#I have some of the firmer stuff too for future works for better detail

[pallanophblargh]

Another desperate strike at the art block and a tribute of sorts: super rusty linocut to reinitiate me into the world of printmaking. It’s not as attuned to my working style as intaglio was, but this is fun, tactile, and enough of a departure from my way of thinking that is super welcome.

It’s nothing special and definitely technically lacking (over-inked block and such) but it’s something, which is a big deal lately. Also it’s my favorite species of fish and we all know Kuhli loaches deserve all the tributes we can give.

#printmaking #linocut #Kuhli loach #kinda sorta art #love the carving process even though this is only the easy carve block so it’s soft #I have some of the firmer stuff too for future works for better detail #wanna do a cecropia caterpillar #actually wanna do a bunch of little precious invertebrates #art is so hard these days I will take what I can get #I’ll figure it out i promise #this is redemption for the horrid woodcuts I did during my relief printmaking class #miss it so much

[greenhikingboots]

heyo!! I'm not sure if you've already answered this because I don't have Tumblr and I keep getting blocked by the log in wall whenever I scroll too far. But why did you delete your old AO3 account and works? Where you getting bullied 😰 I know the jonsa ship and Sansa specifically is well hated...

Hey, anon. I haven't answered that before, so I'll give it a go now. I think it's neat that you're interested. I haven't had any issues with bullying apart from a few random comments on AO3 that were less about Jonsa and more about my writing choices. Whoops. I tagged that fic as a fix but still let Rickon die? My bad. I didn't realize I was supposed to anticipate the preferences of that one specific reader and not do that. *eye roll* That's just one example, but despite my snarkiness about it right now that kind of stuff doesn't actually bother me too much. It is what it is. So anyway. I deleted my old account more because I wasn't satisfied with my work, wasn't finding fulfillment in writing as a hobby anymore, realized I cared more than I wanted to about kudos and comments -- yeah, that kind of stuff. But mostly I felt a lot of self-inflected pressure to post updates quickly. And so my speed became too much a measure of my sense of self-worth. Lame. I took a break for a while, but I'm back to writing now with a healthier mindset. (Though, let's be honest, I still want those damn kudos!) If you don't already know, my new AO3 name is GreenHikingBoots. Since I write for both Jonsa and Dramione, I wanted a name that wasn't fandom specific. And I like the color green and I do a lot of hiking IRL. So there you go. Oh, I should probably clarify that everything I have published under that new name, apart from my current Jonsa WIP called Inevitable, was previously published on my old account (though edits have been made). Most of that is Dramione, though. Also, that isn't to say every old fic has been re-published. Two of my more popular works -- For Better Dreams (Jonsa) and Between the Lines (Dramione) -- are still in my Google Doc and will hopefully get re-published in the future. I'm working my way through shorter fic ideas first. For what it's worth, compared to how I used to do it, I now have firmer plot plans and more detailed first drafts before I start publishing. And I give more author's notes warning that updates may take a while. And those factors go a long way in helping me maintain this hobby in an enjoyable way. Basically, these days, I'm into slow and steady wins the race. Oh, come to think of it! Here's another thing I should have said sooner: major shout out to the Jonsa fanfic writers who take their sweet time publishing updates and the readers who are understanding of that. I didn't see that as much in the Dramione fandom, but I think seeing it here helped relieve a lot of my anxieties. I think that's about all I got on the topic. I'm not going to say TL;DR. But a summation? I'll try. Here goes: Fandom and fanfiction writing is supposed to be fun, not feel like work! I took some time away because I hadn't internalized that. I've since developed some better habits and saw some good examples of people who had internized the message, and that helped. Now I'm back and enjoying writing more than before. Yay! Thanks anon. This turned into a really rewarding thing to write about. Hope you don't mind me getting all philosophical. ;)

#ask northernlady #who is also greenhikingboots #and was dakotadelcour if you're a dramione fan #not an identity crisis #just like jonsa to much to stop using this tumblr #and start using my greenhikingboots one #which was the plan at one point

[seasonofthegeek]

The Perfect Partnership

This drabble was requested on ko-fi by @staylostinstereo for the fanfic trope mash-ups with the prompts “marriage of convenience” and “pregnancy” for Adrien and Marinette. I couldn’t quite work in pregnancy (at this point in the story anyway) but I did mention babies, haha. I decided to go with a non-Miraculous AU where they’ve been best friends for years. Thanks for you donation!

___

“It’s not the craziest thing I’ve proposed.” Adrien wiggled his eyebrows. “Did you get that? Proposed.”

Marinette blinked at her best friend. “Wait, are you actually serious about this?”

“Of course I am! I can’t get my trust fund until I’m married and you need capital to start your business. It’s the perfect partnership.”

“It’s marriage.”

“Well, yeah.” He frowned. “Are you saying you don’t want to marry me?”

She threw her hands in the air with an agitated huff. “I’m saying this is nuts! We can’t just get married so you can get your trust fund!”

“Why not?”

“Why not?” she echoed. “Because...because that’s just not what people do. We’re not even dating.”

“It’s what we could do. And everyone already thinks we’re together anyway.”

Marinette shifted away from him uncomfortably. “That still doesn’t make it right.” She’d been in love with her best friend off and on for a decade or so and marrying him seemed like a very bad idea...or a very good one. Either way, it most definitely wasn’t a smart idea.

“We can divorce in like a year or something. Nothing will change anyway. We already spend most nights together.”

“Not together together.”

Adrien sighed. “Fine, we already spend most nights in the same apartment. Better?”

“I guess.”

“And it isn’t like I’m going to make you share my bed just because you’ll be my wife, although you know you’re welcome to.” Another man may have taken that opportunity to give her a leering look but there was only earnest hopefulness in Adrien’s eyes.

It was true they’d slept in the same bed some nights. Adrien wasn’t partial to storms and Marinette didn’t like sleeping alone when it got too cold so they fell into bed together from time to time. And Marinette often woke up pining and regretful. She couldn’t do that on a daily basis.

“Adrien, I really don’t think it’s a good idea.”

He stuck out his bottom lip. “But you’re the only person in the world who would marry me.”

“You and I both know that isn’t true. You’ve got women, men, and everyone in between lining up everytime you walk outside.”

“You’re the only person in the world I want to marry,” he amended. “Come on, please. We’ll have enough money to do whatever we want.”

“It’ll be your money.”

“As my wife, it’ll be yours too,” he grinned. “I want to spend it on you. You’re the most important person in my life.” He took her hands in his. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng, please do me the honor of marrying me so we can get our hands on my awful father’s money and do really fun stuff with it.”

“I can’t,” she whispered.

“You can! It doesn’t even have to be anything big. We can do a really quiet ceremony and tell Alya and NIno the truth. Or we can throw a big party if we want. We can do anything.”

She could feel her resolve wearing down. “I need to think about it.”

He nodded enthusiastically. “That’s fine. Do that. Think about how much easier it will be to start your business with no debt.”

“You’re killing me here.”

Adrien flashed her a killer smile. “I’d never do that to my future wife.”

___

“Wow.” Alya watched Marinette turn on her heels and pace back across her small living room. “Like wow, wow. I knew he was in love with you but this is just beyond.”

Marinette spun sharply and glared at her. “Adrien is not in love with me. I can’t have this conversation with you again.”

“Okay, don’t shoot the messenger but that man has been in love with you since we were all sporting acne.” Alya shook her head. “I know you never want to believe me, but he definitely is.”

“And I’m saying he’s definitely not. Adrien and I are friends, we’ve always been friends.”

“And now he wants to marry you. That’s how I am with all my friends too.”

Marinette groaned and sank down to the couch, dragging her palms down her face. “What am I gonna do?”

“What do you want to do?”

She blew out a puff of air. “I want to marry him and have his kids and grow old with him and the worst thing he could’ve ever done is ask me to have a fake marriage with him and I’m so angry at him right now.” She felt the prick of tears and gritted her teeth, willing them to go away. “He’s just a big, stupid jerk except he didn’t even mean to be which makes it worse.”

“Oh, Mari,” Alya sighed softly. She moved down the couch and pulled her friend into a hug. “I think you just need to talk to him. Maybe he feels the same way you do.”

“And if he doesn’t, it would make everything really weird,” she muttered, burying her face in Alya’s soft hair. “I can’t, Al. I just can’t.”

“So what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.”

___

“So this marriage thing, what if you end up meeting somebody?” Marinette had been rehearsing the question in her head throughout half the movie and she saw Adrien hesitate beside her, his fork dropping back down into his box of Chinese delivery.

“I won’t,” he replied carefully.

“You could.” 

“But I won’t,” he repeated, voice firmer this time. “And if you do...well...we can figure it out.”

“We can figure it out? Like you’ll be my husband and I can just date someone else because the whole thing is fake?”

Adrien’s expression became pained and he kept his eyes in the direction of the television. “If that’s what you want.”

“What do you want?”

“To get married so we can have lots of money and fun together.”

“Because we’re best friends,” she pressed.

“Of course.”

“Right.”

An uncomfortable silence slid between them and they finished the rest of the movie without any further conversation on the topic.

___

She’d talked to Alya.

She’d talked to her mom and then her dad, though she’d left out a lot of the finer details.

She’d talked to herself a lot.

She’d talked to Adrien in her head. Hundreds of conversations and they all ended up the same way.

She couldn’t marry him. Not like this. Not when he thought it was something it wasn’t. Not when he didn’t know how she felt about him.

But she also wasn’t ready to tell him how she felt. She doubted she would ever be ready.

She had to tell him no. 

He’d find someone else to marry so he could get his trust fund and she would keep saving up to start her business just like she’d planned and they’d still be best friends. They’d both be fine.

Marinette gathered her courage and walked up the familiar steps to Adrien’s apartment. She used the code she knew by heart to get into the building and fished her personal key out of her purse as she rode the elevator up. She gave the quick cursory knock on the door before she slid her key into the lock and pushed it open.

