#i don’t draw them as often because women are more daunting to draw for me since i want to capture them perfectly yk??

[unspecifiedfigure]

i don’t see what anyone could see in anyone else

[its-deputy-caleb]

Hi! I hope you’re doing well, I really love your writing and I recently tried to come out to my family but it didn’t go as well as I’d hoped. I was wondering if you could do the four lords’ reactions to reader coming out as lesbian (it doesn’t have to be lesbian specific if you don’t want to) If you don’t feel comfortable writing this it’s totally fine, no pressure at all. And thank you for all of your work it really helps me just relax sometimes 😘

Hii, I’m so glad that my writing is able to make you feel happy! It honestly makes my day!! I’m so happy to write this for you and I feel so honoured to write this, I apologise that it’s late I wanted to write it sooner.

I’m sorry that all this has happened to you and if you ever need anything I will always be here for a listen if you need <3 just message x I also wrote this from some person experiences since I am bi and have also had bad experiences so this is just to make everyone feel loved and included!

Alcina Dimitrescu

You’re sitting on the lounge of one of the various sitting areas in Castle Dimitrescu, having tea with the Lady of the house one cold evening.

You were both enjoying each other’s company, having grown very fond of Alcina and her daughters. You’d become something like an aunt to the girls and Alcina had accepted you into her house with open arms.

The Lady Dimitrescu was currently speaking about another “man-thing” she had hidden in the dungeon when you told her about your own feelings towards women.

Your heart is practically beating in your throat as the nerves make you feel nauseous, anxiously awaiting a reaction from the Lady Dimitrescu. Your palms shaking slightly as she stopped speaking to glance at you.

Tears well in your eyes as you wonder if you’ve made a mistake, instantly going to apologise.

She takes two large steps towards you, kneeling down and takes your much smaller hands in her own. Her thumb moves in gentle circles along your knuckles as she soothes you.

“My darling, please do not cry… You’re too beautiful in your youth to be sad. Just know you will always be loved here in my castle both by my daughters and myself. No harm will come to you, I promise; I will protect you always.”

She brings her hand up to wipe a stray tear from your cheek, holding your chin up so you can look at her. Everything about her presence is calming and loving in that moment.

“All that matters in this world is your happiness, my darling, don’t let anybody take it away from you.”

She places a soft kiss to the back of your hand and uses it to bring you into a tight hug. Her arms wrap around you tightly and she holds you close, almost protecting you from the outside world.

“Come now; if you’re to be staying with us, you’ll be needing your own formal room. Besides if you stay with us you’ll find that you and I are not so different.”

You look up at her with wide eyes as she gives you a large smile and scoops you up in her arms. It’s there that she carries you to your new chambers just down the hall from her own and you continue to stay with the Lady Dimitrescu.

Each day and night she reminds you just how much you’re loved by her and her family, making sure you know just how much she cares for you no matter who you are.

Donna Beneviento

You’re standing on the porch with Donna, over looking the waterfall which her house sits next to. You notice Angie is not with her and she’s in lighter clothes than her usual layers which she wears to visit Mother Miranda.

It’s one thing you’re very happy about is Donna’s comfort around you. You two are very close and you’re the only person she feels like she can be herself even without her dolls. To her, you’re someone that makes her feel normal and safe in this crazy and chaotic world.

Much like Donna, you’ve kept to yourself, often hiding how you really feel inside but she’s someone who you’ve grown to trust with your life and who care for very deeply about.

That’s why you feel ready to finally tell her about your own feelings and who you are. Yet it doesn’t make it any less nerve racking, your friendship with Donna means everything to you and you don’t want to lose her.

She notices the way you tense up, how you focus more on the water falling to distract yourself, fiddling with your hands at the same time.

Donna leans over and rests her head on your shoulder which you relax into and place your head on hers as her arm wraps around you reassuringly.

“Angie and I still love you. No matter what, you’re still the only one who likes us. Just because you feel a certain way doesn’t change that.”

Donna’s hand squeezes every so often against your arm, a reminder that she means what she says. Her touch keeping you warm out in the cold as her words warm your heart.

Salvatore Moreau

You and Moreau have always found comfort in each other. The two of you feeling rejected by everyone in society, just wishing that someone would give you the opportunity to get to know you both better. To see the real you.

That’s what you were, inseparable and each other’s second chance to be yourselves. You were all you two had, telling each other everything and sticking by each other.

Hidden away in his reservoir was your own little world where no one could judge either of you and you could be yourselves.

That’s why with your hand in his, squeezing tightly, you decided to come out to him.

His hand squeezes back and matches your strength as he smiles at you, proud that you were able to say it.

“You’re my best friend, you know? And I will never view you any differently because you like girls, you’re braver than I could ever wish to be.”

Salvatore is captured by your ability to be yourself, especially around him. He feels honoured that you trust him with everything, even something as daunting as coming out and he makes you feel validated and respected all the time.

You’re something of a role model to him and the two of you work through all your troubles together, always relying on each other for support.

You never once had to face anything alone, no matter how hard it was for you to come out to everyone else, Salvatore was always there for you and was by your side.

Karl Heisenberg

You and Karl had an interesting friendship, something akin to the term “chalk and cheese”. He was the wild and crazy engineer, always tinkering in his workshops, working tirelessly for his revenge on Mother Miranda while you were the gentle and sweet soul who was once a member of the village.

No matter of your differences, you were both the only one you had left. You truly cared about each other. Although you both weren’t always great at saying it, you each had your moments.

After Karl told you about his childhood, the experiments he endured and the Cadou implant you both agreed to tell each other everything and he honest. Promising to be there for each other.

That’s why you knew you could come out to him and tell you how you felt deep down.

He instantly drops the hot piece of metal he was welding to draw his attention to you. Leaning in and listening to you as you told him all of what you had been hiding.

At the end of it you’re exhausted, teary eyed and in need of a hug which he gladly provides, practically crushing you as he holds you close.

“Hey now, you’re not broken like I am, there’s nothing wrong with who you are. Fuck what anyone has to say, if they want to hurt you I won’t let them okay? If they’ve got a problem with who you love they’re gonna have to deal with me. I mean it, if anyone gives you shit they’ll be fed to the lycans!”

You laugh at his little speech and he smiles when he sees you happy. Although apart of you knows he’s very serious and cares about you enough to rip anyone’s throat out for hurting you.

Karl Heisenberg was the last person you’d expect to find a friend in and yet he’d stop at nothing to make you feel loved and safe in his home.

i love all of you <3

[janeyseymour]

Nobody Loves Me

a prompt from @givethispromptatry: "Nobody loves me -Are you calling me a nobody? "

WC: 1999

Katherine Howard had convinced herself that she was living alone in this world. Not physically- she had five other housemates- but mentally and emotionally. She was brought into this strange world with no one, or so she thought. 

In the beginning days of them being brought back to this world, the young woman had finely adapted to the strange ways of the world. She was able to use her cell phone and most of the electronics that surrounded her in an efficient manner (far better than say... Catherine of Aragon and Jane Seymour). She quite liked that she could dress the way she wanted and wasn’t forced to be with men she had never wanted to stand within six feet of. If she so desired, she was able to leave the property that their house was on without much questioning (although we would be lying if the third queen hadn’t once asked her where she was going so late at night). On the other side, she was also able to stay within her room and request that no one bother her by simply closing the door. She didn't much mind the new world that she found herself in- a far different place than she had seen five hundred years before. The only blaring similarity to the former queen? Nobody loved her. 

The five other queens had quickly put aside any differences that they had from the past. Katherine didn’t have any outstanding complications with any of the queens, not that she knew of. If she could remember correctly, Anna of Cleves had even said she loved her all those years ago. Her housemates had somehow formed a family dynamic that just didn’t quite make sense to her. She decided early on that she probably never would understand how the other five ex-wives of one man could reconcile and become friends. She never saw herself belonging to the odd little family they had created between them.

She kept her distance. Anytime another woman in the house would offer for her to join them, she declined- telling herself that they didn’t really want her to join in on whatever antics they had planned for that night. They pitied her; she wouldn’t fit in since she was much younger than the rest. 

That came to head one day when the third queen insisted that all six of them turn their Saturday into a group day. The thought of spending all day with the five women she had lived in a house with for six months and hadn't spoken more than a few words to alone made her nauseous. Having to talk to one of the others about skipping out on the day was decidedly just as much of a daunting task. 

Given that she wasn’t prepared for the blonde’s declaration of a family day, the clever woman knew she couldn’t fake illness. It would be evident that she was trying to get out of the “group bonding time”, as the third queen had stated. So, she did the only thing she could think to do as a last resort of evading having to spend time with the five older women. She went to speak to Jane Seymour in private.

Her heart pounded as she knocked on the door to the grey room, not quite sure how Jane would react. At this point in time, it was a conundrum how the blonde would act. She too was still getting used to the oddities of the new era they found themselves living in and was either warm and light or held onto her heart of stone.

“Come in!” Seymour’s voice floated through the air. The pink haired queen slowly opened the door to reveal herself. It was clear that Jane had expected someone- anyone- other than the lonesome Katherine Howard, her body freezing, dropping the hanger she was holding. “Katherine?”

All the fifth queen could mutter out was a quiet, “Hi,” as she fiddled with the hem of her sleeve, clearly not knowing what she was going to say to convince the third monarch to let her stay home.

“This is a surprise,” the silver queen chuckled as she bent down to pick up the object. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m-” she bit her lip. “I’ll just-” she bit it harder, almost violently enough to draw blood. 

“What is it Katherine?” Jane continued on with her laundry, although not before throwing the flustered queen a look of concern. “If you keep gnawing at that lip of yours, you’re going to draw blood.”

“I don’t think I should come out with you all today,” Katherine’s mouth blurted out before her brain could process what she really wanted to say.

The blonde, who had now made her way over to her closet to hang her clothing, turned around and raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I’m just not feeling well,” the younger woman lied through her teeth, and not very convincingly at that. “I don’t want to be a-”

“Were you feeling ill this morning?” Jane set the shirts on her desk before promptly making her way over to the girl still standing in the doorway nervously and resting her hand on the youngest’s forehead. “You don’t feel warm to me? Is it your stomach?”

Katherine mulled over this for a second. Technically, her stomach was bothering her. She nodded.

“Is it cramping?” A shake of the head. “Stabbing pains?” Another no. “Burning?” Again, it was a no. “Nausea?”

The thought of being forced to engage with the five others at once did indeed make her stomach flip, although the pink haired queen knew it wasn’t the nausea the elder queen was thinking of. She shrugged.

“Nerves?” Yes. The fifth queen nodded slowly. Contented that she had pinpointed Katherine’s ill feelings, Jane let out a sigh. “About spending the day with us?”

Katherine looked at her with pleading eyes. “Please don’t make me.” Jane’s gaze softened significantly, for she saw through the pleading and instead saw the fear that held itself in those young eyes of the woman in front of her.

“If you really don’t want to, I suppose you don’t have to. I’m sorry I tried to force it.”

“It’s just-”

“You don’t have to explain yourself Katherine. I understand that it must be really hard to adjust to this world after all that you’ve been thr-” Jane laid a gentle hand on the pink queen’s shoulder, but the way she jumped back would make a bystander think that she had burned her. “I- I’m sorry.”

“That’s just it!” The fifth monarch snapped. “I have adjusted to this world! I understand technology. I understand most of the culture that surrounds us nowadays. I’ve adjusted to the modern times, but there’s one thing that’s never changed! And that’s that nobody loves me! Nobody has ever loved me! It’s all out of pity that anyone shows me any sort of kindness. ‘Oh you poor thing having gone through everything that you’ve been through!’ ‘You’ve been sitting by yourself for some time now, why don’t you come join us?’ It’s all out of pity! Nobody really and truly loves me!” 

The blonde’s stature had somewhat deflated, startled at the commotion the teen in front of her had caused, before she adjusted her posture to be standing as tall as she could. With a glint of defiance in her eyes, she cooly questioned, “Are you calling me a nobody?”

“What does that even mean?” Katherine looked at her bewilderedly. 

“It means dear-” the pet name slipped off her tongue before she could stop herself. “-that I love you.”

“How could you love me when you barely know me?” It was clear the pink haired queen was growing frustrated. 

“Oh, but that’s where you’re wrong,” Jane smirked. “We’ve lived together for the past six months, and even though you’ve barely spoken a word to any of us: we’ve all come to learn a lot about you, and we’ve all come to love you just the way you are.”

“Prove it. You don’t know a single thing about me.” Katherine crossed her arms in front of her body and gave the silver queen a daring look.

“You, Katherine Howard, like to re-dye your hair when no one else is around. You like to stay stocked up on granola bars because sometimes it’s the only thing you can stomach. You would choose peanut butter over chocolate anyday. You love nature, and you seem to always be at your most peaceful when you’re under the starry sky. You bite your lip when you're nervous, and you often play with your sleeves. You’ve been able to figure out how to make your way through this house silently at night, and-”

“You don’t know that,” the younger queen cut her off.

“I do. Do you know how I know that? During the day, we can all hear you moving around in your room, but once Aragon goes to bed, you’re silent. I’ve used the lavatory after you in the dead of night, and you never once make a noise retreating back to your bedroom. I’ve seen you travel back to your room, granola bars in hand silently at two in the-”

“How on Earth have you-” Katherine began to question her.

“Sometimes I sit in the sitting room and sip tea. You’ve just never noticed me. We know a lot more about you than you think we do. And we love you for it.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Oh but it is. Even though you never speak to us, almost as if you’d rather just blend in with the walls- we know you care about us. We care about you. Not once have we ever considered not caring about you. We’ve only been giving you the space you need to-��� Jane was not cut off by words this time, but rather she was cut off by the younger girl flinging herself into the blonde’s arms, almost knocking the wind out of her with a bone crushing hug.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Of course Kat,” the nickname slipped out naturally. “We love you.”

“Thank you,” she let the tears roll down her face freely as she clung to the third queen with everything she had in her. “I love you guys too, and I’m so sorry I haven’t been able to-”

“I won’t hear that you haven’t shown us you love us. You make sure you’re quiet at night when the first one of us goes to bed. We’ve noticed that you spiffy up around the house when the rest of us are out. We’ve discovered that we are almost never out of all of our favorite things, and we’ve all pinpointed that you’re the one replenishing our stashes. You love us, you just show us differently than the rest of us. And that’s okay hun. We love you for it. We love you for you, just the way you are, right now. We just hope that you’ll begin to realize that and let us in a bit more. We care about you.” Jane gently pulled away so she could get a better look at the girl in her arms. “Do you think you can believe that we really and truly do care about you? It’s not a pity, I promise you.”

“I-” Katherine smiled, a bit teary-eyed still. “I- think I can try?”

“That’s all we’re asking,” Jane replied genuinely.

“Do you think I could still join you for today?” She asked hesitantly. After all the fuss she had made, even though the third queen had made it quite clear they would love for her to join them, the fifth queen couldn’t help but feel it would be out of pity.

“We would be delighted to have you join us Kat.” 

“I- I kinda like when you call me Kat,” the youngest queen admitted sheepishly. “It’s... like I belong.”

“Kat,” Jane pulled her in close again. “You do belong. You’ll realize it soon enough, love.”

[winterrose527]

For the wip games (I'm so slow sorry), I wanna hear about Dancing on the Strings or Fairytales, if you haven't already talked about them :))

Hi love, thanks for the ask! Dancing on the Strings is a WIP I have on AO3. Myrcella goes to the Vale to find her half-brother Gendry, and finds the Starks, a Snow and a Greyjoy at the same time. It’s the usual pairings, but one of my favorites that I hope to return to soon.

I’ve included the one shot Fairytales below.

It was one of those clear nights that chilled the bones the moment you stepped outside. It had been years since she’d been able to see her breath and she relished it now as sounds from the party wafted through the double-paned glass windows of the Stark’s mansion. 

Not for the first time, Myrcella Baratheon thought to herself that all of the fairytales were lies. In the fairytales everyone rejoiced when their lost princess was returned to them, but she had been brought back from Dorne as unceremoniously as she’d been sent there three years prior. Her mother had been hovering over her and Tommen had been sweet as always, but no one else had shown any indication that her absence nor her presence made the least bit of different. Uncle Jaime would be happy to see me, she thought, but her handsome uncle was seeing to the family’s interests across the Narrow Sea. If her family’s reception had been lukewarm, it had been positively emphatic in comparison to that of the other society girls. Where they had once at least been obsequious if not kind, they now ignored her, fluttering around the Tyrell girl with the necklines of their gowns at their navels. 

In truth it mattered not to her. She had only come to this party at the insistence of her mother, an attempt for the Starks and Lannisters to mend fences as it were, and if she could not have her feet in the Dornish sand then it mattered not where she was. 

“You’ll catch a cold out here,” a deep Northern voice said from behind her. 

Her fifteen year old self would have swooned when she found that it belonged to Robb Stark, the eldest son of her father’s dearest friend, but Myrcella had grown in the past three years, and it would take more than his presence to daunt her now. 

“Then what are you doing out here?,” she asked with a challenging raise of a brow. 

The old fashioned lanterns cast him in a hazy glow and he’d loosened his bowtie. He had always been handsome and bright, the heir any father would want, as her father often pointed out to Joffrey, but there was something else to him now. He had changed too in these three years, and now at twenty there was something almost dangerous about him. Though perhaps that was just the blue of his eyes. 

“I was sent to fetch you,” he explained, “That dress can’t be doing much to keep you warm…”

She looked down at her gold Elie Saab confection. Thought it was more conservative than most of the girls’ gowns, with its high neck and long sleeves, it had an open back and was thin and beaded. 

“Not sure that is its purpose,” she agreed, though pretended to consider, turning this way and that and giving him an ample view of her. The Dornish men, and women, had taught her to appreciate her form, for others always would. 

“You’ve changed,” he said, as though trying to work her out.

“You say that as though you knew me before I left…,” she said, though there was something in his gaze that made her unable to meet his eye. 

“Perhaps not. But I’d like to know you now.”

The admission made her bold, and she was better at these games now than he was. 

“I thought you were with the Tyrell girl, the pretty one,” she said, which was a useless denotation. All the Tyrells were pretty, the garden was overgrown with them now, all of them more scantily dressed with a prettier laugh than the last. 

“Marg?,” he asked and rubbed his chin, “No…no we aren’t together. Though you have your Martell heir, don’t you? Tristan is it?”

“Trystane,” she corrected. Poor, sweet Trystane. “No. Warring families are so 16th century, wouldn’t you say?”

“Oh I don’t know,” he said, and took his first step closer to her. She held her ground, drawing herself up to her full height. At 5’8, 5’11 in her heels, she was no match for him, who must be 6’2 at least, but she felt better with straight posture, always had. “Doesn’t everyone love a doomed romance?”

