#Think about all the stories where not being sufficiently happy on Christmas is the sole problem to be solved in 22 minutes

[homoqueerjewhobbit]

A lot of Christians read A Christmas Carol and gloss right over the "pay workers a living wage" message and take away "not being merry on Christmas is a cardinal sin" instead.

[korora12]

Tagged by @corisanna

1. What is your favorite relationship type to write/read? Romantic, platonic, familial, and any subtypes.

I like romantic relationships that don’t rely solely or primarily on physical attraction, but instead on a deep similarity between the two characters. I like when two people meet eyes and realize that “You understand me. You get me better than anyone else I’ve ever met, and I feel less lonely knowing that someone else sees the world the same way I do.”

2. How much or what kind of research do you do for your fiction? If you don’t write, has a fic ever made you curious enough to research something?

Only as much as is necessary. I usually use research as a springboard for inspiration when I hit a block, letting myself wander the fields of Wikipedia until I stumble upon something that knocks the block loose.

Of course, sometimes I research stuff just for fun, with no relation to my writing whatsoever, until some random point down the line where it suddenly does and I’m super happy I already know [Random Fact #237].

3. What was the first work of fiction you remember becoming completely engrossed in?

Hmm. Probably Animorphs. I remember doing everything I could to hunt down the numerous books in the series (back in the ancient, pre-Amazon Prime days). I’d prowl the various school and public libraries near me, ask for specific books in the series for Christmas and birthdays, and even buy the occasional book at the yearly Scholastic Book Fairs, using what little money I got for an allowance.

I made it most of the way through the series, but then there was one book, near the end, that I couldn’t find, no matter how hard I looked. And it was an important, plot-changing, book that I had to read before continuing. Which meant I never actually finished the series.

Of course, nowadays you can find them all online as pdfs. Maybe I should revisit the series sometime and finally finish it. I already know how it ends, but I still feel like those last few books deserve to be read.

4. What work(s) had a lasting influence on you or your writing style?

Going back to Animorphs again. There is a straight-line connection between me reading that series as a child, through my elementary school friends Brooke, who was obsessed with dogs, and Caitlin, who was even more obsessed with dolphins (I used to find pictures of dolphins in magazines and cut them out just to give to her), through my Grandma’s love of science, all the way to my decision to study Zoology in college. If I had never read those books, I wouldn’t have developed the passion for animals and animal behavior that has shaped my life for over two decades.

Also, stylistically speaking, I really respect that series for how it treated its readers. Its target audience was grade schoolers, and yet it never shied away from showing the realities of violence and war. I don’t know that I’ll ever write children’s literature, but I’ll always have this series to remind me of what kids are capable of understanding and handling.

5. What kind of sound environment do you prefer for writing/reading? Silent, white noise, music with/without words, sitting in a public place with the ambient noise of humanity, etc.

Depends on how well my brain is cooperating. Pure silence is ideal, but more often than not there’s some manner of song stuck on repeat in the background of my mind, and the only way to drown it out is with non-lyrical music of some sort. Usually I try to pick songs that match the mood of whatever scene I’m trying to write.

6. Are you or do you like authors who are teases, in story or out?

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I’m a big fan of the Death of the Author trope, so I tend not to get too worked up by whatever the author may be saying and just let the story speak for itself.

My first instinct is to say that an author shouldn’t worry too much about what their fans think and should write the story they want to write, and it will find readers that appreciate it. However, I recognize that the nature of serial online writing, such as fanfiction, changes the game a bit. Such authors have a much more immediate, direct connection with their readers than authors who release one or two physical books every year or so. Some authors take that to an extreme, turning stories almost into a dialogue with their readers, each new chapter in some way defined by how people reacted to the previous one. And that doesn’t even touch on Quests, a type of story on forums sites such as Spacebattles and Sufficient Velocity that require player input on a regular basis to continue. In these types of situations, I can hardly blame an author for playing with their readers heads a bit. The reactions they have can be a form of entertainment all their own.

7. Have you ever experienced a “the characters write themselves” or “character rebellion” mental state?

Not yet. For the time being, I remain in complete control of my universes, but I recognize the hubris of assuming this to be a permanent state.

8. Do you have a favorite franchise crossover? Like Bleach/Harry Potter, Madoka Magica/Card Captor Sakura, etc.

I don’t know if I have a particular favorite. I was really fond of Secret Trio for a while, which is Danny Phantom, American Dragon Jake Long, and Randy Cunningham 9th Grade Ninja. I’m still very fond of the Disney/Square Enix megacrossover that is Kingdom Hearts, despite being very disappointed in the most recent game in the series. Then there’s Kino’s Journey/Anything, mostly because I love Kino’s Journey, and I love seeing her response/reaction to various other worlds.

Also, Stargate/Anything. The only reason I ever started watching the show was because I’d read several different fics, all in different fandoms (Avatar, Yu-Gi-Oh, Star Wars, Naruto), and all of which crossed over with Stargate. Despite the similarities, both being sci-fi stories set around the turn of the millennium involving mind-controlling aliens, I’ve yet to see a good Stargate/Animorphs crossover. It’d be pretty easy to do, too. There’s a point in the Animorphs series where they decide to bring knowledge of their guerrilla war to the attention of the US government. If they’re already in the Stargate universe, I’m sure the president will quickly pass the problem along to the experts, and suddenly you’ve got the perfect setup of adults who think they know how to handle the problem, are mostly right, and don’t want kids fighting in a war, vs child soldiers who have no intention of giving up the fight so near its end, even if the adults are more competent than they expected.

I’m gonna have to write it myself, one of these days, if no one else gets around to doing it.

9. Do you remember anything about the first fanfic you ever read?

Two Halves by DameWren. My first fandom was Naruto, and my first fanfic was a NaruHina fic that both introduced me to the concept of fandom, and also sold the ship for me in a way that I’ve never shaken. I remember very little beyond that, except that it managed to correctly predict that Naruto would go on a training trip, despite being written before such an event happened in canon.

10. Is there a work of fiction that you are annoyed doesn’t have much if any fic? Like Bizenghast.

Kino’s Journey, Cowboy Bebop, Double Arts (just never got enough attention in general)

11. What fictional character do you strongly identify with?

Weiss Schnee, from RWBY. While I’ve never been accused of being rich, I am a middle child with a much older sister that cut ties with the family when I was young and a younger brother that I never got along with while growing up. My parents were also abusive, my father physically and both of them emotionally, and they taught me a number of unhealthy ideas about race, amongst other things, that I’ve had to put serious effort into unlearning. And I have, since becoming an adult, traveled long distances across the world, partially for my own benefit, and partially to distance myself physically from a family I’ve never felt particularly close to, resulting in a drastic personality shift that took a couple years to complete, but ultimately left me a very different, and much better, person.

So, yeah, Weiss is basically my favorite RWBY character, and one I really need to write more often, all things considered.

That was fun! I’ve never been tagged in anything like this before. My turn for questions!

1. What is your the most recent fandom you’ve gotten involved in? Have you made any content for it?

2. Do you have a favorite AU/plotline that you love regardless of fandom (ie. Peggy Sue, Coffee Shop AU, Space AU, Self-Insert)? What about it do you like?

3. If you write, how do you go about deciding a character’s sexuality? If not, do you ever have any sexuality headcanons for characters?

4. What’s the longest fanfic that you’ve ever read, beginning to end?

5. How often do you make something you’re proud of? Doesn’t have to be writing, just has to be something that wouldn’t exist if you hadn’t made it yourself.

6. What are your opinions on OCs in fanfiction?

7. What is your favorite storytelling medium (ie. television, written word, spoken word, video games, song, etc.)?

8. What was the last song you had stuck in your head, and what was it about?

9. Do you prefer reading/writing stories set in fictional worlds, or stories set in the real world/real world analogous (ie. Supernatural or Marvel Comics)?

10. If you could bring one fictional character into the real world, who would it be and why?

11. Pick your favorite of the questions I was asked to answer for yourself.

I just realized that I don’t know how many of my followers are writers. I guess @hunkygoddess @tmifangirl21 @queendarktigress @ladyvallhalla @i-mushi @xekstrin @shinobicyrus and anyone else who sees this and might be interested. No pressure, it’s just for fun!

[taeheyhey]

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Chapter 18 - What Are We Doing Now?

Taehyung x Reader - Fluff/Angst - 3.8k words

A/N - Helloooo! Here is chapter 18, I hope you all enjoy it a lot! If you have time or the inclination, please leave me a like or a comment or a wee reblog, it really helps motivate me to keep on writing and to try to create better things. BTW If you have sent me a request, rest assured I'm getting through them!

