#i hope its not annoying that in every post i talk about a dozen topics in the tags hekfdjd.. theyre like. journal pages or somethinf

[lem-argentum]

i actually never played videogame today like i said i was going to.. joined my dad on an errand trip and was soo tired when we got back -v- <3

[mxchxelschmidt]

-a/n- this is the barista!reader mall security!mike I was talking about. There will probably multiple parts if it’s enjoyed enough. I may cross post to ao3 at some point. It’s not proof read so bear with me.

Mike hadn’t been working at the mall long when he first came up to the coffee shop you worked at. You were only working there because the last job you had didn’t line out exactly how you wanted it to. Waitressing was different than coffee. Waitressing was more taxing mentally for you. The people getting angry with your service and then tipping you terribly instead of speaking up was annoying and you hated your income depending on how much of a people pleaser you were.

His coffee order was simple, black americano. Espresso and water. Personally you would take the espresso shots over the watered down version. The man before you looked like he needed the coffee. His eyes had dark bags under them. His hair was messy, as if he rolled out of bed to come to work. You could admire that. You had your fair share of days that required you to roll out of bed early with no regards to how you looked to come get the shop open in time for customers to have morning coffee. In fact you’d just had one of those days not too long ago.

He was wearing his security uniform, black dress pants and the long sleeve grey button up adorned with a security badge. It was tucked into his pants and secured with a black belt. His radio at his hip ready to take any of the very important calls about a teenage shoplifting from hot topic.

“Black coffee? You don’t want to sweeten it a little?” You ask half playful, half serious, because coffee on its own was just bitter to you. There wasn’t much enjoyment in it.

He kind of makes eye contact with you but he seems distracted. Focused on something else. Which is fine, most of your customers are distracted by the turmoil of their own life. They don’t care much to talk to the “barista”. This guy should be no different. Something about him draws you in though, makes you want to know more.

“Yeah. Not really a fan of coffee, just really tired today I guess.” He says almost sounding interested in talking to you but there’s something missing in the way he speaks. Something far off and distant. He’s more distracted than your usual customers, like he’s not here, far off in another world, focused on anything but what’s going on around him.

You shrug and go to pour the shots focusing on that instead of the stranger that’s only half there in front of you. Once his coffee is made you take it to the pickup counter and call out his name, “Americano for Mike.”

You start saying that every day. He keeps coming back and you’re not sure why. He still looks just as tired as each day passes. You grow to admire the look. He’s messy but he’s also pretty and that’s enough to keep starting small conversations with this stranger.

He’s ordered coffee from you a dozen or so times by now. Your coworkers begin to notice he isn’t coming to the coffee stand on the days you aren’t working, and so the teasing begins.

One of the next times he’s there you hear your male coworker call out, “Hi Mike!” And you cringe inwardly at his goofiness.

Mike tips his head to the side and you can’t help but compare him mentally to a puppy. You bite back a laugh and shrug, “What can I say, you must be a regular now Mike. You want that americano again?”

He’s less distant the more he comes to the coffee stand. He shakes his head and leans against the counter, “I can’t lie, as much as I’d rather not spend the extra money to make it taste good, I don’t think I can stomach anymore black coffee.”

You smile, you knew it would only be a matter of time before he gave up the black coffee charade. You pick up a cup and your pen looking at him, “Do you know what you’d like instead?”

He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly and shrugs before shaking his head, “Mmm… No. I was hoping maybe you had some suggestions?”

You can’t help the grin that tugs at your lips and you write his name on the cup. He pulls out his cash to pay you, holding it out across the counter and you shake your head at him, “On the house for your first try.” you give him a playful wink and walk away to start making his drink. This time it’s similar to what he’s gotten in the past. You pour two shots of espresso. And put them in the cup. You steam milk with a bit of caramel flavored syrup and layer it on top of the espresso shots. When you’re finished adding a caramel drizzle to the drink you walk it over to the pickup counter and and hold it out to him instead of placing it on the counter.

He walks up and does that thing where he tilts his head curiously again and you can’t help but feel a little twinge in your chest at his cuteness. You can’t muster up the courage to say anything but, “You’re going to want to stir it before you drink it. That way it tastes better.”

He gives you a nod and a hint of a smile before taking the cup, “Thanks, I appreciate it. Sleep has been rough to come by recently. I think the coffee helps.”

You give him a small laugh and a nod, “Coffee is the sleep deprived persons best friend. Gotta make sure you’re awake enough to chase those shoplifters down.”

Maybe it’s the way that he holds the cup up to you in cheers way before walking away. Maybe it’s the fact that you know nothing about him. Maybe you’ve got a crush on the mysterious security guard that keeps coming to get coffee from you.

When you leave from your shift that day you notice Mike sitting on a bench by the exit and he has a cell phone pressed up against his ear. He’s got a look on his face that reads as mildly annoyed and very pissed off. You can faintly hear the words, “No I get it, but I just don’t have any one else to go to to watch her. I can’t leave work I have to be here for the whole shift. There’s no one to cover me.” He says and rubs the bridge of his nose with two fingers, leaning back on the bench.

You can see the stress painted across his face. He looks like hes going to get emotional and you cant help but feel bad for him. It’s the way he’s pleading into the phone as if it really is his last option. You walk over to him as the conversation ends and his cell phone returns to his pocket. You look at him for a moment and he doesn’t seem to notice you, but you speak up anyways, “Hey, mike right?”

He looks up from his lap and his mouth is parted slightly like he’s caught off guard by your presence. Once again too wrapped up in his own lifes turmoil to notice the world around him. He nods, lips still parted slightly before he fixes his slack jawed appearance and stands, “Yeah Mike,”

“Black Americano guy, that is until today,” You say with a smile. “By the way how was your drink? It’s what I suggest to most non coffee drinkers that want it to taste half decent.”

He gives you half a smile which is more than you’ve gotten in the entirety of your interactions. Mike seems to be coming back to this plane of existence, considering hes giving you the time of day, “It was good actually, much better than what I have been drinking.”

You’re not sure how to segue into it but you’re curious about the heated phone call you had so you pluck up the courage to say it, “Trouble with the missus?” You ask half sarcastically. Maybe you’re overstepping your boundaries but it’s too late now, you’ve already brought it up.

He looks confused for a moment and then looks down at himself as if he’s looking for a hint to what you’re talking about. He then looks back at you and here comes that half smile again, “Oh no just babysitter troubles. My sister isn’t old enough to be at home alone and her babysitter just called to tell me that she can’t watch her tomorrow. Some family emergency or something. I don’t know.” He rubs his hands on his pants nervously and shrugs as if it’s no big deal.

“You work tomorrow though don’t you? That’s tough,” You say and cross your arms thoughtfully.

“Yeah, now I’m kind of just shit out of luck. I don’t really have a back up since that was my backup.” He says and rubs a hand on the back of his neck sheepishly. His face gets that far off look again like he can’t get his mind off of the amalgamation of problems that is his life.

You tap your foot once, then twice, a thoughtful look on your face and your lips tighten into a line before you finally speak up, “I don’t work tomorrow.” you blurt out. He looks at you with a confused look on his face like he doesn’t know why youve brought it up and then you see the lightbulb, “I have babysitting experience too, so I mean if you need someone to step up, I’m your girl” you say with a smile.

He looks like he’s taken aback by your kindness. By the wear and tear of this mans existence you can tell he hasn’t had much kindness in his life. He finally speaks up moments later, “Really?” he’s not sure if this is real or if he’s daydreaming it but it’s the best chance he’s got at not losing this job he so desperately needs to support him and his sister, “That would be amazing I don’t know how I could thank you enough. She’s a really easy going kid she’s just quiet.” he says and feels the hope building in his chest.

You smile at him and nod, “Sounds great. I think I can handle that.”

He digs around in his pocket for a moment and pulls out a small notepad and a pen usually used for taking down descriptions of criminals in the mall but this time he uses it to scribble his address down for you. He rips the page out of his notebook and hands it over to you. There’s a phone number accompanying the address and you assume it’s his. “There’s my address, if you could be there at 8am that would be great. She’s usually had breakfast by that time so it will just be lunch and dinner in terms of cooking. I’d have to pay you on payday. I’m a little tight on funds until then.” He says sheepishly.

This is the most Mike has ever spoken to you and you can tell how much he cares for his sister. You finally know what’s going through his head when he is ordering coffee and seems like he’s a million miles away.

You nod dutifully and smile at him “You got it Mike, I’ll see you bright and early.”

He smiles back, it’s not half this time, it’s a full smile. Seeing it break past that rough and tough exterior is nice. He has a nice smile.

“Thank you again.” He says and suddenly theres a call over his radio for a blonde teenage girl inside wet seal stuffing clothes in her purse and he’s off. Waving goodbye to you before turning on his heel and jogging in the direction of the store he was called to.

You walk to the parking garage with that little slip of paper tucked into your pocket. You get in your little beater car and head home actually excited for a change in your weekly routine. You’re excited to get to know more about him, even if it involves babysitting his younger sister.

[juicytonki]

Madcap flare help

#MADCAP FLARE HELP HOW TO#

Open Linkįrom a topic, you can’t edit snippets. Becoming familiar with the Link Viewer is a necessary skill for any Flare user. This is especially useful in cases where you want to see what files a snippet is used in. View Linksįrom most files in both the Content Explorer and the Project Organizer, you can right click and select View Links. These options are also available from the Project ribbon. Likewise, you can click any open topic’s tab and select either Locate in Explorer or Locate in TOC. Locate in Explorer / Locate in TOCįlare gives you some handy tools to quickly locate where a topic file is located in the Content Explorer or in a TOC.įrom the Content Explorer, right click a topic, and select Locate in TOC.įrom the TOC file, right click a TOC entry, and select Locate in Explorer. With a topic open, click the Show Tags drop-down in the local toolbar, and then click Show All Images As Thumbnails. Note that this will not convert your images to thumbnails in your output, just in your editor view. You can enable the Show all images as thumbnails option in your XML Editor, which shrinks your images to thumbnail view. If you have topic with a lot of images, sometimes it can get annoying to try to edit the text around those images.

#MADCAP FLARE HELP HOW TO#

If you’re wondering how to open the Style Window, you’ll find it in the Home ribbon. In the Style Window, click the pin icon next to any style, and it will automatically show up at the top of the style window until you unpin it by clicking the pin icon again. If you use certain styles frequently, you can pin them to the top of the style list. You can disable these styles from showing up in your style window (while keeping them in your stylesheet).įor the styles you want to hide, add mc-hidden: hidden to the style properties. Maybe you have a bunch of styles for your home page, for example, and those styles are cluttering up your style window. It’s easy for the style window to get stuffed with styles that you don’t need to use on a regular basis, yet need to keep in your stylesheet. Go to File > Options > Auto Suggestion to customize its behavior. You can disable auto-suggestion or customize it so that it better suits your needs. Sometimes this is helpful, sometimes it’s annoying. The auto-suggestion window pops up by default when Flare recognizes that you’re typing a word that is in your variables file. Right click any tab (preferably the one you want to remain open), and click Close All But This. Maybe you’re not ready to close Flare, but you’ve got dozens of tabs open that you just want to close quickly. Go to File > Options > General and uncheck Auto-Reload Documents. If you’ve ever opened Flare and been annoyed that it re-opens all the tabs you had open when you last closed Flare, this tip is for you. For those who didn’t ask for them, I hope that you still find a handful of these tips useful. All I had was a simple list of about 25 tips, and my plan was to talk about at least 10 of them (I think we ended up getting to 19).įor all of those who asked for my notes, I’ve gone ahead and typed them up here in this blog post. At MadWorld 2019 in San Diego, I presented a session called “10 tips that every MadCap Flare user should know.” I had many attendees ask if they could have my notes from the session, but the unfortunate reality was that I didn’t have notes.

[bigskydreaming]

In a mood and I’m trying not to be, but oof. Not easy at the moment. Real life stresses are kicking my butt and I’m decidedly limited in resources for addressing that at the moment, so might as well get this off my chest, lol. Already lost the usual fifty followers or so I lose every single time I post about stuff the way I did the other day, so what’s some more, y’know?