Adrien shuffled into view, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and a miserable expression on his face. “I’m sick,” he whined pitifully. His cheeks were dark and his eyes were too bright and Marinette knew even before she made it to him that his skin would be hot to the touch.

“Go lay down. Have you eaten anything yet?”

“Not hungry.”

“Big baby. Go lay on the couch and I’ll make you something.” She watched him until he made it to the couch and then went to busy herself in the kitchen. The open layout let her keep an eye on him as she worked. “Have you taken any medicine?”

“Don’t have any,” he sniffled.

“I brought some over last time you got sick.”

“I used it all.”

“You’re supposed to replace it, you goof. What would you do without me?”

He turned on the couch so he could watch her with half-lidded eyes. “I don’t ever want to know.”

His hair was a mess and he’d rarely looked worse but Marinette couldn’t help but feel fond warmth flow through her entire being. She loved him so much, even when he was a sad lump of a man. 

“Are you going to marry me, Mari?” His eyes were sliding shut, the words slurring out from between sleepy lips.

She could’ve said nothing. She could’ve kept her promise to herself and told him no. She could’ve pretended she didn’t hear him.

But instead she whispered, “Yes.”

Buy me a cherry coke?

#adrinette #adrien agreste #marinette dupain-cheng #miraculous ladybug #did i play myself writing this? #you better believe it #i want to write more #but i have to finish up other stuff first #you know #unless someone sends kofi for more #and then like i'd HAVE to move it up this list #alksdjf;lksadjf

[our-time-is-now]

May 28,2019: Not just advertising!

(previous play)

You can find more information about the authors, translators, content warning and additional information about the plays in the pinned post on our blog.

Attention! This play includes transgender topics. For more details see our interjection.

Tuesday, 5:38 pm:

David: *he and Matteo realized earlier today that the fridge was empty and as Laura is currently spending a lot of time with her lovesick best friend, it's their turn again to cook today and provide for themselves* *so he went food shopping with Matteo who had announced that he wanted to cook something today (David would have been ok with a frozen pizza or a salad) – and they are now entering through front door downstairs* *lets Matteo pass and informs him* I'll just go check if there's any mail... *opens the mailbox and takes out two letters while Matteo is already climbing the stairs: One bill for Laura and one from the health insurance for him* *feels his heartbeat speed up, but doesn't want to get his hopes up too much – maybe it's not about the cost coverage for his mastectomy, maybe it's only advertising or just some information. And even if it was about the mastectomy, the letter could still tell him that they reject the cost coverage* *takes a deep breath and follows Matteo to the apartment door* *briefly smiles at Matteo when he steps aside so that he can unlock the door and then takes both letters and the groceries into the kitchen* *puts the letters down on the counter for now and puts the groceries on one of the chairs* *sits down on a stool and looks at Matteo questioningly* Umm... do you want to cook now, or later?

Matteo: *checks the time and shrugs* We can wait for another hour, depending on how hungry you are. *points at the bags* But we should still put away all this stuff... *grabs one of the bags and puts it down on the counter to empty it* *didn't pay attention to the letters* *turns on the radio*

David: *laughs quietly* Usually, /you're/ the one who's always hungry... *also checks the time and then nods with a grin* Okay, if you can manage to wait for another hour... *has the letter from the insurance company constantly in his mind, but doesn't feel ready yet to open it* *so takes the things Matteo is pulling out of the bags to put them away in their respective cupboards or the fridge* *grins and holds up a can of spray cream* *can't remember putting that in the bag and looks at Matteo questioningly* Felt like sandwich toast, or what is that for?

Matteo: *laughs* Yes, exactly, that's why it's smarter to eat when you want... I can always eat. *then nods* Yes, I can wait for an hour* *laughs when David shows him the spray cream* No, that was on Laura's list... but I mean, if you want to eat some more cream-cheese-toast again, we can postpone the cooking? *grins*

David: *by now has put away all the things Matteo had handed him and now goes to sit on the stool again* *tilts his head when Matteo mentions the cream-cheese-toast* Let me think for a moment... hmmm... no! *laughs* I trust your cooking skills can whip up something better than cream-and-cheese-toast! *then gets a little more serious and asks* Hmm... and what are we gonna do until we eat? Want to watch a TV-show? Or play some computer game?

Matteo: *laughs slightly* Oh yes, no-one can resist pasta alla Luigi... get ready for something... *then tilts his head to and fro* Hmmmm, a TV-show sounds good... I mean laying around on the sofa... *grins and by chance notices the letter addressed to David* Don't you wanna open that?

David: *laughs quietly at Matteo's answer and summarizes* So, laying around on the sofa, making out and having a TV-show on in the background... *imitates Matteo by also tilting his head to and fro and says* Yes, sounds good... *glances at the letter again and plans on opening it when Matteo cooks and is just about to get up from the stool when Matte mentions the letter* *picks it up without thinking about it and stares at it for a moment* *gets nervous and taps his foot* *is silent for too long* *eventually looks up at Matteo and starts stuttering confusedly several times* Yes, right, I... well... maybe... *feels silly all of a sudden* *it's probably only advertising* *shakes his head, stops and murmurs* Okay, screw it... *holds his breath while he slowly tears open the envelope*

Matteo: *grins and nods* Best plan... *is surprised when David's demeanor changes all of a sudden when he mentions the letter* Well, you don't have to... if it's a bomb threat or something... *peeks at it again but can't see who the letter is from as David is holding it in his hands again* *feels like it might be more important than he thought* Did you already apply anywhere? *right now doesn't have an idea what else it might be* *sees how David opens the letter and suddenly gets nervous himself even though he doesn't even know what it's about* *simply observes David while he slowly takes the letter out of the envelope*

David: *is too nervous to respond to the bomb-threat joke and only slightly shakes his head when Matteo asks if he has already applied somewhere* *realizes that his hands are shaking slightly when he pulls the letter out of the envelope and immediately sees that it's not advertising* *can read the subject line "application for cost coverage for a mastectomy" without having to fold the letter open and feels his heartbeat race and a strange ringing in his ears* *tries to calm down somehow... should the application be rejected he'd simply work to save the money... that would take longer, but he would do the surgery no matter what* *briefly closes his eyes and unfolds the letter* *tries to concentrate and to understand what it says* *reads it again and slowly understands* *exhales shakily and laughs quietly but at the same time feels tears of relieve come to his eyes* *rubs over his face, looks up at Matteo, beams and cries at the same time* *grabs Matteo by the sweater and pulls him toward him* *simply has to hug him now, to share his joy and relief with him and explain to him what happened but realizes that even more tears start to come when he presses his face to Matteo's shoulder* *quickly clears his throat and finally murmurs* The insurance covers of the mastectomy...

Matteo: *watches David as he reads the letter* *immediately has a lump in his throat when David somehow simultaneously laughs and cries and has no idea what's going on* *immediately steps toward David when he pulls him in and wraps his arms around him* *then hears what it's about and realizes how everything tightens in him out of joy and relief for David* *hugs him firmer and then leans back a little to kiss him* *beams at him* Wow, that's... well... congratulations! *laughs and hugs him again* Then we don't have to rob a bank, after all...

David: *tries to wipe away the tears when Matteo leans back to kiss him, but realizes that there are new ones coming and figures that it doesn't matter now* *is simply relieved* *returns Matteo's beaming look and then has to laugh when he talks about robbing a bank* At least not for the surgery... maybe only for a trip to Detroit... *returns his hug and takes a deep breath to somehow calm down* *releases the hug again and wipes the tears out of his face again* *realizes that his hands are shaking and laughs quietly again* *holds them out to Matteo and says* Some booze to calm down wouldn't be bad right now...

Matteo: *simply beams together with him and nods* Yes, for Detroit definitively... *was just about to take David's face in his hands when he holds his hands out to him* *grabs them and holds them firmly* *entwines their fingers and shakes his head* No alcohol, Mister Schreibner... now more than ever... *tilts his head slightly and looks at him* And I know you don’t like it when I say that... but I just want you to be well, okay? Optimal conditions and such...

David: *looks at their entwined fingers but can't really stop the shaking and the turmoil* *looks fake-annoyed when Matteo forbids him the alcohol* *only said that as a joke and knows that Matteo knows it as well* *then nods with a grin at Matteo's correct realization that he doesn't like when he says something on that topic and says* Well observed, Mister Florenzi! *then nods at his next words and briefly pulls Matteo's fingers to his lips to press a kiss onto them* Okay, I know! *smiles lovingly because he really does appreciate the fact that Matteo watches out for him* *still adds an explanation even though he's sure that Matteo knows it* The thing with the booze was only a joke... and a beer every now and then is also okay... *tilts his head and looks at him challengingly* Okay? *really doesn't want to discuss every single beer in the future* I'm only supposed to avoid "excessive alcohol- and drug consumption"...

Matteo: *nods slowly* Okay... from now on, I'll shut up when it's about beer... *slightly tilts his head* But only with beer... everything else I'll comment on... and I'll do research about mastectomy... and if it says anything different anywhere... *looks at him fake-warningly* I still feel bad about you smoking weed because of me, so you have to deal with me being overprotective whether you want to or not...

David: *smilingly and quietly says about the beer-topic* Very good! *then laughs and nods* Okay, do all of that... but about the mastectomy, you can simply ask me... I might have read a few tiny things about it at one point... *shakes his head and corrects him* I didn't smoke because of you, I did it to look cool in front of you... that’s called own stupidity. Just like with my binder - by the way, I have to take it off soon... you didn't know about it, so you don’t have to feel bad about it... period! *looks at him with a slight grin and raised eyebrows, as if he wouldn't accept any objections right now* *lifts one hand to his cheek and looks at him lovingly again* *quietly says* Apart from that, sometimes I gladly endure your overprotectiveness... *adds even quieter* I like it, when you watch out for me...