Thank you for being so lovely to me and for reading my story...it means the world! ♥

One ~ Two ~ Three ~ Four ~ Five ~ Six ~ Seven ~ Eight ~ Nine ~ Ten ~ Eleven ~ Twelve ~ Thirteen ~ Fourteen ~ Fifteen ~ Sixteen ~ Seventeen ~ Eighteen ~ Nineteen ~ Twenty ~ Twenty-One ~ Twenty-Two

It had taken some time and an awful lot of effort, but for the most part life had returned more or less to normal. There were still times, particularly when you weren’t working at the bar or otherwise occupied, where thoughts of Taehyung would take up residence in your mind and stubbornly stay there for an hour or two, sometimes longer. On more than a few of these occasions you had felt the very powerful urge to crack open your ancient laptop and indulge in a quick image search, just to remind yourself that, yes: that inhumanly beautiful, kind and talented man had brightened the mundanity of your life for the briefest of moments.

You had decided early on it would be advisable to persist in resisting these urges to the best of your ability, mostly for your own emotional well-being. There was no way you could trivialise the significance of the time you had spent together, but to dwell on the loss of it was ultimately unconstructive and damaging, and you decided you had spent far too much of your life allowing the actions of others to dictate your own. You would always treasure those few days with Taehyung, but you told yourself that you could – and would – move on from it.

Not only did you tell yourself, you also told Ronnie, loudly and often. There would probably have been more chance of him believing you if he hadn’t decided to check in on you on one of your nights off. He had found you most of the way through a bottle of wine and a large Toblerone, the room in darkness but for the glow from the laptop, headphones in and completely engrossed and teary-eyed over a compilation video of Taehyung with animals, gesturing despairingly in silence at the video. You had woken the following morning with a hangover and a half-melted chocolate triangle stuck to your neck and committed to a YouTube and all round Taehyung internet search ban for the sake of your sanity.

Still the hours turned in to days and then in to weeks as they have a tendency to do and before you knew it, it had been three months since that fateful night at the hotel in the city. You had spent a large potion of your days searching for an extra job to help Ronnie pay for the upkeep of the bar. He refused to let you work for him for room and board and insisted on paying you a wage, even though dwindling patron numbers and rapidly increasing rent meant he could scarcely afford it.

“I know you don’t like talking about it with me Ronnie, but how long can we realistically keep this place open if we keep having nights like last night?” you called to him behind the bar.

He was rearranging the bottles of liquor and spirits for want of something to do. He would normally be re-stocking the fridges but given that only two bottles had been removed from them, it wouldn’t have occupied him for very long.

You were counting out the money from the previous day, not that it took a great deal of time to do so. Over the space of five hours, four people had walked through the door of Ronnie’s. One was Peter, two made up an elderly couple who came in once a week to nurse one drink each over a two hour period, and the last had been a gentleman who had gotten lost on the way to the city centre and needed to use the bathroom. You had at least managed to talk him in to buying a coke.

“What’s all this 'we' talk? It’s not your problem to worry about.” He retorted, shifting his eyes indecisively back and forth between an unopened bottle of beer and the large mug of black coffee you had placed in front of him some minutes earlier.

You observed him through his reflection in the mirror behind the bar, and to your immense relief he turned to face you with the mug in his hand, before walking around the bar to sit down and join you. “What do you mean 'not my problem'? If Hannah comes back and finds out I’ve not been looking after you, she’ll nag both of us to the brink of insanity.”

He grumbled in acknowledgement. “She always was like her mother,” he smiled sadly and sighed, taking a large gulp of his drink to cover up the waver in his voice.

You reached over the table and placed your hand on his forearm and squoze in what you hoped was a reassuring manner. Hannah had been gone for over half a year now, and he was obviously missing her, and you used the ensuing silence to consider how best to respond to Ronnie’s sudden melancholy.

You had learned not to push it when it came to his vulnerable moments, you simply had to take your cues from him and wait to see if he elaborated, if he did not the most constructive option was to move the conversation on to something else. Usually food.

“Should I go down to the cafe and get us some lunch?” You proposed after waiting a sufficient amount of time for him to continue the conversation should he wish to do so.

As if by magic his face brightened, and even if it was solely for you benefit you were relieved, knowing that he would be embarrassed later on if he continued to wallow in front of you. He reached in to his pocket to retrieve his wallet, and you placed a stilling hand on his shoulder.

“Please just let me do this at least? Peter gave me a twenty last night.” You announced, pulling the note from the back pocket of your jeans and holding it aloft like a precious relic.

“Jesus, what’s that all about?” Ronnie pondered aloud, shuffling off his chair and making for the sink with his now empty mug, picking up yours on the way.

Peter had been a fixture in the bar almost all day, every day since you had begun working at Ronnie’s, always wearing the same brown overcoat and thin-lipped grimace beneath his unkempt beard, and he rarely tipped, only at Christmas and on the rare occasions he had won at the horses. “Who knows? Maybe he’s secretly loaded?”

“Well it would make sense, it’s hard not to make a success of yourself with that level of charisma,” Ronnie quipped in response.

You smiled wryly and pulled on your hoodie, pulling open the front door as Peter barrelled in with impeccable timing. As the door closed behind you and your stepped out in to the drizzling rain, you heard Ronnie bellow an overly enthusiastic greeting at Peter for comic effect.

You pulled your hood over your untidy hair and shoved your hands in to your pockets as you faced in to the wind on your way to the cafe. You could remember running down this path away from Taehyung playfully and feeling as though you didn’t have a care in the world. You imagined how different a figure you cut now, shoulders hunched over against the weather, eyes downcast as you allowed the grief to consume you just for this walk; just while you were alone.

In much the same way as Ronnie’s rapid switch from his gloomy countenance earlier was largely for your benefit, your own emotional recovery was feigned in large part to reduce how often you would find him watching you with ill-concealed concern plastered across his face. Your despondency was abruptly overpowered by guilt as you wondered how much of Ronnie’s own sadness at missing his daughter he had successfully hidden from you as you wallowed in the wake of Taehyung’s departure.

Before you could think on it for much longer you had arrived at the cafe. You placed your fingers around the door handle and took a deep breath in. You hadn’t been in here since that morning with Taehyung, and you felt that familiar clenching in your heart and the hot sting behind your eyes. Again, you allowed yourself to feel it only for a few moments before exhaling and pushing down on the handle.

There were no more than three tables occupied in the cafe, the breakfast rush long since ended, and those that were seated paid little attention to you as you entered the room, save for the couple by the front door who grumbled simultaneously as a sliver of the outside was allowed in with your arrival.

Over by the counter you could see Jess talking intimately with a young man wearing a woollen hat pulled down over his ears, and she giggled coquettishly as he stretched over the bar and planted a peck on her cheek. She looked so happy. That is until she raised her eyes at the sound of the door being blown shut again and found you smiling warmly at her. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped loose, the beginning of your name falling from her open mouth.

You frowned, perturbed by her reaction to your presence, until the man in the hat turned to the entrance to follow the line of Jess' gaze. Mark.

You could feel your eyebrows make a mad dash towards your hairline as you took in their shocked expressions, almost comical in their similarity. After a beat you allowed your face to relax as you strolled over to them, trying not to be unsettled by the dual frozen stare you were being subjected to.

You could understand why they were freaked out, but you were honestly more interested in getting back to Ronnie equipped with lunch.

“Hi,” you offered in greeting to both of them, although it left your mouth as a question.

“I’m, um...just going to...” Mark awkwardly shuffled around you and headed for the restrooms, almost pushing open the ladies door in his fluster.

You were left face to face with Jess, whose eyes were still the size of saucers and whose mouth was opening and closing uselessly like a fish. “Y/N I...” she finally mumbled.

“Jess, calm down. What do you think is happening right now?” You had absolutely no issue with her, you never had, and you certainly were not going to allow something as inconsequential as your ex-boyfriend dating her make that somehow be otherwise.

She still looked edgy and incredibly apologetic, her eyebrows knitted together in a picture of remorse. “Did someone tell you about us? Is that why you’re here?”

You sighed heavily. “Honestly Jess, I just want a sandwich. No offence, but I genuinely couldn’t care less that Mark’s out there again.” You ran your finger down the menu as you spoke, your focus on the task at hand. You raised your eyes to meet hers earnestly for a moment. “Is he good to you?”

She eyed you warily as though it was a trick question. “Yes,” she eventually answered, her posture relaxing visibly. “Oh,” she said suddenly, her face lighting up with realisation and relief. “You were with that really good-looking guy right? Of course. Jesus,” you could see her eyes glaze over and you knew she was trying to visualise him. “How’s that going?” Her tone was jovial now and she wiggled her eyebrows suggestively the way she had when you had sat opposite Taehyung a quarter of a year ago.

You gave a tight-lipped smile in response and returned your gaze to the menu so she couldn’t see the tears begin to gather at the memory. “It’s not,” you answered quietly.

“Oh,” came her reply, and she reached over the counter cautiously before awkwardly patting the top of your hand that was resting there.