So earlier today I tried to get my mind off things with some fic, and happened across one I hadn’t read before that promised Jason and Dick talking things out and bonding. Halfway through I sighed and went oh, this is familiar, and skipped to the bottom to check the end notes and comments to see if there was any mention of this next part, but nope. The reason for the sigh was it took me about halfway into the fic to realize that it was blatantly inspired by my post about what if Jason was missing some memories from his death/resurrection and the Pit, like specifically the ski trip they took, stuff like that. Now I’m not so egotistical as to think nobody but me has certain ideas, but its fairly easy for me to recognize when someone is basing something off a post of mine because of specific turns of phrases that I use and like, they hit ten or so bullet points from my post without missing a one. Like, there’s parallel evolution and similar ideas, and then there’s going down a check list, y’know?

And don’t get me wrong....I don’t mind people basing stuff of my posts, being inspired by them, etc. I WANT that. I’m GLAD to have that happen.

The part I mind is the way this all ties back into my interaction with fandom as a whole....and this fandom’s interaction with me. Which I don’t tend to hear NEARLY as much about as I tend to have people giving me shit about my impact on fandom....but ONLY the negative impact.

In the four years or so that I’ve been active in this fandom, I can think of only three people who have given me some kinda shout out for being the basis of one of their fics. Three people. And in that time I’ve come across literal dozens of fics that I am almost certain can trace their way back to popular posts of mine. There’s the post about Jason’s memories and the ski trip for one - this fic isn’t an isolated occurrence, I’ve found a good half a dozen or so I feel fall into the same pattern. There’s fics based off my posts about how fucked up the blame Dick got for Spyral was, with my certainty based on the fact that I know I’m the only fucking person who ever brought up various key phrases like “Bruce not having an extraction plan for Dick’s highly dangerous undercover op, leaving him stranded when Bruce got/(chose) amnesia.” I made a big deal about that in a few posts because of the fact I NEVER saw that particular element raised in any fics, and a couple months after I started including that bit regularly, I was seeing the words ‘without an extraction plan’ in every other new post Spyral fic. That’s not a coincidence.

There’s been stuff that included bits and phrasings from my post about Dick and Jason being partners who focused on helping kids who had been abused specifically....oh wait, no, my bad. The two fics I’m thinking of there lifted straight up entire lines from that post but just made it about Jason and TIM doing that instead, despite like.....the entire basis of that headcanon stemming from Dick’s juvie origin but whatever. There’s been stuff based on juvie posts of mine, stuff based on posts I’ve made about Mirage, there’s been stuff based on the post about Jason looking into why Dick was undercover as a mob enforcer and then Renegade, there’s been stuff clearly inspired by my headcanons about Jason calling Dick for advice after the Garzonas case. I could go on. There’s a fucking LOT.

I don’t try to give myself too much credit but I’m not unaware of being a loud voice in this fandom and that having an impact. And like I said, I’m not adverse to inspiring people to make their own stuff based off an idea they initially saw me present. That’s fine. People should feel free to do that. My problem is that none of this exists in a vacuum. It exists in a fandom where I regularly get people lecturing me on my presentation, people hyping up how negative I make fandom, my condescension, my anger, my hostility, etc, etc. 

But the thing I never see is any awareness whatsoever that like....dudes, I’m literally just a guy on the internet. And that goes two ways. Yeah, I have an impact on people, but they have one on me too. And I’m tired and frustrated by it being acted like this is a one way street and everyone is just helpless victims of my bullying, while meanwhile SOME OF THE EXACT SAME PEOPLE GIVING ME CRAP FOR MY NEGATIVITY are ACTIVELY adding to their own fics with stuff that I JUST posted about.

And like, I see people vagueblogging about the negativity on their dashes and its impact on fandom right after I have a Dick Grayson rant blow up and get a few hundred notes......but its acted like I DID that to fandom, that’s my negativity and mine alone when its like....y’know, if you’re not following me yourself, and this stuff is still on your dash, you uh....have to be following people who reblog my negative posts for some reason or another. And given that there are obviously reasons you follow THOSE people, maybe instead of worrying about what I’M doing all the time, you can spare a thought or two for the fact that I don’t have any power to make people reblog anything, and for whatever reason, something about my oh so negative post resonated with those people reblogging it onto your dash, which also kinda suggests it wasn’t negative in THEIR eyes, but was actually a kind of validation of thoughts or feelings they already had?

Trust me, there’s no mind control ray at work here. This mood is also brought to you by the cricket sounds that come every time I fucking BEG people to reblog and signal boost posts I make about rape/abuse fandom trends and depictions from my POV as a survivor, specifically. Like I mentioned, I LOSE followers every time I bring that stuff up. It doesn’t benefit me in any way whatsoever, in fact my notes tend to go comparatively radio silent for a good couple weeks after I go off on one of those jaunts, because idk, people don’t want THEIR mutuals and followers to think they agree with some of my oh so controversial stances?

Actually, I say idk, but I do know is the thing, because people actually go on anon and tell me they appreciate me posting stuff like this, and its like.....that....doesn’t actually make me feel good? Because I never expect any single person in particular to reblog me, but when I say crickets after I post on those topics, I mean CRICKETS. I’m lucky if I can get five reblogs on those posts in total, and those are usually all from the same people. It actually kinda sucks knowing that people agree with me and what I have to say there, but they won’t put it on their own blogs because this fandom is so fucking STEEPED in its views, they don’t want to risk their friendships or back-and-forths with certain popular fandom authors by rocking the boat.

Because meanwhile I’m making myself target practice for the people who really would like me to shut up on certain topics but are too cowardly to ever confront me directly about why they dislike what I have to say there, in the vain hope that other people might finally even just START to pass some of that on even for consideration....because I can make waves by myself just by being loud and consistent, but I can’t do shit to actually make CHANGE without other people agreeing in PUBLIC so that fandom is forced to confront the fact that no, certain opinions aren’t just one loud asshole being annoying, there’s an actual viewpoint here that people actually have in greater numbers than we realized and we DON’T have as much of a monopoly on this topic as we thought.

I have anons who give me shit accusing me of driving off certain authors by making this fandom not fun for them anymore, when like, I never even fucking INTERACTED with the authors in question. Some of the names I’m accused of driving off I don’t even KNOW. I’m called an ‘abusive survivor shaming cunt’ with zero irony or self-awareness that they’re literally doing the exact same thing because they don’t like the stance *I* take as a survivor posting about how ‘some survivors use dark fic/rape fantasy to cope’ shouldn’t be treated as a monolithic defense of such things if it leads directly into the same kind of survivor shaming other people view criticism of such fic as being in the first place.

I’ve had to unfollow mutuals because I post about how reblogging posts about purity culture is a direct fucking slap into the face to people like me whose stances on fandom culture are directly based on our own personal experiences and the intersection those have with various popular fandom takes.....like you don’t have to agree with all my takes obviously, but if you can’t see how framing a naive pursuit of ideological purity as the only possible reason people object to certain fandom trends when I’m literally standing right here saying no actually, the way these fandom trends impact me is the reason for me saying the things I say when I say “here’s how this fandom trend impacts me”.....like.....c’mon. 

And I’ve had mutuals unfollow me because despite following me because they liked my takes on social justice issues THEY care about, I just ‘post too much about what’s really just a personal issue’ and has no larger social relevance whatsoever, obviously. LOL. (Oh and this of course has nothing to do with them getting friendly with various popular authors on discord, who happen to be vocal about ‘disapproving’ of any fic criticism whatsoever. Just FYI, there’s a reason I haven’t followed anyone new or made any new mutuals in like....a year. I have my reasons for being....not quick about that).

I get condescended to constantly about not minding the tags, and then radio silence when I list literal examples of ways in which people haven’t tagged things correctly, tagged things at all, or literally used the tags in an attempt TO trigger people they just don’t like. 

And meanwhile, allllllll of this keeps happening while the general narrative is I’m this loud asshole guy with zero concern about anything but his own personal likes or dislikes and who makes fandom a negative place that’s unwelcoming in general. And with basically zero mention of all the ways in which I’ve contributed to this fandom, the amount of content I’ve made that has DIRECTLY inspired people, and the productive conversations I’ve started which have resulted in people actually changing the way they approach various characters or dynamics in fics.

Its THAT part that bugs me, specifically.

Look, I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again now.....I’m not anyone’s victim. Negative fandom interactions are negative fandom interactions. All this complaining I’m doing here - lol, that’s all it is. I’m venting. I’m pissed off and I think its relevant to a greater fandom dynamic or tendencies a lot of people unknowingly or consciously reinforce, and so I’m just fucking SAYING it because while its not something I EXPECT this post will do much to change, if at all, I would still like it to change so any effort towards that end is still better than no effort at all...hence, my posting this rather than bottling it up so at least people have it to consider. 

If you don’t agree with it, if you don’t like that it exists at all, if it ruins your day to have to consider whether or not you or people you know or even like are active participants in what someone else is describing as y’know....fairly day-ruining in its own way? Hit that unfollow, that block, that make new text post button of your own and have your own rant about what a douchebag I am.

Literally all I’m trying to express is like.....fa*ndom’s got a lot to say about the stuff I have to say about fandom, but like....this is a two way interaction. A lot of people make a big deal about MY impact (again, JUST the negative though, lol) but I don’t ever see anyone ever addressing anyone else about hey maybe you could spare a thought or two about YOUR impact for a change as well.

I mean, what if....just maybe...what if.....a lot of my behavior or attitude has a lot to do with how people approach or talk about me BEFORE that display of attitude or certain behavior? Weirdly....I feel like maybe something that could then have a transformative effect on the kind of behavior or attitude people dislike from me....is.....them acknowledging or addressing things they might have done to prompt certain responses from me?

I don’t actually like being whiny or negative or down in general, just to be clear? If I see something I have a problem with or think could use change or improvement, I say so - but I pretty much always put an effort into expressing both WHY and HOW I think possible change could look - because I’m not generally interested in being negative for the sake of just being negative. I just....want things to be better. That’s not an obsession with purity or perfection, btw, I will NEVER understand how people think that survivors of rape and abuse (which include a lot more ‘antis’ than anyone else seems to want to acknowledge) and the like EVER expects perfection or thinks that the world will ever produce that - lol no I’m actually pretty clear that things being perfect is pointless, I’m just interested in BETTER.

But I mean, I like being goofy and silly and also analytical and contemplative and also creative and spontaneous. I like lots of things. I like lots of moods. I like producing, creating, generating, interacting, engaging, I like a million things more than I like THIS kind of mood, THIS kind of post.

But I’m just not someone who is content to sit and stew in that sort of thing when I know full well that the problem does not actually stem from something broken or flawed inside of me, because I’m also someone who does believe very strongly in periodic bouts of self-reflection and honest self-assessment.....so that I can change things about myself when and where I feel necessary. But this also has the effect of me also being VERY aware of when the problem is not internal, but actually just me having a perfectly valid reaction or emotional response to outside stimulus. Aka fandom’s interaction with me, every bit as much as my interaction with fandom.

So....posts like this. I’ll do my usual rituals, get myself back onto my preferred trains of thought soon enough on my own, because ultimately that is all I can control and just because I make posts like this doesn’t mean I ever EXPECT any specific result - or a result at all - to come from it. 

But, y’know, sue me for being hopeful.

I know. What an ass am I?

[thestudyof5sos]

When Uber Becomes Tinder (tinder!Ashton) - part 1

Summary: "I think it would be nice if I get to see you again tonight. Think I forgot something in your car ;)"-An Uber passenger. When Ember, a 30-something grad student and Uber driver, clocked in to drive the college crowd on a Thursday night in the middle of a blizzard, she didn’t foresee how the (seriously adorable and flirtatious but probably way too young for her) guy she picked up twice would change her life. (Aka the night Ashton confused Uber for Tinder.)

Author: 🐾 @larryologymajor Fandon/Pairing: 5SOS /  Ashton x original characters Warnings/Tags: nothing yet Word count: (part 1 of ?)