Matteo: *draws up his eyebrows* *You don't say... I know that you know this stuff... but I also know that you tell me that one beer is okay or that working out is okay or whatever... *laughs slightly incredulous* To be cool in front of me? *shakes his head* And you were much cooler than me to start with... *smiles a little and kisses him briefly* Good, because I won't stop it... and therefore go and get changed, I'll go and turn on the TV in the meantime...

David: *laughs when Matteo accuses him of withholding things and slightly hits him in the chest* It is! *shakes his head with a grin* Umm, no...? You were cooler than me! You were only being you! *smiles and returns the kiss* *nods fake-serious when Matteo says that he won't stop watching out for him* *is quite sure of that* *laughs at his order and gets up to go to the bathroom* *but before he goes he pulls Matteo to him, kisses and hugs him briefly but firmly because now his thoughts are back on the letter and the surgery again* *then jumps up twice from excitement and only says* I'm so happy! *then disappears into the bathroom to take off his binder and gets back into the living room relatively quickly, where Matteo is already lying sprawled on the couch and has turned on the TV* *as there is no space for him to sit, let alone lie, he simply drops down on Matteo and tries to somehow push him aside* *grumbles* Move!

Matteo: *only shakes his head when David says that he was cooler* *knows that this is one of those discussions that could go on forever, so doesn't disagree again* *laughs when he jumps twice and simply looks after him lovingly* Me too! *goes into the living room, turns on the TV and gets comfortable on the couch* *grins when David comes in and makes an umph-sound when he drops down on him* Not like this *wrestles a little with him and tries to use up even more space* *eventually, they find a position in which they can both lie on the sofa: Matteo pressed against the backrest, one arm under David's head and David half on top of him, half on the sofa with his head on Matteo's shoulder* What do you wanna watch? Continue with Friends or something else?

David: *laughs when Matteo tries to use up more space and wrestles with him and is giving his best to get some space on the sofa* *relaxes when they apparently find a position that's comfortable and doesn't actually need a series but nods at the suggestion of Friends and says a little lazily* Friends is always good... *turns the TV to Netflix and puts Friends on and then stretches briefly to put the remote back on the coffee table* *leans back again and immediately feels Matteo's arm wrap around his waist again* *reaches for his hand and intwines their fingers* *relaxes and looks to the TV where there is a scene at the cafe* *both he and Matteo are quiet for quite some time* *at some point says* By the way, I have to get up a little earlier tomorrow. I've got a doctor's appointment at 10 for my hormone injection... *simply assumes that they spend the night here because they're here already and so far, didn't really have a reason to spend their nights separated*

Matteo: *thinks that Friends is a great series to relax to as you don't always have to pay attention because you've already seen it a hundred times, anyway* *therefore, gets pulled out of his thoughts when David starts talking* *also thought that they would sleep here as they are going to eat here* Okay... *only then realizes completely what he had said* Because of the injection? *remembers David telling him about psychologists and injections and that he also read that there are different options of administering testosterone* How often do you have to do that?

David: *nods when Matteo asks about the injection* *never really thought about how much Matteo actually knows about the whole thing but thinks that Matteo will ask or do some research if he wants to know something and in the last two and a half weeks has made the experience that for Matteo a lot of things are okay, simply for the way they are* *then hears his question and starts to draw small circles on the back of Matteo's hand with this thumb* Hmm... every 3 to 4 weeks for the injections... the GP does that... and once a year for a check-up with a specialist. *waits if Matteo has any more questions or if that was all he wanted to know*

Matteo: *hums slightly and thinks about it* Every 3 to 4 weeks? For the rest of your life? *grimaces slightly and squeezes his hand* Could you also do that yourself or do you always have to go to a doctor?

David: *nods at Matteo's questions and returns the squeeze* *turns around to him when he realizes that he has more questions but puts his head back on his chest and wraps an arm around his waist* Theoretically I could do it myself... but... *grins slightly* ... at the doctor's you get the injection in here... *slightly smacks Matteo's bottom and then continues* ... and you have to hit the muscle and you have to be careful not to hit the sciatic nerve which also runs there somewhere... so you probably wouldn't really be able to do that yourself... with the doctor it's faster and probably less painful... he knows the right spot... *presses his lips together for a moment and then adds* Some people also inject it themselves - then it goes into the thigh... but so far... *shrugs slightly* ... so far, I haven't really felt confident enough...

Matteo: *laughs a little when he smacks him on the bottom* *then nods again to show David that he's listening* Okay... yes, I can understand that. *but then thinks about it again and what it means to get injections your entire life* I've read that there's also a gel... wouldn't that be easier? Or is that difficult because of the dosage?

David: *has to smile a little when he realizes that Matteo really did some research but then explains* You have to apply the gel daily. I think it's really inconvenient because you also have to make sure that you always apply it at the same time and that you shouldn't shower for an hour afterwards and stuff like that. And if you're in a relationship you should... *thinks about how to explain it best and starts again* Well, you rub the testosterone directly onto your skin and it takes some time to be absorbed completely. So if you're together with a woman, for example, and you touch her, then there's the danger that she involuntarily also gets some male hormones... *grins slightly* *thinks for a moment and then adds for the sake of completeness* There are also depot injections that you only get every three months. Sometimes I consider switching to them, but it's a bigger dose that you get injected with and you can really only do that at the doctor's.

Matteo: *listens to him attentively* *didn't know about the trouble with the gel* *but then has to laugh a little* Well, luckily that wouldn't be a problem in your case... but gosh, all the things you have to consider... *hums again slightly* Well, as long as the injections aren't a bother you don't have to risk anything, right? How long does such an appointment take? Should I pick you up and we'll go have breakfast or something like that?

David: *nods to the topic of injections* *often feels a little pain the next day but has gotten used to it by now* *thinks at Matteo's question* Hmmm... well, the injection that's a matter of two, three minutes... but afterwards you're supposed to keep lying down for 10 to 15 minutes... and when it's busy I often have to wait a little... I guess I'll be finished by 10:30 or 10:45... *looks up at him and smiles slightly* Breakfast sounds good. But I can also bring back some bread rolls. *grins a little* Then you don't have to force yourself out of bed... *puts his hand on Matteo's cheek and pulls his head down slightly to give him a brief but tender kiss*

Matteo: *nods and grins* Bread rolls also sound good... I can make breakfast... *but then thinks that it will be the first time that he'll be in David's apartment without him* *doesn't know why this causes a weird tug in his stomach* *but then gets kissed and forgets it for now* Tomorrow evening Hans has scheduled flatshare-cooking and I quote "Without David and Alex, they're great, but I've had enough of happy couples”* *laughs slightly* But maybe I can come by afterwards?

David: *nods when Matteo says that he can make breakfast* *thinks it's really nice but also a little exciting and unfamiliar that they are this familiar with each other after such a short time, that being together is so natural* *grumbles when Matteo quotes Hans, but then laughs* He should go look for a partner himself! *immediately nods at Matteo's question* Sure, I'd love to... anytime! *is happy that he wants to come over afterwards* *finds the thought of having to spend the evening without Matteo somehow strange, but rationally thinks that they can't always spend their time together* *thinks briefly of what he could do tomorrow evening and spontaneously decides to do some more research on the surgery and to make some phone calls for a consultation on Friday*

Matteo: *laughs slightly* Hans doesn't want a boyfriend... too much heartache, he says... *shrugs, so as if he couldn't relate to that, at all* *finds it strange that he's not going to see David tomorrow evening and tries to figure out when the last time was that they weren't together and can't really remember* And what are you going to do tomorrow evening? I bet you could hang out with the guys if you want...

David: *also laughs about Hans and shrugs* Then maybe he does something wrong... *grins a little at Matteo's suggestion and softly strokes his cheek* *teases* Are you worried that I'll get bored without you? *smilingly shakes his head and stretches a little* No, it's okay... I mean I guess I could, but I'll just make use of the time and do some research about the surgery. I might have to wait months for an appointment, if I'm unlucky... I already did some research about surgeons, but there are only two here in Berlin. There are a few good ones near Berlin... there's one in Potsdam and I think in Halle, as well... maybe I'll read some more experience reports and call all the surgeons on Friday...

Matteo: *grins slightly and shrugs one shoulder* Maybe... but maybe I'm just projecting from me to you... *nods when he says that he wants to do some research* Doesn't have to be near Berlin, does it? I mean, if you have to stay in the hospital, the travel distance doesn't matter... then we'll just go to Hamburg or Frankfurt or Munich or wherever... the main thing is that you get the best surgeon there is.

David: *laughs quietly and murmurs* Maybe you simply know me really well and know that by now I've gotten so used to you being there that it will somehow be weird... *smiles and says* But we'll manage a few hours! *listens to him and nods at what he says about not having to bee near Berlin and travel distance* *doesn't even hear the cities Matteo lists because his brain and his heart got caught on the word "we"* *straightens a little so he can look at Matteo and clarifies* We? *once again has the feeling that his heart almost overflows with all the love for Matteo and briefly thinks that somehow he's really emotional today and could once again cry from happiness because he never would have thought that he'll find a partner who will be with him on this journey*

Matteo: *smiles and nods* I'll send photos and comments, then you're basically there... well, if Hans doesn't take my phone away. *looks at him surprised when he straightens and clarifies with him* Yes, we... *slightly shakes his head because he thinks that David would rather do this alone* Well, I know that my care is sometimes a little annoying, but I'm definitely coming with you, no matter what you say, sorry...