Now that he is closer she can see the stubble on his chin, she can see the light dancing in his eyes, she can see that his body is made for fighting. He had been born in the wrong century, in a different age he would have been a great warrior, a leader of men. Now he probably boxed at the gym her family used with its $300 a month membership. 

“Who sent you to fetch me?,” she asked, changing the subject, keeping him on his toes, leading him in a dance of her choosing. 

“Y-your…mother,” he said uneasily. The best predators are those who look like prey. 

“You’re a terrible liar,” she sighed, then turned on her heel and started walking down the terrace. 

“Wait! Myrcella? Where are you going?,” he asked her and she smiled to herself as she heard him run to catch up to her. 

Once he’d fallen into step with her she pointed out, “Well if no one sent you to fetch me, that means no one is looking for me.”

She stopped to turn towards him and he turned towards her as well. The music drifted out of the home and she could see the couples turning round and round inside, the icicles melting on the window panes and casting them in an otherwordly glow. 

She heard him sigh, but then he was stepping closer and easing his tuxedo jacket over her shoulders. It was warmed from him, and it smelled like pines and snow. 

“Then come along, there’s a place I’d like to show you,” he said and offered her his hand. 

She’d been warned against this, love is a poison, so she placed hers in his. 

He led her down the stairs, down the gravel path the surrounded the manicured garden. Winterfell was an ancient home, but it was Catelyn Stark who had created its enviable garden out of something once referred to as the tilt yard. 

Her hand felt small in Robb’s, and she was distantly aware that only he knew where they were going, but he squeezed her hand and grabbed her other one when he went to lead her down more steps in the dark, and she found that she didn’t quite care because she’d go wherever he lead. 

He opened an ancient door and all of a sudden she was hit with the smell of lilacs and lavender, peonies and roses. He turned on a small storm lamp that cast the room in a warm light, and she saw that it was a kind of green house. I have not been this warm since Dorne, she thought and automatically raised her face towards the ceiling, as though the sun might warm it even now. 

“Here,” he said, letting go of her hand as he went to get something. “Close your eyes,” he said. 

She gave him a challenging gaze and he gave her a puppy-dog expression that looked so out of place on his chiseled features that she acquiesced. 

All of a sudden a smell, more delicate than the others filled her senses. 

“It smells like -,” she started. 

“You,” he finished and she opened her eyes to find him holding a jasmine plant. She looked at him questioningly and he set it down. “I noticed it for the first time when you were twelve. Your parents were fighting so you and your brother Joffrey,” she did not miss the note of disdain she heard in his voice at that, “Came to stay with us. Joffrey preened around, being rude to the staff, flirting with Sansa…but you kept to yourself. You read for hours and hours every day, and then Grey Wind started disappearing. One night he came back and I went to wrestle with him and I smelled it. You.”

Myrcella thought back to those days. She’d spent much of the time by herself, both she and Sansa too shy and awkward at twelve and thirteen to really befriend one another, and Grey Wind had been her only friend. He would sit by her side for those hours as she read under a big white tree she’d found. 

“You never spoke to me…,” she reasoned. 

“We were children,” he protested. 

“You were seventeen when I left,” she pointed out. 

“And our families were at war. So 16th-century, wouldn’t you say?” he asked her with a small grin.

“And who says this peace will hold?,” she wondered. 

An uneasy truce had been reached, a tacit alliance as they all dealt with the larger issue, the Targaryens. 

He took a step forward, taking her hands in his and raising them to his chest, “Doesn’t everyone love a doomed romance?”

This was foolish, rash, ill-advised. He was too much, too all-consuming, too dangerous. She was smarter than this, she had always been smarter than this. 

“Let’s find out,” she suggested, because at eighteen she was ready for foolishness, even for danger if it came with the feel of Robb Stark holding her. 

He grinned and touched his lips to hers. It was full of sweetness and reverence and ever after she would remember it when she smelled honeysuckles. 

***

Three years later, on a terrace that was adorned with the flowers from Winterfell’s glass gardens, Myrcella Baratheon became Robb Stark’s wife. 

In the end, the peace held. Robert Baratheon got the heir that he wanted so dearly, and her husband as well, and no shyness kept Sansa and Myrcella from one another as they grew as close as any sisters. 

Often Myrcella would wake to find a freshly cut peony on her pillow. She had called it right all those years ago, Robb Stark was dangerous. He had stolen her heart that evening, and had never returned it. 

Their union brought about an era of peace and prosperity, reviving the economy and the spirit of Westeros after the defeat of the Targaryens. 

The princess had returned to find her prince, who had been waiting for her those three long years she was gone. He had fallen into a spell, awakened only by her return. She saved him that night, and he saved her right back. 

After all, not all fairytales are lies. 

[otomememento]

Quest for Knowledge

Cybird Creative Challenge: Day 17 - Bound

(Continued from: A Proposition)

It had been a week since Oliver last saw Audrey.  A week during which his mind poured over her question and came to one conclusion: he didn’t have enough information.  But instead of daunting him, it intrigued him.  If he asked her to fill in the gaps, what would she tell him?  And he would be lying to himself if he didn’t often replay their previous interactions in his head.  If he had to be stuck with someone long term, Audrey didn’t seem like bad company; she would definitely keep things from getting too dull.

All the secrets he kept locked inside made him wary of women; the desires that seemed so natural during the evening were just awkward while he was in a youth’s body.  Anyone who looked his age during the day would be way too young: girls with innocent dreams of their romantic futures had little to do with someone his age.  But the women who were actually his age would be put off by the body of a boy barely in his teens.

He couldn’t say if he wanted to be a vampire or not, he didn’t know the details of such a life.  But he could decide, at the very least, whether he wanted his curse to be conquered.  It hadn’t seemed so bad at first; he could retain some of his child-like wonder during the day, but switching back and forth made things hard.  And he didn’t age normally between times.  Each day, his time was effectively reset.  He wouldn’t grow old and die anyhow.  The question came down to whether being a blood thirsty predator was better than being a child.  Audrey didn’t seem to have any trouble blending in; she didn’t burn in the sunlight like the creatures from horror stories would.

Even though he had predetermined this, Oliver found that his throat caught when Audrey showed up.  He had been so certain he could coolly and calmly pose his questions to her, but his tongue felt dry and stuck to the roof of his mouth.  Audrey smiled; it was one of her softer ones.  The kind that made it easier to believe she was more than just a thirsty seductress.

“Have you thought about my question?” she asked, her tone serious, but not quite severe.

“I have.”

“What do you think about it?”

“I said I thought about it; I didn’t say I had an answer,” Oliver replied with half a smile.

“That is more than fair,” Audrey said.  Did she look a little disappointed?  “I really wouldn’t expect you to jump at the chance.”

“I wouldn’t jump at anything that I didn’t have enough information on,” pointed out Oliver.  Audrey stared at him for a couple beats, then laughed.

“Ahhhh.  Of course not!”  She shook her head.  “It’s very sensible of you.  But, I hope you’re not too sensible.  After all, you have been called the Mad Hatter.  One has to be at least a little mad to survive this way.”

“Sensible.  Hmph,” said Oliver.  “I wouldn’t say that I’m always sensible, but being in Cradle has made me cautious.”  He shrugged his shoulders.

“Very well.  If you want to know something, then ask.”  Audrey opened her arms in a gesture of welcoming.  “I didn’t make the offer in jest.”

“Honestly, I’m not sure where to start,” Oliver admitted.

“Just start with whatever is on your mind.  Don’t worry about it being reasonable; you can make sense of it afterwards.  I won’t scold you for re-asking a question, or looking for clarification.”  She lowered her voice a trifle.  “Unless you want me to, that is.”

“Then I might as well tackle the biggest problem first.”  His eyes narrowed slightly.  “Blood: how much will I need and how will I get it.”

“Straight to the point.  And you managed it without flinching, which is a very promising start.”

“No sense in being squeamish about it.  If we’re serious, then it would be a sure sign I’m not ready if it made me too uncomfortable.”  He shifted slightly.  “Not that I’m entirely comfortable with the idea, but I consider myself open minded, if nothing else.”

“You’ve pretty much had to be,” murmured Audrey softly.  She nodded her head in approval.  “Well, the first week will be the hardest.  You’ll need to take blood nightly as your body is making the transition.  There will be some aches and pains, but I wouldn’t say it’s unbearable.  During that time, you’ll get most of your blood directly from me.”  She sighed.  “When it happened to me, I was in quite a panic because I was told nothing.  I had to learn everything the hard way while my creator just watched and laughed.  I wouldn’t do that to someone else.”  

Her eyes grew distant for a while as her mind scanned back through her memories.  Oliver let her take her time.  She continued a few minutes later.  

“After that first week, it’s a good idea to take blood every other night, just as you get used to things.  The hungrier we are, the harder it is to control ourselves.  But, for a new vampire, it can be difficult to feed if you’re not a little hungry.  This is less of a physical precaution, and more of a psychological one.  Most of us are raised from a young age to think that attacking other people is generally a bad idea.  Drinking blood from another person would be considered aberrant at best, and evil at worst.”

Audrey reached up and caressed Oliver’s cheek; he found himself leaning into the contact.  He had gotten so good at keeping his distance; he found it far to easy to seek out her touch now that she had opened the door on the experience.  His only worry is that it might cloud his judgment on the current topic.

“Typically, in the past, I got blood by skulking around and taking people unawares, just like a thief.  Only I wasn’t stealing mere objects.  I had to be careful not to let my face be shown.”  She smiled faintly.  “Sometimes, I attracted men to me.  Sometimes I would creep into a person’s house while they were asleep.”   She shook her head.  “With the magic around, it is a bit riskier, but I’ve also met with a lot less revulsion.  People may be afraid of what I am, but so far no one has tried too hard to get rid of me.”  She paused a beat.  “At least, not for being a vampire, at any rate.”

Oliver listened with quiet patience.  The information she gave was good, but he was equally interested in the little insights into Audrey’s personality, and past, that went along with it.  His life would be in her hands, and so he was watching for any red flags, any sign that this would be something he would deeply regret.  So far, he didn’t get such an impression.  He nodded his head to show he understood, and he pursed his lips as he thought what else he wanted, needed, to know.

“So, you’re suggesting I do all, or some, of those things?” he asked tentatively.  Audrey shook her head.

“It’s not so much a suggestion as a retelling of my experience.  The thing about blood is, it tastes different depending on the emotions of a person.  Depending on the emotional flavors you learn to like, your style of hunting will change.  I fed on sleeping people because their blood was often peaceful, quiet.  I lured people in because I prefer the taste of desire over the taste of fear or anger.”  Her expression darkened slightly.  “My maker liked the taste of fear; I’ve never cared for it.  Anger, on the other hand, has a rather unpredictable reaction in me.  I don’t know if it’s the same for others.”  She frowned, her brows drawing together.  “He also made me experience any number of emotions, doing questionable things to get the humans to ‘feel’ just right.”  Her lips twitched; for a brief moment Oliver saw a true look of hatred in her face.

Audrey didn’t go into deeper detail, but Oliver could read between the lines.

“Yet you would still turn someone else into the same thing?” he asked.

“It does get lonely, being this way,” Audrey said, speaking plainly.  “But because of your situation, you seem the best candidate.”

“And what does that mean to you?  What will…turning me into a vampire signify?”  It wasn’t the nature of the creature he was asking about now; it was a question about Audrey.  About Oliver.

“It means nothing you don’t want it to mean,” Audrey said.  Then, seeing Oliver was not amused at her vague answer, she sighed.  “It does not create an artificial bond,” she began to explain.  “You will not feel any differently towards me afterwards, nor I to you, except that which is based in experience.  We will only be bound together by those things we have in common.  As I said before, it will be difficult at first, and you will likely rely quite a bit on me.  Once you grow accustomed to things, your fate is your own.  If that means you want to continue to share my company, then it can mean closeness.  If you decide that you wish to go your own way, I will respect your wishes.”  Even though her voice was calm, Oliver was sure he saw sadness in her eyes when Audrey mentioned the option of leaving her.

“So I would not belong to you?”  Oliver wasn’t sure how he felt about that.  Perhaps deep down he wanted there to be something unbreakable between them.

“Never.  You will always be your own man Oliver.  I wouldn’t have offered if it could take that away from you,” she said.  “But I will always be the one who made you, and we will always have our ties to London.  Unnatural as we may be, there are natural things that bind us, which is as it should be.”

Oliver was quiet for some time.  Audrey stood up and went to the window, looking outside as if to give him the illusion of privacy while he organized his thoughts.

“I just need a little more time to think,” he finally said.  Audrey merely nodded from where she was pressed against the window.  She was in no hurry; both of them would be the same tomorrow as they were now.  And the day after that, and the day after that.  Time bound them together as well.

[shipmistress9]

“Shouldn’t you be with him/her?” for hicceretstrid?

Oooohhh, now this was a fun prompt, thank you a lot, anon! 😁

HTTYD – Hicretstrid – Modern AU – T-rated

. o O o .

Not A Bad Day

“All right, this calls for a celebration,” Dagur exclaimed, and pulled Hiccup in one of his trademark hugs. “Tonight, we’ll go out! Scott and I can show you the best places to meet people. Oh, this will be awesome!”

Chuckling with slight embarrassment, Hiccup retreated and rubbed his arm.

“Yeah, congratulations, coz. It was about time though. Nobody believed you to be straight anyway.” Scott’s grin was, as always, a little patronising as he stepped next to Dagur and placed a hand on his boyfriend’s shoulder, but today, Hiccup didn’t really care.

Coming out as bisexual had been a daunting prospect, but in the end, all his worries had been for nothing. Because Scott was right, nobody had really been surprised; his dad had accepted the news with a shrug and a nod, his mum had been supportive as ever, and his friends had congratulated him for making up his mind and picking up the courage. Even Gobber, his employer at the workshop who’d, of course, heard the news from his dad, had clapped him on the shoulder with a huge grin on his face.

“Very true. Certainly not me,” Dagur sing-songed in reply to Scott’s ribbing, which made his boyfriend roll his eyes. “Okay, let’s see. How about we all head home to change and we pick you up in about two hours?”

Hiccup agreed, and before he really knew how the time had flown by so fast, he found himself at a club he’d never been to before, surrounded by people and, for once, couldn’t imagine feeling any better. Who would have thought that admitting to his sexuality could be so liberating? Sure, the acceptance from his friends and family were a big part of that, and he was still nervous at first. But before long, he was moving through the crowd without hesitation, smiling at men and women alike and basking in the fact that nobody thought him weird for doing so.

He was just taking a break, sipping a fruity cocktail at the bar, when he saw her. She was gorgeous in her skin-tight red dress, silken golden hair falling down over most of her back, and her blue eyes seemed to sparkle with the club’s stroboscopic light. And she headed right in his direction.

“Five caipirinhas,” she ordered. Then she paused, threw a scrutinising look at Hiccup’s drink, then turned back toward the barkeeper. “Or wait. Four caipis, and one of these.” She leaned against the bar, waiting, and Hiccup thought he might just as well try his luck and talk to her.

“Hi. Are you coming here often?”

The blonde looked at him, her eyebrows raised and pink lips stretched into a faint smirk. “Really?”

Hiccup shrugged, a little hesitant, but wasn’t yet ready to give up. “Well, I wouldn’t know. It’s the first time I’m here. But I like it.”

For a moment, the blonde kept looking at him as if he had a funny nose, but then she broke and giggled. “Yeah,” she said, smiling more genuine now. “I like it here too.” She threw him a look, her gleaming eyes almost tangible on his body. “And I’m glad you found your way here as well,” she added, winking suggestively.

With his courage boosted by her reaction, Hiccup kept chatting with her. He learned that her name was Astrid, that she had a dog named Stormfly she adored, that, like him, she loved to draw but never had the patience to actually finish anything, and that she liked to have sex. A lot of it. And judging by the way she looked at him, Hiccup wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d tried to mount him right then and there. He wouldn’t have minded either.

When her ordered drinks arrived, she even almost looked disappointed. Hiccup thought about offering to help her carry them to her friends, but she turned out to be more than capable of doing so all by herself. And even though he was disappointed that his excuse to spend more time with her wouldn’t work, Hiccup had to admit that he found her strength rather sexy.

“It was nice meeting you, Hiccup,” she said, her pretty blue eyes gleaming. “I hope you’ll come here more often now.”

She left, and Hiccup followed her with his eyes, but quickly lost sight of her in the crowd. There was a tiny spark of disappointment that they hadn’t talked more. But she obviously was here with friends. And even though Hiccup would have liked to get in touch with new people, he wasn’t that desperate that he would get obtrusive. She hadn’t invited him to accompany her, and that was okay.

Contemplating whether to get another drink or not, he decided against it and got up. He didn’t want to get drunk, after all. Making his way over to the dance floor, he suddenly felt as if he’d run into a literal mountain.

“Oh, hey, sorry, man,” the mountain said, turning to see who stood behind him. “I didn’t mean to run into anyone. Seriously, not having eyes in the back of your head is such a design flaw, don’t you think?”

But Hiccup wasn’t capable of answering. In front of him stood the most stunning guy he’d ever seen. He was tall, taller even than Hiccup with his 6’1’’, and nearly twice as broad, the sight of his muscled chest and arms making Hiccup swallow. His black hair, which he wore long and was bound at his back, looked as if it was made of silk, and Hiccup was just dying to touch it, to feel whether it really was as soft as it looked. The guy’s most prominent feature was his broad chin though, highlighted even by a couple of tattooed lines, and with his large nose, bushy eyebrows, and a pair of warm brown eyes, Hiccup actually couldn’t find any design flaws in him whatsoever.

“Uh,” he mumbled, unable to find any words to answer.

“Hey, you okay?” the guy asked. “You look dizzy if I may say so.”

Hiccup wanted to kick himself. “Uh, I’m fine,” he said, forcefully pulling himself together. Drooling in front of this guy certainly wouldn’t do him any good.

“Great,” the guy commented cheerfully, then gave Hiccup a closer look. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. Are you new here?” he asked with genuine interest.

Hiccup couldn’t help but chuckle at the guy using the same approach he’d used before too. “Actually, I am. I’ve never before been to a club like this. Just, you know… came out today,” he shrugged, a little self-consciously. Certainly, that was too much information to share with someone he didn’t even know the name of?

“Oh, that’s great! So, you’re not only new here but also to the whole scene? Must be a little daunting, eh?” The guy let his eyes wander around over the crowd as if looking for something – or someone – then nodded. “Were you just going anywhere? Else, how about we chat a little? Maybe we can even get a spot over there on the sofas. I assure you, they are as clean as they can be – I know the guy who owns this club. Oh, I’m Eret by the way.”

