquerors, your squad one day. Create your victory jar. And then go knock ‘em down dead. Bad days stand no chance against you. You’re a winner, a fucking rebel. Go take what’s yours.

Y’know, I’m perfectly aware that many muggles reading this will whine that dealing with depression ain’t no piece o’ pie and it’s hella hard to get up and take the crown when you feel like a pile of dino dung.

Stop it. Get some help. (See what I did? Like Michael- ok ok, calm thyself.) For real though, and I’m tired of repeating this with my kitten stamped microphone (but I’ll keep at it ‘cause it’s that significant) – whining is WORTHLESS. It saps up precious energy that could be used to make life a scrumptious smoothie. (Loothie? As in life + smoothie? Right, yes, I’m shutting up.)

And even THEN, we find denizens complaining about slow WiFis and thin crust pizzas and how the market’s down and the government’s incompetent. Because blabbering makes us feel important. Heard. But keeping yo’ trap shut and actually doing stuff? Hustling for your dreams when nobody’s watching? Actually walking the talk? C’mon, Emma, don't be naive, ain’t nobody getting recognition for that.

Trust me, I get it. The world is yet to become a feminist, turns out your boyfriend was cheating on you while you were looking up wedding dresses, mommy’s a drunk loser, and idiots are being voted into office. It’s a lot to handle. But thanks to our immense and ever increasing population (we folks really love our rumpy pumpy, can you tell) — there will surely be one chum, facing exactly the same misfortunes as you, but still turning up at every party and bulk-spamming his friends with puppy pictures while you sit and wail. (One Moaning Myrtle is enough, thank you very much.)

Look, I’m not undermining your worries or obstacles. I’m only reminding that you have the marvelous choice of positivity. To CHOOSE hope and a better future when others won't. To FIND (and it's always possible) something to look forward to even when the to-do’s a big snore. To KNOW, deep inside, that you're a magnificent conqueror, no matter what mess you’re in at the moment, and that the world dances to your rhythm. Realise that it's up to you to let yourself be happy. At any moment, you have the very say-so to get up and start rocking. Dumbledore said it himself, “It is our choices, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities.” So choose better, and you’ll unconsciously do better as well. And yes, that being said, this is the last HP reference, don't fret. Be positive instead. (Edit: Ha, look at these quips, the girl's all grown up now.)

Takeaway: 

Your new occupation is to be a sunflower. If you think back, you'll probably recall Miss Honey rattling on about phototropic movement in AP biology. No? Me neither. Point is, sunflowers always face the sun. Put them ANYWHERE, hide them in the dungeons, throw them in a trash bag and shoot it off to the moon, they’ll still turn around and face the sun. No matter what. And taking inspo from that, you too can stop scripting creative soliloquies for being depressed. Happiness is YOUR right, YOUR priority, don't let anyone take it away from you or diminish its importance. DON’T let sadness ruin your vibe, do what you've gotta do to protect yourself. Track happiness in yo’ journal, set 84 reminders on your phone, and tattoo “Long as you’re beaming up at the sun, all the shadows will be left behind” on your boobs. Do whatever, just don’t turn the corners of your mouth down. You’re so pretty this way.

The other day, I was doing the deathly Plié Alternative Heel Lifts (these names, I swear) and my legs felt dead. Gone. Put to sleep like the Wicked Witch of the East. Now obviously, the timer wasn’t not even halfway done yet, but my cheeks were already flushing red like dear Santa, and NOT because I was high on choco chip cookies. I sighed, and at that point, I was so over giving up. All this while, I’d been whining and protesting because my muscles felt sore, but in that moment, I made up my mind. I bit my lip and kept going. On and on. Keep pulsing, you got it, don't stop, was the mantra I kept chanting.

   Won’t sugarcoat it, I honestly hadn’t died this much since that time Miss Honey buried me alive with trig assignments. My legs were now basically Play-doh and I was shaking, fighting for balance. A few seconds in though, something crazy happened. My legs went numb. My grumbling mind quietened and the pain vanished. That evening, I had the upper hand, not my physical perceptions of myself. I was powerful. Flawless. (Hey Santa, do you even lift bro?) Real talk, I was in the Zone, bitches.

I’m not sure if that was the result of excessive pain or because Wonder Woman’s spirit possessed ma bod, but staying loyal to my love for metaphors, I’ll use the experience to explain what I’m tryna get at here.

   Look, here’s the real deal — if all of the greats gave up the second things got frowny, we probably would have no one to worship. Nix role models, nix inspirations, none to stalk on Insta - we’d all be bumbling about like Sad from the even sadder Emoji movie (no shade, emojis be lit).

And that'd be very sad (pun definitely intended). Hence, cue some tangible ways to boosting your grit, so that you can be your own superhero:

1) Get yo’self a goddamn motto,

2) Know your “Why,”

3) Repeat the cycle till it’s in your blood. Btw, Shawn, if you here, I’m still a single pringl—HEY PAL I SEE YOU, DON'T SCROLL.

Seriously, don't brush these prime steps aside. We're always going for the advanced modes, and deeming these basic levels a waste of time. Well guess what, compadre, YOUR LIFE IS A GODDAMN WASTE O’ TIME IF YOU DON'T HAVE YOUR BASICS RIGHT. Excuse my outburst, but listen. You can’t do a hundred bicep curls on your first workout if you haven't lifted anything more than a crisps packet. Likewise, if you simply jump into Life one day, and decide “ok, here it is, 12 habits to build, sleep schedule to fix, man to ask out, let's go,” you ain't getting nowhere, chum. Start small. Take baby steps. It's clearly not as fun (definitely negates the bragging on Facebook part of it) but it'll stick. You’ll create a consistency that not even Grandma's cake batter can achieve.

1. Talking mottos — For context, a motto that I always mutter (my mom thinks I'm cursing, oh what a bad child) every time I spill milk while making coffee is “Do more. Give more. BE more.” Not only does it help me stay right on track for the rest of the day but it helps me clean up my mess, figuratively and otherwise, or I’d just be sitting in a puddle of spilt milk, cursing adulting for real this time and with more laundry to do.

2. Why you need the Big Why — Owning up, I’m guilty of attempting to learn Welsh for less than 48 hours because I hadn't a single reason to speak the language. A similar thing happened with half of my 2018 resolutions, which had a bunch of rubbish like “Floss daily”, something my eyes got trained to skip because, um, who the hell flosses every day?

Lame humor aside, I still workout almost daily because I have my Why straight. 1) I want to feel good about my body and get closer to the confident badass I envision my future self to be, 2) I simply HAVE to sustain my health to live to build my legacy and fulfill my dreams of opening a bakery at 90 and 3) Because I’m an influencer, and want to walk my talk and be the inspiration people need. Those are the reasons as to why I turn up to my yoga mat everyday, shut my jabbering mind, and keep on pulsing. This “Why” strategy applies to everything. Wanna get outta depression? Why? Wanna lose 20 pounds? Why? Wanna listen to your dentist’s desperate pleadings and floss already? WHY EH? Unless you know your intentions, you’ll give up at the first chance you get to not act on your goals. And watch out, because there'll be a LOT of those.

For me, leaving a legacy behind means more than having a slice of cake or missing a workout because there’s a fun movie playing. Find what's important to YOU, make it your why, and go marry your goals.

3. And then, Repeat — Bear in mind, if you're not living your best life yet, there are NO weekends. NO work-shy days. No weak days, no pick-me-up days, no eat-candy-do-nothing days. Everyday is a damn Monday. EVERYDAY is life or death. Every holy day you wake up is a chance to push your limits, challenge your mindset, and see how far you can go. And every 24 hours, when the cycle starts again, it’s your mission to race to build a stronger, wiser and crazier you.

And who knows, perhaps one day, you and I will just be casually sipping tea in our dream home, laughing at how the milk is still being spilt but knowing, proudly, fiercely, that we’ve come so far, even though there’s still more left to do, more to give and so much more to be.

Takeaway: 

Quit quitting. You're, guaranteed, 20x stronger than you think. I doubted I could go through with the workout, it seemed beyond my present physical capabilities. But I did, because I treated it as life or death. Understand this, the second you start making excuses, for being depressed, for taking an unnecessary day off - you give away your power. You are a very powerful being. You're limitless, capable of everything.

I'm not throwing these words around to make you feel cute, I actually mean AND believe them. There’s so much that's been done already— the iconic four minute mile by Roger Bannister, invention of the light bulb, cars, toothpaste and other junk, people who lost both legs and climbed Mt. Everest, we sent a man to moon in frickin’ 1969 (50 YEARS ago), some ran a 26 mile marathon with zero training, love and hope is still strong in this world, oh let's also add coffee and motivational music— and YOU think you can't finish a workout or get outta depression or meet your idols or marry the man of your dreams or become the artist you wanna be? Ridiculous. Don't give away your power that easily, this ain't no charity shop.

(play ♬) Having personally dealt with unwelcome yet familiar feelings of emptiness quite often, I’ve now reached a point where each bad day is simply a reminder of how long my journey ahead is, and just how badly I want to reach my destination.

