#I’m kind of going through some burnout right now

[wishingprince]

Every year I say I’m gonna take off work around Christmas and every year I thoughtlessly end up offering to cover for someone. Sigh.

#prince text #I’m kind of going through some burnout right now #I really want time off #so hitting burnout during the holidays where I offer to take on more work #lmao #tryin to muster up the gumption to ask for some time off in January for my bday #also I didn’t say thoughtlessly like a sef brag #I mean thoughtlessly bc I offer and don’t gauge my energy #it’s a bad thing lol #I wanna roll around and draw and relax

[heliza24]

Ep 5, rage, and time

This was a FASCINATING episode. We’ve got a lot more questions than answers right now— about exactly the nature of Fig’s curse (we know it hopped to her from Gilear, but how does the armor of pride play into it), the exact nature of what happened to Cassandra, and what kind of big bad god (???) was talking to Kristen after the fight— so I don’t have a snappy thesis about this week’s ep. But I have some themes buzzing around my head like persistent flies. So let’s talk about them.

I saw someone earlier point out that rage and anger seems to be a dominant theme of the season, after Kristen got advantage for leaning into anger at her parents, and I think we know for sure now that that’s true. I refreshed myself on what happened to Lydia— she sealed a dangerous demon inside a soul gem and embedded it in herself to keep the demon from escaping. She was in a permanent rage to keep herself alive, and the impact of that disabled her. As a disabled fan I have always loved this rep, because the gem functions like a chronic illness, and I personally have used anger at the medical system and the ableist world to survive being chronically ill. (She also refused to have the gem removed and risk releasing the demon, which is a great refutation of the magical cure trope). Anger is a dirty fuel though, and if you burn too much of it you’ll end up burning yourself, and compromising your own mental health, in the process.

That reminds me of the kind of things we were circling from the beginning of the season— burnout, exhaustion, being past where you can fight. And if people heap enough stress on you (from schoolwork or otherwise) a kind of natural response to that is to break into rage at some point.

I don’t exactly understand the mechanisms of the star bursts that originated within Cassandra and then made her monstrous. Were parts of her anger embedded in them like the demon was in Lydia’s soul gem, and then when they re-entered her they turned that rage into something uncontrollable? Why did they affect Kalina that way and why did she mention Ragh’s name? I’m really not sure, although I do hope that this means that Lydia will play a larger role this season and we’ll see more of her and her cool wheelchair soon.

The other things that’s bouncing around my head is the theme of time (a recurring Elmville theme; chronomancy is the greatest magic of all after all). I think this season is concerned with time, and what it means to run out of time, even more than freshman and sophomore year. We have Arthur and Ayda traveling through time and the quadrangle situation. Now we have the Synod clock and a verifiable time loop (side note: I did ABSOLUTELY burst out laughing when Brennan exasperatedly said “anyone can roll arcana to understand time loops” when the PCs were confused, like GOD haven’t you all seen this in a million science fiction stories by now??? A deeply relatable moment when the players aren’t picking up the lore you’re putting down). But maybe more importantly, we’re seeing the consequences of not having enough time this season, or maybe what happens when the clock keeps running after the adventure is supposed to be over. No one has enough time to do all the assignments on their plate. Everyone missed out on fun, school planning, and relationship stuff over the summer because they had to be fighting the night yorb and didn’t have enough time to go home. (Also, side note, the night yorb turned everything to night therefore eliminating a way we have to tell time. No more days, just one long bleed of an adventure). And everything we’re doing right now feels like we’ve somehow hit the end of time and then kept going— Cassandra was never supposed to turn back into something akin to the nightmare king again. Kalina was never supposed to come back in the same form and taunt Riz again. The whole thing feels like a lesser, diminished time loop. Even the main high school antagonists, the rat grinders, are like a weird version of the bad kids who are stuck just looping over and over again, grinding out xp and repeating themselves infinitely.

I don’t really know how these two themes are going to hook together yet exactly, but I have a feeling they’re going to. Whoever was on the phone with Kristen feels like a hook for underlying plot, if not an outright big bad, which I honestly wasn’t sure we would get at all this season. So I’m gonna be so interested to see how these themes coalesce as the season goes on.

PS- I think The Seven is also extremely concerned with time (especially that sequence in the penultimate episode, which is my favorite in all of D20 I think. No spoilers if you haven’t seen it, but it is truly transcendent), and especially what it means to grow and change. I love that this theme keeps popping up in Elmville- it’s such a lovely frame for the kind of coming of age stories that get told there.

#dimension 20 #d20 #fantasy high junior year #fantasy high #d20 fhjy #episode analysis #my meta #if anyone has additional thoughts on these themes I would love to hear them!

[chrollohearttags]

EMERGENCY COMMISIONS!! (revised 08/05/2023 • please read)

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I truly truly hate to do this or ask for help because I don’t like having to ask anyone for anything but I would appreciate it if you guys read/boosted this but if not, feel free to ignore. I’m currently in the process of trying to find additional income, as well as reopening my business (a goal I’ve had to postpone for months since my move and graduation.) As of recently, I’ve had some very unexpected expenses come up as well as additional bills. So I’m opening up emergency fic commissions. The tip option is always open if you guys feel generous and I am working on current anonymous/milestone event requests still but these are for more specific requests. Full detailed fics and I am charging no more than $3-$5 for these and they will be finished within 48-72 hours because I still want to ensure that I am giving you all good quality work. Please PLEASE don’t feel obligated to do this and again, life is really hard on all of us right now and I am truly sorry to ask this of anyone but this is just until I am able to find some additional income and clear a few of these unexpected expenses. Very very temporary! Like I said, I write as a labor of love to you all and I would not ask something like this if I truly did not need it. I have a Ko-Fi as well as the tip jar that you can donate through if you feel compelled. Feel free to message me for details and I’ll be glad to explain. 💕 thank you guys

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as of 08/05/2023, I’ve decided to close commissions until my current ones are posted and completed. I will make a follow up post updating when they will reopen. It has been brought to my attention that I have not been as transparent and forthcoming with my updating. The last thing I would want is for anyone to feel as though I had no intention of finishing their commissions. As I’ve stated before, this is my first time doing something of this caliber and I grossly underestimated the time and effort it would take into producing these fics. I never want to sacrifice the quality of my work for the sake of time, especially when they were so generous as to pay me for works that should generally be free. With that being said, I thank everyone who was so kind to donate and commission me. I so sincerely apologize for any inconvenience or distrust this any have caused. Please know that I am working diligently to get them done and I will be more than happy to refund anyone who feels as if this process has taken entirely too long and no longer wishes to wait. Going forward, I once again ask that you all donate what you feel my work is worth and pay AFTER work is completed so that there is no confusion on either side. Because of the over whelming amount of requests, I unfortunately do not have exact dates of when works will be finished but I ask that you please feel free to message me at any time with concerns. Also, understand that due to the length of my fics, I do feel it necessary to take breaks in between as to not experience burnout and lack of motivation. Again, I understand if this is not feasible for you if requesting and I will accommodate as best as possible but I feel that no one person’s request is more important than anyone else’s. I’ll message upon start and finish of works, but feel free to message to see real-time progress. Again, this was due to sheer mismanagement and miscommunication on my part and I cannot apologize enough. It was very irresponsible of me and I truly hope that you all will allow me the time and grace to rectify this.

#emergency commissions #fic commissions #boost please #cherry chats 🍒

[collecting-stories]

Two-Headed Calf - Eddie Munson

Summary: You and Eddie are soulmates, but neither of you knows how to tell the other.

A/N: I got the idea for this when I was writing my Steve Harrington AU drabble. I love love this poem and I was thinking of Eddie and it made me think of this poem and I had to write this. Also I am EXTREMELY nervous because this is my first Eddie fic so handle me with kid gloves. My feelings are fragile.

Stranger Things Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

Tomorrow when the farm boys find this 

freak of nature, they will wrap his body 

in newspaper and carry him to the museum. 

-February 1982- 

Some people waited decades to meet their soulmates. You had waited a mere six hours, if even that. You’d woken up on the morning of your 16th birthday to a warmth on your arm, the kind that made you rush to the bathroom and look in the mirror.

And there it was, your soulmate tattoo, exactly at the time you had been born, sixteen years prior. A two headed calf with a moon and stars that looked oddly soft and gentle for being a tattoo. You recognized the meaning because it was your favorite poem and the thought alone made your entire heart feel like it was swelling. Maybe it was silly and wistful but you thought the whole notion was romantic and you’d read what felt like thousands of accounts of people finding their soulmates. So you knew, when you saw the tattoo, that it was something different, something you’d only heard about happenings handful of times, something extremely rare, that whoever your soulmate was, you had the same tattoo.  

It was common knowledge that each person’s tattoo was unique, a symbol that was meant to encapsulate something important about their soulmate. But when a tattoo said as much about you as it did about the person you were bound to, that was something deeper. Whatever was more binding than a soulmate, as if you’d been truly cut from the same cloth.  

When you saw the two-headed calf you were excited, bewildered, nervous, happy. It was a rush of emotions coursing through you that didn’t fade away until you were in first period math, sitting in the same seat that you always did, staring at the chalkboard in the front of the room as other students filed in. Getting your tattoo didn’t mean that you were going to find your soulmate right away.  

Your mom had never even met hers. Your dad had, ten years into their marriage, and now he lived in Denver, Colorado with a new wife and family. Your aunt and uncle finally met five years after college. You didn’t know anyone who had met their soulmate right away but then Eddie Munson came in, looking tired and maybe a little burnout for eight in the morning on a Wednesday. He dropped into the seat next to you, like he did every day of the week, and you noticed (for the first time maybe) a familiar tattoo peeking out from the sleeve of his shirt.  

Eddie Munson had turned 16 three days before you. You knew because you were the only February birthdays in Mrs. Prescott’s third grade class and your mom had brought in double the cupcakes on your birthday and Eddie had handed them out with you. When you’d walked down to the office and specials classrooms he’d gone with you and the two of you had giggled about getting to skip math that day.  

“Did you get the invitation to my birthday party?” You had asked as you made your way back through the halls. Music was next and you didn’t want to miss it, even if your teacher was weird. “I’m gonna have a bowling party.”  