David: *feels his heart skip a beat when Matteo really confirms that he wants to come with him* *then realizes that Matteo misunderstood his question, briefly closes his eyes and laughs quietly* *looks at him again and shakes his head with a smile* *quietly and with a lump in his throat says* I didn't mean it like that. I’d be happy if you came with me. I just never thought that... *shakes his head, stops and starts again* For years I thought that I would have to do this on my own... *thinks for a moment, shrugs and lowers his gaze* *smiles again and quietly admits* I think that you might have been right, after all... that it's better to not be alone. *blushes slightly and gets sheepish*

Matteo: *looks at David and puts his hand on his cheek* Hey... I told you that I'm here now... *has to swallow down the lump in his throat at David's next words* *kisses him briefly* I won't leave you alone... I love you, ok? No matter what. *looks at him and thinks that it's still true to some extent, that David has no idea how great he is and how much he deserves to not be alone* *kisses him again and then grins at him slightly* *wants to lighten the mood and says* We'll get rid of those stupid tits somehow, okay?

David: *simply smiles when Matteo repeats his promise that he's here now* *back in the pool didn't really know how important that would become to him and even though it scares him a little, it's simply beautiful to know and feel that he's there* *looks at him a little incredulous when Matteo tells him that he loves him, because he finds it incredible that Matteo can tell him that without hesitation and so matter-of-factly and briefly presses his lips together when he realizes that tears start to pool in his eyes, after all* *but thinks that it's true, that he also loves Matteo and that there isn't any doubt about it* *looks at him and responds* I love you, too... everything about you... *thinks that right now it has even more meaning than it did in the pool, but that words almost aren't enough to express what he feels for Matteo* *hopes that one day he can prove it to Matteo just like Matteo is proving it to him right now* *returns his kiss and tenderly pushes the unruly hair off his forehead* *has to laugh at his next words and nods* Oh yes, please! As fast as possible! *scoots a little closer to him and kisses him a little more fiercely* *interrupts the kiss after a while and rights himself* And now I'm hungry!

Matteo: *notices the tears in David's eyes and realizes how everything in him wants to be there for him, always* *then hears for the second time that he also loves him and feels his heart skip a beat* *kisses him and laughs a little when he agrees with him* *grumbles slightly when David interrupts the kiss* *but then laughs when he calls for food* Okay... I'll accept that... *waits for David to get up from the sofa to get up himself and goes into the kitchen with him*

(next play)

#Druck #og druck #matteo florenzi #david schreibner #davenzi #davenzi plays

[chroniclackofselfpreservation]

Creatures of the Night

Chapter 33 - could you find a daydream in the dead of night?

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AO3

Masterlist

(TW: scary/nightmarish imagery, memories of an abuser, dissociation,)

(The title of the chapter comes from "Unbroken" by Birdy.)

It was late afternoon by the time Daveigh had forced Patton to call it quits for the day. He’d been going at it nonstop for hours, and while he wasn’t physically tired, his mind felt raw and tender, like thinking too hard might give him an aneurism. Projecting-wise, the memories weren’t getting any easier to handle no matter how hard he tried to distract himself, and he couldn’t get farther than a couple dozen yards from his body without his mind yanking him back out of fear.

“It’s only your first day of training,” she said as they hiked back to camp. “You’ll get it.”

“Thanks,” Patton said, surprised at the genuine optimism in his reply. He wasn’t only confident that he’d get it down eventually, but was eager to contact Roman and Virgil as soon as possible. Patton wasn’t naïve enough to think it would end well given the difficulties projecting was already giving him, but he had to try. He wasn’t blind. Patton could see the strain all of this put on Logan. He always tried to have control of a situation—especially one concerning the safety of his friends. It was the least Patton could do to ease his stress.

The two of them arrived at camp to find Logan sitting by the unlit firepit whittling a stick with a familiar, pale stone. Patton recognized it as the one Mikhail had tried to hand to him before he’d projected into the past. The man in question stood at one of his handmade tool sheds, smashing rocks together at an angle and testing the subsequent edges with his thumb.

Daveigh wandered over to chat with Mikhail, and Patton approached the hunched, focused figure at the firepit. Logan didn’t look up, engrossed in his task.

“What are you carving?” he asked gently, trying to keep from startling him—especially while he wielded such a sharp blade.

Logan looked up, knife halting mid-stroke. His face immediately brightened. “Patton! Oh, it’s—well, I was attempting to make a face, but I’m not very good at it yet.”

Patton tilted his head. “I can see it if I squint,” he teased good-naturedly, taking a seat by Logan’s side. “I doubt I could do much better,” he admitted.

I know a warrior when I see one. Patton still balked at Mikhail’s words. He may know how to shiv someone before they could do the same to him, but he was no trained fighter and his hands weren’t steady enough for detailed work like whittling. Logan, on the other hand, surely could have been a surgeon if it had interested him.

“How did you training with Daveigh go?” he asked, the edge of his bottom lip held between his teeth in concentration as he worked the blade around a lump Patton assumed was a nose.

“It went well,” he said. “I’m definitely making progress. I—” he glanced over at Daveigh and lowered his voice. “I think I might try contacting Roman and Virgil tonight.”

Logan’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t look up. “Are you sure? You’ve only been at it for a day, Patton. I don’t want you to risk yourself if you aren’t ready.”

“I can do it,” Patton assured him, and he wasn’t completely lying. Heck, he’d projected back in time to see Virgil and hadn’t so much as sneezed. Given that he had similar feelings for Roman, it made sense that traveling there would be easier than simply projecting somewhere random. Daveigh had said that their powers flowed easily toward those they loved. Besides, Patton wasn’t as concerned with how it would affect him afterwards. All that mattered was getting the message to them. Once they had that peace of mind, they could deal with the repercussions.

Logan stopped and met his eyes, searching. Patton hated how easily his face clicked into an innocent smile, his mind racing, coming up with a million different outcomes and subsequent excused he could use.

“I trust you, Patton,” he said, and if not for Patton’s already firm façade, he probably would have flinched at the words. “You know more about his area of magic than I do.” Logan turned back to his work. “What did Daveigh have to say about it?”

“She’s curious, mostly,” he said, quickly sorting out a believable lie. “There hasn’t been an oracle like me, well, ever. She said it could go either way, but I’m confident I can handle it.”

The best lies, Merri had taught him, are almost completely true.

For the rest of the evening, Patton, Logan, and Daveigh helped Mikhail around camp. He’d finished their sleeping mats, which they moved into Daveigh’s hut and discussed where they could build a hut of their own in the future. Jorryn appeared from the jungle just as the sun was setting, arms laden with food. Berries and nuts, roots, melons, and mangos; it was the most food Patton had seen in a while. Thankfully, there was more than enough for everyone to eat their fill.

They sat around the fire Daveigh telling them of ancient kingdoms and daring adventures. Patton pierced pieces of mango with a sharp stick and roasted them over the fire for Logan and himself.

“…swung her sword down with a mighty roar—but she noticed the assassin’s hidden dagger too late. The blade took her in the side, right at the joint in her armor,” Daveigh said, eyes wild with excitement as she wove her tale. Patton gasped, and Daveigh’s smile grew wider. Mikhail listened passively, whittling a stick into various shapes and designs with far more dexterity than either of them could dream of. Jorryn sat forward, elbows resting on his knees, hands hanging down limply. Tiny, almost translucent vines sprouted from the ground and twined through his fingers—as if the island itself were a child gripping the fingers of its father. He stared at the fire without expression, lily-pad skin turned rich olive-gold in the firelight. The patches of orange and white lichen mottling his face, arms, chest, and legs turned warm and flickering. Patton hadn’t paid the Green Man much attention since arriving, however he went off on his own most of the time, rarely hanging around the rest of them. Patton hadn’t heard him speak more than a few brief sentences.

Patton could see a pervasive melancholy lingering behind his defensive air. Patton looked away, not wanting to stare.

“Blood spilled from the wound, and Lady Fenroy knew she had little time left. Her trusty bowman shot an enchanted arrow at the attacker from his perch, forcing the enemy back. The Lady’s panther bared its fangs and—”

Something rustled from the shadows of the jungle, hidden by the darkness of night. Patton shot to his feet and Daveigh paused, looking confused. Mikhail also looked as if he’d heard it, though he didn’t seem nearly as worried about it. Alert, but not tense.

“Patton?” Logan inquired softly, taking the stick of roasted mangos from him before they brushed the dirt. “What’s wrong?”

As if on cue, two figures emerged from the foliage, blinking in the light from the fire. Patton relaxed, sitting back down. It was Eudora and Killian.

A smile broke across Logan’s face.

“Would you two care to join us?” Mikhail asked, equally pleased at their arrival.

“Oh, they’re invited, now?” Jorryn muttered. “After wanting nothing to do with us for the past few centuries?”

“Killian wanted to come,” Eudora said curtly. “I have no intention of bothering you all.”

“It’s alright if they stay, right?” Patton said, plowing through the tension by force.

“I see no reason why not,” Logan said, looking quite excited. Patton felt a besotted smile work its way onto his face at Logan’s expression.

Killian pulled Eudora by the hand, coming around to sit next to Mikhail. Thankfully, Daveigh cleared her throat and continued her story, gradually easing the tension in the group. Even Jorryn relaxed a bit. Killian leaned over and talked to Mikhail about his knife, inspecting the runes with a smile. Daveigh eventually fell back into her excited, animated way of storytelling, doing exaggerated expressions and voices that made Patton giggle. Eudora lingered outside of conversation, but Patton could tell she was listening to the story and trying not to react at each twist and turn.

Patton picked the hot, dripping mango off the stick, handing one to Logan and popping the other into his mouth. He smiled and hummed happily as the juice covered his tongue, the sugars sticky and caramelized. Logan looked at him with a strange expression on his face, a faint smile of his own crawling its way onto his face.

Patton couldn’t remember being this content since their arrival on the island.

Daveigh finished her story and they all clapped—some more enthusiastically than others.

