#like congratulations for being frightened of a children's play song?

[usetheeauthor]

Love, Papa

Virgin!Henry Creel/One/Peter Ballard x SexWorker!Reader

MDNI +18 (eventual smut)

Summary: You are snatched away from your mundane life and brought to a secluded location in the woods where you are forced to play house with a man who calls himself “Papa” and his two “children”One and Eleven. Now you’ll do everything you can to escape this nightmare…and fast. (Also please bare with me as I am finishing up a couple series before this one)

A/N: This one’s kinda dark but interesting I think. It’ll also be graphic and smutty but also thriller/horror. I haven’t written for Peter in so long because Eddie’s taken up my mind but we gotta show some love to Henry. He may be a psycho but damn is he hot. I believe this will be a 5 part series. It’s set in modern times during the pandemic. The fic will be based on Melanie Martinez songs and themes because why not?! Please enjoy! Ps. Peter is somewhere in his late 20s and Reader early 20s.

Word Count: 2.8k+

Warnings: kidnapping, use of chloroform, graphic language, mentions of sex work and dark sides of it, imprisonment, choking, Brenner being a psycho

Chapter One: One Happy Family

The cold air of the night sends shivers down your spine, prompting you to wrap your coat around you tighter. Tonight was a slow day. Not much creeps out in the streets in search of a risqué night session.

The pandemic’s to blame. The virus was currently running rampant and people were frightened. You should’ve been, too. Instead, the need for money to survive fueled your intentions.

You were all you had. Your parents had long forgotten you after you’d told them you were going to school to become an esthetician and not a doctor like they were.

Big mistake. Not because you regret following your dreams but rather it was how your dreams led you to a man who would soon ruin your life.

He was your teacher. You didn’t take him seriously considering he was a beauty school teacher but that’s exactly the place for a womanizer to prey on a sea of women. The school had a strict no student-teacher policy so once your relationship was exposed. The decision ended with them immediately discarding your future there.

You believe your love would save you but he protected his job. With no other beauty schools in Hawkins, traveling being too expensive, and you being cut off from your parents; you had no choice but to make quick money.

You were introduced to prostitution working as a bartender one night by a woman who ran a business of sex workers. Figuring since it was a woman, you trusted her. Of course, now you realize basing your decisions in the hands of a person specifically because of their gender was also a big mistake.

Life wasn’t very glamorous like how it was with some of the girls you saw online, streaming their work from the comforts of their homes or studios. On the streets, you’d live in fear nearly everyday at the cost of passing money. Sure you get expensive bags and designer clothes but at what cost.

Leaning against the graffiti’d wall behind you, you pull out your phone to make a phone call. Your mother’s contact is the first thing you see. Your thumb hesitantly hangs over the call button. Just as you finally worked the courage to press the button, a car pulls up on the curb.

You hear a muffled “hello” through the speaker and quickly hang up, providing your attention to the car in front of you.

The man lowers his window. “Hello, young lady. What are you doing out here all alone?”

You put on a seductive smile as you sauntered over to him. “I was looking for a good time. Would that happen to be why you’re here, too?” You lean into his window, resting your elbow on the passenger door.

“Actually, I was looking for someone that would be the perfect fit for my family and—congratulations— you are that. And it doesn’t appear to me that anyone’ll be looking for you considering your profession.” He smiles.

“What?” You say, heart pounding. A cough in the backseat has your eyes following in its direction. There’s a young girl with her head shaven, looking back at you with pitiful eyes.

You attempt to run when your back collides with something—someone—behind you. Before you could turn to look, a rag is thrown over your mouth and nose, muffling your screams.

You fight and scratch all you could but you were getting weaker. Chloroform. You get one look at the sky above you and then all you could see is black.

—————

You hear chimes. The beautiful sound of chimes and it brings you back to a distant memory of your childhood. Suddenly, your in your mother’s arms, sitting on the porch as she rocks you along in her favorite chair. She’s telling you stories of great women in history: Joan of Arc, Harriet Tubman, Sojourner Truth. The autumn breeze gently kisses your skin, pushing the chimes into making its music. You were so happy.

The chimes in the distance grew louder and louder until it was too hard to ignore and you’re jolted awake. Your eyes open to an unfamiliar setting. You were in a room of a log cabin home.

You attempted to sit up to check your surroundings when you noticed that your hands and feet were tied to the bed posts. You immediately began to thrash around and whine when your memories of what happened prior washed over you.

The door to the room opens, revealing a tall gray-haired man. Your captor. He looks down at you almost as if he’s sorry for you, sitting at the corner of the bed.

“Who the fuck are you?!” You scream. “Why am I here?”

“You can call me ‘Papa’. I’m your family now. And you’re here because…this is your home.”

You shook your head. “Are you fucking crazy? Let me go!”

“I can’t do that, my belle,” He says, leaning in to caress your face which causes you to quickly pull away. “Papa never abandons his loved ones. You’ll be happy here. You wouldn’t wish for a place anywhere from here once you get used to it. Especially once you meet your siblings. But before we do that…I have some rules. Just a few rules that everyone must follow or else…Papa will be very upset.”

“I don’t care for your rules,” You say through gritted teeth. “Let. Me. FUCKING. GO!”

“Rule 1…Absolutely no profanity of any sort under this roof. You’re new to our family. So I will let you off on a warning just this time. But now you know the rule so there are no excuses,” He smiles. “Rule 2: You must never step into Papa’s study unless you have permission from me and me only. Rule 3: Everyone must treat one another with respect. We are a loving family and we do not tolerate any fighting. Rule 4: Papa knows what’s best. Do as Papa says. Rule 5: No one goes outside unless Papa permits so. And finally Rule 6: No technology of any sort. Follow these simple rules and we’ll have a splendid time together. But break them…and you’ll be punished accordingly. Okay, belle?”

“My name isn’t belle. My name is Y/n and I want to go home!” You sob.

“You. ARE. Home.”

You thrash around again, cursing him and spitting. He lunges for your throat and squeezes. He was surprisingly strong for his tall, lanky frame. You can feel him crushing your windpipe enough for your to begin gasping out loud, wanting to claw at his hands but your wrists were bound.

“I told you the rules, belle,” He whispers darkly. “I can make this a very ugly experience for you. Trust me. I am going to let you go. But you must promise that you will be on your best behavior here on out. Do you understand?”

You nod frantically, eyes pleading. He squeezes even tighter one last time before he finally releases, causing you to rip away from him. You were coughing uncontrollably, tears pouring from your eyes.

“That’s a good girl. Now are you ready to meet your new siblings? I have a girl. She’s only 12 but she is very bright. She’s been needing a mother figure. And I have a boy, not much older than you. He’s never been around women his age. He might be a little shy at first,” He chuckles before clapping with excitement. “Oh, they’re so excited to meet you. They even practiced something to perform for you. I’ll call them in. Stay put.” He winks before exiting the room.

You resume your struggling, crying out. Was this supposed to be your life now? No. You needed to survive. Get out of this freak show. But how exactly were you supposed to that?

Papa enters the room with the little girl that was sat in the backseat. She, now, hid behind the man. There was also a tall young man with pale skin, neatly groomed blonde hair and white clothing. He bore an innocent smile that somehow felt sinister in its intentions. Neither of them looked alike. You assumed he must’ve kidnapped them, too.

“Belle, I’d like for you to meet my son, One.” Papa introduces.

One bows in his greeting to you. “Pleasure meeting you.”

He also speaks in that same polite and formal manner. Like he was a lot older than his age.

“And this little shy princess here is my daughter, Eleven.” Papa says, tugging her sleeve to bring her around in front of him. He rests his hands on her shoulders, lowering to whisper something to her.

“H-hi.” Eleven stutters.

“Don’t you two have something to show our new family member?” Papa asks, smiling brightly.

One and Eleven exchange looks before nodding. One whispers something to Eleven. Grabbing the glass of water from the bedside table, One holds it out on one palm as Eleven concentrates on it.

“As if this situation couldn’t get any weirder.” You thought to yourself.

You’ve spoken too soon. The glass begins to lift off his hand, floating in midair. It appears to be following the little girl’s movements as she turns over to you. The glass begins to float in your direction. It hovers over you, you staring at it in both awe and terror. It lowers and tips just near your mouth.

“How kind! Eleven is offering you some water,” Papa says. You just stare at the glass causing Papa to clear his throat impatiently. “It would be rude not to drink, belle.”

You reluctantly lift your head, eyes searching the room before your lips touch the glass and slurp a sip of the water. You didn’t realize how thirsty you were until the first drop hit your tongue. You eagerly drank until the glass suddenly fell from the air, spilling all over your abdomen and lap.

“Oh no! I’m sorry.” The girl says, lowering her head in shame.

“That’s quite alright, dear. You did amazing! Belle was sooo impressed. She isn’t angry at all. We’ll just get her cleaned right up.” Papa says, petting the girl’s head.

The girl looks up at the man and you notice her nose bleeding. Her eyes begin to blink rapidly and her legs give out. The older man catches her in time.

“You’ve used a lot of your energy for that. It shows how much you care for your new sister. Let’s clean you up for dinner. One…will you please help out with Belle? Get her into some of your clean clothes until I purchase some new clothing for her tomorrow.”

“Yes, Papa.” One nods.

The older man leaves and One stalks his way over to you with his hands out causing you to shift to the side to avoid any touching.

“Stay away from me.” You hiss.

He sighs. “Would you rather stay in those wet clothes? I’m sure it’s very cold against your skin.”

“Don’t touch me.”

“I’m only trying to help,” He groans, looking back to make sure no one hears. “You want to survive here, then you must comply. No back talk. No fighting. Simply follow the rules. Then, you won’t be tied up.”

You stare into his eyes not being able to read anything in them. What is his deal?

“Okay.” You give in.

“I’m going to untie one limb at a time to remove your clothing. Remember…no fighting.”

You nod. “Just don’t be pervy about it.”

He chuckles. “I can assure you. I am not that kind of guy.”

He unties your first arm, trying to pull your tank top over your head. It was then you remembered that you hadn’t worn a bra underneath.

“Wait!” You panic.

“What’s wrong?”

“I-I’m not wearing a bra.” You say, blushing.

“So?”

“So…my breasts will be on full display.”

“Were you not a sex worker? This should be nothing to you?”

You seethe. “First off, I am entitled to who is allowed to see my body. Secondly, I usually receive payment before showing them.”

“I promise you I will only do what was ordered of me and nothing more. You have my word. I should apologize for these circumstances, however. It does get better. Now may I resume?”

“Urgh, fine. Just make it quick.”

He removes one side of your shirt, sliding it down your other arm. Your freed nipples harden at the immediate contact with the air. You hoped he hadn’t noticed. Judging by his facial expressions, he seemed unbothered, simply going about the task as if it were a normal thing.

One makes his way to untie the other hand and remove your tank top completely off you. He goes into the drawer beside the bed for something for you to wear. You take this opportunity to sit up and quickly untie your legs. He spots this in the corner of his eyes, climbing on top of you and pinning your hands above your head.

“What did I say about fighting?” He threatens.

“Worth a shot.” You say.

It was a compromising position. Him, on top of your half naked body with your hands above your head. You were so familiar with this position through your work. Male clients loving to do it as a sign of dominance. It usually has an unsatisfying ending.

One’s warm breath ghosts the skin on your neck and it isn’t any help, only making you think more of the sinful deed. You cringe, shaking your thoughts.

“One! Dinner’s nearly finished. Please have Belle ready to join us.” Papa calls out.

“I’ll let go. Just please don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

“Okay, but let me undress on my own.”

“No. Once the shirt’s on, I’ll be tying your hands again.”

“What about dinner? Will I be tied up then, too?”

“Yes, only until Papa could trust you.”

You groan. “Let me, at least, undress on my own. Then, you could tie me up all ya want.”

Also, something I’ve said in compromising situations.

“Alright, don’t make me regret this or we’ll both be in trouble.” One says as he unties your feet.

You stand up, stretching. It felt like you’d been in that position forever. You weren’t sure how much time passed since you were taken but the concept of time seems to not be a thing around here.

They don’t even have technology. No cellphones, laptops, or tablets. This is hell.

You lower your drenched skirt along with the pantyhose. You were now only in a thong, you glance over your shoulder to see if One was watching. He’s averted his gaze. You must’ve imagined it but…there seemed to be a sizeable bulge growing between his legs. He notices you looking at him and quickly places a hand over it as a cover.

You smirk. ‘Not that kind of guy’. Yeah, right.

“Well, aren’t you going to hand me some clothes?”

“Y-yes,” He holds out an oversized white T-shirt. “I’m not sure I’ll have bottoms that will fit your…erm…bottom.”

Was that his way of letting me know that my ass is fat?

You bite your bottom lip to stifle a giggle.

“The shirt will fit you almost like a dress since you’re shorter than I.” One explains.

“I guess this will do,” You roll your eyes before pulling the shirt over your head and smoothing it on. “Let’s hope your Papa isn’t as much of a perv as you.”

“I-I am not.” He blushes.

—————

Dinner was as insufferable as it was awkward. The man who calls himself “Papa” would not stop talking about his discoveries at his job. Aside from your boredom, the others seemed to be enamored by the tales.

All you could think of was trying to loosen the knots on the rope. You were tied tightly to the dining room chair, having to be force fed by One. Every now and then, he’d give you the eye to remind you not to fight back. So, half-heartedly, you obliged taking in the mouthfuls of a casserole concoction you weren’t familiar with what exactly were the ingredients.

“Belle, are you enjoying your meal?” Papa smiles, taking another bite.

You look at One who gives you a subtle nod. “It’s good.” You simply say.

“I’m so glad! After dinner, we’re going to have family game night. It’ll be fun now that we can go in teams. It’ll be me and the little princess and you and One.”

“What game, Papa?” Eleven asks, excitedly.

“Scrabble! We could go on and practice some new vocabulary that you’ve learned, El.”

“Do we get a reward when we win?” One asks.

“You and your rewards,” Papa laughs. “Okay, I’ll entertain a wager. What would you like as your reward should you win?”

“To go outside.” He gives a small smile.

“Hmm, alright you can. But if I win…next movie night will be my pick. Deal?” Papa says, holding out his hand for One to shake.

“Deal.” They shake hands, firmly.

You are dumbfounded. That easily he’ll let you two go outside if you win. You’ll win with flying colors. Having doctors as parents, they knew a plethora of words and were certain to teach you them. Once you win, you can run outside and get far away from this godforsaken place.

Your smile’s wide.

“Oh, look, children. Belle looks so happy.”

Indeed, I am.

[prosciuttulipa]

Congrats on your follower milestone! I’m a new follower, but I’d like to join if that’s ok 🥰

May I have a male matchup from Jujutsu Kaisen and a text conversation with my match? 💕

I’m a hard worker who tends to be friendly, cheerful, and a bit eccentric. I’m methodical and relentless in my approach to puzzles and issues that need to be resolved. Also, I work in medicine, so I often need to remain calm and collected to lead during emergencies.