“My uncle’s not sure if he works that day.” Eddie had gotten it, the crisp white envelope sitting in his backpack at the end of the school day. Mrs. Prescott had been teaching cursive since January and you had written out Eddie’s name in neat, looping letters. It was the first birthday he’d been invited to that school year.  

“My mom could pick you up.” You suggested, pausing in the hallway. “Oh! We could have two cakes!”  

“Two cakes?” Eddie looked completely bewildered by the suggestion, “what for?” 

“Me and you.” You bumped your hip against his and smiled when icing from his cupcake smeared on his nose, “we can have a joint birthday!” 

There was an extra cupcake in your locker right now, waiting for you to work up the nerve that you’d sworn you would every February since sixth grade and give it to Eddie during lunch. He subconsciously pushed up the ¾ sleeve and itched his arm over the tattoo, giving you a better look at what you knew was there…a soul mark to match your own.  

“Did you get it?” Your best friend dropped into the seat in front of you and turned to look at you eagerly. Lizzie’d gotten hers at the beginning of January, the first of your friends to get a soul mark. She’d gotten a bumblebee on her wrist, much smaller and more delicate than yours. More immediately noticeable as well, though you weren’t sure you really wanted yours to be on display. Eddie wasn’t paying attention, or if he was he did a good job of looking disinterested.  

“Yeah, I’ll show you after class.” You promised.  

You weren’t entirely sure that you’d spoken to Eddie since third grade. You always wanted to talk to him, thought about it after the talent show in middle school when Corroded Coffin preformed a Black Sabbath song you’d never heard of. Your mom was on the PTL that year and went to bat for Eddie (after you’d insisted that he was your friend)  with the other moms who thought the music was satanic and disgusting. It wasn’t a stretch to say you had a crush on him. It wasn’t like you were popular by any means, if anything you were skating just below the surface, invisible to most people and happy with that status. Eddie liked the attention, you thought sometimes, he liked everybody looking at him, even if it was because he was a social pariah.  

But Eddie was...Eddie and you just weren’t sure you stacked up. You didn’t have a cool taste in music, you didn’t dress edgy, you’d never played Dungeons & Dragons (though you knew how, in case the moment ever presented itself and you had the chance to talk to Eddie again). You weren’t interesting enough for him, you’d decided that long before you knew he was your soulmate, when it was still just a meaningless crush that you harbored.  

“Where is it?” Lizzie was still pressing for a sneak peek but there was no way you were going to pull your sleeve up and show her when your soulmate in question was sitting right beside you.  

“I’ll show you after class,” you repeated, stealing a glance at Eddie as he rubbed at his arm again. You could feel the slight tingling across the inside of your elbow and forearm, as if goosebumps had erupted across your skin. As hard as it was to concentrate on math, you tried desperately to ignore the feeling on your arm, too afraid to itch your freshly visible tattoo for fear that Eddie might notice.  

After class felt like it would never happen, your knee bobbing nervously under the desk as the minutes ticked on. You weren’t sure how long you had zoned out for but one minute you were listening to the teacher talking over linear equations and the next you were envisioning what it might be like if Eddie knew that you were sitting there beside him with the same tattoo.  

Would he kiss you? You were pretty sure you’d give just about anything to kiss him. You’d spent plenty of time thinking about the soft fullness of his lips and how pretty he looked when he smiled and how much you wanted to run your fingers through his hair and sit on his lap and make out with him until you were short of breath.  

“You okay?” 

You turned to the side, looking at Eddie like a deer caught in headlights. The bell for the end of class had rung and you had jumped practically out of your seat when the sound jostled you out of your daydream. Eddie was looking at you with all the concern in the world while Lizzie tapped your desk with her knuckles. 

“Lets go,” either she hadn’t seen your jump scare moment or she was so used to you fazing out in class that she wasn’t bothered in the slightest, more so, she was eager to see this tattoo and wouldn’t stop bugging you until you showed her.  

“Uh, yeah, okay,” you still felt dazed as you stood up, Eddie standing up at the same time, retrieving your backpack off the floor and holding it out for you. “Thanks, I’m okay.” You promised, taking the bag, your fingers brushing against his.  

A soft jolt, like the after effect of an electric shock, ran up your arm. A warm sensation surged through you and you pulled your hand back quickly, avoiding eye contact as you heard Eddie call your name. If you turned around and looked at him you were liable to tell him your secret, that he was your soulmate.  

You couldn’t though. You couldn’t do that to him. People like Eddie moved to New York City and played gigs at CBGB’s and had gorgeous groupies hanging all over them. They didn’t stay in Hawkins, saddled to some starry-eyed kid who shared a birthday month and a tattoo with them.  

Lizzie pulled you down the hallway and into the bathroom, pushing the stall doors open to make sure no one else was in there with you. While she made a final inspection you dropped your bag to the floor and pushed off your jacket so you could take your shirt off for her to see the tattoo.  

The two headed calf looked back at you from the dingy mirror on the wall, half obscured by Lizzie’s head as she inspected the tattoo. “Weird.” She mused, “I don’t get it.” 

“Who knows, it’s just a cow.” As much as you loved Lizzie and as close as you were, there were things you’d never share with her. Like favorite poems about conjoined cows.  

“With two heads. Figures you’d get some weirdo as your soulmate.”  

“You don’t know that,” you sounded more offended than someone who’d just gotten their soul mark that morning and had little to no way of knowing who it belonged to.  

Lizzie didn’t seem to notice though, “I thought it’d be something cool.”  

You rolled your eyes. Who was she to comment on the ‘coolness’ of your tattoo? A bumblebee was hardly ‘cool’. It was just a bumblebee. There wasn’t even any originality in it. You shrugged your shoulders before you could say anything you regretted and grabbed your backpack. Lizzie had cut into your time to grab books and you really didn’t want to be late to class. Nor did you want to continue any conversation with her that would include making fun of the tattoo you were so fond of.  

- 

The bell for lunch sent your stomach back into a spiral. You’d gone through Spanish and Science without Eddie being physically beside you, though he’d taken up plenty of space in your mind. It was in the middle of biology that you decided you were going to finally, actually, go through with the plan that you came up with every year on your birthday. You were going to get the confetti cake cupcake from your locker and you were going to broach the Hellfire table and you were going to give him the cupcake. It was a little late for his birthday but you didn’t think he’d care either way.  

But now you were staring at the tupperware container with the cupcake in it and feeling self conscious about giving it to him. What if he thought it was stupid? What if he made fun of you? That one seemed unlikely. You’d known him since kindergarten technically and you’d never known him to be mean.  

Deep breath in, you reminded yourself, you could do this. Even if he didn’t know it yet, you were technically destined to be together, in all the universe no one would ever love you as much or understand you as deeply as Eddie Munson, so surely he’d accept a cupcake. Even if he didn’t know yet, he had felt the same jolt as you. You knew he did because when you looked back into the math class he was staring at his hand like it’d caught fire.  

“Happy birthday,” you announced, stopping beside his seat and holding the Tupperware out to him. He was in the middle of a heated music debate with one of the other guys you recognized from the talent show. Eddie’s head whipped around so fast you half expected it to turn all the way like an owl. It was his turn to look like a deer in headlights, spooked and confused all at once.  

“What?” His mouth was slightly agape as he stared up at you, eyes practically sparkling as he put two and two together. “A present? For me?” The boyish wit and charm returned in full force like a sucker punch to your heart as he placed his hands over yours and pulled the Tupperware toward him, “why, I am just beside myself,” his voice was high-pitched, his accent a caricature of a southern belle. Still, that familiar gleam in his eye couldn’t be missed as he opened the lid and looked down into the container, a cupcake (the top a little mashed in) with rainbow jimmies.  

“My mom made them for my birthday,” you explained, “I figured, since it was just your birthday too...” As you spoke you crossed your arms in front of yourself, tucking your hand against your forearm and itching at the tattoo as inconspicuously as possible.  

The playfulness that had been in Eddie’s eyes a moment ago flickered away, another emotion, something like surprise mixed with happiness, took its place. The boy you’d known to always have something to say, said nothing. He just stared at the cupcake, almost transfixed, tongue darting out to wet his lips.  

“It’s confetti...well it’s vanilla but you know, with jimmies baked in.” You further explained, unsure what to do with an Eddie that wasn’t loud and goofy and theatrical.  

Finally Eddie looked back up at you, “thank you, I uh...thank you.” 

“Yeah, hope you like it. I uh,” you looked back toward your usual table, Lizzie already sitting down with her lunch, “I have to go eat.” 

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” 

You turned around and walked back to your table as quickly as possible, trying to breath in and out to stop the warm throbbing in your side. You’d read once that ignoring the tattoo, if you were near the person that was your soulmate, could lead to eventual pain in the area of your soul mark. You almost wondered if it was starting already. A quick glance back to the table and Eddie was eating the cupcake, some icing smudged in the corner of his mouth. When he put the tupperware down for a second and itched at his arm you thought for a split second about walking right back over and kissing him and seeing what would happen.  

But then Lizzie called your name and you were pulled back into reality. 

-

-June 1983-

It was the end of the school year when Eddie found his soulmate. The two-headed calf tattoo on the inside of his forearm and elbow was one he’d spent hours staring at since it first showed up in February. He’d read the poem for the first time in seventh grade, leaning over the back of your chair in the library with his head on your shoulder and his cheek pressed against yours.  

He remembered the afternoon perfectly, as if he had a television in his brain and he was watching a rerun of an episode of his life. Or at least the highlight reel.  

You were waiting for your mom (who was always nice but also always late) working on your english homework, when Eddie came in. He’d been on the run from the same basketball playing future sociopaths that still tormented him now, at the end of junior year. The library doors looked like the gateway heaven, or at least that’s what he told you later on when he recounted what had brought him into your personal space (literally, you were convinced that Eddie lacked spacial awareness along with a few other things that probably should have made him less endearing).  

But the library doors, like a gateway to heaven glowing at the top of the ramp to the second floor. He booked it, his old converse squeaking in protest, and entered the room with a flourish only Eddie Munson could harness.  