A little overwhelmed, Hiccup followed the guy, Eret, to the mentioned sofas. “I’m Hiccup,” he replied, fully expecting the usual disbelieving question after people heard his name. But Eret just gave him a crooked smile. “Hiccup, eh? Ah, I’ve heard weirder names. So, you only came out today? Tell me about it. That is, only if you want to. If I’m getting too nosy just tell me. It’s cool. I don’t want to push you, am just curious.”

Still a little dazed, Hiccup answered all questions Eret asked, and happily so. Talking about all his struggles and the confusion felt good, and Eret’s honest interest made it even easier. In addition, Hiccup found himself more and more drawn to this guy, and if he didn’t fail completely at interpreting body language, the interest was mutual. Part of it certainly was that Eret didn’t seem to know about personal space. Or was it just that he came that close to Hiccup because he’d noticed his interest? Hiccup might not have gone out tonight with the intention to hook up with anyone, but in Eret’s case, he also wouldn’t mind changing his plans.

Except that his change of plans got changed again by an unexpected source.

“Ah, there you are,” suddenly a mildly familiar voice exclaimed, and before Hiccup knew what had happened, a whirlwind of red fabric and golden hair was draped across Eret’s lap. “I almost thought you’d left without me.”

Eret chuckled. “I wouldn’t dare, love. I was just talking to Hiccup here. He’s new, you know?”

Astrid turned as if she only now noticed that Eret wasn’t alone, and her lips stretched into a wide grin when she recognised Hiccup. “Well, hi there again.”

Hiccup, however, could only stare. Was this supposed to be a joke? His throat went dry as he watched the two interact; the way Eret’s hand was curled around Astrid’s waist, how sure she settled on his lap, and how they both craned their necks in an obviously familiar motion to kiss each other. No, there was no doubt that these two were more than just friends.

Hiccup really should have known better. What had he been thinking?

His eyes drifted from one to the other and back again, head whirling. What had happened? Had they played some cruel game on him, both fake-hitting on him just to make fun of him? It certainly seemed that way, especially when Astrid threw him a cheeky look over her shoulder, then turned back toward her boyfriend. Her lips were at his ears as she whispered something, then Eret glanced in Hiccup’s direction and grinned.

Gods, he felt like an idiot.

Desperately wishing for a hole to open up in the ground and swallow him whole, Hiccup got up on his feet and made an awkward stumbling step backwards before turning around and looking for the exit. Why, oh why, had he followed Snot’s and Dagur’s suggestion to go out? The day had been so good, why had he needed to ruin it by making a fool of himself?

As if in a trance, he stumbled away from the happy couple. Through the crowd of dancing bodies, past laughing and drinking people. He just wanted to get away. Honestly, what had he been thinking? That he would go out and through some miracle not just one but two incredibly alluring people would hit on him? When usually, he barely got more than a dismissive glance in passing? Gods, he’d been so stupid. They were probably laughing about him right now. Haha, what a great joke. As if…

Hiccup hadn’t even known the club had a backdoor exit that led into an outdoor area, but suddenly he found himself under a clear and star-lit night sky. It was cool outside, the chill of the past weeks not yet gone. It meant that there weren’t many people out here, which was good. Hiccup walked away from the door and slumped against a wall. What was he doing here? He should be at home, drawing more dragons or maybe cuddling with his cat Toothless. He shouldn’t be here, trying to connect to other people. He’d never been good at doing so; why should that have changed now? Taking a few deep breaths, he forced himself to calm down. He ought to leave. If Dagur and Scott wanted to stay then that was fine, he could always call a cab. He just wanted to get away, and all that kept him from doing so was the fact that, in order to leave – and to let Scott know he was leaving – he had to go back inside. And even with how ample the club was, he dreaded the idea of running into either Astrid or Eret again – or even worse, both. So he stayed where he was, unwilling to go back inside, even as the cold winter air made him shiver.

He stayed until a broad figure appeared and leaned against the wall next to him. He didn’t say anything and didn’t come conspicuously close, which, from the little he’d gotten to know about Eret, certainly was remarkable.

“Shouldn’t you be with your girlfriend?” Hiccup eventually asked, not in the mood for more taunting or even pity. Right now, he just wanted to be alone.

“Heh… no, I think being out here is far more sensible,” Eret said cheerfully. Hiccup just grunted. A part of him wanted to ask why that was. Had his girlfriend been annoyed with him for flirting with someone else? That would have been quite the double standard. But in the end, he didn’t care enough to ask.

But Eret seemed to interpret his silence differently. “Unless you would have prefered her company instead of mine. But usually, people find her a little scary at first, so we figured me talking to you would be the better choice.”

Despite himself, an amused little laugh escaped Hiccup. The picture of the muscled mountain of a guy and the slender blonde didn’t exactly support the idea of her being the scary one. But then, from the little he’d learned about them both tonight, Eret appeared to be more the big teddy bear type of guy while the only word to describe Astrid that came to his mind was Valkyrie. So, maybe, she was the scarier one after all.

There were a few minutes of silence before Eret eventually sighed. “Okay, listen… I don’t know how things came across to you just now so I’ll just be blunt. Yes, Astrid is my girlfriend. But I wasn’t cheating on her when I hit on you, and neither was she when she hit on you. We have a fairly relaxed and open relationship; we love each other to pieces, but we don’t own each other.”

Almost despite his will, Hiccup looked up at that. “What is that even supposed to mean?”

“Well… it means that both my and her hitting on you was genuine? I didn’t even know she’d already met you.”

Hiccup still felt like none of Eret’s words made any sense. “So what… am I supposed to choose or something?” Even just saying that felt ridiculous. There were these two gorgeous and stunning people who were both interested in him and he was to pick one? Yeah, good joke. If he told Scott about it, his cousin might just die of laughter.

Eret though shook his head. “No, not necessarily. I mean, you could if you wanted? But we actually more thought of both meeting you?”

He sounded serious, not as if he was joking at all, Hiccup mused. A dream. Yeah, that was the only sensible explanation. He was dreaming, because honestly, this was too good to be true. “What? As in, let’s have a fun little threesome, you, me, and your girlfriend?” It sounded ridiculous in his own ears, but Eret didn’t seem to think so.

“If that’s what you’re interested in, then that would be an option,” he shrugged. “An alternative would be to… well, to meet and talk. Simply getting to know each other.”

“What?” No, this was no dream. Bewildered, Hiccup glanced around, halfway expecting a team of Candid Camera to appear. Because, honestly, this was too crazy to come up with it all by himself.

“Look, Astrid and I are open for alternatives. We’ve had shared bedmates before and it was fun. But in the over six years we know each other now, it never happened that we were both truly interested in the same person. Not until today. So I apologise if this offer comes across as too blunt, but… yeah, we’d like to get to know you better. If you say no, that’s cool. But… yeah.”

For a minute, Hiccup was speechless. “Wh-what exactly are you even saying here?”

“He’s asking you for a date,” came Astrid’s blunt voice from the entrance to the club. “Even though he’s not really good at it.” She threw her boyfriend a half-teasing-half-loving look. “So I’ll take over now before we all freeze to death. Damn, it’s fucking cold. So yeah, what we want to ask is whether you’d agree to go on a date with us. Because you’re damn cute and funny, and we’d both like to know you better. How about pizza at Carlo’s, tomorrow evening?”

Hiccup was still stunned, but a slight spark of hope began to rise inside him. He looked from one to the other, saw the warm and friendly smile in Eret’s eyes and the teasing sparkle in Astrid’s, and nodded. “I’d be down for that,” he replied, smiling shyly. “Just promise not to sneak any pineapple on my pizza, because that’s just gross!”

Both Eret and Astrid burst out laughing, and a moment later, Hiccup joined in. Maybe, this day wasn’t a complete disaster after all.

[my-52-weeks-with-christie]

(The cookies in the picture are garam-masala chocolate gingerbread cookies - I use a different recipe than the one Nancy Atherton put in her book because it required nuts and I'm allergic!)

Aunt Dimity & the Heart of Gold - Nancy Atherton

Did you ever wonder how Miss Marple honed her investigative abilities? Or in fact, how she remained so sharp in between each case?

I believe she kept her wits keen through continual practise. Miss Marple not only investigated the occasional murder that crosses her path - but all the little mysteries that popped up in her village of St. Mary Mead as well.

Now you shouldn't confuse the word little with unimportant.

As Miss Marple's learned the small mysteries (and therefore their solutions) are often analogous to the bigger mysteries, like murder and blackmail.

Which I think explains how Miss Marple was able to solve Colonel Protheroe murder in her first full-length mystery, Murder At The Vicarage. She'd already had decades worth of parallels to draw from and years of practice finding answers to prickly questions.

Now you might be wondering why on earth I am talking about Miss Marple in a review for an Aunt Dimity mystery.

The answer is this:  Lori Sheperd (our sleuth), in many ways, reminds me of  Miss Marple.

Go with me for a minute here.

Married with three children, an American and decades younger than the Grand Dame herself - I know superficially, Lori doesn't appear to resemble Miss Marple in the slightest. However, if you take a closer look at their traits, striking similarities start popping out of the text.

Both women are fixtures in their community, volunteer their time, help their friends, and enjoy a good chat with their neighbors.

This "chatting" is where we find one of the most significant similarities between these two extraordinary women - their marked partiality to obtaining and occasionally disseminating village gossip. This "newsgathering" allows them both to acquire a richer view of the villages in which they reside and a better understanding of human nature - which is essential in solving mysteries.

The other important trait Lori shares with Miss Marple is her love of solving little mysteries. Any curious puzzle that pops up in Finch - Lori wants to solve it. From a quilting bee that ends with a revelation of a widow's curse to a mysterious wishing well - very little can stop Lori from pursuing the truth.

And by keeping this murderless mystery series, Nancy Atherton has successfully avoided the Cabot Cove Syndrom which oftentimes plagues series of this length (24 books and counting). Meaning? We aren't left wondering why anyone would live in the small village of Finch if people keep getting shot, stabbed, poisoned or garrotted in it.

Similarly, Agatha Christie was able to neatly sidestep this Syndrome by only penning twelve full-length titles and of those she set a fair few of those outside the borders of St. Mary Mead. (Atherton's done this as well only her mysteries are set outside Finch - though wouldn't it be fun if Lori visited St. Mary Mead? Or is that to on the nose you think?)

The most notable difference between these two ladies that I think needs addressing is their outlook on life. Miss Marple's take on the world is one of pronounced pragmatism. Over the years, Miss Marple's heard a plethora of rumors and solved a multitude of crimes. This knowledge has lead to the understanding that while not always pleasant, the dimmest view of someone's motives is often the most accurate. While Lori, who hasn't seen nearly as much, holds a far more upbeat vision of the world and the people in it. Perhaps in time, Miss Marple and Lori's world views will align, but only time will tell.

Until then Lori will continue to hone her skills (much as Marple did) solving every niggly little puzzle that creeps up in Finch.

Such as the latest installment, Aunt Dimity & The Heart of Gold. A lovely mystery which uses Christmas/winter as a backdrop/springboard to propel this mystery forward. Where a mysterious motorist crashes a Christmas party, then discovers a Hindu alter hidden in a priest hole no one, including the homeowners, knew was there!

Lori really has her hands full in this one...

I thoroughly enjoyed every page in this book. Atherton does a great job in balancing the mystery with the Christmastime theme. Happily, she never succumbs to the syrupy sweetness that often plagues book set in December! Again using the time of year to move the mystery forward - not stall it under a ton of garland.

Now, if Atherton's backlist daunts you, don't worry. So long as you understand you are not starting with the first book and are willing to roll with it, you'll be fine. As it was, I was a few books (six) out of date and had no problems picking up the thread of the series again. Now I normally recommend you start with the first book first, so you understand the hint of magic eddying around the fringes of this series, but it's not required.

All that being said, I must say I couldn't put this book down until I finished the very last (and highly satisfying) page. And the only reason I didn't finish it in one sitting is that I needed to get some sleep!

I would recommend this book to anyone like me who loves a great mystery and/or enjoys reading Christmas books in July!

Don’t forget to check out my other blog - Finder of Lost Things!

This week, Dourwood decided it’s time to execute The Brace Affair...what could go wrong?

[ievani-e]

Gender Identity: A Very Loose Metaphor

Part 1:

A Hypothetical Conundrum

What’s your favourite colour?

I want you to think about that for a moment before you continue reading. Think about the name of your chosen colour, or visualise it if you prefer.

Do you have the answer in your head?

Good.

What’s your favourite colour: black, or white?

If you were already thinking of either black or white specifically, then you’re in luck. You can answer the question without any hesitation. But if you had been thinking of another colour instead, you might now find yourself thrown for a bit of a loop. It’s a lot harder to commit to whether your favourite colour is black or white when your favourite colour isn’t either of those at all. Nevertheless, those are the two choices with which you are now presented.

You could interpret the question as meaning, “which colour do you prefer out of black or white?” In that case, you could answer, “Out of the two, I prefer [black/white].” And that wouldn’t be lying. But it would still feel a bit disingenuous, because the question wasn’t, “What colour do you prefer?” The question was, “What colour is your favourite?”

Imagine the person asking you the question expects a simple answer. They expect it to be one of the two. The thought that there might be more than just those two options hasn’t even crossed their mind; it needs to be one of the two. And if your answer isn’t one of the two given, it’s impossible to answer without feeling insincere.

So you shift uncomfortably in your skin and you say either “black” or “white.” You keep it simple, like they want you to. Nobody wants to hear you going off on a tangent about how those choices are extremely limited, and how your favourite colour is actually <insert shade or hue here>, when you know that you’d only be talking about things nobody else understands. Nobody wants to hear you critiquing why it needs to be either black or white in the first place; that there are many more colours out there, and we don’t need to restrict ourselves to just two. As far as anyone else is concerned, there are just two. Two colours: black and white. That’s the way it is.

Now let’s imagine that you look out at the world, and everybody is wearing only one of two colours. Everyone else wears only black, or only white. You, on the other hand, are clutching a shirt (or dress, if you prefer) of your favourite colour to your chest.

Do you dare to wear it? Do you dare to put it on, and step out into the world at large?

If your favourite colour is black or is white, there’s no problem. You’ll fit right in. No-one will look at you strangely; you’ll blend in with the crowd and won’t draw any special attention. But if your favourite colour is literally any of the other hundreds (or potentially tens of thousands, depending on how you define it) of options out there, then maybe you’re not so sure. Wearing anything but black or white would draw attention to you.

And sure, maybe you’re proud to be different; maybe you’re proud to be who you are, and don’t care who knows it. But for many, that is a daunting thought. It can even be dangerous. And in either case, you still feel alone. It seems like everyone else is fine with black or white. Nobody else is wearing colour. It seems like no-one else is struggling with what should be so simple of a concept except for you. It seems you are the only one who hesitates.

Let’s extend this metaphor of a black-and-white world one step further. Not only does everyone wear either black or white; everyone is expected to. For the sake of argument, let’s say that all girls/women wear black, and all boys/men wear white. If you are born female, you are expected to be a girl/woman, and thus are expected to wear black. If you are born male, you are expected to be a boy/man, and thus are expected to wear white. In this way, everyone wears colours “appropriate” for their sex, marking them as either male or female. You, as a denizen of this hypothetical world, might not even think of it this way; you might not be aware of this association that “black=female” and “white=male”. Your mind may not necessarily go as far as to think about a person’s biological sex, or what their sex “must be” depending on their clothes. But nevertheless, intrinsically you know that if you see a person wearing black, they must be a girl/woman. If you see a person wearing white, they must be a boy/man. You just accept that as truth.

If you had been born into this black-and-white world, you would have been told what to wear since your birth. Your doctor would have told your parents whether you were male or female (or, in rare cases, intersex), based on your genitals. That also would have determined what colour to assign to you; the colour that you will go on to wear for the rest of your life. If you are intersex, your doctors and parents would have had to make a decision about what colour they ought to assign to you when neither colour was readily apparent. If you aren’t intersex, they just use the colour that matches your associated sex.

In any case, after that, your genitals themselves aren’t mentioned very much. Instead, everyone references the conclusion drawn from your genitals and treats it as an immutable and independent truth. Your sex becomes self-evident at any moment, even without seeing your genitals, based on how you are dressed or how you were raised to behave. Conveniently, no-one acknowledges that those things are often based on your assigned sex at birth, and that the different sexes are treated differently, leading to many of those perceived differences; they’ll just take those things as proof in their own right that you are, in fact, the sex they thought you were.

In this way, your parents are told whether you are male or female, and they raise you accordingly. Your parents will have, in turn, told you; and they tell you again every time they call you “boy” or “girl” or refer to you as “he” or “she”. Every time they buy you toys or clothes is also a reminder, because they will buy either white clothes and white toys from the white section, or they will buy black clothes and black toys from the black section. Nobody thinks to look at the other section. It’s all very simple and straight forward: black for a girl, white for a boy.

If you were born female, then you’ll have worn black all your life. That’s what the norm is. You look out, and you see every other girl and woman wearing black. That’s what they are doing. There might be a wide range of apparel; some might be wearing T-shirts and shorts; some might be wearing suits; some might be wearing sundresses — but regardless of the style of the apparel, they are all wearing black.

Maybe you like black. Maybe it’s your favourite colour; maybe it’s something you love, or perhaps it suits you well. If you love it anyway, then maybe it feels perfectly natural to you to go out into the world, wearing black every day. Maybe you wouldn’t want it any other way.

Likewise, if you were born male, then you’ll have worn white all your life. That’s what the norm is. You look out, and you see every other boy and man wearing white. That’s what they are doing. There might be a wide range of apparel; some might be wearing T-shirts and shorts; some might be wearing suits; some might be wearing sundresses — but regardless of the style of the apparel, they are all wearing white.

Maybe you like white. Maybe it’s your favourite colour; maybe it’s something you love, or perhaps it suits you well. If you love it anyway, then maybe it feels perfectly natural to you to go out into the world, wearing white every day. Maybe you wouldn’t want it any other way.

But it’s also possible that, maybe — just maybe — you question it. Maybe you don’t like black or white — whichever colour has been assigned to you. Maybe you go so far as to hate it; or maybe you just love another colour more. Maybe you don’t understand why you have to wear it, even though it makes you miserable, just because every other member of your sex wears it. Maybe you look across at all the boys and men wearing white, or the girls and the women wearing black, and maybe that appeals to you more. Maybe you have always felt an affinity for white more than you have for black, or for black more than you have for white. Or, maybe you are drawn to another colour altogether.

Imagine that you try to have a conversation about how you are feeling; about how the assigned colour doesn’t seem to really fit you. Maybe the conversation will go something like this:

You: Are there any, you know, other colours? Maybe I could wear something else?