Mark chose this moment to resume his position opposite Jess on the customer side of the counter, with a slight angle adjustment to ensure he left a wide area to allow for your presence as though you might physically lash out at any moment. Jess shifted her eyes back and forth between the two of you and the entire situation suddenly struck you as totally ridiculous, breaking you from your sombre reminiscence and causing an amused snort to burst forth from you, making Mark jump almost a foot in the air such was the anxiety you seemed to have instilled in him.

The tension broken between you and Jess at least, she joined you in your laughter much to Mark's chagrin, his expression only causing you both to laugh harder. “What are you having then?” She managed after taking some deep breaths.

“Two large BLTs please, hold the lettuce and tomato on one.”

She smiled and nodded, turning to face the grill and seeing to your order, leaving you and your ex-boyfriend to stand side-by-side in uncomfortable silence, from his perspective at least.

Just as Jess began to wrap the two sandwiches in paper, Mark turned to you. “How have you been?”

The words were strained, forced, and you knew he must feel embarrassed about the last time you had seen him.

“Good,” you answered noncommittally. “You?”

“Well you know...” he muttered while you fantasised about nails scraping down a chalkboard as a preferable alternative to this conversation. “Are you still seeing –”

“We really don’t need to do this, Mark,” you cut him off, gratefully accepting the two wrapped parcels as Jess handed them over to you. She took the twenty from your grasp in turn and pushed seemingly random buttons in the register to open it. You leant close to your ex so you couldn’t be heard by anyone else. “Don’t fuck this up with her, okay?” you advised sincerely before taking your change and offering them both a genuine parting smile, pulling the front door open once more to incur the passive-aggressive wrath of the chilly couple by the entrance.

 ~~~

“I still don’t understand why you want us all to wear these, Jimin.” Jin called out as he stood in the doorway of the studio, a pink towelling headband adorned with a spotted bow dangling from his long finger and held away from his body with faint disgust in his expression as though it smelled unpleasant.

Jungkook was adjusting his own headband in the wall of full length mirrors at one end of the entirely white room, frowning as he pulled it forwards and then pushed it back again. “Because it’s funny, hyung,” he answered on Jimin’s behalf as he saw him speaking quietly with a blatantly forlorn Taehyung in the opposite corner of the room.

Namjoon had been standing with them initially, the three of them whispering with their heads close together, the leader occasionally extending his arm around Taehyung to massage his shoulder soothingly. He had left just as Jin had entered, striding from the room purposefully with a determined expression on his face, and the oldest had watched him walk down the corridor to his own studio in confusion.

Hoseok appeared from behind Jin and walked over to crouch beside the maknae, affectionately ruffling his hair and undoing the work he had done to position the pink material to his satisfaction. “What makes it funny, Kookie?”

Despite his mild annoyance at the disruption, he smiled a toothy grin up at the dancer and pulled at the two sides of the bow so they stood almost vertically from the top of his head. “Just look at it,” he raised his hands to frame them around his latest adjustment to emphasise his words. Hoseok clearly remained unconvinced but returned the grin anyway, straightening up and walking back out of the room to get his make up fixed before the broadcast began, grabbing one of the remaining four headbands from the small box Jimin had placed on a chair by the door on his arrival.

Jin still stood at the door, placing his hands at his hips and eyeing Jungkook suspiciously. “Ya, Jungkook-ah, you never agree with Jimin’s ideas. What’s going on? What are you up to, both of you? Is it a prank? A hidden camera?” With each question he strode further in to the room, and the intonation of his voice rose until it was almost manic. He came to a halt beside Jungkook in front if the mirror and haphazardly dragged the head over his thick black hair and examined his reflection. “It’s ruining my handsome face, ah!” He joked loudly as one side of the band lay heavily over one eye, forcing it shut.

There was a weird energy in the room and Jin was doing his best to remedy it, and as always he was ecstatic to find Jungkook laughing fondly at him. He laughed even harder as Jin removed the band from his head and stepped in to it, one foot at a time, and pulled it up so that it was somehow encircling his waist, and began to dance around the room in an effort to catch Taehyung’s attention with the intention of perhaps making him laugh too. He had been so dejected since their arrival home all those weeks ago and – while the second youngest had seemed much quieter in general that year – it still worried him and the other members, but as the oldest, Jin felt a large amount of responsibility for all of them, especially the three youngest.

Having finished in the make up room, Hoseok returned to the mirror to attempt to display the towelling monstrosity in a vaguely flattering way. He turned to Yoongi, who had been sat silently on the floor the entire time they had been in the dance studio with the bow already perched atop his bleached hair, and huffed out a sigh. “You are okay with this, hyung?”

Yoongi looked up as though noticing there were other people in the room for the first time, lowering his phone in to his lap. “It’s something to do with Taehyung and his girl,” he said nonchalantly, but such was the quiet in the room as Jin had chosen that moment to cease leaping around it, that the sound of his voice travelled across the studio. “Just wear it.” The five other members turned to stare at him in astonishment, and he retrieved his phone from between his crossed legs unperturbed. “What? I thought everyone knew. We’ve been doing such weird stuff these past couple of months.” He shrugged and carried on watching music videos on his phone.

It took a few moments for the members to unfreeze, almost as though when Yoongi has pressed play on his media player it had affected the members too. The three youngest exchanged worried glances and Hoseok continued to stare mutely at his fellow rapper.

The eldest stood dumbly as the cogs whirred around in his mind. The penny dropping was almost audible and if the room had been dark Jin would swear the others would have seen the lightbulb ping on above his head. “Jimin-ah,” he called out accusatorily across the room. “Is that why you asked me to learn to play that song?”

 ~~~

With the wind at your back and the strange sense of closure you felt following your encounter with Mark and Jess at the cafe, your steps felt swifter and a little lighter as you made your way back to the bar with your precious cargo.

You missed Taehyung. There was no denying it. You supposed a part of you would always miss Taehyung and mourn what could have been had circumstances been entirely different on all fronts. Having said that, had the situation been entirely altered, you imagined there would have been absolutely no reason for him to come to your part of the world. Either way it remained wholly pointless to speculate on what could have been, even if it was a perfectly wonderful way of spending your time when it didn’t feel like a million pins pricking at your heart.

If Mark was able to pull himself from his funk and get back out there, then so could you. Not that you had any intention to start trying to date again, but thinking back on the state you last found Mark in three months ago, the improvement was jarring and caused the tiniest spark of optimism in you. Mark had four entire years to move on from, surely getting over three days would be an absolute breeze in comparison...right?

You arrived back at the bar and pushed the door ajar with your shoulder as you cradled the sandwiches. Walking over to the bar, you handed Ronnie the sandwich containing only bacon and took in the strange expression on his face. He looked to be on the verge of laughter but desperately trying to hold it in, his face reddening from the effort.

“Ronnie, what on earth is going on? Is everything alright, you look...” You weren’t sure how you should finish the sentence. In all honesty he looked constipated.

A weird squeak escaped him as he opened his mouth to speak. “Y/N, I know you’ve had a rough few weeks, but...” he clasped his hands together in barely-concealed delight, his face stretched in to a smile so broad it was hurting your cheeks just looking at him. “There’s someone here who might just make you feel a little bit better.”

Your entire body froze, even your heart felt as if it had stopped. It couldn’t be, could it? You stared unblinking at the door Ronnie was gesturing flamboyantly at as though he were a magician at a child’s birthday party, your breathing coming in short, sharp gasps and you felt light-headed from the lack of oxygen reaching your brain.

“Are you ready?” he asked excitedly, his voice booming, though you may as well have been under water given the way his question sounded to your ears.

Your voice was barely a whisper as Ronnie stretched out his hand to wrap it around the doorknob, drawing out the tension unintentionally cruelly and indulgently. “Yes.”

“Ta-da!” he announced and pulled open the door with a flourish.

“Y/N!” Your best friend since practically birth screeched joyfully as she ran towards you with open arms, and you embraced her tightly and gratefully, not fully realising just how much you had missed her smile, her laugh, and – especially at that particular moment in time – her hugs.

“Oh my god, Hannah! I can’t believe it! I am so happy you’re here!” You declared sincerely as you pulled her tighter in to the hug.

You felt completely ashamed at the split-second of disappointment that had swept through you momentarily as you realised it was not Taehyung standing on the other side of the door. It was then that you knew for sure that trying to move on from him was going to be even harder than you had initially thought.

A/N Chapter 19 will be out same time next week! Only 4 more chapters to go! Thank you again for reading you sweethearts xxx

[jade4813]

The Princess and The Pirate, Chapter 3

Author Notes: Endless thanks to @valeriemperez for her help editing this story and assisting me in figuring out how I wanted this story to go! This will hopefully end up being the first in a planned Westallen Fairy Tale AU series!

I’m sorry for the delay. I’ll probably be a little behind in getting chapter 4 finished, since I’m working on a Westallen Christmas fic. But this story won’t be forgotten; I promise!

