#i am doing a crossword if you're wondering.

[a-most-beloved-fool]

love learning new words. what the fuck is a neap.

[skyeet-the-writer]

The One with George Stephanopoulos

this chapter made me want pizza and alcohol okay bye chandler bing x female!reader summary: its been a few months since you moved to the city and you're settling in pretty well with your new group of friends word count: ~4.5k warnings: mentions of black mold, alcohol, a little snooping, but its harmless fun <previous next>

"What would you guys do if you were omnipotent?" you ask suddenly during a quiet afternoon in the cafe.

"Probably make myself immortal," Monica says, looking up from her crossword. "And be able to time-travel, I've always wanted to do that as a kid."

"Ooh, time travel would be sick," you say. "I'd want to immediately know how to play the bass."

"Oh, that's good, that's good." Rachel smiles, handing you your latte.

"What about you, Phoebe?" you ask the woman sitting on the floor.

"I would want, um, world peace. No more hunger. Good things for the rainforest." She grins before quickly adding, "Oh, and bigger boobs!"

"Well, see, you took mine," Ross says. You giggle, holding your warm mug and leaning back into the couch next to Chandler, who quickly removes his arm from behind the couch. "Chandler, what about you?"

Chandler shrugs. "If I were omnipotent for a day, I'd make myself omnipotent forever."

You scoff and roll your eyes. "Lame."

Rachel also tches. "See, there's always that one guy. 'If I had a wish, I'd wish for three more wishes.'"

You laugh again and turn as the door opens. Joey walks in and you hit him with your burning question. "Joey! Joey, what would you do if you were omnipotent for a day?"

He blinks at your question and answers, "Probably kill myself."

Your eyes widen and you breathe out a laugh. "Sorry?"

"Hey," he starts as he takes a seat beside Ross. "If little Joey's dead, then I've got no reason to live."

You shake your head and take a sip of your drink.

"Uh, Joey." Ross's first mistake was to try and help. "Omnipotent."

Joey's eyes widen and in the most sympathetic voice you've ever heard him use, he says, "You are?"

You choke on your drink, laughing into your mug and almost spilling coffee on yourself. Chandler places a hand on your back while Phoebe hands you a napkin, taking your drink from you. You laugh again, wiping your face, and look at Joey.

"Dude, you're so funny. Do you know that?"

Joey smiles and shrugs. "People say that I am."

You clear your throat and lean back in your seat again. Chandler has an arm across the back of the couch again, but this time he doesn't move it, something everyone but you catches on to.

His arm doesn't move for the next thirty minutes either. Eventually, you notice but think nothing of it. Ross does it with Phoebe and there's certainly nothing there. Your newfound friend group talks about nothing and everything at once as the afternoon grows later. After a while, you glance at your watch and realize you need to head out, even though you don't want to.

With a groan, you sit up. "I've got to head out."

"Why?" Monica wonders.

You sniff and start to get your things together in your tote bag. "My window is leaking in my bathroom and kitchen, so my super is going to check it out. Also, there's this weird substance on my windowsills that looks like dirt, but I swear to god if it's black mold I'm going to kill someone."

"Well, good luck," Chandler says, watching you take out your walkman and put the headphones around your neck.

"I'll be back in an hour or so," you tell them and start your mixtape. "See you guys later."

And then you head out. Chandler watches you through the window--which isn't creepy because it's so big. He watches you take out your lighter and light a cigarette before walking on your way. For someone who moved to the city a few months ago, you already seem very much at home.

The second the door closes, Joey moves to sit by Chandler and says, "Chan. If you don't ask her out, I'm going to."

"Yeah, why haven't you asked her yet?" Monica asks. "With the way your arm was behind her for an hour, someone would assume you guys are dating."

Chandler scoffs and shrugs, feeling his neck heat up. "I--I don't know. I think she's too cool for me."

"She's too cool for all of us," Ross says.

"I think she's into you." Phoebe pokes his leg and smiles. "She's always around you."

"Yeah, because I was the first person she met here and she's my friend."

"So? I think you'd have a shot." Phoebe tells him. "Her aura is brighter around you."

Chandler isn't sure what that means, but he shrugs anyway. "I--I don't know. I really think she's cool, I don't want to mess this friendship up."

His friends nod in understanding but Joey asks, "So, does this mean I can ask her on a date?"

"No!" he blurts out, perhaps too loudly because someone at a neighboring table turns to glare at him for a moment.

"Woah, okay, man." Joey holds his hands up in surrender. "I know now to mess with your girl."

Heat rushes to Chandler's cheeks and he huffs, feeling very uncomfortable. "Whatever."

~*~

An hour and a half later, you return to the coffee shop pissed out of your mind. You angrily open the door and let it slam shut behind you. Monica, Phoebe, and Ross are still here and all look at you when you approach. You're frowning, something they've never seen you do before, and your head looks like it's about to explode.

"Woah, what's up?" Monica asks as you dramatically sit between Ross and Phoebe. "You look pissed."

"Because I am," you snap, shedding your jacket. "There's black fucking mold in my apartment."

"Oh, gross!"

"No, it gets better," you add, looking between your friends while your heart thumps rapidly in your throat. "It's not just my apartment. It's the entire goddamn floor."

"Oh no!"

"That's awful."

Phoebe puts her arm around you and you lean into your side, feeling yourself calm down quickly as her scent of patchouli envelops you. "I asked how long it would take them to fix it, but the super said I had to move out for a week."

"For a week?" Monica asks.

You nod. "Yeah. I hate to ask, but could I maybe stay with you and Rachel? I'll chip in with food and stuff."

Monica smiles and says, "Yeah, of course. Phoebe was actually going to be spending the night too, we can have a girls' night."

"Oh, that's fun!" Phoebe exclaims, smiling.

You grin and feel your anger slip away. You're lucky to have these people as your friends. "Thanks."

~*~

Later that night, you're making drinks with Phoebe and Monica while dressed in your pajamas. You went to your apartment to pack your things and you're glad you did your laundry yesterday.

Rachel is out with her friends and you want to assume they're nice, but they give you snooty rich-girl vibes. Plus their screaming only made you more angry than you were before, but now that you've taken two shots of rum, you feel a little better.

You fire up the blender again on your famous Tiki Death Punch--which is really just a strawberry and pineapple daiquiri--while Phoebe gets the glasses out and the door opens.

"Hey, Rach," Monica greets, finishing up the cookie dough. "How was it with your friends?"

And then, in unison, you, Phoebe, and Monica scream, mocking what Rachel and her friends did. You giggle and take off the lid to analyze your work before unplugging the blender and moving toward the glasses. But when you look back up, Rachel does not look amused and you hiss through your teeth. "Anyway, you want some Tiki Death Punch?"

"What's that?" Rachel asks, sounding exhausted.

You finish pouring the third glass and answer, "Well, it's rum and--"

Rachel doesn't even let you finish before she's taken the pitcher from your hands and is sticking a straw through the liquid.

You blink at your empty hands. "Okay."

"We thought that Phoebe was staying over and Y/N is staying here for the week, we'd have kinda like a slumber party thing. We've got trashy magazines, we've got cookie dough, we got Twister."

"I brought Monopoly and Balderdash," you add, glancing at the phone as it rings.

"And I brought Operation," Phoebe says, walking towards Rachel, who looks miserable. "But, um, I lost the tweezers so we can't operate. But we can prep the guy!"

You smile at her enthusiasm.

With the phone in her hand, Monica walks towards Rachel and says, "Uh, Rach, it's the Visa card people."

She groans and rolls her eyes. "Oh, God, ask them what they want."

"Could you please tell me what this is in reference to?" Monica asks into the phone before lowering it down and addressing Rachel. "Um, they say there's been some unusual activity on your account."

"But I haven't used my card in weeks," Rachel says, sounding even more exasperated now.

"That is the unusual activity." Rachel stands and pinches the bridge of her nose as Monica adds, "Look, they just want to see if you're okay."

"They want to know if I'm okay? Okay, they want to know if I'm okay. Okay, let's see." Slowly, you take a sip each time she says okay. "Well, let's see, the FICA guys took all my money. Everyone I know is either getting married or getting pregnant or getting promoted and I'm getting coffee. And it's not even for me! So if that sounds like I'm okay, okay, then you can tell them I'm okay. Okay?"

You swallow your last sip and see that half of your drink is gone.

Monica slowly licks her lips and lifts the phone to her ear. "Uh, Rachel has left the building. Can you call back?"

"Alright, come on!" With her voice breaking and tears in her eyes, Rachel unfurls the game mat and says, "Let's play Twister."

"Oh, Rachel!" You walk over to her and lead her to the couch as she wipes her tears. "Come on, babe, it's okay, you're fine."

"No, I'm not!" she exclaims, sniffling. "Everyone I know is being more productive than I am."

Monica sits on the other side of her and rubs her arm. "Oh, come on. You should feel great about yourself. You're doing this amazing and independent thing!"

But she just rolls her eyes and asks, "Monica, what is so amazing? I gave up, like, everything! And for what?"

"You are just like Jack!" Phoebe exclaims from her spot on the table.

Looking at her, you squint. "Pheebs, I'm a little tipsy, but what are you talking about?"

"Jack from 'Jack and the Beanstalk'," she answers like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "See, he gave up something, but then he got those magic beans. And then he woke up and there was this--this big plant outside of his window full of possibilities and stuff. And he lived in a village and you live in the village."

Rachel holds up a hand to stop her. "Okay, but, Pheebs, Pheebs. Jack gave up a cow. I gave up an orthodontist. Okay? I--I know I didn't love him, but--"

"Oh, see, Jack did love the cow."

You sigh and take another long sip of your drink.

"But, see, it was a plan," Rachel continues. "You know? It was clear. Everything was figured out and now everything's just kinda like..."

She flails her hands around, searching for the word, and you suggest, "Floopy?"

"Yeah."

You put your hands back on her arm and say, "I've been there."

"Really?" she asks, looking at you.

You nod. "Yeah, I'm there right now. I mean, I want to be a famous screenwriter and probably a director. But I live in a shitty apartment with black mold and I work as a hostess." You laugh at yourself and continue. "I live, like, three thousand kilometers away from home in a whole new country. I was supposed to go to school for nursing because my mom and my dad are both doctors, but I changed my major halfway through and moved here." You smile at her and rub up and down her arm. "And I'm happy I did because I met you guys. And, sure, I kind of hate my job and I don't have any time to write and I pour oil down my drains to fuck with my landlord. But I'm doing my own thing, doing what I like. Not what everyone else is doing. Does that make sense?"