I love children, science, cats, movies (especially sci-fi, fantasy, or horror), video games, snowy/rainy weather, coffee, the whole Fall season, tabletop games (like D&D), and music. My hobbies are gardening, cooking/baking, reading, and singing. I dislike rude people, spiders, hot weather, raw tomatoes, laziness, and disorganization.

My love language is a tie between acts of service and quality time. I show others love through acts of service, and I am notorious for baking or cooking for people to show my affection.

Green flags would include good communication, honesty, and sincerity. Insulting me or not trusting me would be an instant deal breaker.

I’m short, blonde, and curvy. My fashion taste is very “witchy” or whimsigoth.

Congratulations, you have been matched with...

Nanami Kento

Nanami doesn't date for fun, he dates to marry. Everyone around him knows that, so whoever he decides to give his time to is someone he considers a match made in heaven. And when he finally decides to introduce you? Oh, they understand.

With no exaggeration or artifice, Kento considers you the perfect woman. He respects your diligent work ethic—it parallels his own—and your ability to stay calm during crisis. Although he's more than happy to play hero for his love, he has to admit that it's comforting to know you can hold your own if he can't immediately rush to your side. But at the end of the day, Kento is a traditional man: if you let him, he'll earn the money for the household, make sure the tedious work is taken care of, so you can do what you want without a worry. As a result, it's no surprise that your more stereotypically feminine interests make his heart flutter. He adores how you love children and cats, the songs you hum as you tend to your garden, the countless baked goods you leave for him on the kitchen counter. He wants to protect this bubble of love and domesticity, this glimpse into what will hopefully be a married life with you. He works harder than ever at work, determined to earn as much money and time to spend with you as possible.

Acts of Service and Quality Time are also Kento's love languages, which means that both of you are apt at recognising the gestures of love you offer each other. It becomes a playful competition every now and then, to see who can do more for the other, until you two fall into a heap on the sofa, giggling at your shared childishness. Movie nights are a staple in your household, and he happily watches your pick of sci-fi and fantasy. He doesn't care for horror, unsure why you like being frightened—but he enjoys it when you burrow against him, brushing your hair to calm you down.

Dates with Nanami include baking together, going out to restaurants he recommends, and boardgame nights. He likes doing things you enjoy—a happy wife is a happy life, after all.

The Matchmaker's Gift:

[pocasu]

dear diary today i got mad about people memeifying squid game again

[aion-rsa]

Bo Burnham: Inside Songs Ranked from Worst to Best

https://ift.tt/2JMbiJl

The musical of the summer was supposed to be a life-affirming celebration of one of New York’s most vibrant neighborhoods, full of color, romance, and big group dance numbers. Instead for many viewers, the musical of the moment was filmed and performed by one man, alone in isolation from the comfort (or discomfort, really) of his own home, with songs centered on techno paranoia, mental health, and the fear of aging. Maybe after a year stuck in their homes, audiences could relate to the existential dread and general anxiety on display in Bo Burnham: Inside more than a conventional movie musical.

Billed as a stand-up special, Burnham’s latest musical comedy endeavor finds the former wunderkind holed up and feeling more uncomfortable than ever. Writing, editing, directing, and performing from a claustrophobic studio, Burnham’s stand-up special skews more toward being a straight-up musical, and not because the special is light on jokes and missing an audience. Rather this has all the hallmarks of a musical narrative and plays closer to experimental cinema than sketch comedy.

Burnham expresses his characters’ inner-thoughts, fears, and desires via song throughout a contained narrative, in this case the narrative being one man trying to occupy himself during a pandemic. It has ballads, charm songs, comedy numbers, “I Am” and “I Want” songs, and a big reprise. By capturing his personal pandemic experience and putting the whole affair to song, Burnham has created one of the most compelling (and catchy!) accounts of life during 2020.

To celebrate the musical that we all needed after a year in our homes, we’ve decided to rank every song from Bo Burnham: Inside. You can stream along via the Inside (The Songs) album on the streaming platform of your choice.

20. I Don’t Wanna Know

Merely an interlude, “I Don’t Wanna Know” doesn’t quite work outside of watching the special itself. However, it is a clever way to address the fact that modern audiences do not have the attention span to sit through a film at home without checking their phone or complaining about a runtime.

19. Bezos II

While certainly meant to poke fun at the real-life Lex Luthor, it’s not that fun to listen to Bezos’ name repeated. Stil, Burnham does elicit a few laughs with his over-the-top mock congratulations. “You did it!”

18. Any Day Now

A Sesame Street-like mantra that plays over the credits, “Any Day Now” suggests this could all end either hopefully soon or on a depressingly vague far-off date that will never come. We’d like to think it’s the former, but it’s safe to assume what Bo thinks.

17. All Time Low

While this number gets docked points for its short runtime, it absolutely packs a punch with its four-line, single verse. After Bo admits that his mental health is rapidly deteriorating, he describes what it’s like to have a panic attack set to a chipper ‘80s dance backbeat. Unfortunately, we don’t get to ride the wave long enough, and judging lyrics, that’s probably a good thing for Bo.

16. Content

This strong opening number musically sets the vibe for Inside, letting us know that we’re in for some synth-heavy throwback beats that would be best listened to underneath a disco ball.  Also incorporating silly backing vocals, a hallmark of many of Inside’s best tracks, Burnham declares he’s back with some sweet, sweet content. “Daddy made you your favorite,” he sings, and he ain’t wrong. 

15. Bezos I

Unlike the reprise in “Bezos II,” “Bezos I” gets by off its increasingly deranged energy, with Burnham roasting fellow tech billionaires and working himself up into a manic frenzy by song’s end. Musically, it sounds like the soundtrack to an intense boss battle on a Sega Genesis game before ending with a sick little synth solo and Burnham hilarious squawking. It’s arguably the only acceptable thing that Bezos has ever been associated with.

14. Unpaid Intern

While “Unpaid Intern” is one of Inside’s shortest tracks, it absolutely makes the most of its time. The jazzy tune scorches the exploitative nature of unpaid internships before Burnham breaks out into a laugh-out-loud worthy scat routine. It unfortunately ends too soon.

13. Shit

Inside’s funkiest jam sounds like Burnham wrote the lyrics for a new Janelle Moane album cut. Bo show’s off his vocal dexterity and plumbs the depths of his depression in a surprisingly danceable fashion. Throwing in a little faux crowd interaction helps bring home the fact that we have all felt like this at one point or another during the pandemic.

12. Sexting

This slow-jam details the complications of sexting, throwing out hilariously too-true punchlines like “the flash makes my dick look frightened.” “Sexting” feels like one of a few songs that could most easily appear on previous Burnham specials. Proving that Inside’s musical textures do not come exclusively from ’80s synth pop, the outro of the song expertly mirrors modern pop trends by throwing in some trap-influenced “yahs” at the end of Bo’s lines.

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11. How the World Works

Influenced by comedian Hans Teeuwen and children’s entertainment in general, “How the World Works” finds Burnham going back to the well by playing the ignorant, smarmy white guy who is oblivious of the real issues plaguing nonwhite Americans. What’s even better though is Socko calling Burnham out on forcing others to educate him for his own self-actualization instead of doing the work on his own for the betterment of others.

Socko pointedly asks “Why do you rich f—— white people insist on seeing every socio-political conflict through the myopic lens of your own self-actualization?” Not to keep things too heavy, the song ends with an absurdist bit where Burnham returns Socko to the nether place that he goes when he’s not attached to Burnham’s hand. Scathing and bizarre, it’s a great piece of social commentary. 

10. FaceTime With My Mom

While most of the music of Inside feels directly transported from the 1980s, “FaceTime With My Mom” seems only inspired by the past decade’s musical trends, updating the sounds in much of the same way that the Weeknd and Dua Lipa have. This is Bo Burnham as a hitmaker, and his attempt is convincing. “FaceTime With My Mom” earns easy laughs by getting to the seemingly specific, yet universal things that all our moms do over video chat. 

9. Goodbye

Every good musical needs a good closing track, and Burnham nails it with “Goodbye,” pulling off a reprise that weaves in many of the special’s signature musical moments and touches on the special’s core themes. A forlorn piano ballad before it soars through Inside’s best motifs, “Goodbye” caps a triumphant musical achievement, coming back to “Look Who’s Inside Again” just to punch you in the gut one last time. 

8. Problematic

Addressing his past work and some aspects that have not aged well, while also skewering celebrity apologies, “Problematic” is self-aware critique by way of an ‘80s workout bop. From the specific Aladdin confession to the overall apology for being “vaguely shitty,” Bo has never made accountability sound so good.

7. That Funny Feeling

This is Bo Burnham’s version of Father John Misty’s “Holy Shit,” a laundry list of all the stupid things that are signaling the fall of culture and civilization as we know it. If Misty hadn’t gotten there first, we may have had this one ranked higher. Still, Burnham manages to come up with a sticky chorus that you’ll be humming the next time something makes you feel like you’re living in the uncanny valley.

6. White Woman’s Instagram

Perhaps the special’s most playful moment, “White Woman’s Instagram” uses the musical cues of an inspiring empowerment anthem to poke fun at the predictably, perfectly curated feed of a “girl boss” Instagram. The song is greatly enhanced by the accompanying visuals, which find Bo recreating the meticulously staged and glamorous portraits that women pass off as their everyday lives.

However, Bo always likes to sneak in some sentimentality, and imagines a genuinely heartfelt post to his white woman character’s deceased mother. Don’t worry, the emotional moment doesn’t overstay its welcome, and we’re soon back to laughing at horribly derivative political street art.

5. All Eyes on Me

The droning synth and pitch-down vocals make “All Eyes On Me” oddly hypnotic and beautiful. The song seems to be addressing Bo’s depression along with his need for validation and attention, a juxtaposition that many performers deal with. It becomes clear that Burnham isn’t addressing an invisible audience, but himself, trying to will himself up and out of his dreary mental state.

4.  Look Who’s Inside Again

A classic “I Am” musical song, “Look Who’s Inside Again” just may be Inside’s most emotionally resonant track that seems to hit closest to who Bo Burnham was and who he is today. This is the song that I will most likely regret the most for ranking so low.

“Well, well, look who’s inside again. Went out to look for a reason to hide again,” perfectly describes the cycle of depression and will, for me, be the special’s most lasting moment. The downbeat ending “come out with your hands up, we’ve got you surrounded” is heartbreaking enough to send a shudder down your spine.

3. Comedy

The special’s real first number is absolutely packed with hooks, from the “Call me and I’ll tell you a joke” bridge to the “Should I be joking at a time like this?” change-up. This is Bo really flexing how far he’s come as a musician, expertly utilizing autotune and a key change (us “stupid motherf***ers” can’t resist them).

“Comedy” also finds Bo comfortably in the lane that we’re most used to seeing him in, playing the egomaniacal white messiah with a wink. “Comedy” is the tone-setter and it’s so good that it lets you know that you’re in good hands for the next hour plus.

2. 30

Either I’m ranking this song too highly due to its personally relatable nature or the fact that I haven’t been able to get “All my stupid friends are having stupid children” out of my head, but I really don’t care. “30” is Inside’s biggest earworm and addresses the existential terror that comes with no longer getting pats on the back for being a young wunderkind.

“30” also examines generational differences, showing how 30 year-old people are more infantile than ever. However, at the end of the day it all comes back to those shimmering keys and that irresistible refrain. Apologies to my friends with children.

1. Welcome to the Internet

No matter how deep and emotionally rich some of Inside’s other tracks may be, “Welcome to the Internet” is the one that will live on the longest. If this were a traditional musical, this would the antagonists’ showstopper; a vaudevillian romp through the alluring chaos that is the internet. Speeding up and slowing down the pace to mirror the manic, addictive nature of surfing the net, Burnham pitches the negative aspects of online culture as they are: a feature, not a bug. Promising “a little bit of everything all of the time,” “Welcome to the Internet” is almost as enticing as the dark tool itself.

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[lilyvandersteen]

Out of the Blue: Chapter 4

Cover art: @redheadgleek​

Beta extraordinaire: @hkvoyage​

Links: AO3, FF.net

Author’s Note:

Snarky Kurt is coming out to play... Ooh, Blaine, you picked the wrong person to anger!

Chapter 4: Called Out

“There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me.”

(An excerpt from Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen)

Kurt was quick to welcome their guest of honor, who’d apparently brought his BROTHER to the wedding -hmm… Did that mean he was single at the moment?

One quick look confirmed that Mr. Anderson was still the handsomest man in all of North America. And if the rumors were true, he dated men as well as women, so Kurt actually stood a chance with him. Therefore, he made sure to mention he was single and very available while bringing him to the brides and officially introducing them.

Kurt adjusted his cravat and checked his coif while Mr. Anderson was congratulating the brides, and then graciously accepted Mr. Anderson’s praise of the decorations as he steered him up the fire escape and towards the circle of chairs they’d set up for the ceremony.

“It’s going to be pretty informal, as you can tell,” Kurt said, “Santana didn’t want to make a big production of it. Wanted nothing stiff or formulaic. That’s just not them.”

Mr. Anderson grinned. “I’ll like it all the better for that.”

Kurt shot him a quick smile and dashed off to Elliott to tell him to start the ceremony, sent Rachel over to Artie for the procession song, warned Tina to start taking pictures and then told bridesmaids Mercedes and Quinn as well as Britt and San to walk to their assigned spot.

As Rachel sang “The First Time I Saw Your Face”, the brides walked into the circle hand in hand and smiling – Brittany widely and Santana tremulously. Tina’s camera shutter clicked at a fierce pace, and Kurt stood there taking it all in for a moment, his throat thick with emotion.

Then he jumped back into action, taking the ring box out of his inside pocket and tying the rings around the necks of Lord and Lady Tubbington. Carrying their basket, he moved to stand next to Elliott.

Brittany and Santana’s vows made Kurt tear up, and by the many sniffles in the audience, he knew he wasn’t the only one affected.

Thankfully, the cats were as good as gold and stayed put throughout the ceremony, and when the right moment came, he held out Lady Tubbington to San for Brittany’s ring and Lord Tubbington to Britt for Santana’s ring.

After taking the ring off of his neck, Britt pulled Lord Tubbington closer and kissed his head.

“Oh, was that supposed to be the groom?” Elliott quipped. “Then we’ll need to start over!”

The terrace rang with laughter, and Lord Tubbington wriggled out of Kurt’s arms and fled. Lady Tubbington followed suit, but seeing as their task was fulfilled, it didn’t matter much.

As soon as Brittany and Santana had shared their first kiss as wives, to loud applause, Kurt gestured to Rachel to follow him to the kitchen, where they arranged champagne glasses on trays and filled them with an excellent spumante Kurt had found in Little Italy. Kurt got out the first batch of hors d’oeuvres, too, and they went around the terrace with their offerings.

Mr. Billionaire Anderson did not seem snobbish in the least, eating Kurt’s finger food with relish and complimenting him on the spumante, even asking to write down its name and where he got it.