Others: Why? What’s wrong with [black/white]?

You: Nothing’s wrong with it. It’s just… I don’t really like it, is all. [Black seems a bit depressing/white seems a bit boring/literally any other reason] to me.

Others: Oh, so now we’re all [depressing/boring/whatever other adjective], is that it?

You: No, no, that’s not what I meant! I’m just talking about me. I don’t really like it for myself, is all. It doesn’t really seem to suit me.

Others: What are you talking about? You look really good in [black/white]! Do you just have low self-esteem, maybe? Do you think you’re ugly? Because you aren’t, you know. Is it that you think you aren’t good enough? You should really just learn to embrace yourself and accept yourself the way you are.

You: No, it’s not that, either. I just think I would feel more comfortable in something else. I think I’d feel more comfortable if I wore [white, like the men do/ black, like the women do/ another colour entirely].

Others: Oh, so is this about feeling like you don’t fit in with other [women/men]? Is this about not feeling [feminine/masculine] enough? Because, you know, you don’t have to be [feminine/masculine] to be a [woman/man]! Plenty of [women/men] aren’t [feminine/masculine]! Maybe what you’re taking issue with is the style of dress. But there is a wide range of clothing options out there! If you don’t like one thing, try another! If you don’t like dresses, try wearing trousers! If you don’t like shorts, try wearing skirts, or vice versa! It’s perfectly fine to experiment with different styles and find something that feels more “you”.

You: Yeah, I know; I know there are lots of different ways to be a [woman/man], and lots of different ways to express it. But even if I changed the type of clothes I wear, I’d still be wearing the same colour as always, wouldn’t I? What I want is to change the colour.

Others: Oh, so we’re back to this again… I thought you said there was nothing wrong with [black/white]?

You: There isn’t. Not for other people. If they want to wear it and like wearing it, that’s fine. I’m not telling anyone else not to wear what they want to wear. But I personally don’t like it, is all. I personally don’t think it suits me. I want to try wearing another colour instead.

Others: But you’re a [woman/man]! You have to wear [black/white]!

You: Well, why do I have to?

Others: Because you’re [female/male] and that is the norm!

You: Yeah, but why? What does it matter if I’m [female/male]? If I like [white/black], why can’t I wear that, too? Why do you need to be [male/female]? Can’t I just wear the colour that I prefer?

This is the question that transgender people struggle with, in a way that cisgender people do not. Cisgender people like the colour that was assigned to them. The colour that they wear is the colour that suits them and matches them perfectly.

If you’re cisgender, even though you, too, were just arbitrarily handed one of only two choices at your birth and expected to live up to it, you don’t really notice it as much because that choice aligns with your own preference. For transgender people, that is not the case.

Part 2:

Gender Identities in a Black-and-White World

Using the above metaphor, I shall now attempt to explain and describe a few common gender identities as they would present or fit into this imagined world.

Cisgender:

In this hypothetical world, cisgender women wear black clothes and cisgender men wear white clothes. Those clothes might be of any style, fit or cut; they can be dresses, gowns, dungarees, polo-shirts, shorts, sportswear, etc. They can lean more towards the masculine side or the feminine side, or anything in between. But nevertheless, while cis women and cis men may experiment with their femininity or masculinity, and express it in ways unique to them, they still feel perfectly comfortable wearing clothes of the assigned colour, and feel like they fit in with other people wearing the same colour as them.

Experimentation with one’s gender expression (whether you present yourself as masculine, feminine, etc) may manifest itself as being gender non-conforming. Gender non-conformity is where a person feels comfortable with the colour assigned to them at birth, and considers themselves as belonging to the group which wears the same colour; but they do not abide by all the rules for the group, or may challenge them or question them. A gender non-conforming person may present more “feminine” (if male) or “masculine” (if female); but being “feminine” or “masculine” is not the same as being a “woman” or a “man”. You can be a feminine man; a masculine woman; anything in between; or any combination thereof.

Gender non-conformity is not by necessity the same as feeling as though you are (or should be) a member of the other group; it is more about exploring the boundaries of your own group, and questioning and challenging what can and cannot be done.

In keeping with the established metaphor, gender non-conforming cis women would still wear black; just maybe they’ll wear what are typically considered “men’s clothes”, or a “masculine style of dress”. Gender non-conforming cis men would still wear white; just maybe they’ll wear what are typically considered “women’s clothes”, or a “feminine style of dress”.

Trans binary:

Someone with a trans binary identity would have been born female or male, but feel more of an affinity towards the other colour more than their own assigned colour. Males who were expected to wear white may feel more at home wearing black. Females who were expected to wear black may feel more at home wearing white. They may feel like they belong with the other group more than their own.

They still fit into the binary of wearing either “black or white”: it’s just that their preferred colour is the one “across” from or “opposite” the one assigned to them based on their biological sex. Trans men will seek to wear white and assimilate themselves within the existing group of men, while trans women will seek to wear black and assimilate themselves within the existing group of women.

It is also possible to be both trans and gender non-conforming, in the same way it is possible to be both cis and gender non-conforming. Non-conforming trans people may know themselves to be a trans man or trans woman, but want to explore their gender in a wider range of options than traditional gender roles allow, even within their preferred gender.

The same applies as before: gender non-conforming trans women would still wear black; just maybe they’ll wear what are typically considered “men’s clothes”, or a “masculine style of dress”. Gender non-conforming trans men would still wear white; just maybe they’ll wear what are typically considered “women’s clothes”, or a “feminine style of dress”.

Non-binary:

Non-binary individuals won’t feel comfortable in either black or white. They will seek out a different colour; one that speaks personally to them. Alternatively, they might want to wear a mix of black and white, or black on some days and white on others. There are many different variations and presentations when it comes to identifying as non-binary, just as there are many different colours that exist other than just black or white.

For example, some non-binary individuals may identify as agender; neither “man” nor “woman”, but not any other gender, either. For this metaphor, let’s say that they choose to wear grey, as that is not “black” or “white” but also isn’t a colour of another kind. It is what feels the most neutral.

Other individuals may pick out a specific colour for themselves; something that feels like “them”. Some may wear yellow; some might wear green; or purple; or blue; or pink. Whatever it is, each individual will express and manifest their own identity in a way that feels right for them, and it will be different and mean different things for each individual. It is a very subjective thing. Such individuals may identify as genderqueer.

If a person identifies as gender-fluid, what this might mean is that, instead of wearing their chosen colour every single day, they might have some days where they feel like wearing one colour and some where they feel like wearing another. They’ll wear a mix of different colours, depending on what speaks to them at the moment. They might shift between black and white; maybe grey as well; or a range of other colours.

What every non-binary individual has in common is that they do not fit exclusively into black or exclusively into white. It might be both, or neither.

Part 3:

Conclusion

If you are cisgender, you proudly wear the colour that was assigned to you, and you see that most other people in the world do, too. If you are transgender, however, it can be really scary to look out at the world and see only black and white; or, more specifically, that only females wear black, and only males wear white. Even if you want to wear black or white, it can feel discouraging if even when wearing black or white, which is the norm, your preferred colour nevertheless seems unavailable to you just because of your sex.

Females should be able to wear white if they want to. Males should be able to wear black. Theoretically, nothing is physically stopping you from putting on the clothes or the colour of clothes you want. And yet, subtly and not-so-subtly — directly or indirectly — our society still reinforces the idea of what is “proper” for a person based on whether they are male or female. It may feel like “female=black” and “male=white” is the only option. Even more generally than that, it may feel like “black or white” is the only option. It isn’t until we challenge these norms, and provide more options, that things will change.

In the meantime, the onus is on the transgender person to figure out that they don’t have to be penned in by traditional social roles, even while those social roles continue to exist. It’s up to the individual to figure out that, despite the pressure to conform, they don’t have to; that there is another way. Even though all they see is females wearing black and males wearing white, it’s still up to them to think, “Hey! Maybe I could wear [black/white] anyway! Maybe I’ll be happier in [black/white] than I am in [white/black]!”

For non-binary individuals, it can be even harder. We are used to seeing the world in black and white. Even when we are told things like, “The world isn’t just black and white”, we still nevertheless tend towards trying to see things in black and white, and only adopt other, more complex outlooks if we fail. Even if we accept that black and white are not be-all and end-all — even if we accept they are more like two opposite ends of a gradient, and think of it like a sliding scale — we still tend to think that all that is in between is grey.

It can be extremely challenging (and terrifying) to find your colour in a world that only understands black and white; especially when the world, even as it comes to understand transitioning a little better, nevertheless can only understand it as transitioning from black to white, or vice versa.

That’s why it is so incredibly important to support LGBTQ+ communities in general and especially transgender people you personally know in particular, and to listen to and believe the people you love when they tell you they are questioning their role in society or wondering if they might feel happier/ less miserable another way instead. Even if you yourself find it hard to understand, strive to listen to them with an open ear, an open mind, and an open heart. Trust that, while what they say might not be true for you, it is true for them. Even if you cannot decide their path for them, you can still be there and hold their hand. That will already make an enormous difference to the individuals who have most likely struggled in silence for a long, long time before daring to voice their thoughts aloud.

We don’t all fit neatly into boxes; but eventually, we might all realise that we don’t have to. There is a whole wide beautiful world out there, and a whole wide beautiful spectrum of colours.

That is why, in a sea of people wearing black and white, you’ll see me wearing rainbow.

[sachigram]

Hearts Like Ours Chapter 4

((click here to read on ao3!)

It's a complicated thing, the human mind.

Izaya has always loved studying the way people tick, what makes them, them. He loves the different expressions, the triumphs, the hardships. He loves people, and he loves pushing them to their limits, making them stronger than they ever thought possible. He loves watching people face their fears.

He doesn't love it in himself, however.

He hates the things his mind is afraid of, even more so now. He can't stop himself no matter how much he dislikes it, even if he knows fear is a useless thing for him to feel. It does nothing for him. Most people feel fear, and they know to stay away from things. High altitudes, deep oceans, dangerous animals—all things to be avoided.

Izaya has always charged at what scared him, full speed ahead.

He doesn't allow himself to be frightened away, even in the interest of self-preservation. He's always known Shizuo could and likely would one day destroy him—but he never factored in that he'd be alive to regret it in the aftermath.

His body was broken, and it healed. It took time and work Izaya didn't want to put into it, but he eventually got over himself enough to work through his pain and make it out of the chair, then away from the crutches.

His mind, even still sharp as ever, is far from healed. And what's worse, Shizuo has no idea, and won't leave him alone.

As payback for the crude drawings on his face, Shizuo has taken to barging into Izaya's daily life, usually just to piss Izaya off, which he's unnaturally good at. Worse yet, there isn't a lot Izaya can do about it. Sure, he could call the police, but as Namie mentioned before, it'd cause a great deal of commotion and there's no definitive proof they could even get Shizuo to leave. He could jam a knife in Shizuo's throat, but then he's almost positive Shizuo can regenerate himself like a microscopic life form, or a horrible alien creature from a horror movie. Plus, then Shizuo would almost definitely snap his neck in retaliation, and Izaya would be killing a human being anyway, if he killed Shizuo, loathe though he is to admit it.

He does his best to ignore Shizuo, and he tries to shake Shizuo off his trail when he can, but he's never been good at hiding from the beast, who has chased him for as long as he can remember. It seems every time he turns around, Shizuo is there, on his heels, reaching out to grab him.

He only wishes his body wasn't so scared of Shizuo. His heart physically aches from the constant adrenaline he feels when Shizuo is around.

“That man isn't here today?” Namie asks, breaking his thoughts.

“Yes, he is. Can't you see his daunting form on the couch?” Izaya asks, motioning to nothing. She huffs at him.

“It's getting to be strange when he isn't around. It's been almost two weeks of him barging in, and neither of you even talking. It just seems pointless, given your history.”

“You know nothing of our history,” Izaya says. “Besides, haven't you heard of an impasse? Talking isn't required.”

“Whatever,” Namie says, flipping her hair. “You're not completely stupid, though. You know things can't continue this way.”

Closing his browser, Izaya sighs, pushing his chair away from the desk.

“That was almost a compliment, Namie,” he tells her, delighting when her expression sours.

“I'm just curious to know where all this is going. Even you can't fight fate.”

“Fate. Right.” Izaya stretches, wincing a bit when his lower back twinges. “You don't share a mark with the one you love. It hasn't stopped you, has it? Where is fate in that scenario?”

She slams her hands down on the table, leaning in to glare at Izaya, who only smiles at her pleasantly.

“Don't pretend to understand my situation. It's entirely different. I'm not the one living in denial,” she hisses, pointing at him. “I don't even have a—“

“A mark. I know that. How could you possibly think I didn't know that? You don't have a mark, how shocking! It doesn't matter. You're one of the lucky ones,” Izaya says.

“Lucky!” She laughs incredulously, her eyes narrowing at him. “In a world where people are born knowing who they're meant to be with, I'm one of the lucky ones because I was meant to be with no one? Your logic is even more twisted than usual.”

“You're lucky because you're free to choose.” Izaya shrugs on his coat. “Besides, people put entirely too much stock in the soulmate thing anyway. Did you know forty percent of people never encounter their soulmates at all? Another twenty learn their soulmates died a long time ago. And then a whopping ten percent, like you, have no mark at all.”

“A thirty percent chance of meeting your soulmate before it's too late,” Namie says, “and you think it's unlucky you've found yours. Of course you do.” She folds her arms across her chest. “You're determined to die alone.”

“Dying alone is better than dying with someone who hates you,” he says placidly. “Shizu-chan will realize that, in time. It's better to let him fizzle himself out.”

“Oh, please,” she says. “The only thing you hate about him is that he hates you.”

He opens his mouth to retort something biting about her incestuous crush, but his door opens, and Shizuo strolls in, like he has every day this week. Izaya pinches the bridge of his nose. Namie looks positively gleeful.

“We were just talking about you,” she says.

“Thought I had the heebie jeebies,” Shizuo replies easily.

“Feel free to stick around, Shizu-chan,” Izaya says, and he doesn't miss the way Shizuo's eyes widen in response. “I have places to be.”

“Places?” Shizuo asks.

“A meeting,” Namie supplies.

“Lock up when you're leaving,” Izaya tells her, passing them both. He clenches his teeth when Shizuo turns on his heel and starts following after Izaya instead. “You can't come.”

“Sure as hell seems like I can,” Shizuo says, unfazed. Izaya laughs.

“This particular client doesn't like intruders. If anything happens, don't say I didn't warn you.” Izaya twirls to look at Shizuo, walking backwards so he can observe Shizuo's face. “If you end up stabbed or worse, it'll be funny, at least.”

“Is it like a Yakuza meeting?” Shizuo asks, frowning at Izaya. “Turn around. You're gonna fall.”

“Don't worry about me. It's disgusting.” Izaya turns anyway, tiring of looking at Shizuo's stupid face. “You can't just do whatever you want all the time. Maybe you'll be reminded of that today.”

Outside the building, it's a cold, biting day. The cold snap happened all at once, coming after the bout of seemingly endless rain. Izaya puts his hood up, shivering a bit as he makes his way over to the sleek black car parked across the street in its usual spot.

“Good afternoon,” the driver states. He makes a face as Shizuo climbs into the car next to Izaya, who scowls and scoots away from him. “Who is this, Orihara-san?”

“Heiwajima Shizuo,” Shizuo says.

The driver pales, clearly knowing of Shizuo's reputation. “I...see. I was sent to only pick up Orihara-san.”

“Tough shit,” Shizuo says. A moment later, the car is in motion.

“You're so annoying,” Izaya informs him, looking out the window at the people walking around, bundled up and hunched in their posture.

“That's you,” Shizuo says back. Neither of them says another word during the ride, though they do shove each other a bit. Izaya stops shoving when his head slams against the window, courtesy of Shizuo's monster paw.

“Shit. Sorry,” Shizuo says.

“Shut up,” Izaya says.

“Here we are!” The driver says, sounding somewhat relieved. “They're waiting for you inside. I'll escort you, of course.”

They exit the car, and Izaya pulls his hood up, ignoring the bite of the cold. He's always been cold natured, but his back hurts more when he's hunched over for warmth, and to make matters worse, his head hurts both from Shizuo's presence, and because he was just pushed into a window.

“This can't be right,” Shizuo's voice says. Izaya looks over at him as they walk inside.

“Shiki is a man of simple, yet refined tastes,” Izaya says. “This is the right place.”

“You've been here before?” Shizuo asks.

“Often, for meetings. Have you not been here? It's nice.”

They walk past the bouncer, who only nods at them. The club is busy for the daytime, the bass blaring through the speakers, which only makes Izaya's headache worse. He hopes they'll be out of here soon, but Shiki never keeps him long. He looks over again at Shizuo, who looks like he'd rather be anywhere else.

“Why, Shizu-chan. Have you never been to a strip club?” Izaya asks gleefully. Shizuo's red face becomes even redder.

“Yes, but not by choice. Tom dragged me a few times, always saying it was for work. It was always easier to endure knowing I could punch someone soon,” Shizuo says, barely audible over the music. Izaya has to strain to hear him.

“You can always go,” Izaya informs him.

“Like hell,” Shizuo retorts.

“I hope you go deaf and then die,” Izaya mutters.

“What?” Shizuo asks loudly, frowning at Izaya like he already knows Izaya said something biting.

“I said—“

“Izaya,” a smooth voice says. Izaya schools his features as he's escorted into the private booth Shiki and his entourage are occupying. There are three women on different stages right now, all slender and beautiful in their own ways. The muscly men on either side of Shiki are busier watching them than Izaya. Killing Shiki would be easy, if that was his intent. He'll have to mention that to Shiki, one day. For now, Izaya likes having the upper hand, in case he's ever double crossed.

“Always a pleasure, Shiki,” Izaya says, holding his hand out. Shiki shakes, but not before he gives Izaya a stern once over.

“It's been a long time. I wasn't sure what to expect, but I didn't consider you'd bring a guest.”

Izaya glances over at Shizuo, who is already pressed close in the booth. Their shoulders are touching, the irony of which isn't lost on Izaya. Their marks are separated only by clothes.

“I have a new shadow. I can't seem to shake him,” Izaya says, grinning at Shiki.

“Shizuo,” Shiki says, looking Shizuo over. “Is there a reason you're here?”

“I'm with him,” Shizuo says, motioning to Izaya.

“Really? Have you two become friends?” Shiki asks. The look Izaya gives him must speak for itself, because Shiki laughs before continuing. “How odd, then. We were prepared for a chair. Not for the cause.”

“A chair?” Shizuo asks.

“A wheelchair. I was told Izaya needed one.”

