#maybe ill write something coherent about them some day | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

beanghostprincess · 5 months ago

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Any comprehendible thoughts about Bruno’s and Leone’s relationship ?

By "comprehendible" I'm guessing you mean "coherent" and not "they make my skin crawl and my organs twist in a way that not even throwing up would be enough to get them out of my system they make me completely ill to the point of insanity and I would sell my soul to see them together again and happy". So I will try for you and write some thoughts you can understand instead of this being me sobbing over them for a whole year--

Part 5 has some incredible JJBA ships (I know you said relationship and not necessarily in a romantic way but it's impossible for me to see them platonically, I am sorry), I've realized, and maybe it's because they are all wayyyy gayer than usual and extremely more poetic. Araki went hard with the symbolism here. I missed it (he does this a lot idk what I'm saying) (but I missed the feeling part 2 gave me because it's my favorite) (well actually my favorite is part 4 but Battle Tendency will always be important to me and I'd choose it over anything else) (I forgot what we're talking about) (I apologize I never talk about JJBA here and I use every chance I get to mention everything I can).

So Bruabba (I believe the ship is called) wasn't my favorite ship in the beginning. It's kind of like that one thing you already just assume so you don't go that insane over them? They're so in love it's sickening and almost canon to me to the point that I often forget they are... Not canon... Wild. Honestly wild. In my mind, they kissed. But yeah, they were just there and I thought "they're gay and married. Good for them". Abbacchio's beef with Giorno is so funny to me, too, because God forbid Buccellati gives attention to someone other than him for two seconds 💔💔💔 (no but seriously I actually love Abbacchio and how protective he is) (his dynamic with Giorno is something that I love too but that's for another day).

But oh......... Then they show Abbacchio's flashback and how he is only at ease whenever he's with Buccellati... They trust each other so deeply and would not hesitate to do anything to save the other?? Something about Abbacchio hitting rock bottom and Buccellati saving him from his desperation and showing him another path. Something about Abbacchio going "The only time I'm at ease is when I'm following the orders of something great and absolute" vs "The only time I'm ever at ease is when I'm with you, Buccellati". Something about Buccellati seeing Abbacchio as not only someone he can rely on but someone he can lower his guard down around. Something about Buccellati being so protective of him which, you know, he is protective with everyone but it hits differently with him (he did something to me when he went "The moment you stab Abbacchio, I will end your life" like damn, they're not taking him away from you, soften your grip sweetie) (they're indeed taking him away though) (I am very sad). Something about Buccellati having to deal with the weight of leaving Abbacchio after his death and being the one to make the decision while Narancia sobs.

In general their dynamic is just insane to me because they both respect each other in different ways but so deeply. Buccellati will forever be Abbacchio's capo and light and savior in a way that is almost religious devotion. And Abbacchio will forever be Buccellati's most trusted person and he was just so proud of him and of choosing him. Like, if fate is a thing (which it is because it's the main theme in this part) these two are definitely soulmates. Not to mention that there's just something so beautiful in Abbacchio following orders but choosing to go with Buccellati knowing it'd probably get him killed. And Buccellati seeing so much potential and humanity in Abbacchio and someone to call home, too.

They're not even my favorite ship but yesterday I read so many... So many fanfics of them... This ask is the perfect timing, honestly. They've been on my mind lately. I literally woke up today after a nightmare and INSTANTLY went here to look for fanart of them.

Basically, coherent comprehensible thoughts, I love them an abnormal amount.

BONUS! Yesterday I asked my fiancé (who has not watched JJBA) their thoughts about part 5's characters and this is what they said about them:

#i am very normal about them #you're so lucky you haven't asked me about my actual favorite jjba ships i believe i wouldn't stop writing #i could expand more but i've slept like 3 hours today and i am very very very tired #i ended up reading bruabba fics at 3 am #they help me with my mental health a lot surprisingly #jojo's bizarre adventure #bruabba #bruno buccellati #leone abbacchio

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masterwords · 2 years ago

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Ok, so I’m so hyped for May and all the domestic Hotchgan! And you said blow up your ask box, so….

I would love a fic about Derek and Aaron taking a cooking (or baking) class together! I just think it could be so funny and sweet. (And probably more messy than they think it is. Maybe a little competitive 😅)

Turns out...I am not good at writing cooking classes. LOL This idea was one of my absolute favorites and I found it to be incredibly challenging. I had three different drafts, none of which were good, so I set myself a 30 minute timer this morning and just went to town...landed here. It's better than the others, but not great. At least it's coherent! I didn't edit it, just skimmed...so if there are horrific embarrassing errors. I'm sorry please forgive me. We're in the thick of baseball and getting ready for tournament season and end of the school year stuff so my time isn't as plentiful as I'd like but we're getting there! Doing the thing! (Not on AO3 yet...I'm being lazy.)

Words: 1.7k

Warnings: food, it's all food based.

** hey shorty **

“You should take Penelope,” Derek muttered, one last attempt at salvaging his Saturday afternoon. “She would love this.”

“She bought the gift for us, Derek. To do together.”

He’d forgotten that part. Maybe not entirely, but he was clinging to some thread of hope that maybe she had wanted to go to the classes too. And if she did, he wouldn’t have to.

“It’s just gonna be a bunch of nerds…” Now he was whining. He wasn’t proud of it.

“It’s an hour, Derek.”

“An hour I’ll never get back.”

