The Real MVP Here, Carrying Me Through Another Major Life Event. 15 Years With This Dude And I'm So Grateful

Sometimes there are good days, and sometimes there are the "I just discovered this train car includes toilets in the private rooms" kind of good days.

Michael ^^ <3

Reach for them. Let them guide you.

Snippet from The Farm at Wardenwood Hollow

On the dryer, the old tabby cat she’d inherited with the apartment was coiled tight into a wad of scraggy fur on a pile of clean clothes she’d folded and forgotten to put away. He purred in his sleep, oblivious to her presence in his soundless, elderly world, so she tapped twice on the fabric to let him know she was home. He blinked and unfurled, long and ribby, mouth gaping open in a nearly-toothless yawn. She held out her hand and he bumped his head against it, then turned in a circle and curled back up on the clothes.

“Rough day?” she asked him, smirking as she rolled the towels and laid them in the cabinet beneath the sink. “Must be nice, freeloadin’ like you are. Ain’t even got the good graces to hear me when I’m talkin’.”

From the medicine cabinet, she pulled out the bag of prescription cat food, dropping a couple scoops into the bowl she kept on the shelf behind the washer and dryer, then wetting it with water from the sink. The tabby watched her, blinking slow and uninterested as she worked, then yawned again when she was done.

For a few seconds, Taryn stood there with her hands on her hips, same as she always did, waiting for the cat to decide whether or not to waste the food, same as he always had.

“Heck with ya,” she said after a minute, then flipped the switch for the fan and the light over the tub. “But I ain’t leavin’ it out all night this time. You damn near put me in an early grave dumpin’ that last bowl while I was sleepin’.”

-----

Synopsis:

Taryn Monroe prefers simplicity–her place in the mountains, the predictable rhythm of her job at the mill, and the peace that comes with keeping to herself.

Every Tuesday, a woman shows up at precisely fifteen minutes to close. Taryn doesn’t know much about her–just the rumble of her truck, the way she never wastes words, and the peculiar gallon of sulfur she buys each week.

Then one Tuesday, she doesn’t show up.

Taryn tells herself to leave it alone, that it’s not her business and the woman can handle herself. But when she overhears an argument and starts asking questions, she can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong–and her life becomes anything but simple.

Something wild is living in the barn at Wardenwood Hollow–something keeping the woman bound to the old Sterling Farm.

And Taryn may be her only chance to break free.

Revisiting a couple drawings of Airiam I did in ClipStudio last year and now I have a new fic idea...

Gonna rewrite Discovery post 2x09. Yup. That's what I'm gonna do.

Once For the Light and The Ithaca Mandate are finished...Buckle up.

ETA TBD.

Snippet from The Ithaca Mandate

“How long?” Judith asked, hugging her arms against her ribs. She shivered slightly, the chill of the open space seeping into her. “How long until…?” The question ground to a halt, and no amount of will could force it into the air. How long until we’re gone? She could hear it in her mind. She could see it in the gaunt lines of her reflection. The bones of her cheeks and shoulders pushed out against her skin and the thin fabric of her undershirt, her brown eyes framed in dark crescents–fault lines and shadows where there should have been rolling hills and light. Judith scrubbed a hand across her face, like she could wipe that terrible, broken reflection away. Beneath them, Ithaca creaked and trembled as if even the leviathan herself was afraid of what it meant to die. Rage boiled to the surface, at the great, suffering beast still clinging to her perverse, miserable excuse of a life and her demands she not die alone. How long until you finally let us go?

"He asked about you," Eva said, rubbing one arm and then shoving a hand in her pocket. "Who you are, why you care."

"I don't like bullies, is all," Taryn replied with a frown, and she crossed her arms over her chest. "Ain't need no more reason than that."

"He says you got a mouth on you. Says you oughtta learn when to shut it."

Eva looked at the ground as she said it, kicking at the gravel with the toe of her boot.

"That what he said?" Taryn asked, and she almost grinned as she leaned back on the column.

"That's what he said."

"And what d'you think Miss Eva Kincaid?"

"I don't think nothin'."

"That means you think somethin'."

Eva looked up, and her mouth and her brows settled into hard lines.

"I think you gone an' pissed off Mister Sterling. An' I think you just might wanna listen to him."

Taryn regarded her. She still wasn't swayed. She could tell Eva knew it, too. She pushed off the column and came a step closer.

"I'll think about shuttin' my mouth when he thinks about keepin' his hands off o' you. You can tell him I said that, too."

-----

Taryn Monroe prefers simplicity–her place in the mountains, the predictable rhythm of her job at the mill, and the peace that comes with keeping to herself.

Every Tuesday, a woman shows up at precisely fifteen minutes to close. Taryn doesn’t know much about her–just the rumble of her truck, the way she never wastes words, and the peculiar gallon of sulfur she buys each week. Then one Tuesday, she doesn’t show up. Taryn tells herself to leave it alone, that it’s not her business and the woman can handle herself. But when she overhears an argument and starts asking questions, she can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong–and her life becomes anything but simple. Something wild is living in the barn at Wardenwood Hollow. Something keeping the woman bound to the old Sterling Farm. And Taryn may be her only chance to break free.

Things they don't prepare you for as an adult: "Your father left some potatoes in the basement and I kept asking him to get rid of them but he didn't--can you move them while you're here?"

Mother, those are not potatoes. Those are alien lifeforms and I'm pretty sure this is how the zombie apocalypse starts.

Nevertheless--they are no longer in the basement.

10 scenes to go 🥲

Me explaining Voyager to my friends in a nutshell.

For the love of all that you enjoy: DON’T PAYWALL YOUR FANFICTION.

Again, but louder:

DON’T PAYWALL YOUR FANFICTION

It’s getting more and more common. I’ve seen three posts about it in the last 24 hours - patreons where you’ll get “exclusive” fanfiction stories if you’re a subscriber.

Don’t.

Don’t do it.

It’s annoying, but mostly it’s fucking dangerous.

The whole fanfiction community prosper on someone else’s turf under “fair use” laws. In simple terms: we can play with other people’s creations for as long as it’s done for our own amusement, and that of our followers.

Once any kind of financial benefits are made, it becomes another abuse of someone else’s rights.

And look, I get it. It sucks, especially seeing the artists take commissions while the authors get nothing, and it takes hours and hours of our time, and I understand people are looking for a side hustle to make ends meet in this monstrosity of a capitalist society, but if we don’t stop it from happening, the rights owners will stop it.

And they’ll stop it for everyone.

It’s not worth it. Don’t do it.