Rachel shrugs, but then she nods.

Monica puts a hand on her shoulder. "Yeah. I mean, you've just gotta figure at some point it's all gonna come together, and it's just gonna be...un-floopy."

But then Rachel sighs and says, "Okay, but, Monica, what if--what if it doesn't come together?"

Monica rocks back and forth, searching for an answer, before quietly saying, "Pheebs?"

Phoebe puts her drink down and starts, "Well, 'cause you just like...I don't like this question. Y/N?"

You think about this question every night in bed, but you don't have an answer. And so you look around, muttering things under your breath so the heat will be off you.

"Okay, see, see you guys? What if we don't get magic beans? I mean, what if all we've got are...beans?"

Yeah, that's a thought that crosses your mind in the middle of the night too. And so you loudly slurp up the rest of your drink and pick up the pitcher. "I need more rum."

~*~

An hour and two pitchers of Tiki Death Punch later, you're all sitting in various positions in the living room. Phoebe is lying on the floor with her head on the ottoman and her hair over her face. Monica is eating cookie dough right out of the bowl with the wooden spoon. Rachel is lying across the couch with her legs in your lap. You're on your third drink and you're not even sure you can finish that. God, you're depressed, you really should get in touch with a pharmacist to get back on Prozac, but that's a hassle with the American healthcare system. Why can't it just be free like the rest of the world?

Rachel, who is changed into much comfier clothes, sighs and says, "I'm sorry, guys, I didn't mean to bring you down."

"No, you were right," Monica says, smushing the dough. "I don't have a plan!"

There's a knock at the door and that's the first time you've felt happy in forty-five minutes. "Thank Christ, food."

Rachel gets up to get the pizza and Monica says, "Phoebe?"

"Huh?" She flips her ponytail out from her face.

"Do you have a plan?"

She scoffs and says, "I don't even have a pla'."

Rachel swings the door open and a young teenage kid is standing there with pizzas. "Hi. One mushroom, green pepper, and onion?"

You almost burst into tears right then and there.

Rachel sighs. "No, no, no that's not what we ordered! We ordered a fat-free crust with extra cheese!" She also sounds like she's about to cry and lifts her fingers to her temple.

"Wait, you're not G. Stephanopoulos?"

"No."

"Oh, man, my dad's gonna kill me!"

Suddenly, Monica jumps across your legs and you almost piss yourself. Slowly, you and Phoebe follow as she asks the teenager, "Did you say G. Stephanopoulos?"

He nods. "Yeah, yeah, this one goes across the street. I must've given him yours. Oh, bonehead, bonehead." To be honest, him hitting himself in the forehead with the palm of his hand does make you smile a little.

"Wait, was this a--a small Mediterranean guy with curiously intelligent good looks?"

The kid nods. "Yeah, sounds about right."

"Was he wearing a stunning blue suit?"

"A--and a power tie?" Phoebe adds.

The kid shakes his head. "Nah, pretty much just a towel."

Monica's mouth drops and she leans on Phoebe for support like she's swooning. "Oh, god."

"So do you guys want me to take this back?" the poor kid asks.

"What? Are you nuts?" Monica seizes the pizza from his hand. "We've got George Stephanopoulos' pizza!"

While Rachel pays the kid, Monica rushes to the window and grabs the binoculars.

"Who is George Stephanopoulos?" you ask Phoebe.

But before she can answer, Monica shouts out, "I see pizza!"

Phoebe runs over to look, but you and Rachel stay by the pizza. You open it and almost start to salivate. You haven't eaten since lunch and you've been craving pizza all week.

"Who are we spying on?" Rachel wonders.

"You know the White House Advisor? Clinton's campaign guy, uh, the one with the great hair, sexy smile, and really cute butt?"

You laugh at her description and eat a piece of bell pepper. "No, but I wish I did."

Rachel nods. "Oh, yeah, the little guy! Oh, I love him!"

Together, you each take a piece of pizza and walk over to the window as Phoebe says, "Ooh, wait, I see a woman."

"Oh, please tell me it's his mother," Monica says.

You squint to try to see where she's looking, but it's too dark for you to see much.

And then Phoebe says, "It's definitely not his mother."

"Oh no."

"Oh, wait, she walking across the floor. She's walking, she's walking, she's going for the pizza." Angrily, Phoebe shouts out, "Hey, that's not for you, bitch!" Quickly, she covers her mouth and the four of you giggle. Rachel hands Monica her piece of pizza and you bite into your own.

Yeah, you don't need Prozac anymore, not if you have pizza and the girls.

~*~

A little while later, you're all out on the balcony. You're full of pizza and alcohol, but you're drinking water now. It's cold outside and there's a blanket over the metal chair you're sitting on and you're wearing the red sweatshirt Chandler gave to you a couple of weeks ago when you said you were cold. You forgot to give it back and maybe if you wear it you'll remember.

Monica comes back in with another pitcher of Death Punch and by now you're sure you've used up all your rum. But it's okay because you're having fun spying on his American politician with your friends.

"Are the lights still out?" Monica asks, climbing through the window.

"Yeah," Rachel says, binoculars still glued to her eyes.

"Well, maybe they're napping."

You scoff, straw halfway in your mouth. "Please, they're having sex, Mon."

"Shut up!" Monica and Phoebe shout at the same time.

You laugh, leaning your head back.

Everyone gets their drinks and sits back down when Rachel asks, "So what do you think George is like?"

"I think he's shy," Monica answers.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. I think you have to draw him out. And then...when you do, he's a preppy animal."

You all giggle and you feel like a schoolgirl again. You swat at her while she laughs and you laugh and so do Phoebe and Rachel.

Another half-hour later, you're all laughing and telling each other lies that you've told other people.

"Okay, okay I got one," Monica says and looks at Phoebe. "Do you remember that vegetarian pâté that I made that you loved so much?"

The vegetarian nods.

Monica snickers. "Well, unless goose is a vegetable!"

You and Rachel laugh while Phoebe screws her face up in disgust.

"Okay, fine, fine. Now I don't feel so bad about sleeping with Jason Hurley."

You sip on your water, having no idea who that is, but enjoying the way Monica's eyes widen. "What? You slept with Jason?"

"You were already broken up."

"How long?"

Phoebe shrugs. "Just a couple hours."

You laugh while Monica rolls her eyes.

Giggling, Rachel sits up. "Okay, okay, I got one." But since the pillow is leaning on the side of the wall, when she sits up, it falls to the balcony below. You smile as she continues. "Anyway. The Valentine Tommy Rollerson left in your locker was really from me!"

Monica looks at her friend. "Excuse me?"

Rachel returns to her original position. "Oh, hello? Like he was really gonna send you one." Monica rolls her eyes and Rachel adds, "She was a big girl."

You gasp and laugh.

"Well, at least big girls don't pee their pants in the seventh grade," she retaliates, leaning toward you and Phoebe.

Rachel gasps, "I was laughing! You made me laugh!"

As the two girls argue, movement catches your eye and you look across the street to where George lives and gasp, standing up. "Look, there he is!"

"Where?"

You blink, pointing at his huge windows. "Right where we've been looking all night."

Together, the four of you watch this man stand only clad in a towel. If you were sober, you'd feel bad.

"Oh, he's so cute," Rachel says.

"George, baby, drop the towel!" Monica exclaims.

In unison, you all chant "Drop the towel" and you're pretty sure he can hear you. Because then he does. And you gasp and all say, "Wow."

Heat rushes to your cheeks and you look away, giggling. "Okay, I don't know if Clinton is a good president, but I'll vote for him if that's his campaign manager."

The girls giggle and go back to their seats before you all can be arrested for spying.

"I have a question, Y/N," Rachel says, hopping back up on the ledge.

"What's up?"

"Are you interested in anyone right now?"

You raise a brow at the sudden question. "Well, now I'm interested in George Stephanopoulos."

Rachel rolls her eyes but smiles. "I can understand that."

Shrugging, you stir your water with your straw. "I mean, not really. I moved here a few months ago. I've been trying to figure my way around the city, I guess I haven't had much time to look at anyone like that."

"Then why are you wearing Chandler's sweatshirt?" Phoebe asks, smiling as she takes a sip of her drink.

You look down at the piece of fabric and rub it between your fingers. It's soft and thick and it reminds you of him. "He lent it to me the other week. I just...forgot to give it back."

"Okay," Phoebe says with a breathy laugh like she doesn't believe you.

You look at your friends and see that they all have the same expression--they suspect something. "W--what? No, it's not like that!"

"We didn't say anything," Monica assures you.

"You didn't have to." You take another gulp of your drink and feel some heat creep up your cheeks. "I don't know. He's my friend and I think he's cute, but I'm not looking for a relationship right now, you know?"

"Yeah, I do," Rachel agrees and you hear the truth in her voice. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay," you tell them. "I mean. Chandler is funny and he's really sweet, but, like, mentally I'm not ready." Something dawns on you and you grab Monica's arm with wide eyes. "Does he have a thing for me?"

"No," she answers easily. "No, have you met Chandler? He's the most socially awkward person I've met."

Slowly, you nod, staring down at your drink. "Okay, okay. Cool. 'Cause I don't want to make things awkward." And then you're quiet, still staring at your drink, before you put it on the small, dingy table and stand up. "I'm going to use the bathroom."

"Are you okay?" Phoebe asks as you wobble over to the window.

"Yeah," you answer, slowly folding yourself to go through it. Your vision is swimming a little. "I'm just drunk."

"We all are," Rachel says and watches as you go back into the apartment. When the door closes, she leans close to her friends and says, "No one tell Chandler."

Monica places a hand on her heart. "No, for sure. She's totally justified, though, I wouldn't want to date someone directly after moving to another country."

Phoebe nods. "Besides, Chandler is a big boy, he can figure out his own feelings." But then she adds after a moment, "Well, maybe not, but that's his problem."

Rachel and Monica chuckle and go back to spying on Stephanopoulos.

~*~

Later, the boys come back from their hockey game. Before you can ask who won, you see Ross wearing a brace over his nose. Chandler tells you that he was hit in the face with a puck and ended up having to go to the emergency room for a broken nose.

But Ross seems in happier spirits than he was before and that you're grateful for.

Eventually, Phoebe, Joey, Monica, and Rachel are playing a game of Twister while Ross flicks the spinner. You're making some more drinks with the remaining rum for the boys to have, figuring they need it after their night.