We finally near the end of this novel of a post (thanks for sticking around, bud), and my best advice would be this: Rather than wallowing in self pity and throwing one-man parties because your life is so awfully dreadful, know that even when life throws you to the floor, long as you can look up, long as you can read an entire book about defeating depression (cough)– you can GET UP too. Let those emotions of sorrow and frustration blaze up into a roaring, crackling fire that doesn’t consume you, but instead, urges you, fuels you.

Lately, no matter how much shit I go through, how many arguments I tumble into, or how barren my dreams look sometimes, I don’t break down. And no, it wasn't always like this. I never even had aspirations to name two years ago. Six months back, it had become a night routine to cry. Not anymore.

Now, every setback and every failure only pushes me to be stronger and give more than I ever gave. The day I made the decision to Conquer (truly, madly, deeply, with all of my heart) was also the day I said a big, loud ‘fuck you’ to every resistance that was to cross my path. I had finally understood that life was nothing but a battle of WILLS, that it was all in or nothing, and I made up my mind once and for all to NEVER give in to depression, or to society, or to anyone who tells me I cannot make it.

I had conquered depression. There was no looking back now.

Takeaway: 

Here’s something no one will tell you: the key to bringing depression to its knees is seeing it positively. Pretend that it's a friend continuously sending strong, aggressive signals urging you to be happy. And what do you do when a caring friend throws some holy light? You listen, push past your ego, and follow accordingly.

And if that parallel seems unconvincing, here's another one (sup, DJ Khaled. This post is turning musical, sorry): it's scared of you. Depression is scared shit of you. Y'know how bullies are, right? Majorly insecure, self-loathing too perhaps, hardly fans of self love, and always trying to numb all that subconscious pain by inflicting pain on others. Depression has the same instruction manual. Your fears and doubts are your (pathetic) bullies, and depression is the big ol’ crony who does the dirty work for 'em.

Whenever you decide shit this is it, I'm going for it, they go paranoid and try stopping you because they've seen no better. And if they succeed, BOOM, you're depressed, paralyzed, your qualms reigning over you again. Don't let them in. I'll say it a thousand times if I gotta because I want (HAVE) to see you conquer – you're so much stronger than you think you are. You can do so much more than you think. It's all in your head! Don't just sit there, click away, and go back to living a sad life. You’re better than that. DO better than that. You’re meant to freaking CONQUER, straight-up dominate, my pal. Pay heed to that voice craving freedom. You got this. And you better know it.

One thing’s fixed like the (beloved by all) proportionality constants in Physics, you will come across depressing mornings and sluggish evenings even in the future. I assure you. Lots o’ bad hair days in the calendar, sis. But here's what you’ll do: you'll deactivate the miserable thoughts, keep a cool head, remind yourself that this is yet another test (better, rap your new mantra) and USE that hurt, pain, and anger to create a fervor and passion that wreaks havoc on its obstacles and drives you to accomplish EVERYTHING you've ever wanted to do. The easy choice would be to just give up, bellyache about the situation, and want sympathy for your worries. Yet, what you'll never do is… exactly that.

Rule 1) NEVER give up. Stand your ground. Have faith in your strength. Know that you'll have your way soon enough anyway. Rule 2) NEVER complain. All it does is drain your energy, that precious fire you could to high jump your way into the clouds. Makes you a pathetic wimp too, definitely not something you want on a warrior’s resume. Lastly, Rule 3) NEVER seek validation. From anyone. It sure feels nice to be acknowledged and encouraged, but grasp this— this is your journey. YOUR life and YOUR vision. Validation won't get you anywhere, for there'll never be enough of it.

Cuz Marty, if you're tryna bring something new, different, and authentic into this world – you'll most likely be hated on badly, before you'll be loved madly (hi, me a rapper). Learn to invite hate instead—IMPORTANT: hate from others, not yourself. Sounds counterintuitive, but this is the real tea: hate is good. It means you're standing up for something, refusing to fit like a puzzle piece in society, and being UNAPOLOGETICALLY yourself. And it’s certainly a sign that you’re on the right path if you can ignore that hate and stick your tongue out at it.  

Yet another reason to never seek validation is simply this: you have to fight for yourself. In order to meet your own expectations, reach the doorstep of the best version of you, and transform this world, you'll have to go wildly IN. Toil and hammer away. Shut out all the haters and non-believers, listening only to your gut. Importantly, learn to accept the rejection slips, validating yourself not with what Molly says about it being okay, but with the reminder that your time is coming soon. Depend on yourself. Validation will NEVER be enough.

I get it, it's a lot of homework, but perhaps you already realize that it’s THIS work that'll change your life forever. Not “how to not procrastinate, Jesus take the wheel” or “HELLO, life's a mess so here are ten things to do (you won't believe number four!)”. Clickbaits don't work, stop believing that a fancy planner is going to be your savior. There is no rule to making your life a masterpiece. You'll have to get to know yourself and your dreams (journaling, meditation, silent pondering), build the work ethics and the mentality needed (lots of work in this one, yet no strict framework to go about it) and GET GOING.

AND with that firework, I'll begin to slip away now. Again, I won’t say it’s easy, that’s cock and bull. Life’s no fairytale. You will never feel ready to start bringing your dreams to fruition. But, my darling (I’m being so nice yo, follow me), you must. You must force yourself to work for the future you want till it becomes a habit, an obsession. The world badly needs heroes; confident people who can stand for themselves so that others can stare at first, maybe even hate a little, but then follow because they seem unstoppable and are, truthfully, having the most fun at life. YOU'RE one of them. No validation, just plain facts.

You see, conquering is a LOT of blood and sweat (K-pop, anyone? BTS? Lmao, this is me tryna clickbait y'all to read). Even getting up will seem huge when you're just starting out, and this is one long road, dear pal. Still then, I have enough faith in you to hope you don't give into your fears, I hope you willingly chase discomfort, and I hope you find the courage to do all that you want to do, while that heart's still beating.

I hope you conquer. I'll do too, and I'd really like to see some familiar faces during the ride.

Peace, amigo.

A loud ass A/N: And now, we come the most important part of this post. WAKE UP Luke, stop snoring, and take some notes. Remember kids, I won't accept anything but an A.

   If you couldn’t identify yourself throughout this post and currently are scoffing like um woman, that's not really why I'm depressed, hang in there a sec. Yes, you can stop singing It Ain’t Me now. You've a very nice voice by the way.

I'm not a doctor, and I don't have enough exposure to know why so many earthlings are depressed today. HOWEVER, by talking to many, following their stories, watching and reading stuff – I do know with firm conviction that a majority suffers from severe unfulfillment. Don't believe me? A study shows 85% of the working class worldwide hate their jobs. Do you realize what that actually means? EIGHTY-FIVE PERCENT of the THREE BILLION PEOPLE employed today, hate being employed in the first place! They do it for prime survival, to sustain themselves. And that's just jobs. I won't scare you, but 50% (yes, HALF, you heard that right) of students HATE going to school. Kids waste SEVEN hours of their life every day going somewhere they dislike, doing something they hate. Who's singing now?

People find themselves trapped in golden handcuffs, taking the paycheck despite the passionless job. They push aside the art and business they love, to become a slave of good ol’ cash. Several surround themselves with negativity and get frustrated when unable to escape the choking (no, not THAT kind again, hello someone pour holy water over this post) atmosphere. An innumerable are forced into taking up courses that they don't care about under parental pressure. The reasons are endless, and I don't think I'll amuse myself listing all the sad excuses.

This has always been the story. Hundreds of influencers have preached the same words I’m tryna put into your head here and you’ll yourself say you’ve heard this a million times. YET, you’re dissatisfied. YET, you feel like crap everyday, feeding yourself the same lie that the next day will be better, that you’ll get up tomorrow– while you let life beat the shit out of you.

That’s why, all of my words, everything you’ve read today - all of that boils down to just one single question. A difficult but necessary choice. Will you let this happen to YOU? Will you, seriously, even after this wild ride together, go back to doing nothing and being nothing? Will you, for real, continue deceiving yourself, sacrifice your happiness for the sake of pleasing everyone else, and remain a statistic on a website?

   (play ♬) If you’re not sure of your answer, read: Look, making you feel guilty is not my intention, because that’s not how this works. I need you to understand instead. Guilt wears off, it’s only understanding that brings about change. So, just for old times’ sake, I’ll rant a bit more (ik, just can’t seem to leave y’all).

You’re so, so young right now. More than half of your life is yet to be experienced. None of this probably makes much impact right now but it will the day you die. Remember, on your deathbed, you won't EVER look back and say, “Damn, wish I'd spent more time at the office. Saved up just one more dollar. Could’ve got that promotion before Amy.” Nay, it won’t even be on the calendar. That day, one foot in the grave, you'll reflect and wonder why the heck you didn’t let yourself be happier. Why you took up that lacklustre, soul-sucking architect job when all you've ever wanted to do is keep laughing. Why you didn't ask your crush out, why you were so afraid to walk up to that audition, because dammit, you could’ve been running your own comedy show by now. Why you dragged around a karaoke machine all this time instead of singing your own song. Why you couldn’t love yourself. Why you submitted. Why.