When Kurt brought out his masterpiece, a three-tiered wedding cake decorated with rainbows and unicorns, as per Brittany’s request, Mr. Anderson whooped and hollered the loudest of them all, and his moan when he started eating cake made the tips of Kurt’s ears redden. He left only crumbs on his plate, and clamored for seconds, which Kurt hurried to give him, beaming.

                        Now that everyone was on their second piece of cake, Kurt took a minute to eat something himself. There wasn’t much left of the hors d’oeuvres, but what there was, Kurt decimated in seconds, and he ate one of the marzipan unicorns as dessert.

He took a glass of spumante to wash everything down in style, and surveyed the party with satisfaction. Yes, he had done it once again. The wedding was a resounding success. Now there was only the first dance to go, but that was up to Britt and San themselves.

Kurt made another round to fill up the guests’ glasses again, and then told the brides to get ready for their dance, Mercedes and Artie to sing, and Tina to catch all the magical moments on camera.

“Oh, I LOVE this part!” Rachel whispered loudly in his ear as she wound her arms around his waist.

Kurt kissed her head and hugged her back as they both watched their friends shine in their first dance.

“Look how happy they are,” Rachel sniffled. “Ah, this is amazing!”

“It is,” Kurt agreed. “Worth all the work and then some.”

“True. Though I’m going to dance a bit before I start on clean-up duty.”

“All right, then. Off you go, Miss Berry! But you will help me later!”

Laughing at her grimace, he pushed her towards the dance floor and then picked up the cake tray to wrap up what was left and put it in the fridge.

The party went on, and his friends took turns claiming the microphone for a song, until Santana took it to give a speech, thanking her wife for her promise of forever, thanking the guests for coming to witness their union, and thanking Kurt nicely for all his work organizing the wedding. He sent her an air kiss, and she half-laughed, half-sobbed, overcome with emotion.

He’d just stepped towards San to give her a hug when another voice piped up. Mr. Anderson’s brother. And for some reason, he was LIVID, accusing Britt and San of faking a wedding to swindle his brother out of an expensive gift, seeing as their family wasn’t even there, ranting and raving at the fake brides for taking advantage of his brother that way, and taking advantage of their friend to organize the whole event, too. He dissed all of Kurt’s careful wedding planning and hard work, pronouncing everything too cheap for an actual wedding.

Brittany shrank away from the venom in the guy’s voice, and even Santana seemed tongue-tied for a moment. The rest of Kurt���s friends, who had all been dancing and laughing a minute ago, now stood staring at the younger Mr. Anderson in shocked silence.

Kurt, however, felt his hackles rise. No way was this guy going to ruin everything at the eleventh hour. No way!

He fixed the man with a glare and gritted out, “Way to make snap judgments, Mr. Snob! For your information, Santana’s family is homophobic. As in, they don’t approve of her choice of spouse. They threw her out when she told them she was in love with Brittany, and are still expecting her to come to her senses and marry a man. Santana was crying this morning because her abuela wasn’t going to attend her wedding, so thank you very much for opening that wound again.”

The Andersons’ eyes flitted to Santana, who swallowed with difficulty and looked down. Brittany put her head on Santana’s shoulder and squeezed her hand in sympathy.

“And Brittany’s parents told her only last week that they’re getting a divorce,” Kurt continued. “She was so mad at them that she uninvited them to the wedding. And she’s the only child of two only children, and her grandparents are dead, so no other family. Any more questions?”

Mr. Snob rubbed his hand over his neck, his animosity all but gone. “I guess… I guess I just don’t see why people would tie the knot when they’re only twenty years old. That’s something for when you’re settled, not when you’re barely starting out.”

Kurt chuckled. “Believe me, I told them exactly the same thing when they came to me and asked if I’d plan their wedding. But they said they were sure of each other, and they didn’t want to wait. So I agreed, and made it as fabulous a small, low-budget wedding as I possibly could.”

“You did a wonderful job!” Mr. Anderson boomed, clapping Kurt on the shoulder. “This place looks like a dream, the brides are gorgeous, the ceremony was perfect, the music is lit, and I never had better hors d’oeuvres in my life. And the wedding cake! Beautiful AND scrumptious! If you ever plan a wedding again, do invite me, will you?”

Other guests chimed in with praise for Kurt as well, and soon they were all laughing and chatting and dancing again.

Kurt sent Mr. Anderson a small smile, grateful to him for defusing the tension, and then focused on Mr. Snob again. “Your assessment of me was spot-on, though, bravo. Yes, I’m the pathetic single gay who lives vicariously through his friends. Yes, I’d rather focus on their romance than fail at it myself. So far I’ve planned a wedding for my father and stepmother, for my show choir teacher and the school counselor, and now for Santana and Brittany. Because it made me happy to see them happy. And maybe that makes me a silly romantic, but it’s certainly better than thinking yourself far above anyone and being sarcastic and mean.”

Mr. Snob bit his lip and lowered his eyes for a moment, then looked Kurt straight in the eye and said, “You’re right. I was in a bad mood, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on all of you. I’m sorry.”

Kurt nodded coolly. “Apology accepted.”

Mr. Anderson put his arm around Kurt’s shoulder. “Do you know, I wouldn’t even have cared if this wedding were fake! Blaine can say what he wants, but you throw a damn good party, worth every cent of the gifts we brought! So, I’m serious, any event you’re planning in the future, send me word of it and I’ll be there.”

Kurt smiled wider at him this time. “I promise I will.”

Then he leaned in and whispered into Mr. Anderson’s ear, “And if you want to help things along, encourage Sam to propose to Mercedes. He’s been thinking and talking about it for ages, but he never makes a move. They’re over there, both of them.”

Kurt surreptitiously pointed to Sam and Mercedes so that Mr. Anderson would know whom he was talking about.

Mr. Anderson winked at Kurt and whispered back, “On it!” He sauntered back to the dance floor, bowed for Mercedes and swept her away in a quickstep.

Sam, who’d been dancing with his girlfriend until Mr. Anderson cut in, glared at his perceived rival.

Kurt grinned, and granted Mr. Snob (Blaine, apparently) only the merest glance before turning his back on him and starting to collect empty glasses and plates to take them to the kitchen. The guy was back to looking sullen, but Kurt didn’t give a hoot about that. He could sulk the whole night through, as far as Kurt was concerned.

Only, he didn’t. On his second run to the kitchen, laden with plates and trays, Kurt felt a presence behind him, and suddenly, his load was a lot lighter. Blaine had taken half of the stack and was carrying it to the sink.

“Where’s your dishwasher?” Blaine asked.

Kurt snorted. “None of that here. We wash up by hand. And by that I mean I wash up, nine times out of ten. The girls only help out when I force them to.”

“I’ll help,” Blaine offered.

Kurt quirked an eyebrow at him. “You’re a guest. The snooty kind that finds fault with every detail of the wedding I planned. Why on earth would you help me out now?”

Blaine had the grace to blush. “Hey, I said I was sorry. I was out of line, and I’m trying to make up for it. Throw me a bone, would you?”

Kurt stared at him until he started to squirm, and only then did he say, “All right, then. You wash, I’ll dry.”

They worked together in companionable silence, Blaine softly singing to himself as he scrubbed and rinsed. Meanwhile, the party petered out around them, and one by one, Kurt’s friends said their goodbyes and left.

Once the dishes were done, Kurt thanked his helper and offered him another piece of wedding cake as a reward. They sat down on the sofa and ate their cake.

Kurt felt his eyes droop, and hoped he wouldn’t have to stay up much longer. He wanted to lie down and sleep for a week on end.

He woke abruptly, because he got jostled and his head lost its comfortable pillow all of a sudden.

“Uhm, wha?” said a voice very close to him.

Kurt blinked his eyes open and found that he had fallen asleep against Blaine, who had dozed off too, if his slow reaction and slurring speech were any indication.

“You coming, squirt?”

“Don’t call me squirt,” Blaine snapped, rubbing his eyes like a five-year-old.

“Aw, Blainey, why are you still tetchy? You just got to spend some time alone with a gorgeous guy.”

Blaine rolled his eyes. “Washing the dishes.”

“You know what Nana used to say.”

“Yeah. ‘Share your life with someone you like doing chores with.’”

“And did you like it?”

Blaine blushed and lowered his eyes. Oh, wow, he had beautiful long lashes. In his own way, he was quite as handsome as his brother. While washing the dishes, he’d been singing under his breath, and his voice was lovely. And he’d washed the dishes efficiently and without complaint. Pity he was such a curmudgeon.

Mr. Anderson waggled his eyebrows until Blaine let out a plaintive “Cooooop!!”

“Blaaaaaaaine!!”

“Okay, let’s go before you embarrass me even more. And keep it down, will you. Don’t wake Kurt. He must be exhausted.”

Blaine’s eyes swept from Coop to Kurt, and he visibly started when he saw that Kurt had woken up.

“Too late for that,” Kurt drawled, sitting up. “But I can always go right back to sleep.”

Blaine looked shocked. “You don’t want to move to your bed?”

Kurt shook his head. “Nope. Whenever Britt stays over, she and San get my bed, and I sleep on the sofa. Usually, San sleeps here, but it doesn’t fit two people. When Britt stops touring with Mercedes, San and Britt will look for their own place, but for now, this works.”

Blaine bit his lip. “You know sleeping on a sofa is bad for your back, right?”

“Oh yeah. I don’t know how San has dealt with it for so long. One night here and I’m stiff and aching all over for a week.”

“So why don’t you buy an extra bed? Or at least a decent sofa bed?”

Kurt shrugged. “It’s on the list.”

“What list?”

“The list of things we need to save up for.”

Blaine raised an eyebrow. “Why did you ask for a 25K pet pavilion for your cats as a wedding gift when you can’t even afford decent beds for yourself?”

There he went again, Sir Judgy McJudge-a-Lot! He did have a point, though.

Kurt grimaced. “The cat stuff was all Brittany’s idea. We should never have let her compile the registry. We didn’t notice what kind of silly stuff she’d asked for until after your brother had bought the pet pavilion. It’s a stupid waste of money, I quite agree. If you’d like your money back, you can cancel that gift. Please do. We’ve been feeling awful about it.”

Wasn’t that the truth…

Blaine seemed slightly mollified, but still continued his questioning. “Also, if you have no money for something as basic as a bed, where did you get the dough to plan a wedding?”

Kurt flushed. Rude much? “I did a lot of it myself. I also called in a lot of favors, and borrowed stuff. And we all worked extra shifts.”

Blaine nodded, seemingly accepting this explanation. Insufferable snob!

“Well, you did a wonderful job!” Mr. Anderson boomed. “I had a splendid time, so thank you very much! And Brittany can keep the pavilion for her lovely cats. Don’t you worry your pretty heads about that!”

Kurt got up from the sofa and shook hands with Mr. Anderson. “Mr. Anderson, thank you for coming.”

“Oh, please call me Cooper. Or Coop for short. I hope to see you again soon for another party. And it’s ME who should thank YOU!”

Kurt smiled at Cooper, and then turned to Blaine. “Thank you for helping with the dishes.”

“It was my pleasure,” Blaine assured him. “And sorry again for my rant earlier. I was wrong.”

His earnestly repentant face made Kurt feel a bit guilty.

The brothers left with a smile and a wave. Kurt pulled at the heavy door to close it and then sank down against it, whispering, “You weren’t, though. You were absolutely right. We did it all for the presents.”

[thestudyfeels]

How To NOT Be Depressed.

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

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

Step aboard at your own risk.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Takeaway:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Takeaway: 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Takeaway:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Takeaway: 

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

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

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

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

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

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

1) Get yo’self a goddamn motto,

2) Know your “Why,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Takeaway: 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Takeaway: 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Peace, amigo.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🌚🌝 Further reading? 🌝🌚

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

— Nandini 💌 (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

[tiny-smallest]

nonfluent

Rating: T Characters: Gaster, Sans, Papyrus (barely, as he’s a wee infant) Warnings: mentions of child abuse (and nope not who you’re expecting either) Description: Good people don't always make good parents, even when they love their children. W. D. Gaster is no exception, though he does try. Oh, does he try.

Also on AO3!

I could have SWORN I uploaded this here but I suppose not? I can’t find it in my tags? So... enjoy this thing from roughly 2015-2016! Featuring scientist Dadster.

One more day.

He has to give it one more day.

Of endless numbers, of problems with solutions seemingly at his grasp, only to slip away at the last moment.

One more day of the endless hum of machines, of the blue paper of blueprints, and their white pencils, and terrible coffee.

He’s so tired, but he must give it one more day, at least, bare minimum, for he owes that much, especially to his own.

“daddy look i-”

“Not now, Sans.”

“but i can help, i can-” There’s a crash and he whirls around in his chair. The boy is on the floor, in a lab coat far too big for him (how did he even get it off the hook...?) surrounded by stacks of paper. Thank goodness he didn’t fall far or knock over anything important.

“Stop while you’re ahead. I brought you plenty of toys; please utilize them instead of destroying my workspace.”

Science is far too serious to allow for little bones running around willy-nilly trying to "help." A glance over his shoulder shows the child glaring at his “invention” of popsicle sticks and glue. Despite the fact that he is right, that such a devise is utterly useless to him, that he cannot allow Sans to simply run around the lab doing whatever he pleases...

There is a pang. He cannot keep doing this; the boy will be hurt. Surely there is something else he can do?

All problems (except the barrier) have a solution. Think. What is it that he can do here?

Wait. The lab coat. The invention. Sans wants to imitate him. Maybe there is something less dangerous he can imitate.

His eyes light on the tiny toy violin, a knickknack really, that a colleague had given him for his desk. A congratulations for a job well done at a piano recital long, long ago...

... Hm.

Music isn't going to save the world. Music isn’t going to get them past the barrier, if such a thing is possible. Music isn’t going to win the ensuing war. He should not be spending time on music, not when he has work to do, or sleep to catch a bit of.

But it's safe for little bones, so when he comes home that night, he finds their dusty old piano and spends a night fixing it.

Music is safe for little bones, and the act of cleaning it reminded him of the beauty of the instrument, and so every night, he can put aside hands shaking with fatigue and a mind berating him for slacking in order to pick his son up, and set him on his lap, and teach him a simple song.

The first song he teaches him is You Are My Sunshine. Sans listens, enthralled.

"Music is the language of emotion," he tells his small son as his long fingers guide his hands to the keys. Such tiny, delicate hands.

"And as with all emotion, sometimes it is the truth, and sometimes it's a lie. But this song, from me, will never be a lie."

He nods as if he understands, but he is so tiny. He cannot possibly understand.

That is fine. He will in time, and they’ve nothing but that.

Music cannot save the world, but that is okay too, he supposes. They can sing as tiny hands find their way to the proper keys, and he can smile at the small voice rising in harmony with his own.

Sans does not seem to have any interest in learning anything but that one song. But as long as his son is happy, and they can enjoy replaying this one every evening, everything is fine.

Someday little bones won’t be so little anymore, and he will teach him the proper way around a lab, but for now, this is how they’ll connect, and...