In the end, it turned out to be two hours...but two hours Derek was glad to have been present for. The instructor, an old woman with a thick Scottish accent and a frown that could rival Hotch’s any day of the week got right to business. No jokes, no wasted time.

She started by explaining the history of shortbread, and Derek breathed an audible sigh of relief. His ultimate fear was that they were going to be making something awful...it was described by Penelope as a “historical cooking class” and she gave him no more information. Hotch knew but refused to divulge – so he’d looked it up, and it turned out there were three possible classes it could have been given the time and day. One of them was making something called a medieval beef pie and something about the thought of that made him feel ill. Shortbread he could do.

Or so he thought.

“Pilcaithly Bannock,” she said and Derek couldn’t help glancing around the room to see if anyone else was as lost as he was. Turned out, he was not alone. “It’s a traditional shortbread made with the addition of almonds and a few flavors you may find intriguing. The recipe we’ll be using comes from a cookbook written in 1861.”

At her direction, everyone filed up toward the front of the classroom where she handed them a bin full of ingredients and cooking utensils with a photocopy of a recipe taped to the top. Hotch and Derek glanced at one another thoughtfully, both impressed by the instructor’s organization. Suddenly Derek, who had never considered himself much in the kitchen, felt like he might actually be able to do this.

Hotch baked. He loved to do it. His insomnia sometimes led to incredible pastries, flaky dough and sweet treats that helped him ease his troubled mind in the wee hours of the night. He would come back to bed around 3am with the house smelling like a bakery and a little flour in his hair and Derek would wake up starving and salivating. But him? No. He could grill, and he could do that with the best of them...and he could eat, boy could he eat...but baking required so much precision, measurement, time and patience. It wasn’t that he couldn’t do it, it was that he didn’t want to. Nothing about it was appealing except eating the end result.

They were not supposed to talk while they worked, but everyone seemed to want to chatter a little. The instructor poured herself a mug of coffee and stood in a corner observing for a long while. Surrounding them was the chaos and clatter of a kitchen, mixing bowls and whisks and spoons and running water.

“What does it mean when it says to beat the butter to a cream?” Derek whispered, leaning over close to Hotch. “Isn’t that already what it is?”

Hotch tipped his bowl in Derek’s direction and showed him the thick peaks of creamed butter with a smirk. “Just use your whisk and whip it.”

“Too bad we don’t have stand mixers in here.”

“Seems like a good time to put those muscles you work so hard on to good use…” Hotch muttered and Derek, under his breath, called him a shithead.

“Mine’s gonna be so much better than yours.”

“Keep dreaming,” Hotch replied so quietly, so sure of himself that it became Derek’s entire mission in life to do this one thing as perfectly as he could. So, stepping back, he read the entire recipe top to bottom and then again, closer, before he set to whipping the butter. He was a little behind the rest of the class, they all looked like they were adding in the flour and sugar and almonds, but he wasn’t concerned. He could take his damn time.

And he did. He chopped his almonds into fine little bits, he made sure there were no clumps in his dough that he would definitely classify as a “paste” in accordance with the recipe, and when he scored his final product before taking it up to the oven he was...well, he was proud.

Until he saw Hotch’s, which looked borderline professional. His heart sank. The students all piled their trays into the waiting preheated ovens and set to their next task...cleaning up while the shortbread did its thing.

“If mine is better,” Hotch said while he scrubbed his countertop, “you take me out to lunch at Shake Shack.”

Derek scowled. It wasnt’t that he didn’t like Shake Shack, but he wasn’t in the mood for greasy burgers and milkshakes. “And if I win, you take me down to Così.”

When the timers began going off, the instructor pulled them out of the oven one by one. She inspected each tray before handing them off to their owners to begin cooling. The look she gave Derek was impossible for him to read, but he could see the admiration on her face when she looked at Hotch’s perfect little slab of shortbread. He began mentally preparing himself to eat at Shake Shack, to watch Hotch with his mushroom burger and frozen custard quietly gloating over his perfect performance. He realized in that moment that while he loved Hotch, he probably would have hated him had they met in high school. That smug look on his face was getting Derek all sorts of riled up and he couldn’t decide if he wanted to kiss him or smack him. Maybe both.

“How are they?” he asked when Hotch broke off a corner to try. He just shrugged and looked...disappointed.

“I could have done better. They’re a little tough.”

Derek stared at him agape. “They look professional, man.”

“I over-mixed the flour. They’re not bad but they don’t crumble the way they’re supposed to.”

Derek, horrified by what his own creation must be like in order for Hotch to be disappointed in his own turnout, stared down at his slab. They were darker than Hotch’s by at least one full shade, and a little extra even on the edges. Slowly, he reached out and broke off a corner of his to try and it crumbled in his fingers.

Hotch was watching him closely with a sweet smile on his face. “That’s perfect, Derek.”

“What are you talking about? It fell apart.”

The instructor made her way to their counter and peered at both of their creations. First she looked at Hotch’s, broke off a corner, and Derek saw the same look of disappointment on her face that Hotch had.

“They taste incredible,” she started with a smile. “But you’ve overmixed a bit, haven’t ye?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Give it another try at home.” Hotch smiled and nodded at her encouragement, proceeding to clean up the rest of his station and package up his failed attempt at shortbread. He could turn it into ice cream topping or something else at home at least. It was salvageable. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the instructor inspecting Derek’s.