And the moment you realize that you hadn't lived a life for you, you’ll be crushed. Broken. The arthritis in your grannie joints won't even compare and neither will the mild dissatisfaction you’re feeling right now. Those whys will haunt you, they'll terrorize you, break you. It'll hurt tremendously to know that there isn't a single thing in your long life that you could call completely your own.

 With every death today so many dreams are left unachieved, crazy things left unchecked on the bucket list, and unique potential left unexpressed.

DON'T let that be you. Please. I'm still a mess myself, struggling to reach class on time and studying subjects that aren't exactly fun, when all I want to do is create content (read: fireworks) that is at a level of insanity, influence folks to do better, hold crazy world tours and meet-and-greets to give hugs, and get an adorable puppy so I can create a dogstagram (yes, I'm that mom). Sure, I could declare it's too hard, hang onto small-minded and negative people who whine endlessly, and follow the crowd, getting lost in it, with ease.

But I won’t because I can’t take the burden of those regrets. That painful unrest and discontent that nothing could cure, not drugs, alcohol, buddies, not even true love. For then I’d be just another drone, my controller in the hands of society, forcing me to see the world through its eyes. I can’t give in because I’m scared, terrified even, of wasting away this one life doing the bidding of others- folks who won't even notice when I’m gone.

It’s easy to be depressed and crib your entire life. It’s easy to think you’re worthless and that trying is pointless since nothing ever goes your way.

But perhaps, if you rise, if you simply DECIDE to have the audacity to fight for what you believe in, if you work and focus on becoming better, things will go your way. Life will bend to you, in awe, at your incredible relentlessness. Life will take one look at you, wonder who the fuck is this person? How the fuck are they so incapable of giving up? And back right away. And then perhaps, life will be such a blast for you that depression would become the past you never had.

   I know you can get there, conqueror. It’s time you knew it too.

🌚🌝 Further reading? 🌝🌚

Last Post :— How To Get Back Into The Creative Process – For you, if you're in a creative rut. Get outta it and go create magic!

5 Reasons Why You're Unhappy — To help you identify & cut out CURRENT sources of sadness so that you can spice up yo’ life with some happiness instead. Definitely recommend reading AND implementing.

The Bubble Trap & How To Get Out Of It — One of my classics. Everyone is in one of these 'bubbles’ till they consciously do something about it; that's just how it is. Are you still in one? (Someone teach me marketing, lmao.)

The 5 Biggest Regrets of The Dying (from Greatist) — I LOVED reading this. Pretty much all you need to cut the crap and do meaningful stuff. Read it, memorize it, work it.

++ Want to request a blog post? Leave your request in my ask box! I'll get back to you with a reply, along with the average time I'll need to birth that magical idea.

Thanks for dropping by! It was a pleasure to have you around. If you wish to stick for a bit, I'd suggest picking one of the related posts mentioned above.

If you wanna check out my blog, here's a little something about me (y'all know I love the attention). What do I write about? Three arenas I dominate, Work, Lifestyle and Life, they are, my mate! Take your pick!

I post new blog posts bi-weekly, and my wins, & journal entries throughout the week, so follow me if you're into conquering life, leaving a legacy and being the baddest badass you can possibly be. I'll be your side pal, cheering you along.✨

And that was it, it's a wrap! Martha, shut the cams, Henry, pause the audio, and Nandita, I know you're pretending to be deaf, but Mom's yelling something about doing the dishes. Better skip along.

And you, fellow conqueror? Keep slaying life, doing the work and making it count. I hope you're well, stay strong and go conquer life. ✧

I'm sending you so much love, see you soon.

— Nandini 💌 (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

[primeadv]

SITS DOWN

PULLS OUT 10 GIANT ALBUMS :))) 

(this came out way longer than I intended im so fuckgkdsdf sory)

How I feel about this character: EVERYONE WHO KNOWS ME KNOWS I’M IN LOVE WIHT RATCHET. I love him in all iterations of Transformers because he’s always the tired, pragmatic one of the group. In contrast, he’s also almost tiredly optimistic in some ways. He won’t get out of bed, but if someone gets shot in the head he’ll spend however long and beyond to resuscitate them. There’s 2 halves to this--the me who identifies with the beating exhaustion he exudes, and the me who’s in awe that he’ll still fight his way through life.  I won’t... get into each continuity...because that’s too much, so I’ll stick with probably the most unpopular version of him and that’s IDW (my impression, anyway). IDW Ratchet gets a lot of flack for being way too sour and like, maybe not selfish, but uncaring. He cares! A lot! He’s always thinking about everyone in really surprisingly thoughtful ways. Like when he’s 90% sure he’ll die due to Overlord and his last words are to promote First Aid to CMO (he’s ready!! god that’s sweet), and to give his hands to Whirl (though maybe a bit blindsided, he’s paid attention to some roots of Whirl’s trauma). Or yeah he’s hella mean to Drift in the beginning, but when Drift is dying in his arms he’s scREAMING at him “you’re gonna make it! You’re gonna be fine because I’m gonna make sure you’re gonna be fine”. He can be an asshole, but he knows the time and place. Death isn’t something to play with--he’s seen probably countless friends die, and he doesn’t want that to happen again. Even now, even after the war.  So I feel very confused when ppl act like he’s this mean, cold person. He’s exTREMELY emotional. He’s probably way too invested in everyone’s lives, honestly? He interrupts a round table story for Rung just to reminisce on the veery last time he, OP, and Roller were together in the same room (not even hanging out or anything, just being together one last time. who remembers that after 5+ millions years??). He started an illegal clinic in the bad part of town because he wanted to put his skills to better use! Like! LOL.  ALSO, a point that i think is unfair is that ppl think his atheism is just really mean. IT is! But I think it shows just how much of an emotional and extremely, deeply hurt person he is. It gets aggravating when he’s condescending of religion, because there’s no simple logic to it. He reacts the way he does because he’s a hurt person who’s gone through years of trauma and this is his way of coping. Is it healthy or right? Nah, but it’s humanizing. It’s why when he becomes closer to Drift he occupies this weird between space where he snarks but also tries to indulge more in perspectives outside of his own in his own dumb old tsundere way. He’s a person who believes in justice, ultimately, and religion to him doesn’t fall under justice.  ALSO, can I say that his inability to say good byes is so.. like relatable? I have rly bad social anxiety, and so I’ve definitely ghosted people who’ve been nothing but really supportive for me. It’s not because I wanted to burn them, but it freaks you out needing to, not even say goodbye, but communicate with ppl. And for Ratchet--how many times was he FORCED to say good bye to friends + patients who were dying beyond his help? Maybe, if he could help it, he doesn’t want to say goodbye. And it’s tragic the times he’s just left, these were people who ended up either dying for falling astray into insanity, i.e., beyond his help. But he learns. He chases after Drift, who he actually said, in a way, good bye to (helping him off the floor after being attacked, also I should point out that a very tiny handful of people were comfortable interacting w/ Drift at all, and how much Ratchet just doesn’t give a shit abt how other ppl think abt him. he’ll help drift off the floor bc t’s the right thing to do). He says goodbye in his old dumb way--First Aid calls him out on it. ALSO his trust in First Aid is super cute. ALSO he’s like.. genuinely nice to Ten (he helped him get a date with Minimus!!!). And he’s not afraid to call out on other ppl’s bullshit (telling rodi straight you dont deserve to be captain which, at the time, was really true). He’s also SUPER smart. Also there’s that post on tumblr that pointed out that Ratchet immediately goes to deescalate conflict. He’s willing to put aside pride and anything if it means ultimately coming to a resolution where EVERYONE involved is safe. The only time he doesn’t is FUCKING OVERLORD who he rightfully, immediately, tries to briefly incapacitate to lockdown his medibay (protect patients/information). Ok I gotta stop I can go on forever just going page to page. Also, despite my love, I can totally point out his flaws. He’s grating when it’s unnecessary, he’s abhorrently bad at communicating, he’s privileged, he’s narrow-minded at times, etc. ec. But again what I love about him is that despite all that, he’ll throw his own self out the window for others’s well-being bc he genuinely, genuinellyyy cares about other people. If only he could care for himself //cries All the people I ship romantically with this character OH god... everyone. He’s my bicycle.  ok look, ya’ll know I’m an intense dratchet shipper and I could literally write a god damn essay. ... here’s another essay???!! So, I’ma be real, I wasn’t a super dratchet shipper before. I wasn’t anti (i have no notps), but I was just “yeah they’re cute i guess haha”. But 99.99% the reason why I ship anything is all for super cute adorable fanart. and I kept drawing them because 1) ratchet’s my fav, 2) drift is super popular so I figured I should learn to draw him. And they became the only 2 mechs I could draw. I used to be way more into Scavengers + megarod. I used to only like 1 dratchet fanfic and that’s bc it was less romantic and more plot centric (still a fav tho). Then I kept seeing cute fanart, I would read posts by other dratchet shippers too about what makes them so nice? And I was yeah.. oh yeah. And it doesn’t help that in Lost Light, drift is CONSTANTLY by Ratchet’s side. He’s constantly checking up on him and holding him and touching him, like as if Ratchet is the thing that he needs to make sure, at all costs, is safe.  In Drift’s life, Ratchet is the one who appears to him when he needs support the most but is in the most denial of it. When Drift is at the brink of death, overdosed and about to be broken apart and Orion brings him to Ratchet’s clinic. Ratchet patches him up pro-bono and tells him that he sees something special in him.  like??? can you imagine how that feels? To have no one believe in you--you don’t even believe in yourself, and yet here’s this person who tells you “you’re gonna be great”. And it totally doesn’t hit Drift in anyway, at least in a way that’s tangible to him, until much later in life. Or maybe it does (hey, how do you weave character narratives when it’s been written by like 3 different ppl shrugs). And that statement means 2 different things to them. To Drift, it’s a reminder that he’s worth something, even if it’s a sliver of nearly nothing to hold onto. To Ratchet, it’s a reminder that the greatness he saw led to the deaths of thousands of people.  HEY can you imagine this person you saved, patched up, tried to encourage, ended up being a mass serial killer in the future? (have you ever read Monster by Naoki Urusawa). Ended up killing people you loved?  So it’s no wonder that a good part of Ratchet is absolutely mad at Drift. And I think if that was all, they probably would’ve ended up being amicable. But Drift also ended up being super religious and seeing the hand and primus in everything and oh my god is this person really waxing poetry on the value of life when he, himself, shot several bullets at me at one point?  I also believe they are uncomfortably similar as they are different. The reason why they constantly butt heads is they’re two people trying to escape a past they don’t want and found complete opposite ways to cope with their losses. Drift found religion, Ratchet is gratingly pragmatic, and they see each other and go “how could this guy choose to be this way?”. I’ve heard ppl like to cite the annual as the reason why they could never work out. BUT, can I point out, that they act around each other in a way they don’t with anyone else? Drift gets SO MAD. Ratchet gets extremely talkative and incredibly personal (pulled out an electro slug from someone’s spark, holy shit that fucking traumatized you didn’t it??). They challenge each other emotionally, and it’s so fucking difficult bc they’re both extremely depressed and suffer from PTSD and would probably rather just go on their dumb space adventure and look at stars--take 2 emotionally constipated idiots and you get them. And hell no, don’t tell me Drift is in-tune with his feelings bc he’s 10000% not. He uses religion to cope with a past and life that he doesn’t want to think about. He tries to re-contextualize himself because he hates who he is. OUCHHH. And Ratchet MAKES him confront the parts of himself he hates--bc Ratchet has seen his worst traits and isn’t afraid to make him think about it.  So why do they work out eventually? They realize how important they are to each other. Delphi, Drift saves Ratchet’s life while he’s barely holding onto his own because he probably feels like he owes Ratchet his own life. And that’s a huge turning point in their relationship--Ratchet sees that... Drift tries really really fucking hard. My friend Zig pointed out that post-Delphi, Drift is eating energon w/ chopsticks (what a fucking nerd), and you can see in a later panel that Ratchet (who chose to sit next to Drift) is using those chopsticks too. IT’s such a small thing, but they’re becoming closer by sharing and learning from each other. And then Drift takes the fall and leaves. And Ratchet realizes just how important Drift’s presence is in his life. I mentioned it already lol but the scene where Ratchet helps Drift up off the floor and it’s superimposed with the love message Rewind left for CD. They care about each other so much!! And Ratchet chases after him!! HOLY SHIT. If that isn’t romance, what is?? lol I kid, but it’s obvious just how important Drift’s presence meant to him. IT’s really because they became so so so close in a way that can’t be described as just friends. They deeply understand each other in really uncomfortable ways and bring out the absolute worst and absolute best in each other. And this point is where Ratchet again appears when Drift doesn’t realize he needs someone in his life. Drift thinks he can be a loner and just float aimlessly and voicelessly--hell no! He needs friends, he needs community. He NEEDs belonging, because he wants to belong somewhere. And Ratchet helps bridge him back to friends and found family.  And Ratchet slowly changes the more he’s with Drift. He reads religious text and tries to brag about it bc he’s a dumb tsundere lol but he’s trying to understand Drift’s interests more even if it takes a decade and more to get there. And Drift values him for being his rock. That’s why he’s constantly making sure Ratchet is safe and unharmed, because he owes at least that much to him. And yeah they eventually fall in love because they value each other in a way they haven’t anyone else. IM EMO I CAN GO ONE, this all probably didn’t make a whole lot of sense but yeah. I’m just so soft to the fact that they’re horribly hurt people who don’t know how to redirect their pain, but by being together they come out healthier and more confident. IT’S RLY ROMANTIC IDKKK My non-romantic OTP for this character As much as I also love OpRatch, they are also great best friend platonic ship. They know each other best, they’ve been through SO MUCH together. It’s honestly a shame they barely interact in IDW bc the small tidbits we have, they obviously deeply respect each other’s opinions and deeply value the relationship they’ve had over the past millions of years.  I’m also all for non-romanceOTP for dratchet because I can totally imagine they go to each other to talk about things they feel uncomfortable sharing with others (they’ve seen the absolute worst of each other afterall).  My unpopular opinion about this character I don’t... think I ahve one. Some ppl view my love for his as grating lol.  One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon. Medic spin off.