“Holy shit!” He’d been laid up against the door trying to catch his breath when he saw you. It wasn’t the first time he had talked to you since third grade but every time left butterflies in the pit of his stomach. He pushed off the wooden door, heading straight for your chair. He pressed his hands down on the back rung and crouched down, leaning over you and placing his chin on your shoulder.  

You’d seen him come in, heard him call your name when he saw you, so you didn’t jump when you felt him practically draping himself over you. By seventh grade you were more than used to Eddie and his antics.  

“What’re you doing?”  

“Homework.” You replied, not turning your head for fear that you’d be in a predicament that you both wanted to be in and wanted to avoid. You imagined all those trashy romance novels you smuggled from your mom’s room; the main characters catching each other off guard so one could kiss the other.  

Eddie groaned, stumbling away from you as if you’d shoved him, practically tripping over the table as he threw himself into the chair beside you. His elbow collided with the tabletop and he rested his head against his palm, “boring!” He exclaimed, drawing out the word.  

“It’s not boring Eddie,” you insisted as he took the poetry book from you. The English assignment had been fairly cut and dry, discussing the meaning of a favorite poem.  

“What poem is this?” He asked, reading the one that you highlighted. There were notes in the margins, you annotated what you could and Eddie got that stupid little grin on his face as he read your handwriting. It had gotten smaller since third grade, neater too.  

“The two-headed calf.”  

On your sixteenth birthday Eddie had sat beside you in class, hopefully when Lizzie mentioned the tattoo but you wouldn’t say anything about it. He wanted to demand that you show him, wherever it was, because he’d been thinking of you for the last three days and he desperately wanted to know if it was you. It had to be you, didn’t it? But did you even remember?  

It was June and it was hotter than usual and Lizzie, who lived a few trailers away from his humble abode, had invited you over to sun bath. (“I need to be tan for summer.” She had insisted) You had walked passed his place and he was outside smoking and you stopped.  

Eddie knew it wasn’t unusual that you did, you’d always been nice to him. You’d always been nice to everyone but that didn’t stop the thudding in his heart every time you looked his way, it was like winning the lottery when he hadn’t even entered. Normal people didn’t get so lucky.  

“Hey, Eddie.” You say his name like you’re always happy to see him and for the briefest second Eddie imagines that it’s him you’re coming to see and not Lizzie. That you’d sit on the stoop with him, kiss his cheek so gently it’d turn up to his ears, and maybe finish the joint he’s smoking. You’d listen to him talk about D&D and when you talked about the books you liked he’d understand every word.  

“Ah,” he smiled, “tell me fair maiden, what brings you to this hobbit hole?”  

“Aren’t hobbit holes meant to be clean?” You teased, kicking an empty can of beer that had fallen out of the trash cans on the edge of Eddie’s sorry excuse of a lawn.  

He felt his heart swell at the comment and suddenly he wished he could usher you inside and spend the whole rest of the afternoon talking about Tolkien with you. “You know your hobbits then.” 

You opened the tote bag hanging off your shoulder and pulled the slightly worn copy of The Hobbit up far enough that Eddie could see it, pressing your lips together as if you were fighting off a smile but smiling anyway. “I was uh,” you dropped the book back into your bag and nervously shifted your weight as you stood there a few feet from him, wondering if he would think you were stupid if you told him, “I was thinking about you the other day.”  

Eddie tried to keep whatever composure he was still clinging too, “well, I can’t blame you, there’s a lot to think about.”  

You laughed and nodded as if you agreed with him, “I was wondering how many times you’ve read the hobbit and trying to decide if I was anywhere near as close.”  

“At least ten,” he admitted, “I’ve lost count.”  

You didn’t mention that you imagined him sitting there with you in your room, the two of you reading together. That you thought about how he’s jump up on the bed and perform every song that Tolkien had penned, shouting out the goblin song so loud he no doubt disturbed all the neighbors. “I have the movie…I mean, when I’m done rereading I’m gonna watch the movie again. We should-“ 

“Oh my god!” Lizzie shouted, “of course you’re over here!”  

Eddie perked up at the comment, his mind racing at what she could’ve meant. Of course, the words replayed in his mind, you’re over here. When he looked up at you, you were looking at Lizzie and for the first time he realized he could see your soul mark, the grayish-black drawing etched on your skin on full display for him as you stood there apologizing for stopping to talk, it was the same as his and he realized then that he’d been holding a hand over his arm this whole time. The dull ache in his arm felt warm, like a soft fire had spread from his fingers all the way up his shoulder and down to his heart.  

He should’ve told you right then, as you turned back to him and adjusted the strap of your bag. He should’ve grabbed you and told you that you were his soulmate and wasn’t that perfect because he was so in love with you anyway, but he just smiled awkwardly as you apologized for Lizzie.  

“I was saying,” you were saying something and Eddie had to force himself to pay attention to anything other than the itch, “we should watch the hobbit together. You could come over and we could have pizza and stuff. Are you still reigning champion of Oreo stacks?”  

Eddie was pretty sure he was going to explode. Or that lightening was going to come down from the sky and strike him where he stood. “No one’s taken the crown yet.” He replied.  

Lizzie called your name again, having walked away and suddenly realized you weren’t beside her. You bit your bottom lip, looking apologetic and incredibly beautiful all at once. Blow off Lizzie and her dumb obsession with being tan, Eddie wanted to say, come inside and we’ll watch the hobbit now. He would watch whatever you wanted, name it and he’d get it.  

“I’ll see you later Eddie,” you waved, his name like honey dripping from your lips. When you reached Lizzie she said something, looking back over her shoulder at him and he heard you giggle. It had his cheeks flushing to his ears and he quickly swatted at them, as if he could tamper down the feeling in his chest.  

You’d been so close, just feet from him, just lingering there and he could see your tattoo. He knew, he’d known since the morning the two headed calf appeared on his arm that it was you. There was no one else it could be and how convenient because he’d been in love with you since you made him a cookies and cream birthday cake in third grade and made everyone at your party include him when they sang ‘Happy Birthday’. He swallowed the lump in his throat, thinking about it. If he told you, that you were his soulmate, that out of everyone in the entire universe you’d been saddled with Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson, would you be pissed? Would be fake nice about it? Tell him that was good and you didn’t mind while you just about died inside at the news? No, you couldn’t know. He wouldn’t tell you.  

-

-December 1984-

You took another deep breath as you stood outside the door of Eddie Munson’s trailer. You hadn’t seen him since graduation in June but you’d spent more time with him on your mind than not. New York had never been your first choice for college but when you’d been accepted to NYU it was like all you could think about was some parallel world where you and Eddie graduated and moved to a shitty loft and he played gigs in the city with his band and you blew off classes to sleep in with him.  

But you were alone in New York and Eddie was repeating senior year at Hawkins and you thought about him every day and collected a million stories that you hoped would impress him. And right now, two weeks before Christmas, you were standing outside his trailer because you had gained enough perspective to decide that (if you could get your brain to cooperate long enough) you were going to tell Eddie that you were his soulmate.  

You still weren’t cool enough for him but he’d have to get used to that bit cause not seeing him every day made you feel like you were going to go insane.  

He’d called out that he was coming five minutes ago when you first knocked on the door and it’d been followed with a series of loud curses and what sounded like furniture falling over. You thought about knocking again when the door swung open, cheap wood slamming against the wall of the trail and Eddie was staring at you looking very much like he’d just woken up. 

“Hey, sorry I didn’t like...call first or something. I uh, I wasn’t sure if you’d want to but I brought snacks and I figured we never watched The Hobbit like we said we would.” You rattled off your reason for being at his house as quickly as possible as he started at you with wide eyes. You weren’t even sure he remembered that conversation.  

“Come in,” He unlatched the screen door and pushed it open, letting you in passed him. He looked a little bewildered by your presence but didn’t question it. Afterall, who was he to argue when you willing were choosing to spend time with him.  

Eddie’s tattoo was on full display in his short sleeve Black Sabbath shirt and you knew that when you took your jacket off, he would see yours too. But you had come over here with a plan and you were (somewhat) determined to see it through. You set down your tote bag on the coffee table, taking out the package of oreos, two jiffypops, The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings.  

“Sorry to like, force you to hang out with me.” You apologized, turning back to look at Eddie as his hand dropped to his arm so he could itch at the tattoo.  

A deep frown, something more akin to a comical pout, crossed Eddie’s face as he shook his head. “You could probably force me to do anything.” He said and then his eyes went wide, “I mean...uh, it’s fine. No problem.” 

“I was thinking about you-” 

“You were?” 

“I uh...yeah,” you nodded, “I didn’t say anything before graduation but...” You felt like you were moving in slow motion, like maybe you should’ve played some kind of music you were taking so long to unzip your jacket. Eddie was still looking confused, licking his lips nervously and rubbing at his cheek as your coat came off. “Ta-da!” you held your arm out awkwardly so he could see the matching tattoo on your arm.  

A slow smile spread across his face, cheeks turning red up to his ears as he stared down at the tattoo and then, suddenly, he jumped. You stumbled backward a little, startled. Eddie grabbed your arm though it was gentle, “I knew it!” He exclaimed, “I fucking knew it! I said to myself, Eddie, it’s gotta be them. The minute I saw it I knew.” 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“Why didn’t I say anything? Why didn’t you say anything?” He replied.  

You bit down on your bottom lip to stop from smiling at him, “I kinda thought you’d be disappointed...” you admitted. “I mean, you’re really fucking cool-” 

He pressed his free hand to his heart, “ugh, flattery. The way to my heart.” 

“I’m being serious Eddie. I knew it was you and I wanted to tell you so many times I just...I chickened out, I don’t know. I mean, I...tattoo or not, I love you. I really really love you and I went all the way to New York and the whole time I was there I just kept thinking, I wish Eddie was here. I wish we could share this. And I should’ve said something sooner I just...I thought you wouldn’t want to find out that it was me.” You replied.  