“Nice color,” she began before grabbing a bit and watching it crumble in her hands. Her smile, once somewhat timid, widened. “Ahhh. That’s perfect.” She snapped off one whole cookie and held it in her hands reverently before snatching a chair, dragging it over to where Derek stood and stepped up on top of the seat. She stood now beside a very confused Derek, her hands still cradling the cookie.

“An old Scottish tradition is to break a slab of shortbread over a bride’s head. If it crumbles, the marriage will be good and fruitful. Shall we give this young man’s shortbread a try?”

The class erupted in laughter and applause, so she held her hands now over Derek’s head and snapped the cookie. It barely took a second before it crumbled to bits and fell over Derek’s head and shoulders in cookie dust. He shut his eyes and laughed along with everyone.

“Ahhh. Well, if that’s any indicator of the strength of your marriage…” she said, doing her best to get safely down off of the chair with Derek’s help. “Job well done.” Derek glanced at Hotch and shrugged, thinking he would find the man looking jealous or disappointed in himself...but all he found was Hotch with tears in his damn eyes and a smile on his face. The big softy.

In the car afterward, Hotch sitting in the passenger seat with two takeaway containers of shortbread on his lap, Derek poked the bear. “Did you hear her say mine was perfect?”

“I did.”

“She used the word perfect. Not good or great...perfect.”

“I heard.”

“Just makin’ sure. I know your ears don’t work so good, shorty.”

"Derek..." Hotch mumbled, giving him the side-eye. Derek just smiled broad and pulled out of the parking lot.

"Whassup shorty?"

Hotch had no response, but he couldn't help the ghost of a smile that ticked up at the corner of his mouth. Being called shorty was probably the least of his concerns. Derek was about to be insufferable over this shortbread ordeal for the remainder of the weekend and he would just have to suck it up and deal with it.

Derek, with a wicked little grin on his face, drove them straight to Shake Shack, bypassing Così on the way. He won the competition in class fair and square, but the instructor was right. He did have a pretty damn good marriage, and part of what made it so good was knowing when his partner might need a little pick-me-up...even if he did make the superior treat. He won cooking class.

But Hotch needed that frozen vanilla custard for his wounded pride and Derek was going to make sure he got it. (But if he crumbled a little of his perfect shortbread on top...well, could he really be blamed? It was perfect.)

#aaron hotchner #derek morgan #hotchgan #criminal minds #fanfiction #hotch x morgan

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arionawrites · 9 months ago

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arionawrites updated writeblr intro

who the hell am i?

my name is ariona! i also go by ari (common nickname), rio (occasional nickname), and whatever the hell else people wanna call me (within reason). fun fact, my childhood nickname was bird because when i started talking i apparently sounded like a parrot (:

i’m in my mid-twenties (23 as of posting this; turning 24 in march!) and i have been writing since i was in the second grade, or about 7-8 years old. i’ve wanted to be a published author since the fourth grade (10 years old). i have yet to achieve that “published” thing, but i’m working towards it every day and am hoping to have something published somewhere by the time i’m 25 (or while i’m 25, i’m not too picky lol)

i’m a chronically ill lesbian who tries to include type one diabetic characters in everything i write and almost exclusively write queer characters.

i currently work in before and after school childcare, though i am in the process of finding a new job that provides me better stability as well as the time to be able to focus on my writing more. my hope is some kind of office job, or, even better, something in a library!

what kind of things do i write?

it honestly depends on the vibes, man. i’m happy to write (almost) every genre so long as i have a story idea that fits it that i want to write. however, i do have some common things that i tend to write more often than the rest, such as:

queer romance (usually the romance part is not the primary focus, though i do have a sapphic romance novel in the works)

modern fantasy

coming of age

found family

complex and complicated family dynamics

i also have a tendency to post weird little ramble-y thought pieces in random points in time (would it count as poetry? i honestly don’t know). if you’re interested to seeing any of it, my writing tag is #ariwrites !! i’ll add the tag to this post as well for convenience sake!

what projects do i currently have?

so, here’s the thing: i struggle with completing things and tend to have a bunch of new ideas and kind of leave old ideas in the dust. because of this, i’ve decided to take almost all of my current projects and scrap them? actually, scrap isn’t the right word - i’m starting from scratch with a majority of them! i think there are some ideas that i can actually combine into one story rather than them being separate, and a lot of it is just a kind of conglomerated mess that i am in the process of detangling in order to move forward in a more coherent and structured way. however, i do have two projects that i am not starting from complete scratch. i am remaking the outlines for these two stories, though, and then rewriting them from the beginning!

here are those two projects:

rotten

a zombie apocalypse scenario that i originally started writing as a nanowrimo project in 2022 that i did not complete. matter of fact, i only got a couple of chapters in before the spark fizzled out. however, i love the characters i have created and the bones of the story i had in mind, which is why i am choosing to restructure the outline and try again. it will likely change quite a bit as i remake the outline and iron out the details in new ways, but the basic breakdown of the story is this: it’s three years into an apocalypse that has left a mere remnant of humanity in its wake. we have a cast of four main characters (maybe six, depending on how you look at it). one is an older brother taking care of his siblings, both of whom have yet to reach double digits in age. one is a grumpy pessimist who thinks it’s pointless building bonds when everyone else she knew before is almost definitely dead and anyone else she meets will end up dead, too. one is a former optimist who has been weighed down by the realism the apocalypse has forced upon him, who hates being alone (being lonely) but has been betrayed by every single person he has come across since the fight to survive began, and he doesn’t really know what to do about that anymore. one was raised privileged and pampered by a paranoid and eccentric millionaire who was also absolutely certain that doomsday was inevitable (hey, turns out he was right!) and therefore raised his daughter teaching her every survival skill he could and preparing her for the worst, so she is, realistically, the best person to have on your side in an apocalypse—and yet she has been alone the entirety of the three years. all of them are queer and all of them will have to learn that they can rely on one another after stumbling into each other’s lives. also, despite only one of them being the older brother of those kids, the other three will eventually come to an agreement that they would burn the rest of what’s left of the world if it meant keeping them warm, so that’s cool, i guess.