[therainroguefanfiction]

🌀 Storm Coming (A SKET Dance Fanfic) Chapter 4: A Test of Courage

📑 Table of Contents | ◂Previous Chapter

━━━━━━༻ 🌀 ༺━━━━━━

Kaimei high school was a ten-minute walk from the house. Kevin insisted on taking me, but I didn’t want him to miss work so I managed to convince him I’d be fine. In truth, I was far from fine. Every step I took seemed to grow heavier as my heart hammered against my chest. The crude map he had drawn for me was clenched tightly in my hand as I walked down the street.

When I reached the gate leading to the school, I paused to calm my nerves. I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths, the cool spring air filling my lungs. When I opened them, I took a moment to appreciate the cherry trees on either side of the gate. They were beautiful and had a calming effect on me. It was kind of ironic – I hate the color pink, but I also think cherry trees are one of the most beautiful things in nature.

My phone buzzed in my pocket and I slipped it out. It was a message from Kevin.

‘Did you find the school okay?’

I nodded, but realized that was stupid since he couldn’t see it and quickly typed a reply, ‘I just arrived. I’m going in now.’

Taking another deep breath, I slid my phone back into my pocket and entered the school. I had been worried that I would get lost looking for the office, but I found it fairly easily and slid the door open. Several pairs of eyes looked up at me and I froze. This wasn’t like the office buildings back in America. Back home, the office door led to a desk clerk or secretary. Behind that person would be a couple different offices, including the principal.

But it was different here. The office was one room, in the center of which were a bunch of desks pushed together. There was a desk at the front of the room, and I assumed that had to be the principal’s desk but he wasn’t there. Shit, what do I do? I was supposed to come to the office, wasn’t I? Everyone is looking at me. Is it too late to run away?

My breathing was getting heavy and I felt a panic attack coming on as I slowly backed up, right into someone. I felt warm hands grip my shoulders

“Woah there. Are you okay?”

I didn’t want to look over my shoulder. It was obviously a guy if the voice was anything to go by. I lowered my head, feeling my cheeks burn. This was a mistake. I can’t do this.

“Would you happen to be Reynolds, Samantha?” He questioned.

I nodded, staring down at my sneakers.

“Perfect, I was just coming to look for you! If you follow me, I’ll take you to the room where you’ll be taking your test.”

I nodded again, not trusting my voice. My eyes felt moist, but I refused to cry. I couldn’t. Not in front of this guy I’ve never met before, not in this strange school. The thought of drawing that much attention to myself kept me grounded enough to keep it together, but just barely.

“My name is Agata, Soujirou, I’m the student council president.” He said, stopping in front of a door and sliding it open. “Here we are.”

I glanced up. There were two tables pushed against one another in the center of the room, with books and pens and an assortment of other items placed on top. Two chairs were placed on either side. A desk sat at the front of the room, which he moved to sit in.

“This is the student council room,” he explained, stifling a yawn as he leaned back in his chair. “The others are in class right now. Go ahead and take a seat.”

With a gulp, I took the first seat at the table. Several sheets of paper had been stapled together, waiting to be filled out. ‘Kaimei High Placement Test’ had been written in bold lettering across the top. I glanced at the boy as he relaxed in the chair, hands behind his head and eyes closed.

He seemed to stand at around five-ten, with black messy hair. The top buttons of his school shirt were undone and his tie was loose, his clothes wrinkled. Was he really the student council president? I had followed him without question. I bit my lip, weighing my options.

His brown eyes slid opened, meeting my own and he tilted his head. “Something wrong?”

I quickly looked away, cursing myself for getting caught staring. I picked up the pencil with a shaking hand, taking a few deep breaths. In and out. In and out. Gotta stay calm. I can do this. First, I gotta fill in my name. I wrote my first name and then paused. The Japanese write it last name first, I should do that. I erased it and wrote my last name, then paused again. Wait wait, I don’t know the kanji for my name! Crap, I’m filling out my name and I’m already losing it? You’re a goddamn mess, Sam!

Agata hummed thoughtfully as he stood up and approached me.

I tensed up, my hand tightening around the pencil.