“Are you kidding?” He asked, “like seriously, are you joking right now?” Eddie felt like he was being forced through a round of mental gymnastics, trying to decipher how anyone at all, let alone you, could think that he was the catch, all while figuring out what exactly it meant that you were so nervous. It wasn’t bad, he had already determined that there was nothing about this situation (the being soulmates, that was) that you seemed disappointed or upset about. “God!” He let go of you finally as he spun away, hands going to his hair as if he was trying to pull it out. “Oh my god! It’s just...I’ve just...god!” 

“You said that.” You pointed out, tucking your arms in to cross infront of you. The moment you did, Eddie was back to grabbing your arm, his touch warm, the way it had been the morning of your sixteenth birthday. It almost felt like you had some kind of weight holding you down.  

“Can I just...can I kiss you?” He asked, desperation evident in his voice. His heart was beating erratically, or at least he felt like it had to be. He was sure that his brain wasn’t processing any of this and half expected to wake up in some dream-state where Wayne told him that he was still that loser who hasn’t graduated.  

The kiss was...every moment of anticipation since the day of your bowling party in third grade. It was every smile that you gave him in the hallway, the time in fifth grade when you stuck your tongue out at him after the teacher told you to be quiet in line, the day he found you in the library in seventh grade. It was cupcakes in lockers on birthdays and that anonymous Valentine's card that he was sure was just a malicious joke but that he kept in his nightstand just in case it was real. It was the time in sixth grade when you told him his taste in music was cool. It was every wave in the hallway or the lunch room, it was a hall pass to the bathroom just so he could see you in art class as he passed by.  

The kiss felt like warmth spreading throughout your entire body. The kind of warmth that consumed you after you’d bundled up for a cold winter morning walk to school only to have Eddie slow his van to a halt and offer you a ride. The kind of warmth that settled on your cheeks when he told you he liked the poetry you read or that he’d used his allowance money to buy that book by Laura Gilpin. It was the kind of warmth you got from alcohol when your dormmate took you to CBGB’s for the first time and you pretended all night that it was Corroded Coffin on the stage.  

His held your face in his hands, fingers calloused from the guitar brushing against your jaw and neck. You wanted to pull him closer but you weren’t sure that was physically possible. He was pressed against you already and your hands were twisting wrinkles into his Black Sabbath shirt. You’d never kissed anyone before and you weren’t entirely sure you were doing a great job but he wasn’t complaining.  

When you finally felt yourself running out of air, you pulled away. It felt like a chore to detach yourself, even for a moment. “How’d you know?” You asked, Eddie’s comment from earlier popping into your head. He said he had known and he said it with such assuredness you hardly doubted him.  

“It’s your favorite poem,” he replied, “how could I not know?” 

-

But tonight he is alive and in the north 

Field with his mother. It is a perfect 

Summer evening: the moon rising over 

The orchard, the wind in the grass. And  

As he stares into the sky, there are  

Twice as many stars as usual.  

-

Taglist: @teelagurl558 @truewdw1 @kenzi-woycehoski @bookfrog242 @milkiane

#Eddie Munson x reader #Eddie Munson x y/n #Eddie Munson x you #eddie munson x gender neutral reader #eddie munson drabble #eddie munson fluff #Eddie Munson imagine #Eddie Munson fic #Eddie Munson fanfic #Eddie Munson fanfiction #eddie munson oneshot #Stranger things imagine #stranger things fanfic #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #stranger things AU #Eddie munson blurb #Eddie Munson AU #Stranger Things drabble #collecting stories imagine

[writingquestionsanswered]

Overwhelmed by Publishing Goal

Anonymous asked: Writing no longer feels free or easy anymore now that I have dreams of publishing. I’m trying to hone a technique to learn to finish a book a year to be ready for the industry but also like writing at the same time (and with the way I’ve devoured so much writing advice and gotten overwhelmed it feels fun less and less). Like I’m not even sure if I’m meant to be a writer. I don’t even know how to tell. Yes I can come up with an idea but I’m not sure that’s enough to determine that someone is meant to do something. Writing feels like something you have to be “spiritually” or emotionally connected to and I have found that I don’t always feel connected to the entire process. I’m rambling now but I’m just kind of disheartened. Any thoughts?

How to tell if you're a writer:

Do you write? x Yes No Congratulations! You're a writer!!!

Can you imagine if people who spent time knitting weren't allowed to call themselves knitters unless they finished, wore, or sold the things they knit? Or if people who loved to bake weren't allowed to call themselves bakers if they kept what they baked for themselves? Or if loved running and ran two miles every day, but couldn't call yourself a runner unless you'd participated in a marathon?

It's weird that we put all these constraints on being a writer that we don't put on other things.

Now, being an author, on the other hand, does require publication. Whether you self-publish, traditionally publish, or publish on a fiction sharing site, having your work out there for the world to see is what makes you an author.

Do you still get to call yourself a writer if you're overwhelmed and frustrated by the work it takes and the publication process? Um... YES, friend! I think most authors would agree that feeling overwhelmed and frustrated by the publication process is just part of the natural gauntlet one must go through on their journey to becoming an author.

As far as your situation goes, while it's admirable that you're trying to get yourself up to industry speed before you've even hit the publish button or gotten a book deal, you're putting the cart before the horse a little bit. Right now your only focus should be putting together a manuscript that is ready for querying or ready for an editor and publication. That's it. The writing you do in order to get to that point is going to do a lot of the heavy lifting as far as getting you to a place where you can plot and write faster. And you can tweak that process with each book you write.

And the reality is that while traditional publishing does "expect" a book a year, many traditionally published authors who are actually hitting that goal are doing so with a ton of help from others. And they're more likely to be able to dedicate more of their time toward writing. So it's a bit unrealistic to hold yourself up to that goal if you're not even published yet.

Finally, I honestly don't think I know a single author who feels spiritually or emotionally connected to the entire process of writing and publishing. I mean, yeah, ideally we should all feel some level of connection to whatever it is we're working on, but by no stretch of the imagination does that connection extend to every single day or every aspect of the writing and publishing process. So, please don't feel like you're falling short just because you're not having some sort of sacred kinship with every stop of the process.

If you haven't already, you might spend some time reading through the relevant-sounding posts on my Motivation master list. It's got a lot of posts that deal with the different reasons behind burnout and frustration, plus solutions, and some things you can do to make writing fun again.

I hope that helps! ♥

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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#writing tips #writing help #writing advice #wqaadvice

[brisquad-unit-4402]

hello i’ve got some thoughts and updates for this blog.

i’ve been on a bit of burnout for a while, including life outside of writing. naturally the termination has sped up that burnout. i’m exhausted and struggling to be graceful about it, but that’s to be expected. i’m not one to sit on my feelings even though i’ve lacked the energy to write. which really bites because that’s my number-one passion really.

however i’ve taken some time to relax by diverting my attention away from social media and niji streams. i’ve relearned an old hobby and splurged a little too much on a new one, and i kind of can’t believe how much i missed drawing on real paper with a real pen and pencil. and thank god the love and deepspace sponsorship wrapped up before the termination, because that game has me in not just a chokehold but like one of those umbilical cords from astral projection. the silver cord? that

i’ve been watching other vtubers lately as well. i’ve always considered adding holostars en to my list but hesitated because everything else on my blog was niji-related.

consider this confirmation that i will be adding holostars’ tempus hq, vanguard and armis, and first stage productions’ avallum to my list of characters i will write for. i admit i’m not as familiar with armis, but i’ll be paying closer attention in the near future as i branch out from strictly watching niji only.

(might also be adding idol corp’s e-sekai? maybe? i watch them once every few months and i haven’t seen pochi or yuko stream since they debuted 💀 no clue on their gen 2 either)

i’ll be overhauling my masterpost for organization soon. so apologies for the horrors about to come… to be clear i will not delete any of my writing so don’t worry!

i’m unsure how much niji i’ll write in the future. give me some time to think as the situation hopefully cools down. i appreciate your patience.

and who knows maybe i’ll write for non-vtuber fandoms too

i think it’s about time i clean my inbox out soon too. i‘ll answer what asks i can and delete the remaining ones. i’ve had a few requests sitting in my inbox for nearly a year now and i’ve recently realized how stressed i was over them and learned about some boundaries i didn’t know i had beforehand, among other things, so so it’s about time i face them head-on. i apologize if i never got to your request! please don’t take it personally if i don’t answer your request. but above all else thank you for being patient, understanding, and kind enough to send in a request. even though i tend to bite off more than i can chew i always get so happy whenever i see a notif in my inbox and i appreciate your time for a little unit 4402.

even though i’m not watching niji streams atm i’m hesitant to stop writing for them because, like, i keep thinking of this clip of doppio saying he feels like he’s allowed to buy healthy/organic food because of fan support and donations, and among other reasons... it’s very easy to make conclusions on people you only know through a screen and i just can’t bring myself to cut them out so abruptly, even if i’m a fan creator on a site none of them use.

idk when i’ll post next and it feels nice to say that. i usually try to post once every 2 weeks, but considering how i’m trying not to think about niji right now and am instead embracing other parts of my life, i dunno. it’s nice. this blog is a major source of joy for me and it feels like i’m preserving what makes it so special for me instead of turning it into a chore. hopefully with time and rest i’ll have a clearer idea of where to go from here.

that’s pretty much everything on my mind, i think? thank you for bearing with me and my yapping. i hope to return soon and that the next time you see me, my blog will be cleaner, more expansive, and with a fresh mindset. take care of yourselves and don’t get immersed in toxicity. don’t forget to do what you love 💛

#unit 4402 reporting #this post was drafted at 3:30 am so hopefully i covered everything

[tigerdrop]

so im kiiiinda redoing half of my fic. to account for the, uh. "canonically being able to put gordon into the computer" thing.

on the one hand i think its a way better deal b/c i will look 10% less insane writing about benrey literally putting him into the sims and playing with him like a doll . but on the other hand i have a bunch of words about gordon fingering himself that i cant use anymore

so. here they are, for u. "Enjoy"

———

Gordon blinks at the screen.

Benry Benry wants to have Oraljob sex with Gordon Freeman. Do you wish to proceed?