He is finding that chasing that endless answer is easier, that one more day is easier, if there is this to look forward to. Who knew such preciousness existed in this world? It was as if he had known on some level, protecting it, but was seeing it through a fogged window, never engaging with it.

Now that window is clear. And, as the days pass, he realizes that so is his conscious, too.

He is so bad at emotion when it comes to the language of normal speech.

"Wear your coat."

He never planned on having a child.

"Your vegetables are good for you."

He never planned on surviving to adulthood, truthfully.

"No, growing boys need sleep."

His parents had sucked the life from him, a drop a day, until the idea of spending decades in his own bones felt unbearable.

"Fine, one more story."

Open affection frightens him. He cannot stand touch.

"All right. One more song."

Even the words ‘I love you’ feel too much.

"You're grounded. No, I don't want to hear it; what you did was wrong."

As if the words themselves would peel away too much of his Soul, and reveal the shriveled underside.

"Here, I made you tuna fish today. And I included a ring pop. Please don't propose to the teacher again as a joke; I'll die of shame."

He cannot bear to do that.

"Your report card is wonderful. You did well. I see you excel in science."

But he finds other ways to tell him those three little words.

“That was beautifully played.”

He hopes it is enough.

It happened again it happened AGAIN.

One child was hard enough; now he has two!?

How could this experiment go so wrong!? As desperately as he runs the calculations, he can’t find an answer. Does the universe enjoy seeing him suffer? It’s the only reason it would give a man like him not one, but two gifts he does not deserve and can’t properly care for!

He struggles to breathe as the walls feel they close in on him. Smuggling the infant home proved to be an ungodly difficult challenge, not because the baby made noise, but because the trembling of his limbs would not cease. At least he managed it by some miracle, but his knees protest moving so much as another step once his front door closes behind him.

He looks so much like him.

That face shape must be so similar to what his own parents saw when-

No, no, he needs- he needs control again he needs to calm down he-

“daddy?”

He raises his head, staring, as Sans pads down the stairs in bunny slippers and a t-shirt with a pun on it. He hands the child to him quickly, struggling for breath.

“Take him to your room. He can share the bed with you.”

Sans doesn’t argue. Frightened eyes stare up at his father, then to the baby, and then he disappears upstairs and leaves Gaster to his shuddering breaths in front of the door.

Over the next few weeks, he prepares a room for the infant. A cradle, toys, infant safety measures. But the rest, and indeed, as much as possible, he leaves to Sans.

When the infant cries, Sans is there. When the infant is hungry, Sans, clever child, easily figures out how to feed him. Gaster supplies everything that’s needed, including a babysitter on school days, and Sans does the rest. He avoids both children... easy enough, with his workload.

The window isn’t foggy, but now, it is closed. Panic walls him in.

And, selfishly, he does nothing to stop it.

“why don’t you ever tell me you love me?”

Why are you in an unauthorized area in the middle of the school day asking such a deeply personal question?

But the words, thankfully, don’t leave his mouth. He is too busy staring at his son in a dumb stupor.

“where did i come from?”

“Why does any of that matter?” Oh, no; the wrong response. He knows as it falls from his mouth, but there’s no taking it back.

“because the kids at school say you’re a mad scientist and you made us. but if you made us you’d love us, right?”

Within seconds he tries to figure how schoolchildren could know his sons are the results of illegal experimentation, but for once, logic decides to remind the rest of him that paranoia has the wheel at the moment.

“but you never say you love us and you won’t stay with us.”

“I have a lot of work. And you, young man, have school.”

“it’s recess.”

“That doesn’t mean you can waltz off school grounds!”

“why not? you get to mix up kids in your stupid lab!”

This is not at all where he wants this going. He rubs his temples.

“Sans-”

“you don’t even listen to me play anymore! you missed my science fair! and i spend all my time with papyrus but you don’t take more than five minutes every day to check with us!”

“I said, I’m very busy.” The excuse is hollow. Sans is turning blue with fury and his eye is

glowing?

“that never mattered before! why does it matter now!?”

“I-”

“you didn’t want us, did you!? either of us! you don’t love us, so why did you make us!?”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“you didn’t mean to.” He had not meant it in the context Sans was taking it as. He had meant ‘I did not mean to be so awful, to make you wonder these things.’

But Sans... clever child... is beginning to realize another possibility to explain their existence.

“... we were an accident. that’s all we are to you. accidents.” He eyes his father with a look that chills him to his core, and as Sans turns and begins to stomp away, he finds his feet moving, an arm reaching for his son’s shoulder, no, wait, don’t go; he’s sor-

“get OFF OF ME!” Sans’s low voice rises to a shriek, and he whips around, eye surging with magic—why oh why had he given his son those abilities-

He grabs his Soul, he feels the PING more than he hears it, and the feeling of the metal floor beneath his feet being stolen away is frightening enough until he realizes his son still doesn’t know how to properly use that blue magic of his, does not know how easily the grip slips or the right amount of force to apply or-

And then suddenly, air whistles around him, and his son grows smaller and smaller as he falls, until the child is only a dot, and before the blinding agony overtakes him, he realizes that there will never be one more day; he will never get to give Papyrus those piano lessons or even teach Sans a new song, if he’d ever wanted to learn one, and now the window will close.

Forever.

[blankdblank]

Expecting

Self doubt, hurt/comfort story.

“If I was doing something wrong you would tell me, right?”

Meeting your eyes Dis’ head nodded while her heavy skirts settled around her through her abrupt stop and turn to face you bearing a concerned expression at what had stirred this feeling in the new Queen. Curling her hand around your upper arms she drew a comforting smile onto her face as she said, “Of course, y/n. What could have possibly made you think that you have done anything wrong?”

Drawing in a breath you glanced around spotting the group of Nobles that bowed their heads to you as they passed. Finally out of earshot your eyes met hers through your hushed tone, “It’s Thorin.” Raising her brow Dis flashed into protective mode, as she had done since the first time you had been named as her future Sister, to be protected from all, even the King. “He, well, since we.” Wetting your lips you continued after inching even closer to her, “He keeps giving me this look, and he didn’t before.” Shifting her head she caught the hint of tears attempting to fill your eyes.

Shifting her hands lower her thicker hands encased yours firmly with a comforting smile once again as she said, “I am certain you’ve done nothing wrong. Even Vili seemed different after our bond was consummated. Most Dwarf males behave strangely afterwards, it’s their way. He’ll relax into the change, to go from seeking your courtship and earning your love into sharing your daily lives together, along with the weight of the mountain. Not even mentioning Durin men tend to get moods, as you know, from the Journey.”

“It’s possible.” Lowering your eyes to your hands causing her to inhale.

“Why don’t we fetch some fresh fruit from the market and you can teach me that pie recipe you mentioned the other day?”

Nodding blankly you turned and led the way through the crowded halls while Dis’ arm wove through yours and her other hand gently rested on your elbow. Holding your silence until your paths crossed Thorin’s while he spoke to the small group of Council members joining him on a trip to one of the shops to speak with the workers there feuding with another shop across the hall. Turning his head you felt his stern gaze through a deepening expression for more analyzing and heartbreaking than any of the glares he’d cast your way through the journey. With your halting steps Dis’s eyes followed your gaze to her Brother as you muttered in a trembling tone, “That look.”

Through a stern glare of her own breaking through his focused gaze Thorin’s lips parted as he searched between you, catching the pained expression on your face while Dis quietly led you back through the halls to your private sitting room in the Royal Wing. Making sure to pass on a note to a fruit stand owner as she did, “Kindly fetch a bundle of the fresh fruit and berries on this list and deliver it up to the Royal Wing please.” 

One prompt bow later and you were off in separate directions. Making sure to take the straightest path back upstairs Dis quietly shooed all away who tried to approach you. Leading you through the maze of the Royal Wing until she had you settled in your favorite reading armchair and claimed the stool before you to grip your hands again. “Y/n. That look.” Wetting her lips she continued on, “Dwarf males, when they find their Ones they protect them fiercely. Hence the constant guard over you. Once the bond is sealed that doesn’t change, and after consummation they do change, that look included.”

“I don’t-.”

“It’s difficult for non-Dwarves to understand, but Children are the greatest gift Mahal grants us. So once a chance of bearing them is possible the men tend to, eye their Ones, in hopes of spotting any changes. They can normally tell before any test can, since we carry for years at a time.”

In a slightly disbelieving tone you asked, “He thinks I’m pregnant? It’s been three days!”

Weakly she chuckled and patted your hands curled in your lap, “I will have a word with him about it. He’s glaring far too much through it anyway, our harsh Durin gaze is not easy to get used to. Normally taken far worse than it is intended. I know he didn’t mean to upset you.”

Her gaze softened in concern through your quiet gasping sob while you choked out, “I just want so much to make him happy, and he looked at me like that, and I thought-” Through your breaking voice Dis rose and curled around you in a firm hug rubbing your back in a soothing motion until she’d convinced you to take a nap after helping you out of your heavy gown. Knowing full well the stress of the daunting event the wedding had been and so soon after the battle, leaving you right in the middle of a tidal wave of expectations from all fronts. 

Coating you in yet another layer of furs Dis turned to check the fire, passing watch of you over to the two guards outside your door and turned with a determined huff bee-lining straight for Thorin and dragging him from his meeting into another smaller room attached with a simple explanation of bearing a message from the Queen. With a gentle push Thorin practically fell into the chair she’d led him to and sat with mouth open as he listened to your assumptions and creeping doubts of your place at his side from them.

...

Gentle clunks of wood being added to the fire stirred you from your dream to spot your Husband, out of his Kingly garb, easing gently into the bed beside you gently working his arms around you. Through his deep rumbling tone your eyes locked and he said, “My Dearest One, I had no intention of ever causing you any pain. Please believe me that you are and always will be the most important piece of my life. Nothing could ever cause me to be displeased with you. I love you.” 

Brushing his fingers across your cheek his gaze deepened as you spoke, “It’s just, we did, and then we couldn’t because I was sore after, and I thought i’d missed a tradition or something. I mean, I nearly forgot to tighten the ropes on the crown pillow before I passed it to you in the coronation.”

Gently claiming your tears with his thick warm thumb his lips met your other cheek drawing your eyes to close through the warm contact against your skin. “There is nothing that you missed. Our bonding has no guidelines to match up to, and I certainly wouldn’t ever fault you for us having to rest. It is normally suggested between pairings like ours.” With another gentle kiss to your forehead he cradled you lovingly to his chest in the way he knew you loved to be held and purred out, “Now, I’m going to hold you tightly and snuggle with you for as long as it takes until these doubts leave you.”

“What about your meetings?”

“Dis is handling them. Oh, and she’s ordered Bombur and the others to bake those pies you mentioned. Told them not to stop until they get it right.” Rolling over you moved to get up only to be pulled tighter to his chest while he playfully said, “I know they’re not the best bakers, but just think, the longer we curl up here the more practice they get.”

Rolling your eyes through his deep chuckle you replied, “Or a greater number of chances for the mountain to go up in flames.”

Settling around you tighter his head nuzzled against the side of yours pressing another kiss to your cheek, “Like I said, Dis’ in charge. She’ll see to it.”

Rolling your eyes you rolled over, sliding your hands over his cheeks pulling him into a deepening kiss. Through a soft hum his forehead met yours again as you asked, “Play for me?”

Smirking through an agreeing hum his head shifted to steal another kiss, “Of course, My Love.” Rising out of bed he turned to glance at you again rumbling out playfully, “No sneaking away now.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Trailing his movements across the room to fetch his harp and return again to the stack of pillows you formed for him. Sitting down before it you slid between his legs and rested the harp in your lap clutching to you tightly through his melody filled snuggling as his deep voice filled the air. Playing through all your favorite Dwarvish ballads he’d taught you so far with a growing smile through your turn to curl around his broad chest and sides nuzzling your head against his shoulder and chin. Clinging to him tightly through his playing your doubts dropped away as the love songs he had promised you that you would both surpass one day flowed from your love beneath you. 

Remaining there in each other’s embrace until you finally went to check on the status in the Royal Wing’s kitchen only to find a table coated with half cooked, partially burned and bubbled over pies with crust far too mushy to be close to edible. 

Claiming your seat you eyed the Company all bearing mixed reactions ranging from delusional pride from Kili and his smoking pie to Nori bearing an uncharacteristically embarrassed look about his half baked marvel packed with raspberries. All having tried so hard to please their newly crowned and exhausted Queen. Covering your mouth you looked them all over while Thorin thanked them and praised their attempts leaving the mountain in tact while his free hand snaked onto your lap to firmly grip yours drawing your smiles deeper. Settling through the tasting of the edible portions of each pie while Thorin silently swore to never draw these thought from you again. 

Holding true to his word with a far kinder gaze in his daily scans left mainly in your private time in you rooms before heading out for the day, all until a stolen glance of you between your own set of meetings drew an order to sound out the bells that frightened you into nearly dumping a pitcher of water onto the freshly penned trade deal you’d worked out with King Thranduil who was the first to turn to you with a pleased gaze over you followed by a swift congratulations causing you to thank him and sit back in your seat and mumble to yourself mentally, “Dwarves...”

@himoverflowers, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator, @sweeticedtea, @ggbbhehe4455, @thegreyberet, @patanghill17, @jesgisborne, @curvestrology, @evyiione, @deepestfirefun, @abiwim

[aleatoryalarmalligator]

Neurotic Girl Scout

The early 2000's were a rough time for me clothing wise, and just a horrible time for fashion altogether. Britney Spears had made really low cut jeans popular. It was just about all you could ever find in the girls' section. And these horrible jeans were always about to come off me. If I bent over, my butt would stick out and my friends would either say something or walk away. I eventually instinctively learned to always hold the sides of my pants at all times while walking, else they come off. There was a boy in my class named Lonnie who's pants were always falling off completely, and I was afraid very dearly that I would be cast permanently as the girl-counterpart to him and his shenanigans.

My pants were also too long for me, so they dragged along the bottom of the road, and eventually fringed away at the seems, and eventually, they started rip up my leg. But I had to keep wearing them since it was all I had. I was a total mess.

My dad didn't really know what he was doing school clothing wise. So he just kind of skipped school clothes for me for the most part. I was left wearing my mother's left over shirts and stuff. My mom had a bunch of bellybutton shirts she wore in the 90's when she was thin. They were very low in the breast area too. She kept wearing them when she got a little heavier. So they were oddly shaped. They fit me a little better, so I ended up wearing them. The one thing I was most insecure about was my belly, and it seemed I constantly had to worry about my stomach coming out, since the shirts were misshapen and the pants were low cut. My hands were always actively trying to somehow link the ends of my shirt together with the beginning of my pants. I was incredibly uncomfortable just about all the time.

My father also didn't really buy me backpacks. So I was the only kid in the class who didn't have one. I ended up using plastic bags most of the time. Which made teachers sad for me, so occasionally someone would pitch in a few dollars and buy me one. But the thing was, I never ever did my homework, so I always had homework from every class. And even though I didn't ever do my homework, I brought all my heavy books with me and every single book bag I had eventually fell to pieces generally as I was walking up the enormous hill to get home after school.