hot chocolate

this is the sapphic romance novel i mentioned above! started writing it on a whim with literally zero plan for it last year, made it my camp nano project, and somehow managed to hit 30k words before the lack of preparation caught up with me. the title is a working title and might change upon the rewrite, but i absolutely adore this story so far and am very excited to get an outline busted out so that i can get back to writing it. the breakdown is this: mallory james moves in with her big brother when she’s eighteen. it’s the summer after her graduation and every single plan that she had for her future has been rendered pointless and now she’s trying to find her footing in a life that is completely different from the one she had been living only a few months ago. her brother, eddie, is going to do his best to be there for her and help her heal, but mallory doesn’t want to heal. she doesn’t even want to acknowledge that there’s anything she needs to heal from. unsure of what to do next, she enrolls in the local community college and meets a few people who somehow manage to become her kinda sorta friends — ellie, ash, and bee. featuring sapphic love, healing from loss and family trauma, finding stability and reason in an unexpected place, and a side character who is definitely polyamorous but entirely unaware that that’s a thing he’s able to be.

alright, i think that’s all i want to put here! i’ll definitely edit this with updates as information changes and as old projects become new again and things like that, but it’s a new year (the fact that i’m posting this in february is absolutely not important at all) and i’m trying to make ‘24 something worthwhile. if you’ve read this far, thank you so much and i hope everyone is having an incredible day/night !!

#writeblr #writblr #writers of tumblr #writers on tumblr #writeblr introduction #writeblr intro #aritalks #ariwrites #lowkey not the biggest fact of the way i formatted this but i’m too lazy to remake it rn so i’ll leave it as is for now and redo it later

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mizuta · 2 years ago

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god im tired (longer winded ramble under the cut about disability?)

the thing they dont tell you. about being the son of two disabled parents, two people who hate themselves more than they could hate you, a woman who swears up and down that her becoming disabled enough to need a wheelchair full time is the worst thing thats ever happened to her, thats Ruined her life.

the thing they dont tell you is their constant insistance that you can do better and are just lazy warps your fucking perspective to yourself until its unrecognizeable. they push themselves until theyre now falling apart at the seams with worse and worse damages that couldve maybe been avoided somewhat and refuse to allow you to be 'weak' and 'need help'.

they dont tell you that when youre navigating constant persistant wrist pain at 22, when your cognitive functions have always been bad but not bad enough, that youre never gonna feel like you deserve help or accommodations. that you cant do math or numbers and thats a larger symptom of something, of when words blur together and you read chunks of writing as nonsensical regularly, when you hear one thing but someone said something completely different and you have to just bashfully laugh it off.

when your language function breaks down and youre speaking in fragmented sentences. no proper grammar. the words are hard and dont make sense and youre just desperately screaming in your own wy trying to be heard. you get told that one might be a symptom of your psychosis but fuck nobody ever told you that wasnt normal to begin with other than making fun of you when your guards down.

when you can barely tell time between two days from each other and your disassociative disorder makes you all lose so many gaps in time, and youre not mad at each other for that, but you just kind of wonder because between that and how much time doesnt exist to you all and how much you forget from adhd to the point that entire days are forgotten after youve lived them, when youre so exhausted and your head feels like fog 80% of the time, when your mood tracker never puts you above a 5 on the mental health scale on your best days.

when you know damn fucking well youre not abled enough, but nobody tells you that youll constantly be told youre not disabled enough, either. not abled or disabled. some fucking other thing, something thats useless, something thats just fucking pointless.

its like, i know im mentally ill. severe clinical depression. adhd. probably cptsd that im still coming to terms with. likely ocd. possibly autistic as well its hard to tell. psychosis. but im also in pain pretty regularly, but its 'only' wrist pain, so does it matter? i cant think straight most days of the week and its a genuine struggle full of spoons to keep my speech coherent and just tonight alone i keep hallucinating my bathroom lights on and getting up and discovering when i come to turn them off theyre already off.

ive been sick for a week and a half and i could barely manage to get out of bed and shower twice. or get a sports drink so i didnt just... faint. i need constant access to electrolyte water/sports drinks or my near-constant dizziness and lightheadedness and sometimes physical pain gets way worse, rather than 'manageable and liveable'. i feel like im going fucking insane.

all signs point to me having asthma. my parents literally think im insane at the idea. i have so much breathing trouble and this last week i couldnt breathe for multiple 10 minute chunks because i went to work sick because i need the money.

christ almighty. not abled. not disabled enough. cant quantify my cognitive problems because itll never be 'enough'. god.

im so fucking tired, dude. i just want to sleep for a really, really long time

#zero jams #;mt

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postedposting · 2 months ago

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reluctantly tactical

psa: speak to your children about the dangers of exercise. one day you're innocently struggling to install a 60lb window unit AC and pondering how this could suck less. a year later you're up at 1am on a saturday reading Tactical Barbell: Definitive Strength Training for the Operational Athlete, rolling your eyes past the billionth reference to the tactical athlete in the hopes of gleaning some useful information about combining strength training and aerobic training effectively.