Title: The Princess and the Pirate

Rating: PG

Synopsis: Princesses don’t fall in love with pirates, do they? Anything is possible in a fairy tale!A Cinderella/Princess Bride inspired Westallen AU.

Chapters: 3/?

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Iris and Caitlin were relaxing in the gardens one morning, idly sketching trees they’d drawn a hundred times before, when Caitlin heaved a heavy sigh. “Your Highness,” she began, her voice low and reluctant, “There is something I need to tell you.”

Iris glanced at her friend out of the corner of her eye and put her pencil aside. Caitlin had been quiet for a couple of days, lost in her own thoughts. All efforts to discover the source of her distraction had failed, and so Iris had quietly decided to wait until her friend was ready to confide in her. It seemed that moment had come.

But now that she’d begun to speak, Caitlin didn’t know how to continue. She lapsed into silence, so Iris pressed softly, “Are you unwell?”

Caitlin blinked rapidly and shook her head. “No, it’s not –” she began. Her voice broke off, and she cleared her throat softly. “I’m fine. There’s something I need to tell you. I should have told you sooner, but the King –”

Her voice broke off when a guard approached, bowing deeply to the princess. “My apologies for intruding, Your Highness, but the King would like to see you. He asked to see you both.”

Throwing her friend an apologetic look, Iris nodded. “Of course,” she demurred. A summons from her father could hardly be ignored.

When she turned back to the castle, however, the guard cleared his throat. “My apologies, but if you will accompany me, he’s waiting for you in the drive.”

That piqued her interest. Giving the guard a slight nod, she and Caitlin fell into step behind him. Though she tried to catch her friend’s eye, Caitlin kept her gaze on the guard’s back, her mouth tightened into a firm line.

When they reached the drive, Iris found a carriage waiting for them with her father inside. She tried to hide her surprise, taking the footman’s hand so he could assist her into the carriage. She typically only accompanied her father into town for holidays and other special occasions, so she couldn’t imagine the cause for this trip.

Once she had settled into the seat across from her father, the carriage began to move. The trio sat in silence as they traveled through the front gates, headed towards town. Though she was burning with curiosity, Iris bit her tongue and tried to exercise patience. Her father would reveal the reason for this trip in his own time.

Eventually, the King pulled his attention from the trees passing by the carriage windows. With a slight smile, he met his daughter’s eyes and said, “I’m sure you’re wondering why I wanted to see you. There was something we need to discuss, but I wanted to do it in private.” Iris nodded. Privacy was one commodity impossible to come by within the castle walls.

The King frowned but he didn’t continue, and Iris’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. It seemed this was a day for uncomfortable, reluctant conversations. She shot Caitlin a quick look to see if she was similarly amused, but her companion was staring out of the carriage windows.

“Is everything all right?” Iris finally asked, unable to completely hide her exasperation.

Her dad’s teeth flashed in a quick grin. “Everything’s fine. It’s just hard for a father to admit that his daughter has grown up.” He reached out and grabbed her hand, giving it a slight squeeze.

The tension broken, he continued, “I asked you to accompany me today for two reasons. First, I wanted to tell you that I know I’ve been…unfair to you. I’ve wanted to keep you at the castle to keep you safe.” He paused and then added with a wry twist of his lips, “As your father, I would keep you safe in the castle forever, if I could. But as a king, I know you need to know get to know your people – and your people need to feel that they know you. They need to trust you and believe in you.

“I wanted to let you know that I’ll be assigning a few guards to you over the next couple of days. Whenever you want to leave the castle, they will accompany you. In return, you need to promise me that you will take at least two of them with you any time you go out. I may not be able to protect you from the illness that took your mother, but I will do whatever I can to ensure your safety.”

Iris beamed. If they weren’t stuck in an enclosed carriage, she’d throw her arms around her father in an exuberant hug. Lurching forward, she did her best, but it was awkward to say the least. “Thank you, Daddy,” she whispered into his ear.

“Just promise me you’ll stay safe, baby,” he murmured back. When she settled back onto her seat, he continued in a stern voice. “And no more putting on your maid’s clothes and sneaking out alone.”

Iris froze, her breath caught in her throat. “How did you –?” she began, but she broke off before she could continue the question. She could feel Caitlin stiffen beside her, and she shot a quick glance in her direction. Her friend wouldn’t look at her; she kept her gaze firmly on her lap, where she worried a handkerchief between her fingers. “Oh.”

“Don’t be angry with her,” her father said softly. “She was worried for you. I commanded her to tell me if there was anything that might help us track down the Man in Black. Regardless of what he said, she was afraid he might have recognized you and followed you home.” He paused and then added, his voice low, “Before too long, this kingdom will be yours. When you carry that responsibility, you cannot always believe the best in people – even if you wish you could.”

To hell with what a princess should or shouldn’t do. Iris sighed heavily, her gaze dropping to her own lap. “I’m not angry.” It was a little white lie that meant no harm. She understood that the King’s command would always come first, but that didn’t mean she had to be happy about it right away. Raising her gaze to her father, she straightened her shoulders and asked firmly, “And what is the other reason you wanted to see me? You hardly needed privacy to tell me the first part.”

“Ah,” he said with a nod. “Of course.” He paused and cleared his throat, his hand forming a fist in his lap. “As you know, according to tradition, you should be betrothed by your twenty-third birthday. You turn twenty-two in six weeks, so we need to start looking to the future.”

A knot formed in her stomach. Iris squeezed her hands in her lap, wishing she could reach for the comfort of Caitlin’s hand. She was aware of the tradition. She had simply hoped that she wouldn’t have to abide by it. A year suddenly seemed to be entirely too little time. “But surely – surely I’m not – it’s just a silly old tradition. You’re the king. Surely you could –”

He bowed his head. “I could,” he admitted. “As your father, I wish I could allow you all the time you need to follow your heart. But in this, I must think like a king. And as king, I have to put the good of our people ahead of ourselves.” His eyes were troubled as he reached for her hand, but she kept her own in her lap. “I wish I didn’t have to lay this on you, baby girl, but I have a greater responsibility to consider. We both do.”

She nodded, not needing him to elaborate any further. She was the sole heir to the throne. Should something happen to her, the next in line would be her cousin, Wallace. He was a good man and a good king, ruling over a kingdom of his own. Should he assume rule over their land, as well, it would almost double his holdings. While the nine kingdoms had existed in harmony for generations, peace was never guaranteed. In the past, kingdoms had gone to war for far less than a dramatic shift in power.

As unlikely as it was that Iris would die any time soon, she was gambling with the lives of innocent people – those who would be sent into battle against one another – if she was wrong.

She couldn’t do that.

Dropping her gaze to her lap, she asked in a low voice, “What did you have in mind?”

Her father shifted in his seat, uncharacteristically awkward. “We have already planned a party to celebrate your birthday. I suggest we invite the eligible princes in the surrounding kingdoms to attend. You don’t have to make a decision on that day, but perhaps…” He let his voice trail off, but she hardly needed him to complete the thought.

Her gaze shot to his face. “Six days?” she asked in surprise. “But is that enough time to –” She broke off when she saw his expression. “You already invited them.” He didn’t respond, so she heaved a heavy sigh and looked out the window. People had noticed the King’s carriage and were lining the streets, waving to them as they passed. Some reached out and ran their fingers gently along the sides of the carriage, wanting to touch the king they so loved in whatever small way they could.

Iris was touched by their genuine outpouring of support and love. How could she repay that love with selfishness? With a smile, she reached through the window and grabbed one of the hands held out to her, letting her subjects’ fingers brush gently through her own. And that was when she had an idea.

“Father, I will do what you ask. But in return, I have a few requests.” Pulling her hand back, she turned back to the king, her jaw set in resolve. “I want all of our people to be invited to the ball, as well. Six days should be sufficient to prepare.”

His eyebrows lifted slightly, but he smiled. “Anything else?”

“Yes. I would like it to be a masquerade. If I am to meet – and perhaps choose – my future husband at this ball, I would like the chance for him to be attracted to me and not just my crown.”

Her father’s smile faded, but he offered her a solemn nod. “Iris, as it is a celebration of your birthday, you will open the ball with the first dance. You will also be by my side periodically throughout the evening. You can hardly hide your identity at that point.”

She gave him a thoughtful look. “True. But have you met the Lady Cecile? She’s new to the court, but she’s about my size. I propose we prepare two gowns. After the first dance, I will slip away to change, and she will take my place. If you keep her at your side throughout the evening and speak for her as much as possible, nobody should realize the subterfuge.” He looked doubtful, so she pressed gently, “Please, Father? For me? I wish to at least have a chance to find the kind of love you and Mother shared.”

His head bowed for a moment, but then he nodded. “Very well,” he agreed. Then he said in a low voice, “You know I wish I didn’t have to ask this of you.”