"What's the legal drinking age in Canada?" Chandler asks, watching you pour the last of your rum into the blender before placing the empty bottle to the side.

"Eighteen," you answer, measuring the sugar with your heart. "Well, actually, it's eighteen in Manitoba, Québec, and Alberta. Everywhere else it's nineteen."

Chandler breathes out a laugh. "It's twenty-one here."

"Can't men be drafted into war when they're eighteen?"

He nods. "Yeah. It's messed up."

You hum and fire the blender up, keeping an elbow on it and closing your eyes. You've had a long day. You're still mad about your apartment and having to squat at Monica and Rachel's for a week. You know they don't mind, but you still feel bad. You'll cook them dinner a few times, that'll be nice. You would clean, but Monica is very particular about it so you figure it's best to leave it be.

Opening your eyes again, you turn the blender off and serve it up, giving one to Chandler first. You clink your glass of water with his and giggle as he smiles. You both take a sip at the same time when Chandler suddenly takes your wrist and holds your arm up.

"This sweatshirt is familiar," he says, teasing evident in his tone.

You smile and shrug. "Some guy gave it to me."

"Is that guy going to get it back?"

You shrug again. "Eventually."

Chandler tilts his head then and says, "You keep it."

"What?" you ask in disbelief. "No, Chandler, it's yours."

He shrugs, resisting the extremely strong urge to run his hand up and down your arm. "It looks better on you."

You scoff. "It does not."

He nods, smiling. "It does." His eyes trail up your figure before landing on your face. "It makes your eyes pop."

"It makes my eyes pop?"

"Yeah."

Smiling just a little, you pull the sleeves over your hands. "Thank you, Chan."

And as you walk away to give Ross his drink, Chandler breathes. He's not entirely sure how he feels about you. You're hot, you're cool, but you're also his friend. And he just basically said your eyes are pretty.

He takes a long drink of your concoction, something called Tiki Death Punch, and pours himself some more. As if that will do anything to calm his nerves. Nothing can calm his nerves when he's with you.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

MORNING NEWS WITH ASMI! 12 Oct '24

GOOD MORNING MAGGOTS ONCE MORE IT IS NOT MORNING (WELL, IT'S MORNING IN CALIFORNIA AND THAT'LL DO)!

JERRY, HOW ARE WE FEELING?

JERRY WHO TOTALLY EXISTS: WONDERFUL, ASMI! OUR VIEWERS ARE UP BRIGHT AND EARLY AND IT'S TIME FOR THE NEWS!

WELL SAID JERRY WHO TOTALLY EXISTS!

THE NEWS:

REDDIT THE BIRD FLEW AWAY WHEN I WAS TRYING TO GET IT DOWNSTAIRS TO AN ANIMAL RESCUE BLOKE. IT FLEW PRETTY HIGH RATHER THAN JUST HOPPING AWAY (THE WAY IT USUALLY DID IF MY SHOULDER GOT TOO WOBBLY) SO I THINK IT REALLY WANTED TO LEAVE.

WE FOUND OUT LATER THAT IT BELONGS TO THE CONSTRUCTION WORKERS NEXT DOOR AND THEY SPENT ALL NIGHT LOOKING FOR IT, WHICH IS SAD, BUT AT LEAST IT WAS SAFE? AND I HOPE IT DECIDES TO DO WHATEVER IT WANTS, GO BACK TO HUMANS OR LIVE HOWEVER.

I HAVE NOT YET FOUND A RICH TWINK HUSBAND TO LIVE MY TROPHY HUSBAND DREAMS WITH.

I DREW A LOT OF GAY PEOPLE.

THE WORLD CONTINUES TO BURN IN INTOLERANCE AND POOR INFRASTRUCTURE AND NATURAL DISASTER AND CRIME AND WAR AND WARCRIMES.

I AM GAY.

OBAMA SAID A LOT OF BLACK MEN NEEDED TO DO BETTER BECAUSE THEY WERE VOTING FOR TRUMP JUST BECAUSE HARRIS IS A WOMAN.

YOU ARE SO LOVED, ACTUALLY.

ALRIGHT NOW JEFFERY WHO EXISTS WITH THE WEATHER!

TOTALLY-JEFFERY: THE WEATHER (I WILL NOT FORGET EUROPE THIS TIME LIKE ASMI DID HAHA!)

SHUT UP JEFFERY JUST GIVE US THE FORECAST.

ASIA: CLOUDY WITH THE OPPRESSIVE HEAT OF THE DARK SIDE OF TRADITIONS.

AFRICA: WET. VERY WET. (NOT /AO3)

SOUTH AMERICA: GETTIN' WARMER BBGS.

ANTARCTICA: GREEN. FUCKIN' GREEN.

NORTH AMERICA: STORMY WITH A HINT OF POLITICAL DISARRAY

EUROPE: PUMPKIN SPICE LATTES.

THE ANSWERS TO YESTERDAY'S CROSSWORD:

YOU GOTTA GIRD THESE FUCKERS: LOINS

ANOTHER WORD FOR SOMEONE WHO IS CHERISHED/OF WORTH: YOU

HOW DO YOU ___ LIKE YOU'RE RUNNING OUT OF TIME: WRITE

DIFFICULTY PROCESSING NUMBER BASED INFORMATION AND MATH: DYSCALCULIA

WHAT DOES THE BRAIN SAY BEFORE THE EXAM? I'M ___: NERVOUS

AND TODAY'S BELOW THE CUT:

(OR HERE'S THE LINK IF YOU PREFER)

FAREWELL FROM JEFFERY AND ME I LOVE YOU HAVE A WONDERFUL DAY

[fbfh]

okay, pretty odd request and i completely understand if you do not feel comfortable writing it; you can totally scrap it! so i just got my wisdom teeth removed and i am pretty miserable about it. i was kind of wondering how our favourite boy leo might react. i feel like, as repair boy, he would be pretty bummed to not be able to just fix it right away, y’know? thank you so much, whether you feel comfortable writing for this prompt or not, i love your work and you are literally my favourite writer for leo💋

awww babes!!!!!!! I got my wisdom teeth out like maybe a year ago???? ish???? while it did suck it wasn't quite as bad as I thought it would be so I TOTALLY understand both how much it sucks and the i feel like shit Leo cravings.

okay okay so first of all Leo would not leave your side for a minute. he is so sweet and attentive and gentle with you while your coming back from anesthesia like a motherfucking walking lime green flag. like this. if he's still in college at MIT or wherever he's collecting diplomas like pokemon he will not HESITATE to ditch all classes that day to take care of you with or without his school's permission. if you cry on anesthesia like I do he will be SO FUCKING TENDER with you. he gets every possible caring for someone hack from his mom and from the internet and every resource possible to make sure you're happy and pain free and comfy. He brings you ice packs for your cheeks with tongs so he doesn't accidentally melt them with his hands (it did happen once. you both laughed so hard.) and he always makes sure you eat enough yogurt so your antibiotics don't mess up your stomach. he stays close to you, helps take care of your hair and skin, watches cartoons and movies with you. if you like having your nails done, he will SO give you mani pedis. even if you normally get acrylics or gel or whatever, seeing the slightly messy, sparkly matching nail polish in your favorite colors Leo tenderly and carefully put on your nails and toes makes you so happy every time you see it. he pets your head and peppers you with kisses and tells you how brave you were in a soft voice. he gets you a "conradulations on letting them steal your teeth" basket full of plushies and juice and intricate little coloring pages and crossword puzzles and stuff to keep you busy. He plays cozy video games with you and builds the most insane shit for you in animal crossing. you post it online and some people speculate that he hacked or modded the game to do that but nope. Leo simply loves you to the point of invention. If your swelling or pain is real bad and you're also a demigod he'll check with Will (aka the entire demisquad's informal PCP) how much ambrosia or nectar to give you to help you heal quickly and take the edge off. He holds your hands while you take little walks around your house or apartment a few times a day, like your recovery instructions say to. he makes you what he affectionatley referres to as "gourmet baby food", aka soups and soft pates and purees that taste better than most solid food. he relays all get well soon messages from your friends, including how percy joked that getting your wisdom teeth out means annabeth has less competition for the title of group brain cell wielder. your kitty Jackjack curls up on your lap as soon as Leo initially brings you back from the dentist and doesn't leave your side for a minute. every selfie you and Leo send the group chat has Jackjack curled up on your chest, purring and drooling contently. You have no idea how Leo makes something like pulling teeth feel like a spa vacation, but he makes everything into such a warm, cozy, happy experience. but you guess that when you love someone as much as you and Leo love each other, it's not too surprising.

[ordinaryschmuck]

Here's a team action question: The teams favorite video games.

I was a bit of a Halo fan in High School. My buddies would play it a lot between games and practice.

Stardew Valley. It relaxes me after a long day of fighting bad guys.

GTA. After a whole day of saving lives and following the rules and order, there's something cathartic about being able to ignore ALL of that.

If we're counting iPhone games, there's this game called "Words of Wonders" that gives a random assortment of letters and you have to make a set of words almost like in a sort of crossword. It's really engaging and helps figure out your vocabulary--

Nerd. I play Minecraft.

You're one of those sick freaks who make torture devices to kill monsters so you can level up, aren't you?

I am. And proud of it.

I play Animal Crossing. And any video game where you get to play as a cat and do cat things! It's PERFECT!

The last video game I played was that Smash Bros tournament that Zach forced me to play. I guess that's it?

[itstaisstuff]

ummmmmm okay so this is embarrassing. so. i know i said a week but actually i am here again and not vanishing into the fog sorry about that *awkwardly clears throat* ANYWAY hi it is i that one guy who keeps bothering about tangdubs!! i am aiming to add more fics to that tag so iiii was wondering if i could bother u for a prompt or two for some little fics i could try to write :3 i have so many longer things in the works but well.. a little oneshot is good for the mind..

Oh omg hiiii heyy helloww that one guy who keeps bothering about tangdubs!! *kicking my feet twirling my hair and giggling* I missed ya, sweet anon<3

You don't even know how happy I am to get this ask because OH VOID. I HAVE SOOO MANY THINGS I WANNA WRITE BUT I CAN'T BECAUSE OF TIME. So let's see what exactly you want!!

Keep in mind: even if you won't like the ideas I'm glad to just share them. Also you can tweak them however you want!!

Something fluff?