“Thank you, thank you,” she said, bowing with a flourish. “Now, excuse me while I stuff my face. I’m starving,” she laughed, accepting the roasting stick Mikhail passed to her over the fire.

Logan cleared his throat. “At risk of dampening the festivities,” he started, “I’d like to get some more specifics from you all about the curse on this island.”

Jorryn’s expression darkened, his fingers twitching.

Daveigh and Mikhail both looked at Eudora. She reddened a bit, looking… awkward almost. “I’ve told you everything I know. What more is there to say? We’re stuck here forever and we’ll never die.”

“If Ursula dies, will the curse break?” he asks.

Eudora snorted. “That is impossible.”

“Will it break?” Logan repeated, firmer.

“Yes, I suppose. If she were to somehow die despite her immortality.”

Logan leaned forward, steepling his fingers. “As of right now, I have very good reason to believe the last heir to the Witch Queen’s Inheritance is working to solve this very problem,” he said and everyone stared at him as if he’d gone completely insane, but he continued before anyone could interrupt him. “Regardless, if the curse breaks, we have no guarantee we will be returned to where we came from. We’d simply be in danger of dying on the island, no one knowing our location, yes?”

“And the one person with the power to transport us out of here would be dead,” Jorryn muttered.

Daveigh raised a finger. “Well, if this heir was powerful enough to kill her, maybe he could do it?”

Eudora didn’t look as optimistic. “Even if the heir learned to Displace—assuming he was powerful enough in the first place, it would take several years of training regardless—Ursula is the only person who knows the exact location of the island. A witch cannot displace themselves or anyone else somewhere they cannot picture exactly in their minds.”

Logan perked up. “You’ve studied displacement, then?”

“In all but practice,” she admitted. “A single witch with enough raw power to displace themselves, let alone a group of people, is a rare breed. Even if I did have the power necessary, I’ve been away from the Witchlands for so long, I don’t know if I’d trust myself to remember the location properly. It would be extremely dangerous.”

“Very well,” he said. “Thank you.”

Mikhail passed around more food, and the mood gradually lightened once more, Daveigh prodding Mikhail into telling a story of his own—though quite less animated.

Patton watched as Logan sat back, staring at the fire. He could practically see his mind working the problem like those ring puzzles Logan always had sitting on his desk back home, turning it over and over, looking at it from all its angles for the solution.

Patton smiled and popped another piece of sugary-sweet mango into his mouth.

* * * * * * * * * *

Patton lay on the new sleeping mat Mikhail had made for him, staring up at the ceiling, Logan and Daveigh asleep beside him. Daveigh slept almost as silently as Patton did, and he only knew she was still breathing due to the slow rise and fall of her chest. She occasionally shifted around, though. Logan slept on his stomach, a mass of tangled limbs and even messier hair. For someone so organized, Patton wouldn’t have thought he’d sleep so disheveled.

It was adorable, really.

Patton was certain Logan hadn’t forgotten what he’d said about trying to contact Roman and Virgil tonight. Rather, tonight was the first night in a while that, despite their predicament, it seemed as if everything would be okay in the end. The sheer relief of actually enjoying themselves for the first time in several days was exhausting in of itself. Patton couldn’t blame him for falling asleep seconds after laying down.

Patton closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He knew what he’d likely see when he projected—especially so far away—but he couldn’t afford to be nervous. As he’d quickly learned during his training, the emotions he felt would directly influence his mindscape, and therefore his experience while projecting.

He just had to stay calm.

Patton pictured the house in Wakeby, letting the small, rhythmic breaths puffing from Logan’s nose lull him into the meditative state. Patton felt his body suddenly weighed down, and he jerked up.

He was still in the hut. Patton looked down at his semi-translucent hands in frustration. He hadn’t officially projected to somewhere else—on purpose, at least. Still, it seemed ridiculous that he could astral project through time on accident, but when he finally wanted his freak powers to work they were stubbornly weak.

No, I can do this, Patton thought firmly, pulling himself back into his body. He opened his physical eyes, set his jaw, then closed them again.

The next four tries all ended the same: Patton sitting up in the hut, still overlapping his own body. He returned to his body and sat up for real, cradling his head in his hands and sighing. Why couldn’t he get this?

Patton glanced at Logan’s sleeping form. Waking him up at this point didn’t sound like a good idea. He’d risk alerting Daveigh as well, and there was no way she’d condone any of this. He just had to think about it like Logan would. On the surface, it seemed as if nothing had triggered the projection into the past. All he’d done was stand up and walk around the fire to take Mikhail’s knife from him. He was lucky he hadn’t passed out on his way to find Logan. He could have stabbed himself. But it didn’t make any sense for something that astounding to happen for no reason. Patton just had to figure out why.

What would Logan do? he thought desperately. Well, he’d probably have Patton walk through the events leading up to the projection. Patton thought back. Daveigh had been asking him about his family history—which he hadn’t been too forthcoming about, though not due to a lack of willingness. Mikhail noted that Logan was still gone, and Patton had asked if there were any predators on the island.

A few, Mikhail had said. The thought should have terrified Patton, but all he’d felt was an overwhelming urge to protect. Almost anger at the image of something hurting Logan. The darkness inside him ready to rip open the throat of anything daring to harm those he loved. Usually, thoughts like those would have troubled him, but at that moment, he’d accepted them. Used them as fuel. Channeled them.

Then Mikhail had offered him the knife, he’d stood to grab it, and then…

Patton rested his chin in his hands, tapping the point of his nose with a finger as he wracked his brain. He wouldn’t be surprised to see steam leaking out of his ears. He usually relied on the adrenaline of danger to help him make quick strategic decisions. Did Logan think like this all the time? Patton smiled to himself. That boy was truly amazing.

Shaking his head, Patton returned to his problem. The only significantly different thing that had happened was the surge of protectiveness. That had somehow had flung him several hundred years into the past… right to when Virgil was having a rough time.

Patton’s eyes narrowed and lips pressed together in a frustrated pout. He didn’t want to end up in the past again. Especially without someone like that nice witch to help him orient himself. Unfortunately, that was the only sort of lead he had. He hadn’t gone as far as integrating the person he’d grown up as into the personality he’d crafted for Dot, but after his conversation with Roman that night, Patton had learned to tolerate it. Maybe even accept it. As long as he focused on Roman and Virgil, he’d end up seeing one of them. Hopefully.

Nothing to do but try, I guess, Patton thought, laying back down. He set his jaw and proceeded to let his imagination run wild with all the horrible things that could be happening to Roman and Virgil. It was a particular kind of trick to both rile himself up and stay in enough control to still project. The darkness inside him unfurled almost hesitantly, as if it didn’t trust Patton’s deliberate goading.

Slowly, it filled him. How dare someone hurt his friends. He’d kill them. Tear them limb from limb.

A sudden dizzy weightlessness took hold of him, and it took all of Patton’s willpower not to freak out and inadvertently pull himself back into his body. A second later, he blinked, finding himself standing in their living room. Whispers of memories immediately bombarded his ears.

Patton. Patton! Patton… dozens of voices screamed, cried, growled, whispered, laughed. He recognized them all. Patton plugged his ears, but it didn’t make a difference. It’s okay, he assured himself, taking a breath. Just stay calm. They aren’t real. He had to stay focused. He could still feel his body lying on its mat back on the island, the gentle breeze across his skin. He’d be alright.

“Roman? Virgil?” he called. Nothing. Would they be able to hear him in this state? Patton couldn’t be sure, so he rushed upstairs—running wasn’t much different as a projection, though it was a little odd when his feet didn’t sink into the carpet at all. Checking both their rooms, Patton found himself alone in the house. Roman’s truck was in the driveway.

They’re probably just out of the house, he thought halfheartedly, standing alone in the upstairs hallway. Last he and Logan had seen, they’d been facing off against an angry immortal witch. Patton shook his head. They weren’t dead. He wouldn’t accept it. He’d just have to leave them a note for when they got back. Daveigh had explained how they couldn’t interact with most physical objects while in the astral plane. Patton would just have to figure something out in that case—

A towering figure blocked the stairs, so tall he had to bow his head. Patton froze, feeling as if his heart was squeezed to stillness inside him. The hallway light wasn’t on, so he couldn’t make out the man’s face, but he didn't have to. The figure had a bottle held loosely in his hands, a stained wife-beater hanging from his shoulders and stretching over his beer belly. The smell forced its way up Patton’s nose, choking him. Still, it wasn’t a perfect memory of the man. The figure’s arms were gangly and inhumanly long, and his neck looked disjointed, bent as it was against the ceiling.

The whispers swelled in a frantic crescendo. Patton felt his limbs going numb as his body began to pull him back.

No, he thought hopelessly, squeezing his eyes shut. I have to leave a note. I have to let them know we’re okay. He isn’t real. He can’t hurt me. Even in his head, he sounded breathless and pathetic, and he knew he didn’t believe himself.

The man grunted, as if annoyed by the cramped hall and took a lumbering step toward Patton. The house around him flickered, almost glitching and giving way to empty, nightmarish darkness. Seatbelts sprouted from the ground and began winding around his wrists and ankles. He could feel them. Patton, at last, let out a scream as the man charged, lifting his bottle like a club.

Patton’s vision of the Wakeby house flickered, and he felt suddenly dizzy. He was getting pulled out and into a nightmare.

“No,” he growled, that same feral protectiveness sputtering to life inside him. Patton's mind felt as if it were being torn in half, but he suffered through it, forcing himself to stay aware. In the back of his mind he could feel his physical body trembling and gasping, responding to the fear without knowing where it was coming from.

Just as the man was about to bash him over the head, Patton relaxed his arms and managed to wriggle free from the seatbelts. He dove past the man’s feet as he took a clumsy wing, falling over.