Iris swallowed heavily and looked out the window. They were heading back to the palace now, and she had never been so tempted to blink away tears at the sight of her home. “I know.”

They fell quiet until they pulled into the drive, and the two women climbed out of the carriage. Once it pulled away, Caitlin blurted, “Ir – Your Highness, I’m so sorry for telling your father about our trips into town. I didn’t want to betray your trust, but I was –”

Iris raised a hand, cutting her off. She had been angry before, but now she just felt numb. “Stop, please.” She turned and threw her friend a wry smile. “Now more than ever, I understand that the crown will always come first.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she sucked in a deep breath and tried to ignore the sinking in the pit of her stomach. “I just – I hoped…I wanted the chance to fall in love one day.”

Caitlin reached out to put her hand on her arm. “Perhaps you will. I know it seems unlikely, but you might fall in love.”

She scoffed, stepping away from her friend’s touch. “Oh, Caitlin. I may be a princess, but this isn’t a fairy tale. And I cannot expect it to be.” She took a deep breath and said with firm resolve, “I must do what is right by my people. I’m afraid love is a luxury I simply cannot afford.”

“You know, you’re so disgustingly in love, it’s a wonder Cynthia manages to put up with you,” Barry teased his friend as they slung their bags over their shoulders and headed away from the dock. Cisco had been almost obnoxiously cheerful for days, looking forward to the moment he’d get to see Cynthia again.

Cisco chuckled and gave Barry a slight shrug. “I hate to tell you this, but you’re no better.”

Barry threw him an affronted look. “What are you talking about? I’m not in love.”

A snort was the only response, since Cisco was immediately distracted by Cynthia shoving her way out of the crowd. Wrapping her arms around him, she pulled him in for a long kiss. Barry shook his head and looked away, but when the kiss didn’t end even after several minutes, he cleared his throat. That still didn’t get their attention, so he tried again, louder this time.

The kiss finally ended, and Cynthia turned to Barry with a smile. “Good to see you again, Allen. Thanks for keeping this idiot safe for me.” She nudged her boyfriend in the ribs and threw him a quick grin.

Cisco scoffed. “He kept me safe? I will have you know that I am the responsible one in our relationship.”

Cocking his head to the side, Barry threw him a measuring glance. “Really? That’s not the way I remember it.”

“Me, either,” Cynthia agreed, though she seemed distracted as she looked at Barry. At his questioning look, she explained, “I didn’t realize you had a scar from your sword fight.”

“Oh,” he murmured, raising a hand to rub the thin, pale scar just under his eye. “It’s not too bad, is it?”

She shook her head slowly. “No, but it is a problem. Come on; I’ll explain when we get home. Just…keep your head down until we’re out of town, okay?”

Barry nodded, and Cynthia linked her arm through Cisco’s as they made their way back to her home. As the Mistress of the Hunt, she lived in a cozy cottage within walking distance of the palace’s front gate. Though he kept his head bowed, Barry noticed that people stepped out of her way and touched the brims of their hats when they saw her approach. He didn’t know why his scar was a concern, but perhaps it was best that people were too distracted by her to pay him much attention.

Back at the cottage, Cynthia threw open the door and escorted them both inside. Then she grabbed Barry’s arm and moved him towards the light spilling through the open windows. “Here. Let me look at that again.”

“What’s wrong?” Cisco asked as she studied his face. “How is his scar a problem?”

She made a soft sound in the back of her throat and turned to rummage through some papers on a nearby table. Finally pulling one out, she handed it over. “Because everyone – including all the castle guards - is looking for a guy with a scar like yours, right under the eye. You just had to pick a sword fight with a princess, didn’t you?”

His stomach sinking, Barry took the piece of paper from her hand. The picture on the Wanted poster wasn’t a terribly good likeness, but it did mention that he probably carried a scar. “I don’t understand. She ordered my arrest?”

Cynthia shook her head. “She didn’t, no. The King did. Her lady in waiting told him that the princess cut you in the fight and you might have a scar. He sent these out the next day.”

Cisco took the paper from Barry. “I don’t understand. Why didn’t you send word about this?” he asked in confusion and concern as he studied the image.

She shrugged. “These were only posted recently. About a month ago. I figured you’d be here before any letter I tried to send would find you.”

Putting the paper down, Cisco turned to her friend in concern. “Maybe this is a bad idea. You should take the ship and get out of here. If anyone realizes you’re the Man in Black, you’re going to be thrown in jail. Thanks to you, Eobard is rotting away in a jail far away from here. Isn’t that enough?”

For a second, Barry was almost tempted. Then he remembered why he’d returned, and he couldn’t do it. “It’s unlikely he could have done what he did alone. Lord Jesse had my parents’ rings. If he helped cover up Eobard’s crime and framed my father for it, then he needs to be brought to justice. Until he is, the princess – the royal family, I mean – could be in danger. I need to make sure she’s safe.”

Cisco and Cynthia exchanged looks. “They’re safe, you mean?” Cisco couldn’t resist teasing.

Barry flushed. “I’m not in love with her,” he grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. At Cynthia’s look, he protested, “I’m not!”

“Oh, of course! I believe you!” she reassured him quickly, but it was obviously a lie. “I mean, Cisco mentioned in his last letter that you rarely even mention her. Only, what was it you said?”

“Four or five times an hour,” Cisco readily supplied.

He glowered at them both. “I don’t –!” he began to protest, but the look on his friend’s face made it clear how little he could argue the point. His voice lowering, he crossed his arms over his chest and grumbled, “That doesn’t mean I’m in love with her.”

Cynthia’s sigh was full of feigned regret. “Then I guess you won’t care that there will be a masquerade ball in honor of her birthday tomorrow night. And everybody in the kingdom is invited.”

Barry froze, his eyes wide. “R-really? A masquerade?” At her nod, he cleared his throat. “You know, it would probably be the perfect time for me to sneak in. To warn her. About Lord Jesse.”

Cynthia managed a grave nod, but Cisco didn’t even try to hide his response. He ducked his head and laughed, and Barry looked around for something to throw at him. Sadly, there was nothing within reach that Cynthia wouldn’t kill him for breaking, so he just huffed in irritation. “I’m not in love with her! I’m not!” he protested.

Nobody was listening.

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Please could you give me some of the fluffiest and cutest Johnlock fanfic ever I would really need it in these days ? :c

Hi Nonny!

I’m currently working on a “All the Fluff” Fic Rec List (someone asked for it AGES AGO), so I do have some already sorted for you! Here’s some from my “Tooth Rotting Fluff Fic Rec List”! I’ve tonne more, but you seem to need this RIGHT NOW, so I’ll give you what I have sorted so far!

TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF

Flip of the Coin by SD_Ryan (T, 648 w.|| Fluff, Snuggles, Bed Sharing) – “John never knew what shape the flat would be in when he emerged from his room each morning, and that was due solely—as you might imagine—to Sherlock. The possibilities were limitless, and John’s creativity had not yet ballooned sufficiently to anticipate the depth and variety of Sherlock’s methods of transforming their home.” One morning, John wakes to an entirely new—and not unwelcome—circumstance.

Caring by belovedmuerto (T, 652 w. || Ficlet, Caring, Deductions) – John figures something out about Sherlock.

Tap by doctorcaseyholmes (G, 896 w. || Fluff, Morse Code, First Kiss, Love Confessions) – Sherlock finds an unobtrusive way to let out his feelings for John.

A Christmas Holiday by consultinggalpals (sansa_undergrind) (G, 1,076 w. || Tooth Rotting Fluff, Christmas, Honeymoon) – “Come on, Sherlock. Just take the picture already.”

First Kiss by jawnandsharklock (NR, 1,119 w || First Kiss, Fluff) – "Look into the mirror. Do you see your mouth? Good. Go two inches to the right from the right corner of your mouth. Then two and a half inches up. Stop. I said two and a half inches, not five. There you go. Right there. That’s where this story begins. Or maybe that’s where it ends. Or maybe it’s all the same.”

This Isn’t About the Bathtub by cypress_tree (G, 1,142 || Marriage Proposal) – John and Sherlock go to Angelo’s for dinner. In both of their pockets are rings they are going to propose with, but the other has no idea. John proposes first, and Sherlock answers by pulling out his engagement ring.

Bringing Colour to the World by SD_Ryan (G, 1,168w. || Est. Relationship, Sickfic, Fluff, Schmoop) – In which we encounter a sick detective, a snuggle on the couch, and a silly fairytale.

Giveaway fic #1 by ConsultingPurplePants (E, 1,170 w. || John’s Belly, Coming Untouched, BJ’s) – John doesn’t like his belly. Sherlock does. Part 1 of 500 Tumblr Followers Giveaway Fics

So, this is normal for us now? by TooManyChoices (M, 1,445w. || Bed Sharing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Est. Rel., Cuddles) – John and Sherlock have been sharing a flat, and a life for some time. This is a story of how the glacially slow movement of their relationship makes another agonising crawl forward another inch.