Haha. Little coffee shop au. Bdubs is a barista in this little shop, working 2/2 and Tango is the best friend of hisregular(Impulse) and just moved in town. As time goes by Tango starts to visit this coffee shop without Impulse, he comes around even on holidays when he doesn't have to go to work. He goes there mainly because of this handsome very mockable barista. I can go into the depths of this au, but in this case this will be a loong answer(but you can always ask about it if you want to) so the only thing you need to know for now is just how they both are completely fallen for each other and keep trying to harmlessly prank each other (mainly verbally, but sometimes Bdubs would give Tango a salt instead of sugar just for fun knowing it wouldn't change anything and Tango won't stop visiting and ordering stuff)

The idea for fic I had was them just hanging out during Bdubs' break while he does one of these stupid crosswords from a cringey journal someone left. I'm gonna leave the rest to you, but the main idea was about Tango saying "if kiss is just a word, then I have a serious conversation with you". What was it for? What's gonna happen next? Idk, you tell me!

Something angsty?

Little fantasy au is for you! Local wizard Bdubs living in a forest and Royal engineer Tango who visits his place from time to time due to King's order to ask the wizard for something. Living far from everyone makes you feel very lonely. Especially when a very certain handsome blonde engineer with blue eyes(yes I'm a blue eyed Tango enjoyer so what?) you clinge to is not around. They may know each other, but it doesn't seem like Tango actually shows any interest in the wizard guy. But oh well. If Bdubs wants something, he'll get what he wants. No matter how. Even if he'll have to make a love potion just for his beloved one to be around. He'll do that. And so, the potion is ready, will be served whenever the engineer is back with a task from the king, and Bdubs will never see the pretty blue eyes he's fallen for. Instead there will be bright ruby eyes, looking at him with all the love in the world, holding him as gently as noone has before, sweet talking Bdubs, making him compliments... That's what he wanted, right? Bdubs is supposed to be happy. But he knows it's all fake. Every single world Tango says, smile he gives, cuddling, it is all fake. It is all because of the potion Bdubs made. He is... Happy, really. He got what he wanted. Except the pretty sincere blue eyes with the real spark of joy.

I actually did a little fix by myself, so yeah. You know the rules. Ask box is opened if you're interested, I guess? I don't really have an idea for a oneshot. But it can be turned into a very emotional fic with Bdubs blaming himself for killing Tango's personality and realizing what a rotten person he is for enjoying Tango's fake love. So selfish.

Something spicy?

Yeah. This is also an option. So... Phantom Bdubs. He's like a werewolf, but werephantom. That's why he always sleeps. Once he wakes up, he doesn't remember anything from his night hunt, he can just tell it happened by the blood on his face and sharp pain in the back from having wings. It happens once in a while, maybe few times a year if he keeps the good sleeping schedule. It is the same Bdubs with the same memories and emotions, just the need for blood. He doesn't care who it is. He needs to get blood. Usually he keeps some. Animals around for an unexpected occasions so he would never hurt his friends. But once the season 8 comes around and the moon... Well, messes everything up, Bdubs' abilities to control that are fucked. No matter how much he sleeps, he knows it will happen. The first time he didn't expect it to happen, but once he woke up with this fading taste of blood, it because really weird. He travels around the server asking if everyone is alright and if anyone's pets has dissaleared lately, but everything seems normal. This is weird. But as long as noone is hurt, Bdubs can relax. Or at least he thinks noone is hurt. It keeps happening for a month, two. Bdubs starts to worry. Whatever is he eating during the phantom phase is still not found, but none of the hermits say anything, so... It's still not affecting anyone. With the moon stuff everything gets worse, every hermits suffers in one way or another. But Bdubs is really worried about Tango, who seems to be getting really cold. He is much more pale and started wearing sweaters, he just seems much weaker in general. Moreover, he starts to act... Different, when Bdubs is around. He doesn't know what's happening, so he just helps Tango any way he can. But what he doesn't know, is that Tango is his walking blood tank. And oh, if only it was just about the blood. As I said, phantom Bdubs is still the same Bdubs. He just doesn't care about hiding his emotions, because he knows he won't remember anything once he wakes up, plus the bloodthirst blind him so much he can't fully control his actions. He wants something– he gets it. Tango can't do anything about it, and... It's not like he doesn't like it. It hurts. It hurts a lot, actually, but oh, it is absolutely worth it. How confused and embarrassed was Bdubs when he woke up in a bed with Tango, both completely naked. Did Bdubs ever think it would happen? No, not really, but was he just so confused because he knew he was not supposed to be there? He still stayed for a little bit, just because one little thing he noticed. Tango had some bite marks. Bdubs carefully pulls the blanked away trying not to wake him up and sees that Tango has it all over his body. On his neck, his shoulders, his chest, his arms... Bdubs didn't want to even look down, just sure he will find more of the marks. Well, no wonder why he was getting so pale and weak lately. Bdubs haven't ever had so many mixed emotions in his life. Was he embarrassed to be in a bed with someone he most definitely likes with the marks of fun nights without ever remembering it? Was he in frustration because Tango was just volunteering his blood even though it is bad for him? Was he so tired of this all phantom stuff? Yes. All of that, yes. And he tries to leave before Tango wakes up. First few hours he spends in his room just laying on his bed staring at the ceiling being all red because of all the different thoughts about what they could have been doing. But for the next few weeks he will make sure Tango gets all the health support he needs. They never talk about it, but Bdubs still has this awkwardness. And the next time he wakes up in his own bed, having this taste of blood down his throat, he knows where he was a few hours ago. And he can only imagine how much he liked this night.

As for specific one shot request? Ofc you don't have to do anything... Spicy, yknow. I don't even think I have something on my mind for a fic, I just wanted to share this au in case you were looking for something like that. But feel free to write anything really-

Something closer to canon(non-au)?

Something about season 7 being the season when they started dating each other. Something about how Bdubs would lay in his bedroom which Tango built him failing to fall asleep because of this silly feeling. It's more of the "does he really appreciate me? Does he really care enough to gift me something like the whole bedroom? Does he really think I'm that cool?". Something about how Tango tries to do his best to impress Bdubs during the boomers business. Something about how they finally talk about they feel about each other while rebuilding the boomers logo in the middle of the ocean. That's it.

Okay, I think that's it! Ofc you can take any other idea based on any of these aus, idm. I'm just glad to finally talk about these. Anyways, I check ao3 once a month (just to check the tangdubs tag. Yup.) So there's a good chance I may miss it... So may I ask for a link once you finish something? And good luck with it, sweet anon!! Have an amazing day<3

[invisibleraven]

18 for Flynn/anyone?

Marisol doesn't even look up from her crossword when her front door opens and then slams shut, knowing it had to be one or both of her daughter's best friends. "Shoes off!" she calls.

"Rightio Mrs. T!" a voice calls back. Ah, Reggie then. She bites back a smile at that, the boy had been coming around more and mor lately. She wondered how long it would be until she had to install a door stays open rule. She thought not long.

"Hey Mrs. T!" Reggie says as he comes into the kitchen, grabbing a few sodas and a box of cookies from the panty. She gave him permission to help himself to anything he wanted ages ago, and he always takes advantage. Heaven knows he's as slim as a rake, and she highly doubts his drunkard of a mother or absentee father are feeding him much at home.

"Hi sweetie, you staying for supper? it's meatloaf night!"

"Sounds delicious," Reggie says, then peers down at her crossword. "!4 down is acute."

Marisol glances at the clue and finds he's right, penning the answer in. "Thanks sweetie. Go on up, I'm sure she's wondering what's taking so long."

"Mom stop hogging my friends" Flynn hollers down, and Reggie blushes but his smile betrays him. Marisol knows he feels loved her, and at the Molina's as well. The boy needs as much love as he can get... but it's still fun to let her and Flynn tease each other about it. She shoos him up the stairs and goes back to her crossword, the music starting not long after she hears the door creak, but not shut.

Flynn is painting her nails on her bed when Reggie comes in, so he tosses the snacks on her desk, and pops a straw into her soda can, offering it to her. "Mmm, cream soda, my favourite."

"Well d'uh, wasn't about to earn the ire of your mom by taking her grapefruit stuff, the root beer is all Julie's, and of course I got my regular Dew," Reggie says, chugging back some of the electric yellow mixture.

"How you can drink that shit, I'll never know," Flynn says as she blows on her now bright turquoise nails. "You want me to do yours?"

Reggie nods and peruses her collection, finally pulling out a bottle that held a almost neon pink colour. "Bold choice," Flynn says approvingly.

"Going to the Dirty Candi show tonight, figured I should rep my favourite member," Reggie replied.

"I thought Alex was subbing for the green one?" Flynn jokes and Reggie sticks out his tongue. "I still can't believe you have a thing for Carrie."

"Like you don't," Reggie snorts.

Flynn scowls and shoves his shoulder playfully, and he shoves back, making her giggle. "You want a pillow fight or a manicure Peters?"

Reggie hums for a moment before taking up her pillow and tossing it at her. "Oh it is on!" she exclaims, hitting him back and giggling as he squawks.

They go back and forth for a while, then collapse side by side on Flynn's bed, breathing heavy. "So... manicure?" Reggie asks. Flynn nods and they sit back up, pulling out the file and the bottle.

"So you finally gonna make a move on Carrie?" Flynn asked.

Reggie shrugged. "Dunno, you think I have a chance?"

"More than I do," Flynn said.

"You're a catch Flynnie!"

She snorted at that. "Tell that to every person I've ever had a crush on that didn't like me back."

"Well they're all idiots. Blind idiots," Reggie said, admiring his nails. "Any one who doesn't fall head over heels for you doesn't know what a good thing they missed out on."

"Do you?"

Reggie looked up at her, confused. "Do I what?"

"Know what you missed out on?"

Reggie blinked at her. "Am I missing where you asked me out or told me you liked me?"

"I asked you out to Homecoming!" Flynn said, shoving his shoulder. "And to the movies!"

"You never said as a date!" Reggie said. "If I knew it was a date I would have said yes! I've liked you for forever now!"

"You idiot!" Flynn said, smacking him once more. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"Why didn't you?" Reggie said, giving her a small shove back, and Flynn started falling backwards, grabbing a hold of his flannel to keep steady. Only she pulled him down with her.

Leaving Flynn flat on her back, with Reggie perched over her, staring down. Looking into her sparkling brown eyes, the soft blush on her cheeks. "Hi," she whispered.