A/N: This is a work in progress :) I have a few chapters done that I’ll be posting this week, but the updates will not be very frequent (sorry!)

When Uber Becomes Tinder.

Part 1: Thursday.

Ember squinted into the dark night, unsure that her Uber driver app directed her to the right pickup location near campus. She hesitantly slipped her SUV into park and flicked on the windshield wiper, watching a clump of ice slide methodically across the glass leaving an angry wet streak in its wake.

Minneapolis was in the middle of a 3-day snowstorm, and Ember was dead set on taking advantage of her new SUV's all wheel drive system to propel her through the icy slush. Ember blinked at the darkness and prayed to the imaginary rideshare gods that the ice would deter a lot of drivers in two-wheel drive cars from logging in tonight.

Ember was a graduate student with a full ride scholarship and part time pay. She more than a decade older and wiser than the traditional college-aged kids she saw daily on campus, but she didn't mind. Being around them made her feel young. Driving Uber also helped her feel connected to her community because she primarily drove the college-aged crowd. However, Uber was also an important supplement to her monthly stipend.

So tonight, in the middle of a Minnesota snowstorm, a lack of drivers would be a blessing in disguise, resulting in higher surge fares. Ember's bank account could definitely benefit from an extra income boost.

Impatient and irritated that her passenger wasn't waiting at the door for her, Ember glanced at the Uber app and noted that she still had more than two minutes left on her obligatory three minute waiting period. Although the countdown timer annoyed Ember, she was grateful that she could charge a passenger a no-show fee and be on her merry way if they didn't show up before the timer expired.

With the heat blasting in the car and her seat heater roasting her back, Ember was on fire. She threw open her door, unbuckled her seat belt and jumped out of the car. She grimaced when her left foot sloshed through an icy water puddle drenching over the top of her ankle height rain boot; she shrugged off her waist length down feather winter jacket and flipped the shiny black hood over the headrest of her seat to hang neatly before sliding skillfully back into the car, buckling her seat belt simultaneously; a maneuver she practiced daily after sitting in her car for a few hours. Ember swiftly adjusted the zipper on her favorite black band hoodie to reveal a hint of the pink wrap athletic shirt and black leggings she wore underneath. She was a firm believer in dressing comfortably and modestly while she drove.

The countdown timer on the Uber app blinked at Ember. With only a minute and a half remaining on the display, she was starting to doubt she was in the right spot; quickly tapped the button to shoot a confirmation text to her passenger, Ash: Hey! This is Ember with Uber. Uber directed me to your alley, is the street or the alley better? I can circle around to the front if I need to.

Killing time, it only took a few seconds for Ember to fiddle with the heat, restart her favorite Uber playlist, and flip down the mirror to check her appearance. She tucked a few strands of her chestnut hair back into the carefully styled fishtail braid that hung over her left shoulder and recolored her lips mauve with her favorite matte liquid lip paint.

She hummed quietly along to Niall Horan as he strummed his guitar through her speakers and squeezed her eyes shut for a quick moment, willing herself not to cry under the inky winter sky. Niall's song Flicker spoke to her heart in ways she couldn't describe and she cried nearly every time she heard it.

The instant her phone dinged, signaling a reply, she looked up: Either is fine! I'll be out in the alley in a sec!

Ember quickly tapped out another reply: Okay, I'm waiting in the alley in the green SUV with my flashers on.

Ember sighed; her Uber app was directing her to cancel the ride if her passenger didn't show. Like a stealth ninja, a college-aged boy yanked open the rear driver-side door and tumbled in. Laughter fell off his lips and he smiled, telling Ember, "Ugh. I swear the rest of the boys were right behind me!"

She figured it would be her luck that there were more than four passengers and she would have to cancel the ride because she didn't have enough seat belts in the car for them.

The door closed and the dim dome light above shone down on the boy revealing tufts of bubblegum colored hair peeking out from beneath a black slouchy beanie. While they waited, Ember eyed him suspiciously. "Are you a student around here?" she asked. There was a decent chance he'd say yes and it was a topic Ember could converse in without much effort.

Before he could reply, three more figures appeared from the murky shadows and Ember felt a wave of relief wash over her, grateful that she wouldn't have to cancel this ride.

The rear passenger door opened once again and Ember's ears filled with the playful bantering of several male voices. "Michael, move over!"

"Shut up, Luke, I'm already buckled in. You have long legs. Use them to walk around to another door!"

Ember was processing tidbits of information - the guy sitting behind her was a Michael. If he didn't order the ride, who did?

The boy, Luke, Ember thought, closed the door and quickly dashed around the front of the car. His long strides told Ember he was tall and Ember's eyes tracked his movement. Although it was dark, he paused mid-stride to look straight at Ember through the windshield, his blue eyes making eye contact with her. When he continued, Ember watched his curly hair bounced against his heather gray beanie as he lunged for the front door handle and piled in before anyone could stop him. He hadn't ordered the ride either.

Finally, the remaining door wrenched open. "Calum, I really hate you right now," a third boy spouted cheekily as he was shoved into the middle spot in the back seat. Despite the hurtful words, he had a smile on his face. He pushed his curly hair away from his eyes before extending an arm around the boy to his left, "Mikey, make some room!"

Ember watched the fourth boy, Calum, she thought, clamber in to occupy the remaining seat on the passenger side. Ember blinked. He was stunning in his black leather jacket. All of these boys were good looking, and for once, they didn't reek of stale cigarettes or liters of vodka Red Bull.

She felt the SUV shake as all four boys tried to situate themselves. When all the doors of the SUV closed, Ember clicked the button to start their trip and reveal their destination. Smiling warmly, she greeted the group. "Hey, I'm Ember. I need all of you to fasten your seat belts before we can get going. Which one of you is Ash?"

The boy in the middle spot of the backseat smiled widely, showing off impressively deep dimples and sparkling eyes, "I'm Ashton."

Ember studied him in the review mirror for a split second. His smile was friendly and she felt at ease with this group, unlike the creepy feeling she often got when she picked up groups of drunken college boys. She blinked and looked away from the mirror. He was seriously cute, probably a lot younger than her, and Ember felt a little intimidated by his his gaze.

When she heard the final seat belt click shut she turned around in her seat to face Ashton, "Where are we headed tonight?"

Ashton rattled off an address that matched the one on her display so she put the car in drive and made her way out of the alley. The five of them made insignificant small talk on the twenty minute ride to their destination; she and Ashton laughed flirtatiously, making eye contact a few times in the rear view mirror. The rest of the boys chimed in too, asking Ember rapid fire questions about driving Uber and school, then they chatted about local music venues and the rapidly expanding brewery scene in Minnesota. Detecting a slight Australian lilt to the melodic cadence of their voices, Ember nudged the heat up in the car just a bit, fully aware that these boys were not native to the Midwest and likely unaccustomed to blustery Minnesota winters.

Before they knew it Ember pulled into the parking lot of their destination and tapped the button to finish their ride and gave Ashton a 5-star rating. She already had another ride lined up so she hurried them out of the car with a bright smile and her standard parting, "It was nice meeting you all, have a good night!"

By the time Ember finished another five rides, she was desperately ready for a bathroom break, snack, and a refill of her giant Diet Coke for another caffeine boost. It was only 9:30pm and despite being Thursday night, she knew the college bar scene was only now coming alive. Ember wanted to drive into early hours of the morning, hoping to get another dozen rides before the end of the night so she could pay off most of her rent. After topping off her gas tank and taking care of business, Ember hopped back into her car and moved to a parking spot; there she logged back into Uber and waited for a pickup ping.

Ember really liked her Uber job. She liked to provide warm and safe rides to people during these terrible snowstorms. Her favorite demographic to drive was the college-aged, 20-somethings at bar close, especially on Thursday nights, and even more so on cold, snowy nights. She knew that most of her passengers were appreciative of her outgoing personality and personal driving mantra, "slow and steady," during icy conditions because it showed in the influx of tips and positive ratings.

Still waiting for a ride request to ping in, Ember scrolled through the tabs in her Uber app, quickly glancing at her earnings and passenger ratings. She had recently hit 1,000 rides and she was really proud of her 4.96 rating.

Tonight Ember was impressed by the unusually high number of notes left in her feedback tab. She stopped scrolling as a wide grin spread across her face. It didn't take much guesswork for Ember to know which passenger left this note: Thanks for getting me and my mates home safe. Sorry if we were too rambunctious for you. I'll be sorry if I don't see you again. Xx

Ember was lost in thought wondering what prompted the cute and flirtatious Australian boy to leave such a note. He was easily 24, but that still made him at least a decade younger than her. Ember knew she wasn't drop-dead gorgeous, but she wasn't ugly either. She considered her best publicly viewable assets to be her friendly smile, one dimple, and bright green eyes. On the inside, Ember was really self conscious about being overweight, especially when her large chest was always front and center. She didn't flaunt her breasts, like so many women her age would if they had them; however, she couldn't exactly hide them either.

The Uber app pinged, startling Ember back to reality. She reconnected her phone to the pop socket mount on her dash, clicked the button to accept the ride request and took a long sip of Diet Coke before backing out of her parking spot and putting the car into motion.

******

Two hours flew by and Ember didn't know where the time went. She had a continuous stream of back-to-back pickups, mostly college students heading out to grab dinner and drinks. Because the roads were icy and the snow was still coming down like an army of sleet balls, driving required serious concentration and Ember kept her eyes on the road and only glanced at her phone to tap the accept button when a new ping came in. Focused on the road and following the audible driving cues from Uber's navigation, she generally didn't pay attention to rider names or pickup locations provided on the screen until she arrived.

It was nearly midnight and Ember was on her way to another pickup. She slowed down, approaching a red light, when she realized that she'd already driven through this neighborhood earlier that night. She pulled into the parking lot of the small, 6 story, apartment complex where she ended her first ride of the night. It was the same spot where she dropped off the four cute Australian boys. And this was the same spot where she was once again waiting for Ash.

The Uber app started its 3-minute countdown and Ember busied herself checking the floors in the backseat looking for any forgotten items. A minute went by and there was still no sign of her passenger. Ready for another bathroom break, Ember was anxious to get this ride started and finished so she could freshen up before the madness of bar close began. She dialed the volume down on her playlist and hit the call button to connect with Ash through Uber's phone relay system, masking her identity and personal phone number.

The phone rang twice through her Bluetooth system sounding out through her speakers. "Hello?"

Ember heard a faint voice, barely audible over pounding bass and loud laughter in the background. "Hi, this is Ember with Uber again. Am I picking you up at the same door where I dropped you off at earlier?"

"Ugh, yeah. Hold on, I'll be right there!" shouted the voice on the other end.

Ember heard a click and the call dropped. She looked at the countdown timer. 45 seconds later the front passenger door opened and Ashton climbed in. Alone. Ember's heart stuttered for a second when he looked at her and grinned, his hazel eyes artfully studying her face. She didn't know what to say, so she said, "Welcome back. Where are we headed? Where's the gang?"

Still grinning, Ashton picked up pieces of their conversation from earlier like they hadn't skipped a beat. "The boys are staying in, but I'm going to check out that new brewery you suggested."

While Ember drove, they bantered flirtatiously and Ashton tried his hardest to convince her to quit driving for the night and come in to grab a beer. She was really flattered that someone so young and attractive would be interested in her company.

As she rolled up to the door, Ashton made puppy dog eyes at her. "Are you sure you can't come in for one beer? It's on me!"

Having a beer meant forgoing driving Uber for the rest of the night. Ember smiled, really tempted to join him, but she knew she would miss peak surge hours at bar close and lose out on making another good chunk of money if she quit driving now. "You're sweet," she started. "But I have to work tonight. Maybe our paths will cross again and I can take you up on that beer."

Ashton tossed her a wink and sheepish grin before he climbed out of the car. Ember closed her eyes and took a deep breath, inhaling the masculine blend of balsam, sandalwood and cypress that he left behind. Her scalp tingled. The scent reminded her of wet earth on a crisp fall day. Once he disappeared into the brewery, Ember pulled away from the curb and hit the accept button to take another ride.