The room seems smaller, all of a sudden. Izaya can feel Shizuo's eyes on him, but he doesn't meet the monster's gaze. He focuses on the man across from him, who has always been fair, yet a pain in Izaya's ass.

“Your information is wrong, but then again, I haven't been around to give it to you. I'm perfectly unscathed,” Izaya says.

“I see.” Shiki puts his elbows on the table, peering closely at him. “You don't look unscathed.”

“I've looked worse,” Izaya hisses, trying hard not to clench his teeth. He can feel Shizuo still looking at him.

“Right,” Shiki says. “I trust you got my message?”

“The one about not returning? I got it, but I'm afraid I couldn't listen. There's much to do.”

“Indeed there is. Do you have what I asked for?”

“Do I ever have anything less?” Izaya asks, smiling. What Shiki asked for was child's play, after all. “You'll find what you're looking for here.” He passes a small piece of paper across the table. “He'll be there tonight.”

“Good. It's time to put this to rest.” Shiki passes the paper to one of the muscly men, who seems to have finally remembered he's here for a job. “Now then. Why else were you here?”

Izaya pauses, his eyes cutting to Shizuo again. “We can return to that at a later date.”

“I'm a busy man,” Shiki says. “Surely you aren't assuming I'll be waiting for another meeting more convenient for you?”

Izaya bites at his tongue for a moment before laughing lightly.

“Of course not! I understand your schedule, and I sympathize. I only meant to save my own wants for another time and place. I never want to seem ungrateful. But since you insist, I'll get to my point.” He sighs softly, inaudibly, knowing Shizuo is listening to his every word. “Junichi Watanabe. Does the name mean anything to you?”

Shiki visibly stills, his eyes boring into Izaya's.

“Is this why you've returned?” he asks.

“Partly. Please, if you're able, tell me what you know of him.”

“He used to work closely with us,” Shiki says. There's a round of applause as a woman does a complicated maneuver on the pole. “He doesn't anymore.”

“He has...become a person of interest to me,” Izaya says.

“He's dangerous,” Shiki replies, glancing first at Shizuo, then at Izaya.

“I'm aware. One of his men stabbed my friend.”

Shizuo is staring openly at Izaya now, but Izaya doesn't dare look away from Shiki, who can zero in on any moment of weakness like a vulture swooping down for prey.

“I'm sure the goal was to invoke a rise from you,” Shiki says.

“A line was drawn. I'm doing my own research, of course, but you're always on about how you 'owe me one'. I thought maybe you were the man to talk to. You usually are,” Izaya says.

“I knew him. He had...radical ideas. Do you know why he might be targeting you?”

“I gave him the wrong information.”

“Deliberately?”

Izaya's stomach turns. “Yes.”

“I see,” Shiki says, looking over as a beautiful woman with huge breasts passes them. His eyes cut back to Izaya's. “You're valuable to us a source. I can offer protection.”

“And have someone in my space all day, every day? I have enough of that with Shizu-chan. I'd rather do this my way.”

“In that case, I ask you don't get yourself killed. That's all I can do.”

Izaya could say Shiki owes him a lot more than that, and mention He knows Junichi was part of Shiki's little entourage in the past. He could refuse to leave until he knew more. Instead, he offers a smile, and he stands, knowing Shiki's game, and refusing to play along.

“Then I thank you for your time. I'll see you later,” Izaya says.

“I hope so.” Shiki looks between Izaya and Shizuo again, and then he grins. “I told you it wasn't a good idea to return to the city, Izaya. But I think you've grown since then.”

“Have I?” Izaya asks.

“I believe so. I think this is all good for you. You were such a brat before.”

Outside the building, the driver is gone, undoubtedly wanting to get as far away from Izaya and Shizuo as possible. Izaya can't even blame him. He and Shizuo have an outstanding reputation.

Thankfully, Shizuo is silent as they walk. Izaya shivers, walking as fast as he can. His whole body aches, and he's ready to be in the warmth again.

“Izaya,” Shizuo begins.

“Not now,” Izaya says, meaning 'not ever.' He hopes Shizuo gets that, but he doubts it.

By the time they get back, the sun is setting. Izaya hurries inside and soaks in the warmth, and he bustles around the kitchen to make some tea, even going as far as to make Shizuo some. He's feeling rather hospitable, seeing as how whether he knows it or not, Shizuo is acting as a bodyguard. No one would dare jump Izaya with Shizuo looming beside him.

“What he said...” Shizuo murmurs, looking down at his teacup.

“It's not important,” Izaya says. “It's my business.”

“Were you in a wheelchair?”

Izaya flops onto his couch, leveling his gaze at Shizuo. “Dos that matter?”

“Yes,” Shizuo says. “Did I put you in a wheelchair?”

“Yes,” Izaya replies easily. “You did. I couldn't use my legs for a while. And now I can. End of story.”

Shizuo looks down into his cup, his brows furrowed.

“I had nightmares where I killed you. I lost control. And even if you pushed me, I—“

“Right. I did push you. I pushed you until you broke, Shizu-chan.”

“I'm sorry,” Shizuo says. Izaya ignores him.

“Nothing else matters right now. If I can't get you to leave, you'll at least be quiet while I work. I think that's fair.”

Shizuo is quiet, which is a good sign. Izaya goes to his computer and continues his research. He knows of the man who ordered the stabbing of Shinra. A cocky, vain extremist who used to work with the Yakuza. He had enlisted Izaya's help in planting a bomb in a crowded hotel. Izaya had tipped off the police, not wanting all that carnage.

Junichi must have known Izaya sold him out. But surely he knew better than to think Izaya would go along with such a massive loss of life. Izaya loves humans, even if he doesn't agree with them. He wanted Junichi to fail.

“It's late,” Izaya says after a while. He's been typing away steadily, now on a chatroom for the sake of taking a break. He usually ignores Shizuo, not wanting to give Shizuo the satisfaction of knowing he's even bothered.

“I guess,” Shizuo says. He's watching TV, sneaking glances at Izaya every now and then.

“Are you leaving soon?”Shizuo usually does. He only stayed the night once by accident.

“I wanna finish this episode,” Shizuo says stubbornly. Some cooking show is playing.

Izaya rolls his eyes and puts his head down, reading the responses across his screen. This chatroom is pure recreation, but no less interesting than any other. He replies every now and then, but it's hard to keep up with. His eyelids are heavy, and his head still hurts.

Everything hurts.

He looks up and sees Shizuo above him, eyes cold and hard. Shizuo is reaching for him, for his neck.

“Do it,” Izaya hears himself saying, but it isn't what he wants. He's so afraid, wants to run, but his body won't let him. He's just too proud t say anything different.

Shizuo's hands close around his neck. “I hate you so much,” Shizuo says, eerily calm. “Everything would be so much better without you around.”

Izaya cries, but it doesn't matter. He's dying, and he did this to himself. He knows that. He's always known this is how it would end, and he pushed anyway.

“Izaya!”

He wails, fighting the hands on him, not daring to go out without a fight.

“Wake the fuck up! Izaya—!”

He opens his eyes to find himself at his desk, Shizuo looming over him. Izaya's nails are embedded in Shizuo's arms, blood staining Shizuo's pristine white sleeves.

“What the fuck,” Shizuo breathes, letting go of Izaya when he sees Izaya is awake.

“I...”

“You were crying. And then...”

“It was just a stupid dream,” Izaya says, standing and trying to pass. Shizuo grabs his arm.

“A dream about what?” he asks.

“A monster,” Izaya says, and Shizuo flinches, but doesn't let him go.

“Did... Am I...” Shizuo struggles with words, and then he looks up at Izaya. “Am I the reason you can't sleep?”

“Don't give yourself so much credit,” Izaya says, pulling his arm free. “Go home. I'm going to bed.”

Shizuo looks at him as if he wants to argue, and then his eyes soften. He nods, and then he leaves.

Izaya's stares after him. He locks the door behind Shizuo, and then he goes back to work. He won't sleep; he knows that already.

He'd rather stay awake than relive that again.

[adaportfolio-blog1]

The Ins and Outs of Collegiate Extracurricular Activities

MIDDLETOWN, PA-- The day began at 5:30 a.m. for 21-year-old senior Carlee Gochenaur. After conditioning from 6:30 to 7:15 in the morning, Gochenaur, who is captain of Penn State Harrisburg’s softball team, quickly showered and dressed before rushing over to Habitat for Humanity, where she serves as the Communications and Events intern. She worked there for about five hours, managing the organization’s social media and planning fundraiser events, before coming to campus, where she had class from three to eight at night. As a college senior managing the workload of 21 credits while interning and being a college athlete, the grind is nonstop.

Many college students that are involved in extracurricular activities can relate to Gochenaur’s grueling schedule. “It’s very mentally exhausting and physically exhausting,” said Oscar Cartagena, a junior on the men’s soccer team. He says his biggest challenge as a student athlete is time management. “Being able to balance school, family, being a friend and just, you know, normal surviving like eating, it’s very difficult.” Often times, managing the responsibilities that come with being a student athlete can feel like a catch-22. “There are times when I’m in school and have all this work to do, but next thing you know, I have to leave and have to skip class because of a competition.”

Jordan Larkins, a 20-year-old communications major, firmly believes in the power of the writing things down. “Get a planner, swear by the planner. The planner is your bible,” said Larkins, who participated in multiple organizations on campus, including Lion Ambassadors, THON, and Business Management club. She said extracurricular activities can be incredibly time-consuming; it’s part of the reason she chose to drop Lion Ambassadors and THON to create more time for school work. “I think the hardest part is figuring out where you need to be responsible because school’s first,” Larkins said. Priorities can easily be compromised when balancing school and extracurricular activities. “It’s hard to draw the line for yourself of ‘I really want to go out to this event and I really want to do this, but I have a paper due in two days,’” she remarked.

Self-accountability is essential to balancing school and extracurricular activities for these students. Because Gochenaur’s classes often conflict with her team practices, she often has to make the time on her own. When it comes to working with professors, she says they’re usually very accommodating. “I don’t think I’ve ever really had a problem with it,” the senior said, recalling a time when she was absent the day of final presentations for an advertising course because her team made it to the playoffs for the first time. “You just have to tell them in advance,” she advises. “But usually, it’s very simple.”

Cartagena also spoke about the importance of student athletes building strong relationships with their professors. “I always try to make them know who I am,” he said. Keep in mind, this is a two-way street. “If you’re a student athlete and you show you don’t give a crap, they’re not going to give a crap about you,” Cartagena said. Cartagena also alluded to the trust factor between student and teacher. While professors are generally flexible and understanding, it’s not something Cartagena takes advantage of. “They’re very lenient with me when I have to leave, but I try not to abuse the power and I give my work on time because I think it’s messed up for the other people,” he said.

When considering the differences between playing a sport in high school versus a collegiate level, Christopher Bing, a 22-year-old senior who plays basketball for Penn State Harrisburg, describes college athletics as a business. “They’re giving you money so they want you to produce.” Contemporary college sports can literally garner millions of dollars for the university. They are also increasingly expensive, making the already steep cost of college education unaffordable in some cases. According to Bing, fortunately for Penn State athletes, the athletics department seems to bear the burden of these expenses. “We fundraise in order to get spirit wear and things like that,” Gochenaur said. “But all the travel expenses are on the school, like bus trips, hotels, things like that, and they give you meal money on away trips.” Cartagena remarked that his only expenses are his personal equipment, such as cleats and shin-guards. Everything else, including uniforms and travel expenses, is covered by the university.

College athletics are considerably more demanding than high school athletics, not only mentally but also physically. “It’s a whole new level when you get to college,” Gochenaur said. “Nothing is just given to you, so you have to work hard to be able to earn that starting spot.” She recommends high school athletes come prepared with a strong work ethic. Cartagena expressed similar sentiments, advising, “Don’t come in thinking you’re hot [expletive].” The athleticism increases tenfold at a collegiate level, and Cartagena says that arrogance a is sure fire way to isolate yourself from teammates. “You’re going to come in and see players ten times better than you,” Cartagena said. Playing at a collegiate level is an opportunity to hone your skills and learn something new. This was Gochenaur’s experience as a freshman. She was thrown into the outfield after playing third base her entire high school career. Gochenaur said that, ultimately, it’s up to the coach’s discretion what position an athlete plays, and that’s determined on how their skillset will best serve the team. Although this was a challenging transition for Gochenaur, she believes it developed her into a better-rounded athlete. “I worked very hard to be able to get a starting spot and got “Newcomer of the Year” my freshman year,” she said.

While reflecting on his most rewarding moments as a student athlete, Cartagena also recalled previous accolades. Cartagena was also awarded Newcomer of the Year as a freshman, which would serve as motivation for the years to come. Despite this, he described his sophomore year as a difficult one. “I didn’t get as much playing time as I did my freshmen year, so it was really a letdown, however at the end of the year I got Scholar Athlete award of the year. So even though I didn’t get as much playing time as I wanted, I was recognized for what really matters, which is my education.”

Extracurricular activities can be a great opportunity to meet life-long friends. For Gochenaur, the best part of being a student athlete is the team. “I met my best friend through this. She graduated two years ago and we just clicked right away. I still visit her like, every weekend, and I’m going to be the maid of honor at her wedding.” Through time spent together at trainings and competitions, athletes often develop a strong camaraderie with one another. “The best part is the memories you make,” Cartagena said. While few are lucky enough to continue their sport post-graduation, Cartagena noted, “For many people, it’s the last step of doing a sport you love.”

When trying to create a social identity at college, Greek Life offers students many compelling benefits.  Marcellus Taylor, Assistant Director of Student Activities and Fraternity/Sorority Life at Penn State Harrisburg, looks back on his time with Kappa Alpha PSI as an undergraduate student fondly. He says that his experience with the fraternity not only refined his ability to understand people in a more complex way, but it has also made him a better husband and father. Although there is plenty of evidence to suggest that Greek Life can improve one’s shot for success, it’s a community many criticize for fostering segregation, inequality and bullying. Pennsylvania Gov. Tom Wolf recently signed an anti-hazing bill named after Timothy Piazza, a Penn State student who passed away last year during a hazing incident. Security cameras in the fraternity house captured the tragic ordeal, in which Piazza was instructed to drink copious amounts of alcohol during a drinking challenge called “the gauntlet”, as part of his bid acceptance. The college sophomore suffered head trauma after falling down a flight of stairs, and 911was not dialed until 10:48 a.m. the following day, over twelve hours after he first appeared unconscious.

“Timothy Piazza’s family should have never had to bury their son,” Taylor said. He argues that all cases of hazing are completely avoidable.  “Most physical things are manifested by nonphysical things,” he said. In Taylor’s perspective, the focus on hazing has always been on its outward manifestations, such as the excessive drinking, partying, and sexual misconduct. However, he feels hazing is guided by invisible factors, like the basic human need for social inclusion. Part of Taylor’s role at the university is “to reach out to the invisible and bring it visible,” by addressing the unspoken promise that often lures students into Greek Life. “Hazing rests on the idea that ‘you should do something because I’m going to make you something,’ and I believe that’s a flawed argument. And so what I try to do in this particular community is let students know that you already are something.”

For many incoming college freshmen, meeting new people and finding their place can be incredibly daunting, which makes a ready-made social life seem highly appealing. Based on studies surrounding brain development, Taylor noted that, “From the ages of 18 and 25, we perceive isolation or social rejection the same way we receive starvation. That means that, literally, people are likely to seek social inclusion just as much as they’re likely to have food.” As a researcher, scholar and practitioner, Taylor says he’s often torn on how to mitigate that need. “We tell people you’re going to build these lasting bonds, but I think instead of saying that fraternities will make men and sororities will make women, we need to say that they make better men and better women, because the premise is you already are a man and you already are a woman.”

For students, Taylor says that “the greatest balancing act is learning discipline.” He believes this is particularly important for Greek Life members. Learning to say ‘no’ in a community and culture that breeds leadership can be especially challenging. However, regardless of where a student’s interests lie in regards to extracurricular activities, they can benefit from Taylor’s advice, which is “To thine own self be true.” The phrase, coined by Shakespeare, speaks to the value of authenticity. Taylor advises students to first examine who they are and the values they hold, and to use that information as a compass when exploring organizations on campus.

[scifimagpie]

Want to Write Better Books? Stop Watching Television

When it comes to storytelling, most of us grow up immersed in visual language. Television and movies and Youtube series can be extremely potent, and tell inspiring stories - but when it comes to translating that storytelling method to the page, they can be a writer's worst enemy.

I can always tell when people have been watching more TV than reading books because there's a similar pattern of errors. Drawing from my own screw-ups and experiences and combining them with things I've learned from reading hundreds of books, I've compiled a useful list intended for newer writers with an eye on publishing.

At the risk of bowing to clickbait with my title, I'd like to make a case for aspiring writers to scale back their television-watching time and spend that on short and long-form fiction. Even fanfiction inspired by TV can help exercise that writing muscle more than watching stories alone, and I've made the reasons why into an easy-to-read list.

1) TV writing is often bad and illogical 

There's no good way to put this - the behaviour of characters on Lifetime made-for-TV movies, criminal dramas, and night-time dramas or medical shows is often exaggerated and vastly distant from reality. The best TV shows and movies do have good writing - but let's be honest; we don't always watch the best of the best. That's not a bad thing, but when it comes to writing, 'you are what you eat' is very much an applicable idiom.

It's hard to write emotionally authentic decisions and ethical debates when paranormal teenagers are fighting in the most dramatic ways possible. Because of the narrative constraints of episodic storytelling, which is the norm for continuing TV shows, antagonists are often thinly written and illogical, and characters who conflict with the main cast tend to be cruel, rude, or selfish in ways that an actual human person would not dare to be when confronted or opposed. Villains and antagonists are an important part of every story, and they're usually the biggest letdown, because their actions are often dictated by whatever inflicts the most suffering on main characters. Shows have to compress as much interest in the problem-of-the-week as possible, while still adhering to the (usually more complex) long-term plot.

The thing is, these are really bad habits for writers to pick up. It's taken me a lot of work to unlearn the villain-of-convenience habit. Antagonists and villains need to have strong motivations - even stronger than the protagonist(s)', at times. Otherwise, their actions make no sense on a fundamental level, and the narrative thread of the story will completely unravel. This is not to say that antagonists and villains have to be "evil" per se - in fact, evil is usually a matter of perspective. However, stories are driven by what people want and the people who want things. If they don't have a thing they want that remains somewhat consistent, or has a reason for changing, the story will sputter and its engine will stop turning over.

2) Visual storytelling and literary storytelling are different mediums

This sounds obvious, but hear me out. In working on a recent project, a character went up the stairs after a party, took off her jewelry, texted her friend - and suddenly, her abusive alcoholic father appeared in her room and started threatening her. The scene was clearly patterned after the classic "jump scare" style.