“C’mere, boy,” he groaned, writhing around as he tried to right himself in the too-small corridor. Patton raced down the stairs, heart picking out a frantic trot in his incorporeal chest. He came to the living room and kitchen, but his mind was blank. What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t interact with anything. It wasn’t as if he could pluck a sticky-note from Logan’s desk and leave them a nice little note on the bathroom mirror.

“Get back here,” the man’s grating voice called, lumbering footsteps descending the stairs. Patton panicked, his mind lancing with pain as he resisted the pull back to his real body. He swayed as he rushed to the cellar door—somewhere to hide. The pain got so bad he couldn’t see straight.

Something ground beneath his shoe as he instinctually grabbed for the door handle despite his hand passing through, and he spared a second to glance down. He’d stepped in the leftover rosemary powder from when Virgil had sealed Remus in the cellar.

And he’d left a footprint.

Thinking as quickly as his pain-addled mind could, Patton dropped to his knees and spread the half-burned powder across the floor in a thin sheet with his hand.

“Don’t you run away from me,” the figure said, coming to the bottom of the stairs. Patton didn’t look up, quickly scrawling “We are OK” in the powder with a hasty P&L beneath it.

He finished the tail of the L right as the man reached him, grabbing him and lifting him into the air with too-long fingers clamped around his neck. The sight of the man’s face was what finally did it. Grubby and scratchy, the feeling of fingers around his throat.

Patton’s mind finally broke.

* * * * * * * * * *

Logan woke to Patton’s screams. He jerked awake, Daveigh’s confused mumbling behind him. Patton shot straight up to a seat, gasping for breath and dry heaving.

Logan rose to his knees. “Patton? What’s wrong?”

“I’m slipping. I’m…” he said gasped, sitting back against the wall of the hut. He met Logan’s eyes with considerable effort, a wan smile flickering across his pale face. “I did it. I told them.”

“What’s going on?” Daveigh asked.

Logan’s heart skipped a beat. How could he have forgotten? Patton had said he was going to try contacting Roman and Virgil tonight, and Logan had fallen asleep instead.

Mikhail was at their door in an instant. “What’s wrong?”

“Da… Daveigh,” Patton managed, voice sluggish like he was sedated. “I’m slipping. S…. sorr….” the rest of the word ended in a long breath and Patton seemed to wind down like a toy, eyes glazing over.

Daveigh sat up, taking everything in for a moment before sighing. “He did it, didn’t he. Contacting your friends?”

“I believe so,” Logan said. “What does he mean he’s slipping?”

“He’s dissociating,” she said, crawling forward and placing a gentle hand against Patton’s temple. “Quite extensively from the looks of it. He must have really gone past his limit. Everything’s fine, Mikhail. You can go back to bed.”

He gave a nod and a concerned glance Patton’s way before retreating back into the darkness.

Logan worried his bottom lip between his teeth. “Is he going to be okay?”

“He’ll be fine after a few hours,” she said. “Patton? Do you want to lay down? You’ll get sore sitting up all night.”

Patton’s index finger twitched and a breathy, strangled hum limped out of him. Not much Logan could decipher there.

“Patton, could you blink for me? Once for yes, twice for no?” he offered gently.

Patton blinked once, slowly. Yes.

“Would you like us to lay you down?”

Another affirmative. Daveigh helped him situate Patton back onto his sleeping mat, the hut creaking beneath them.

“There isn’t much more we can do until he recovers,” she said, yawning. “Be ready for a lecture in the morning, kid.” With that said, Daveigh returned to her own mat and promptly fell back asleep.

Logan knelt at Patton’s side for a while longer, feeling helpless. He pulled his mat a few inches closer to Patton’s and lay on his side, watching him. Patton stared at the ceiling, expressionless, and yet his eyes were pooling with tears. One slipped free and cascaded down the side of his head and into his hair. Instinctively, Logan reached out and wiped it away with a knuckle. Patton closed his eyes, squeezing out more tears and leaning almost imperceptibly into the touch.

“I’m sorry this happened, Patton,” Logan whispered. “I shouldn’t have fallen asleep.”

Another soft note from Patton’s throat, his eyes still closed. Logan could interpret the meaning well enough on his own. He hesitated for a split second and then said, “Please blink twice if you want me to stop.” Patton opened his eyes, still unfocused, but perhaps a bit confused. Logan held his breath as he carded his fingers through Patton’s curls. They were slightly tangled and Logan could feel sand and dirt throughout, but they were still so soft.

Patton’s eyes fluttered shut, a relieved little sigh leaking out of him. In a fit of lucidity, Patton rolled over onto his side, curling in on himself. Logan froze, holding his breath. Patton was so close, now. He could feel his breath against his shirt. Slowly, he relaxed again, running his fingers through Patton’s hair until they both fell asleep.

#memories of abuse #memories of abuser #past abuse #mention of abuse #nightmares #intense imagery #scary imagery #nightmarish imagery #dissociation #tw dissociation #COTN

[peeppeephellofatface]

Mini-fics round 2. 

You’ll want to read that biology post from a few days ago for background to this stuff or it will be pretty confusing.

1. Gordon deals with a crappy lot of coal

2.Henry has a weird dream.  We all know happened last time there was a weird dream.

3.Mallard is a burpy mess after his record run

4.FS has too many protein bars

5.FS has some fun with his sloshy tummy after his incident where his injectors got clogged by fish.  Sort of like what happened in Thomas goes Fishing.  I didn't explain drinking in much detail in the biology post, but it's separate from eating/breathing in these guys.  Not 100% sure how it works yet but they have two stomachs or something maybe?  It partially serves to keep them from overheating anyways, which is relevant here. And this one is kind of dark since he just barely averted a boiler explosion previously.

6. Duke of Gloucester always feels miserable after working because of his design problems and is lonely because crews don't like him.  An ambiguous person (could be you~) decides to be nice to him one day.  This one is also pretty heavy, lots of feelings of hopelessness and despair in the beginning.  He's sort of like an IRL Henry but without any real supportive crews/friends

It was terrible.  It was truly terrible.  Someone like him, in a state as miserable as this. He curled against the back cushions of the couch, seething in pain as they pressed against his tender, puffy, belly and fighting back a sooty burp.  Why did he have to stop at that particular plant today?  And why did he keep working through it all?  It was a vicious cycle, dealing with that batch of coal was.  It stuffed him up with excess ash, making him only require more, which only made himself feel worse.  While spluttering along as an engine was bad enough, the effects of that coal were even worse when he popped out of it in an attempt to seek refuge in this form.   He was breathing rapidly and shallowly, fighting for breath.  It was a horrible clogged feeling and his throat burned from coughing hot ash and soot as he tried to clear it.  But most humiliating of all was how bloated the clogged tubes had made him. That sort of thing tended to happen to engines with poor draughting or other troubles getting out exhaust since the hot gasses would build up in their bellies rather than get breathed out properly. He hissed as he reached down to feel just how bad a shape his stomach was in.   Touching it very lightly to avoid making it hurt even more, he felt how his shirt had slid up a few inches, exposing a strip of soft, hot, flesh. It was true that he was quite plump, but it was clear he was swollen far beyond his usual size by all the trapped air.  His own touch was making him whimper in pain as he felt his belly cramp up from the terrible bloating.  A burp rose up in his mouth, but he fought it back, not wanting to let anyone know he was there.   But he couldn't do it.  Eyes wet with embarrassment and shame gave a hard belch letting out a thick cloud of black smoke and shuddering back from the effort.  Partly from nerves, partly from still struggling to catch his breath, he panted heavily as his eyes shot around, making sure nobody was around to see or hear him do that.  Nobody. Good.  However, he then glanced up, towards the ceiling, where wisps of smoke were rising, and felt himself go cold as a green light flickered.   BEEPBEEPEBEEPBEEPEBEEPBEEPBEEP It had triggered the smoke alarm. -- He hurried down to see what had caused that racket, only to find a panicked and miserable-looking Gordon gaping at him from the couch.  In shock, he burped another burst of smoke.   Edward nodded at him in understanding and circled around the couch to see him face to face.  He tried to shy behind some loose pillows, especially trying to hide his face and belly, but was too tired to do much more than flop over.   "Oh Gordon, it's nothing to be ashamed up.  We all have to deal with the bad batches every once in a while.  How about we go outside and lay in the grass?  It's nice and cool there and you won't have to deal with any smoke alarms." He looked hesitant and avoided eye contact out of shame, but he sighed and bowed his head weakly in reply, reluctantly letting Edward lead him by the hand as he stumbled outside with him. The grass was cool, a soothing feeling against how hot and burning he felt on the inside.  Edward had gently lowered him down on his side, and took his place behind him.  One arm reached over his gently curving side and into the bulge of his distended stomach.   "Please, just let the air out.  You'll feel so much better and I promise I won't tell anyone" "L-Like I should trust you to do that." "It's just going to keep leaving you miserable like this is you don't." He went silent, pressing the side of his face a bit harder against te ground in frustration and pain.  Edward's hand began tracing gentle circles into his gut as he hummed lightly into his ear.   Not another one.  He felt his mouth getting hot inside again before he belched out more sooty air, his belly throbbing and cringing in discomfort afterwards.   "There you go, keep it going, you can do it." He worked up another big one, and got a series of little pats on his chubby, bloaty belly as reencouragement from Edward.  He continued to hum and hugged him lightly as his rubbing grew a little firmer.  Gordon shuddered and groaned after letting out each blast of smoke, but he could feel himself flattening out little by little as he got out the gas, his breathing also starting to get slower and more relaxed.   --------- Everything around him was a grimy grey.  The ground, the ceiling, the softly sloping walls.  Everything was grey.   All along these surfaces were many small bumps, which rang out as if they were metal when he stomped on them.  The whole place shook when he did that, actually. The only place where there weren't the bumps was when he looked high enough above, he swore he saw many minuscule holes.  Neatly arranged and so closely assembled that the vibrating visuals made his eyes hurt. Yet there was something fascinating about them.  Their perfect circles, their close arrangement, the cool breeze that he often felt through them. He shouldn't have even been able to see in there due to the sheer darkness of it, but he did.  He simply accepted it.  Many things in life were so odd that there was no use trying to explain them and they were better off just accepting for what they were.  It was a warm place.  Not actively warm, but a residual warmth from a heat source extinguished a while ago.   Carefully stepping over the many bumps below him and careful not to agitate them, he made his way to one of the studded walls.  How odd.  The materials between the bumps felt soft and somewhat malleable beneath his hands.  He rubbed at it and felt the world roll again.   For how monotonous it was, it was nice in there.   It wasn't silent by any extent as deep, constant, rubles echoed every few minutes, but it was a soothing sound.  The darkness and warmth made him feel safe and secure, as did snuggling against the soft walls. He wasn't going to question how he got inside Gordon, but he rather liked it in there.