"Hi yourself," Reggie said with a grin, rubbing the apple of her cheek with his thumb. "So about that date..."

"Thought you were gonna try and snatch up Carrie?" Flynn questioned.

"I mean, we still could, if you think she'd go for being a throuple..." Reggie trailed off.

"I'm good," Flynn said, pulling him down for a kiss.

Marisol stopped at the top of the stairs, and grinned. She'd give them a few minutes, then 'casually' interrupt.

And definitely be making sure Flynn kept her door open when Reggie came by from now on.

[bread--quest]

mokita !! aaand 6 my favourite number. they don't have to be in the same piece i just couldnt choose between the two on what to send

hiiiii i swear i didn't forget about these! i just ummm was saving them for a rainy day. yeah. and its not actually rainy right now but i am waiting for the bus and whenever im waiting for the bus i am, emotionally, waitin' for the bus in the rain (in the rain). ok anyway here u go

mokita (kilivila): a painful fact everyone is aware of but which--out of compassion--no one mentions

All of the Masgor Marimorts know that Phanta's always been a little...odd. Talking to people who weren't there, smiling at the wrong times, having imaginary friends long past when she should have grown out of it.

Most of her friends have been imaginary, really. In hushed conversations late at night, Hazel and Joel wonder why it is their sweet little girl can't find anyone living to hang out with. She's all of 14 now, and mostly remembers the basic politenesses they've tried to teach her and doesn't usually mention ghosts for at least 15 minutes of conversation, and they think she's perfectly charming even if she is a bit strange, so why can't she find any living friends?

Shelie's hypothesis is that even if Phanta may insist on clinging to beliefs with no basis in reality, they're her little sister, and they've never done anything wrong in their life, and high schoolers are stupid. So there.

Phanta, for her part, doesn't usually seem bothered by this. And the rest of her family has become quietly resigned to the sad fact of it. And yet, when Phanta starts chattering on about her new best friend Leviat at the dinner table, Hazel still hopes enough to ask "And where'd you meet?"

"Oh, the graveyard!" Phanta says happily.

Hazel and Joel exchange glances. Shelie sighs. They all agree, without saying anything, not to push it. Let Phanta have her ghosts.

"That's great, honey," Hazel says.

an-n-n-nother day goes by! so hold me tight, hold me tight– or don't!

"I'm pretty sure my whole family thinks you're not real," Phanta says brightly, balancing precariously on the graveyard gate.

"Watch it, idiot, don't fall off and crack your skull open," Leviat says.

"Or– they think you're a ghost, and they don't think ghosts are real," Phanta says, leaning backwards against Leviat's good advice so the gate swings backward. "Whee! Anyway, don't you think that's funny?"

"No."

"Yes you do! I can tell!" Phanta struggles to lean enough to swing the gate back in the other direction–"Watch it—" and is eventually forced to concede defeat. "Anyway, even though it's funny to let them keep thinking that, I still think you should come meet them! Shelie would really like you, I think. You both like a bunch of the same stuff, like being good at crosswords, and doing surgery on stuffed animals, and hanging out with meeee!" They do little jazz hands on this last word.

Leviat rolls their eyes. "I already said no, and I will continue to say no until you give up or the sun fucking explodes, the latter of which is starting to seem more likely."

Phanta sighs. "Oh well. Doesn't really matter, I guess."

"Nothing does."

"Nope!" She hops off the gate and swings it fully open invitingly. "Come on, let's go see if they've come up with a new kind of pasta yet!"

[towardfatherhood]

This Body of Work and Friendship

It is my early morning practice to sit in our hot tub in the dark and do four things: Wordle, the NYT Mini Crossword, a DuoLingo Spanish lesson, and prayer, always in that order. It's my daily liturgy. My church service for one. Today my prayer time was cut short. "Oh God," I sighed, sinking, "I'm so tired..." My mind drifted and I began to imagine an argument between me and my wife. Just as the imaginary row began to heat up, I felt my body rise up from the steaming water, grab my towel, and begin to step out. It felt as if my body was trying to save me. "You're too exhausted," he said to me, "let's get you to someplace restful."

My childhood was not a restful place. There was little room for our tribe of seven to express emotion. Anger was seen as rebellion. Sadness was just self-pity. Frustration was probably selfishness, and so on. Learning to recognize and name my emotions was difficult for me in adulthood. It wasn't until I approached middle age that I could honestly name my emotions. I learned them not as spiritual, intangible mists and fragrances, but as physical sensations in my body. I feel anger in my arms and legs; fear sometimes in my legs, but often in my gut; amusement makes my head feel light; joy and delight feel like sparkles trickling down through my whole body; pride adds an impression of tears behind my eyes; anxiety ripples through my stomach; anguish rests in my lower back; wonder feels like a hug. The list goes on.

The unexpected gift of getting in touch with my emotions is that it meant partnering with my body, whom I now see as a friend and guide. While my cognitive mind is at the wheel, feeling important and making logical decisions, my body is down in the engine room, checking dials and clanking wrenches, sending up urgent messages: "Hey we're getting a hot mix of anger and compassion here! Which one do you want to go with??"

So I want to take this moment to honor my body, who is constantly trying to save my life. Whether I am dealing with a stubbed toe, a stubborn child, a slippery flagstone, a stab of loneliness, or a burst of joy, my body is there to alert and inform and care for me. I love this part of me. He is a joy to be with, and an excellent partner and friend.

Well done, body. I thank you.

[void-botanist]

🖊 for anyone in the fourth android? :0

Oh boy that's so many options. I changed my mind at least five times about who to talk about, because I'm thinking about at least five of them at every moment. But I finally settled on Anni.

As I'm restructuring the beginning of TFA I'm adding in more scenes with her, which I'm happy about, even though I keep second guessing how good I am at writing from her POV. But I enjoy writing about her putting on her headphones (they're cool headphones with light-up stripes) and one of her like twenty curated playlists and getting in the coding zone. Approaching fictional android problems with the same kinds of strategies and frustrations that I have when I code. And having an excellent dynamic with her primary coworker at the bookstore, Urma (they/them), who is a (human) cryptid with a taste for this world's equivalent of any peach-flavored alcohol and the daily newspaper crossword (for solving, not imbibing). Anni spends a lot of time with Zel in this book, obviously, and I'm slowly figuring out how to show what their dynamic is, partly by showing everything around it (family, friends, jobs, etc.). And I am so excited for when I eventually get to the point of writing Anni having "gossip hour" with her older sister Halli (she/her) and younger brother Brandon (he/they) when she goes home for solstice. After a day's happenings they can all pile into someone's bedroom and speak of their dark secrets, such as "do you know where they store the solstice lights the rest of the season???" (Bran knows. He works for the city) and "I think I'm getting serious about Zel. should I be getting serious about Zel? is Zel getting serious about me?? is it too soon to ask??? Halli you're engaged please advise me how to gay correctly????" (Halli is engaged. in a beautiful t4t sapphic romance. and betrothed too I guess).

Also, I remembered that in an earlier draft of TFA it was important to the plot that Anni used to be really into cosplay, because Dez swiped some of her stuff to attempt to pass as human while he ran away. I kinda want to explore that side of her even though I don't think it's super directly relevant to this draft of TFA. Did the cosplay stuff just sort of fade into the background because she got into other stuff? Did she get frustrated with it for some reason? Did Bran do duo costumes with her all the time and were they always extremely cute? (That one is obviously a yes.) I also wonder what kinds of cosplays she would do. It's probably the one area of her life where she dresses in colors that are not primarily blue. Maybe she got into cosplay because of Bran, who got into it because he wanted an excuse to dress up and look cool, and Halli could connect him with her community theatre friends for sharing/making costume pieces. Anni and Bran used to play her favorite MMO together, but while Anni wants to play the game more or less as intended, with all the grinding and gearing and guilds that entails, Bran just wants to take in the world, find some shiny rocks, and do every possible sidequest (thinking about it in Breath of the Wild terms: "yeah it would be tough but I bet I could do a no Beasts speedrun" vs. "the Stone Talus on the Great Plateau is the most breathtaking and terrifying thing I've ever seen in my life. What do you mean there's 29 more"). So it was fun until he started being chronically underleveled and kind of lost interest in the game. So then they started cosplaying to have something related to do together? (I should clearly write more of these character rambles because I'm figuring stuff out.)

Anyway, Anni is fun, and I need to get her talking to Julian more and figure out what she knows about sailboats.

[shadow-dracat]

well, I see people in the notes saying stuff like "would love to hear what a Russian or Chinese person loves about their home/culture", so, as a Russian, let's go!

(Disclaimer: I do believe that a lot of land that currently is a part of "Russia" should instead be under control of the native nations living there. Russia falling apart or at least becoming way more decentralised will benefit a lot of people imo. + I myself am from the European part of Russia. So I won't be talking about Siberian tigers or Kamchatka's geysers. Obv people who live there and consider themselves Russian are free to feel proud of their land's wonders, but it feels wrong to me to assign that to Russians as a nation, because a lot of it is basically colonised land. Although can't ignore the fact many people living there do, in fact, identify as Russians. Overall a topic I am in no position to preach about. And yeah, Russian imperialism can go fuck itself. Also some of the things I'll mention can be common to other slavic (and not) nations, idk. Anyway, let me actually start xD)

I love the vastness that spreads between cities and towns. Forests, swamps and fields that pass by while you have breakfast on a train, maybe even chatting with some strangers, with a glass in a metal holder in your hand. Little villages with wooden homes, a lot old or in bad condition, but others still standing and providing their owners with coziness, their windows covered with traditional blinds. Backyard flowers, and apple trees, and berry bushes, and greens, and cabbages, and greenhouses with fresh tomatoes and cucumbers. And big, big potato fields.

I love babushkas, that help the family as much as they can and cook all kinds of delicious meals. And knit, and solve their weekly crosswords. And make jam for you.

I love all kinds of potato dishes. Mashed potatoes, fried potatoes, baked potatoes. Different kinds of soups and porriges. Oatmeal porrige, semolina porrige, millet porrige, herculean porrige. You hate it when you're five and having the breakfast at the daycare, but you know... it's actually tasty. The culture of frying kebabs and sausages over the fire. The flames give them black spots and a bit of a bitter taste, but it's so delicious after a long day spent around nature. The culture of making dumplings. The culture of going to pick some mushrooms from the forest with your grandpa.