The problem is that jump scares don't work in written fiction. In order to mimic the effect created by a jump scare, we have to break down the scene and the rising tension created by it. A camera panning around and showing the scene, the slow shot of a character walking up the stairs, and the subtle tension created by having a character do ordinary things without realising that they are in danger may not be conveyed by simply saying that character walks up the stairs, takes off their jewelry, and prepares to use the bathroom. Those words don't express the information conveyed by the same camera shots and edits, or by the creeping shriek of violins or synth music in a score. Words can express that tension - but not if writers take what they see on TV (or computer) screens at face value.

Mimicry is not enough. We have to understand why things happen and why we are shown or given certain pieces of information, and why things are portrayed in certain ways. We must learn to see the framing devices used in fiction of all kinds, not accept them as the way the world works.

3) Hide things from the reader

As the audience, we may not realise that storytelling techniques are being used to convey a story, because we're busy reacting to it. That's okay! It's good to watch or read something and just experience the emotions intended, and enjoy the ride of the story. However, if a book has a deep impact on you, and you admire it, it's worth reading the book at least one more time to try and see the places where it was most effective.

For example, in a tense scene, a character might scan a room, looking for a weapon, and the author or narrator may describe the contents of said room.

In a dingy hotel, a bed covered in rumpled sheets, the bolted-down lamps and furniture and a clunky television may not offer much. As the character looks around, they might notice there are some glasses on the bureau or in the bathroom, and pick those up, hoping to throw them at the assailant pounding on their door.

In this vignette, the words 'pounding', 'dingy', and 'rumpled' offer the most descriptive power. However, we don't know what the antagonist on the other side of the door looks like, what kind of weapons they have, if any, or even what their name is. While there might be a little more context in a book, the very limited scope of this one scene shows that using immediacy and restricting the view and information available to the reader can create more tension.

I often see this problem in longer-form works as well - and I've certainly made the mistake myself: the error of trying to cram in too much exposition in the first few chapters. It's hard not to worry that an audience will get lost or miss something, but audiences just don't need as much information to enjoy a story as authors do to write it.

4) All books are not created equal

Some books are designed to convey a story as efficiently as possible, often to meet the reader's emotional needs - this is the case for most commercial fiction. Some books are intended to please the reader's intellect or evoke more complex emotions, and often take their time in the storytelling or break rules - this is often the case for literary fiction. Upmarket fiction combines both of these needs. That's not to say that commercial fiction can't have moments of beauty, or that literary fiction can't be fun to read, but it's important to know that these two broad types of fiction have different goals - and that both have their advantages and disadvantages.

It's important to know which markets your book is destined for, and to be honest about it with yourself. Do you write weird fiction that kind of straddles genres and has little philosophical narrative kicks? Do you secretly just want to write fun books about sex and guns? Do you like writing about kissing and emotional drama, but crave a good plot to complicate things? There are readers who want books like each of these, and looking for similar books to yours can help you figure out who will want to read it.

It's vitally important not to confuse the people you want to impress with the people who will probably read your book. I've made this mistake. It's hard not to want to change the world with a book, but you're more likely to achieve that goal if you get the book into the hands of people who will like it in the first place - enthusiastic readers will share what they like, and word of mouth is still the oldest and strongest form of marketing.

5) If you're working in a medium, engage with it 

Having a good vocabulary is essential. This seems like a daunting task - how do we learn more words? Where do we even get the words? How do we know which words are better to use? However, it's not as bad as it sounds. Reading non-fiction news articles in one's Facebook feed can help; honestly, just snatching everything with written words in it and picking it up to read it, even warning signs in bathroom stalls or advertisements at bus stops, can make a difference.

Of course, books and short stories are an ideal place to start. Short stories and short story collections can be a great way to work more fiction into your diet. Ideally, it's best to read a wide variety of books. Having favorite authors is fine, and having favorite genres is fine, but both a) reading widely within your genre and b) reading widely in general will help you try new things and expose you to different ideas and inspirations. Have you ever read a western? An old Harlequin bodice-ripper? A modern romance novel? Women's fiction? A techno-thriller? African-American literary fiction? A gay coming-of-age tale? Grab something off the shelf with your eyes closed and start reading - you don't even have to start from the beginning, if you really don't want to, but try to give the strange new book a chance.

The more you read, the more comfortable your brain will become with the storytelling methods, conventions, and styles that authors use. It's not about copying people or being 'unoriginal', although those are okay for practice techniques - it's about fluency. Writing well is very difficult if you don't read!

6) Emotions are important

Just putting in a description of a character's actions doesn't convey their mood, emotions, or what's going on inside their heads. It can - but it's essential to think about why a character is doing something, and which life experiences have contributed to the decision they're undertaking in that moment. People never just do things - and stopping to consider why a character grabs a wire hanger to fight back, whether they'd cower or flee, and whether they'd be able to speak their thoughts honestly are all vital to communication.

In daily life, we may hesitate to speak or act frankly, and that's not always a bad thing. There's something to be said for honesty, but there's also something to be said for respecting the feelings and desires or needs of others. For example, if Manpreet and Cynthia are friends, and Cynthia is wearing a new sweater she just finished knitting, Manpreet may want to tell her the sweater is ugly. But then Manpreet's desire for validation of her opinion will conflict with Cynthia's need for validation of her efforts. There's nothing wrong with these conflicts, nor with learning when to hold one's tongue or put something carefully, and expressing that characters are going through those steps is a great way to show conflict and emotion in a work of fiction.

7) Traditional literature may not be for you 

Frankly, I think more authors should try different storytelling formats just to see if they find one that's a better fit. Books tend to be the default for creative storytelling, but honestly, they're just not for everyone because they don't always skew to people's internal storytelling style. Sometimes books just don't play to people's strengths. People who are dialogue-oriented may find that plays do the trick. People who like visuals that are continuous may want to try out writing screenplays of various kinds. Still others may want to try writing graphic novels, and either hiring illustrators or illustrating work themselves. The trick is to figure out how you think - in pictures? In moments? In words? - and find the medium that expresses your feelings and thoughts most adequately.

Telling a story is an act of communication, and to communicate well requires a lot of effort, practice, and study. New authors should consider this before rushing to publish their first work, because the enthusiasm and fire of the story experience inside an author's head may be different from the experience of the reader from going through content on the page.

Ultimately, writing is hard. There's a reason that career authors, amateurs, and aspiring writers often despair over it. And honestly, that's okay. There's a joy to the process of learning techniques, to finding the right word. Anything worth doing is worth doing well, because it's easier to get appreciation from others if your work is careful and shows skill.

8) Writing a good book means creating a book to be read

This is always the hardest part of storytelling. Do we, as writers, craft stories we want to read and tell, or for our audience? Sometimes a weird cross-genre story works, and sometimes a story pulls from so many different genres and influences and goes in so many directions that it's hard to see who will pick up on it. Many of us may dream of adulation or praise from masses of readers, but putting faces on those masses is the important part. It's okay to want that - but wanting it alone is not enough to grant it, and merely creating something is not enough to deserve fame and praise.

It's not about 'that mediocre book that's doing so well! I could write better!' - it's about writing better than yourself. It's hard, during the honeymoon phase of completing a project, not to feel like it's the apex of creative works in one's native language. If I sound sarcastic, it's because I know this euphoric high, and I know the unfortunate consequences of trusting it too blithely. Simply put, the problem is not even bad reviews - it's crickets. Unless a book is waterproofed beyond the 'good enough' state, it may not be worth reading.

All creative works are risks, and to attain the prizes of money and positive attention, it's worth making sure a book makes sense from an external perspective, and is a satisfying read. Of course, not every friend or person you know will be an ideal member of your reading audience, so finding anonymous or professional beta readers can be very helpful - even if just for the sake of seeing how a book comes across to someone who knows very little about it. You may find that your book is very appealing for a reason you totally did not anticipate.

Above all, writing the book isn't about you. It's about the audience, the characters, or the story itself.

9) Publishing is scary and hard 

It's okay to be overwhelmed from time to time. It's not even that I'm trying to discourage people from putting their books out for mass consumption - it's that I want to help people make sure the books they put out are as good as possible. There's no such thing as a bad book, just an imperfect book; 99.99% of books that have issues can be saved with a good editor or editors, multiple sets of eyes, and a willingness to tweak and revise.

Drafting books is a process. It took me years to get over the idea that one draft was enough, and that I'd get every idea and nuance down in one go-through. That isn't the case, and it rarely is for many authors! Eventually, realising that I just had to get down a skeleton, and that I could modify and elaborate on things when I had the patience for them, was tremendously freeing. Not only have I stopped hating revisions, I look forward to them. When you know in your bones that the scene and the story feels right, few experiences compare to that.

Publishing, however, is a lot of work - getting used to learning about advertising, knowing where to find information about advertising, buying a cover, researching genres, writing a good blurb, finding people to hire for these various services - it can really add up to an ordeal. Still, doing all that work is a little easier and a lot more rewarding if you feel a rock-hard certainty about the quality of the book in the first place - and it can even make the other stuff easier, because you know what to draw from and what to look at.

10) If all else fails, Google is your friend

Just going for a Google safari or searching around on Amazon isn't something most of us do anymore - our 'wasted time' on the internet usually involves going to a website we already know or frequent regularly, clicking through content, and scrolling through various newsfeeds. However, these habitual paths may not yield as much information when preparing to publish. Simply going to Amazon or Google as if you were looking for a new book and entering various keywords in the search bar - things associated with your book or genre, like 'science', 'scientist', 'adventure', 'comet', 'asteroid', 'crash', 'aliens', or other pertinent terms - can be surprisingly fruitful.

You can also look up books (or shows) you admire and see what people read after reading or watching them. The more books you have to compare to, the more readers will understand your book's place in the market or library. Referencing shows and movies in a blurb is not ideal.

At he end of the day, I'm glad so many people take the leap into trying to write, and finishing projects, but actually trying to sell a book to readers isn't the same thing as merely writing for the satisfaction of it. And writing privately for satisfaction is fine! It's just that when a book hits either an editor's desk or the market, it should be as ready for readers' eyes as possible, and thoroughly vetted - even if it's been self-published.

***  Michelle Browne is a sci fi/fantasy writer. She lives in Lethbridge, AB with her partner-in-crime and their cat. Her days revolve around freelance editing, knitting, jewelry, and nightmares, as well as social justice issues. She is currently working on the next books in her series, other people's manuscripts, and drinking as much tea as humanly possible. Catch up with Michelle's news on the mailing list. Her books are available on Amazon, and she is also active on Medium, Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, Tumblr, and the original blog. 

[karamelsecretsanta]

This is dedicated to Nicole @kaiho. Happy Xmas my darling, if this isn’t what you had imagined, drop me a message and I will write something more suitable J 

--  @chelseaellie

AU Kara and Mon-El never kissed in ep 8, and they are friendly but nothing romantic has happened, cannon to Ep 7. Alex and Maggie are dating, as are Lena and James.

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Late December, the trees had long since shed their leaves and the darkness of winter had started to draw in. Alex was loved up and busy with Maggie, and Kara felt as if she was adrift slightly. Everyone was partnering up and Christmas was coming, she was happy for Alex, and happy for Lena and James with their new romance.

But felt so lonely missing her family more at this time of year. Missing her aunt, and her home. It was a lonely time of year.

So she flung herself into her work, both jobs. Longer hours, taking all assignments. It kept her busy however today Kara was frustrated it was a quiet day in CatCo. Well a quiet day in National City, not even SuperGirl was needed, so she was left to edit the horoscopes. She sighed deeply, and looked at her pile of notes. Madam Nicole was a highly rated psychic, every newspaper wanted her on their books, but she was a nightmare to work for. Her columns were always written in short hand and needed a lot of explanation.

She had been working on the corrections for 30 minutes when she realised she needed clarification and decided to speak to Madam Nicole. Grabbing her note pad she decided to brave the psychic.

Madam Nicole was a pretty young girl, dark hair and green eyes, calmly dressed in a black knee length dress, and kitten heals. Kara had expected bright colours and an older woman, a little eccentric. She was anything but. She was as normal as any other young woman.

“Hi. Just poof reading, but I’m not sure what you mean by this?” Kara asked. She was nervous, but wasn’t sure why. She had braved Snapper, and Cat, and survived, anyone else was simple.

“The famous Kara Danvers” Nicole commented in an almost sing song tone, smiling a charming smile, “I’ve heard so much about you” she looked Kara up and down.

“Thanks, I think” Kara responded with a sense of nervousness she rarely was subjected to.

“You are unsure to believe my powers” Nicole tilted her head, “you are lonely, your sister is in a new Romance, her first, you are scared that you will never find a love like that. Scared that she will forget you, as you are not true blood. She won’t, there is a bond with you, greater than that if blood.”

“I don’t know” Kara confessed

“You are scared to love, you lost too much, too many people, places, you feel as if your world was destroyed, as though nothing you have will ever last.”

“I guess” Kara pretended to be indifferent yet felt unsettled, everything was too true to be a guess.

“There is someone for you, your soul mate. The one person who is perfect for you. You already know him, your own Prince Charming, when the clock strikes 11 on the 24th you will understand. You will know when he gives you a gift of something from your childhood. Trust how you feel in that moment, don’t second guess yourself. You need to live in the now. Grey is the colour that matters”

“Ok, thanks I think” Kara had no idea what was happening, cryptic clues for something she hadn’t asked for. She smiled falsely and walked away.

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She walked home, her head full of what had been said. No idea about what Madam Nicole had told her, she was happily sceptical of this type of thing, and more so now. But the possibility of a guy that she could be paired with was interesting. She was struggling to think who it could be. She discounted J’onn and James right away J’onn as he was her boss, and James because he was dating Lena. Winn, well he was like a brother, but nothing more, there was Steve in IT, he was sweet but a little geeky, David, Chris and Jeremy in the combat teams, they were nice guys. Was she just thinking about this because of something that was suggested?

Almost in a daze she walked into the DEO, Winn, Dana and Mon-El were looking at a monitor and laughing. This was normal, Dana had always been very interested in Mon-El and often made excuses to be close to him. Kara was surprised they hadn’t started dating, relieved but surprised. She wasn’t sure why she was relieved.

“Hey Kara” Beamed Mon-El noticing her presence and she smiled at him and went to join them.

“What’s up?” she always enjoyed their company.

“Winn was trying to work out if Father Christmas had a space ship with transporting powers if that was how he delivered the gifts” Dana explained as though this was a normal consideration.

“Is it normal for one person to monitor all people on the planet?” Mon-El asked

They all looked at him

“Well if he knows if everyone is naughty or nice, he must monitor everyone” the Daxamite queried innocently.

“It’s not quite like that buddy” Winn raised an eyebrow, trying to judge how to answer him.

“What’s it like?” asked Mon-El looking very innocent and childlike, Kara felt a wave of affection, remembering how strange she found Christmas her first year.

“More a threat to make kids behave” Winn confirmed.

“Just as well, as surely naughty and nice is subjective” Dana shifted slightly closer to Mon-El looking him up and down, “Kara thinks you are naughty, I know you are nice” she winked and walked off. Kara stood slightly open mouthed at the clearly flirtations comment.

“Dana has a thing for you” Winn laughed, softly punching Mon-El’s arm.

“Well as we say on Daxam, the more the merrier” he laughed slinging his arm around Winn, Kara just watched them. Bemused as to how the boys had bonded, they were pretty inseparable these days. Often found after work having a kick about in the park or playing computer games, or in a bar attracting female attention. A slight pang of jealousy surged over Kara, Winn was meant to be her best friend and Mon-El was her mentee. She should be the focus, yet was rarely involved with them. She looked sadly as the boys laughed and walked off.  

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Reaching the steps to the training room, she felt a familiar arm around her shoulder, pulling her close to him.

“So fancy some sparing? I’m pretty sure I can take you”

She turned and smiled at Mon-El, bemused “I don’t think that will ever happen” she winked, mischief glittering in her eyes, but pleased that he was spending time with her.

“If I win you have to come to help me get my Secret Santa gift”

“And if I win?” she replied

“What do you want?” he smiled slightly seductively, but he used that smile on all females he wanted to persuade.

“You have to wear a Christmas jumper that I pick to work tomorrow, and it will be a bad one”

“You are on Supergirl” he chuckled, “But I’m winning” he winked at her with a playful look.

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Kara landed on her back with an almighty thud, shards of concrete sprinkled over her like snow. She tried to shake the dust from her hair, but Mon-El pushed her to the floor and pinned her down. She squirmed under him, but couldn’t push him off. She was frustrated, something was clearly off. Any other time she would have beaten him without a seconds thought.

He beamed looking down at her, a twinkle in his eyes, “So will you admit defeat Kara Zor-El”

“Urrr” she grunted, trying to wiggle away, but his legs pinned her to the floor and he held her arms above her head, “No”

“Well we could be here a while” he matter of factly stated.

“I will get out of this” she insisted, not sure she really wanted to, she was having fun.

“Well while we are stuck lets chat, I will tell you all about festivals at the Great Palace of Daxam” he moved slightly to be next to her ear “Or you can accept I won” he dropped his voice so it was soft and husky.

She shivered slightly, their sparring was often physical and close, but this was new, it felt more intimate. She realised how much she missed that, or longed for it. His breath on her neck felt nice, his smell, the weight of him pressed on her. She hadn’t realised how lonely she was, and hoped that maybe Madam Nicole was correct, her soul mate was close. She sighed deeply and he looked sadly at her, then jumped up and held out his hand. She eyed him curiously.

“Let’s call it a draw. I get it, you don’t want to be beaten by a Daxamite, or go shopping with me. I won’t make you”

“No it’s not that!” she was horrified that he thought his race was a problem, though considering their past it was clearly on his mind. “I just have a few things I’m thinking about, I don’t care where you are from. I want to go shopping with you, I don’t get to be human much”

“So you accept that I win” there was the trademark Mon-El charm, the poor Earth women she thought, no wonder he seduced so many, if she was not immune to his charms things could be bad, but she was immune, or at least she told herself she was.

“Yes you win” she chuckled, and grabbed his hand, she kicked out at him and pulled him to the floor, he landed in a pile next to her.

“Cheat” he laughed, turning to face her, a bemused smile lighting up his face. She smiled back at him, wishing she could meet someone like him.

“So who did you get in the secret Santa?”

“Your sister”

“Oh, I understand why you need my help”

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Kara was shaking her head at the baby pink dress Winn was suggesting, it was the 4th poor suggestion he had made, while Mon-El was transfixed by the many options for bath products. The poor boy looked scared, it was hard enough for men to navigate the art of Christmas shopping for women, but an alien having only been on the Planet a few months shopping for women was daunting. Winn suggested another pink item of clothing, and Kara looked bemused, enough was enough time to rescue them. She linked her arm through Mon-El’s and dragged him over to the book section.