---------- After his crew was out of sight, Mallard took his chance to get out.  He didn't make it far before collapsing on his back in the grass, panting furiously.  He'd made it.  Just barely, and not without throwing himself out of whack, but damn, he had made it.  He stared into the sun in exhaustion, realizing he was now the fastest in the world.  Nobody could top him.  And he wasn't about to let anyone in the future try so when he'd fought so hard for it.  He opened his mouth to grin when UURRP Oh no. It was happening again.  Of course it was.  It always happened after a good run like this.  With fierce exhaust blasts came... fierce exhaust blasts.   He flopped around as belch after belch rocked his body, and tried to stifle them by covering his mouth.  The next one only knocked his hands off.  As each one made him shudder, he reached down to give his stomach a reassuring pat.  With his eyes shutting every few seconds from his burping fit, he virtually watched himself move in stop-motion.  Wiping some sweat from his forehead in the same halting way, he began to feel the fit subside, only to be knocked back by one last big one, letting out a big cloud of pale grey smoke.   Feeling his body calming down and cooling off, he rolled on his side.  The burps were getting softer and airier, thankfully.  But soon he found himself knocked back in motion from hiccuping.  Oh dear. ---------- Why did he do this? They were so good.  He couldn't stop at just one, or two, or three even. His crew had gotten him some protein bars so he could have a way to satisfy his hunger without going as far as he usually did.  But of course, he still was going to find a way to overdo it.   Piles of foil wrappers were heaped around him, licked clean of crumbs and chocolate residue.  They were just soo good.   The strange sweetness, the textures, the weight they had inside him.  They had gotten him boxes of different varieties to try and he had sampled all of them and then some.  Some were crunchier, some were practically like candy bars, others had thick, chewy layers on top of crispy ones, some were chalky and terrible and lay half-eaten in a reject pile.  But his favorites had a texture almost like cookie dough- thick, but soft and irresistible. He'd gone through the whole box of those.  Because he barely looked at the warnings on the boxes before scarfing down the bars, though, he failed to realize that he'd just scarfed down more sugar alcohols than a normal human should probably have in a week.  Perhaps even two weeks. A month?  He should have read those warnings in any case.   He hissed in pain as he felt his already bulging tummy getting tighter against his pants.  Somehow the sweeteners affected engines the same way they did humans-by causing bloating if consumed in high enough amounts.  The weight felt so good.  The lingering artificial sweetness in his mouth actually made him crave even more of the bars.  But oh dear, did his stomach feel horrible.  He tried scooting up so he could sit a little more upright but struggled under its weight and couldn't bend much at all without it cramping horribly due to how overstuffed it was. Desperate for attention he whimpered, hoping someone nearby could rub it for him.  That sounded wonderful in this present state.  A gentle hand massaging the bloat away and maybe rubbing and squeezing the chub around his sides. The air seemed to grow colder, though FS hardly noticed it with all his attention on his aching, gurgling belly. But something else was also paying attention to that same part. Cool, long, fingers stroked along tight flesh.  Dragging their fingertips along his skin and weaving around, gracefully caressing him as they glided about like the disembodied legs of ballerinas.  His eyes had shut for a moment and he had thought the feeling was just himself dreaming until he opened them to see who was touching him. Nobody.  It was just a pair of floating hands, a grey so pale they appeared nearly white.  They were vague and nondescript, impossibly smooth to be those of a real human or even humanoid.  But they were friendly.  One lifted up its long fingers and lightly waved at him shortly after he opened his eyes.  The other continued to squeeze and press at his big, soft tummy, deftly loosening the air trapped within.   The waving hand walked up his chest on its pointer and middle fingers, stopping to tickle him every few strides.   Then it quickened its pace, approached his chin and gently traced along  his soft jawline.  It was a pleading stroke, encouraging him to open his mouth a little to let out that trapped air.  Which he did, letting a big belch escape. The other hand patted his belly in praise, making him give out another.  They both resumed their gentle stroking,each halting momentarily to align their motions.  He shivered in pleasure as they continued to work out the gas for him and caressed him,  skin tingling at how cool and smooth they were.   The next day he had asked City of Truro if he knew anything about the mysterious hands.  He did not, but there was a lone pair of large driving wheels sitting outside his original home at Swindon.  There had been reports before of benign phantom touches in the museum, but how on earth did they manage to get all they way to the NRM from there? -------- FS gave took a lethargic flop into the grass.  His insides felt like they were on fire.  Well, they were on verge of softening and collapsing in not too much earlier.  So he wasn't far off.   He still felt wobbly and unsteady inside and intolerably hot. He panted heavily, feeling the heat radiating on his neck even though his breath was aimed upward.  The world was a total blur around him, partially from how hazy his mind was and partially from the wobbling heat waves coming off of him.   Of course, he attempted to get up, a move he quickly regretted.  Ugh.  The sudden rush of water into his boiler after the fish had dislodged for whatever reason persisted in this form... even though the incident had occurred a while back.  He fell backwards, feeling the water slosh around in his belly.  It left him feeling so bloated and heavy, yet the coolness of the liquid was sort of nice.  And as terrible as he felt, it.. fascinated him.   Pinned on his back by its wobbling weight, he patted himself on the side.  It replied with a wet gurgle.  How intriguing.  He tried going a step further by trying to jiggle it a little, only to erupt in giggles that morphed into moist burps at that strange splashing sensation inside himself.  Laughing like that hurt, though, and he found himself grinding his teeth as his belly tightened up.  The magic had worn off and he was back to feeling hot and bloated. Too bad burping wasn't going to be able to do anything about all the water, but it wasn't going to stop him from rubbing his tummy to see if a gentle touch would help calm it down a little. The thick layer of fat on top sank nicely under his fingers, until he pressed directly on the firmer bulge below.  Ugh, that hurt.  It reminded him of that by giving a sharp snarl and shot of cramps.  Still, he pressed harder and felt the water displaced by it bulge out more elsewhere.  It was uncomfortable but sort of nice, playing with all the water inside himself. He let go and with a wet glorp, the water sloshed back in place.  He then squeezed at the sides of his belly and shifted the water back and forth feeling himself tip to each side as the weigh shifted around, sending more groans and gurgles vibrating through his body.   The feeling of weight and exhaustion was starting to overcome him, but at least he felt himself cool off.  Maybe moving the water around had dissipate a littl eof the heat.  He felt his eyes drifting shut and his face slackening as the discomfort started to melt away.  It didn't last long, as someone was approaching. "Scotty, is that you?" He froze, face going hot with embarrassment. Fortunately his driver didn't seem bothered by seeing him in this state.  He squatted down beside him and gave him a light pat on the belly before walking off. "Don't worry about it, big boy.  It wasn't your fault.  Good thing you cleared up in the nick of time, though, we were all really worried about you." ----- Another miserable run.  Not as if those were a rarity for the Duke.  Really, they were just a fact of life.  Each day his crew would come, clearly disappointed and annoyed to have to work with an engine like him.  An engine that struggled to raise steam, choked off by its own botched construction.  The loneliness was such a sinking feeling.  That there would be no other engines like himself because of what an utter failure he had been.  That nobody would really care when the inevitable day for him to be withdrawn came.  The Modernization Plan loomed after all, and an incompetent, nonstandard engine like him surely didn't stand a chance.   After slinking into a shed, he slipped out and  ran into the muddy grass nearby.  It had been drizzling all day.  He didn't care if he got dirty.  He just wanted out of that wretched metal case, and to finally catch his breath.  He gasped and spluttered for air, only to erupt in a belching fit.  Or rather, attempted to. All he could do was lie there, mouth hanging open and squeezing his core, trying to burp. It too was choked off in this form, just leaving him coughing pathetically.  Damn backpressure.  It was certainly hazardous in his other form, with how it proved capable of flinging the fire back through its hole, but in this physical state it always made him feel so bloated an miserable. He kept struggling to let out some of the trapped gas, but just couldn't.  In defeat, he fell back onto the ground, curling his arms around his distended belly and trying to soothe it as it gave an angry gurgle and cramped up on him.  This really was miserable.  He felt a warm tear slide down his face.   He thought he heard the sound of wet footsteps from not far away.  Someone was approaching.  The Duke didn't even bother to jump back.  If it was his crew, so be it. He deserved the embarrassment.  There was nothing he could do about it anyways.  He lay there, mouth hanging open as he kept coughing and feebly attempting to burp, gaze not even bothering to meet that of the newcomer as they knelt down, pressed a hand to his bloated belly and started to knead at the bubble of air.   "It's okay, Duke.  Let me help you with that." Eyes squeezed shut in pain and frustration, the first belch finally came. Rather explosively.  His whole body rocked as a big puff of smoke left his mouth.  They smiled at him and came a little closer this time, placing both hands on his tummy and rubbing up and down into the bulge. Another sharp burp.  It gurgled in annoyance under their hands, but they kept working at all that trapped air.  His eyes slowly opened to meet theirs and he gave them a small smile as he rolled onto his back to give them better access to his belly.  With another firm press, he jolted again from the recoil of another hard belch.   "Wow, those are fierce." "Uh, yes, I- URP- have a rather, ugh, fierce exhaust blast-" He was cut off by a particularly long one, that faded from hard and loud to soft and airy, his stomach roiling afterwards.  One of his hands slid down to meet theirs on his middle.  Their touch was kind and gentle, and he could feel himself starting to flatten out.  Not many people had showed him this sort of care before.  He gave them a gentle grin until another wave of cramping overcame him.   "There, there, this should clear up soon.  Keep it coming" He nodded weakly in reply.        