*****

At 3:15 am, Ember called it a night and headed home. Coincidentally, she dropped someone off about a mile from her apartment and knew it was a sign she should go to bed before her eyes became any more fatigued.

In her apartment, Ember stood in the bathroom, studying herself in the mirror. She had already taken off the little bit of makeup she wore, brushed her teeth, let loose her braid and put her crimped hair up in a bun on top of her head. She was reaching for her pink silk pajama set when her phone rang. She rushed into her bedroom to pick up, but she didn't recognize the number and hesitated. It dawned on her that she forgot to check the floor in her car for lost items before she ran inside. She instantly jabbed at the accept button to take the call, wondering if this was a rider calling because they lost something crucial in her car, like a wallet.

"Hello," she answered sleepily.

"Are you still out driving?" questioned a male's voice on the other end. Ember didn't recognize it.

"No," she replied, "I'm done for the night and crawling into bed. Who is this?"

"Oh. I need a ride," he replied.

"I'm sorry, I'm logged out." She yawned. "But you can put in a request through the app and you'll get whatever driver is closest to you," directed Ember. "Goodnight."

"Okay, bye," the call ended.

Ember didn't think once about the phone call, who was calling, or how they got her number. She laid her phone down on the night table then walked sleepily back to the bathroom to finish getting ready for bed.

Her phone rang again while she took out her contacts and gulped a small glass of water. Twice.

Ember tugged down the hem of her pink silk pajama cami. Her feet pattered across the wood floor of the dining room as she returned to her bedroom. She scratched her kitten under the chin before crawling under her down duvet. Tomorrow was her day off and she intended to sleep in. She picked up her phone from the night table to switch on Do Not Disturb mode and verify that her alarm wasn't set for an ungodly early time. That's when she saw the new text notification from Uber:

Oops! A passenger left something in car. Here's what they said:

I think it would be nice if I get to see you again tonight. Think I left something in your car ;) Text me 555-555-5555. Ash.

Call them directly at 555-555-5555. After you meet, you can request a return fee from the 'get help' menu in your driver ride history.

It was in that moment that Ember realized the mystery caller was Ashton and his intent was likely a hookup. Ember's heart stuttered. She was beyond confused and really wanted to question his motives, but she took a deep breath and her eyelashes fluttered slightly before drifting off to sleep.

READ PART 2.

... Kudos if you made it this far, thanks for reading! If you were Ember, what would you have done? Let me know!

Tags: @mycollectionofnuts, @kaxseychill, @sunnysidesblog Want to be tagged? Let me know!

[k-con]

fattyftw replied to your photo “Today I tiraded and filed about a dozen complaints against Testopel…”

Whats wrong with testapel? I am on it. Just honestly curious.

Hey, 

I was on it for a while but am officially Testopel free! One of my major complaints is that Testopel was never formally studied as a drug by the FDA! Pretty BS, yeah? 

Here’s how that happened: In 1972, fused crystalline subcutaneous testosterone pellet implants were officially approved for use in the USA… but the formulation lay dormant until a re-rendering of the recipe (called Testopel) hit the market for the first time ever in 2008. When the re-engineered product hit the market, no new studies were done- thus no FDA approved pharmacokinetic studies exist for Testopel in its current formulation… and, as a result, Testopel lacks “specific information as to the mechanism of dissolution, the recommended dosing, the insertion technique, the dosing recommendations, and the data on the dosing frequency.” Talk about horrifying! 

Testopel prescribers are just batting in the dark with regard to dosages and dosing cycles. Literature from the original 1972 formulation recommends 4 pellets per implant but actual and more recent studies that I’ve stumbled upon also make reference to 6-9 pellets or 10-12 pellets per dosing cycle which is supposedly every 4-6 months . I was on 10 pellets every 3 months… and that was barely enough to keep my levels in line. By month 3, my T levels were barely in the 200s… and even immediately after implant, my T levels barely surpassed 600. 

In addition to dosages, dosing cycles, and level woes, Testopel has some very real and serious side effects that are significantly more intense than the usual injectable T/ creams/ gels that most people are prescribed! My doctor and the medical literature I received for Testopel barely made reference to the possibility of pellet EXTRUSION. Pellet extrusions aren’t some rare adverse side effect, they are the highly probable reality! Looking at studies, the likelihood of pellet extrusion is anywhere between 0.3% to 40%… which is a horrifying range. Some studies claim that the rate of extrusion increases per implant over time, other studies claim that no extrusions occurred. To me, this mixed bag of statistics and hodgepodge of  data is demonstrative of how understudied Testopel is as a drug. 

Which brings me to another point: Testopel made me feel like a lab rat. I’d go in a Urology Office every 3 months for implants. Each appointment, I’d deal with 3 medical professionals at a minimum (receptionist, nurse and urologist). I’d go in and each visit I was required to pee in a cup. Once in the exam room, I’d get naked from the waist down, get injected with a topical numbing agent, get cut open with a scalpel, implanted, and steri-stripped back up. I’d go in for blood tests even more regularly. The whole experience was supposed to minimize my contact with Testosterone, but instead it maximized the medicalization of my identity… and it didn’t feel good. 

Nor did my butt!!! For 1-2 weeks post-implant, I’d have to bum around and take it easy. I’d hobble to and fro and was required to keep my activity to a minimum. It was recommended that I ice and take Tylenol… and even then, I’d feel sore. Sitting was unusually uncomfortable and, at my worst points, it was unbearable. Additionally, there was always a major bruise on my butt post-implant, like sometimes my whole cheek would turn black and blue! Recently, as in the last 2 or 3 implants, I started getting blood blisters at the implant site. That was annoying and physically uncomfortable…  and the blood blisters looked pretty unsightly! When I brought my blood blistered butt to the attention of my doctor, my concerns weren’t really addressed. The doctor would tell me to be mindful of infection… because apparently that’s a very real concern with Testopel. Each time you get implanted, you’re undergoing “surgery,” and with each “surgery,” the risk of infection increases… another aspect of Testopel that is minimized! 

Ultimately, what happened to me was pretty predictable. My butt started extruding pellets and got infected. I ended up with a gaping hole and wound on my butt that was open for about 2 months… just sitting there, exposed to air and bacteria and other icky shit because the Testopel had decimated my ass. I had to have part of my butt surgically excised to remove the damaged tissue and close the wound. And it was hella crappy. I just got my stitches removed today and am only beginning to feel better… 

Which brings me to my final mix of thoughts: I wouldn’t be so aggro about the whole situation if there was some sort of transparency… but Testopel is a pharmaceutical drug and the pharmaceutical industry is all about the bank! The lack of recent studies regarding the current Testopel formulation is because of the money hungry industry! Patients currently on Testopel are actively being used as Testopel test subjects. Lastly, inserting foreign bodies into your body and hoping for the best really isn’t a sound method of hormone replacement therapy… especially for trans and gender nonconforming peepz. 

Given the uncertainty surrounding dosages, dosing cycles, levels and even basic side effects, I certainly will not be recommending Testopel to anyone… and I’m not the only one! @26andtrans also writes that they “absolutely do not recommend pellets” in  their recent post regarding their own suboptimal experience… as do many other reviews on the ‘net… so I hope that helps clarify my original post. If you wanna chat further, don’t hesitate to give a holler. 

[trueloveseyeroll]

acting with consequences

A little something I wrote for @seastarved’s pretzel week. Day 3: co-workers in the Enchanted Forest. Tagging @a-wacky-fangirl for being an awesome friend for reading this through, and letting me know if it was worth posting at all (and of course, and awesome friend in general) :D

Summary: Emma and Killian work together as actors in a troupe. Emma doesn’t trust him though - he’s new, and he won’t say why he left his last troupe. With August’s new play, not only does Emma have to act civil around Killian - she has to play madly in love with him. Of course.

7k | rated T | ao3 | ff.net

Emma found August outside his tent. He was airing his bed roll out on a short line spanning from his tent to David and Snow’s. Emma thought briefly of her own bed roll. That could wait until later though. She had more pressing matters to attend to, like questioning August about her character and this new play he had written. He had better have a good answer.

“Is the maid seriously just a naive girl who makes no choices ever and is only there to fall blindly in love with the prince?” Emma held up the script that August had written. She had been going through it all day. When he handed it to her that morning, saying she would play a maid with a great destiny, Emma had been thrilled. Now disappointment coursed through her. “I can handle it when characters aren’t outspoken or decisive, but really, August? This is kinda misogynistic.”

“What, because she’s not headstrong and stubborn like your usual characters?” August challenged, defending his work. “The best characters are flawed, Emma. Nina’s flaw is her blindness when it comes to love. It’s a flaw most people have - it will resonate with the audience. You can’t choose who you fall in love with - and the handsome prince is easy to fall for.”

“I’m not judging her for loving anyone. Or well, maybe I am. I’m judging her for having no other role than loving this ‘handsome prince’. Who’s betrothed to her princess,” Emma added sourly. “Who’s gonna play him anyway?” Princes were usually right up David’s alley. But this prince didn’t suit David’s charm, Emma thought.

“Why, me of course.”

Emma turned around to see none other than him smirking at her. Killian ‘everybody-loves-me’ Jones. Of course.

“You as a prince? I didn’t know you could play a gentleman.”

“I’m always a gentleman, love.”

Yeah right. In the month Killian had worked in their troupe, not once had Emma thought to describe him as a gentleman.

“I thought you preferred the more roguish characters.”

“Ah, but even actors must broaden their horizons, mustn’t they?” Was he mocking her for complaining about the maid’s character?

“Even willing to give up your black leather, are you?”

“I’m positive I’ll look just as devilishly handsome in shining white armour, worry not, love.”

Emma scoffed. “I won’t. But it’ll be great to finally see if you can button up your shirt.”

“Paid a lot of attention to my chest, have you?” Killian raised an eyebrow; giving her that leering look he seemed so fond of giving her.

Emma was about to say something she’d probably regret, like ‘not as much as you pay to mine’, but August interrupted. Probably for the best, though Emma still scowled.

“As amusing as your flirting is, I’ve got other things to do. You might want to tone down the heat for the play though - we might be performing for royals after all, not just rowdy villagers.”

Emma glared at August. They weren’t flirting. He had passed them though, ignoring Emma’s contempt. She was left alone with Killian, silence stretching between them. She looked towards the campfire - supper would be ready soon.

“I guess we’ll see each other for a first run-through tomorrow then.”

“Would you not like to go through it together after supper?” Killian asked. Usually, Emma was eager to get started with practice. Now she wished to put it off for a long as possible.

“I’d rather start memorizing on my own first.” Not that she had many lines to memorize. But Emma could complain about characters being too flat or unnecessarily flawed; she refused to complain about too few lines.

“Then I shall look forward to tomorrow, love. I do hope your anticipation won’t keep you up all night.” There it was again. That usual, smug jab.

“Yeah, you wish.”

Emma brushed past Killian, off to the other corner of the camp. She followed the sounds of shooting arrows until she found Snow with a raised bow. Snow usually let off some steam with a bit of arrow-shooting before supper. Sometimes Emma liked to join her. Often just to talk, rather than participate.

“So Jones will be playing your unfaithful prince.”

“Yes, David told me.” Snow nocked an arrow but kept the bow down. “I’m excited to see him get a big role - it really lets him know that he’s a part of our family now.”

“Really? He’s only been here a month, I mean, I’d hardly call him family.”

Snow shot her arrow, hit bullseye (of course) and turned to Emma with a knowing look.

“You still don’t trust him, do you?”

“Why should we? He never told us what happened in his last troupe and keeps avoiding the question.”

“David talked to him earlier when getting firewood. I think they’ve become good friends,” Snow smiled. “At least David seems willing to say that Killian is a good man. And definitely worthy to be one of us.”

“So he told David about his last troupe?”

“Yes.” Snow nocked another arrow. “But I don’t think it’s my place to retell.”

Why did that annoy her so much? That Jones had told David about his past but wouldn’t open up to the rest of them. Apparently Snow knew. Emma frowned and tried to let go of her irritation.