He tugged it from my hand with a chuckle, letting his tongue touch the tip before he pulled the paper toward him. “Let’s see. Reynolds, Samantha, ne? That would be…” He wrote my name in Kanji. “There,”

“T-Thank you,” I mumbled, keeping my eyes on the paper as he slid it back to me. I heard him sit back down in his chair, but I didn’t want to look in case he was watching me. My eyes scanned his messy handwriting, trying to memorize the characters for my name. He must think I’m so stupid, not even able to write my own name.

Running a hand through my hair, I added the date and started on question one. The room was so quiet I could hear my breathing and his own. My ears were ringing, but I forced myself to make due. I couldn’t handle quiet environments well. For whatever reason, my anxiety didn’t like it, so I always had to have some sort of background or white noise. It made it hard for me to concentrate, but I did my best to ignore it.

The bell rang, a shrill sound that echoed throughout the school. I could hear footsteps as students crowded the halls, their chatter making my body start to shake. I glanced at the clock. It was already lunchtime? I swallowed hard, closing my eyes. It’s okay. I only have one more page and I can go home. You’ve gotten this far, Sam, don’t chicken out now!

My hand shook, but I did my best to keep my handwriting neat and readable. I wanted to breeze through the last page, but my brain was having a meltdown. I tried reading the paragraph but found myself reading it ten times and still not knowing what it said. I could only focus on the dozens of students that were passing the door outside.

The door slammed open and I jumped, hitting my knee on the desk. I bit my lip hard, squeezing the pencil until the wood started to crack. My eyes were closed tightly, trying to keep back tears.

“President! I have some detention slips for you to look over.” It was a boy. I could hear him walk behind me as he approached Agata.

I couldn’t stop shaking. How bad I wanted to hop up and run from the room, but my body wasn’t listening to me. It was going into flight or fight mode, but neither option seemed to appease it. I was too scared to flee and too scared to fight against the fear. I bit my lip harder, feeling the skin split. The pain helped relieve some of the pressure I felt.

“Huh? What’s wrong with you? Why are you shaking?” The new voice asked, his voice clipped.

I lowered my head, shaking it back and forth. I hoped he got the hint because I was sure if I saw his face or tried to speak, I would break down.

“Oi, didn’t you hear me?” He was getting closer.

Agata cleared his throat and the chair squeaked as he stood up. “I’m approving all of these, Tsubaki. I heard there were a few students that like to hang out around the back of the school smoking during lunch. Can you investigate that?”

“What?” The second boy, ‘Tsubaki’, snapped angrily. “Leave it to me, president!” He ran out of the room, slamming it closed behind him.

I felt a warm hand on my head.

“Sorry about that. Tsubaki can be a bit over the top sometimes, kekeke.”

What a strange laugh.

“Principal Karamatsu told me about your problem, so don’t worry. Take your time to calm down.” He spoke, softly, ruffling my hair.

The door opened again, softer this time. “Oh, is this the new student?”

“Yeah, this is her. Shinba, can you make sure no one else comes in until this test is finished?”

“Of course! I look forward to getting to know you better.” This new boy’s tone sounded flirty but kind. The door slid closed once again.

Agata sighed. “Maybe it would have been better to do this on the weekend. Are you almost done?”

I used the sleeve of my jacket to wipe away my tears and nodded, shakily reaching for the pencil. I realized I had broken it. “I-I’m s-sorry…”

“Don’t mind it,” he set a fresh pencil on the paper before picking up the broken one and throwing it in the trash. “It’s just a pencil, we have plenty of those kekeke.”

I wanted to get out of there. I wanted to run away and hide under my covers until I died. Even if I rushed through and finished the test, all of the students were out of class for lunch and I really didn’t want to go through them. I didn’t want to be seen by anyone. I carefully read over the paragraph for the eleventh time, finally understanding what it was trying to tell me.

My handwriting had gotten messier and I cursed, erasing it and trying to re-write the answer. It was just as messy. I ran my hand through my hair again, chewing on the split in my lip. The taste of metal rested on my tongue. Why did I always have to fall apart like this? Even if I pass this test with flying colors, there’s no way in hell I can survive two years of this.

Tears filled my eyes again and I sniffed, angrily wiping them away. I was a fool to think I could change, to think I was strong enough to change.

“You’re too hard on yourself,”

My head snapped up, teary eyes meeting his. His expression was serious as he watched me, his chin resting on his intertwined fingers. What, was he a damn mind reader or something? That thought terrified me. My mind is not something anyone should have to see.

“Don’t push yourself so hard. Just be yourself and try not to worry so much.”

I glanced down at the paper and scoffed.

“I know, I know, it’s harder than it sounds.” He shifted, sitting back in his chair. “But I have faith that you can do it.”

I wanted to question him but his genuine expression stopped the words before I could say them. He didn’t know me. He just met me for the first time in his life and he saw me have a mini-breakdown because some loud kid came into the room and asked me a question. How in the hell could he possibly have more confidence in myself than I do? I frowned at the paper.

Just one more question left. One more question and I could go home. The problem is that it was a math question and I had no idea what the answer was.

‘Simplify the expression: 12(3 + x) – 4(5x – 6)’,

The hell did I just read. I groaned, holding my head between my hands. What the hell does that even mean? They never taught me this shit in school. Granted, I did drop out in middle school, and the school I went to was rated a D by the school board. To be honest, I didn’t really understand any of the math questions and I won’t lie and say I didn’t guess on most of them.

“Not good at math, huh?”

I jumped, nearly falling out of the chair. When the hell had he walked back over here?

“Kekeke, sorry.” He grinned. “The answer is C, by the way.”

My brow furrowed. Why is he giving me the answer? That doesn’t seem like something a student council president would do. Is he testing me to see if I’ll take the answer? Will I be failed if I accept it? Is it even the right answer?

The bell rang again, signaling the end of lunch.

I glanced at the door just as it slid open, brown eyes meeting mine. The boy smiled, tilting his head, light brown hair shifting with the motion.

“I’m heading back to class. Unless you need me to stay?”

“We should be done here, thanks Shinba.”

“Of course,” he winked at me before closing the door. He seemed nice enough, but I didn’t think I’d get on well with him. He seemed like the type of guy that would flirt with anything that had a pulse. Was he a stereotypical playboy you see in romance anime that jumps from girl to girl?

I shook my head, realizing that Agata was probably waiting on me. I apologized softly before circling the third option and sliding the test toward him.

He picked it up, smacking it with the back of his hand. “I’ll take this to the principal so he can look over it. You can stay here to calm down for a bit if you want.” He paused at the door, offering me a smile. “Or I can walk you to the gate?”

I quickly shook my head. “N-No. I’m okay, t-thank you.”

He waved, closing the door behind him.

I sunk down in my seat with a sigh, looking up at the fluorescent light in the ceiling. Who knew taking a single test could take such a toll on the body. I felt like I had just run a marathon. I checked my phone and sweatdropped. Kevin had left fifteen messages…

They basically all said the same thing, just in different ways.

‘I hope the test is going well,’ It didn’t, but thanks.

‘Stay calm, you can do this!’ I didn’t stay calm, but I did it at least.

‘I believe in you,’ You, too? Come on.

‘I’m so proud of you, this is a big step!’ My cheeks burned at the thought of someone being proud of me.

‘What would you like for dinner? I’ll make whatever you want!’

That one made me remember that I had skipped breakfast. I stared at the message for a minute. Do they carry ingredients for spaghetti here? It wasn’t my favorite food, but it was a comfort food that reminded me of home. When I was younger, my grandma would always make a huge pot of spaghetti because it lasted us a week. It saved money and time. Back then, I didn’t feel near as much fear as I do now, so it had always been a comfort for me when I eat it.

‘Spaghetti?’, I replied.

The dots indicating that he was typing popped up. ‘Haven’t had that in forever! I’ll go to the store on the way home.’ Another message. ‘Are you okay?’

My fingers hovered over the keyboard as I hesitated. Should I tell him what happened? No, he’ll just worry! I typed out my reply, telling him that everything was fine and that the test had gone well, but my finger hesitated over the send button.

“Well, no more of that. I want you to feel comfortable being honest with me, no matter what it is, and I’ll do the same to you. Is that a deal?” His words echoed in my mind and I groaned.

I erased the message, replacing it with a different one. ‘Can I tell you when you get home?’

‘Of course, you can! Gotta get back to work, if you need me, call me ^_^’

Was it normal for parents to use those kinds of emojis? I guess it could have been worse. He coulda used a Lenny face or sent a meme.

With a sigh, I pushed myself up, taking a couple careful steps. My legs were shaky from nerves, but there shouldn’t be a problem – they rarely ever gave out on me. I hesitantly pulled the door open, glancing back and forth. The hallway was deserted. The problem was that I had no idea how to get back to the front of the school. When I was following Agata, I had been too nervous to pay attention to anything but the floor.

Maybe I should have taken him up on his offer… With a sigh, I started walking down the hall, hoping my feet would find their own way. I glanced outside at the cherry trees, their petals being carried on the wind. It was beautiful and, for a moment, I just stood there watching them dance.

“Hey, what are you doing out of class?!”

That voice… oh no.