I also started getting acne before everyone in my class. So on top of everything else, being chubby, strange, with my clothing falling off me as I attempted to make it from place to place among my peers, I was beginning to be seen as a bit of a leper. And because I was a little heavier than the other girls, when I ate in lunch, boys used to watch me eat from their place in the lunchroom and make disgusted and fascinated faces in response to each bite I took. Like I was some kind she-beast. I had no idea what I was doing that was so strange really. I guess it was the way I held the sandwich? I was paranoid about slopping food because I seemed to be inclined to drop food, or make particularly big messes. It was my way of minimizing the damage. I don't really know why that was exciting however. And because of this, I still have issues eating in front of people I don't know super well.

Also, my hair was completely and totally nothing but frizz at this point. It was borderline an afro. It was not unlike Hagrid's hair, from Harry Potter. Here is a picture of me from age 13 to demonstrate my point

So everyone in town knew me very well from my hair. I could be spotted from a long way off. Also, I was the kind of person who would comically drop things repeatedly. I often overestimated what I was capable of carrying along with me, so I was always dropping things. And when I did this, I had to use one hand to pick up the items, while my other hand desperately tried to prevent both my pants from falling down to expose myself, and my belly from popping out. And it would be years before I finally was mercifully talked into buying a boy's oversized hoodie to cover up all my possible wardrobe malfunctions.

I really liked Choose Your Own Adventure books as well. On top of Alien Girls, I was also very much into those books. Which was considered quite nerdy in those times. I also eventually started reading the Babysitter's Club books. It was a fond pastime for me to come home after school, dig into my candy stash, and sit around and read about how Dawn and Maryanne were fighting over who got to babysit some family's children.

Then there was the fact that I was super into Pokemon. I was a SERIOUS Pokemon fan. I was there the first opening of Pokemon: The First Movie, and Pokemon 2000. I wore a pikachu shirt, a pikachu cap, and I got a sticker tattoo of all 150 known Pokemon all over my body on the day I went to see the movie in theaters. I carried around my Pokedex wherever I went. I played the games. Sarah also was into Pokemon, and she would carry around a bulbasaur everywhere she went. We carried our Pokemon stuffed animals to school everyday as part of our team. When Pokemon Silver and Gold came out, I invested thousands of hours into my game. I was always jealous of Sarah's card collection though. She had a lot more cards than I did. And, she had a holographic Charizard. Which was really something.

About a week or so before picture day that year, I started to develop this thing on my nose. It seemed like a pimple, but it wasn't quite. It was blistery. I sort of poked at it. It was pretty unpleasant and I assumed it would go away over time. Girls in my class would cattily ask what was on my face. I just informed them it was a zit. It didn't go away. In fact it started to grow. Pretty soon it had taken over about half of my nose. It looked horrible. It looked as though I was becoming a corpse. My father took me into the doctor's and it turned out a had a staph infection. The doctor gave me a treatment for it but the thing didn't go away before picture day. I don't have a picture of this, but Sarah-Mae has it in one of her elementary school year books. I look despondent, and it is so comical and ridiculously placed that it really seems like a joke. It could have been on one of those tasteless postcards I used to see in the joke store as a child.

My favorite shirt I owned was the DARE shirt I earned from successfully completing the weekly DARE class for six months. I also had a DARE cup. I wound none sarcastically tell my friends 'drug free is the way to be'. I wish I still had these things. DARE Officer Dale Buttrey would come in and tell us all about how drugs ruined lives for an hour and a half once a week. We took oaths to stay drug free, there was DARE week. I was a pretty adamant critic of drugs, between my knowledge from my father's AA, my personal family background, and these DARE classes I was into. I was under the strong impression that if you did drugs, you were an evil criminal that deserved to be taken out of society, whatever means necessary. You were a predator to all that was just and good. I thought the whole thing was very simple. Like an anti drug ad from 1985. Just say no. That's all there was to it.

I also ended up becoming a girl scout, though I was without a doubt, the very worst of them. The scout class we took was actually a joke to begin with long before I entered into it, and we were the worst girl scouts in the whole of north Idaho and possibly the whole northwest. Our Scout leader was this eccentric woman named Cynthia, who was in no way shape or form fit to be a scout leader at all. She didn't know anything about making things, or facilitating positive goals or personal skills. She was frightened of everything. Carol, Sarah's mom was active in the group and tried her best to make the girl scout thing work, but Cynthia undermined everything she ever tried to accomplish. She was probably one of the most annoying people I have ever been around for an extended length of time.

She came up with this terrible idea that we were going to go door to door and sing Christmas Carols. This became a disaster. First of all, we did this in the town of Juliaetta, a town that was five miles from were I lived and where the elementary school was. The entire town of Juliaetta is on a steep incline. It was snowing that night, and there was ice everywhere. We all kept slipping and falling and she was getting upset at us and threatening us. She also had picked out extremely old and obscure Christmas carols that only she knew. We had no practice in singing these songs, no reference to go by. She simply assumed that everyone knew these songs. And she was pretty angry when she realized we didn't know these songs at all only minutes before we were to go knocking on people's doors to sing at them. And her voice was sort of awful which didn't help. So we slipped around and knocked on some doors. The people who opened the door looked highly annoyed, that is if anyone opened the door at all. Cynthia would begin singing in her nasally voice, and we all would just make mumbling noises behind her. It wasn't as funny to me then as it is now. I just remember the open look of disgust and 'whaatttt the fuckkk' on some of these people's faces. We would do this, and then the person would just shut the door. They did not congratulate us or thank us at all.

Then there was the fact that unlike everyone else, I didn't have a million reliable relatives ready to buy the cookies that I attempted to peddle. So I was left with this fear that if I didn't sell enough I could never get to the 'next level' whatever that really meant in this particular group. I finally made some 'sales' which I was totally proud of temporarily. My sister Maria casually bought 80$ worth of the cookies, at least she said she was going to pay me that, after her cookies came in. So I signed her up for the order. She received her cookies, but she never actually paid for them. She just ate them all at her mattress and left all the wrappers lying around the floor. She didn't even share with me. And she left me with the bill, which my father ended up having to pay – in an angry fury. He yelled at me in Maria's stead. And even with all the cookies that Maria bought, I still didn't come near the sales of everyone else, who seemed to have relatives all up and down every street.

Finally, at the end of the year there was this annual campground that all the girl scouts of the inland northwest would go to near the Coeur de Alene lake about two hours away called Camp Four Echoes to group up with other scouts and demonstrate by contest their skills. Initially, I was excited about this for some reason. That ended up changing over time. We first had to sing a terrible song about being a girl scout that I still have etched into my brain. We had bad little hand gestures that went with the song. The other girls though from the other scout groups pretty much floored us. Some girl came out with professional vocals, and then the other girls followed. And they had layers to the songs, and instruments. Then we all had to come up with impromptu acting skills. Everything we did was so awful. It was clear that whatever it was that you are supposed to learn in girl scouts, we were definitely not learning it at all.

All the other groups were able to build fires, having learned all these outdoorsy things from scouts. But Cynthia was afraid of fire, so while all the other girls got to build a fire and such, Cynthia made us all go to bed extremely early, like three hours early. And I forgot sleeping bags. Actually I didn't have a sleep bag at home. So, lucky for me, Cynthia brought an extra from home. Cynthia was a cat lady. She had 12 cats, and she did not keep her house clean. So this sleeping bag was peed on, but try as I might to convince everyone that I was fine, that I would do without the sleeping bag, the elders did not concede. Cat pee it was for me. Then, all the girls had to pick a partner to bunk with. There was an odd number, and was the last man standing, so I didn't get to sleep in the same cabin as all the other girls. I had to sleep with the adults in the adult cabin. My feelings were extremely hurt, but what can I say? I think I talked anyway, or did something wrong, because I ended up earning myself 2 hours of detention time the next day where I was warned in advance that I would have to stand by this tree, and I would not like it.

The next day we all kind of had to pack firewood for the camp leaders, who were nothing but 4 nineteen year old girls, and one nineteen year old guy and all the girls would fight over him. Except our camp leader. She was the only one that seemed all that serious about the job at hand. They gave themselves these tasteless woodsy names. Her name was Froggy. I am sure she had a real name, but since I never knew the real name she will forever be imprinted in my mind as Froggy. I remember she would look sourly at her peers, who were all so invested in one another sexually, that Friday the 13th comes to mind.

So after packing all this wood that we could not even use since Cynthia would not allow fire, I had to go to my tree to do my time. By this time, several of us had earned sit outs. I had earned another hour, Sarah had earned one and I think even Samantha had earned one. And while I sat there at that tree, I think I earned yet another one because I would not stop communicating to Sarah, or perhaps I tried to write something on the tree. I don't remember, other than I had an attitude of one who no longer cares what becomes of them. I could tell Sarah's mom thought this was excessive and weird, and she tried to talk me into behaving myself just to keep things in order. Which I didn't do that good of a job of, and by which I mean, I probably did something as low-key as pick up a pine cone and look at it or something, because Sarah and Sam got to get out of their dumb tree areas, but I stayed there a long time.

There was some kind of Popsicle stick activity table that everyone was doing. I didn't really get to do much of that because by the time I had finally done penance for whatever it was supposed to feel awfully horrible about doing, they were all kind of wrapping it up. I don't remember where I slept the second night. Maybe I slept with the girls that night, or maybe I didn't. I probably didn't care anymore. I do think that Sarah's mom felt a bit bad for me. It was kind of obvious that I was the black sheep girl scout and she tried to do things to ease the situation rather than make it worse for me. Carol clearly did see me as a bit beneath her daughter, and if you read in earlier parts of my story, she did really judge us side by side. But to be perfectly clear, Carol still did A LOT to try to make my life better, and she did grow to care about my well being quite a bit. I didn't really see it then, but I can kind of sense that now as an adult.

On Fridays, in order to get to my mom's who lived 40 miles away in Lewiston, I had to network with Roxanne's boyfriend Jody's family and stay at their house for five hours after school until someone had time to pick me up and take me into Lewiston. I dreaded this like no other. I wished there was some way to get out of it. Jody was a Brown. His cousin was Catherine in my class (small town stuff), and the Browns were the notorious family for being unsanitary and uneducated. The whole house smelled like cigarettes, puppy turds and vomit. The carpet had become this dirt like substance, and little babies would craw on it, horrifying me to no end. They never ever did the dishes. You could barely even get into the kitchen. The did the dishes twice a year. Everyone in the house had this blank look on their faces. It was very hard for me to find a safe space to sit. I am sure I was unable to hide my distaste. They all farted as often as they possibly could. They fought and yelled over things that I felt were quite tribal. And sometimes, nobody would come to get me for a very long time. I would be left there wondering if I had been forgotten in this foul existence.

I ended up doing my best to stay at the Pizza Bank as long as I could. The Pizza Bank was this bar that served subpar pizza in Juliaetta. It was pretty rundown, and looked like it was from the sixties at best. Kids liked to go there for birthdays and stuff, which I never really understood. In the back they had this room with a pool table and a bunch of arcade games from the early eighties. It was such a strange place. You would go into the back, and it seemed very distant from reality and time lost all meaning. It felt a little bit like the red room on Twin Peaks, only dingier. Staying in that room for hours and hours was preferable to the Browns.

But honestly, I just didn't want to wait in a place that I felt awkward in. So in many instances, I would try my best to stay in class until Mrs. Fredenburg, my fifth grade teacher was done grading papers or whathaveyou and she was ready to lock up. She was kind of a tall mousy woman who's shadow, due to her hairstyle, looked like a mushroom. I would sit in class, and I learned to be entertaining to her so she would let me stay. She ended up liking me a lot. She told me out of the thirty years she had been teaching, I was one of her favorite students. She wished I would do more to get my grades up. It didn't make sense to her that I could be so bright and hilarious and yet I was one of the worst students. By that time too,  contrary to what my third grade teacher had told me, that I would never be a decent reader, and that my penmanship and cursive would always be awful, I had, by just about everyone's definition had the most perfect handwriting of all the students in the school. My handwriting was better than most of the teachers. And I read one chapter book a week, and I was in the top three when it came to my reading scores in my class.

One day, I was given a test on something I knew I would be unable to do since I hadn't read the material. So instead of even trying, I skipped it altogether and wrote a free form letter to Mrs. Fredenburg that just bounced around my thoughts on everything in my life. I don't even remember what I wrote in that letter at all. But she liked it so much she felt it was one of the dearest gifts she had ever been given, and she gave me an A anyway, sighting that I was an extremely gifted and special person. She passed it around to other teachers, who all agreed I was some kind of insightful comical genius, though I am sure they were not nearly as impressed as she was. She told me if I just continued to write whatever I wanted to her, she would just continue to give me A's. I didn't have to do my homework anymore, just so long as I didn't tell the other students. So I got my grades up a little bit this way. I think Mrs. Fredenburg genuinely felt that I was a unique enough character, that I was funny enough, or that my writing was good enough, that I could probably get out of ever having to struggle in a menial job, or any other repetitive task I didn't want to do.

What she got me into was both good and bad. On one hand, she was the first person who recognized me for being different as a good thing that should be encouraged. I was very used to either being a sounding board for my father's ego and ideas, or feeling like I was constantly being told to get in line, and to fit the mold of everyone else. Mrs. Fredenburg actually liked me, and this gave me confidence, and it also gave me a sort of wild hope that I still have in this weird way. That somehow, someday, somebody or something is going to just pick me up out of the dirt, wipe off the imperfections and realize that I am more than a boring old stone. That I am somehow a diamond hidden in boring basalt. Also, that there are randomly people who really think I am awesome. For every three hundred people or so who don't respond to me, there is always this minority of people who simply think I am amazing beyond words.  It is rather confusing to be seen this way. And honestly, it hasn't done that much for me. It might be a curse to have had someone fill my head with hope. Also, hard work is sometimes and often times inevitable, and more often than not, I have to actually pretend that I am someone I am not to even be given the vague opportunity for the bottom wrung. Furthermore, there are some amazing people out there, far more so than me. I have squandered much of my potential. My life's not over. But fife isn't fair either.

I also stopped being nearly as shy at some point in fifth grade. It happened all at once. I was trying to hide in my desk, and then I just felt this wild feeling of elation and joy, and I just reacted to it gleefully, dancing my way to the the bus that took me home, singing, and just altogether doing and saying whatever I felt. Sarah and Sam didn't like this, but I just didn't care as much. Of course they still hurt my feelings. But it's like I became so compressed and nervous that I simply broke the scale and ended back at zero. I just let go of trying to control anything at all. After this time, I was sort of known as a bit of a clown.