To Sleep, Perchance to…Cuddle by nerdyandiknowit (NR, 1,563 w. || Sleepy Cuddles, Fluff, Stubborn Sherlock, Bedsharing, Cuddles & Snuggles) – Almost immediately after they got together Sherlock formed this dependency on John-he could not (or would not as John believes) sleep without John being there, in bed, next to him.

Bliss by theimprobable1 (G, 1,568w. || Cuddles and Tooth-Rotting Fluff) – Sherlock feels utterly, completely content. He’s curled up against John on the sofa and there’s nowhere else in the world where he’d rather be, no case or experiment that seems more tempting than John’s warmth.

Christmas by thegirlinthedeathfrisbee (G, 1,768 w. || Mistletoe, First Kiss, Fluff) – John goes home for Christmas–to the Holmes home, that is.

Want by siennna (T, 1,806 w. || PIning, POV Sherlock Second Person, Fluff, First Kiss) – When John speaks, you hear more than words. You hear the rise and fall of his tone, the comfortable quake of his laughter, the warm pauses of silence in between. When John laughs, there are stars glittering on his tongue and galaxies resting just behind his teeth, and you wish you could press your lips there and burrow into the warm sound. Part 6 of sienna’s favorites

But Love Is A Voice On The Wind by Snow (M, 1832 w. || First Time, Meddling Mycroft, Texting) – Sherlock keeps getting texts from Mycroft with tips on wooing John.

In Which John is a BAMFy MoFo, OMG! by Kantayra (T, 1835 w. || Humour) – John’s BAMFness and Sherlock’s damsel-in-distress act are caught forever on camera. So Scotland Yard can mock. A lot.

Seventeen Letters by out_there (G, 2,357 w. || Love Confessions) – “I love Sherlock,” John says out loud, testing how the words feel in his mouth. It doesn’t change anything. Sherlock’s still the pillock who fiddled with his computer password.

Lie-In by scullyseviltwin (E, 2540 w. || Bed Sharing, Morning After, Fluff) – “I can’t believe you drank an entire bottle of wine.”

John’s Drawers by JezebelGoldstone (T, 2,646 w. || Fluff, First Kiss, Romance, Humour) – Sherlock snoops through John’s drawers and finds something… unexpected.

and stand there at the edge of my affection by coloredink (G, 2,683 w. || Fluff, Letters, Clueless John) – “You’ve written love letters,” Sherlock asserted.

Atrium by kali_asleep (T, 3,460 w. || 5+1, Valentines Day, Fluff & Schmoop, First Kiss) – Five times Sherlock gave John his heart, and the one time Sherlock got a heart in return (literally).

Posh Boy by panickedbee (M, 3,622 w. || Kinks, RST, Pining, Sexual Frustation) – In his head he greets him with hey, handsome in the morning, calls him genius when he is being too clever again, calls him pretty man and silly git and sweetheart and, of course, posh boy. Part 5 of Sherlock Holmes Is A Very Lucky Man

The Quiet Moments by belovedmuerto (T, 4,091 w. || Cuddles) – Cuddling. Lots of it.

34 Minutes by bendingsignpost (T, 4,698 w. || Experiments, Fluff) – An experiment in eye contact.

Because Blah Blah Blah Happy by cwb (E, 4,578 w. || Fluff, Cuddles, Kissing, First Kiss, Requited Love, Pining Sherlock) – John is entirely done with the milk situation and gives Sherlock a list of shit he’s pissed about. Sherlock sets out to make John happy. John is happy. Sherlock makes his own list. They are both very, very happy.

Happy Christmas, You Arse by 1electricpirate (T, 4,766 w. || Post-TRF, Fluff, Christmas Fic) – In which evidence is presented that disqualifies Sherlock from being the Grinch, and everyone’s shoes fit them perfectly well, thank you.

A Study in Intimacy by doodle (T, 5,183 w. || First Kiss, Virginity, Romance, Touching) – People don’t touch Sherlock Holmes, not like they touch other people. Then he meets John Watson.

a very soft epilogue (my love) by darcylindbergh (E, 5,395 w. || Retirement, Domestic Fluff, Dancing, Dogs, Grumpy Old Men) – Across the pillows, Sherlock shifts and hums, the creases of his face deepening and then smoothing before settling. John watches him wake up, his chest swelling with affection and fondness, and thinks he’ll never get tired of Sherlock in the mornings, sleepy and soft. It’s been some forty-odd years, and John hasn’t gotten tired of it yet. Part 5 of things fairy tales are made of

Maybe This Christmas by feverishsea (T, 6,021 w. || Matchmaker Anthea, Anthea POV, Slight Mystrade, Holmes Family) – Anthea has given up her life, her own desires, even her name in service of something greater than herself. But that doesn’t mean she can’t see when someone else wants something – even if she doesn’t happen to care overmuch for that person. And it doesn’t mean she isn’t willing to help.

To Quote Malcolm Tucker; or, Get The Fuck In or Fuck The Fuck Off by kim47 (T, 8,484 w. || Jealous Sherlock, Flirting, Cockblocking) – Sherlock is cockblocker and a prick tease and John is not amused.

[randrvstheworld]

36 hours in Puno, the longest day & life aboard the emotional rollercoaster

Since my last post, I have spent a glorious day & a half in Puno, home of the Peruvian side of Lake Titicaca; survived 24 straight hours of travelling to Brazil, encompassing the world’s most long & boring layover in Lima airport, & now find myself, suffering acute loneliness & sadness in Rio, of all places.

Let’s start with Puno. The town itself is a bit of a shithole, riddled as it is with trash & mangy stray dogs & half finished buildings & piles of rubble in the street. It is, however, lively, truly a town that never sleeps. We arrived after a long bus journey, late afternoon 3 (? 4? I don’t know anymore) days ago, shattered, & managed a plate of noodles before promptly conking out. The next day was one of my favourites so far. We took an outrigger canoe - a kind of frankenboat hybrid of a catamaran, viking long boat & gondola - out across Lake Titicaca to the floating islands of Uros. It was a beautiful day, & the fantastic views & sunlight glittering off the water more than made up for the somewhat stagnant smell of the lake at the point of embarkation (it improved the further into the lake we rowed). The lake is surrounded on all sides by undulating mountains, & is smattered with thickets of reeds & other small islands, populated by llamas. The sky was a perfect blue & peppered with fluffy looking clouds. The lake itself is home to many different types of birds, including some blue-beaked breed of duck that constantly dives underwater for fish - if only I had David Attenborough on constant hand to help me identify all these exotic kinds of wildlife. They were not mallards. And that is officially as far as my knowledge of different types of duck extends.

So we rowed, across the vast lake, as I half hoped, half dreaded seeing a human hand bobbing about below the surface. A fascination with mafia movies has left me with the assumption that all lakes are secretly riddled with dead bodies rolled up in Persian rugs. But alas - or perhaps, gratefully - my day was free of macabre underwater discoveries. We rowed for about 45 minutes out into the lake to the floating community of Islas de los Uros - a collection of man-made islands that host many indigenous people, who have lived in communities such as these, completely self-sufficiently, for hundreds of years. We visited one small island where we met a delightful native woman named Melina who explained, with the help of a translator as on the islands the people still speak indigenous languages & not Spanish, how the islands are made. Basically they harvest the big blocks of roots from the water reeds, poke sticks through the middle of each one & then lash them together. Then begins the constant process of laying dry reeds over the top & tamping them down. People are invited for sports days when new islands are built as the constant running around of people playing football - what else - helps flatten & compress the reeds. All the houses on the islands are built of reeds also. If you argue with your neighbours you simply saw their bit of the island off & watch them float away. We thought she was joking til she whopped out her island-cutting saw, a ginormous serrated sword specifically for the purpose of separating unsavoury characters from your island. LOL. That’ll teach you to steal my tupperware, Barbara! If only such tactics could be employed back home. I’ve definitely lived with a few people who could do with having their rooms sawn away from the rest of the flat.

People get around from island to island on these amazing boats, shaped like giant bananas, also made out of reeds. Reeds are top currency in Uros basically. The whole island network is run on solar power as obviously you can’t start fires when your house & garden is made of dry grass. They rely solely on tourism for income & make fabulous textiles by hand, from which I bought a cute piece of home decor as Melina was very hospitable, inviting us into her home & letting us try on her traditional clothes, & I felt it my duty as a traveller to give something back to her community by purchasing some handicrafts. Trying on her clothes was one of my favourite bits  - I got a beautifully embroidered felt jacket with puffy sleeves, an incredibly heavy layered felt skirt, a straw hat, & a string of pom-poms that were strewn around my neck but would traditionally worn at the end of long braids. I got decked out in extremely bright colours because I am single - when a woman gets married she is relegated to dark, sombre shades of brown & black & grey which I found quite sad but also interesting as it clearly a reflection of the natural world where animals display colourful patterns etc in order to attract a mate.