I love the birch trees, and the pine trees, and the oak, maple, ash, willow trees. Blackberries, and blueberries, and wild strawberries you just pick and eat. The coolness and freshness of the forest early in the morning. And oh, do I love birds. I'm a bit of an amateur bird watcher, and the flying creatures surely sing for more nations than one, but this land is home to some of them too. House and field sparrows, pigeons and crows that dwell the cities. Rooks, jackdaws, magpies, starlings and tailwags you sometimes come by. In any park in my city you're sure to witness finches and thrushes. You may not see them, but a finch's song is a memorable one. I know it, and I always get excited to pick it up in the air around trees.

I love suddenly spotting a frog that hops away swiftly. Snails sitting on grass and tree trunks. Ants scurrying around, searching for treats. I know wolves and bears live here somewhere, but I've never seen them myself. A hedgehog visited my uncle's dacha (countryhouse) once. I think he gave the creature some meat and milk, but my memories aren't sharp on that one. My mom saw a fox once when taking out the trash at a summer camp she worked at. She also heard a nightingale sing at dawn. I wasn't there, but I love all the beings that make their homes here.

I love cities that spread so north they call their nights "white nights" in summer. I think you can even see northern lights in Murmansk. I love the cities and towns that spread south and grow delicious fruits and vedgetables. Average winter temperatures in Sochi are in positive degrees Celsius, and I love that too. I love when the snow coats the streets of my city. When parents pull the sleigh their children sit in. When it's spring or autumn, and the icy puddles are brittle and crack with such satisfying noise. You would often think of the weather here as depressing, but... it's home. You get used to coating yourself from the cold, and summer hoodies (and even coats) are usual. But you know, the temperatures of 18-24 °C in summers are actually perfect, if you think about it.

I love all the many lakes and rivers. Where I live, summers are often chill, so I grew to cherish the moments I could actually go swimming. I would get so excited every time it got warm enough.

I love the culture of sitting in a heated banya (sauna) as long as you can only to jump into the cold of night's water pool, or river, or lake. Some brave hearted even jump into snow in winters.

I love celebrating New Year on the night from 31st to 1st. Oliv'ye (a kind of salad) and tangerines. Grandpa Frost with his granddaughter. He's kinda like Santa, but wears blue sometimes. I love Maslenitsa's bliny (pancakes). I don't follow its traditions much, but isn't it nice to burn an effigy to signify the arrival of spring and the end of winter. The great lent that means there's a lot more vegan products for me to grab. The colorful and sweet easter cakes. Love the culture of preparing a big table full of dishes whenever it's a celebration or anyone comes to visit. And you know, they say them British are big on tea, but I'm actually used to drinking some after almost every meal.

I love cities that bear history. Novgorod, that served as one of the earliest trading points. Old orthodox churches and cathedrals. Moscow, that started out as a village, but grew into a megapolis. Saint Petersburg, founded just a bit more than 300 years ago, starting out with straight planned streets, being Russia's main city, now called the "cultural" or "northern" capital. Pskov, Tver', Kaluga, Oryol, Kursk, Bryansk, Belgorod, Yaroslavl', Vladimir, Voronezh, Krasnodar. I am not big on history and know criminally little about them, but would be happy to visit. Tula with its gingerbread and samovars (big traditional teapots). My mom's roots are from around there.

The big cities have grown some greyish blocks of flats during soviet times. The walls don't always isolate the sound well, and homes often feel crammed. Wooden floors creak with age. My grandma lives in one of those, and I have lived there too. I've also lived in newer buildings. They're neater, but bigger too, surrounding wide prospects full of fast cars, like a giant maze. They make me feel small and lazy to walk around, but... as much as I feel joy traversing orderly, narrower streets with 4-5 storey houses... I would always miss my bricky giant mazes. And messy courtyards, full of overly colorful chuldren's playgrounds and shaggy trees and bushes. It's where I grew up at. It's kinda depressing, but it's home.

I love the traditional stories and fairytales. About hares, foxes, wolfs, bears, farm animals. About old men and old women and their bread ball son.

I love the artists and scientists that called this land their home. Lots of them became famous. Lots not thanks to it, but in spite of it. But lots also carried it close to their hearts.

Love the workers and farmers that kept the cities and towns alive. Built the houses. Decorated them. All the people calling it home. And making it home. Activists, that fight for justice. Revolutionists, feminists, workers' rights defenders. Queer people, quiet and not.

I love the depressed hearts Russians often have. Melancholy is dangerous, but... isn't it badass to be considered a nation that wrote about meaningless deaths and hardships?.. maybe not, and I love it when happiness and love triumph, but there's something romantic about sharing your sadness with others. Looking cold from the outside, but being tender and welcoming on the inside. They say Americans are like peaches, whereas Russians are like coconuts.

I love the Russian language. How it omits the "to be". How we don't use the word "have" most of the time. How there isn't a single word for "go". Love the well articulated consonants and rolled R's. Love cyrilic letters. Love the "ё", and "ы", and "ш", and "ж" and "ъ". And others. And so many swear words. Love making it mine by inventing ways to be gender neutral.

I love the relatively cheap Wi-Fi and easy piracy. Love all the obscure and weird memes. Broken translations, tales of which linger even now in the form of screenshots. Absurd anecdotes about the bear and the car, and the man and the hat. Unusual and beautiful names like mine. Soviet comedies my stepfather often played on TV. Relatively cheap Chinese smartphones.

I know my experiences are not unique. And not universal either. I am quite priviledged to have been born in a big city in north-west part of Russia, and this writing has been rather subjective.

I might flee this country in the future. I'm not sure if or when this land becomes just to others. It would be cowardly or hypocritical, considering I don't find the strength in myself to fight this system that hurts many.

But I guess I will always love the bits and pieces of this land and culture.

anyways (I say this as someone who is deeply critical of the united states government, military, unchecked capitalism, police, etc) I am SICK of people treating america as if it has no cultural value or positives so….. I love u 85 million acres (bigger than italy) of national parks. I love u harlem renaissance. I love u groundhogs day. I love u sweet tea and fried chicken and jambalaya. I love u apple cider donuts and maizes on crisp autumn days. I love u 95k miles of coastlines and new england fisherman and hand knitted sweaters. I love u halloween where millions of people dress up and give candy to strangers and carve jack o’lanterns. I love u small talk and small towns and potlucks and bringing over casseroles to your struggling neighbors. I love u cowboys and ranch hands and arizonian cactus. I love u appalachian trail and dirtbikes and divebars. I love u sparklers and fireflies. I love u mark twain and toni morrison and emily dickinson and henry david thoreau. I love u rock n roll i love u bluegrass and hippies i love u jimi hendrix and nirvana and CCR and janis joplin. I love u victorian houses and jonny appleseed and john henry and mothman and bigfoot. I love u foggy days in the pacific northwest and neon signs and roadside attractions. I love u baseball and 1950s diners and soft serve. I love u native american art and pop art and poptarts. I love u blue jeans and barbecues and jazz musicians 

[edelweiss-coffee]

Hello! I would love to request an Argyle x reader fic! Something along the lines of the reader is having a bad day. Little things are going wrong and it's upsetting them. They are avoiding Argyle because they don't want him to see them like that all the while Argyle is just worried about them. Thank you! 😊

this was supposed to be a drabble but i couldn't help myself, i love argyle so much

when you open your eyes, it's 10:31 am. you're an hour late for work.

fuck.

as you sit up in your bed, a headache kicks in at full force.

of course.

when you pull your blankets off of your legs, it feels like it's freezing in your room.

a fever too?

you rush to put your surfer boys' uniform and head out the door, despite your eyes burning, and forget to brush your hair. when you start your car, you radio's volume is still cranked to the max from your drive home from argyle's last night.

"god damn it," you startle at the music's volume as you quickly adjust the dial.

on your drive to work, your window won't crank down, as if something in the door is jammed.

perfect.

you're stuck in your car that reeks like stale pot smoke, with no way to air it out. you're gonna smell like bong water all day while you serve pizza, with a migraine and a fever.

to make matters even worse, when you pull into surfer boy, you veer into a parking spot and you can see your coworkers rushing around inside. they're short staffed becos of you. you didn't come in on time, and they're gonna be dicks about it all day.

fuck, is it monday? argyle has today off. now you're sure this shift isn't going to have an upside.

as you step out of your car, like a cherry on top of this wonderful morning, your belt loop catches on your door handle.

becos of fucking course it does.

after yanking yourself free from the door and slamming it shut, causing your head to throb even worse, you make your way into surfer boy pizza.

your boss, mitch, who usually sits in back of house doing crosswords, is working register. he doesn't look happy in the slightest. after ringing up a customer, he turns to you.

"y/n, how sweet of you to join us today!" he beams in irony. "and only... an hour and some change late."

he leans toward you and sniffs.

"you're... joking, y/n. you come in this late, you smell like woodstock took a shit and put a t shirt on it, eyes half open?"

you stare sheepishly up at him.

"my alarm clock, the batteries, they--"

"you're fired, y/n. sorry, this is just unacceptable."

"kay, i guess. want the shirt back?"

he scoffs.

"no, thanks. not smelling like bob marley."

"cool, awesome," you trail. "needed some more yellow in my wardrobe anyway."

before you even make it to your car, hot tears begin pouring from your eyes.

you pull your car door open and throw yourself into the driver's seat. you slam your door out of anger and it sends a shockwave of pain throughout your skull, beckoning more tears to flow down your cheeks. your eyes burn as you blink hard and buckle your seatbelt. you drive home in silence, with no music to mask the sound of your pathetic sniffles and sobs.

"fuck," you sigh to yourself, as you pull into your driveway.

with a few deep breaths, you manage to compose yourself enough to walk inside your house, up to your room without sobbing.

you can hear the phone ringing, but you're locked in your bed. your eyes still burn when you blink. the phone stops ringing and your answering machine picks up the call.

"hey, y/n, it's me dude, argyle. wonderin' what's goin' on, man. didn't hear from ya before your shift so i drove over to--"

the machine stops playback.

oh, ari. your very best friend. you catch yourself grinning at the sound of his voice. he's so goofy, in a way that is devastatingly charming.

god, he can't see me like this.

all sweaty, and crying, and sick, a ratsnest for hair. he wouldn't know how to handle it or react, you're sure of it.

he won't mind if i just call back tomorrow.

you reason with yourself.

i just can't let him see me like this.

you start "the karate kid" on the tv in your room. you begin braiding your hair in attempt to pull yourself together, but you're interrupted.

the phone rings again. you feel guilty, but you let it ring. the answering machine eventually picks up again.