“Get back to class right this ins – Oh, it’s you.” Tsubaki came to a stop beside me. “Why are you loitering in the halls? If you want a tour of the school, it can wait until your first day.”

I lowered my head, chewing on my lip. Should I tell him I’m lost? He’s going to think I’m such an idiot. But if I just apologize and walk away, he could find me wandering the halls again and get even angrier. If god exists, he definitely hates me.

“S-Sorry,” I muttered.

“What was that? Speak up, new student.”

Tears were springing to my eyes again and I cursed. I should just jump out of the window. That’d probably be less embarrassing than breaking down in front of this guy for the second time. Though I hoped he didn’t realize what was happening the first time. He probably thought I was rude for not answering him.

“What is with you?” he muttered, grabbing my shoulder to make me look in his direction. He raised his voice. “Speak up so I can hear yo – w-why are you crying?!”

The tears fell from my eyes on their own, falling down my cheeks. I could feel my body starting to shake as ice settled in on my chest.

“Crap, what do I do?!” He started to freak out, leaning down so he could see my face. “Come on, don’t cry!”

I was taken back by how beautiful his eyes were. They were the color of amber in the sunlight, framed by long lashes. They were mesmerizing, I didn’t want to look away. What the hell. Is this guy a witch or something?

I tore my gaze away, taking a step back as I furiously wiped my eyes with the sleeve of my jacket. I bowed as low as my body would allow, stuttering out an apology before I took off down the hall. Of course, with my weight and lack of athletic ability, I couldn’t run away like I wanted and it ended up to be more of a speed walk. He didn’t follow.

I managed to find the exit and rushed out of the building, not stopping to admire the beautiful trees that I loved so much.

━━━━━━༻ 🌀 ༺━━━━━━

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[adhd-ahamilton]

So, yeaaars ago, I went on some downloading sprees where I saved a whole bunch of fanfic I liked to my computer. Sadly, most of it was lost, but I do still have a fair amount of old fanfic which I transferred to my SD card at some point, constantly hanging about whenever I open Moon Reader.

And a while ago, while I was going to those assessment centre things, I actually ended up finally opening a couple of them, because I wanted something I could read that would be comforting and familiar. So I got into a couple of old fic that I remembered really liking.

It was really interesting how mixed my results were. In some cases, yeah - I reread the fic and went ‘mmm yeah, the characterisation and dialogue are really good here’ or whatever. But there were also a lot of cases where I was... really startled by how many flaws in it I saw this time around. One fic I remember being unsure of when I was younger, feeling like it was too mature for me or something, but when I read it I honestly think it was just not very good.

It’s a pretty bittersweet feeling. On the one hand, there’s something sad about not being able to access that self who really enjoyed those fic anymore - that’s a joy that’s lost to me now.

But I think there’s actually kind of a nice message in all this. The quality of these fic varied a lot - but to younger me, I really enjoyed them all, and had such fond memories of them. I really wanted to preserve them, because they worked for me.

It’s something I think about a lot when it comes to writing. No matter your own assessment of your own or someone else’s writing, there will always be people who enjoy it - maybe even enough to say ‘ooh, I gotta save this so I can re-read it later!’ Creative works have value, inherently. Something doesn’t need to be perfect to have an impact. Not everyone wants the same thing from stories - sometimes, a generic and average-written piece reaches just the right person just the right time and it’s perfect for them, in that moment. For a lot of these fic, that’s what they were to me.

[beyondthetemples-ooc]

I got curious which of my story files are biggest. So I sorted them by size, and...

Fun fact: The Word file for Dove’s Dark Discovery is over 8 MB! (For the record: That’s a Microsoft Word file. An one-page file with text is about 2 kb. And a MB is about 1000 kb. So it’s about... four thousand times the size of a one-page document!) And that’s the master file-- the version WITHOUT the last chapter added in yet!!

(It’s worth noting that DDD has tracked changes on, so while it’s only a 350 page story, there’s also about ten years of addition, deletion, editing, and rewriting data. But all of my stories before ~2014 have Track Changes turned on, so that’s not exclusive to DDD!)

I’m surprised “Srentha pt II” is so high on the list?? (That’s his debut story, published under that name on fanfic, though it’s re-published with rewritten notes and a reorganized chapter structure under “Fire and Flight: The Keys to Igniting a Pacifist Heart”. It’s a pun because “flight” can mean “running in fear”, which is a Big Factor in Dove’s Life, and the only reason Srentha’s alive-- he followed her out when he saw her fleeing the destruction of Azarath. And his name is literally an onomatopoeia for “flight”, the sound wings make.)

technically the fully verbalized version of his name is something like se-o a’erentha,  “one’s soul moving upwards”, because my headcanoned version of the Azarathean language is fancy as fuck, but it abbreviates for “prayerspeak” because Breath is Sacred so you Gotta Save It In Prayer, and honorifics and all that, so “se-o a’erentha” abbreviates to “Srentha”. His name is in prayer-speak because he can channel sacred magics, and all that.

But I didn’t think I had That Much actually WRITTEN for that story!

I have no idea how the HECK the “DDD_old climax print” file is two whole-ass MB?? (That’s a remnant from the days when I Was transiting from writing my stories on paper to writing them on the computer. Most of my computer access was limited to Family Computer Time, or When My Parents Let Me Use My Own Computer. I didn’t have a laptop until 2014, and if the chapter was shorthand on the computer, especially if I added new stuff to it that wasn’t on the paper, I’d have to print it out so I could continue editing when I wasn’t at the computer. 

UPDATE: I OPENED IT IN WORD, AND ITS A FREAKING... 2012 EDIT OF UNFORESEEN (Dove’s debut story)??? Not DDD at all?????? So I definitely have NO idea what happened there. (I think it’s all the Tracked Changes, since Unforeseen has been undergoing heavy revisions since 2012, some things are completely rewritten, and there were Whole-Ass New Scenes added in the rewrite... but I want to know how that file name got attached to that story. When Unforeseen still has its own story...? ?? ??????)

I’m not surprised with Unforeseen being that big, considering it’s one of the only Actually Published Stories I have (meaning it’s Fully Written Out, and not just outlining a ton of scenes in Dialogue’d Shorthand). AND it’s my oldest story and has gone through So Freaking Much Editing (so there’s a lot of Tracked Changes data)... AND add to that, the fact that I wrote it TWICE. All of the above-mentioned reasons. 

I’m surprised Srentha pt II is a bigger file than The Next Step, though?! (The Next Step covers the time between Dove and Srentha’s wedding, and Leyla’s birth. There a LOT of fully-written scenes in that one, mostly because Dove’s pregnancy is Pretty Traumatic, and there’s just some deliciously excruciating drama between them the whole time. So I wrote... A Lot About It.

Though Srentha pt. II is an older concept, older story, and there’s also A Lot of Writing-Worthy Drama in that one, and it takes a LOT of buildup (and emotional reconciliation) between the time they re-unite, and the wedding. (They’re my favorite couple for a REASON, guys! They go through sO MUCH TOGETHEr. And they’re SO GOOD for each other! ASFDgsfndgmfaysudfy)

Growing Up Demon basically holds Every Single Scene I’ve Ever Imagined for Leyla’s Childhood (minus the 122 pages of emvents...;;;)... That post is STILL really true;;

https://beyondthetemples-ooc.tumblr.com/post/179772147682/an-unfortunate-truth-in-my-stories-there-are

But aside from THOSE scenes, every OTHER scene in Leyla’s childhood is in there. (Besides the scenes in Something Special, because that’s definitely its own story entirely.)

....I did NOT know Spellbound pt II was longer than Kary’s story??? Whoa????? (Probably because most of Kary’s scenes are just... Vague Ideas at this point. Brief scene outlines. I have a lot of scenes with her PLANNED, but she’s abrasive and fiery and has a serious problem with Emotions, so she’s Very Hard for me to write about. I have to be In the Kary Zone to get it right.)

I can’t believe Welcome to the Real World is a bigger file than Something Special, though?! (To be fair, Something Special is split into two files, with about half the story in each file: the file for stuff from the binder that the Bare Bones Plot came from, the BLB file (stands for BLack Binder), and the stuff for things I added after the binder writings, but didn’t know where they go chronologically BETWEEN he binder scenes. Which has happened a LOT, and I’m only recently being more able to combine the scenes, now that BOTH halves of the story are sinking more into my awareness and I’m getting a clearer idea of What Happens While Dove’s Captured, not just the Before and After.

And then there’s just... Missing Raven hanging out at the bottom of the list there. 8F I have no idea why that one’s so high either, but it IS the “rewritten” version, which means it’s probably because of the editing again. (I’ve re-arranged SO many scenes in that, and I have a TON of shorthand notes for what’s going to be added, what’s going to happen...)

[deans-fire-dragon]

What Comes After, SPN Fanfic, Gen, Chapter 10A

                                            banner by jessicarae24

Title: What Comes After Author: November'sGuest Character's: Sam and Dean Winchester, Jessica Moore, Sam's Stanford friends (most OCs), and a brief appearance by Missouri Mosley. Category: Hurt/Comfort, Horror, Angst, and AU Rating: T (PG-13) Spoilers: None beyond second season if any…it's pretty much AU. Disclaimer: Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke and the CW. This is solely written for fun…obviously no profit made. Summary: Sam and Dean travel to Stanford to investigate recent deaths of college students after receiving a call from Rebecca Warren. Meanwhile, as Dean recovers from his injuries, his new and bizarre visions of Jessica continue to haunt him and Sam. Sequel to "The Wake-Up Call."