In the evening, happily, we were able to reunite with Nick & Merc again who were also in Lake Titicaca as part of their ongoing quest to seemingly stalk me around South America - not that I’m complaining. I know I have waxed lyrical about this before but I enjoy their company so much; every time we meet we have a fantastic time, sharing stories & playing cards & laughing our asses off & I always leave in a great mood, nattering on to Roxy and/or Lucy about how cool they are & how happy I am that we have met. We traded some movies off our respective hard-drives & made plans for film nights back in London when we are all eventually back there. I honestly can’t wait to see them again.

The next day it was up at the frankly gruesome hour of 4am for the first of our two flights of the day, from Juliaca (the closest airport to Puno) to Lima, whereby we suffered through a soul-destroying 12 hour layover before boarding our night flight to Rio. At first it was quite fun because I like airports & enjoy the challenge of seeing how long I can eke out the consumption of a single overpriced muffin at an airport cafe in order to exploit their free wifi. I have also never been in an airport so close to Christmas & it was utterly teeming with people, going to & from their homes for the holidays. The novelty of the airport having worn off quite quickly I decided to kill some time watching a movie, & to make the most of a new film obtained from Nick & Merc, & in an attempt to imbue myself with some festive spirit I decided to watch Love Actually, & that’s when my mood took a sudden & unexpected nosedive & I fell head-first into a deep well of sadness that I am struggling to extricate myself from. It was all the footage of people greeting their loved ones at the airport, followed by live-action viewing of actual real life people greeting their loved ones at the actual real life airport with balloons & banners & bouquets that set me off. I felt so lonely I cried for about half an hour. I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that all of my family are having a lovely time in Devon, with a beautifully decorated tree & an excitable dog & I suddenly needed a mum-hug so badly that I couldn’t stand it. We boarded our flight that thanks to time-difference saw us land at what was the equivalent of 3am & I was jet-lagged & sweaty & depressed. We eventually arrived at our hostel this morning & I have spent the day intermittently napping, fretting about money, crying & feeling generally miserable.

Here’s the thing about travelling - everyone you talk to constantly bangs on about how awesome it is that if you feel sad whilst travelling it is almost like you can’t admit t to anyone. It has been my dream for so long to see the world & I planned & I saved & I quit my job but the truth of the matter is it is exhausting, physically & emotionally, & lonely as fuck. The upsides are epic & the things I have seen & experienced fantastic but, it is also the most depressed I have felt in many years; my mental well-being does not do well with a lack of stability & although not especially exciting, my life in London was pretty fulfilling - my job wasn’t the best but I have a wonderful, supportive network of friends there & had finally achieved a balance of finding plenty of time in-between work for all the things that make me happy, like dancing & art. This trip has really made me question myself & things that I thought I knew & perhaps it was naive of me to think that travelling would automatically make me a happy person. It’s crushing to realise that even when I am seeing & experiencing wonderful things that it’s a constant effort to keep the negative thoughts at bay. And I feel guilty for even thinking these things because I don’t want to waste the opportunity that so many people would kill for, or that I have dreamed of for so long, & I certainly don’t want to look back on it & think, ‘oh yeah that was that mountain I went up when I felt fucking miserable’. But no one talks about it, which along with the separation from your friends & family, only contributes to your feelings of intense loneliness. Lucy has been a source of great comfort during these periods of sadness; I have been talking to her a lot as I really feel she truly understands what I’m going through, she said she experienced similar feelings when she was in Asia. I don’t regret coming & would still describe it as the time of my life but the truth is that travelling is an emotional rollercoaster & I am really not finding it easy. I feel like maybe to travel for this long on my first trip was perhaps a slightly overly-ambitious plan. I may have found it easier starting off with a small chunk of say, 3 months & working up from there. For this reason, I am not sad about the prospect of coming home sooner than anticipated. I can always plan & go on more trips but I want these feelings to go away, I need a break from them more than I need to continue travelling for as long as possible in this moment. I have achieved so much of what I set out to do & this makes me happy, but I truly feel like I need a break in which to restore myself. I need love & nurturing & familiarity, at least for a while before I can set off again.

As always during trying times, my mum is truly there for me & I am more grateful for her constant support than I will ever be able to truly express. Hannah also arrives tomorrow & I know it will be so great for my soul to see my best friend. Ultimately, this too shall pass & I do know that; but whenever things aren’t great it always makes being away from home so much harder. It is a real test of my mettle to get through these periods & I know in the long run it will make me a stronger & more capable person so that’s what I’m trying to focus on. 

[bodizwonder]

Inside the Lab That’s Quantifying Happiness

In Mississippi, individuals tweet about cake and cookies an terrible lot; in Colorado, it’s noodles. In Mississippi, the most-tweeted exercise is consuming; in Colorado, it’s working, snowboarding, mountain climbing, snowboarding, and biking, in that order. In different phrases, the 2 states fall on reverse ends of the habits spectrum. If you had been to assign a caloric worth to each meals talked about in each tweet by the residents of the United States and a calories-burned worth to each exercise, after which totaled them up, you’d discover that Colorado tweets the very best caloric ratio within the nation and Mississippi the worst.

Sure, you’d be forgiven for doubting individuals’s honesty on Twitter. On these uncommon events once I destroy a complete pint of Ben and Jerry’s, I most assuredly don’t tweet about it. Likewise, I don’t attain for my cellphone each time I strap on a pair of skis.

And but there’s this: Mississippi has the worst rate of diabetes and heart disease within the nation and Colorado has the best. Mississippi has the second-highest percentage of obesity; Colorado has the bottom. Mississippi has the worst life expectancy within the nation; Colorado is close to the highest. Perhaps we’re being extra trustworthy on social media than we expect. And maybe social media has extra to inform us in regards to the state of the nation than we notice.

That’s the proposition of Peter Dodds and Chris Danforth, who co-direct the University of Vermont’s Computational Story Lab, a warren of whiteboards and grad college students in a good-looking brick constructing close to the shores of Lake Champlain. Dodds and Danforth are utilized mathematicians, however they might make a fairly good comedy duo. When I finished by the lab lately, each had been in working garments and cracking jokes. They have an abundance of curls between them and the wiry vitality of continual thinkers. They got here to UVM in 2006 to begin the Vermont Complex Systems Center, which crunches large numbers from large methods and appears for patterns. Out of that, they hatched the Computational Story Lab, which sifts by means of a few of that public information to discern the tales we’re telling ourselves. “It took us a while to come up with the name,” Dodds informed me as we shotgunned espresso and gazed into his MacBook. “We were going to be the Department of Recreational Truth.”

This 12 months, they teamed up with their PhD scholar Andy Reagan to launch the Lexicocalorimeter, an internet instrument that makes use of tweets to compute the energy in and energy out for each state. It’s no mere social gathering trick; the Story Labbers consider the Lexicocalorimeter has vital benefits over slower, extra conventional strategies of gathering well being information. “We don’t have to wait to look at statistics at the end of the year,” Danforth says. “This sort of data is available every day. We can tell if a public health campaign to invest in school nutrition is changing the way people talk about food or engage in activities.” For instance, what if Michael Bloomberg’s proposed ban on sodas bigger than 16 ounces had gone by means of in New York? Using conventional surveys and hospital studies, it will have taken years to measure the influence. But if the Lexicocalorimeter was tuned finely sufficient to precisely measure the adjustments in soda habits by neighborhood, then public well being officers may use it to focus on investments and modify the marketing campaign to cut back weight problems much more successfully.

Playing round with the Lexicocalorimeter is illuminating and sometimes horrifying—a glimpse of the unvarnished American character. Click on a state, and it shows the 200 phrases that made the largest distinction in that state’s calorie counts. In Louisiana (#48 in caloric steadiness), all people’s consuming chocolate, cookies, shrimp, and cake. Everybody’s consuming, interval. It’s one of many solely actions continuously talked about. In California (#12), they dance, run, hike, and bike, however they hardly ever sit or lie down. In my dwelling state of Vermont, the meals on the tip of all people’s thumbs is bacon, which might be an enormous a part of why we devour barely extra energy than the typical state. (In our protection, we additionally spend an inordinate period of time tweeting about beets, broccoli, and bananas.) Despite that, we’re pretty train obsessed, with—you guessed it—snowboarding main the best way. (We crush it on sledding, too.) All this provides us the third-best caloric ratio within the nation, behind Colorado and Wyoming. And certain sufficient, the well being numbers match: We have among the lowest charges of diabetes and weight problems and one of many highest life expectations.