The laugh that erupts from him is high-pitched and violent, leaving him gasping for air. Benrey cackles in his ear. “I— I— Oh my God,” Gordon wheezes, doubling over. “You want to have what with me?! We can’t— We can’t show that on a Christian channel! We’re going to get so banned—“

“do you want to—“ Benrey can’t finish the sentence, gripped in the most intense laughter Gordon’s ever heard from him. “do you want to have oraljob?”

Gordon clutches his desk, weeping and howling.

When he calms down from his sudden fit of hysterics, he clicks “No”, to a chorus of disappointment from the chat. “I know, I know,” he says, sympathetic, “but seriously, Papa’s gotta pay the bills. Gotta keep it clean. PG-13, that’s my motto.”

“then why’s your dick out,” Benrey wheezes.

“Very funny—“

He stops in his tracks when he sees that his dick is, in fact, out. His Sims dick, that is. Gordon slams his ‘commercial break’ button so hard that he misses a few keys and takes a screenshot.

“Whoa! Put that thing away, man!”

“nice,” Benrey says appreciatively.

“Bear with me, folks,” Gordon begs. “We’re having some, uh, technical difficulties.” Why did his dick pop out? He said no! (In fairness, his Sim is decidedly not having oraljob sex. He’s eating a sandwich. With his penis out.) He hurriedly clicks through menus upon menus, trying to find a way to put his clothes back on, but none of the options do what he wants. “Why can’t I put away my stupid dick?!”

“hey, look. you just went up a level in nudism,” Benrey snorts.

Gordon buries his head in his hands, but can’t stop himself from an anguished laugh. “Okay! Give me fifteen, everybody. Go smoke a cigarette— or, or vape, I know the kids are big on the Juul these days, I don’t care, I’m not your dad.”

With that, he ends the stream.

“What kind of fucking mods did you download on my computer?” he asks, exasperated. “I feel like I need to give it a bath.”

“normal ones.”

“Uh-huh. You know my dick’s not even rendering correctly, right?”

“huh?” Benrey zooms in on it. “huh. it’s, uh. checkered.”

[some sort of connecting thought]

“I don’t even look like that, anyway,” Gordon mutters, brushing him off.

Benrey peers down at him. The webcam light turns on, drawing Gordon’s eye. “huh. i dunno. i can see the, uh… the resemblance.” He enunciates the last word carefully.

“Did you just turn on my webcam? Are we streaming right now?” Gordon sits upright, hastily checking on his streaming software. Still offline. Not that it would have mattered - he’s panned away to look at a stray dog in his yard - but it’s the principle of the thing.

“yeah, uh. no,” mumbles Benrey.

Gordon closes down OBS and Firefox entirely. Just to be safe. “A little fucking warning next time? How did you even do that?”

“administrator privileges.”

There’s a pause. Then Gordon sinks back down into his chair, defeated. “I shouldn’t have given you those. I should have smashed you up into little pieces when I had the chance. After you bought fucking Burnout Paradise on my dime—“

“you should show me what you look like,” blurts out Benrey, voice low and blunt.

“I— What?”

“i can make it look better. more like you.”

Gordon stares at the screen. Benrey avoids his gaze. He boggles a little, so far beyond comprehending this that he’s skipped past ‘denial’ and ‘anger’ all the way into ‘acceptance’. “Are you— Are you hitting on me?”

“for the immersion,” Benrey says stiffly.

———

Gordon throws his head back in frustration. “They’re just not— fucking— they’re not big enough! They’re short and stubby and I can’t— get them— where I want!” His wrist bends, desperately seeking something that he can’t describe. The tendons sing in pain. He hisses, then relaxes it, letting his hand fall limp.

Benrey stares down at him, mouth parted.

“This was stupid,” groans Gordon. “Now my hand’s all sticky and I don’t wanna wipe it on anything—“

“try again,” Benrey interrupts him, blunt and hoarse. “please?”

Gordon peers blearily at him from over the top of his glasses. “Huh?”

“i wanna.” That massive jaw gyres, struggling to work itself around a thought. “i could do it better. make it good.”

Heat rockets through Gordon’s belly, spiraling up his spine and leaving his hairs standing on end. His dick twitches without his conscious effort. Benrey’s eyes immediately dart to it. Emboldened, Gordon draws his fingertips around his hole, threatening to slip back in. “Yeah, bud? You sure? I don’t think you’ve ever done this before.”

“how would you know,” Benrey puffs.

“Uh, well, you’re in my fucking computer, for one thing.” He slips two fingers in with little resistance, just up to the second knuckle. For show. Nobody say he never did anything for Benrey. “But you know what? Maybe this’ll be funny.”

Benrey’s face hardens. “it’s not funny,” he says, pouting in high-definition. “i would never joke about pussy shit.”

“Point one: That is one hundred percent not true,” Gordon points out. “Point two—“ He curls them and groans, a soft noise. “I wanna hear it. Straight from the horse’s mouth.”

“what does this got to do with horses,” says Benrey, bewildered.

Gordon shifts in his seat, stretching a leg high into the air and gripping the back of his thigh to hold it firmly in place. His fingers move in a slow, back-and-forth motion, just enough that they visibly slide in and out, shiny and wet. Benrey makes a strangled noise in his throat.

“You think you could make it good for me? Tell me. Show me what I’m missin’ out on.”

Benrey’s fingers twitch around his avatar, scaled up to giant-like proportions, far too big for the task at hand but itching to put it into practice. “fuckin’,” he starts, low and rumbling and struggling to articulate himself, “stretch you open… mine’re bigger. lookie.” With his other hand, he waggles his fingers in front of Gordon.

“Well, duh,” Gordon says.

Above him, Benrey’s gaze shifts to his own hand, gears churning behind his eyes. “they’re still bigger,” he insists.

To prove his point, he snaps them - in a stomach-churning instant, Gordon’s camera snaps back to an isometric viewpoint, looking in on their dollhouse. On them. On Benrey’s Sim, pale and shirtless, beads of sweat tastefully textured on his skin, leaning over his own on the cheapest double bed Simoleons could buy. There’s a hand pressed against the mattress, and another at his waist. Pawing at him. And, unlike Gordon’s own hands, they’re proportioned well for a guy his size: closer to dinner plates than the slim, short ones he’s furiously trying to bend into the right shape in real life.

He shivers in his seat.

“Point taken,” he says. His voice cracks partway through.

As if on cue, their Sims start moving again, gracelessly sliding and snapping into a new position. Gordon’s stripped naked, letting Benrey between his legs, and one large hand buries itself in that hairy, thorny knot of polygons and glossy pink textures while the other holds him wide open. The fidelity’s good enough that Gordon can see exactly how the fingers curl: two outside, keeping them back, and two inside, making his Sim’s hips gyrate.

“lookatchu,” Benrey rumbles in his ear. “takin’ it like a champ…”

Gordon sucks in a sudden breath. He curls his own fingers in time with the animation, speeding up to match.

“bet you could take more.”

He whines and visibly clenches around his fingers. “Jesus, man!”

“yeah? yeah? c’mon,” taunts Benrey, shy of breath. “show me. put another one in.”

Gordon weakly mumbles some expletives as he leans his head into the crook of his headphones. Presses himself closer to that voice. “Who taught you how to fucking— talk like that,” he groans, pushing in a third finger.

The fans inside his tower spin faster. Louder. “fuuuck, dude,” he hears, a low, pained utterance.

“I’d let you,” Gordon says dizzily, “God, I must have lost my fucking mind, I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” his fingers make slick, filthy, squelching noises inside of himself, “let you put your hand in me—“

“i wanna,” Benrey cuts him off, too fast. Eager. “wanna fuckin’— wear you like a puppet—“

Gordon makes a sharp noise that surprises even himself. The he half-laughs, half-pleads, “Don’t say shit like that! That’s not— That’s not hot!”

“you moaned. i heard it, buddy.”

He ignores this. Benrey takes the opportunity to lean in, getting a closer view of Gordon’s webcam. And the slick folds Gordon’s spreading open for him.

#writin stuff #i cant really keep this in but i also cant really cram it into the other AI benrey thing i wanna write. so .

[ringstarrr]

Hi. If you don't mind, would you mind doing a song fic for Taylor Swift's coney island with either John or George? I just feel like it would work really well, especially these lines: "And do you miss the rogue who coaxed you into paradise and left you there? Will you forgive my soul when you're too wise to trust me and too old to care?"

I Want to Tell You

pairing: john lennon x gender neutral!reader

warnings: angst, depression, self image

author's note: first of all, sorry for going missing for a few months. kinda had a burnout with college and work, but things are getting better - i think, at least.

and i kind of changed this a little lol i know it's a sad song and i made it accordingly, but the end is sweet. i might not be a swiftie but i'm a softie

1966.

It was like living through hell. Why did he have to say that? you’d think every once in a while since the whole bigger than Jesus broke out. John has always been one to make interesting comments - not to say controversial. You knowing him since you met at art school, it didn’t faze you a bit, yet, it was a different thing in America.

“They’re so fucking upright. It’s so phony.” You sought John during one of the tours you went by his side, still his girlfriend, flesh and nail. Now, long married, it’s been a few good months since you last followed beside him. John was getting more distant everyday and you didn’t know what to do.

He emitted his loud and heartwarming laugh. “I know, right?” John escorted you close to his chest, his nose in your hair. “Americans act like we are a bunch of weirdos. We are… different,” John chuckled, free hand hovering his face. “They’re nice. I’m the freak.”

This happened only a year prior to this fiasco. On that occasion, you made it your job to assure John he was an important person to the band and no matter what happened, you’d still be by his side. So far, you had maintained your words and stuck with John - even though he wouldn’t even look at you.

It made you insecure and going back in your head, trying to piece together why he had become such a loner those last months. Without preparation, you began to revisit your time at college, when you two first started dating. You were younger by a few years, and John was living the high of his teddy boy lifestyle. 

He was a heartthrob. There was no other way to describe it.

Every single time you glanced in his direction, John’s eyes were already staring you down. Smiling smugly, he’d shake his head and wiggle his eyebrows. You were left blushing. It was heaven, knowing you caught the attention of someone like him. Your heart could melt just by the sight of him.