"y/nnnnn," he sings into the phone. "as i was sayin', i drove by surfer boy and didn't see you on register, figured you're sick or somethin'. anyway, i'm--" the machine stops playback again.

he thinks you're sick, and you kind of are. but the guilt of not answering is eating you alive at this point. he just wants to hear from you. you decide you have to call back, at least to explain what's been going on. you change into your coziest pajamas and head downstairs to grab the phone.

as you round the corner of the stairs, you inhale a familiar smell. cologne, mixed with purple palm tree delight. a tapping ensues on your front screen door. you peek around the corner to be met by argyle, holding a pack of soda water cans in one hand and a can of campbells chicken noodle soup in the other, a freshly picked daisy between his lips.

"hey, man, open up!" he laughs through his pursed lips.

you open the door and start to empty his arms for him.

"ari, what're you doing here?" you ask, setting the soup and sodas on the floor inside.

"told you on the phone, man. on the answering thing. said i was stoppin' over with feel-better stuff." he offers you the daisy, beaming.

"i heard your calls, dude, i just felt--" you take the flower. "thank you-- i felt embarrassed 'cos i've been crying all day and feeling sorry for myself. you can come in."

he finally gets a good look at you when he comes inside.

"aw, y/n, what's gotcha all torn up? it's just a belly ache, isn't it? i know it sucks, but you'll feel better once you have some soda water and soup." he leans to hug you.

"it's not a stomach ache, ari. i got fired today. and i have a migraine the size of china right now, it's been all day. nothing went right for me today, since the second i woke up. from the second i opened my eyes," you start to well up.

his eyes grow more understanding and deeper with every word you speak.

"nothing was getting better no matter what. i didn't want you to see me like this. i know that sounds so cliche and stupid, but i was just embarrassed."

he looks down at your shaking hands and back up at your eyes.

"aw, y/n, sweetheart, c'mere." he pulls you into the warmest and most comforting hug he's ever offered to you.

"c'mere, angel. aw, man. i feel so stupid bringin' you stomach ache shit thinkin' you're sick."

you sniff into his chest.

"'s'okay, ari. you didn't know."

he walks into the kitchen and beckons for you to follow.

"we're makin' the soup anyway. got any headache pills, man? nothin' serious, just the regular stuff."

"cupboard above your head, doofus. you know i don't do real drugs."

he smiles and hands you a pill and pops open a can of soup.

"bowls? the eatin' kind."

you point above the microwave and wipe your nose with your sleeve.

"sorry i'm such a mess," you sigh.

"ah, who cares if ya wanna feel sorry for yourself for a day?" he puts the bowl of soup in the microwave. "was really worried about you though, dude. missed ya pickin' up the phone an' sayin' 'whaddaya want, ari?' and tellin' me to get my ass over here."

he smiles warmly and looks to be deep in thought before he's interrupted by the microwave's beeping.

"there we go, soup!" he pulls the microwave open and grabs ahold of the bowl. you giggle as he feigns pain from the heat.

"no laughin, y/n. coulda gotten third degree burns for you," he laughs.

"oh, i'm forever in your debt, chef argyle," you tease.

"better be, man. meltin' my fingers off so you can have some wet noodles and cubes of chicken. lucky i love you, man."

you laugh. he is so charming. he just made you a bowl of soup you didn't even need, and you could've done it yourself.

"let's get you upstairs, sweet girl, and we'll get you nice and high. we'll even put on 'the karate kid' like we do when you're sad."

"already got it cued up in my room," you smile.

the two of you walk up the stairs and make your way onto your bed. he hands you your bowl of soup carefully as you sit cross-legged atop your blankets.

"thank you, ari. for everything today."

he grabs at strands of your hair and begins a braid.

"anythin' for my y/n. this okay?" he tugs lightly at your hair.

"of course. nobody can braid my hair as well as you."

the two of you get lost in ralph macchio as his fingers twirl in and out of your hair. you happily eat your soup and soak in the feeling of having a best friend who would do anything he could to cheer you up.

[catastrophicxfailure]

She believed the other when she claimed she wasn't always a downer, trying to imagine what Carmen had been like before being turned, assuming once she was turned she immediately took on the persona she was currently toting around. Did it grow exhausting, Poe couldn't help but wonder, always keeping herself so closed off to everyone around her? As much as the blonde tried, she always found herself fighting against jagged edges and blocked paths, deciding early on that the most success she would have was to hang back and let the other come to her instead, even if it drove her patience up a wall most nights. "What else am I supposed to spend my time doing? The crossword in the Sunday paper?" Poe scoffed with amusement and folded the paper, the hastily scribbled list expanding far beyond ten, back into her pocket. She spent daytime stashed away in her apartment, blinds drawn, running out of things to do day after day — sometimes, settling down with a blood bag and the list was the most exciting thing about her day.

Or, maybe, the most exciting thing was thinking about Carmen.

"Damn, you sure you're not medieval?" Poe couldn't help but tease, knowing that women at least had made it to the Olympics by the time her life came to an end. "Boys suck." It was all she offered in response as she picked up a few more kernels of candy corn and popped it into her mouth. Her gaze was trained on the other, a nod at the suggestion of Carmen's plans for the night. She long since stopped thinking she knew what to expect from the woman, the one night the other did stay was enough to prove to herself that she had absolutely no clue what to expect. "Sounds kinky." It didn't bother her. At least, that's what she told herself. Why should it bother her, though? She was perfectly fine with the company of an obnoxious sitcom and the waxy treat in the dish beside her. She didn't need Carmen's company.

Except, she'd found herself wanting it regardless.

there were times when anger fizzled so hot in carmen's veins that she couldn't stand it. it was often when she was allowed to think about the things that had happened to her; how she died, how she felt, how she was turned against her will by someone she didn't even know. the anger tended to fizzle out when with poe, which is why - despite the constant questions that she endured - she sought out the others company. poe tended to get stuck on certain aspects of carmen, the jagged ones especially, but carmen didn't fault her for it; carmen had a lot of secrets. the comment on her disposition wasn't met with a smile, and instead a nod, taking the comment seriously instead of the joke it was. it was another facet of carmen's personality; she could always admit the truth to herself. "i wasn't always."

the silence was a little tense, at least on carmen's side, but she didn't mean it to be. a noise of disbelief rose from carmen's throat at the piece of paper, and she thought, if it were possible, her eyes might get stuck from rolling them so much. "you're ridiculous," but its not said with any malice, instead its soft, a little tired, but endeared. "oh i wasn't allowed to play sports when i was a human," nonchalantly, she offered the information up with a shrug. "it wasn't really seen as ladylike by my family, my parents, but i did see my brothers play a few times." which wasn't particularly riveting for her, being on the sidelines. nodding at the deal of a drink for a break, carmen felt her shoulders relax until the next question hit her sensitive ears and they straightened once more.

carmen had once slept here, early on in their relationship with one another, but had not made a repeat performance of that since. the night in question had been particularly lonely, particularly hard, and she'd just needed someone. but still poe made herself available if carmen wanted to hang out or stay the night. "i might go find someone to drink," it wasn't a no but it wasn't a yes either.

[lezziemanville]

Prompt Melissa comes to work in a dress and heels and Barbara is drooling

Barbara is sitting enjoying a morning coffee and completing the crossword in her issue of the The New York Times when the door to to the staff room swings open and Melissa rushes in.

None of this would be unusual, Melissa generally arrives later than the other teachers, but in this instance she's wearing a form fitting navy blue wiggle dress and three inch tall nude colored heels that make her legs look...

Barbara blinks, tries to clear her head from that tangent.

"Morning," she says distractedly, dropping her bag on a chair and fishing around inside.

"Well don't you look nice." It's the understatement of the millennium. Because Melissa doesn't just look 'nice'. She looks like some 1950s pinup model, all breasts and hips, despite the modest squared neckline and hem length. She can't recall ever seeing the other woman dressed this way, and if her eyes wander, well that's just because she appreciates the quality of the fabric.

"Thanks," Melissa grumbles, pulls out her brush and runs it through her hair to smooth the humidity from the curls, "I'm meeting my ex after school."

"Melissa," Barbara warns, and why does she suddenly sound... jealous? She clears her throat.

"No, it's not what you think. Well maybe it is. Anyways I have a feeling he's going to tell me he's remarrying and I'm happy for him, I really am. I just want to look hot as fuck so he doesn't get too giddy about it you know?"

"Well, you certainly do." Barbara admits, tearing her eyes from the dip at Melissa's waist and settling back on her face

"Do what?"

"Look... hot as 'fuck'" Barbara almost uses the air quotes because, she's really off her game.

"Is that so?" Melissa smiles, suddenly looking a little cocky. She puts her hand on her hip and does a slow rotation, looking over her shoulder. "I think it really shows off my best feature," she says and then bends forward on a chair to show off her shapely backside.

Barbara rolls her eyes, just to fit the part of exasperated best friend and not woman who's about to come completely unhinged at the sight of her co-worker's ass.

The staff room door opens again and Ava walks in, stopping dead when she sees Melissa. "Damn girl, what are you doing later? I mean I haven't since college, but I'm sure it's like riding a bike."

Melissa is the one that rolls her eyes now, pulls out a black blazer from where she'd dropped it and slips into it.

"Why you ruining the outfit like that?" Ava asks.

"I teach kids, Ava. I'd like to look just a little professional."

"Those kids aren't paying attention. You got like 4 or 5 years before some of them adding you to their bathroom playtime playlist."

Both Barbara and Melissa look directly at the camera crew in the corner. Even Bob the camera man, looks a little unsettled at that.

--

Regrettably Barbara doesn't see Melissa for most of the day, not until they're out in the parking lot. Melissa's sitting in her car, applying red lipstick in her rear view mirror when Barbara approaches.

"Good luck with the ex," she says gently, ultimately knowing how hard Melissa's marriage was and how complicated it's remained years later.

Melissa turns to her, red lips only quirking slightly at the corners, "Thanks for caring."

"How are you feeling?" Barbara asks when she sees that Melissa looks a little apprehensive.

"I don't know, I just wonder if this was stupid? I mean, all of this... what was I really trying to prove?"

"I don't think you're trying to prove anything. You're a smart, sexy woman, in these clothes or out of them. But there's nothing wrong dressing for a little extra courage."