“So what do you really think of the play?“ Emma changed the topic. "An unfaithful prince, cheating on his betrothed princess by sneaking around with her maid? Isn’t that a bit too risky to show if actual royals might see it?”

“I’ve heard Princess Abigail is pretty fond of scandalous drama. And after all, the ending makes up for it, doesn’t it?”

“The ending sucks.”

There it was again, that knowing look. The kind Emma imagined a mother would give her daughter. Not that Emma knew much about mothers.

“You sure seem to hate this play. You’re sure there’s nothing else eating at you? Nervous to work with Killian for the first time?”

“No.” Emma refused to talk about Killian any more. “It’s just a terrible play. I’m disappointed in August to be honest.”

“Maybe you need to look at it differently. If you really believe it’s terrible, it will be terrible.”

“I know.” Snow was always all about staying positive about every script. And most things in general. “But come on, you can’t deny the story really isn’t that good.”

“It has its flaws,” Snow conceded. She shot her arrow. Another bullseye. “But don’t be too obvious about it around August - a man’s ego is easily bruised, and a sulky writer is certainly worse company than a proud one.”

Emma wasn’t so sure.

—

After supper, everyone had their own business to return to. Some practiced their arts, others joined for a game or a chat. Emma noticed David, Lance, Robin and Killian huddled over a deck of cards, immersed in their game. Mulan went off alone somewhere. Snow too, most likely to practice her lines.

Emma spent the evening alone in her tent, going through the script more than a dozen times. She tried to riddle out why the maid would fall in love with a prince courting the princess she served. And why would she let said prince sweep her off her feet, no word of doubt or regret? Was she really nothing more than a naive little girl, desperate for the love of a handsome royal?

As she did her best not to scoff at the script, Regina practiced her fireballs right outside Emma’s tent. The constant whoosh and blinking light set her teeth on edge. If only she could perform with a display of magic like Regina, instead of this disastrous play.

Emma had always loved acting. She had been elated when the troupe took her in nine years ago when she was seventeen. The troupe had become her family, the travelling caravan and camps her home. But there were moments like these where she wished for a simpler life.

Emma took a deep breath, berating herself. She could do this. No foolish character or dodgy co-actor could bring her down.

—

Emma couldn’t take much more.

Practicing the scenes with Snow and Killian first had been fun. Seeing Snow go from nice and helpful to a drama-loving, manipulative princess was hilarious. Princess Katherine was a vain character. While the prince - Constantine - courted the princess, Katherine would goad him into noticing the maid, Nina, only to show her superior confidence. “Isn’t she a pretty girl?” “Oh, do talk to her, compliment her dress!” No matter what, the princess was sure the prince would always come back to her. Of course, that wasn’t how the play ended.

Snow had left when Belle was satisfied. They skipped the scene of the ball - choreography could be worked on later. Now Emma practiced alone with Killian in front of Belle. The first tryst between Constantine and Nina. The moment where the prince swayed the maid with his words. And Emma had to stop herself from mocking said words.

The prince talked a lot. For five minutes, Emma said near to nothing, only listened to the prince talk as she gazed at him adoringly. What little she did say were words of admiration. Emma couldn’t tell if it was the prince’s character or the way Killian played him, but it was absolutely terrible. How could anyone ever fall in love with such a boring, self-absorbed nob?

“Okay, you can do that again,” Belle spoke after Killian’s last line of the scene. “I’m loving the wide, adoring eyes, Emma, but maybe you two should try leaning closer and closer as you speak - but never close enough to touch. Keep it intimate, but not scandalous.”

Emma held back a sigh. Did she really have to hear him drone though that monologue again and feign interest?

“I’m quite fond of those adoring eyes myself, Swan,” Killian smirked, only loud enough for her to hear.

She glared at him. And then he was in character again, the ‘dashing prince’, so obviously just wanting his ego stroked - and something else too, Emma gathered.

“… there is something so lonesome about being a prince. I feel so detached from my people. Who are they really, what do they dream of, what can I truly give them? You live a life full of hard work - manual labour - and even hands such as yours, fine and nimble will quickly grow rougher than mine ever will. Yet your brow will not wrinkle with worry and thought such as mine. You know your place, but you are still allowed your dreams. Me, I can never spare a moment for dreams, for I must constantly worry for my people, worry for their future and not just my own.”

“You work harder than any others, my prince, with burdens the weight of the world on your shoulders. With all this care you give your people, I promise you, no one would ever doubt you.”

Bile almost rose in Emma’s throat. Her lids were growing heavy. If only she could close them and sleep as Killian - the prince - droned on about how hard his life was. How hard he strived to be a good person. Well, maybe he shouldn’t be sneaking around with his betrothed’s maid if he so wanted to be a good person.

For an hour more, Belle kept them going through the scene again and again, until Emma wanted nothing more than to fling herself off a cliff. The call for supper was a relief. Emma hurried away from the practice tent, out in the open air. Finally, she could let out the sigh she had held in for the past three hours.

Two weeks, she reminded herself. Just two weeks and the performance would be over. Once they heard the lacking applause from the audience, they would terminate the play. Just two weeks. She could make it work. Keep her insults to the minimum so no one accused her of being unprofessional. And outside of practice she could avoid Killian as much as she pleased. She had to work with him, yes, but she could deny living in the same camp as him as much as she wanted.

—

“Seriously? I’m on meal duty with Killian? Don’t I see him enough during the play?”

Ruby’s eyes were full of suspicion. And mirth.

“One might think you don’t like dear Killian - or maybe you like him too much.”

Emma gave her a glare in return. She wouldn’t deign Ruby with an upright denial or a ‘shut up’. That would only spur the wolfish girl on.

“It’s just a lot of working together at one time.”

“It’s only three days of meal duty - and less than two weeks and the play’s done. You got this, girl.”

Emma sighed her agreement. She missed Granny. Ruby’s grandma had always cooked for the troupe, but they hadn’t been able to deny her the chance to settle down and start her own inn. Since then, they had each taken turn with three days of preparing lunch and supper.

She could do this.

Killian happened to be quite adept by the campfire. Emma usually slacked on meal duty. She’d slice some vegetables or stir a broth over the fire, but kept it simple. Killian was prepared to make a festive meal; guttering fish, spit-roasting chicken, mixing delicious soups.

He was quick to notice Emma’s lack of enthusiasm.

“You know, I’ve got it all handled, love. You don’t have to worry about too much, just slice some vegetables; that will be fine.”

Did he think her incompetent? Emma took a deep breath. Then she snatched the next fish and gutted it as quickly as he did (though with less care). She seasoned the food as she thought best. She cooked the fish over the coals, skewing them with a stick and carefully turning them until the meat turned flaky. She did much more than slice a couple of vegetables.

All the while, Killian grinned. Ass. She really had to stop letting him crawl under her skin.

—

Five days before they left for King Midas’ city, the entire troupe gathered for a single scene. Dull swords clashed and clanged as choreographies for the final battle of the play were developed.

Enemies charged on the princess’ castle during the prince’s stay. This was Killian’s heroic battle as Prince Constantine. His chance to show off and save everyone.

Emma had to admit, he did look rather good, swirling about and knocking down the enemies. His fighting style was more fitting for a pirate than a prince though. She would rebuke him for that later if no one else did.

As everyone practiced their sparring, Emma hid her anger at being ‘trapped’ in a corner, no sword for herself. While everyone battled, the maid fretted in the corner until the prince could save her. Of course.

Emma sat on the ground, legs folded in under each other. She leaned her elbow on her knee, resting her head against her hand. Why was she even there? If the maid wasn’t in the battle, why did Emma have to sit there and watch everyone else fight, unable to join in?

It took another hour before everyone agreed they could move on from the choreography. Finally, Emma could play her part. Or rather, have the prince come and rescue her.

Killian stooped down to her level, holding out his hand as the prince.

“Are you well, my love?”

“Yes, I - I think so.” Emma let Killian take her hand and pull her up to his side.

“Wobbly knees, Emma! The prince is meant to carry Nina to the front of the stage,” Belle pointed out. Emma grit her teeth, but let her knees wobble, leaning in towards Killian. Damn, his chest was solid. And warm. Get a grip, Emma.

“Great - Killian, lift her in your arms - yes that’s wonderful! Emma, curl yourself into his chest, arm around his shoulder,” Belle instructed.

Emma followed suit, hoping her cheeks weren’t as red as they felt. At least Killian didn’t seem too comfortable either. Emma noticed the way he held his breath as she snaked her arm around his shoulder and buried her nose in the crook of his neck. She couldn’t deny her satisfaction at the way he tensed when her breath tickled his skin. It kept her mind off how strong he was, how secure she felt - no, Emma was not secure. She hated every moment of this. She did.

Killian carried Emma to the front of the stage. He gently let her down to her feet, holding her hands in his as they stood in front of each other. The plain care in his eyes unsettled her.

“Emma - your line,” Belle reminded her.

Emma avoided Killian’s gaze before speaking.

“You saved us all! You saved me.”

“How could I not?” Killian swallowed, before going down on one knee, keeping her hands in his. “You are my starlight, Nina. My one true love. Will you not do me the honour of becoming my wife - my princess?”

Emma widened her eyes as Nina - and fought to roll them as Emma.

“But the princess Katherine! I - I am just a lowly maid, could you truly wish to marry me?”

“Of course, my love! You are far more than a maid in my eyes. You are the purest light, an angel that has graced my life with your presence.”

Emma stared at Killian, hoping she wasn’t the only one who thought the words were awful. A flash of laughter in Killian’s eyes forced her to ground her teeth to keep from grinning.

“Snow, you can go on now - we’ll take this scene to the end, then rerun it,” Belle said.

Snow hurried onto the scene, starting her line at once.

“She is much more than that, Prince Constantine.”

Both maid and prince whipped their heads around to see the princess. The maid looked as a child caught trying to steal a freshly-baked pie. The prince had the decency to look somewhat ashamed.

“I am sorry, milady, I-”

Princess Katherine held up her hand to silence the maid. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Nina. In fact, it pleases me to see you finally realize your destiny!” A huge smile broke out on Snow’s face, and Emma readied herself for the worst plot twist August had ever written. Really, what had he been drinking when he wrote this? “You are the true crown princess, Nina! We have kept you hidden and secret to protect you, but now our enemies have been defeated, thanks to you, Prince Constantine!”

Killian turned to Emma, wonder anew in his eyes. “Do you not hear, Nina? You are no maid, but the crown princess - our paths have been destined to intertwine. As a humble prince, struck with awe at you beauty and soul, will you not do me the honour of becoming mine, Crown Princess Nina?”

Emma tried to reflect the adoration Killian played so easily. Her hands felt clammy in his. “I will… of course I will!”

With a cringe-worthy squeal of joy, Emma pulled Killian to his feet. They both knew what the script called for now. Prince Constantine was the one to lean in first. So why did Killian hesitate? Did he think she’d bite his head off for playing his role? Emma dreaded the idea of Belle instructing them to kiss. If Killian wasted another second, Emma would do it herself. It’s just a kiss, no big deal.

The peck was rather a touching of lips than an actual kiss. No warmth, no desire. The second it took for Killian to react and try to pull her closer - to linger in the moment - Emma was already pulling away. He jerked back as well.

Belle clapped. “Good job, everyone! Let’s go through the scene again though - Emma, Killian, try to linger for a bit more in the end here, okay? Give the audience a chance to react.”

Emma turned her back on Killian and Belle, closing her eyes for a second. Shouldn’t it be time for a break soon?

—

She had never known whether to love or hate the days of travel. On one hand, they were filled with excitement of the next place, the next performance, the next scenery. But they could also be tedious. Riding in a caravan or on a horse all day, packing everything up only to pack it out again. And after a few days, it would be on to the next venue.

On a day like this, where the sun was low on the horizon, the warmth of summer settling like a blanket around her, Emma loved travelling. On her horse, she could focus on nothing but the path ahead of her. There was no need to talk to anyone at all - especially not him. Emma had lost all sense of how to act around Killian. Hiding behind the maid’s character had become a relief. With every practiced kiss between them, things just grew awkward. Every time he provoked banter, Emma was always aware of eyes on them, smiling at their flirting. They were not flirting.