At the time, you weren’t looking for a relationship. But John had other plans. He flirted with you every chance he got, always putting some innuendo into everything. Even though you rolled your eyes every single time, you couldn’t deny to yourself how your hands would shake whenever John stormed in your direction. Neither could you say he didn’t make winter feel like a sunny afternoon in spring, considering the speeding beat of your heart and the way he caught your breath.

The memories left you wondering if you had closed your fists around something delicate for this to be happening. The silent tears fell down and you didn’t try to avoid the unstoppable. It was getting overbearing just to breath. When you first met, you thought that maybe 一 you were certain, to be completely honest 一 he’d be the death of you. At the time, the idea brought colour to your cheeks, thinking it’d be because of his antics and how flustered he made you feel. Now, you had the sour taste of knowing why.

Marrying one of the most desired man on the earth, show stopping sensation and global phenomenon was incredibly hard. And the business changed John’s usual upbeat and sarcastic nature. Theses things were still there but he wouldn’t show them as much. It turned him into a depressed and lonely wolf. John was starting to head straight to bed whenever he came home, telling you less and less about his life and what he was going through in his head. 

Yet, you had an idea of why that was.

The press were writing a bunch of articles about all the things he and the boys did and, unfortunately, that included his health. Suddenly every news reporter was a nutritionist and they decided John was getting fat, which was far from the truth. You noticed how John was starving himself for awhile because of it, his self image completely deteriorated and his depression coming to a new highlight low-end. But John wouldn't say a word. You’d ask him, almost plead for him to open up you, but John wouldn't say a word.

In front of the television, you watched him and the band make yet another appearance for an interview. It was difficult for you to admit, but most of the time you heard his voice these days was on the TV. John was pushing you away. After talking to George, Ringo and Paul about the situation, they assured you this wasn’t happening just to you. John was pushing everyone away, whether he knew it or not.

Seeing that happy grin in his face on the telly, a sight you missed dearly, was enough to make your walls crumble down. You sobbed violently, crying out loud. What happened to my baby? Where did my baby go? Your whole body shook and your voice got hoarse by the second. But the moment you heard a car pull into the driveway, you pushed it all back inside, cleaning the tears’ path and clearing your throat. Uptight and anxious, you waited. 

“You watching that crap?” was the first thing he said. John closed the front door, dropping his keys in the coffee table and sitting beside you on the couch. He slid his arm around you, turning you slightly to kiss you with care. After it ended, you two maintained faces close, noses brushing against one another, eyes closed. It was moments like this that made you feel everything was worth putting through. 

“Just watching this group fine young men. They dress pretty well, especially that one” you said, turning a little to the TV, just enough so he could see your index finger pointing in his direction on the screen. 

John snickered. “Nah, he looks like a twat.”

You snuggled your face against his neck, eyes closed. “And how was today, pretty boy?” as you whispered the question you immediately regretted it. John’s body grew rigid, moving away from you. I can’t do anything right.

“Ah,” he shrugged his shoulders, face showing how John cringed at the question. “It was… normal, I guess.” He bit down his lip, drawing in a deep breath. Silence emerged between youc and you wanted to scream. With a sigh, John got up. “Well, I’m taking a shower.” 

Before you could think the decision over once more, you were speaking already. “John, can I ask you a question?” He was midway walking to your shared bedroom, stopping in his tracks. John turned around, confused.

Eyebrows knitted and hands on his waist, he answered. “Yeah, sure you can.” 

“Did I shatter you?” your voice quivered, just a little above a purr. You felt tears threatening to form but you didn’t care. You needed to get it off of your chest, it was killing you. John was startled by the inquiry, eyes wide.

“What makes you think that, love?” He still was by the bedroom, slowly coming back to you.

“You never talk to me anymore, John.” A sorry laugh left your lips as you said it, feeling like a lunatic. “And you used to come to me anytime if you were struggling, to have a laugh... Now you can barely stand to be next to me.” Your eyes flickered to the roof, holding back the emotions in turmoil. “You never ask about me anymore. It’s like you couldn’t give less of a shit sometimes,” you turned your focus back to him and it crashed your feelings. He was crying with a straight face, biting the inside of his cheek. “If this is the long haul, how’d we get here so soon?” 

You managed to get a laugh from him, smiling a bit. After a few seconds, he spoke up. “Sorry for not making you my centerfold,” John pushed the tears away with the back of his hand. “I hate that we turned into this… all because of me,” now it was his turn to cackle like a mad man, hands in his hair.

“It’s okay, John.” You gave him a half-hearted smile.

“No! Of course it’s not, love.” He took a long breath and began tapping his foot against the floor. “You are my wife, for fuck’s sake. I love you and I pushed away? I’m a dick.” John was obviously mad at himself. “I didn’t think it would upset you this much, love. Fuck.”

“Baby…” you cooed, getting up from the couch. You tried to reach for his hands, but he shook them instead.

“Don’t ‘baby’ me. I don’t want your pity.”

“John,” you took hold of his hand, your hold strong and tight. “Shut up. You’ve been through a lot and it’s okay to react like this. But you should be more aware of the fact that there are people that care and worry about you.” You pushed his fringe to the side with your free hand, resting it against his wet cheek. John closed his eyes. “You are not a bad guy, John. Just fucking stupid sometimes,” both of you laughed. 

“What’s a lifetime of achievement if I pushed you to the edge but you were too polite to leave me?” You cringed at that, not agreeing with him.

“I would never leave you, sweetheart. I love you too much,” you said, laughing a little. “Just don’t push me away anymore. I’m always here for you.”

“Sorry for being fucking stupid.”

#john lennon x reader #john lennon imagine #john lennon fanfic #john lennon fanfiction #beatles imagine #beatles fanfic #beatles x reader #ringo starr x reader #ringo starr imagine #ringo starr fanfic #paul mccartney x reader #paul mccartney imagine #paul mccartney fanfic #george harrison x reader #george harrison imagine #george harrison fanfic #the beatles fanfic #the beatles imagine #the beatles fanfiction #the beatles x reader

[sweet-s0rr0w]

Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

Thank you so much to @citrusses, @danpuff-ao3, @tackytigerfic, @maesterchill and @squintclover for tagging me in this! I loved reading your answers, which is what made me finally decide to do this one. I'm really awful at these, and I'm stuck in that endless blank early period of motherhood where my focus is so inwards, so survivalist, that I've lost all sense of popular songs/films/sport, which is a big part of why I don't generally do other 'about you' type posts. So I'm also tagging @elskanellis, @epitomereally, @mallstars, @oknowkiss and @thecouchsofa who recently tagged me in other posts to say thank you <3 and I appreciate you, and here, do this one if you like <3

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

25, good grief

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

332,461!

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Just Harry Potter. Can’t see that changing any time soon, but never say never. Meanwhile F1 will remain the One That Got Away!

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Nor All That Glisters (111k, E, Drarry)

Kept in Cages (77k, E, Drarry)

Dreaming Skies (21k, E, Dron collab with @tackytigerfic)

When The Party's Over (5.4k, E, Drarry)

Among the Elements (8.3k, E, Drarry)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Embarrassingly enough, not usually. Basically, I got very overwhelmed last summer after writing Kept in Cages, because I pushed myself ridiculously hard to get it finished in time for Wireless (last fic in Wireless, but I made it!!) Combined with a lot of stress in my personal life, I then experienced massive burnout and had six months of complete writer’s block. Meanwhile, I got some really wonderful, brilliant, thoughtful comments on that fic, and I felt just awful and like a total fraud who couldn’t put a sentence together, and couldn’t bring myself to even respond. And now I don’t feel like I can reply to anything more recent until I’ve got through the old comments, etc etc. I guess I should just get over myself and crack on though, because I love getting comments and do really truly read and appreciate every single one.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I tend to give them at the very least a hopeful ending, so I had to look through my account to work this out, and I think this has to go to my weird tiny little dark fic Not Waving (M, 3k, Drarry).

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

As above, I do like a happy ending, but rarely is it unqualified happiness. Kept in Cages, maybe, because I like that they’ve built a life away from everything, and that it’s something that they’ve each freely chosen. Or perhaps Silhouettes (E, 17k, Dronarry), which now I think about it does have a rare conveniently-packaged ending!

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not yet! The odd lightly offensive bookmark rating, but nothing that especially bothers me. I got caught up in the top/bottom trolling early in my time in fandom, but that stuff was so ridiculous I just deleted the lot of it and didn’t think of it again.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I write what I want to read, really, which (naturally) involves smut. I can’t do PWPs though; there’s a Tumblr post that says, like, ‘I’m going to write a quick PWP, the starting premise is that character A has lost their faith in god’, and this is kind of me. Sex in fic for me is a big part of relationship development, and so I usually slot in whatever works best for the characters from that point of view. I’m actually writing something right now that’s fast sexual burn/slow relationship burn, and it’s a very new dynamic for me, to try and take the feelings away (a bit, obviously they’re going to catch them sooner or later).

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I don’t really enjoy reading them, so it doesn’t really enter my mind to try and write one. I suppose sports AUs are the exception to the rule – does that count? I haven’t written one, but I’ve read some I’ve adored (@sleepstxtic, @citrusses) and I could see myself having a go.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I know of!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

A couple, I think. Someone translated NATG to Brazilian Portuguese, all 111k of the thing (although looking now I think it might have been taken down!), and Nice I think got translated to Vietnamese.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Yes, Dreaming Skies with @tackytigerfic. Dream come true, etc etc. I have to say, I’d absolutely be up for another collab with someone in the future (time/life/etc allowing, which is a big if for me).

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

Drarry. Twenty-one years and counting!