Half an hour later they were sat in a little coffee shop out of the way of the main hustle and bustle, drinking coffee and the two aliens had a few slices of cake in front of them. Winn was proud of how much they could eat.

“So we must be close to finishing” Winn sighed, “How is any of this fun, all these people buying cheap rubbish that will never be used. Ignoring that Christmas is just about being with your family and friends”

Mon-El looked at Kara and smiled “Do you remember the festival of ummm, I can’t remember the word for it. Was midwinter, when it was dark and cold and your people used to celebrate family and friends, would have meals and invite the lonely to our homes. I know you celebrated it on Krypton as well because I was there when I was about 7 and visiting. I had kicked up such a fuss about missing out, it was my favourite time of the year, and I was so cross that we were off world at that time. But we arrived there and they were celebrating, and we had treats around a fire, and games and ate and played, it was the best time of my life”

“Oh I remember it well, would make gifts from nature for those close to you, and share with those who had less” she bit her lip remembering fondly.

“One big happy family” Winn gushed wrapping his arms around the pair of them, who exchanged confused looks

“No more Egg-ogg for you” Mon-El declared

“Nog, EggNog” corrected Kara wrestling the remaining liquid from Winn, whose grip was very tight when it came to food he wanted.

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A few days later she was relaxing in the break room at the DEO looking at the tree, which was decorated by Jenna and Clara two of the younger admin girls. They had been all excited about Christmas and had persuaded J’onn to have a department tree. He agreed mostly to stop them bugging him, but on the proviso that anyone was welcome to add their own decorations. There were a few sprinkled amongst the well planned colour coordinated blue and silver design. These made her smile, pictures of children, hand drawn animals, painted pine cones. She missed home, missed her family, she loved Alex and her adopted parents but there were moments when she missed her family.

“Hi” Mon-El said softly, almost too softly that she didn’t notice

“Hi, are you ok?” Kara looked at him, he looked shyer than normal, less confident

“Well, I don’t really understand Earth customs, so I hope this isn’t out of line”

Kara raised an eyebrow, “I don’t understand Earth custom some times and I have been here 13 years, I’m sure is fine”

“The other day when we were talking about our childhoods I thought we needed something to remember home by, so I found this for you” he handed her a small box wrapped in silver sparkling paper, smiling shyly. She hesitated and they gazed into each other’s eyes for a matter of seconds, it felt like forever, she nearly stopped breathing. He shook the gift slightly edging it more towards her.

And just like that the trance was broken, and he was nervously holding out his hand. She smiled and took it. With that he shoved his hands into his pockets and glanced down. The unwrapping felt like it took years, as she nervously opened it. Inside the neat wrapping was a plain white box. Kara felt cheated, something else stood in the way of this gift. She eased it open, and beamed.

Inside the box was a glass blown red star, with gold flecks, and slight swirls of colour. Kara was rendered speechless. Tears formed in her eyes.

“I’m sorry” Mon-El stuttered “I just wanted a connection to our home here, I didn’t mean to cross the line”

“You didn’t” she smiled, “Its perfect. Thank you, it’s the most thoughtful gift I ever received” She hugged him pressing close and savouring his scent. He wrapped his arms around her. She felt comfortable and safe. Then they sprung apart, looking slightly shell shocked, hugging wasn’t their normal behaviour. “Thank you, I know what to do with this” and she floated slightly to the top of the tree to place the star on the top. She landed on the floor and looked proudly at it, sharing a thankful smile with Mon-El. She was about to talk to him when Alex appeared.

“Hi Kara, are you ok?” she asked looking at her slightly tear filled eyes.

“I’m happy, look” she pointed to the star, “It’s from Mon-El to remind us of home, the star Daxam and Krypton shared” and she glanced around to see he had gone.

“That’s sweet, he’s a nice boy” she looked at Kara again, “are you sure you are ok?”

“Just feeling a bit lonely, you have Maggie and I wish I had something like that, and I met a psychic who said I would find my soul mate on Christmas Eve”

“Kara you know better than that” Alex shook her head, Kara was always the more sensitive of the two of them.

I know, just wonder what it would be like, to find a love like you and Maggie share.”

“You will find someone when you least expect it” and she pulled her sister in for a hug. They stood there arms around each other, thankful for finding each other and the bond they enjoyed.

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Christmas Eve

The season of goodwill had clearly hit National City, it was peaceful. Normally Kara would be restless, but this time she was very excited about Christmas, more so by the pile of gifts under the Christmas tree at the DEO. Secret Santa had been very successful, and there was a huge pile of gifts waiting to be collected. In reality Kara’s hyper level passion had meant most people were scared to collect their gift until today. She was known to scold anyone who tried to claim theirs early.

The break room was filled with festive snacks for people to have during their shifts, aware than a full sit down meal was unlikely with the nature of their role. Kara was acting as Father Christmas and handing out gifts of chocolate to each staff member. As much as Alex had told her to forget about what Madam Nicole said she couldn’t forget it, and was using this as an excuse to check out all the men at the DEO.

As the shifts ended people left to be with their loved ones, a Skelton crew would cover Christmas day, with everyone doing a maximum of 4 hours to allow them to spend some time with their friends and family. So the gifts started to filter out as did the staff. Kara had narrowed it down to David, Charles or Steve, all were single, relatively handsome and she didn’t hate their company.

She was sat at a table with a cream covered hot chocolate and Alex who had a plain black coffee.

“You are not still thinking about that Psychic are you?” Alex sighed after five minutes of silence, which felt unsettling given Kara’s normal chatty excitement.

“UMMMM no” lied Kara.

“You are, Kara Danvers, you have a serious tell when you lie” Alex chuckled, she loved her sister, but she was a terrible liar.

“No I don’t” she protested pointlessly.

“Oh you do” Alex chuckled, “Mon-El, Winn, over here” she shouted at the two boys who were looking for a table.

“Hey” Winn smiled, “What’s up?”

“Does Kara have a tell when she’s lying?” Alex teased.

The boys laughed “She has a crinkle in her forehead” Mon-El smiled softly.

“She really does” Winn gasped with amusement.

Kara glared far from impressed.

“See everyone knows when you are lying?” Alex responded “So ‘fess up”

“Grrr, I guess I am a little more hopeful, it would be nice to find my soul mate” she was resigned  to this being public.

The boys looked confused by this statement.

“Kara saw a psychic who said she would meet her Prince Charming today, so she’s on the lookout” Alex explained.

“Prince Charming?” questioned Mon-El still was struggling with Earth culture.

“Her perfect match, different to your Prince, this isn’t a real Prince, mostly a good guy who she falls in love with and who saves her.”

“Ok” nodded Mon-El not really understanding, “Princes on Daxam were real, and tend to marry anyone my Mother decided they should marry, didn’t really save anyone” he still looked a bit unsure.

“We are not on Daxam, and the Prince isn’t here, thank Rao” Kara replied ignoring the clear slip in comment he had made.

“Yes, just as well, see you around” and he walked off uncharacteristically short in his conversation.

Alex and Winn looked at each other with clear interest. “I’m going to follow that up!” Alex stated bluntly as she walked after him.

“Good call” replied Winn, “So Kara who are your options?” and he slumped in to a chair, luckily she was too focused on her love life to pick up on what Mon-El just said.

“Well I think it’s between David, Charles or Steve. They are all nice guys, but…”

“But?” what Winn asked watching her reaction.

“But I don’t have feelings like I should for them” she protested

“So are you just considering them because some psychic told you that you would meet someone?”

“I guess so”

“And had the psychic not said anything what would you be doing? “

“I don’t know, teaching Mon-El about Christmas, hiding the alcohol from Alex, teasing you about something” she smiled fondly.

“So let’s do that, if you were meant to be with any of them you would know them more than you do, so don’t force things, let things happen naturally”

She nodded and smiled, he drew her in for an embrace. She sunk into him. “You are such a good friend” she smiled into his neck, he pulled her closer. Winn was like the brother she always wanted.

“I know” he chuckled, “Let’s find your sister and find out if we are having Christmas with a Prince”

Kara looked at him, and her eyes opened in shock, “NO NO NO NO NO, he’s not!”

“I’m sure we will find out soon” shrugged Winn. Having been suspicious of his friend’s heritage for a while, a few slips and his behaviour was not what he expected from the guard to the royal family. Yet he had never pressed to find out as it didn’t change who he was now.

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Alex was stood on the balcony, lost for words. The cool winter air had nothing on the chill between her and Mon-El.

“So you can see why I never said anything, plus now it’s not really important, my planet is gone, my family are dead, who I was 35 years ago is nothing” the was a defeatism in his voice she had never heard before.

“Do you not think harbouring the Prince of Daxam could put us in danger? If someone wanted to kidnap you?” she attempted a scolding tone, failed because of her empathy and compassion for the lost Prince over powered her wrath.

“Not really, none of the Aliens in the Dive Bar have recognised me, I’m assumed to have died on Daxam. Kara is the closest to anyone from our galaxy. She had no idea who I was. They are looking for someone in their 50s or older. I have powers, I’m stronger than most people on this planet. It’s not a problem”

“Ok, J’onn may disagree but he can have that conversation with you” she conceded, now was the time for emotions not practicality.

“Look, I like your sister. Really like her, she’s pretty and kind and inspiring, but she hates my people, she hates my family and she hates me. The first thing she did when she learnt I was from Daxam was to attack me and lock me in a cell, accusing me of a crime. Once we got past that I explained how I escaped Daxam, and said the Prince saved me, and she used that as a reason to insult the Royal Family, my family, but my saviour in the story I told. No matter what happened I would never live down her perceptions. I like being part of your group, being friends with Winn, and you. I have no family, and you made me feel welcome. As long as I was just a guard, you welcomed me, so I stayed just a guard. I like being normal, or as normal as an Alien with super powers can be. I made friends who liked me for me, not because I was the Heir to the Throne. I got to do things I never had a chance to do. I get it, it was fun while it lasted” he was defeated, the new life he created on Earth was everything he longed for on Daxam, he never asked to be the Prince, or picked the family into which he was born, this was the life he wanted. Real relationships.

“Look Mon-El, I understand, just wish you felt you could be honest earlier”

“Yeah, me too” He took a deep breath, “For what it’s worth, I liked being a normal guy, I got to be who I wanted, not who I was expected to be. I am sorry” He walked out past Kara and Winn, with his head down and tears forming in his eyes.

Winn ran off after him. Kara sank to the floor in shock. Not sure what to think or how to process this.

“Kara are you ok?” Alex looked worried

“I don’t know” Kara shock her head, “I don’t know” as her sister hugged her close.

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Winn sat next to Kara, he waited in silence for a few minutes, then decided to say his piece.

“Look Kara, I don’t know Daxam like you do. I don’t know Krypton like you do, but I know I have met one Daxamite. He’s probably my best friend, kind, loyal, supportive and does everything to try to be the best person he can. Yes he started off a bit of a frat boy, but he’s far from that. I have meet a few Kryptonian’s not the nicest people, they tried to mind control the whole city into doing their bidding. I know you, you are everything that is good, loyal, kind, caring and compassionate. If I was to take what I knew or heard I would avoid you, but I knew you first. My dad killed people for revenge, I hid that, I hid it from everyone I didn’t want people to know who I was in case they judged me from what he did. Mon-El is the person you fight-flirt with most days, the person who gets you drunk and the person you team up with because you trust. You can judge him on stories, or what you know.”

He stood up and walked away

“I don’t flight flirt” she stropped, not sure if he was trying to upset her or not. Not sure why this was the thing she decided to pick up on.

“Oh you do, you smile and glow around him, don’t let this get in the way” Winn walked out of the room, leaving Kara to wonder if she really flirted with Mon-El, no way was that possible, she tried to convince herself. He was a friend, nothing more, just a lost Alien like her.

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Xmas day

Kara arrived for her shift, the original plan had been for her J’onn, Mon-El and Winn to cover a few hours at lunch time and then have their lunch after. The events of the night before still hung in the air, Kara and Mon-El had not yet spoken. He was giving her space. Winn was conflicted between the two friends. There was an air of tension, Mon-El sat at the computer terminal watching as scans processed and came back clear. She walked in and walked past him, and went to the break room. Her stomach churned feeling a little unsettled.

“Hi Kara, can we talk?” Mon-El caught up with her, slightly less composed than normal.

“I’m not sure that’s a good plan” she stated trying to move away from him.

“Because of who I am and where I’m from?”

“Yes, I’m not sure I can ever be alright with that” she snapped.

“I understand, I’m sorry. Thank you for everything you did for me. Im just sorry I wasn’t born on another Planet.” and he walked away with purpose. His words hung in the air surround her for a while.

888888888

Under the tree were a few lonely gifts not yet collected, she gathered them up to put them on each person’s desk. In the mist she spotted a small box, wrapped in red shiny paper, with her name on the gift tag. She was confused, she had already received her Secret Santa gift, it had been a tasteful light green jumper, she assumed from Kevin in accounting, it looked like what his wife wore.

She picked up the box and took it to a table to open it. Curiosity overwhelmed her. It was a 4 inch  metallic circular disk, and a post-it in on the middle saying press here. After waiting a few minutes she decided to obey.

An image appeared in hologram form, taking a few moments to complete. It took up the whole of the table. As it crystallised she realised what she was seeing images of Krypton, her red sun and Daxam, and all their moons. They danced around each other in orbit. Her eyes watered. She hadn’t noticed until the tears dropped to the table. She felt content, and adored.

“He had that made for you, has been organising it for months, it took a while for us to work out how to make Earth technology work with what he wanted” Alex was stood in the door frame. “He was going to give you it at midnight”

Kara looked sadly at her, not needing to ask who he was. “I was a bit harsh wasn’t I?”

“I don’t think there was any ‘a bit’, he is the person you know, you laugh and smile with, but you made it clear to him how you feel” big sisters know best and Alex was smugly proving this.

“What if I was wrong?” Kara trembled

“Tell him you are sorry, you are fire and passion, and when you calm down you see things more clearly, you know who he is, you always have. You know what matters, you know what to do”

There was a rush of wind and Alex realised Kara had gone, she smiled finally Kara may see what she and Winn had known for months.

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Mon-El was pacing in the corridor. Replaying everything in his head, maybe he should have told her earlier maybe he should have pretended it was a mistake. This was all such a mess. He paced uncomfortably.

“So you are a Prince” Kara suddenly appeared in front of him, eyes slightly red from the tears. He misread this as anger.

“Yes,“ he replied sadly, turning slightly away from her.

“THE Prince?” she accused attracting his attention.

“Yes” he dropped his eyes from hers and swallowed nervously.

“I’m so sorry….” she started

“You are sorry?” he questioned looking up and confused.

“Yes me, please hear me out.” He nodded as she carried on. “I was cross when I first heard that you were not who you claimed to be. But I realise that part of how I acted towards you created that situation. I have never treated anyone like I treat you, everyone else I give a chance to prove that are not who they are perceived to be. But I locked you away because of where you were from. Yet I fought to defend others less worthy of a chance. I judge your family from hearsay and stories I heard as a child, and I am ashamed. Worse that, I know better. You are not the person I heard stories about. You are incredible, and caring and brave. But most of all you are my friend. Just over a week ago, I meet a psychic who told me that I would find my soul mate. I took that to be a new boyfriend, but I think all the clues are about you, Prince Charming. Well you are both a Prince and can be charming. That grey would be significant and you have the greyest eyes I have ever seen. That he would give me a gift of my childhood and I should trust how I feel in that moment, and your gift was something special”

“How did you feel in that moment?” he asked nervously. Fiddling with his fingers.

“Like I couldn’t not have you in my life, in some form, I needed to let you know you matter to me. I don’t care who you were” she looked up into his eyes, unaware that whilst speaking she had been stepping closer and closer to him, there were inches between them if that. She could smell the coffee on his breath.

“You matter to me as well” he smiled, biting his bottom lip slightly, as she realised she had been staring at his lips. The alarm on his watch beeped, and he glanced at it. “Eleven, time to set the scans”

“Don’t go” she almost whispered, he looked at her quizzically. She pointed to the ceiling, “Mistletoe.” Then moved in for a kiss, brushing his lips with hers. Wrapping her arms around him, he returned the favour once the shock passed, their lips parted to deepen the kiss as they tasted each other, there was more urgency. Her fingers were in his hair, trying to get as close to him as she could. He returned the favour squeezing her tightly towards him. Then his back hit a wall, as they tried to stabilize each other. It made them pause and laugh. Neither was sure who was more surprised.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do this at work” he chuckled very aware that this was not normally accepted behaviour.

“You are right” Kara flushed slightly, “Stay at mine after Xmas dinner so we can carry on with this” with a cute wink. Not sure she could wait that long, wondering why she hadn’t realised that she cared for him earlier.

“If you can control yourself that long” he teased, walking off to start his scans. She caught up with him and slipped her hand into his, intertwining fingers. She smiled at him.

“That’s going to be a challenge” as she leant up to place a kiss on his lips. Which he gratefully accepted.

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Madam Nicole, smiled at the image she was viewing via her crystal ball, and sprinkled glitter over the ball. “Ah True love, maybe I was a few hours out”

“A few hours is far from a problem” Alex hi-fived her

“On to the next couple who need a wake up” Nicole stated and she covered the crystal up, and ticked off a list. Shutting her case she revealed her wings and flew away. Alex smiled “Happy Christmas Kara” she whispered 

[vestedbeauty]

No Midlife Crisis Here - Christie's Secret

New Post has been published on https://vestedbeauty.com/midlife-crisis/

No Midlife Crisis Here - Christie's Secret

How One Woman Averted a Midlife Crisis by Learning to Put Herself on the List, Too

She had boundless energy and this super-contagious smile. She was smart, always looked cute, and was kind to everyone she met. Oh, and she was on the pom-pom squad and looked so adorable that I kind of wanted to hate her.

Let me clarify. When I met Christie, we were in high school. We’d both moved to Aurora, Colorado within the past couple of years. I had no idea the move was a major shock to her. (She’d moved from Hawaii. The massive snow dumps were the least of the changes she had to adjust to in her new home.) All I saw was this perfect and popular girl. (I was, um… not.)

We reconnected recently, and I’ve got to tell you… She’s even more beautiful now. It’s not because of her beauty, friendliness, and infectious energy – although five minutes of talking with her confirmed those traits are all absolutely intact more than 30 years later. 

Now, there’s a whole new layer of beauty. They say our beauty in youth is a lucky draw from the gene pool. But our beauty as we age is due to the choices we make and the person we decide to become. 

It’s my pleasure to introduce you to Christie Kaleo Mattson. She learned one of the most important secrets for creating a fulfilling, fun life at any age.