                                         Back to MASTERPOST

A/N: I’m so sorry guys, but I’m realizing that maybe the fact I’m taking so long to get this posted has caused some continuity errors. I haven’t been re-reading everything prior to the current chapter to make sure it all stays cohesive which is really bothering me. The problem is, when I try to go back and re-read the whole thing, I feel like my earlier writing has so many flaws that I need to stop and re-do all of it (which would seriously be a bad idea if I ever want to finish this). However, I did try to hit the highlights before posting this one and I’m hoping the errors aren’t so bad as to ruin the story for you.  Also, fair warning: this chapter is completely unbetaed. It’s 100% me—mistakes, warts and all. I’ve read it enough that my poor brain just registers static at this point, so apologies in advance for poor writing, negligence and any weirdness that may crop up. Hopefully, nothing is too distracting or problematic for your enjoyment. Given the cold response at FF.net, I'm kinda worried here. As always, thank you so much for reading and I look forward to reading your thoughts. *hugs*

                                     Chapter 10:  Warning Sign                              “I've gotta tell you what a state I'm in                               I've gotta tell you in my loudest tones                            That I started looking for a warning sign…”                                                                  ~Coldplay

Pancakes bubbled in the hot skillet as Lori and Chris debated blueberries versus chocolate chips—of which, they had neither, but that didn’t seem to matter much to the discussion. “Chocolate makes everything better.” “No, you’re thinking of bacon. Bacon makes everything better.” “What happened to team blueberry?” Lori snickered and gave Chris a playful shove. “Well, you see, blueberries are the bacon of the pastry world.” A knock on the door stopped Lori mid-laugh and they exchanged looks. Handing her spatula to Chris, she walked to the door and peeked outside. There stood Sam, head hanging, floppy hair hiding his face. Hands shoved deep in his pockets completed the look of a naughty child come to apologize. As soon as the door opened, his head came up and his cheeks colored. “Would it help if I said I’m sorry,” he began, “and I don’t know what came over me?” Lori crossed her arms. “Really!” he rushed.  I am sorry. My behavior—what I said—was totally uncalled for.” Her arms fell loosely by her sides. “Yeah, it was—” “I…I don’t—” he interrupted “—I mean, I’m pissed at Dean, I am. But I totally crossed the line. I’m not sure why I was so angry.” Sam shook his head helplessly and looked at her with wide hazel eyes. A basset hound had nothing on this kid. She smiled and stood aside. “Come on, this may be your only chance to see Chris cooking.” Sam ducked his head and crossed the threshold. He stopped short when he caught sight of Dean asleep on the couch immediately to his right. Concern pulled his brows in, made him frown. “Is he okay? I-I didn’t even ask earlier.” “I think so—relatively speaking.” Sam frowned, but he didn’t look particularly surprised. “What do you mean?” She sighed, wondering how much information she should give Sam—what Dean would be okay with him knowing and what he needed to know. “After you left, he had a bad breathing attack. Turned blue and scared us to death.” She shrugged. “But we gave him his inhaler and that seemed to take care of it. He’ll be worn out the rest of the day, though. Attacks that severe really sap the body’s energy levels.” She watched Dean for a second and, seeing no signs of distress, turned toward the kitchen. “Go ahead and help yourself to some coffee. Breakfast will be ready in a minute.” She exchanged glances with Chris when he handed the spatula back to her. Removing the pancakes from griddle to platter, she covertly watched the brothers. Sam stood next to the couch, gaze fixed on Dean for a long moment. A range of emotions played across his face and he couldn’t seem to settle on any one thing. He grabbed the afghan from the back of the couch and spread it over his sleeping brother. The care he took pulling and smoothing it over Dean’s shoulders tugged her heart into a swell of emotion. Face crinkled in concern, he joined them in the kitchen. Chris offered Sam a piece of blackened bacon. “Olive branch?” Sam smiled and took the greasy offering, stuffing the entire slice in his mouth. He spoke around the wad of meat. “Bacon brings people together.” The two men grinned at each other—at the old joke they shared. “I’m really sorry about earlier,” Sam apologized. “All this must be getting to me more than I thought.” “Totally understand—but I’m not sure I’m the one you owe an apology.” Chris’s eyebrows rose meaningfully as he bumped Sam’s shoulder to soften his words. Sam looked toward the couch, his face twisted between exasperated and troubled. “He makes me so mad sometimes—stupid overprotective crap. He’s always been this way, always reckless when it comes to himself.” Chris nodded in understanding, but said, “He’s not completely wrong, though. Anyone can see you need closure—and someone has to stop this thing.” Sam met Chris’s gaze. “Yeah, but does it have to be Dean? I get why he does it, but does he ever stop to think how I’ll feel if something happens to him? You know, it’s not fair. I’d do anything for him, including keeping him safe.” Staring at his feet, Sam sniffed. “I don’t wanna lose him.” Lori quietly set the table, not wanting to interrupt. Sam’s anguish hung heavily around them, though, and she couldn’t help staring toward the couch. Her heart ached for Sam. For both brothers. It seemed tragic that their love for each other had put them at cross-purposes. She couldn’t imagine doing what they did—such a dangerous job and each one so scared for the other. Chris squeezed Sam’s neck. “Look, man, I don’t pretend to know your relationship with your brother. I mean, I get there’s baggage—that much is obvious—but what’s between you and your brother is…it’s not something I expected. It’s hard to reconcile the way you guys are together with how you never spoke about him the whole time I’ve known you.” Chris sighed. “I thought I had you guys—him—dialed in, but now I…I don’t know. But I’m certain he’s not purposely trying to hurt you.” “I know that. That’s the problem. He’s always tried to protect me from everything. And, you know, I’m not a kid anymore. He doesn’t have to shoulder everything. I want him to lean on me like I’ve always leaned on him.” “Yeah, well, easier said than done. Little brothers will always be little brothers, Sam.” Sam looked at Chris, sympathy easing the tension between his brows. “Yeah, I know. Chris, you gotta know you weren’t—” “I don’t want to talk about it, okay?” Chris turned away to finish piling bacon on a plate. Sam watched him for a while then nodded. “Okay.” “You gonna move outta the way or stand there like a moose in the road?” Chris smirked. Stepping around Sam, he took the plate of bacon and set it in the middle of the table. Lori turned the conversation to less charged topics. “If you guys grab the juice and milk from the refrigerator, we can eat. Oh, and grab those glasses sitting by the sink. I’ll get Dean.” Sitting on the coffee table, she shook Dean’s shoulder. “Wakey-wakey, eggs and bakey.” When Dean didn’t rouse, she jostled him a little more. “Dean, time to wake up. Hey, some of us are hungry.” This elicited a grimace and a groan of displeasure as he shifted fully onto his back. “Mmm—time’s it?” he grumbled. His eyelids fluttered, but stay closed. “Time to wake up and eat. Let’s go already!” She smiled at the creases carved into the side of his face and the hair sticking up along the side of his head. Her fingers itched to smooth the wayward strands down. Instead, she removed the blanket Sam had so carefully placed over him and quickly folded it back over the couch. He blinked his blood-shot eyes open, then slammed them closed with a grunt. Cautiously, he peered out slits of green and slowly levered himself up on an elbow. Lips thinning, Dean pressed fingers to his forehead, brows pulling together. “Headache?” she asked. “Yeah.” “I’ll bet it’s a doozy, too. Let me help you sit up and I’ll go get something for it, okay? C’mon, old man, easy does it,” she teased, bracing his shoulders. She knew his back had to be throbbing, so she tried to take as much of his weight as she could and secretly planned on giving him something more than over the counter meds. With her help, he pushed fully upright—his logger boots clunking to the ground as he leaned into the couch, resting his head against the back. “No one should feel this bad if liquor’s not involved,” he grumbled. She frowned. “No, they really shouldn’t.” Darting a glance at Sam, she leaned in and whispered, “You need to let someone check you over—someone besides me.” “I told you, I’m fine.” Dean stared down his nose, not daring to lift his head. “Nothing that won’t heal. Why are we whispering?” Poised to whisper back, she switched to an easy smile when she noticed Sam coming their way. “Hey, Sam, look who decided to join us?” Dean’s head twisted so he could see, but Sam was already coming around the couch and into view. Right before her eyes, Dean camouflaged everything but the tension in his shoulders. Shaking her head at him, she stood and said, “I’ll get you something for your headache.”