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Oh, I’d never say never! Good to always have something on the backburner, I say.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue, I think. And I used to think pacing, but currently having a slight crisis about this in my latest fic, so get back to me! But yeah, dialogue; as I was saying to @fluxweeed the other day, sometimes I feel like I write my fics by just filling in the gaps between dialogue.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Everything that’s not dialogue! No, I’d say probably endings. I don’t think I’ve mastered the art of ending strong just yet. I’m too keen to satisfy readers, possibly, or maybe it’s the dialogue thing again, I want to end on a quip or something, and it never sits quite right. I should really start looking at what I think makes a good ending, I guess.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Fine? I mean, I wouldn’t personally do it using google translate or anything, because I’d have horrors that I’d accidentally end up insulting someone, but if I know the language a bit and/or have someone I can trust to help, that’s fine.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

First and only, HP. I read HP back in the early 00s – a broad range of stuff, following the well-known authors (Cassie Clare, Maya, Rhysenn, Aja etc), but was always just a lurker, never part of fandom (was too nervous, and too busy with F1, which was a very niche fandom back then, consisting of about 30 of us and an unhealthy number of screenshots of Jarno Trulli’s backside after every race – I ran a fic archive and modded fests etc, but never wrote). Then when I got back into fandom, it was immediately HP, and immediately Drarry <3

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Don’t make me choose between my children!

Tagging: gosh, I think I've tagged enough people just in the course of my ramblings! Oh, maybe also @shealwaysreads, and @skeptiquewrites if you haven't done it, and the Aussie crew @moonflower-rose and @shiftylinguini, I'd love to know your answers if you have the inclination. Anyone who gets a tag for the post please feel free to do it and please do tag me with your responses <3

#drarry #dronarry #my writing #look mum i actually did one of these

[autisticwriterblog]

I've been reading some archived Poets interviews and holy shit, this one is sad. And incredibly relatable, as someone who had a massive burnout a few years ago and ended up dropping out of school. I'm glad he finally got to do something that makes him happy.

This is the specific section that I found sad. Marko's lines are in italics.

Marko has personal experiences what it’s like when you can’t go on. Listening to your own strength, some kind of a love for oneself has been a part of his daily routine for more than 10 years now, ever since Marko recovered from burn out, a throughout loss of strength in his work at an advertising agency. His eight year in the advertising world he can now crystallize into one word: suppressive. -I thought I wanted to work in that field, but for most of the time I was in the wrong place. The work came close to what I wanted to do but the environment became suffocating. Marko defines himself as a creator of ideas, not as someone who would finalize those ideas. Spending time cramped up at a computer with eternal hurry, deadlines and people driven to frazzle by those deadlines turned out to be too much in the end. The fatigue deepened into depression, which was first treated with three months of sick leave and later on with therapy. -Day to day life was like sloshing through a swamp. It started to feel like it would be easier to just end my days. Then one day I phoned for help. I said that I feel like I don’t know what I’m going to do to myself. After his sick leave Marko returned to work for another 6 months and came to the conclusion that nothing had changed. He resigned and against all expectations started his own advertisement agency. The pressure didn’t lessen, but Marko felt better. Just when the agency was starting to bear fruit, the time to throw himself into world of music arrived. Leaving advertisement was a slow decision, but a right one. His own burn out experiences awoke an interest in Marko for life style coaching and self help literature. He studies it and reads heaps of books even now and he’s gotten better at knowing how well he’s coping. -I listen to how I’m doing every day now. I look at myself objectively and think why I feel like this now. And it doesn’t have to be so great all the time. Feeling like shit is important too, because you learn a lot from that.

#marko saaresto #poets of the fall

[slasher-male-wife]

Nice to see you have so many Anons now! You’re doing great with your writing! If you have some time, could you write something for me?

Recently my job increased my hours, so I’m working 48 hours a week but I still have school and stuff. I’m incredibly stressed out :(

Could you write a burnout comfort sort of thing with Billy Loomis, Stu, RZ Michael, and Bo? No rush or anything!

Hope all is well with you :)

-♠️

Oh anon I totally get this too. I have dealt with burn out and other types of mental health issues that have impacted school and hobbies and I'm so sorry to hear that you're going through this right now. I hope that this can help cheer you up.

Slashers comforting their s/o with burn out

Includes: Billy Loomis, Stu Macher, RZ Michael Myers, and Bo Sinclair

Warnings: None I can think of

Billy Loomis

Billy's been noticing how tired you are lately. How you can never hang out with him anymore because you're either busy or too tired to do anything. His first thought is that you might be cheating on him because of how distant you are.

But after a few weeks of stalking he now sees that you're actually just working reidiculios hours at work and still going to school full time. He feels really bad for you now, and also guilty for thinking you were cheating on him.

He's going to be softer with you. Offering to help with homework, bringing you food to eat, helping you with chores and just being there for you.

He also might use intimidation to try and get your work to not make you work a ridiculious amount of hours a week.

Stu Macher

Like Billy he'll notice how tired and busy you are all the time but he won't jump to thinking that you're cheating or anything like that. He'll actually go to you and ask what's wrong.

Now Stu isn't the smartest person ever but he has to be a bit intellegent to do all that Ghost face stuff so while he might not be able to help you with things like homework he can bring you food and do a decent job at trying to help you clean up a bit.

He really just wants to make you feel better Y/n and he's trying. He'll go to Billy for advice on how to help you out more and will expand his knowledge on cleaning and whatever you're learning about in class.

RZ Michael Myers

Michael doesn't really understand emotions too well. He has them, although fairly muted. But he can clearly see that after you get home from a full day at work and school that you're very exhausted.

He'll probably just loom around you until he learns what's wrong with you. When he finally gets an answer he's going to understand what you're feeling better, at least for Michael.

Now Michael knows how to do basic tasks so for the most part he can somewhat take care of himself, but he feels like he should be taking care of you too kind of. He sees that's what other people do for people they love, and he loves you.

So don't be surprised if you come home to find a sandwich waiting for you on the kitchen table made by Michael. Or if he just makes you get up and take care of yourself.

Bo Sinclair

Living in Ambrose with the brothers requires a lot of work from everyone. There's often no days off a week and always something to be cleaned, fixed, made, destroyed, hidden, etc. All of this was taking a toll on your mental health.

Bo quickly noticed that you seemed to be moving slower with tasks. How you struggled to get out of bed and even do simple tasks. Now the Sinclairs never talked about mental health while growing up so Bo might think you're just being lazy. But this will quickly change when he sees that you don't even have the energy to feed yourself.

He's going to go to his brothers to try and figure out how to help you because he knows he can't just force you out of this state. He'll be oddly soft when talking to you about if you're doing ok. He'll listen to you when you talk about how hard it is to do anything anymore.

He'll still expect you to do things to help out but now it's more simple tasks compared to before. He'll ask you to try and eat one meal today and to maybe spend time with him at the station. Or he could use your help with setting up a scene at the church.

#billy loomis #billy loomis x you #billy loomis x y/n #billy loomis x reader #stu macher #stu x reader #stu my beloved #rz michael myers #rz myers x reader #michael myers #michael myers x y/n #michael myers x you #bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair x y/n #bo sinclair x you #slasher x y/n #slasher x reader #slasher fanfiction

[bettsfic]

I’m taking another break from writing and I really want this break to be different so that when/if I go back to writing I’ll actually stick with it and have some of my walls pulled down so that I have less resistance to working on a project. Do you have any tips on how to step away from a project to recoup mentally and then go back feeling ready to tackle writing a novel again?

I don’t want to just avoid writing by watching tv and stuff but also be ready for a new project:

If this helps, here’s what happened:

I was working on a story idea off and on for 6 months and I noticed it becoming a story I did not plan on and one I didn’t think my skill set was ready for. It made me avoid the project for days at a time or build up walls around the idea of writing because I have attempted this thing for 2 years now with no significant progress. Just starting and stopping an idea and hating myself and slowly hating writing in the process with each failure.

As someone who is goal oriented I set mile stones, like query in 5 years finish my first novel this year,etc….

But it feels daunting when you stand on square one and feel like your ideas not right or your not skilled, people are going to hate it, and you are afraid of self-inserts(I don’t like to read self-inserts so I’d hate to write one of my own by accident).

So now I’m burnt out and has lost touch with what’s fun about writing.

it's interesting that you mention the idea of walls multiple times here. that seems to be both the problem and the solution. it sounds like you're writing from two different minds: the half of you feeling creative and inspired, and the half who wants to do the job to the standards you set yourself.

the problem is that you can't do one task with both minds, so you have to give each their own task. the half of you that wants to make something and have a good time with it can become the generative half. you use that energy to plot, draft, daydream, etc. the other half of you needs to do something they're good at, because they don't seem to be very helpful with generation.

my recommendation is to create an independent study for yourself. this project sounds very important to you, and you want to do it justice, and that means that second half of you needs to devote itself to developing the scaffolding that will allow your generative side to build the thing you want to make. if you've done any kind of teaching before, great. if not, think back to how your favorite class you've ever taken was structured and go off of that. write a whole syllabus if that sounds fun to you (creating syllabi is very fun for me).

most people i know see everything in one step: do the thing. but try breaking all your goals up into at least two steps: teach yourself how to do the thing, then do the thing. especially for people like you who are goal driven and organized (and probably were/are very good students), it can be extremely fun and satisfying to become your own teacher.

here are some individual activities you can try that i think might keep you focused on your project and relieve the burnout:

write a list of learning objectives. this can be anything from specific craft mechanics to mindfulness and meditation.

create a reading list. find some relevant texts that will help inform your project. you say, "I don’t want to just avoid writing by watching tv and stuff," but if you watch tv through the lens of your project, it becomes a productive exercise. take notes, then organize and index your notes. personally, i love taking notes about the tv i watch and then indexing my notes.

craft small assignments that use what you learned from the reading list to reach the learning objectives. if one of your learning objectives is "learn how to write in first person," you take your favorite first-person reading and use it as a prompt for a short piece of prose.

make a final assignment. maybe your final assignment is a drafting plan (not an outline) for how you want to tackle your return to drafting. maybe it's a sample/practice chapter of your project. maybe it's an actual "what i learned in this course" style book report.

this isn't advice i would give to everyone. there are a lot of writers out there who would read this and go "absolutely fucken not" because they are the "just do it and see what happens" sort, or they had such a horrible primary education that the thought of framing creativity within the structure of a course seems agonizing. but for writers who get in their own way, who have both tastes and ideas that outweigh their current skill level, i definitely recommend training your scaffolding brain to tasks that are more actionable, and taking the time to learn what you want to write before writing it.