you may be wondering how i got here. here's the thing:

from my observations, the landscape of off the shelf strength programming is generally…je ne sais quoi…bad. strength programming providers have invented many different approaches to creating programming that is not good. in addition to your basic completely ineffective design in the programming itself, some common themes include:

absolute incoherence in writing

substituting:

complexity for utility

obscene volume for utility

random weird shit for utility

extreme explicit or implicit misogyny, racism, homophobia, etc

getting wildly out of their lane with poor advice around nutrition and similar

much of the programming that doesn't fall into these themes is pretty basic. most things work for people new to strength training, so if you can string some sentences together and avoid going off on any unhinged screeds, you can probably pull the bare bones of a linear progression program that avoids the potholes above.

in looking more recently for a program that would let me: a) maintain & build strength b) be in and out of the gym in <<an hour c) either leave room for or also incorporate building cardio/conditioning, i was repeatedly pointed to '''tactical barbell'''. i resisted, because, frankly it looks and sounds extremely fucking stupid and offputting, and i continued to make decent strength gains and bad cardio gains.

for the last month+, i've been out of the gym after some kind of respiratory illness*, and spent a good chunk of that time thinking about programming to try out when i got back, including, finally, taking a look at '''tactical barbell''', among others.

this brings us to present day, where i'm embarking with the '''operator''' (sigh) program, 3 days a week, paired with something c25k shaped and rock climbing a few times a week.

i'm using back squat, barbell bench, and lat pulldown as my 'cluster'. i'm a little iffy on LPD there - the equivalent in the book would be weighted pullups, of which i can do Zero…but it's six weeks, if i would've been better off with a pullup progression or deadlifts, well, live, learn, keep it moving.

i'll probably throw in 3x15 curls [for aesthetics] and lateral raises [for my paper mache-ass shoulders, which seem less prone to exploding in my sleep when i give them some attention] at the end if i have time, because what are you, my dad?

i picked some training maxes based on where I was at before I got sick, and the first session went Pretty OK. it took about 35 minutes total, things were mildly challenging, which tracked with my first day back, but generally fine. i climbed + jogged yesterday doing 2 minutes running / 2 minutes walking x 5, which was also fine.

i'll probably read the follow up conditioning book this week, and maybe tweak the cardio/conditioning part of this plan based on it.

*i was tested for several things, all of which came back negative. at this point it appears that best case it will remain a mystery forever

---

my overall goals for this cycle are:

Baseline: be at least as strong as when i got sick. Be able to jog for 15+ minutes straight. Lift and jog 3x/week, climb 1x/week.

Stretch: be meaningfully stronger than when I got sick on all three lifts in the cluster. Be able to jog for 30+ minutes straight. Lift and jog 3x/week, climb 2x/week.

---

notes/preliminary review of Tactical Barbell: Definitive Strength Training for the Operational Athlete (sigh):

the good:

generally coherently written [the bar is low]

not huge quantities of explicit racism/misogyny/homophobia/etc [the bar is so so so low]

it's brief. it took me ~2 hours to read, including taking notes & setting up a spreadsheet. from that, i think i have a good handle on the program i'm planning to use, and a decent overview of the other options

it is, in many ways, very funny to read a serious and detailed roleplay style description of how a cop might use google dot com in order to find a 1rm calculator

the bad:

this is a book aimed at, in many ways, making certain types of people - among them, cops, first responders, soldiers, combat sport enthusiasts - more effective, and implicitly in some cases, more effectively violent. the rest of this bullet point is left as an exercise for the reader.

some mid opinions about nutrition and supplements - mostly not egregious, but certainly extraneous. similarly, some flawed reasoning in the explanation of the approach to training.

how many low rez images of tactical athletes would you like to see? i hope it's a lot

the ?:

the programming looks…plausible? we'll see.

#meathead posting #book posting

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bones4uuu · 4 months ago

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Physical media for the win today, but they will succumb to being chopped up for my vision board in the next couple days.

For some reason I have a constant need to change something about myself or my life every couple months. It's not like I'm not satisfied with myself. I very much like who I am but it just feels like every couple months or so I have to drastically change something or I will go insane. It's all on impulse. Once I get an idea I must act on it or else it will nag in the back of my brain till it gets addressed.

I think it stems from my adhd. From what I read online and see from other who also have it. I don't feel like delving too much into it. I used to do that all the time, try and figure why I am the way I am and why this illness (I guess?) makes me act the way I do. But I've just come to accept that I will be like this the rest of my life.

Anyways, so I got an idea today, I've always collected magazines when my favorite celebrity is on the cover. I have a very extensive Harry Styles and Timothee Chalamet collection if I'm being honest. But I decided why the fuck am I not buying and collecting more magazines for shit I'm into. I love anything and everything fashion along with interior design. I have since I was a small child and could form a coherent thought and interest. So today I went to Barnes and Nobles and picked up a couple magazines and a new book that looked very interesting from what I read on the back. ANYWAYS, back to the magazines. I grabbed these 3 because I gravitated to them the most and were the least expensive from the ones I wanted. I want them to make collages with in my journal but now I'm not sure if I will got through with that, I can't decide at this current moment.