There was a few bad times still. My feelings were beginning to polarize to an extent. I still felt badly about my appearance. In fact, I started getting this self destructive rage against myself that would come on very quickly when I was upset. If I felt devalued or badly about myself, if someone hurt my feelings or I was left alone – which happened a lot, suddenly I would feel this sharp ache and even though I didn't move, I could just feel myself picking up something sharp and stabbing it into my own skin several times violently. I just felt this urge to absolutely destroy myself, jump off something and splatter, rip my own face off, eat poison. I would imagine this in the same way you might for an instance while driving, imagining yourself driving off the road, or if you are climbing a ladder, get a sense of what it would mean to fall. For a second it would be real. And sadly, the feeling was satisfying. I would not do it. I would end up moping or fazing out. But this was the beginning of something that I did for a very good portion of my life.

Sarah and Samantha had finally come to some kind of conclusion with this Kevin boy they had been after for years together. Every recess, it was the common practice that they would find Kevin, snatch him from the other boys, and then just beat him up by holding him up against one of those Napoleon Dynamite poles with the ball attached to the rope at the end. This is what Sarah and Sam did everyday for two years. I didn't really get into it, but I felt weird if I didn't participate so I would kick him once in awhile to fit in. After being told that I was still a little kid for not having a crush on anyone, I pretended I had a crush on Kevin for awhile just to demonstrate that I was like them. But I really could not get into this at all.

Anyway, the Rollaway party was coming. Basically, the Rollaway is a roller rink that people would skate to pop music to and eat expensive food and I think play bad arcade games. I could not skate. My dad didn't give me money for this stuff either. So basically, I was just to sit there. But Sarah and Sam were very excited. One of them was definitely going to be asked by Kevin to go couple skating this year. It ended up Sarah was asked and Sam was heartbroken. I don't know what Sam and Sarah thought would happen. They basically shared Kevin but sooner or later he was going to favor one of them over the other. Sarah got the classic 'Will you be my girlfriend – Yes – No. Sarah felt terrible for Sam's feelings, so she said no.

All day, they skated around. I was constantly in people's way. My evil mind was of course telling me I was ugly, stupid, fat and so forth as I watched all these slender young children dance about and enjoy themselves. I saw a girl with ten gigapet keychains and some Pokemon keychains, and I told her that that was really cool. She told me I was a freak and to go away. I felt horrible. I was holding a brick in my throat. I was afraid to even talk else I would start to cry. Afterwards we were all going to this Buffet that was actually terrible but we all thought was good at the time. I remember Sarah' felt bad for me, and in an attempt to cheer me up she said 'don't worry Renee, we will be eating soon enough. We know you like that'. She wasn't trying to hurt my feelings or anything, but I just felt horrible. I had to go to the bathroom and cry.

That summer, neither one of them hung out for me for about a month straight. Sarah was avoiding my phone calls for whatever reason. I eventually found them hanging out at the park, and I tried to hang out with them, but they told me they were busy and they left me there. With tears in my eyes and shaking, I walked home. I was composed enough to tell my father what was wrong without showing any enough tears to set him off. Which in return he told me some good news. He had been wanting to keep it a secret, but he had booked a vacation for just him and I to go to Florida. I was elated.

If per chance you want to know more about this project of mine, i am writing my life story down - i have never actually done this. Here are the previous parts i have written so far.

PART 6 - http://tinyurl.com/kbc9dwu

PART 5 - http://tinyurl.com/msnz4am

PART 4 - http://tinyurl.com/k9x8esg

PART 3 - http://tinyurl.com/mwp9atx

PART 2 - http://tinyurl.com/lbt6xq2

PART 1 - http://tinyurl.com/l8xbvg8

[fourtimesinabluemoon-archive]

nonfluent-- not able to speak or write a particular language

One more day.

He has to give it one more day.

Of endless numbers, of problems with solutions seemingly at his grasp, only to slip away at the last moment.

One more day of the endless hum of machines, of the blue paper of blueprints, and their white pencils, and terrible coffee.

He’s so tired, but he must give it one more day, at least, bare minimum, for he owes that much, especially to his own.

“daddy look i-”

“Not now, Sans.”

“but I can help, i can-” There’s a crash and he whirls around in his chair.  The boy is on the floor, in a lab coat far too big for him (how did he even get it off the hook...?) surrounded by stacks of paper. Thank goodness he didn’t fall far or knock over anything important.

“Stop while you’re ahead. I brought you plenty of toys; please utilize them instead of destroying my workspace.”

Science is far too serious to allow for little bones running around willy-nilly trying to "help." A glance over his shoulder shows the child glaring at his “invention” of popsicle sticks and glue. Despite the fact that he is right, that such a devise is utterly useless to him, that he cannot allow Sans to simply run around the lab doing whatever he pleases...

There is a pang. He cannot keep doing this; the boy will be hurt. Surely there is something else he can do?

All problems (except the barrier) have a solution. Think. What is it that he can do here?

Wait. The lab coat. The invention. Sans wants to imitate him. Maybe there is something less dangerous he can imitate.

His eyes light on the tiny toy violin, a knickknack really, that a colleague had given him for his desk. A congratulations for a job well done at a piano recital long, long ago...

... Hm.

--

Music isn't going to save the world. Music isn’t going to get them past the barrier, if such a thing is possible. Music isn’t going to win the ensuing war. He should not be spending time on music, not when he has work to do, or sleep to catch a bit of.

But it's safe for little bones, so when he comes home that night, he finds their dusty old piano and spends a night fixing it.

Music is safe for little bones, and the act of cleaning it reminded him of the beauty of the instrument, and so every night, he can put aside hands shaking with fatigue and a mind berating him for slacking in order to pick his son up, and set him on his lap, and teach him a simple song.

The first song he teaches him is You Are My Sunshine. Sans listens, enthralled.

"Music is the language of emotion," he tells his small son as his long fingers guide his hands to the keys. Such tiny, delicate hands. "And as with all emotion, sometimes it is the truth, and sometimes it's a lie. But this song, from me, will never be a lie."

He nods as if he understands, but he is so tiny. He cannot possibly understand.

That is fine. He will in time, and they’ve nothing but that.

--

Music cannot save the world, but that is okay too, he supposes. They can sing as tiny hands find their way to the proper keys, and he can smile at the small voice rising in harmony with his own.

Sans does not seem to have any interest in learning anything but that one song. But as long as his son is happy, and they can enjoy replaying this one every evening, everything is fine.

Someday little bones won’t be so little anymore, and he will teach him the proper way around a lab, but for now, this is how they’ll connect, and...

He is finding that chasing that endless answer is easier, that one more day is easier, if there is this to look forward to. Who knew such preciousness existed in this world? It was as if he had known on some level, protecting it, but was seeing it through a fogged window, never engaging with it.

Now that window is clear. And, as the days pass, he realizes that so is his conscious, too.

--

He is so bad at emotion when it comes to the language of speech.

"Wear your coat."

He never planned on having a child.

"Your vegetables are good for you."

He never planned on surviving to adulthood, truthfully.

"No, growing boys need sleep."

His parents had sucked the life from him, a drop a day, until the idea of spending decades in his own bones felt unbearable.

"Fine, one more story."

Open affection frightens him. He cannot stand touch.

"All right. One more song."

Even the words ‘I love you’ feel too much.

"You're grounded. No, I don't want to hear it; what you did was wrong."

As if the words themselves would peel away too much of his Soul, and reveal the shriveled underside.

"Here, I made you tuna fish today. And I included a ring pop. Please don't propose to the teacher again as a joke; I'll die of shame."

He cannot bear to do that.

"Your report card is wonderful. You did well. I see you excel in science."

But he finds other ways to tell him those three little words.

“That was beautifully played.”

He hopes it is enough.

--

It happened again it happened AGAIN.

One child was hard enough; now he has two!?

How could this experiment go so wrong!? As desperately as he runs the calculations, he can’t find an answer. Does the universe enjoy seeing him suffer? It’s the only reason it would give a man like him not one, but two gifts he does not deserve and can’t properly care for!

He struggles to breathe as the walls feel they close in on him. Smuggling the infant home proved to be an ungodly difficult challenge, not because the baby made noise, but because the trembling of his limbs would not cease. At least he managed it by some miracle, but his knees protest moving so much as another step once his front door closes behind him.

He looks so much like him.

That face shape must be so similar to what his own parents saw when-

No, no, he needs- he needs control again he needs to calm down he-

“daddy?”

He raises his head, staring, as Sans pads down the stairs in bunny slippers and a tshirt with a pun on it. He hands the child to him quickly, struggling for breath.

“Take him to your room. He can share the bed with you.”

Sans doesn’t argue. Frightened eyes stare up at his father, then to the baby, and then he disappears upstairs and leaves Gaster to his shuddering breaths in front of the door.

--

Over the next few weeks, he prepares a room for the infant. A cradle, toys, infant safety measures. But the rest, and indeed, as much as possible, he leaves to Sans.

When the infant cries, Sans is there. When the infant is hungry, Sans, clever child, easily figures out how to feed him. Gaster supplies everything that’s needed, including a babysitter on school days, and Sans does the rest. He avoids both children... easy enough, with his workload.

The window isn’t foggy, but now, it is closed. Panic walls him in.

And, selfishly, he does nothing to stop it.

--

“why don’t you ever tell me you love me?”

Why are you in an unauthorized area in the middle of the school day asking such a deeply personal question?

But the words, thankfully, don’t leave his mouth. He is too busy staring at his son in a dumb stupor.

“where did i come from?”

“Why does any of that matter?” Oh, no; the wrong response. He knows as it falls from his mouth, but there’s no taking it back.

“because the kids at school say you’re a mad scientist and you made us. but if you made us you’d love us, right?”

Within seconds he tries to figure how schoolchildren could know his sons are the results of illegal experimentation, but for once, logic decides to remind the rest of him that paranoia has the wheel at the moment.

“but you never say you love us and you won’t stay with us.”

“I have a lot of work. And you, young man, have school.”

“it’s recess.”

“That doesn’t mean you can waltz off school grounds!”

“why not?  you get to mix up kids in your stupid lab!”

This is not at all where he wants this going. He rubs his temples.

“Sans-”

“you don’t even listen to me play anymore! you missed my science fair! and i spend all my time with papyrus but you don’t take more than five minutes every day to check with us!”

“I said, I’m very busy.” The excuse is hollow. Sans is turning blue with fury and his eye is

Glowing?

“that never mattered before! why does it matter now!?”

“I-”

“you didn’t want us, did you!? either of us! you don’t love us, so why did you make us!?”

“I didn’t mean to-”

“you didn’t mean to.” He had not meant it in the context Sans was taking it as. He had meant ‘I did not mean to be so awful, to make you wonder these things.’

But Sans... clever child... was beginning to realize another possibility to explain their existence.

“... we were an accident. that’s all we are to you. accidents.” He eyes his father with a look that chills him to his core, and as Sans turns and begins to stomp away, he finds his feet moving, an arm reaching for his son’s shoulder, no, wait, don’t go; he’s sor-

“get OFF OF ME!” Sans’s low voice rises to a shriek, and he whips around, eye surging with magic—why oh why had he given his son those abilities—

He grabs his Soul, he feels the PING more than he hears it, and the feeling of the metal floor beneath his feet being stolen away is frightening enough until he realizes his son still doesn’t know how to properly use that blue magic of his, does not know how easily the grip slips or the right amount of force to apply or-

And then suddenly, air whistles around him, and his son grows smaller and smaller as he falls, until the child is only a dot, and before the blinding agony overtakes him, he realizes that there will never be one more day; he will never get to give Papyrus those piano lessons or even teach Sans a new song, if he’d ever wanted to learn one, and now the window will close.

Forever.

[carriedvoice]

🎵

♫  five times my muse swears it’s not a date, and the one time it maybe is.

@steelstriings u better fuckin give me something good for this lmao

I - Barely a week after meeting, he asks her to come to a concert with him. Just her. No one else. Her friends tease her about this outing being a poorly-disguised date. She doesn’t see it as such. There had been no prior indication of a date. Two music lovers watching a band they both like doesn’t sound like a date. Does it really have to be a date ?  Why do people automatically assume such things when it comes to a guy and a chick going somewhere together ?  Platonic seems to be a word with which no one is familiar. That’s all this is between her and Andrei. Totally platonic.

     The night is more fun than she expects. The band is a group she’s never heard of but it doesn’t matter since the sound is exciting and fun. Way better than the Kuhlau and Spindler she’s been listening to all week. A piano recital is coming up quick and she’s devoted nearly all her free time to diligent practice. Nearly two hours a day. Close to three on weekends. She has to be good. Better than good, actually. It’s something close to a miracle that Andrei has convinced her to go out tonight. Bianca isn’t the type to skip out on any chance to perfect her craft. Something about that boy has brought her out of her shell. Even just a little bit. He’s awfully special to have pulled Bianca away from her beloved ivory keys.

      Throughout the entire gig, she finds no indication that Andrei had intended for a date. Just two kids having fun while the new wave music fills the small venue. They stick close together, laughing and dancing without a care. Other teenagers approach them but they hardly stray from each other. The limited conversations with the other kids make it clear that both of them aren’t interested in making friends. It’s the music that captures their attentions. This band is unlike anything she’s accustomed to hearing. Bianca’s parents have limited her to church hymns and classical pieces. The rare instances she hears the current hits are when she spends the weekend with friends. Radio and records are absolutely nothing compared to seeing musicians in the flesh. Live music is much more different. She’s certain she can actually feel the music course through her, causing a sensation so indescribable yet so euphoric. Or maybe that’s just because she’s never stood so close to a boy before. Throughout the entire set, he’s barely left her side except for the one time he ran off to buy them both drinks.

     Somewhere between songs Andrei’s arm drapes over her shoulders without warning, keeping her small frame close to him. She can smell the leather of his jacket and the strong cologne he wears. For a few fleeting moments, she’s convinced that this truly is a date. By the time the guitar’s echo has segued into the next song, the notion leaves her thoughts and his arm slides away from her. 

     Not a date.

II - She hates scary movies with a passion and he knows that. At least, he should. It isn’t some heavily guarded secret. He drags her to see the third installment of Friday the 13th anyways. The assurance that it’s not as hyped up as people make it out to be does nothing to calm her upset nerves. He claims it’s better than staying at home like a bump on a log. Even with his insistence, she finds herself frightened and hiding her face into his arm for a majority of the film. Horror is her least favorite genre, regardless of whether the movie features vengeful ghosts or machete-wielding murderers. It brings up unnecessary paranoia for her. They stay through the entire thing with Bianca clinging to Andrei for dear life. Her only other solace throughout the film is the bucket of overpriced popcorn. Cheesy as the movie is, it still spooks her. 

     As they walk out of the theater, he drapes his jacket over her shoulders. It has gotten chillier since they’ve been in the theater. Winter is upon them. She finds it odd because he’s never done that before. The arm around her shoulders has been the norm lately but he’s never given her something of his to wear. She says nothing of it as they make their way to the bus stop a block away. Silence between them is nothing new and remains that way for quite some time. It’s not awkward when they don’t fill the space between them with talk. Without conversation, she’s left to her own thoughts. Hands reach up to pull the jacket tighter around her skinny frame. The unexpected gesture makes her wonder if this outing is more than just friends going out to see one of the most poorly-made movies in box office history. Can Andrei letting her wear his jacket still considered as friendly ?  Many movies and television shows have established some sort of amorous gesture behind the man’s jacket being put on the woman.