Melissa smiles again and it's more genuine, more at ease. She gets out of the car and Barbara is shocked when she pulls her into a hug. Barbara doesn't know what to do with her hands at first, finally settles them around Melissa's hips, and feels a shiver travel the length of her spine when Melissa whispers, "Thanks Barb, for everything," against her cheek.

"You look absolutely drop dead gorgeous," Barbara says afterwards when Melissa has settled back into the driver's seat of her car. "The man's going to wonder how on earth he let you get away."

Melissa smiles up at her and Barbara can see her eyes are little glassy, "See you tomorrow."

[sirthisisa-wendys]

Tamed (Part 3): Keizo Arashi x Fem!Reader

wc: 1.2k

tw: dark themes

previous part 💢 masterlist 💢 next part

song recommendation:

"I can't go on living like this."

"Please... It won't be so bad. I'm coming to help."

"Y/n... You know as well as I do that this is no way to live life. You know... You know... You know--"

Sheets are tangled around your frame when you awaken from your recurring nightmare. Tears stain the pillow beneath your head, and your throat feels raw and scratchy and used as if you'd screamed the entire night.

"Another year..." you whisper to yourself, pushing the heels of your hands against your eyes.

The morning routine is the same as most mornings; you wash your face, shower, brush your teeth, and get dressed all before Keizo awakens and finds himself in the kitchen.

But today, you're dragging yourself around the house, tidying and cleaning in silence while the coffee brews and fills the kitchen with the smell of roasted beans. A sleepy Keizo instantly notices your less than chipper mood when he arrives in the kitchen, his eyes going wide at the sight of you hunched over your coffee, half-asleep.

"Rough night?" he wonders, rolling over to the coffee pot and pouring himself a mug.

"Just tired," you reply, picking up the mug of stale coffee and milk to chug it down. "Hoping this coffee will do the trick."

Keizo pulls up at the table and frowns, setting his cup down on the table before reaching for the fresh newspaper and pen laid out for his crossword practicing.

"You're never tired," he muses, looking at the sports highlights before taking out the comics for later. "Bad dreams?"

"No." The lie comes out so easily that you might have mistaken it for the truth. "Just a hard time staying asleep."

"Hmm..." You feel that Keizo can see right through you, right to the core of what's bothering you, so after you swallow the coffee, you get up to clean the dishes. But your silence is deafening, and it obviously bothers Keizo so much that he finds you on the couch, concern dotting his face.

"Do you need anything? You've been so quiet today."

You don't expect to burst into tears, but when it happens, Keizo instantly begins to coo at you, his hands reaching for your face.

"Don't cry," he murmurs. "Please, don't cry. Whatever it is, I'll fix it. I'll make it right."

"No," you gasp past your tears and mucus-filled throat. "You can't fix this." You push his hands away then wipe at your tears, trying your best to keep yourself from hysterics. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize." Keizo's hands fall back into his lap, and he sighs. "Do you want to talk about it?"

You pause, hiccuping. You'd never discussed your brother with anyone other than your family. But maybe this time...

"It's my brother's birthday," you reply softly. "And..."

"And?"

"It's also the day he..." You inhale shakily trying to still yourself for the truth to come out. "It's also the day he went to Zurich without telling us." Keizo's eyes narrow and he shakes his head - he's confused - but you continue. "Switzerland allows assisted death." His eyes widen, and you try your best to keep the tears at bay anew. "I never saw him alive again."

"I'm so sorry," he exhales gently. "I am so sorry."

"It's fine," you sniff, standing from the couch. "Can't change it now, right?" You walk away before Keizo can respond, or see you collapse in a heap of tears and pain.

_____________________________________________________________

"Two tickets to Dubrovnik." Keizo slaps the printed itinerary onto the table. Wakasa stifles a groan, but you look at him in surprise.

"Keizo, you don't have to--"

"You're really doing this, aren't you?" Takeomi grumbles, arms crossed. The white-haired man doesn't reply but looks you in the eye and nods once.

"We're leaving tomorrow. I brought you all here to help us pack and give her the rundown on how traveling is supposed to go. I'll be in my room if you need me." Keizo departs, leaving you, Waka, and Takeomi at the table.

"How in the hell did you convince him to travel?" Takeomi wonders once Keizo is out of earshot. "He wouldn't even step foot out of the house when he first got injured."

"I don't know," you admit. "We haven't even discussed traveling before." Waka grunts, wiping his face.

"Well, he's dead set on doing this. So let me tell you what you need to know." You sit in the chair at the table, absorbing the information you'll need to take care of Keizo while you're abroad. Emergencies, situations, worst-case scenarios are drilled into your head by the time you get up to your room, and for a moment, you feel too tired to pack. But when you think about your destination, something in you leaps for joy.

Traveling! Something you thought you'd never do... and here you are, about to embark on a journey all your own! With Keizo, of course. You look over the itinerary in detail, taking note of the villa, the beachside accommodations, the first-class tickets...

"Keizo?" you call out, grabbing the papers and walking toward his room.

"Why are you doing this?" you hear Wakasa say, and you stop in your tracks. "A vacation? You don't even like vacations."

"I do now," Keizo mutters, unzipping something. "I'm going and so is y/n. It's warmer there than it is here, and I can't stand the cold any longer."

"Just say that you want some time alone with y/n, and we'll understand. I mean, she's beautiful, kind, and smart. Heck, I'd be in love with her too if she cooked and cleaned and changed my bedpan--"

"I don't have a bedpan," Keizo reiterates quickly. "Look, y/n is all of those things. But she deserves more than just being cooped up in a house with me all the time, and you know it's true. Maybe..." he pauses. "Maybe if I take her on this trip, she won't think life with-- here is so boring and want to leave."

Your shoulders sink. How could you forget?

How could you forget the guilt that ate your brother up inside? How could you forget the remorse he felt for derailing your dreams and making you his caretaker?

And that guilt was transferred to you the moment you discovered that he felt like a burden. You inhale deeply and walk back to your room, determined to make Keizo feel more like a human and less like a burden. You'd do it, even if it took everything you had.

_____________________________________________________________

"Jet lag is a bitch." Keizo rolls into the villa with very little fanfare, and you walk behind him, eyes wide.

"Wow..." You wander around in the kitchen, eyeing the full amenities, then walk to the balcony, sliding open the doors and peering at the view. "Look!" Keizo rolls up behind you, eyeing the view as well. "Look at the water; it's so blue."

"Do you like it?"

"I love it," you reply, feeling the warm breeze on your face. You don't see Keizo's face brighten at the sight of your smile, nor the way his fingers itch to reach out and hold your hand in the sunshine.

[geekyglot]

Um, basically I've got ADD? And bilingualism was not my actual goal when I started studying German.

I grew up wanting to learn multiple languages, and I completely blame Steven Spielberg for this influence (just watch Close Encounters of the Fifth Kind and Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade to see what I mean), but reading a biography about Lady Jane Grey didn't hurt. Unfortunately, the only language taught at my podunk high school was Spanish and I didn't really do very well studying languages from a textbook. Language learning got put on the back burner until I revisited it in college.

My second to last semester of uni, I developed bell's palsy. There was an infection in my right ear which compressed the nerve that communicates between my right brain and the right side of my face for all movement. As a result, the right side of my face was frozen for about six weeks but, even more frustratingly, I lost the ability to write and speak at my normal level of intelligibility and developed aphasia within a day or two of this beginning.

(If you're wondering what kind of aphasia, it was Anomic with some mild Broca's thrown in there for good measure.)

As an English major with an emphasis in Writing and Editing, I was accustomed to writing a lot and often! I would usually write 4 pages within an hour, but with the aphasia, it was suddenly more like 1 page in 4 hours. I also couldn't taste food as well as usual, speak clearly (my lips and tongue were also partially paralyzed), do kakuro puzzles anymore, would start falling asleep if I tried to write, and would find myself typing the wrong homophone for the sentence at hand (I had been on top of homophones since elementary school). I had a headache the entire time, and what I think the why of this really was is my brain going into overdrive, screaming down language connections, trying to find any way possible to reestablish a connection with my face, and, in the process, it damaged or overwrote some of my language connections (math and piano skills were affected by this as well as it turned out).

I never really spoke to an expert about my sudden issues, but I was taking a glorified speech class at the time called Linguistic Systems in Linguistic Diversity. I think it was in my reading for that class that I discovered that there are typically a limited number of connections between the left and right hemispheres of your brain, but if you are bi- or multi- lingual you develop more connections. Or maybe it's broader connections? (This all happened twelve years ago, so I don't have that article at hand.) But basically, the more languages you know, the more connections and the better your brain hemispheres can communicate and (most importantly) retrieve information.

I also found out that the way we file words away in our head is by sound, which is why I would reach for a word and, mid-conversation or mid-typing, would get this feeling of:

*I know this word, it means X and sounds similar to Y*

...but I would not be able to retrieve the word I was searching for. It felt like running into an impenetrable wall. My thesaurus function was working but I had lost my access to the word database. This is because one language feature (how a word sounds) happens on one side of the brain and the other language feature (what a word means) happens in the other.

I gradually grew more skilled at finding synonyms more quickly, and my speech improved eventually so that no one notices, and I don't always fall asleep when I start writing fiction anymore, but all of this still happens to me! It's just to a lesser extent. I still come to a halt mid-stride and am not able to recall specialized terms, names, or the word that I want to use.

It was my effort to recover from my aphasia is what led me to finally pursue learning multiple languages! I also did crosswords and sudoku at first, which I have to admit was very frustrating because I could do them, but just like with the writing, not at my former level of speed and accuracy. I do not think I will ever fully recover the level of skill I had before the Bell's Palsy when it comes to writing, grammar, vocabulary, and... I can't find the word I'm looking for! Let's just say analytical and persuasive ability.

I would like to be fluent in multiple languages someday, but the reason I am learning German, and Spanish, and Scottish Gaelic, and dabbling in other languages is not only about my love or travel or even my Bell's Palsy. It's something I enjoy studying: even when I hit roadblocks when it comes to learning certain new concepts! I think one of the issues is that my brain has never gotten to the point where I start thinking or dreaming in my target language; my brain sees languages as a puzzle or a code with a 1:1 exchange in meaning that simply does not always exist. So I am still trying to break through a barrier that prevents me from reaching the level of fluency that I desire.

something i've been curious about lately: for those of you with many target languages, what is your motivation / reasoning behind learning so many at once? i've always been one to have only just a few, so i'm really interested in hearing your perspectives