I also have this urge to collect physical media any chance I get if it is something I love and enjoy so that years from now. So that if I ever have kids, that they will have physical evidence of shit their cool Mother/Grandmother loved and enjoyed enough to collect and keep for many years so that they could inherit it and hopefully cherish it like it did. Or maybe if it is worth a shit ton of money they can sell it and buy something they love with it. I have a vinyl collection currently at I think 120 maybe 125, idk I'm not sure.

I don't know what I am saying anymore but this whole blog is my personal public diary of shit that is too much for me to write down because my handwriting is actually terrible, so terrible I can't even read it half time and my brain works faster than I can write. I also need a hobby that isn't spending money because I cannot keep up with that even though I love it. I also have been out of high school 3 years now and am now just going to school this fall and my major is English so I really need to use my brain and freshen up my writing and research skills lol. I honestly didn't know I would type up this much work vomit when I went to make this post but I think that is a good thing. If anyone sees this for some reason please ignore it, it is just a bunch of nonsense and only needs to make sense to me but if it makes sense to you then hell yeah.

ANYWAYS, peace and love xxx

#grunge #fashion #magazine #literature #diary #writing

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splendiddlydoo · 5 months ago

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saturday, 22 june 2024

how tf is it the end of june already. the year has gone by so fkn quick.

went out for hieus book launch celebrations last night and it was fun but i felt different. i feel like i've been living on autopilot for the past few months and it doesnt really feel like disassociation like how it usually does. like im present and im aware of my bad habits such as doom scrolling and i have a deep desire to do other activities that are more mentally stimulating and better for my mental health.

i have started back at the gym again and it feels great. i did a big sesh with hieu and it inspired me to train harder so thats what i've been doing. and the anticipation of going hasnt felt as dreadful as it used to; i kinda look forward to going now.

for my previous entries i've felt the need to be able to articulate my thoughts coherently and muster up something with meaning to write about but idgaf rn. i wanna learn how to let go because i feel like i have a lot of emotions stuck inside me rn that i need to release. like i just feel like somethings has been missing. LACKLUSTER is the perfect word to describe how i feel rn.

whats good tho is i;ve been eating well and gyming so atleast i'm not just rotting and spiralling.

typical me wants to get to the bottom of how im feeling and i have a few guesses as to what might be causing it;

lack of work - i've only been working 3 days a week and theyre not full shifts so i have A LOT of free time

tyson going to vietnam on monday; i'm sad that hes leaving. i think i'm nervous about being alone and what ill be doing with all my free time. its 2 weeks.

i have a dopamine deficiency, if thats a thing; because i haven't been doing any mentally enriching activities (aside from gym which im grateful for)

i haven't had many meaningful interactions with friends

ooh one more thing, i did md a couple of weekends ago so maybe im depressed because of that. it doesn't feel like a typical depressive episode tho. idk how to describe it.

these are all just guesses and maybe i've completely missed the mark

i have a cold sore, and i only get coldsores when im super stressed. i wish i could just cry instead of manifesting physical symptoms

usually during social interactions, i feel the need to be super enthusiastic and feel the urge to fill in the blanks, but yesterday was different because i didn't care to fill in the blanks. i found myself just standing or sitting without the need to say or do anything. and it did feel kind of nice and comforting. i guess i was scared of being perceived as boring. which is a good thing.

BIG NEWS***

bella and bojan just BOUGHT A HOUSE *gulp*

im super jealous but so happy for them. itme to level up.

current train of thought is: damn how r some people so lucky

but i need to cbt myself and think i am lucky in a lot of ways too and trust the process

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hospitalterrorizer · 6 months ago

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diary243

5/17-18/24

friday - saturday

one more day then one day off.

worked on 3 songs today! very happy with that and the pace i'm on rn for completion. everything is sounding a lot better and the snares + bass and guitar-y sounds + synths are all really cooperating now. i think finally the "sound" of the record is like, becoming coherent, getting put down, the atmosphere and location has finally appeared in a way it hadn't before. so that is super awesome and cool. very happy about that.

that is 13 out of 32. gosh!!!

too tired to write a lot, unfortunately, or maybe fortunately. keep my thoughts to myself a bit, see what comes out later.

but i do need to write. i need to get to work on finding shorter poem-ish things i've written, or fragments i like, and work them out into something to submit to my friend, beside that longer stranger thing i did, which i really do like but it could be too long or something.

one thing, is that reading the impossible at work, this book is so strange, very odd feeling for bataille, it is maybe the most indebted to de sade his writing has ever felt to me, though also written in such odd fragments, as if at the limit (lol) of illness and consciousness, which feels like the point, very important point to reach and evoke, the characters are all in funny relation and at blurry distances, love animates and desire too, but it's all in this void, this constant rattling in the chest, reaching and failing and expecting, and by expecting something surfaces or one de-surfaces, one plunges, the plunge here is accurate but only in small measure i think, or odd measure would be the better word, it is never full, complete, it is always in progress and progress is... to what, it's mounting and falling apart, consummation is instead redirected, wolves chase their tales in medieval forests in the 20th century, history haunts and is dissolved by the bile of the mad.

which is to say i am liking it a lot, curiously written thing though, the oscillation between the philosophical - thought-forming moments and the plot, or rather, each abandons itself to the other, the story does move and there is a story, the story though is almost non-narrative, beyond delivery even, the protagonist for the first section of this book (i cannot tell if this character remains the center or not honestly, entering certain later chapters (perhaps i am stupidddd)), is so bedridden and away from action, that you get his fantasies of what takes place which is truthfully not what occurs, and upon uncovering what occurs, he is still bedridden. this is so curious, he is so ill, the novel's existence is some kind of sputum almost.