     She doesn’t ask. It may not be the right thing to question so she keeps her mouth shut on the matter. He may get offended if he does think it is a date and she’s had doubts. These uncertainties are kept to herself. 

     They glance over at each other at the same exact time. Smiles appear on both their faces upon realizing the coincidence before turning into amused laughter. Funny how synchronized they’ve become. A sign of a real connection between them.

     ❛  Are you warm ?  ❜

     ❛  Yeah. The jacket does help.  ❜

     Another smile plays at his lips at her answer and he nods.  ❛  Good, good. Can’t have my bandmate freezing to death.  ❜  Beneath the joking tone, there’s genuine concern.

     The word bandmate sticks in her mind. Any possibilities that could indicate that this had been a date is thrown out the window. And all because of one word ?  Well, yeah. It’s more than enough evidence for her. He’s merely concerned with her well-being. Nothing romantic about that.

     Still not a date.

III - Celebrating their successes is just as fun as the milestone itself. The pair of them always find ways to rejoice in the good things that occur in their lives. This time, though, she’s not quite sure what the happy occasion is. They’re at the park, sitting on a blanket with a bottle of wine between them, hidden beneath his jacket so they don’t get in trouble. A while back they discovered a small hill that has a scenic view. The little hill has been their designated spot ever since. The spring sun shines down on them but it’s not too hot nor is it too cold. The weather is just perfect. A rarity.

     The duo pass the time with conversation though it’s mostly bickering over whose turn it is to get a sip of wine. Bianca knows it’s her turn but she allows him the satisfaction of winning the argument and the next swig of wine. 

     ❛  So, why are we out here ?  ❜  she asks once the smug smirk has disappeared from his lips. 

     Brow raises at her question, as if it’s the stupidest thing she’s ever asked.  ❛  Why not ?  ❜

     ❛  I just thought there’s something worth celebrating if we come out here. That’s the usual, isn’t it ?  Get a gig then head out here to congratulate ourselves ?  ❜  Her hand absently reaches out for the bottle he offers as she continues to speak.  ❛  Is there something you’re not telling me ?  ❜

     ❛  Does it have to be every time we get something good ?  ❜

     He does have a point. A small nod exhibits her agreement with the rhetorical question but she continues to press her side. ❛  True, but I thought the whole point was to have some sort of reward to look forward to.  ❜

     A cheesy smile curls on his lips. She can already picture the jesting twinkle behind his heavily tinted sunglasses. He’s seconds away from making some sort of joke. She’s knows that smile from a mile away.  ❛  Bee,  ❜  he begins as he pulls himself up to sit properly on the blanket and meet her gaze,  ❛  your company is a good enough reward for me.  ❜  For more theatrics, he gives an overly sincere nod and rests his hand over his heart.

     ❛  That’s a lame reply,  ❜  she says with a roll of her eyes. 

     ❛  It’s true !  ❜  he whines.  ❛  Better than any other date I’ve had.  ❜

     Brief shock settles on her upon hearing the dreaded “D” word. She masks astonishment with a few more sips from the wine. Overthinking clouds her mind yet again. By now she should have learned how to tune out the silly assumptions that these outings were anything past friendly. They never have been so why would that change now ?  It’s fruitless to be thinking like this. One more sip and she’s blocked out the irritating thoughts. The bottle returns to him with Bianca pushing for him to have the remainder. There’s not much left.

     She finds some reassurance in remembering how previous instances were not at all dates. This one is no different from the concerts or dinners they go to together.

     No date here.

IV - Touring is much more grueling than she imagined. The performances are fun but the travelling is what gets to her. At least there’s a few days of rest before they finish off the tour and head back home. The two of them have been advised to stay in their hotel to get some well-deserved rest but pent-up energy refuses to be contained for a second longer. 

     Disneyland is only a twenty-minute taxi ride from their hotel. It’s not too far. Neither one of them could pass up the opportunity to cavort around the theme park for a few hours. Over-sized sunglasses and tacky baseball caps are deemed good enough as disguises before they sneak out of the hotel without alerting any crew member. It’s like they’re teenagers again, waiting for their parents to be fast asleep so they can creep through the backdoor and meet at the corner of the street. Currently, it’s the middle of the afternoon but the thrill is alive as ever. Neither one of them can hardly contain their giggles as they hail a cab and use fake names. 

     With his arm around her ( when is it not ? ), they roam the theme park like children, eyes wide with awe and smiles plastered on their faces. The two of them look like they’re having more fun than the children. Battered baseball caps are traded for the iconic mouse hats. Just for kicks they pay a little extra to get their bogus aliases embroidered on the front. Billly Bob and Sharon. The three Ls are not a mistake. Sounds idiotic but it’s all part of the humor.

     Hours pass until they find a vacant bench to sit upon. The hot sun is still beating down on them despite it being past noon. Southern states have a completely different climate than the rest of the US. Her head rests on his shoulder, tipping the mouse ears to the side and almost off her head. She lets it settle in its awkward position while she gets a few moments of sitting. Her eyes close and she blocks out as much of the surrounding noise. A minute passes before she feels something soft press against her lips. The unexpected sensation forces her eyes open only see that he’s offering a piece of his obnoxiously pink cotton candy to her. 

     Has their friendship dwindled down to literally hand-feeding each other ?  It appears so. There is hardly any limits between them at this point. The moment is brief but it must have looked so stupid to onlookers. Like they’re a couple. Thankfully, they aren’t a couple. This isn’t some cheesy date. Even if it does look like they are on a date, that’s definitely not the case. It never has been in all the years they’ve been friends. She doesn’t understand why she still gets those instances of doubt. A romantic connection between them is as unlikely as Kajagoogoo getting another Top Ten. It’s just not realistic. 

     Never will be a date. Ever.

V - It seems like they do everything together. Shopping, eating, cooking, even vacationing. They’re a level short of being a couple. Neither one of them have brought up that topic, though. There’s no need when they have something perfectly functional between them now. What’s the point in tainting it with a real relationship ?  No, they’re better off being friends. 

     The hiatus is meant to keep them away from the band, which means even each other. They obviously don’t care about such recommendations if they take the same flight out to Hawaii. Being apart is practically unheard of for those two. No matter what, Mascarade is a packaged deal. You get one, you get the other whether you like it or not. It’s like that Frank Sinatra song. Can’t have one without the other. Besides, vacationing with no one else tends to be lonely. There’s no fun in that at all. 

     Perhaps the tropical destination is not ideal for someone like Bianca. She doesn’t know how to swim very well. As long as she stays in shallow water she’ll be fine. At her insistence, they spend most of the time exploring the island itself. After dedicating an entire day to hiking, the pair of them spend the evening browsing shops and occasionally purchasing items. For family, for themselves, and, of course, for each other. From time to time a fan stops them for a picture or autograph. The cluster of three grows to almost ten. As much as she loves her fans, she wishes they harbored some respect for her boundaries. She’s supposed to be on a vacation, not signing ten different pictures of herself ripped from Tiger Beat. 

    One by one they eventually return to their own endeavors, visibly thrilled to have bumped into celebrities. As they both finish signing napkins, one fan can’t help but ask,  ❛  You guys on a date or something ?  ❜

     The question nearly causes Bianca to drop the pen mid-signature. Why do people always assume that ?  At this point, it’s close to infuriating. No matter how clear they make it, there’s always a person who can’t grasp the simple concept. Bianca and Andrei are not a couple nor will they ever be.

     ❛  No, we’re just out. As friends,  ❜  she tells the fan, handing back the pen and the napkin. Her name is a little sloppy near the end, surname almost illegible. The query momentarily derailed her train of thought. 

     There’s some doubt in the fan’s eyes as he gives them one last glance before rejoining his own group. The fact that he doesn’t believe the answer makes her feel a little sick to her stomach. People just don’t get it. These things wouldn’t happen if they’re the same sex. Hall & Oates don’t have to deal with their platonic relationship being questioned constantly. Mascarade certainly doesn’t deserve to deal with it either. If she has to hear another interviewer or fan ask about their relationship outside the band, she’s going to tear her hair out in clumps and scream.

     This isn’t a date. It’s not.

Final - They never went out for Valentine’s Day. Usually ( and unfortunately ) their dates would have dumped them by now. The could-be significant others find it difficult to compete with the best friend. There’s only so much of Andrei that her dates can handle. Perhaps it’s high time she learns how to stop talking so much about her band mate. Still, she can’t help it. Andrei is her best friend. Why wouldn’t she talk about him ? 

     With both of them alone for yet another year, he’s brought up the idea of going out to dinner. Together. The idea wouldn’t have struck her as odd but, considering their recent conversation about being a couple, she wonders if there’s a bigger reason to his proposition. The fact that he tells her to  “dress nice”  also brings up more curiosity. With some reluctance from her and unrelenting prodding from him, she finally agrees.  

     ❛  Where are we going ?  ❜  she asks once they’re ready to go.

     His attention pulls away from the mirror. One hand absently fixes the collar of his shirt.  ❛  Don’t you trust me to pick some place good ?  ❜

     Instead of an answer, he’s met with a pause. She’s learned through many trials and errors that she can’t give her full trust to Andrei in certain situations. Some of his choices can be questionable at best.  ❛  Kind of ?  ❜  is the answer she gives and he deems that as a good enough response.

     ❛  It’ll be great, I promise,  ❜  he tells her before they head out the door. He extends his hand out to her with a smile.  ❛  Shall we ?  ❜

     That smile becomes so contagious at times. Without much conscious thought, a grin appears on her face and her hand reaches out to take his. She’s done it many times before. It’s almost second nature to her by now.

     There’s hardly a hint given in regards to their destination. He doesn’t even allow her to hear the address he gives to the chauffeur. He claims it will be a surprise. With the way he’s talking about it, the restaurant better exceed all expectations. Throughout the entire ride, the question of whether it not this is considered a date hangs in the back of her mind. Every time she glances at him, the inquiry threatens to leap out of her mouth. During the instances he does meet her gaze, all she can do is smile and say nothing. What if this is the one time she’s convinced and it ends up being just two close friends having dinner ?

     She silently assures her overactive imagination that this is nothing more than just a way to celebrate a holiday without being completely alone. That’s all. The doubts come crawling back when she sees that they’ve arrived at one of the fanciest restaurants in the city. Uncertainties pile up as he takes her hand again and leads her inside to a private table for two. He even pulls out the chair for her.

     Perhaps, this time, it actually is a date.

[marcusssanderson]

Why Do I Procrastinate and How Can I Beat It

Why do I procrastinate, especially, when I know better?

Why do I feel an urge to do something else whenever I start doing something important?

What steps can I take to move forward?

If this sounds like you, keep reading!

We are asking the wrong question, and I’m as guilty as anyone. It’s not, “Why do I put off the things I really want or need to do?” The real question we have to ask ourselves is, “What’s the pay-off I enjoy by avoiding doing what I say is important?”

Our answers may vary but see if any (or all!) of these apply:

I get to stay comfortable.

I get to stay anxious.

I get to protect my dream.

I get to avoid making a decision.

I get to stay small.

Why Do I Procrastinate?

Let’s look at the reasons why we procrastinate.

I get to stay comfortable…Fear of Failure/Fear of Letting Go

Are we ignoring the nudge to take an important step, and instead, holding on to what’s familiar? Pruning is a metaphor I write about often because it’s just that powerful.

We are often so afraid of letting go—of something, someone, maybe some job that isn’t working—that we will cling to the dying branches.

The thought of the void seems so much worse than the death itself. Invariably though, when we let go of what’s not working and what is draining our energy and resources, we make room for new growth. Usually it’s so much better than we could’ve imagined!

Maybe we’re afraid of failing so we never try? Sometimes the only way to know what we are capable of is to push our limits. We will either delight in accomplishing what we set out to do, or we will find out what our best is on any given day.

If we fall short of our expectations, we can celebrate that we did our best. As we continue to push our limits, we may fall short of the goal, but we will continue to grow in the process.

I would rather overestimate myself and find my limits than underestimate myself and never reach my full potential. Les Brown says, “Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you’ll land among the stars.”

Don Ward says, “If you are going to doubt something, doubt your limits.” If you think you can, you might be right. If you think you can’t and never try, you are definitely right!

I get to keep my dream intact…Fear of Lost Hope

Why does an ostrich stick its head in the sand? I don’t know, but why humans do it is a little easier to figure out. We may want something so much, but we don’t go after it because if we fail, we’ll lose our dream.

We would rather stay comfortable on our cozy couches, dreaming, hoping, praying, wishing and asking ourselves, “Wonder what it would be like to do that?” Instead, we could be asking ourselves, “How will I actually do that?”

Maybe that dream is all we have? Maybe our identity is so tightly wound up in that dream that we can’t afford to lose it? Maybe we keep our heads in the sand about a job or relationship because we know deep down, it’s not right, but we don’t want to admit it, much less do anything about it.

We disconnect from the part of us that knows the truth, so we don’t have to get out of our comfort zones and take action. Once we have awareness, it’s very difficult to go back to blissful ignorance.

Awareness may lead to fear but the cure for fear is always action! “I’m afraid!” Do it anyway. “I may fail!” Do it anyway, because either way, you will grow. “What if it doesn’t work?” It definitely won’t work if you don’t try, but what if it does?

“Who will I be if my dream doesn’t work out?” I don’t know, but who are you now, with an unsung song in your heart?” Personally, I would rather have my head in the clouds trying different things, than buried in sand, trying nothing.

I get to stay anxious, which is more familiar than calm…Fear of the Unknown

How many times have you said, “Tomorrow, I’m finally going to start that big project,” but then tomorrow arrives and you act against your best intentions?

All these unintentional choices can leave us filled with disappointment in ourselves, short on hope that we will ever act in a way that reflects our true desires.

How can we allow the greatness we have inside us to be fully expressed while the dark clouds of anxiety and shame are constantly hovering over a corner of our lives? Ahh, but maybe that’s the point?

By avoiding what’s really important, we can regularly sabotage our lives and continue to feel pretty crappy about ourselves. I hope some of you are wondering, “And how is that a pay-off, exactly?” It’s crazy, I know, but sometimes feeling good actually feels bad to some of us. So we do things that feel bad to feel better. Huh?

If we came from a background of chaos, calm can seem scary. By keeping anxiousness and unhappiness steadily flowing into our lives, we can have a leg up on anything else that might hurt us. In other words, we may feel we can control sabotage easier than success.

And this becomes a means of self-protection against fear of the unknown (good or bad). Nothing and no one can ruin our day if we’re doing a good job of that on our own! If this describes you, maybe it’s time to take a risk and try something different?

I’ve ventured out of my chaos-comfort zone a few times now and the sky hasn’t fallen. I’m learning it’s okay to feel good and that vulnerability can actually pay off nicely. Exercise one (below) is critical.