#pphfffics #burping kink #stuffing #belly kink #gordon #duke of gloucester #henry #tubbyducky #flyingfatface

[floraexplorer]

Anxiety Stole My Love Of Travel. This Is How I’m Fixing It.

It’s a pitch-black night on an Estonian island, and I’m having an anxiety attack.

Just ahead on the narrow road, the light from Kim’s torch skitters over the gravel as she flashes it in an arc towards me. Her bike stays level and continues moving forward: she’s a good enough cyclist to easily maintain her balance with just one hand on the handlebars.

“Flora? Are you OK?”

My bike is snaking and wobbling all over the place. I’ve completely lost my balance. It’s as if cycling in the dark has caused my mind to lose all sense of what’s up and what’s down.

“… Yeah… I’m just… I can’t see…” 

I strain my eyes in the hope of making out the grass verges on either side – but there’s nothing. No streetlights. No moon. Nothing but Kim’s torchlight far ahead, and the pitiful bike light clipped onto my handlebars. It gives off a watery glow which does nothing to reassure me.

I can feel the darkness closing in as my heart pounds, my mouth goes dry and the rushing noise in my ears reaches a crescendo. I’m trying my hardest to keep this anxiety attack totally internal. I really don’t want my friend to see the full enormity of it.

We’re twenty minutes away from the house. How on earth am I supposed to keep going in this state?

I never used to be this anxious.

It feels like a distant memory now, but I was once a much more relaxed traveller. I could arrive at airports with minutes to spare. I used to throw my stuff into a bag and not care if I’d forgotten anything. The idea of activities outside my comfort zone – hiking along narrow mountain passes, crawling underground, opting for adrenaline-fuelled activities – used to be more thrilling than terrifying.

But somewhere down the line, things changed.

If I’ve booked an early flight, I spend all night worrying whether I’ll wake up in time. When I board public transport, I worry if I have enough water or whether I’ll need the bathroom. Thoughts of terrorism and earthquakes are always in the back of my mind.

And although I’ve successfully done it copious times in other countries, apparently now I’m even anxious about riding a bike.

Read more: The most adventurous travel challenges I’ve ever faced

What does my anxiety look like?

According to my therapist, I have Generalised Anxiety Disorder. For me, that means dizziness, a speeding heart rate, a pulsing in my fingertips, a sensation like I’m almost outside myself – and usually a firm certainty that I’m in a lot of danger, or possibly going to die.

That stomach-plummeting sense of dread accompanies much of my time, and often it’s related to uncertainty. I can’t seem to handle surprises in the way I used to; like I’m interpreting anything unexpected as a immediate threat instead of its potential to be positive.

And so I feel anxious whenever turbulence rocks my plane; when someone looks suspicious; when I hear raised voices; when a group of teenagers are laughing too loud; when I hear a noise outside my door at night; when a stranger walks past me too fast.

What’s more worrying is when the anxiety suddenly happens out of nowhere, causing me to mentally take stock of what could be causing it. Anxiety begets anxiety, and it can be an exhausting BASTARD.

Where does this anxiety come from?

I’ve always been a somewhat anxious person, but it’s safe to say that my current GAD-level of anxiety stems from grief. It only recently occurred to me that before my dad was dying, I don’t think I automatically assumed every scenario would have the worst possible outcome.

But grief turns expectations on their head. If the loss of my parents, the worst thing I ever imagined, could actually happen – twice – what’s to stop everything else going wrong? 

The problem is that, if left unchecked, this anxiety has the power to totally monopolise my life. Forget turbulent flights – anxiety could stop me taking public transport for fear of a terrorist bomb going off. Forget packing woes – anxiety can prevent me from leaving the house because I can’t decide what clothes to wear.

It came into startling clarity when a therapist illustrated how easily I could never do ‘anything’ again. If I allowed this anxiety to fully take over, I might as well hide forever in an underground bunker in an attempt to counter the ‘what-if’ situations which could possibly befall me.

How much of myself am I willing to lock away in order to feel safe?

Read more: The self care strategies I use to improve my mental health

How I deal with my travel anxiety

The first thing I try to remember is that it’s extremely common to feel anxious – particularly when you travel. There’s so much that’s new and confusing, from the language, food and climate to the unsettling sense of isolation.

It took me a long time to admit that I often felt anxious abroad, because I felt like I was betraying my blogging persona of being a ‘strong solo female traveller’. When I wrote about it though, I discovered just how many others felt the same type of travel anxiety as I did.

Here are some of the methods I’ve learned to combat my travel anxiety:

– Going to therapy.

I started going to CBT therapy regularly this year and it’s been a game changer for me. My therapist helps me identify what my main anxiety triggers are, and then we work together on methods I can easily use to combat them.

– Understanding my anxiety triggers.

I’ve learned that I do a lot of ‘predicting the future’ thinking which I then immediately assume will be fact. Same with polarised ‘black & white’ thinking, where I can’t seem to imagine a middle ground. The more I notice my thoughts going down these tracks, the more I can relinquish the habit.

– Establishing a routine.

After years of constant travel, keeping some kind of routine is crucial for me. It can be as small as getting up at the same time each day, finding a nearby cafe to get my coffee from each morning, or making sure I go for a run every few days.

– Outwardly admitting I have anxiety.

I didn’t realise how much this would shift things for me, but explaining my anxious thoughts with other people in the moment they’re happening often manages to pull me out of the process. Case in point: as we flew above Estonia and I felt the turbulence jolt through my nervous system, I told Kim that I was anxious – and she patiently talked me through it until I felt better.

Read more: Sometimes I’m scared to travel – but I don’t let it stop me

Facing my anxieties on Kihnu island

Unfortunately I know battling my anxiety is a long-term issue, and there’s always another challenge. So when we arrive on Estonia’s Kihnu island for their annual Ancient Lights celebration and Kim suggests we hire some bikes, I flinch inside.

My immediate thought process? “I haven’t ridden a bike for ages, I won’t be fit enough, I don’t want to, what if I fall off? It’s happened before…”

But one of the only ways to properly explore Kihnu island is on a bike – so I swallow my nervousness, and off we go.

Our reason for visiting Kihnu island is for their annual bonfire celebration at the end of August. At the turn of the season the Baltic countries traditionally light fires along the coastline, bidding farewell to the end of summer and welcoming in the winter dark.

Kihnu is sparsely populated. Only two hundred people call the island home, and they live in four little villages dotted amongst the countryside. There are no street lamps lit each evening. Residents drive their cars or cycle their bikes, and trust in their own abilities to navigate the night.

We spend the afternoon cycling in the sun, and I actually enjoy myself once I get back into the saddle. But by the time we leave the Ancient Lights bonfires to cycle back to our guesthouse, it’s close to 11pm. An indisputably dark night: a waxing crescent moon means there isn’t even the thinnest sliver in the sky.

The bonfire light is a distant memory as my bike swerves. I can’t stop my anxieties from multiplying. A car might come out of nowhere and run us down. I’ll veer horribly into the verge and crash and injure myself. Something – anything – unexpected and sudden and sharp and swift is going to happen.

And all of these anxious thoughts are whirling through my head at hyper speed like a crowd of bats at dusk.

My bike swerves yet again, and in the midst of knowing how scared and panicked I am, I nonetheless feel a firmer version of my own voice edging its way to the fore.

“Come on, Flora – it’s not that bad. Nothing’s actually going to happen to you.”

I try my best to throw my imagination back just a few hours to the forest we’d cycled through earlier. The impossibly tall pine trees; the soft light draped between the branches; the sound of the wind buzzing in my ears as I pedalled ever faster down the empty path. The extraordinary sense of exhilaration I felt – something I haven’t felt too often recently.

Buoyed on by this memory, I try to put aside the anxiety this darkness instills in me and do my best to reframe it. I switch on my phone’s torch, tucking it securely into my bra and facing it out towards the road. There’s still not much light, but it’s enough: the heaviness around my vision clears and I find my balance once again.

And as I push into the pedals and begin to move, I suddenly realise what I’ve been missing all this time. The sky above is lit up with thousands upon thousands of stars. There are too many to comprehend. It’s like flecks of white paint sprayed from a brush, or a thousand moths nipping holes in deep dark fabric.

I gasp, swerve, and nearly fall off the bike as I attempt to brake.

“KIM! Kim Kim Kim!!”

She turns, thinking something’s gone wrong – but what I’ve seen flying high above us is an absolutely surreal shooting star; a blinding brightness with a solid thick trail in its wake.

Anxiety can be your superpower (if you let it)

Someone recently told me that far from being a hindrance, anxiety is actually a superpower. Those of us who are constantly primed and alert, noticing all surrounding details, fully feeling everything possible – and even the self-doubt which constantly ricochets around our minds: it all comes together to make us ready for anything.

Don’t let the darkness stop you moving forward. Sometimes it’s there to be embraced.

And sometimes all you need is a bit more light.

[This stunning image is by Kim Leuenberger]

Disclaimer: I cycled around Kihnu island thanks to Visit Estonia, but I highly doubt they were expecting me to write about my anxious fears of falling off a bike. Nonetheless, it allowed me to think more deeply about this topic – and for facilitating a night sky I will never forget.

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