anyhow, i am glad to get thoughts out on this book, helps solidify it in memory. i am about half of the way through the book, it will end and then what... maybe i stick with bataille, bring his essays to work next. or do i got back to gary indiana?? who knowsss. i know i will quit soon. worried about the potential for my reading to dissipate. would be sad for me. but i can't keep myself there, it wears on me horribly, honest. i do not like psychology as an apparatus, and i think the way health is spoken of generally can be freaky, if one thinks about all the assumptions it develops (though, it is hard to discard it. i feel guilty for that) and with the admission of guilt, i will say, a rather obvious thing i guess, but i really have not been doing well with this job, i am doing well at it but my internal life is getting to be a fucking mess and i hate it. i don't know how it does this to me but it's really hellish spending a lot of my days in an actual state of being triggered by the insects at home and then at work barely existing at all. i snuff myself and when i return to, i am just frazzled and maybe even losing it a little more than i know.

the other day, i swear, i saw a couple ants in the bedroom, i killed them, on the wall in their place, there were over 10!! i killed them all. 2 returned. i killed them. i have seen no ants since, it resembled a dream, where you look away, and see your object of horror returned multifold. it was too narrative, it really does not feel real though maybe insects just have that about them. they are occasionally, or frequently maybe, holes in the 'real' we imagine. especially regarding cleanliness.

i wonder about if i have ocd somewhat often these days. though, do i even believe that these diagnoses should be treated as real and that any pathologizing of myself can do me any good? obviously not, but... it remains inside me. horrible.

anyway, anyway, anyway what. i dunno, i really just nneed to sleep so,

byebye!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

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daedalusdavinci · 2 years ago

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im just gonna spitball fic ideas here bc i dont have any rn and i wanna see if this helps me brainstorm

i kinda feel like writing bruharv, but i also feel like i write literally so much bruharv all the time and im kind of sick of being That Guy? it feels like im incapable of doing anything else or something. but i also dont really have any concrete ideas besides vague feelings that are about as coherent as mashing two barbie dolls together and saying “now kiss”

on that note though, i could revisit bruharv as it stands in the jdau, but i dont think theres a lot to say right now. i think i covered it all in lost days. there probably wont be more to say about it until after jason tells them hes back, and then itll be getting into more of the [spoilers] betrayal stuff and harvey and 2f taking the confession completely differently from bruce and how that feeds into the divorce arc and how insufferable they are. btu i still havent really figured out how i want to write jason telling harvey and 2f in particular, and i kinda think i dont want to write it, and just want to skip forward until after? the dick and jason fic was almost impossible to write particularly bc of shit im going thru irl rn and ik that fic would be harder. maybe ill just do that and pick up with a fic of what their relationship is starting to shape into post rh. should proooobably finish reading damians comics first tho and maybe some of cass’s (i might not bother reading any n52 ones, given that almost everything so far has been 100% preboot characterizations)

on a DIFFERENT note but still bruharv related, i could indulge that little voice in the back of my head that wants me to dig my fingers into full on btas characterization with judge and hardac!bruce and the full mess. i dont know what id do with it though i just have a lot of feelings about both of them

setting aside all of that,

im still thinking about that detective eddie/brce au. i just picked up a bunch of detective books from the library yesterday so ill probably read those over the weekend and then maybe ill finally hammer out some kind of plot. but thats not gonna be until this weekend and in the meantime ??? i have a lot of thoughts about like the kinds of people they are and the kinds of characters and the bakcground characters in this au but no plot and augh. maybe i should bend someones ear and just rant characters for a while and see what happens

i also mentioned ages ago that i was thinking abt a pjo au where nico brings jason bck from the dead and leo is heavily involved and shit and i still think that that would be sick asf but id have to reread all of pjo to do it probably and rn my reading list consists of detective novels, then asoue, THEN maybe pjo, so god honestly knows when/if ill get around to it. its also like. when i came up w this idea i was in a place where the vibes w my writing was very much melancholy and bittersweet and heavy on the death and rn im uhhh not in that place as much anymore im struggling to figure out what direction i want to go in instead

maybe ill go back to my roots andjust start writing fluffy pjo fics again. REALLY return to the roots. just garbage nonsense fics. idk.

i wish i had the braincells to write something hs but i dont and i havent in ages and theres a million reasons for that but ill probably try and reread a few of my older fics soon and well see what comes out of that

anyway thats about where my head is at rn lolll i dont expect anyone to have read this but if you have thoughts i wouldnt mind hearing them it helps to feel like im not talking to air sometimes

#tbd

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should-be-sleeping · 1 year ago

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Hopefully this is coherent. Today was really hard in a lot of ways. I am okay though and spoilers, so is our neighbor -- at least for now as I write this.

I was with our neighbor for nearly six hours. She originally reached out wanting to go to the pool, but I offered to bring her a beer since it was indeed raining, and I promised to share a beer with her after the season's first daylight rainfall. Also it was only sixty-three degrees out and that's way too cold to swim, especiallywith the wind.

Of course it had been cloudy and raining all day until the moment I stepped outside. As soon as I opened the door the sun parted the clouds and changed the weather completely. Oh well! I headed to her house, beers in hand, and found her sitting outside where she often is.