I get to avoid making a decision…Fear of Mistakes/a.k.a.Perfectionism

Perfectionism. The very word even sounds rigid and binding. Some of us may prolong taking any important action until we have the whole script written and we have everything worked out to the last detail.

While it’s possible life could happen the way we plan, more often than not, we will have to take action without knowing how it’s all going to turn out.

One way I’m learning that perfectionism is controlling me is by watching my vocabulary when I’m talking to myself. Should’s, and ought-to’s are a good sign that I’m trying to force a particular outcome or make myself do something I don’t really want to do.

Sometimes the should voice gets so loud, it drowns out all my authentic wants and needs. I feel paralyzed in overwhelm, wrestling with what I ought to do versus what I might like to do, so I stay frozen and do nothing.

Either that or I trick myself into thinking I’m taking action when I’m really just busying myself with other “important” tasks like cleaning out my inbox or getting lost in social media for hours.

I’m making progress in learning to trade in the “I should’s” and instead, ask myself, “In this moment, what do I really want to do?” I usually have an answer immediately. When I can mediate a balance between my wants and needs, and discern if there is any validity in the “should” voice, I can tap into my own natural flow and take action, without hesitation.

I get to stay small…Fear of Success

We’ve all heard the phrase, “We are never given more than we can handle.” I’ve always applied that to difficult situations and tough times, but I recently heard the idea that it’s also true for our talents, our potential, and thus, our destinies.

Fear of success is just as real as fear of failure. This may be the reason some of us constantly avoid taking important next steps.

In Nelson Mandela‘s famous inaugural speech, he quoted Marianne Williamson by saying, “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.

It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, ‘Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous?’ Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world.

There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people will not feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us.

It is not just in some of us; it is in everyone and as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give others permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

The biggest role we will ever play on the stage of life is ourselves! We must not be afraid to trust and follow the mysterious greatness inside us, no matter how unknown, unpredictable, or scary it may seem.

Change will happen at a speed we can handle. Me being all of ME, you being all of YOU, inherently came with the equipping we would each need to be that person in full. Being all that we are meant to become, letting all of ourselves float to the surface for the world to see is never a mistake.

It’s who we were born to be and it’s our role in the symphony of life. While this doesn’t happen overnight, we can all take a step in the right direction today by being honest and asking ourselves if we are hiding behind avoidance.

Solutions

Moving forward is a choice. However, understanding why we procrastinate leads to greater self-empathy, which helps us discover what we need before real progress can occur. Only then will we give ourselves permission to take action on our goals and dreams.

EXERCISE #1

Make a list of everything you’re avoiding or procrastinating about. Congratulations! Awareness and acknowledgment are the first steps. Now draw a line down your paper and for each one, write all the possible fears of taking a step in the direction of what you really want.

Then ask yourself, “What is the underlying belief holding me back?” Maybe it’s, “If I act on a dream and it doesn’t work out, I will look foolish.” Or, “If I succeed, I won’t be able to manage the pace of success.”

There’s no right or wrong answers, this is just you getting to know the real you—your fears, hopes, dreams and inherent beliefs. In a third column, write down the worst thing that could happen if you move forward in that area, and rate how likely that is to come true on a scale of 1-10. In a fourth column, jot down one tiny step you are willing to take and the name of someone you can use for accountability and support.

Strangely enough, one right action can give us just enough of a self-esteem boost to make another right decision. With each small, seemingly insignificant choice, self-trust and self-respect begin to return.

We’re motivated to continue. All the while, we remind ourselves what we really want and why we’re doing this in the first place. Our “why” must stay in the forefront, fueling our efforts.

TIP

Another trick is to focus on the journey rather than just the ultimate outcome. If we look for the gift—the reward solely in today’s small action—we may be more likely to jump in and do it.

If we slow down and enjoy the activity, we are more likely to find the willingness to take the next right step. Most of our lives are spent on the way anyway. Let’s have fun getting there!

Remember, good things take time. Living in a microwave, fast-food society, our inherent desire to pull up to the drive-thru window and have it our way is so much more appealing than taking small steps toward a meaningful accomplishment.

But we have a choice. We can dismiss the urges, desires, dreams, and goals that are going to take longer than one day, or we can do one small thing today (and the next, and the next) to get us closer to the goal.

EXERCISE #2

Visualize how nice it will feel to just do it (whatever “it” is). Imagine being free of the mounting pressure hanging over your head. See the goal achieved. Allow yourself to bask in the glow of accomplishment, self-pride, and the fruits of your actions. Doesn’t that feel great?

When the payoff for avoidance and staying comfortable becomes overshadowed by the payoff for getting it done, the scales will tip and suddenly we will have more motivation to be unstuck than stuck. We will do what is necessary to feel better and improve our situation. We will enjoy a sense of accomplishment for finally taking action.

BOTTOM LINE

No one can tell us when it’s time to move forward. We have to stay stuck until we’re good and ready to get unstuck. When we’re done playing around with a problem, we’ll solve it.

We already know what we need to do. In the meantime, we can accept we’re right where we’re supposed to be, getting the lesson and building up the necessary drive to take action.

Pretty soon we’ll do it and wonder why we waited so long! Usually, it’s not as big of an issue as we made it out to be in our minds … and in our procrastination. Cheers to your perfect timing!

The post Why Do I Procrastinate and How Can I Beat It appeared first on Everyday Power.

[badgersinthesky]

Time Marches On

She remembers it like it was just yesterday.

They had all known that she was going to follow into her siblings’ footsteps without a doubt.  When she was born she was already displaying the telltale signs of being a Metamorphmagus, both her eye and hair color changing rapidly within minutes.  When she was barely a year old she was already making the unexplainable happen, just as the others had, but with far more intensity than they had.  The animals would come up to her with no preamble whatsoever, as if she were one of them, was possibly one of the more extraordinary signs of them all.

So, while they all knew without a shadow of a doubt that she was like them, it still came as a surprise to her when she received her acceptance letter not long after her eleventh birthday.  It was quite a shock at first; she was the youngest of seven, and of all of her siblings, only two others had gotten letters as well.

If she were to be completely honest with herself, she would admit that dread for this day had been growing in the pit of her stomach.  Not because she didn’t want to go, but because of how she thought it would make her other siblings feel.  When her oldest sister, Willow, got her letter it wasn’t much of a surprise; she had shown signs at a young age as well, and while their parents were Muggles they had both grown up with magic in their immediate families. But when another letter didn’t arrive for her eldest brother, and instead came for the next, there was a slight bit of jealousy.

Of course this was before she had even come around, but she had been privy to that knowledge and felt the sting of it.  While it did stir up some harsh feelings amidst the kids, it was only a fleeting feeling, much to everyone’s relief.

The surge of joy and happiness that raced through her as she clutched the thick parchment to her, grinning from ear-to-ear as her family congratulated her and hugged her from all directions was enough to power an entire city.

She was a witch.  And she would be attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!

Hogwarts.

She had dreamt of the place for as long as she could remember.  For as long as her sister Willow had been attending.  She returned each year with such incredible stories; amazing even to a toddler.  Then after Finley’s first year he would add to those stories, making the longing in her little heart almost burst forth from within her.

She would give anything to go!

Now she stood with the other trembling first years, hungrily drinking in the sights and sounds of the Great Hall that she had heard so much about.  The enchanted ceiling was by far her favorite thing thus far, but she eagerly drank everything before her in.  The sights, the smells, the song from the old dusty hat washing over her as she tried to familiarize herself with her new home.  She could pick out the silvery forms of the ghosts between the seated students, all of their faces turned towards their soon-to-be schoolmates.

The singing came to a halt and a hearty applause rang out, the hall full of a buzzing energy as a roll of parchment was unfurled.  She bounced up and down on her toes in anticipation, her heart racing as she scanned the tables once more, movement catching her eye.  She grinned and returned the wave, spying her brother at one of the tables, before doing the same to a different table, her sister seated at it.  There was some cheering erupting from the furthest table from her, but it didn’t reach her as the girl next to her sister waved at her as well, flashing her a brilliant smile that reached her sparkling green eyes.

Minerva McGonagall.

Her sister's’ best friend in the whole world.

She spent most of her summer’s at the Hawthorne residence, gossiping away with Willow part of the time, but most of the time all of the children, Minerva included, were going off on adventures.  She played with all of them, and made all of them feel like they were equals.  But she seemed to pay the most attention to the youngest of the children; the one with the sky blue eyes and extraordinary magical skills.

The glow in her cheeks warmed her to her core as she returned the wave, pulling herself out of her thoughts as her name echoed through the hall.

“Hawthorne, Susan!”

She walked up to the stool, the former heat leaving her as she carefully pulled herself up on it, an empty nervousness overtaking her.

What if she wasn’t in the same house as one of her siblings?

She had never been alone a day in her life.  She was always with her family!

‘No need to be frightened, little dearie, it will all work out in the end.  Now where to put you?’ A little voice whispered in her ear, calming her somewhat.

‘With Fin, or Will!!  Please, I don’t know how to do this without them!’

The little voice chuckled quietly.  ‘You, my dear, will do just fine, I promise.  You will never truly be alone here, and you have been doing this without them just fine.  There is only one clear choice for you; I could see it before I was even sat upon your head.’

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

A stone seemed to settle in the pit of her stomach as she slid off of the stool and drifted towards the table that was cheering, several of the older students beckoning for her to come sit with them.

“‘Ey there!  You must be Fin an’ Will’s little sister, eh?”

She grinned slightly and shook the hand that was offered to her, trying hard to swallow back the tears she knew would come.  “Y….yeah, that’s me.  I’m Susan.”

“Good t’ meet ya!  I’m McCoy, one o’ the Prefects.”  He winked at her and patted her on the shoulder, nodding towards the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tables.  “They’ve told us a lot about ya; they pretty much knew you’d be with us.  Don’t worry lass, you’re in good hands with us Puffs.”

She felt the dread and the sadness leave her as she grinned back at the friendly boy beside her, ease settling over her as she returned the waves of her siblings and friend once more.  

She was going to adjust to this new, wondrous place just fine.

“Dear, would you please just relax?  It’s not like she’s going off to war or anything.”

“I am relaxed, I promise.”

A hand pressed down on the top of her jiggling leg, forcing it to cease its mindless movement.  A skeptical, albeit amused, green gaze met that of a nervous sky blue one.  “Breathe, Susan.  There’s nothing to be worried about.”

She took in a deep breath and let out a short sigh, grinning as she covered the hand on her leg.  “I know, it’s just…. It’s so bizarre, going through this again.  I mean not me personally, this is our daughter and our niece we’re talking about, but…..”

A squeeze, and the babbling ceased.  The woman shook her head and chuckled lightly.  “I know love, I know.”

She fell silent and scanned the line of nervous looking first years, looking for the small brunette and blonde amidst the crowd.  She couldn’t find them and soon gave up, the Care of Magical Creatures professor shifting in her seat slightly.  “I can’t help but wonder how many of them would have been here, if they……”

She felt another squeeze and returned her gaze to that of her wife’s, smiling in reassurance.  “I’m alright, I promise.”

Truth be told, though, it was harder on her than she wanted to admit, even though it had been years.  It got easier with time, but only just.  She couldn’t help but wonder how many nieces and nephews she would have; how many of them would have shared her magical talents, how many of them would have never gotten to witness this glorious place that she called home?  Willow had been the only one, aside from herself, to survive that day, along with Willow’s daughter Rowan.  Ro had gone to Ilvermony, but in the following years, they had decided to move back to their family’s farm in Scotland.  Willow had married and settled down, giving Rowan some brothers and sisters, superficially filling the gaping hole that was still in their hearts.

In turn, Susan's not-so-little niece blessed them with great nieces and nephews.

It would never be the same, but they had each other to hold on to.

A hand squeezing hers once more brought her back to reality and she snapped her eyes to the front as the first student was called up to the stool.  As the line started to dwindle, clapping and cheering echoing throughout the magnificent hall, her eyes landed on two small figures standing together, their hands clasped tightly around one another’s.

“Min!  Min, there they are!”

She could see the same nervous excitement in the eyes of the other woman, Susan squeezing her hand in return.

“Hawthorne-McGonagall, Adelaide!”

The brunette strode forward, letting go of the little blonde’s hand at the last second as she climbed up onto the stool, the hat placed upon her head.  They both knew from the moment they had adopted her as a newborn that she belonged here.  She had grown up hearing stories from both her mothers’ about the things they did when they themselves were kids; their time at Hogwarts, the fall of the dark Lord Voldemort, and everything else in between.  The little girl had squealed in awe about the prospect of an entire school dedicated to learning magic, and she had insisted on going right then and there.  Of course they couldn’t, but they described the castle in so much detail that Adelaide had felt like she had lived there as well.

She was close to all of her cousins, and loved everything about her family.  She had always wondered about the people in the photographs that she did not know, but felt like it was never the right time to ask.  One day, when she was older, Susan would tell her what happened to the rest of them.  But for now, that was a story for another time.

Susan felt Minerva squeezing her hand again, her green eyes glued to the figure on the stool as the brim of the hat opened wide, its decision finally made.

“HUFFLEPUFF!”

“I told you she would take after you.”

“Whatever, she’s just like you, too.  Badgers and lions are both pretty feisty!”

The two beamed at each other over their clapping hands, Susan reaching over to swipe a small tear off of Minerva’s face.  “Who was the one that needed to relax?”

“Oh hush.”

Several more students were called forth, another round of nervousness clenching her gut as she watched the little blonde fidget in the line.  She was reminded so strongly of herself when she was a first year that she almost laughed aloud.

“McCoy, Finley!”

The little girl all but skipped forward, both Susan and Minerva snorting quietly into their hands.  The hat was barely placed on her head before it shouted out, “HUFFLEPUFF!”, the youngster grinning from ear to ear and dashing off to join Adelaide at the table.

“Well, that was a bit….”

“Surprising?”  Minerva asked with a slight smirk, eyeing her wife in amusement.  “Why do you say that?”

“She’s so much like Fin was, I could’ve sworn she would have been in Ravenclaw.”

“Did Fin ever tell you that he was meant to be in Hufflepuff?”

“What?!”  Susan asked in shock, before grinning slightly, an eyebrow raised in disbelief.  “You’re having me on, aren’t you?”

“No, not at all.  He told me about it one year.  He said the only reason why he didn’t want to be in Hufflepuff was because yellow wasn’t his color.”

Susan laughed out loud at that, ignoring some of the looks she had received from her fellow staff members.  The last of the students were finally being sorted and she took the time to wipe away the tears streaming down her face.  “Yeah…..yeah that definitely sounds like my brother.”

She took in a deep breath and sighed in content, waving cheerfully towards her daughter and niece as the Sorting Hat was taken away, Minerva rising on her left to begin the start of term feast.  Her eyes were drawn to the enchanted ceiling, the beautiful night sky above them.  The stars were twinkling brightly, not a cloud in site to mar their view of the heavens above.  After all of her years in this new, enchanting place, the ceiling was still by far her most favorite thing about the castle.