#writing advice #writers' block #pedagogy #process

[punkpandapatrixk]

LOL, I fookin LIED🤡

Don’t you feel like there’s been a constant shifting of aenergies lately? I haven’t been able to focus on precisely ONE single thing since the last Full Harvest Moon in Aries! Feelings, thoughts and emotions, as well as focus and priorities keep changing for the life of me! I think we’re collectively transcending and transforming the core of our beingness and habits… our ways of Life. So, ultimately, I think we will all be fine🍒🍀✨

In my last Oracle Alchemy on Patreon, I mentioned that the next series of PAC that was supposed to be Destined Person readings, was gonna be postponed and instead I wrote that I was going publish first a series of PAC on money, luck and manifestation. At that time, I couldn’t focus on Destined Person readings at all and it felt like the cosmic aenergies wanted me to prioritise readings on career and manifestation. Well, clown on me. I haven’t even finished Part 1 of that series and the aenergy had already shifted back to what was originally planned🤣

I’m sorry if I’m not making too much sense right now but basically, please expect a reading on 🍷Scent of Your Destined Person very soon some time this week🎉YAY!! The readings on money luck and manifestation are coming after all three Destined Person readings are published🍨

On another note, I also wrote on my side blog that I was going to resume daily readings on the last New Moon. Well, that didn’t happen🤡Seriously, I’ve been so spiritually all over the place I haven’t got it in me to channel readings properly🤣So on that note, I’ll do my best to resume daily readings on the next New Moon!✌🏻🦋🌈I’m putting all my faith in the upcoming Full Hunter’s Moon in Taurus to help me feel more secure and balanced in the material aspects of my Life😔

On that note, I’m confident this upcoming Full Moon will help me heaps in terms of changing my dietary habits… Y’know, Taurus rules over the throat and kitchen business LMAO I’m naturally skinny AF and don’t particularly struggle with ED of any kind, but I do realise now that my body is incredibly sensitive to certain types of harmful chemicals in our modern foods… If we could still call these things… foods at this point.

My fairy body can’t seem to digest well a lot of Human foods hahah Basically, I guess what I’m saying is that I’m learning to eat foods that would be good for my mental health so that I become subsequently less prone to anxieties and burnouts. I think foods are definitely related to healthy and balanced productivity🍱I’ll be learning all that for the rest of the year!

I hope you get to eat delicious foods that are good for both your mental and physical bodies!🍯Thanks for reading this far and lastly, happy Scorpio season!🦂

This is MY season MU HA HA HA Expect a lot of awesome content all through the rest of the year! v^o^/

#Unnecessary Panda Update #picnic aesthetic #pink aesthetic #astroblr #tarotb #writblr #witchblr #witchythings #update #girlblogger #girlblogging #writers #writerslife #writerscribbles #writersconnection #writerscommunity #writers on tumblr #writers on patreon #tarot community #pick a card

[oheck-trainwreck]

Hahhhhhhhhh

Yeah. Okay. I guess that’s that.

I probably won’t continue much with QSMP stuff, I guess. It’s been a fun while (about 9 months for me), but now that the admins for dapper and pomme are leaving the project, I don’t think I can really watch it the same or at all anymore.

Dumb personal stuff below (might be worth a read idk)

I’ve personally had a trying few months, struggling with intense burnout but unable to take a break, trying to survive my senior year of highschool, and all the shit going down in the QSMP sphere. I’m… really tired.

But, I cant take a break. I’ve still gotta finish school, and fulfill all the various commitments.

One of my commitments is making a portfolio for my AP art class. In order to make this easier for myself, I wanted to make it about something I can hyperfixate on: QSMP.

This was a pretty recent decision, I decided that I wanted to make kind of a process-thing for a dapper and pomme centric animation about the egg-stream era. But I’m just not sure what to do now.

I think… since both dapper and pomme’s admins mentioned that they still care for their characters and like to see fanart… I think I’ll follow through. I think I’ll make one last Qsmp animation, then split and find a new interest.

That being said… I’m discouraged. I don’t have a super long time to do this, and I don’t know if it’s the right thing to do, and everything is just hard.

… I don’t know where I’m going with this. I just wanna say, I’ll probably post about the process to kinda keep myself motivated, so maybe y’all can follow along? Even though I don’t know how much longer I’ll be around these parts, it’d be nice to have some company as I navigate the burnt down forest that my world kinda feels like right now.

So, I’ll probably post the process work for this under a tag like ‘the last animation’ or something, in case you want to stick around.

Ough. Yeah. When I’m done with this animation, I’ll probably stop posting on this blog. However, I think at that point, I’ll focus more on original work, particularly on my other blog, @doodlesthebookcat

Hahhh. Take care of yourselves, watch your mental health, support victims, and don’t send hate to anyone. See ya around, I guess

#tldr: I’m sad and life is hard but we gotta keep going #I’m probably gonna finish one more animation cuz I love the characters of dapper and pomme #I’d be honored if you guys would be there for the process #the last animation #qsmp #qadmin situation #vent

[lacunadraws]

Hello, is everything ok?

You know, I’ve been thinking about how to answer this for far longer than I should have. So I’ll just be honest. The short answer is…no, not really. But another answer is that I’m not, like, poorly off. I imagine this question was asked in regards to the little post I made to acknowledge that all the blood sweat and tears crwby and co went through on account of the RT fiasco and then deleted. And that may have felt a lil cryptic and weird for you guys in regards to how little I’ve been posting anything.

I’ve got a lot of stuff going on at the moment, but also some personal stuff. Mostly it’s the medical and financial stuff that really worries me. I’ve got a respiratory thing going on and a thing that makes me phenomenally exhausted all the time. As well as a long term chronic illness Ivey lived with almost my whole life that’s also frustrating.

It’s also frustrating that I have a lot of creative stuff halfway started or like almost started, but I just lack whatever it is to pull me through to the finish. Fumes? Motivation? Not sure. It’s all stuff I want to finish an then stick on the tumblr fridge and say, “Lookie lookie!”

But I’m just constantly tired, and sick, and drained.

There’s a lot of work I want to get out there—fan works and original stuff, but I just don’t have the stamina right now, let alone wondering if I can even be successful doing what I do? It takes me forever to finish anything I do. And I sometimes wonder if I should just jump ship to writer-only career stuff versus art-only career stuff. I love doing both, but it’s wearing me down trying to do them in such a fruitless manner.

And I’m sure this is just the latest bout of burnout and depression, but I just haven’t found the right tools to help me cope yet, but I’ll get there.

Anyway, thanks for checking up on me. I apologize if that was kind of a downer. Truthfully, I’ve been getting better in recent days.

I hate ending texts on weirds points I didn’t plan out, so what’s the band you’ve been listening to most lately?

[give-soup-please]

Could you write a headcanon where the reader has grown emotionally numb/dissociating overtime due to stress/burnout and the narrator tries to coax them back into reality? Like using grounding techniques or trying to keep their mind off whatever got them into that state? Maybe reader gets a cathartic cry at the end? (Love your writing btw, it inspires me to try getting back into it myself <3)

Narrator comforting reader due to stress and burnout (romantic or platonic)

(I need me a freak like this)

The narrator has always tried to present himself as cool, collected, and composed. His success is fairly limited, but lately, he’s been really worried about you.

He sees you, how hard you’ve been working, how you’ve been so stressed over keeping on top of everything. Due date after due date slams into you like waves on a cliff and he can see that you’re starting to crumble.  

He watches you collapse onto the couch after a particularly grueling day. Your eyes are glazed, there are bags under your eyes, and there’s this… distance that’s been created between the two of you. Your spirit feels so far away from him now. He calls your name a few times, but right now you don’t seem to be capable of hearing him. 

“Reader… Reader?” He’s getting more distressed by the second. To hell with your projects, to hell with these to do lists. Can’t you see you’re more important to him than just the things you accomplish? Don’t you see yourself the way he sees you? Irrational as it sounds, he wants to shout at the people who have done this to you.

He positions himself so that there’s almost no space between your ears and his voice. “Reader, I need you to listen to me. Are you there? Can you hear me?” There’s a distant flicker of recognition in your eyes, and it’s all he needs to press forward to help. “I’m right by your side. I’d like you to follow my voice, if you can. Picture a funnel in your head that leads back to your body. Feel yourself going gently coasting downwards into your body. I’ll be your guide.”

As soon as you’re almost back in your body, the stress slams into you, and you begin to hyperventilate. It’s too much, it was all too much. The narrator is right by your side.

“It’s alright reader, it’s alright. You’re safe here. Listen, I’m going to count to four, and I want you to breathe in. One, two… You have to do it with me, reader. Come on. Breathe in for one… two… three… four. Now hold… Breath out for one… two… three… four.” He leads you through a steady rhythm over and over, as long as it takes to get you steady again. 

Your eyes focus on him, and he’s horrified by how exhausted you look. He enjoys your company so much, he can’t stand to see you like this. He gently rubs your shoulder, and between the extra contact and the waves of care you sense coming off of him, you start to cry in earnest.

The narrator’s heart breaks a bit. “Oh dear, oh- Reader, come here.” He gently gathers you up in his arms, and holds you very tight. He makes hushing noises and wipes your tears away.

“Dearheart, I promise you that your value is not determined by what you produce. I promise. There’s so much more to you than your work.” You cry harder.

The narrator holds you tenderly, whispering what he loves most about you, wanting you to understand that you don’t have to push yourself so hard. Eventually, you fall asleep.

He holds you tight still, not wanting you to suffer anymore. The narrator begins making a plan so this doesn’t happen again.

He’ll find some way to force you to rest. Any time you’re approaching the same state as the one he found you in, he sweeps you away to the zen room, and tells you lovely stories. He encourages you to take breaks often. 

If the situation is dire enough he may even step in and help with work/school projects.

But the most important thing he does is reassure you as many times as you need that you are more valued than the work you do for others. He will, too. The narrator is notoriously stubborn. Your thought patterns will give before he does. He will find a kind way to change your mind.

#the narrator x reader #the stanley parable #tsp narrator #headcanon #tsp #answered ask #stanley parable #narrator #tsp narrator x reader #could be read as platonic or romantic