In basic, all states are extra alike than we’d prefer to consider. “Watching TV or movie” is the most-tweeted exercise for each single state within the union, and “pizza” is the most-tweeted meals for each state besides Wyoming (cookies) and Mississippi (ice cream). Where a state’s particular person character actually shines is within the meals and actions talked about far kind of than common. Texas (#36) can’t cease tweeting about doughnuts; Maine (#5) is hooked on lobster. In actions, the mountain states do lots of working, the South is a strong block of consuming, New Jersey is all about “getting my nails done,” and Delaware distinguishes itself with “talking on the phone.”

Dodds and Danforth acknowledge their strategies are usually not excellent. The butter on the lobster doesn’t get counted. There’s no approach of calculating if someone ran 1 mile or ten. But while you’re speaking tens of hundreds of thousands of tweets per day over the complete vary of demographics, the inaccuracies even out—at the least as a lot as they do in comparison with the opposite, equally flawed methods of measuring society’s consuming and exercising habits. As Dodds factors out, the numbers communicate for themselves: The Lexicocalorimeter correlates extraordinarily properly with charges of diabetes and weight problems. “The ridiculous thing about this,” he says, “is that it works.”

We stay in unusual instances. “People leave so much of their id on the web,” Danforth marveled to me, “and they share it openly. That’s enabled a whole host of new instruments to try to understand what’s predictable about our behavior. And it turns out a lot is. As much as we think we’re really complex, people have very structured ways of behaving. The way we move around the earth is very predictable. The way we use language is very predictable.”

For instance, Barack Obama’s approval scores over his presidency strongly correlate with the sentiment of tweets about him 3 months upfront of the approval polls. In different phrases, in case you’d been a savvy politico with a instrument for measuring tweets, you’d have had precious intel months forward of anybody else. “It’s an amazing time in social science because of the data available,” Dodds says. “It’s opened up a window that we absolutely did not have access to before.”

(Courtesy of the Computational Story Lab)

That’s the thought behind the UVM staff’s Hedonometer, which surveys the nation’s tweets every day and calculates a happiness rating for every. The staff had individuals charge 10,000 phrases on a happiness scale of 1 (unhappy) to 9 (joyful). Most phrases are impartial. The happiest words are “laughter” (8.50), “happiness” (8.44), and “love” (8.42). “Hahaha” will get a 7.94, placing it a bit increased than “kisses” (7.74). The largest negatives are “terrorist” (1.30), “suicide” (1.30), and “rape” (1.44). “Shit” will get a 2.50, “bitch” a 3.14, and “fuck” a surprisingly respectable 4.14. Fuck yeah! “Swearing is really important,” Dodds says.

All this provides as much as a mesmerizing sine wave monitoring the nation’s temper from 2009 (the fledging of Twitter) to the current. “One of our goals was to provide a snapshot of the public’s response to something,” Danforth defined, “the texture of the day.” Most common days fall right into a slender band with a mean happiness stage round six, although Saturdays are persistently the happiest days of the week and Tuesdays the grumpiest. There’s additionally a day by day sample, with happiness ranges hovering round 5 and 6 a.m., once we’re all newly optimistic in regards to the day, after which plunging all through the morning and night as actuality units in, reaching a trough of despair round 11 p.m. “The wheels kind of come off,” says Dodds. “We call it the daily unraveling of the human mind.”

You can even parse this by state. The happiest state is—unsurprisingly—Hawaii. The backside dwellers are, as soon as once more, Mississippi and Louisiana, although Delaware will get a stunning bronze for melancholy. The West is joyful, each coastal and mountains, whereas the South and Midwest are sad. Only Tennessee bucks the pattern, an island of smiles in a sea of Southern gloom.

The happiest day of the 12 months is all the time Christmas, when the Hedonometer spikes as phrases like “Christmas,” “happy,” “family,” and “love” flood the ether. The 5 unhappiest days since 2009: the capturing at Sandy Hook Elementary School, the Boston Marathon bombings, the Orlando nightclub assault, the capturing of Dallas law enforcement officials, and the election of Donald Trump.

National happiness will not be constant. We had been fairly joyful from 2009 to 2011, regardless of the Great Recession. Then our temper darkened from 2011 to 2014, however we got here out of it: The Hedonometer surged! The 12 months 2015 was a comparatively joyful 1, and the nice emotions stored getting into 2016—till the election took over. Since then, indicators have been rising that one thing horrible is occurring to the American psyche. We’ve by no means been so erratic, with the usually easy blips of the Hedonometer beginning to twitch like somebody failing a lie-detector take a look at. And as of this writing, we’re sinking into an unprecedented malaise.

That is, in case you consider the Hedonometer. On the face of it, measuring one thing as intangible as happiness sounds absurd. Yet, as with the Lexicocalorimeter, the Hedonometer matches “real world” measures such because the Gallup Well-Being Index (which polls individuals on issues like life satisfaction and private well being) and the Peace Index (which surveys charges of homicides, violent crime, and incarceration).

History is stuffed with ideas—from longitude to time—that appeared imprecise till the suitable instrument got here alongside. Even temperature, which to us appears goal, was thought-about unmeasurable for hundreds of years. “People thought you couldn’t do it,” Dodds says. “Because it’s too multifaceted, and the first thermometers were awful.” But finally our devices improved.

Dodds and Danforth see no cause why happiness can’t even be quantifiable. “We’re carrying around these phones that are sensing so much of our behavior,” says Danforth. “Tone of voice. Who we talk to. The types of words we use. We’re trying to push on a few areas and see what’s predictable, both on the population scale and for individuals.” And what they’re discovering is that our telephones have turn out to be surprisingly good devices for taking our emotional temperatures. “Can we tell you’re about to experience an episode of depression based on your social media behavior? Maybe your friends can’t see it, maybe you don’t even realize it, but you’ve started to communicate with a smaller group socially, or you’re not moving around the earth as much.”

By analyzing the tweets of each depressed and wholesome people, the Story Lab has developed algorithms that may precisely establish melancholy months earlier than precise diagnoses by psychological well being practitioners. They’ve even achieved it with Instagram, discovering that depressed people usually tend to put up pictures which can be bluer, grayer, and darker. Their technique outperformed skilled practitioners at figuring out beforehand undiagnosed melancholy. The lab is now partnering with a psychiatrist at UVM who hopes to make use of the algorithm to go looking the social media historical past of ER guests (who give their consent) to foretell suicidal habits.

One of the clearest indicators that the Hedonometer is on to one thing is how properly it really works with media apart from Twitter. The Story Lab has analyzed the phrases in 10,000 books and 1,000 film scripts, and it precisely kinds the feel-goods from the nihilists. Sex and the City is the cheeriest film of all, powered by phrases like love, smiles, wedding ceremony, lovely, and, sure, intercourse. At the underside of the listing now we have grim fare like Commando, Day of the Dead, The Bourne Ultimatum, and Omega Man.

Yet for grimness, none of these can contact Outside’s masterpiece of masochism, “Bury My Pride at Wounded Knees,” by Mark Jenkins, about competing within the 2010 Death Race. I requested Reagan, Dodds, and Danforth to take the emotional temperature of 49 classic Outside stories, which run the gamut from Steve Rinella’s joyful paean to Argentinian steak (“Me, Myself, and Ribeye”) to Jenkins’ mudfest, which begins “I unintentionally pitchfork a clod of manure into my mouth” and goes downhill from there.

(Courtesy of the Computational Story Lab)

Beyond a bit’s general happiness rating, the Hedonometer permits us to chart its emotional journey. Here’s “Into Thin Air,” maybe the last word Outside basic, which begins off joyful (Everest journey!), plunges a couple of 1/3 of the best way by means of the story as Krakauer reaches the perilous Lhotse Face (“It was here that we had our first encounter with death on the mountain”), soars on the midway level (summit!), after which tanks far and quick as storms transfer in, errors are made, and other people die.

Not solely does the fall-rise-fall emotional arc of “Into Thin Air” properly mirror the Himalayas, nevertheless it additionally occurs to be a great instance of a basic narrative arc. Riffing off Kurt Vonnegut’s famous talk on the shapes of archetypal tales, the Story Labbers got here up with six arcs that tales are inclined to observe: Rags-to-Riches (rise), Tragedy (fall), Man-in-a-Hole (fall-rise), Icarus (rise-fall), Cinderella (rise-fall-rise), and Oedipus (fall-rise-fall). Encouragingly, an evaluation of the bestseller lists discovered that the extra complicated narratives (Cinderella and Oedipus) are inclined to promote higher than the less complicated ones.

This fall, the UVM staff might be engaged on teasing much more tales out of the information we share: Can monetary crashes be predicted forward of time? When does pretend information trump actual information? How does a society choose the story it tells about itself? The questions are removed from trivial. “Humans are storytelling organisms,” Dodds says. It’s how we study who we’re. As the Story Lab will get even higher at discovering the alerts in our noise, let’s hope we like what we uncover.

Source: fitnesscaster.com Source: Bodiz Wonder