Fortunately, meal duty was long done and over with. Not on cleaning duty either, Emma could simply wash off her own bowl and spoon and walk away from the campfire once supper finished.

It was a three-day-ride to King Midas’ city. Here on the second warm night, Emma found a spot outside the downscaled camp Regina had magicked for the night. She sat in peace, staring at the setting sun with a flask in hand. She had filled it with rum, though no one needed to know that. Technically, she wasn’t allowed to fill her flask with the rum from their one barrel, but she had needed it. A bit of warmth in her belly, a poison to take her mind off the performance in two days. Emma couldn’t believe they were really going through with it. Did no one else see how dumb the plot was? Or were they all just too tired to disagree with August’s writing?

Emma heard footsteps behind her, growing louder each second. At first she thought it was Snow or maybe David, but when she turned her head, the very person who confused her to no end lately was grinning at her.

“Mind if I join you?” Killian pointed at the spot next to her with a flask of his own in hand. A part of her did mind. The other part though, she couldn’t describe it. It wanted him to join her.

Emma shrugged. “Sure.”

Killian sat next to her, not too close, but close enough that she could touch him if she wanted to. Not that she did.

“Care for a bit of rum?”

Emma squinted at his flask.

“Where did you get it from?”

“I might have taken a bit from the troupe’s provisions.” Killian feigned ashamed. Emma saw through it though, that smug bastard.

“You know that’s not allowed, right? It’s only for troupe gatherings.” She was a hypocrite and she knew it. Still, she couldn’t miss the chance to chide him.

“Ah, I know. But we’re two gathered from the troupe now, are we not? If the stolen rum is shared it can’t be too horrendous a crime.”

Emma lifted her flask with a smug grin of her own.

“Afraid I’ve already got my own crime stocked.”

Killian laughed, a deep and warm sound. “I should’ve guessed, Swan.”

They clinked their flasks together and toasted on their ‘stolen’ rum. Emma dreaded that Killian would start talking again, poking and prodding her. She had left the temporary camp alone for some peace and quiet, and she’d be damned if he disturbed that.

Killian stayed silent, staring out at the setting sun. Bewilderment settled in Emma. Why did she find herself wanting to break the silence now? He seemed to be in a companionable mood, she reasoned - less provoking. Maybe she could finally get real answers out of him for once.

“So, do you think people will like the play?” She’d start simple. No need to be obvious in her probing.

“It’s a thrilling and salacious tale - I expect they’ll lap it up like they do every other drama full of intrigue and romance.”

“You really think it’s romantic?”

“I’ve gleaned that you don’t.”

“What, a prince cheating on his betrothed by sneaking around with her maid? No, not exactly romantic if you ask me.”

“Then what does Emma Swan find romantic?”

When had he started probing her instead of the other way around? She decided to answer him after all. “Honesty.”

Something distant appeared in Killian’s eyes as he nodded. “Aye, honesty is a fine thing.”

“So do you honestly think the play is good?”

“Yes.” Too quick. He was obviously lying, and he knew that she knew. That stupid gleam in his eyes.

“Liar.”

“I’m the new lad in the troupe - I can’t be known to dislike your work and have rumours spread that I’m ungrateful and picky.”

“Care about your reputation that much?”

“Sometimes a reputation is all a man has, Swan.” He was joking, at least trying to, but there it was again, that distant look. Like he recognized more truth than he was willing to let on.

Emma had thought she wanted to know what was going on in his head, what secrets he wouldn’t share. But something had shifted inside her. Things were getting too close. She’d rather keep it simple and playful, goading each other and laughing, not any of these brooding talks.

“So you’ve set out to be the always-agreeing guy who doesn’t know how to button up his shirt.” Yes, back to talking about his chest, what a great idea, Emma.

“You certainly have a penchant for noticing my open shirts.”

“What, you come into our troupe with scruffy hair, leather pants and open shirts, but no explanation of why you left your last troupe - that sorta spells trouble.” What was she doing? Why was she steering the conversation back to this?

Emma took a quick swig of rum. If only the poison could make Jones crawl back out from under her skin. On second thought, rum might not be the best idea. A loose tongue around Jones was the last thing she needed. And now she was thinking about tongues and Jones and god-dammit what was wrong with her?

“Think I’m trouble, do you?” The way he ran his tongue over his lower lip, Emma was half-frightened he had read her mind.

“You’re definitely no prince in shining white armour.”

“I’m afraid I’m more like our dear prince than you think.”

What? Again, Emma sensed that things were getting too close. Too painful. Earlier, when Emma had tried to get Killian talking, he would always deflect her questions. These vague answers, she didn’t know what to do with them.

Killian kept his gaze on the flask in his hands. Emma studied the way his jaw ticked for a moment before he swallowed a mouthful of rum. She had to look away before her thoughts wandered again.

“In my last troupe, well, the reason I left them is frighteningly similar to the prince’s situation.”

“What, you…?” Emma stopped. Why, when she finally stopped wanting to know, did he decide to spill his story? “You know, I don’t need to know. You’re with us now, that’s that.”

But she could see it in the way his jaw clenched; he was determined to tell her. Why?

“I thought you didn’t trust me.”

The honesty in his voice rattled Emma.

"Of course I trust you.” Only when she said it did she realize the truth of it.

“So you don’t think I’m trouble anymore?”

Maybe a different kind of trouble. Emma couldn’t say the words though.

“I wouldn’t mind sharing my tale, you know. As much as I relish the allure of secrecy, perhaps honesty is the best course.”

“You’re starting to make me worry you killed a guy or something.” Emma needed the safe ground of joking. Deep down she hoped her words weren’t ironically true.

“Not quite,“ Killian said. "I fell in love with one of the actresses in my troupe. Milah. I thought she was in love with me as well as we shared a brief and blissful time together. Until she told me she had a husband - a son even. Said that we could never truly be together, because she would never leave them. I was blind,” Killian shook his head at himself. “I begged her to stay with me - begged her to leave her family, Swan. When my head finally cleared, I was disgusted with myself; I couldn’t believe what I had become.”

“So you left,” Emma finished for him, trying to wrap her head around his words. She had thought him an arrogant ass, who had probably been kicked out of his former troupe. This she had never imagined.

“Aye.”

“And now you’re playing an unfaithful prince.”

“Life is full of irony, isn’t it? First I get to be a home-wrecking bastard, now I get to play an unfaithful one. My honest opinion of the play, Swan? The prince deserves a right kick to the nuts.”

Emma didn’t know what to say. Didn’t know what to think. She hated her own character for being weak and blind. Killian had to play a character he hated because it reminded him of the worst part of himself. That urge to reach over and touch his hand was strong now. She quenched it.

“We can always improvise the ending,” she offered a half-hearted joke. Killian replied with a half-hearted laugh. He held out his flask for another toast which she accepted with an upturned corner of the mouth. Both drank in silence.

“Emma? Killian?” Emma whipped her head around at Snow’s call. “We’ve warmed some cocoa, you guys want some?”

Killian arched a brow at Emma in question.

“I’m always up for cocoa,” she grinned.

When both got up, Emma felt the need to say something, anything, and hoped it wouldn’t come out awkward. No matter what, she’d probably regret it though.

“You are one of us now, Jones. And you can be as disagreeing and picky as you like - it’s sort of what we do.”

She walked away before she saw his reaction. Yep, she already regretted opening her mouth.

—

Emma hadn’t spoken much to Killian since that evening. Half because they were always busy with each their things, half because Emma made sure to always be busy. Now the play was about to start, and Emma wasn’t sure if she had made the right choice.

“Nervous?” Snow asked.

“Just the usual.”

On the other side of the curtain, the villagers of King Midas’ city had gathered in the town square, eager for some entertainment. As rumours had said, Princess Abigail was even present, a lover of dramas and intrigues. Emma hoped she didn’t mind the kind of drama they had in store. She rather liked having a head.

The talking and bustling of the crowd silenced. For a moment, the butterflies in Emma’s stomach doubled. The muffled silence stretched. Then Regina lifted the curtains with her magic.

Snow sat ready in her chair by the vanity table and Emma stood with a brush behind her. When the curtains lifted, they were Princess Katherine and the maid Nina, talking in the princess’ chambers.

“It’ll be so wonderful; Prince Constantine here for the ball, dazzling lights and music all around. Oh Nina, I can scarcely wait!”

“You will look so beautiful, milady. The prince shall have eyes for none but you.”

“Oh but he will, dear Nina. He will have eyes for every woman in the room - princess, lady, even a maid like you. But in the end he will turn to no one but me.”

And so the play began.

Emma set her thoughts and troubles to the back of her mind. She could let her contempt for the script show during practice, but here, with an audience lapping up every word, she would not disappoint them. She would play her role. This was her work, but it was so much more - acting was one of her greatest joys.

But Emma’s high spirits and determination couldn’t last throughout all the play.

The prince’s and the maid’s first tryst was set in darkness, starlit by Regina. She also created the breeze that twirled Emma’s skirts on the windless, bright summer day.

Alone together on the stage, Killian swept Emma off her feet as prince and maid. But it was too stark a reminder of talking with him during the sunset. His words kept ringing in her head. The self-loathing she had seen in his eyes. Emma fought it and kept gazing at the prince adoringly, no mind to her own feelings. At least the audience seemed to enjoy it. So far.

The scenes passed in a blur. Soon the final battle broke out and Emma, supposedly trapped behind a fallen chandelier, finally snapped. She couldn’t take it anymore. She couldn’t just lie there and wait for the prince to rescue her, and have all sins be forgiven.

No. This story needed a new ending.

One of the ‘enemies’ lay ‘dead’ near Emma, his dull sword just out of her reach. If she crawled though…

Emma did it. She crawled out from her trap, seized the sword and stood with adrenaline pumping through her veins. She ignored the bemused look from the dead enemy.

David, playing one of the enemies, charged at Killian. It was a well-choreographed fight. Emma had to break it though. She leapt in between David and Killian, blocking David’s sword with her own. Through the slits of his helmet, Emma could see David’s confusion. She gave him a small smile, too small for even the first row to notice.

David challenged Emma’s stance.

This would work. They had sparred together countless of times. Even without choreography, they could create an exciting battle.

David tried disturbing her balance, coming at her with rough blows to her sword, then quickly pulling away once she put her weight to it. She was used to that trick though.

Emma used her smaller build to her advantage. She darted around him, jabbing at him when he least expected it. If only she could do one of those talented spins like Killian, but she would rather not attempt it and fail.

“Nina! Nina, my love, what are you doing?”

“What on earth does it look like?” Emma growled at the prince as she clashed her blade against David’s.

“Come, we can watch each other’s backs,” Killian proposed as the prince, grunting as he fought his own foe.

Emma glanced backwards for a moment, still focusing on David. As they sparred, she let David back her up towards Killian.

Each step backwards, she did her best not to lose her footing. Each step backwards, she met David’s sword without fail.

A solid back pressed against her own. Killian. Emma grinned - that had to have looked awesome. Now back to back, they continued to fight each their foe, circling about. Emma didn’t have much time to ponder how well this had worked out without practicing once.

David’s arm was starting to slack. He was giving her the fatal chance. Emma took it. She blocked his final blow and hit him quick and precise, right next to his side facing away from the audience. David fell, ‘dead’ at her feet.

Killian had knocked down his contender as well - Mulan, if Emma had seen correctly in the blur of it all. She was happy not to have fought Mulan herself. That girl had serious skill. Not that David didn’t of course…

Only one remained to fight for each of them. Emma didn’t see who was left for Killian, but she recognized Robin. Perfect. Emma had practiced sparring with him a couple of times too, after he and Snow made her shoot arrows.

They kept it simple. No unpredictable movements, only swords clashing, loud and heavy. Killian and Emma moved as one, stepping forwards and backwards, dodging and attacking in turn. The audience was a blur of wide open mouths and gasps. Even Emma felt enthralled.

Robin wobbled. For a mere second, Emma had her chance. One jab to his backdrop-facing side, and Robin was down.

A few second later, she heard Killian’s foe drop as well.