You Want a Midlife Crisis? Because That’s a Great Way to Get One

Christie’s always been a giver. She cares for others 24/7. 

She runs the daily operations for a business caring for seniors. Her employees love working with her to care for seniors in their homes. She’s designed her business to provide maximum freedom for her team. Some go to yoga, taking shifts that work around what feeds their souls. Christie honors their commitment to self-care.

Christie’s mom lives with her. For many families, intergenerational living is the norm. But for many of us, the idea of combining generations under one roof seems like too daunting a challenge to even attempt. While there have been adjustments and challenges in this arrangement, she’s really glad to have these bonus years with her mom so near. 

Christie is also part of the Sandwich Generation, caring for her mom while also raising a teenage son. Her husband’s work often takes him away on outdoor adventures, so she mostly handles everything on the homefront herself. 

Oh, and she’s started another business with her best friend, LuckyTwo Boutique. Together, they sell handmade jewelry and refashioned wearable art. 

If you’re exhausted already, you’re paying attention.

We Often Give Until It Hurts

There’s something inside many of us that drives us to take care of everyone who crosses our path. We’ll bake those cupcakes for our child’s school, play chauffeur to take a loved one to an appointment, then work late into the night to make up for the time we take to help others. 

Our list of responsibilities and to-do’s can grow so long we can’t see the end of it.

But it’s too easy to leave one important priority off of that endless list: ourselves.

You’ve probably known women who devote all their time to caring for others until they reach the point they’re running on fumes. You might even be one of those women facing burnout.

Psychology Today says that burnout is a state of chronic stress that leads to:

Physical and emotional exhaustion

Cynicism and detachment

Feelings of ineffectiveness and lack of accomplishment

For a woman who’s spent her entire life showing boundless energy, friendliness, and a drive to achieve, it’s like burnout strips them of their essence. They no longer recognize themselves in the mirror, and they grow to hate how they show up in the world.

When Christie’s tank began running empty, she knew she needed to replenish her reserves, and fast. There was too much at stake to just keep running, running, running without putting herself on her list of priorities.

Self-Care for the Midlife Woman

Christie’s made some small and big changes in her life – changes that elevated her levels of happiness in dramatic ways. Actually, what caught my attention and nudged me to interview her for Vested Beauty was this post on Facebook:

I’ll Have What She’s Having

You can see why I had to talk with her, right?

Here’s what I discovered during our conversation about how Christie was learning to take care of herself first rather than… never.

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Feeding Her Creative Soul

Christie says, “It’s important to embrace whatever your passion is. My passion, since I was a child, is being creative. I lost it along the way, getting married… doing the house thing… having a family…. always working full-time-plus hours. I’ve brought art and creativity back into my life and truly love what it does for my attitude and well being. My mind is filled with creations and designs that I try to find time to make a reality. In due time. I can get lost in creating. I’m now painting and refashioning one of a kind apparel and selling it online!” 

Self-Care for the Body

Christie had been dealing with hip and joint pain. Maybe you know the feeling, too? You go to roll out of bed and need to take a moment because it just hurts. Her best friend was dealing with it, too – tingling and numb hands and the start of some mobility issues. Together, they started taking a liquid collagen product to try to regain their joint health. Within just weeks, Christie found she was able to get out of bed without hip pain. Her skin, hair, and nails also improved – even after years of dying had left her hair brittle. (She’s not ready to go gray yet. Her son is 16 and says he doesn’t want her to look like his grandmother!)

Owning Herself

Christie says she’s a work in progress (aren’t we all!). “There will always be something to learn and improve to help reach complete fulfillment… is that possible? =)” 

One piece of that work is learning to make her voice heard. She says, “I’ve put my feelings aside for too long. Our voices do matter. I’m a pleaser, give endlessly, and always have been. I’ve put others’ needs before mine for as long as I can remember. My son is older now. He needs me less and less, so I can pay attention to me now and put my passions, health and happiness first. It’s never been a priority for me until now. 

As a mom, wife, daughter, and full-time worker, there’s always someone who needs a piece of you. You know what I’m talking about. I’m really just figuring out how to juggle it all and fulfill my needs but still being present for my family and friends. 

“If there were five of me, everyone would be happy! I’m learning now that the happier I am, the happier those around me are.”

Best Advice for Ending a Midlife Crisis?

I always like to ask the women I interview what advice they’d give to younger women – or to themselves a couple of decades ago. Here’s what Christie says:

Stand up for yourself and what you believe in. Don’t be swayed by everyone’s opinion of how you should be and what you should do.

There was really nothing holding me back but me.

Sometimes you need a detour but always get back on track. Nothing more important than your overall happiness and well being. The rest will follow along on your positive path. 

Be proud of who you are, embrace your talents, and don’t let life pass you by. Don’t just exist. It’s not about money, it’s about happiness. It’s about being satisfied inside and out. 

Christie’s surrounded herself with a small tribe of friends and family who love her and challenge her to be her best self. You can choose who’s in your tribe.

As a young woman, Christie once had a boss who nicknamed her “Disneyland” because she has a fun way about her that people love to be around. Even Disney has a dark side, though – and as many women know first-hand, the fun runs out when you’re running on fumes. Nobody’s going to wave a magic wand or sprinkle fairy dust on us to bring the spark back. It’s up to us to do what we need to bring life back into our lives.

In the end, our quality of life is what we make of it. Put yourself on the list.

You can find out more about Christie and see her wearable art at LuckyTwo Boutique on Instagram and Etsy. 

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[acnlexplorer-emily]

Affiliate Internet Marketing Business - Beginner's Stepping Stone For Lucrative Online Business

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E-Currency Exchange - Success for Home Business Beginners

The notion of establishing a profitable and successful home business has become an increasingly attractive prospect for a lot of people over the past two decades, and why would not it be? The guarantees that many home business packages offer, drive lots of people down this street, assuring you that if you only invest in their system, they will provide you the key to unlock all of the wealth you could have hoped for.

Unfortunately this rarely happens, people become frustrated with the multifaceted and complex method they've only devoted their hard earned money to, and sadly quit.

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I've personally spent a grand total of $7,895 trying to get a system that can do for me precisely what it guarantees and stick with me when I am lost and need help. These diamonds in the rough are in short supply and aren't easy to spot when you are starting out.

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Starting out in this ruthless industry can be very daunting and, failure could result in a broken bank balance or crushed self-confidence. My objective is to try to reduce the amount of individuals out there who must go through what I did to get where I am now. I don't need the immoral money making schemes out there to conquer itself belief you have in yourself to actually make a go of any home business you choose, because achievement is really a possibility.

[why-mr-spook]

Won't You Stay?

PAIRING: T’Pura

(sort of sequel to my AO3 work: Please Be Kind )

“I do not understand the purpose of this exercise.” T’Pring said, following Nyota towards the replicator at the other side of her room, despite making absolutely zero effort to lower her voice so that Christine and Janice might not hear. It was one of the many absence of subtleties that T’Pring had displayed thus far to the other women, and it was less endearing when she considered how upsetting she’d found it when directed towards herself.

“It’s a sleepover, tal-kam.” Nyota informed her girlfriend for what felt like the tenth time that day. “It’s a thing that humans do. To bond and share experiences. It enables relationships to grow.” She procured their chosen cocktail of the night, replicated in a jug with straws and umbrella sticks to boot.

“But if we’re unwelcome company, we can always leave you two to cosy up tonight?” Janice called from the bed, amusement lacing her tone. Janice, at least, could always be relied on to see the humour in things. Chris was somewhere between Nyota and Janice- witty and sharp, but not quite as  cuttingly sarcastic as Janice; her maternal instincts tended to outweigh her desire to party and drink and laugh away her time.

“That would indeed be a more efficient use of time.” T’Pring said factually, following Nyota in her path back towards the bed. 

Nyota paused, mouth fumbling for one of the straws for just a moment before she drank deeply from the jug, relishing the taste of cherry and alcohol. Hell, she needed it. “If we are to spend tomorrow evening celebrating Commander Scott’s birthday in the company of crew, why must we also give up our time this evening?”

It was almost petulant, and Nyota might have laughed outright if she wasn’t starting to get irritated. Spock was fun to tease, but T’Pring was not remotely human. She was Vulcan, through and through, and Nyota had no intention of sending her mixed signals.

“Because! They’re my friends, and I want to spend time with them. I want them to get to know you outside of card games and parties. This is just us. This is what we did before you joined the crew. If your only problem is you don’t get me all to yourself, then deal with it. If you have some other issue, then I’d rather you leave than carry on complaining at me!” An awkward silence reigned in her quarters for just a moment, and T’Pring looked rather like she’d been punched in the gut. Nyota took a deep breath, willing away her bad mood. “Of course, then I won’t get to paint your nails with the earth constellations like you wanted.”

That seemed to ease some of the tension. T’Pring’s shoulders twitched, only slightly, but enough that one of the braids fell onto her back. Looking fully reprimanded, she stuck her hand out towards Nyota and her fingers curled slowly in until she presented a Vulcan kiss. Behind the Vulcan, Chris and Janice sat on the bed giggling through their hands. Nyota fixed them with a steady glare, but neither paid her any attention. T’Pring didn’t seem to mind, though; all her focus was on Nyota, and her brows had furrowed in that particularly subtle way that indicated regret. Nyota had seen it a few times, now. Most often when she seemed to offend someone without intention. Like Spock, she valued efficiency and precision in her role as Science Officer. But T’Pring wasn’t ruthless, and she didn’t like reprimanding her team for mistakes. Especially not when she compared most Starfleet practices to the VSA, and most often came to the conclusions that Humans were too flawed to advance further in their fields. T’Pring always regretted when her conclusions made young officers or ensigns upset, and she was getting better at avoiding such incidents. With help from Nyota, of course, and – she suspected – Spock too.

“Forgive me, ashayam. On Vulcan, relationships such as Earth friendships are uncommon. Bonds are familial or romantic.”

“I know. Just, try it darling.” Nyota took the kiss and reciprocated in turn. “I promise, you’ll enjoy it. Will you have some chocolate?”

“Say you will, T’Pring!” Janice interrupted, clasping her hands together as if in prayer and kneeling on the bed towards them. “We’ve been trying to spike Spock’s drinks for months, he never falls for it! And if he does, Jim always rescues him before we see the good stuff!”

“Your intentions for your superior officers are concerning.” T’Pring replied, turning to face the girls. “Perhaps later, Janice.” She sat on the edge of the bed- ridiculously formal, compared to the rest of them in pyjamas, but with an adorable vulnerability to the action. Oh, she tried so hard for Nyota. “Nyota, please, paint my nails. I shall tell you about the day Spock and I were bonded, when he was 7.3 years and I, 7.8.”

“Oh, yes.” Christine laughed, throwing her head back. “No, that’s so much better than getting her drunk. Do, tell us T’Pring!”

Nyota smiled and sat, her earlier anger a thing of the past. While Nyota adored T’Pring, knew with certainty there was nowhere else she wanted to be, the route their relationship had taken was positively… human. And slow, at that. It was why she wanted so desperately for the girls to get to know T’Pring more, to understand where her relationship was at. It was all just… confusing. Spock had been less daunting, in a way. Or maybe Nyota had just been younger, and more stubborn. Concern seemed to flow in her veins these days, and the worry that a crush on a beautiful green woman did not necessarily equate to a healthy, long lasting relationship.

“I will not bore you with the specifics of the bonding, though it was a mutually beneficial agreement. As children, Spock and I were close, and intellectual rivals. He was, in Terran terms, a child genius.” T’Pring explained, and Nyota leaned back against the foot of the bed and found a nail file to begin her girlfriend’s manicure. She pushed away any of her doubts before she dared to touch T’Pring again, holding her hand tenderly and starting her strokes. “We were bonded at precisely midday, on Vulcan, and our parents agreed that a joint lunch would be most logical in light of the new bond. Of course, we were both well versed in meditation and Surak’s teachings by the age of seven, and none more so than Spock. The bond was new, however, and required time to settle. We were both compromised and vulnerable to childish impulses. We left dinner and decided to engage in a game of chess.”

“Thrilling stuff, T’Pring.”

Nyota kicked at Janice and gestured for her girlfriend to continue. It was sort of peculiar to hear tales of her ex’s bonding to her current girlfriend, when they were children. Spock remained her best friend, and it wasn’t as if she wasn’t interested in stories about his childhood. On the contrary, once it would have been her utmost privilege if Amanda had decided to recall some anecdote despite Vulcan privacy. Only, things were different now and, however much she reminded herself their bond had only been preliminary and not exactly marriage, Nyota still found she settled best when she didn’t think about T’Pring in any sort of romantic context. Childhood best friends were sweet, undeniably, but ex-intendeds was weird. Heavens above, it was all weird.  

“We played quickly and most irrationally. As a full Vulcan, I managed a modicum more control than Spock and was able to beat him swiftly. He did not anticipate such an occurrence and promptly burst out laughing.”

For all the niggling uncertainty bothering Nyota, she couldn’t regret the warmth in T’Pring’s dark eyes when she spoke of her childhood with Spock. Despite her tense relationship with her father, Nyota liked knowing that there were some memories that T’Pring looked back on fondly. The girls didn’t quite register that emotional response from T’Pring though, and Nyota liked realising it had been too subtle for them to register as they focused on the more important information.

“Spock?” Christine repeated, dropping a straw from her mouth and passing the cocktail jug to Janice. “Laughing?”

“Quite vigorously. I admit to having lost control over my facial muscles at irregular intervals also.” There was a pretty green blush crawling up T’Pring’s exposed neck, and down her perfect cheekbones. It set perfectly against the silvery eyeshadow look she’d gone for that morning- Nyota had watched from the bed, transfixed by her beauty and also her complete reluctance to go to work. Heavens, couldn’t that be enough? T’Pring was… achingly beautiful. Why did Nyota even bother worrying about a future with her, when she was right there and so perfect and trying so very hard to be what Nyota needed.

“Our parents heard our outbursts and came to find us in the drawing room, in what Spock’s mother described as ‘rather a state’. I was made to meditate for an hour before my parents could escort me home, at which point I continued to meditate until supper.”

The atmosphere in the room tensed considerably, and Janice lowered the cocktail jug to look down the bed. The discomfort in their reactions was so obvious, Nyota couldn’t think of a single thing to say to counteract it. God, this was where Kirk came in useful to diffuse the situation. It was just another occasion in which the humans on the ship were confronted with Vulcan norms, and found themselves completely unable to relate.

“Wow.” Christine finally said, awkwardly, drawing her legs up to her chest.

“Wow’s an understatement. You laughed, so they made you meditate for hours?” Janice looked astounded, and Nyota took a deep breath to intercede. It was awful, really, but she wasn’t particularly surprised by her human friends’ difficulty grasping Vulcan culture. What dismayed her, beyond anything, was that T’Pring was trying so hard to bond with the girls for Nyota’s sake. And, lord, how long would it take before they accepted that Vulcan’s chose logic over emotion? How long before the awkward silences dissipated and conversation flowed as naturally as it did for Spock. Or god, would it ever? Spock wasn’t exactly known for his ease around most humans and T’Pring was even worse at being tactful.

“It’s not like that- Jan. Vulcans meditate so they don’t let emotions overwhelm them.” Nyota explained, but it felt almost as if she was reiterating points her friends already knew inside out. It was as if they simply didn’t want to accept that a child should repress that which made them laugh and smile. As ever, everything was much more complicated than that. Beside her, T’Pring looked somehow smaller where she sat. Her brows indicated that same regret again, like maybe she had been wrong to attempt to share the story, and the girls were rejecting her for her mistake. Of course, it probably didn’t help that Nyota was still touching her bare skin and projecting all the anxiety she had to her girlfriend and, crap, she hadn’t meant to do that.

“Right.” Chris said, in a bright, factual tone. “So, what’s a Vulcan bonding ceremony actually like T’Pring? I imagine we’ll need to educate ourselves on these things sooner or later.”

T’Pring replied factually, but she’d retreated back under her shield of impassivity- she spoke like she did when making a report at a meeting, and Nyota tried not to feel the weight of her worry so strongly. Instead, she pushed adoration and comfort through her fingertips and moved on to painting the base of T’Pring’s nails. Maybe, she decided, it was still a touch too early to have expected miracles of a friendship from the others. They should have stuck to drinks and card games for a little while longer.

   It was hours later, when Janice and Chris had finally called it a night and traipsed across the ship in their pyjamas back to their own respective quarters that Nyota finally let her tension drain away. She sat, half dazed from cocktails and moderately exhausted from the long, trying night, and watched T’Pring. She was propped up in far too many cushions, and sipping on a pre-emptive glass of water- just in case. T’Pring had insisted, reciting the effects of alcohol consumption on the human body. Nyota didn’t really object. In fact, she rather enjoyed being cared for by her Vulcan. It saved a trip to sickbay in the morning, demanding that Leonard administered her a hangover hypo because, heavens, if you can spare one for Kirk twice a week you can damn well give me one, Leonard.

T’Pring stood by the bed, looking particularly distant. All night she’d been the same- awkward and closed off, despite Nyota’s best intentions to ease her apparent discomfort. Logically, she knew these things were going to get easier with time. But the reckless emotion her humanity provided her was otherwise distracted by the crushing reality that T’Pring might never feel remotely comfortable to spend too much time with Nyota’s friends. But that was fine, right? It was… it needed thinking about, another time, when she wasn’t so close to sleep.

“Is there anything else you require before sleep, Nyota?”

“Just you, Ashaya.”

Nyota was momentarily distracted by the grace with which T’Pring walked- the way her Vulcan robes clung and then draped so perfectly- lilac, offsetting the pale green of her arms and slender neck. Nothing compared to watching her slip out of clothes though, and under the covers with Nyota.

“Thank you for tonight, T’Pring.  I know it wasn’t your idea of a good time. It means a lot that you got involved.”

“I would do a great deal more for you, Nyota.” T’Pring said quietly. “Bolau tu shom.” You need to rest.

Nyota smiled sleepily. “We’ll meld tomorrow, if you like. I’d like that.” She felt soft lips press against her temple, and fingers trailing along her arm in a Vulcan gesture too.

“I should like that immensely, Ashayam. Now sleep.”

Nyota nodded. She couldn’t keep her eyes open if she wanted to, and curled up closer to her Vulcan. Tomorrow, they’d agreed to breakfast with Spock and Kirk. She would not allow either Kirk to laugh his ass off at her for being hungover, or Spock and T’Pring to bitch about her in rapid Vulcan, as if she couldn’t understand. So she was quite happy to sleep, safe and loved, and push all her doubts and fears about their relationship away to deal with another time.

[yellowsugarwords]

Walking Dead Game FanFiction - "I Hate You"