                                       Sam ran a hand over his mouth nervously. “Hey, ready to eat? We’ve got pancakes, bacon—and coffee, a big pot of it.” Dean studied him carefully, his expression impassive and guarded. It hurt to have his brother look at him like that, but given what had happened earlier, Sam guessed he had it coming. Raking his eyes over Dean, he checked for signs of injury. Other than being white-washed pale with deepening smudges under his eyes, he seemed relatively intact. But he knew the blood had come from somewhere and the tightness around his brother’s eyes indicated his pain level was pretty high. “You okay?” Dean asked huskily. And wasn’t that just like Dean? “I think I should be asking you that. Are you?” At Dean’s raised brows, he clarified, “Okay, I mean?” “Yeah, I’m good.” Sam could see the lie as plain as the freckles on his brother’s face. Sam huffed disbelief and drew his bottom lip in, deciding not to call him on it. Like a lightning bolt, it hit Sam that he had no idea whatsoever how Dean felt and hadn’t had in over twenty-four hours. Yes, they’d worked on making sure Dean’s thing was under lid as much as possible, but there wasn’t a hint of anything—nothing but the normal connection born of blood and long hours spent together. He wanted to ask Dean about it, but Lori came breezing back in with an oblong, white pill and a half glass of water. Sam recognized it as an acetaminophen based narcotic—definitely overkill for a simple headache. “Here we go,” she said. Dean scowled at the pill. “Don’t you have Tylenol?” When Lori directed a sour look at him, Dean popped the pill in his mouth without another word. Sam felt his eyebrows rise, not used to seeing his brother so easily bullied into things unless it was Dad doing the bullying. When he was done, she took the glass from him, saying, “You guys go ahead, I’ll be there in a sec.” Chris had taken a seat, digging in already. He looked up and mumbled around a mouthful, “What? I’m hungry and you’re taking too long.” Sam smiled in amusement and stretched his arm out to Dean. “C’mon, I’ll give you a hand.” Dean stared at the hand. His eyes flicked up to Sam’s and he said, “Um, I can’t-I don’t—my chest’s a little sore…” he trailed off. “What happened to your chest?” “Dude saved my life, that’s what happened to his chest,” Chris provided helpfully. Sam turned back to his brother, his eyebrows crawling off his face. Dean grimaced. “It’s not a big deal… Stop it, Sam—dude, your face is gonna freeze like that.” Frustration churned inside him, but he let the emotions leak away on a long, measured exhale—he didn’t want to fight. He could see his brother was a mess and that was enough. Besides, the more he showed anger, the more Dean would shut down and that wouldn’t help anybody. “All right, but we’re talking about this later.” Sam ignored Dean’s eye roll as he bent to grab his brother’s elbow. The effort it took to get him up rattled Sam—he had to take almost all of Dean’s weight to get him on his feet. Tremors shook through Dean and he swayed. Sam tightened his hold and hung on, fingers curled into his brother’s flesh, bruising. Bright fear shivered through him. “Y’alright?” Dean nodded, but he didn’t pull away like Sam expected. Instead, he allowed Sam to keep a steadying hand at his elbow all the way to the table. Did he even realize Sam was hovering? Uneasiness zipped along Sam’s spine and his stomach churned in worried swoops. The worst part? He couldn’t say a word—not here, not in front of everyone. One more thing he’d have to shelve for later. Getting through this meal was going to be torture. Lori and Chris peppered casual breakfast conversation with surreptitious glances at them. Awkward didn’t begin to cover how Sam felt being so closely observed. And if he felt awkward, Sam was downright sorry for his brother. Scrutiny gravitated Dean’s way more and more as the meal continued, zeroing in on his mostly untouched plate. Dean, for the most part, kept his eyes down, focused on poking holes into his pancakes with his fork. Now and then, he’d pick up a piece of bacon and take a bite. His silence, though, shouted louder than if he’d participated in the conversation happening around him. “Dean, you need to eat,” Lori pointed out when everyone else was nearly done. “That pain pill will sit better on your stomach if it’s not empty.” “Sorry,” he glanced up, “not very hungry.” Sam eyed the shake of his brother’s hand as he reached for his coffee. Halfway to his mouth, Dean lost his grip, spilling hot liquid over the front of him and sending the mug crashing to pieces across the floor. “Dammit,” Dean hissed, jumping back from the table, hastily brushing at his clothes. Lori shot up from her chair to grab some paper towels while Chris stared at all of them with cheeks puffed full of his last bite. Sam knelt and picked up the shards of broken stoneware, listening to Dean’s shaky apologies. “I’m sorry, it-it…it just slipped—dammit,” he said, bitter and contrite. “I’m so sorry—” “Hey, it’s okay. I’m not worried about the mug.” Lori handed Dean the paper towels. “I’m worried about you. Did it burn you anywhere?” “N-no, I’m …” he trailed off as he stared down at himself. “Are you sure?” She reached for Dean’s shirt, but he caught her wrist and stopped her. “I’m fine.” “I’m fine,” he repeated a few seconds later, after she’d already knelt to the floor next to Sam. Sam looked up, concerned by the weird tone. “Dean?” His breath was stolen by the chill that freeze-dried his heart. Dean stood rigid, hands clenched at his sides, paper toweling crumpled in one shaking fist. His pupils were blown wide-open—stricken vulnerability naked on his face. Sam didn’t think the others noticed—Lori still sopping up coffee and Chris wrestling with the trashcan’s stubborn lid. Sam squashed the urge to grab his brother and hide him away before they could. “Dean?” Sam stood, hands clutching dripping paper and broken mug, brown coffee polka-dotting his boots. His brother’s eyes anchored to his, a desperate mooring in a vast, vicious stormy ocean. Sam’s heart thud-fluttered, the beat picking up and bumping hard against his chest. He fervently wished for the connection between them—he needed to know what made Dean look like that. “What? What is it?” His words seemed to break the spell. Dean half shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut and shuddering. “I’m okay,” he whispered. “You want me to pour you some more?” Lori’s voice intruded. Their heads turned in sync to watch her throw a mass of wadded paper into the trash bin Chris was holding. “No,” Dean slowly answered. “I’m good.” She rummaged through an open drawer before turning back to them with a tea towel. Rooted, his brother remained unmoving until Lori came over and began brushing off his chest and thighs. “I got it,” he said quietly, taking the towel from her. Confused by the weirdness permeating the air, Sam didn’t realize he was drawing attention himself until Chris jabbed him with an elbow. “You gonna just stand there dripping coffee all over your feet?” Chris eyed him with concern, but his voice was casual and teasing. Sam glanced down at the saturated napkins and shards cupped in his hands. “Um, right. Guess I should—” He raised a self-effacing eyebrow at Chris, shrugging, and threw the trash into the bin. He washed his hands and turned back, automatically finding his brother. Dean held his damp, stained shirt away from his skin, face screwed up in disgust. “I hate to eat and run, but, uh,” he cast a look at Sam, “I think we’re gonna head out. You ready?” Sam nodded, eager to get them out of there, and quickly cleared his dirty dishes from the table. “Yeah, um, thank you for breakfast. Been a while since we had homemade pancakes.” “Not a problem,” Lori said, taking dishes from Dean’s hands. Bewilderment passed over her face when Dean failed to acknowledge her presence, instead, robotically walking to the middle of the room as soon as his hands were empty. She bent close to Sam and whispered, “Let me send the extras home with you in case he changes his mind about eating.” “Yeah, alright.” Sam nodded. Appreciation for the concern she showed his brother skipped alongside the guilt from the less than kind things he’d thought—and said—about her. She stretched plastic wrap around the food and paper plate, handing it off to Sam. “Is he okay?” Dean’s soft voice drew their attention. “Um, I’m not sure…” Dean patted his pockets. “Uh…keys?” Since when does Dean misplace his car keys? Sam felt like he’d stepped into an alternate universe where nothing made sense. “They’re in the bedroom,” Chris called over his shoulder, shoving the trash can back into place. “Should be on the dresser.” Dean nodded, looking toward a room off to the side, his hands still patting at his pockets absently. “I’ll get them,” Lori said when he made no effort to move. Dean nodded again, still weirdly lost and vacant. It was so unlike his brother, Sam went to him and touched his arm, needing to ground himself in the contact. Dean flinched, but his expression cleared and he looked a little more present. Lori came back with his keys and amulet in her hand. And, wow, how had Sam missed that? Dean took both, but immediately handed the keys over. “That everything?” Sam asked. Dean glanced scornfully at the plate of food, but nodded as he drew his thumb along the side of his nose and moved slowly toward the door. He turned at the last minute to address the room. “Thanks. For everything. And I meant what I said,” he directed the last at Lori. “Yeah, I know. Please, take care of yourself. I’d like a chance to collect on that favor someday.” “I’ll do my best.” His smile would’ve been convincing if it had come anywhere near his eyes. Maybe if the corners hadn’t been lopsided with uncertainty and the depths of his eyes melancholy. Sam tightened his grip around the car keys and watched his brother shiver as he headed out the door. Turning to his friend settled once again at the kitchen table, he asked, “Chris, you need a ride?” “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m gonna finish this.” He lifted his coffee cup. “Lori can give me a ride.” “Yeah, don’t worry about him. We’re gonna head over to the hospital in a little bit. Sam,” Lori called as he moved to follow out the door, “make sure he rests.” Sam shifted onto his heels, considering. He shook his head ruefully. “I get the feeling I’ve missed something big—but I also get the feeling I should thank you both for looking after my stubborn brother.” Pointing at Chris, Sam continued, “We’ll talk later.” Sam smiled at them both, pulling the door shut behind him. Part B continued here!