Emma’s heart raced. She had done it. She had done it. Now came the harder part though. Sparring was easy - always an audience-favourite. But the play had to end now, and it was down to her to do it right.

As they had fought in unison, they turned to each other on a shared impulse. The prince stared at Emma with awe - was part of it Killian’s own amazement? Emma played the maid with a strong stance. No more nimble bowing for her.

“Well… I suppose I owe you thanks for the help, prince,” Emma spoke. Killian raised a brow.

“We make quite the team, my love.”

Emma’s grin wasn’t an act. She wondered how much of Killian’s was fake.

“Yeah… well, thanks.”

“You don’t suppose you owe more than a simple word?” Killian curled his fingers by his lip, obviously hinting at a kiss. The play had to end like that, didn’t it? Well, that could actually work out pretty well for Emma. A plan clicked.

“Please. You couldn’t handle it.”

“Maybe you’re the one who couldn’t handle it,” Killian goaded her. Just as she had expected him to. She looked at him for a moment, wondering if he had guessed her plan. He seemed quite intent on that kiss.

Emma dropped her sword and grabbed the lapels of Killian’s coat in one swift motion. She pulled his lips to hers. No more awkward pecking, no faked lingering. They sought each other’s mouth with earnest hunger, breathing each other’s air. For a moment, Emma forgot everything about her plan, about her character, about the thousands of eyes watching them. Well, they were certainly getting their salacious wants fulfilled.

Emma pulled away, her hand still at the nape of his neck, the other grabbing his shoulder. His were tangled in her hair and wrapped around her waist. Had she even heard the clang when he dropped his sword?

They lingered, their lips mere inches apart.

When Killian spoke, he sounded more wrecked that Emma could have hoped for. “That was -”

“Your worst mistake.”

Emma smirked as she stepped back, sweeping her eyes over Killian. He was absolutely dumbstruck - no acting could bring him to that look. Emma surged with pride.

In one swift motion, she grabbed the sword that she had dropped, pointing it at Killian’s throat. His wrecked look turned to one of confusion. Emma’s grin widened, her teeth showing.

“I am no mere maid, Prince Constantine,” she spat his name. “I serve and guard the princess with my life. My duties lie with her, and her alone - and she would never marry such unfaithful scum like you. Did you think yourself clever? Courting Katherine in the daylight whilst whispering in my ear under the stars?” Emma scoffed, shaking her head with a superior calm. “This kingdom is done with you, prince. As am I. May you have a pleasant journey home.”

Emma spun around, turning her back on him. With her head held high, she left the stage. She didn’t see the hint of a grin on Killian’s face, threatening to break through as the curtains closed.

It hadn’t been a kick to the nuts, but close enough.

Regina was ready to wring Emma’s neck once the curtains had closed. How dared she change the play all on her own? Did she think she was superior, good enough to act on every whim with no thought to consequence? Imagine how slandered their troupe would be now!

But none failed to hear the audience cheer louder than ever before. Emma kept her stance.

—

Plenty of rum was shared that evening. Emma only sipped at her mug though. The troupe applauded her rash decision, celebrated the success their performance had had. Even August agreed that Emma had made the right choice (Regina as well). She wasn’t used to all the congratulating though. Being in the middle of it all like that. In honesty, she was exhausted. When she finally saw her chance, she fled to the quiet of her tent.

Her bed roll lay ready to welcome her. Emma sat there for a moment, giving the heat in her cheeks a chance to fade. Everything she had done during the performance seemed a total blur now. Had she really kissed the living daylights out of Killian like that? And changed the entire play?

She shook her head at herself with a laugh.

“Swan?”

Emma’s head spun towards the opening of her tent. It was closed, but unfastened. With a simple ‘yeah?’ she invited Killian to open the flap and peak in. His grin was apparent at once.

“That was bloody brilliant.”

The heat she had tried to cool down in her cheeks returned anew. She tried to tone down her smile.

“Not too much?”

“Exactly what the bastard prince deserved,” Killian said, a laugh rumbling through his throat. “And, I hope, what I deserved?” Once again, Killian brought his fingers to his lip, raising a flirting brow. “You don’t suppose that was something more than my worst mistake? Perhaps something to be tried again?”

Emma couldn’t keep her smile from him. They did make a good team. They worked well together. Perhaps they should test if they worked as well in her bed roll too.

“Why don’t you come on in, Jones?”

[easteregg316]

On Fanfiction and Self-Hate (kinda)

Quick note: I'M NOT AN EXPERT. I'M A TEENAGER THAT JUST LIKES TO TALK. OKAY? OKAY. @markiplier maybe you will read this or maybe you won't idk. 

It's easy for anyone to create a world with a few taps on a keyboard. Within minutes, a story can be written that directly reflects a person's wants, desires, and personality. But when I say personality, I don't mean in the way they describe their character. Cuz generic fanfictions will usually have at least one of the following phrases: 

"I don't think I'm that pretty." 

"How could he ever like me?" 

"I'm a nobody." 

Self-hate, although it has become a rather normal thing to see in these fanfictions, reveals exactly why they may have been written in the first place. 

If you don't think highly of yourself, and you wanted to be told that you are someone great, who else would you want to say it but your favorite celebrity crush? Of course, it's not as easy as calling them up and asking them to compliment you. So instead, many fans will write stories that "satisfy" that want: 

"You're beautiful, you know that?" he said, smiling down at me. 

Reading that sentence to yourself after writing it might make you feel "better". But I'm going to be honest, when I would write that, it would sting a little every time I read it. It was just a reminder that it was fantasy. A lie. And it quickly revealed just how much I cared about what this person thought of me. 

Because some fans are younger and might desperately want to date their favorite celebrity crush, it's very common to see horrid spelling errors and grammatical mistakes in these stories. Even in older fans, it gets to the point where they don't care about mistakes, they just want to write as quickly as possible to lose themselves in a fantasy world where everything is "perfect". 

I'm not gonna lie, I cringe whenever I see or hear badly written fanfictions, especially being someone who loves to write. But there is a person behind every story. Even if they may seem selfish or ridiculous, which they very well can be, it may also be a case of just wanting to rid themselves of insecurities about themselves, and this is the only outlet that seems to work for them. 

I know, I know, insecurities in fanfictions are becoming annoying, but the fact that there's enough stories to make it annoying should be concerning. 

I will say this: I used to write a lot of fanfiction, mostly romantic, and I enjoyed it! But I eventually realized that I didn't necessarily like what I was writing about, I enjoyed writing itself. Which is why I drifted away from that. 

I do read fanfictions from time to time, tending to stick to the more PG ones. I like cutesy stuff, not stuff that makes me feel like I just killed someone for reading it (That stuff disturbs me on a whole other level, but that's a post for another day). But what I don't appreciate the fact that many fans, mostly girls, find it necessary to deal with their problems this way. 

Creating a fake world for your problems is not okay. If anything, it makes coming back to the real world a million times harder, making it nearly impossible to deal with your problems head on. Not only that, but it blinds you to the fact that there are already people that love you--not necessarily some famous guy on the Internet. 

There are many people you can find online that can help you. You might hear that a lot, but it's true. Their job is to help you, and they've trained for years to do so. If anyone can help you, they can. I'm just a girl on the Internet, but feel free to ask me questions and I'll get my best to help you or find someone that can :) 

To conclude: I'm not saying fanfictions are bad. I feel like the word fanfiction has become tainted. 

Fanfictions are just that: Fan fictions. Stories that fans write about celebrities or video games or YouTubers. There are some really awesome ones. But because an overwhelming amount of people have written romantic fanfictions, that's become the face of the genre. 

In my opinion, most romantic fanfictions are meh. When it involves people that are or it's strongly suggested that they're in in a relationship, I think it's cool. But things like Septiplier and even Rhett and Link dating...guys, they're already in very healthy relationships! That's just messed up, man! And when you insert yourself into their Iives...well, that's just weird. 

Don't forget that there will always be someone that wants to help you. :)

Yo! There's a few topics I touched on in this post, but let me know what I should talk about next time! 

Stuff I was thinking: 

-Mature Fanfictions 

-Shipping and Self-Shipping (Stories/Fanart romantically depicting two friends/people or yourself with someone else that isn't your partner) 

-Big YouTubers Trying to Interact With Fans Consistently (mentioned in the story below) 

-Anything else you guys suggest! 

That's technically the end of my rant, but feel free to continue reading. I was bored, okay? 

And now, a Markiplier fanfiction about how I meet Mark at VidCon. (It's 100% clean and it's 0% romantic, but don't read if you don't want. It's long anyway lol. By the way I'm not 18 as the story says.) 

For years, Mark had gone on and on about conventions he was going to, signings he was going to have, and panels he was going to host. And year after year, I found myself only watching from behind a screen, chained to my home by my high-school maturity level. The year arrived, however, when I finally turned 18, and was I allowed to go. 

Upon arriving at the convention center for VidCon, I was instantly overwhelmed by the smell of sweat. I uncomfortably pushed my way through dozens upon dozens of people in various outfits, cosplayers being the most difficult to get around. My phone was ringing like crazy, but my arms were pressed up against my sides, making it impossible to reach into my pocket to retrieve it. It was most likely my mom, calling for the fifth time since this morning to find out where I was and if I was okay. 

I looked up briefly and was able to catch a glance at a nearby clock. It was 12:49....and I totally forgot when Mark's panel started. Panicking, I carefully tried to squeeze my way out of the crowd, which I found out was because of fans spotting Dan and Phil somewhere. 

I successfully sidled past a tall man in sunglasses who looked uncannily like Rhett from Good Mythical Morning and was finally able to breathe comfortably. 

Within five minutes, I heard someone yell, "Rhett! Rhett!" Murmurs turned into shouts behind me, and I didn't even turn around, my teeth clenched. Of course it was Rhett, why wouldn't it be? 

I took the moment to check the panel schedule on my phone. Mark's panel was at 1:00. I looked at my watch. I ran as fast as I could, nearly knocking a girl in a Minecraft t-shirt over. I mumbled an apology before taking off again, barely being able to stop in front of the conference room without slamming into the door. 

I heard applause, and I threw the door open. Mark had barely just gotten on stage, along with Bob, Wade, and Ethan. 

I sighed happily as I stepped inside. A few heads turned when I walked in, but they turned back just as quickly when Mark started to talk. 

"Hey everyone, welcome to Markiplier and Friends 2018!" 

I looked around for a chair, and pulled one up at the back of one of the aisles, plopping down with a huff. 

"So, sorry guys, we can't do selfies, or gifts...we need to be careful with time. I'm really sorry, I wish I could talk to each and every one of you." The audience murmured in disappointment. 

The panel was fun for the first half hour, when the guys did improv, but once the questions started, I began to lose interest. My ears only perked up when someone asked about his thoughts on a game or really deep questions. 

I ignored all the ones that started with, 

"Remember when I..." 

"Why didn't you finish..." 

"Are you ever going to..." 

"When's the next..." 

"You saved me from..." 

I frowned. I felt bad for ignoring the "saved" ones, because they were probably true. Many fans had found hope in Mark's videos, many being helped through their depression or anxiety. But it was obvious that Mark was trying hard to understand what they were going through and wasn't succeeding. "I'm so sorry that happened, but I'm glad I could help in some way," was the automatic answer. It was especially awkward when they began to cry. 

And it wasn't that I thought it was wrong for them to thank him for it, but doing it in front of all these people was extremely odd, especially when they explained their situation in detail. Mark sometimes showed signs of being slightly uncomfortable as well, which would quickly spread to the crowd. He was aware of how his videos helped people, but hearing it over and over unfortunately lessened its value, and it sucked. 

I never had the nerve to go up and ask him a question, mainly because I didn't want to stand in line for that long just to ask him something he would probably forget about in a few days. And if I was going to ask him anything, I wanted it to be something good. 

The panel ended with Ethan doing two backflips, Mark getting three questions about Septiplier and fanfictions, and at least six people asking if he remembered them. 

...He only remembered three of them. 

I was surprised to find myself only waiting for Mark's signing for an hour. I had heard stories of people waiting for like seven hours for these kinds of things. When I turned to look at how many people were behind me, I believed them. 

As I neared the table, I began fumbling with my journal, flipping open to a page with a small sketch of the Markiplier logo where he would sign. Underneath that were several other YouTuber logos in case I saw anyone else. It was VidCon, after all. 

"Next!" I heard security yell. 

I blinked hard as I neared the table. Markiplier was in front of me. I was freaking out. He was there. Would he think I was weird? Would he like how I look? 

He looked up at me, and one thing became painfully obvious: He was exhausted. His eyes were squinting against the lights high above on the ceiling, and there were bags under his eyes. A small smile crept onto his face. His mouth was just barely shaking. He was trying to keep on a happy face for the sake of his community, but he was only human. There was only so much he could do before he would start to shut down. 

"Hi, thanks for coming!" he said, standing up to lean over the table and give me a small hug. I wasn't expecting him to, and I was awkwardly able to wrap my arms around him for a second before he let go and sat back down. 

"Whaddya want me to sign?" he asked, looking around for a marker. I timidly presented my journal to him, and he took it happily. Successfully finding a marker in his lap, he commenced to sign his autograph next to the Markiplier logo on the page. 

"So, what's your name?" he asked, though it was clearly small talk--he would forget in 0.2 seconds. "Oh, u-uh, Esther!" I replied nervously. He smiled and nodded, handing me back the journal. "Awesome to meet you, Esther. Nice sketch, by the way." 

My face burned as I nodded stupidly and pulled out my phone. I clenched my teeth, hating to ask for a picture. "Hey, is it okay if I be generic as hell and take a selfie with you?" I asked. He chuckled softly and nodded. He gave a big smile, one I had seen quite often. He shook my hand one more time before moving on to the next person. I looked at the photo as I moved away. The bags under his eyes were slightly visible, but his smile was much more genuine than I had thought. I glanced behind me to see his interaction with the girl behind me. He smiled the same smile. I began to drift away from the long line and towards the main area with a grin. I couldn’t understand how he was able to be that nice. I really hoped I would bump into him one day. 

I never did. 

But I did continued to enjoy his videos, watch his panels at conventions, and get his autograph on an item or two. And I was totally okay with that.

Not the story you were expecting? Well, most fanfictions are practically impossible. Even this story is stretched. (I mean, who would casually see Rhett in the middle of a crowd?) 

I myself have never gone to a convention where YouTubers have been, but I do want to go one day. This story was kind of a half tease at those really ridiculous stories that would never happen (i.e. bumping into your favorite YouTuber and ending up having a coffee with them) but also a half serious reflection of how I feel about certain topics. If there's anything you were like "WHAT, BLASPHEMY!" feel free to yell at me! I want to hear your thoughts, and I'm expecting to be berated to be honest. 

Anyway, if you read this far, man do you have time on your hands. Drop a note ;) Or don't. 

Thank you for reading, really. <3

[awkwardunicornblog-blog]

One thing that I’ve noticed about many students is that they have no idea how to take effective notes. It’s not their fault because it’s not like schools have room for classes specifically designed to teach students how to write notes. They expect kids to just know how to do it (even though most teachers’ PowerPoints are less than organized) and leave them with no idea of how to write notes that will benefit them later.

https://weheartit.com/entry/325386962

So, we just have a bunch of students writing down information they will never remember, care for, or look at again, and they do absolutely nothing for studying.

The only way to rectify the situation is to tell you how I write my notes and hope that the techniques I use will help you write better notes (otherwise, what am I even doing this for?).

At the end of this post, there is a lovely little graphic I made that will illustrate each of the points as eloquently as possible.

1. Include a Title and a Date

I know this seems elementary, but it is VITAL to have a title and a date. If you don’t have a title, your notes all just fall into one big blob of words that could or could not be related (who knows?). If you have to go back to double-check information, it could take seventeen years just to read through your notes and find the one page you need. A title summarizes the content in a few words, which helps when you’re navigating through a stack of paper taller than yourself. As for a date, it helps you organize your notes better. If you prefer to organize your notes from oldest to newest, all you’d have to do is check the date and file it exactly where it needs to be.

Simple enough. I hope.

2. Use Headers

I cannot express to you how important headers are. Let me explain their importance through a scenario: you’ve got three whole pages of notes about, I don’t know, calculus (bleh). There are dozens of example equations that serve to explain different purposes and techniques. But, none of them are labeled. It’s just a jumble of equations, and you have to play a stressful game to figure out which equation explains which technique.

All your troubles could have been saved if you had just put some headers up. Thank you for listening to my TED Talk.

(I’m not done, though, so please keep reading.)

3. Use Color!

This is where note-taking gets fun (I know I sound like a nerd). COLOR is what makes your headers and important ideas POP (which is a point I will specifically address next). All it takes is a quick swipe of a highlighter or a pen with ink other than black to make everything a little more friendly to your brain when you’re re-reading later. Having one big blob of black ink on the page with every sentence running into another isn’t pleasing to the eye, but adding a pop of blue or pink could brighten up your paper.

Even if you don’t have time to use color during the time you’re taking notes, take a few minutes after you’re done to highlight and mark important ideas. You’ll thank me later.

4. Mark Important Ideas

IF YOU DO NOT DO THIS, I WILL HAVE A MENTAL BREAKDOWN. I cannot stress enough how important this is. Any main idea or vocabulary word (no matter how well you think you know it) needs to be highlighted, written in a different color, capitalized, or set apart in one way or another. These are the ideas that the teacher will repeat over and over and over again. There is a reason they repeat it a million times (usually) and you need to remember it. The best way to do this is to make it a focal point in your notes.

Here are some ways you can mark important ideas:

Highlight

If you want to go an extra step, use different highlighter colors for different things: vocabulary is yellow, important people are green, important places are pink, main ideas are blue, etc.

Write it in a different color

CAPITALIZE IT (make it seem like you’re shouting it out into the void)

[Use brackets], -> arrows <-, *stars*, or other accessories to point it out.

Put a box or other shape around it to set it apart from other information.

Layer colors to make it pop.

You could even come up with your own way to draw attention to main ideas. Be as creative as you want!

5. Organize It

Organization is key when taking notes. Everything that is related needs to be grouped together under a heading or some sort of indicator of their relation.

And I BEG OF YOU to not write your notes like they’re an essay. Please. That is all I ask of you. Each point made needs to have its own line, and the easiest way to do this is to use bullet points. You could always get more creative in how you arrange your notes, but bullet points are a student’s best friend. Throw a bullet point in front of a note, and guess what? Your notes are already 50% more organized.

If you’re feeling spicy, you can always change the look of your bullet point: •, », →, ⇒, ♦, ◊, ~, *, etc. You could even draw a little dinosaur as a bullet point, and that is perfectly okay.

I’m not sure how productive it would be, but you could definitely do that.

Here are a couple photos I found from Pinterest that give just a few handwritten bullet point examples you can incorporate into your notes:

https://www.pinterest.com/pin/301881981265218801/?lp=true

https://www.pinterest.co.uk/pin/383931936968668751/?nic=1

6. Relate Difficult Ideas to Familiar Ideas

This may be a little confusing or weird to explain, but this is one of my most sacred note-taking tips, and I have to share it with the world. Remembering everything you are taught is really, really hard. Impossible, even. Especially when you just cannot grasp the examples a teacher is giving.

As crazy as it sounds, make up your own examples, and relate hard-to-remember topics to pop culture, sports, or other things that you enjoy. You’re going to have to put some brainpower into this, so if you are one of those students who do the bare minimum, you’re probably going to skip over this point (please don’t, though).

For me, I listen to a lot of music and pay attention to the celebrity world far more than I should. However, since I know a lot about those topics, I will make jokes and reference those things when I’m taking notes. I’ll even throw in some memes for good measure to drive a point home.

Make jokes, reference your favorite song, relate a historical figure to Taylor Swift, put in some memes, make harmless fun, and call it day.

7. Use Shorthand

Now, I know there are guides online that show a long list of words to shorten, but I feel like those words are always weird ones to shorten, and their abbreviations make absolutely no sense. I once saw someone shorten “book” to “bk.” Like what? That’s two letters less, friend. You’re not helping much.

Anyway, in today’s age, we have adapted our own little version of shorthand, and I’m pretty sure everyone has used it at some point: text abbreviations. Like, omg, I’m totally LOLing rn. I’m sure you have your own favorite abbreviations that could work just as well in your notes.

Also, if there’s a name you just keep repeating, and it’s a long, annoying name to write out, give him/her a nickname. Learning about George Washington? Call him G. Wash. Reading Romeo & Juliet? Call them Dumb and Dumber. Easy Peasy.

Another tip: leave out articles like ‘a,’ ‘an,’ and ‘the’ when writing. It’s a small change, but it could make a big difference. Also, use symbols like & and # to shorten long words. There’s an endless array of possibilities.

Just do whatever feels natural. Don’t force yourself to shorten words, then come back later and not know what in the world “bk” means (does it mean “bacon king?”).

8. Have Fun!

This sounds dumb to those of you who hate note-taking, but anything can be made fun if you put your mind to it. I have the best time writing notes because it brings out my creativity and forces me to think of ways I could remember the information.

If you’re super creative and artistic, turn your notes into a piece of artwork. Find new lettering techniques to create variety among headers. Doodle relevant cartoons in the corner. Think of interesting and unique ways to remember information (I once remembered the name of a river in New York because of Wizards of Waverly Place, if that tells you anything.)

Just don’t think of notes as a world-ending, death-inducing practice that was created to torture young minds. Think outside of the box and make it fun for yourself.

Bonus Tips

Remember that all these tips can be applied to typed-out notes as well. Especially typed notes. If anything, these tips work phenomenally well in Google Docs, Microsoft Word, and anything other word processing machine because all the colors, highlighters, fonts, and font sizes are right there for you to use. Not to mention, you can actually paste those memes into your document (which actually help if you find the right ones).

Also, if you’re as big of a nerd as me or have a bunch of free time, don’t completely void the idea of rewriting your notes. I know. I’m the crazy lady telling you to rewrite your notes like it’s fun. But just try it. During class, a teacher could be going far too fast for you to keep up and make everything as organized as you want it. If you’ve got the time, rewriting notes and organizing them better is actually very helpful. Not only does it make your notes more readable, but rewriting them is also a studying method. Writing notes has been proven to improve memory, so if you’re struggling to study for a test, rewrite your notes.

Look, I know I sound insane, but if it works, it works.

Or I’m just a nerd. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Anyway, I hope this helped! Below is an example of my own notes from when I read The Scarlet Letter in English class. I rewrote them after class, and I have marked how I incorporated each point into them. There are also some side notes beside it to explain a couple other things I did.

  Example:

Header: For the header, I wrote down the chapter title and number because I didn’t know which one my teacher was going to refer to it by later.

Shorthand: I was tired of writing ‘Dimmesdale’ out every time, so I nicknamed him Dimmy. You can also see later that I refer to ‘Chillingworth’ as CW. I’m pretty sure I also referred to him as ‘Chili Fries’ later.

Bullet Points: When I indented again, I used a different bullet point to differentiate between the main idea and its smaller points.

***************************

Post-Its: This is kind of an add-on to organization because if you don’t have enough room on your paper or forgot to add something, post-it notes are your best friend. While they are attached to the paper, they can also be lifted or moved.

Make Jokes: I called the Puritan kids urchins, and next to it, you can see I included a little comment that says, “What a legend.” Those little side-notes can also be used to add in an idea that should probably be remembered but doesn’t quite fit the bullet’s main idea.

  Final Thoughts

If you are still struggling to visualize exactly what you want to do, I’ll leave a link to my Pinterest board on School Tips, which is full of more ideas and techniques that other Pinners have created. Just in general, Pinterest is an amazing place to find note-taking hacks and ideas.

Good luck, and enjoy the beautiful gif/meme below. 😀

-The Awkward Unicorn

When you realize note-taking doesn’t have to be torture.

https://tenor.com/search/jungshook-gifs

  Note-Taking Tips One thing that I’ve noticed about many students is that they have no idea how to take effective notes.