I greeted her but she didn't seem quite as lucid as she had been only ten minutes prior when we were talking via text. I helped her inside and we put our beers in her fridge and sat to chat a little until she was feeling more herself again.

Talking always helps her find herself again, which makes it hard when she's all alone.

She was dressed in a purple velvet dress with matching ring and bracelet. Clipped to the front of her dress was a second bracelet. We'd been looking for this dress all week. It is her favorite dress and she feels beautiful in it, so I'm relieved to see it isn't one of the things hospice had lost or gotten rid of while she was in hospital.

I open our beers for us and we sip them casually. It's less about the beer, more about the time spent in good company. She tells me about all the things she can't eat anymore since they removed all of her teeth. One of the things she misses the most is broccoli with cheese. I suggest maybe if we over cooked the broccoli, so that it was mushier, she could have it then. She'd like to give that idea a try and I make note of it.

She tells me she'd forgotten to get bread while at the store because some people started loudly arguing and she needed to get out of there asap. I told her I'd go get her some bread next time I head to the store. And anything else she might need if she thinks of it later. She says I'm her angel. I tell her I just do my best.

She wants to see the 49ers play on Sunday but she knows she won't be a be to handle that. I ask if she can at least see the highlights or scores anywhere, she says she watches the highlights on youtube. She then takes my hands and holds them close, thanking me for painting my nails 49ers colors. She says it makes her so, so happy I actually did that for her.

Then she decides we need 49ers tattoos! I ask if she knows a good tattoo artist and she roars in laughter, she says she probably knows a few but she has some temporary ones we can just stick on real fast. I tell her if she knows anyone who'll actually make a house call I will 100% get a real tattoo with her and this delights her. She finds them but can't make the magic happen, so I ask her where she'd like it and she decides just below her collarbone so I gently press the tattoo onto her skin there. She says I have such warm hands.

I don't.

I then press the other tattoo onto myself in the same place, so that we have matching tattoos. "Now we're ready for football!" she declares. I confirm. She tells me she won't be alive long enough to see the 49ers at the Super Bowl (so certain is she they'll play it). I promise to watch it for her if the 49ers go to the Super Bowl but she isn't here to see it herself. That she's welcome to haunt me so that she can watch it with me. "You get me!" she says. I do.

She tells me all about working in nuclear power plants in the 70's and how she could never have children because of it. How all of her coworkers from then have all since died. She attributes her spirituality to keeping her alive longer because it helped balance out her scientific mind and gave her something to focus on when illness stripped her of most other things.

She says she always wanted kids, but now she's alone, no family at all. No old coworkers. No childhood friends. She says she wishes I was her daughter. I tell her I'd be honored to be her daughter, that she's an amazing person who has done amazing things. She cries and I hug her. I tell her she is never alone. Not anymore. Not even when I physically have to go home is she alone. She sobs into my shoulder.

Getting to know her has genuinely been one of the best experiences of my life. She's a wonderful person who has done marvelous things. She did things in her youth that women simply... didn't. Not yet anyway. And she faced a lot of discrimination for it and overcame it all.

A while later there's a knock at the door. This triggers her ptsd as she isn't expecting anyone and I'm already there (plus, I always text first so she knows I'm outside before I knock). I get up and go over to the door for her and ask who's there.

It's another neighbor, one she also met at the pool. This woman and her husband have brought her a couple of pieces of sushi from a place they'd went to eat at down the street. Just to make sure she had a little something to eat. I love that our community has embraced this weird old woman so much. Even if most aren't willing to sit with her or can't relate to her stories, they're still taking care of her in other ways. She's so grateful.

As we settle back in, she asks about my time growing up and I tell her all about me as a little kid and my sisters and brothers. I tell her the story of having to beat up an older girl who threatened my little sister once and she commends me for defending my family. I tell her I did what I had to but still felt a little bad because the girl dropped out of school after losing that fight (she was a 9th grader and I was a 5th grader, like). She retorts, "@#$% that girl."

She has suns and moons decorating every room of her house. I ask if she's a sun or a moon herself and she says, "I'm a Leo!"

I reply, "So, a sun!" and she's so excited I know that. I explain that I'm an Aries and she gets goosebumps. I tell her we would've gotten into so much trouble if we were both young at the same time and she laughs so hard she has to steady herself using my shoulder.

She shows me her dress more proudly. I compliment her on her style and she explains that the bracelet clipped to the front is her favorite bracelet. One she'd made for herself a long time ago, but now she can't work the lobster clasp to put it on. I offer to put it on her. She says, "I would rather put it on you, my sweet angel."

I ask if she is sure, and she nods wordlessly but enthusiastically. I hold out my arm and she struggles to wrap it around my wrist. I offer to help hold one side so she only has to worry about the other and she insists on doing it herself. I smile and let her. I'm patient as she tries to coordinate her hands because she is doing a kindness for me, and this is a gift I know I'll cherish forever.

It's a silver lobster clasp that is her nemesis, but the beads are purple glass in all different shapes and sizes and shades and seed beads with little silver spacers here and there to break up the color. She did a great job when she made this bracelet and I compliment her craftsmanship and give her another long hug. She cries and says it's so beautiful on me, she thinks she might have made it for me without knowing yet.

What a sentiment.

She wants to show me her book of shadows and blueprints from her time as an engineer. So we sit on the floor with these things rolled open and scattered all around us. These are designs for a nuclear power plant she helped make safer and amongst all of her impeccable line work are little flowers she'd drawn in. It's more art than anything I've recently seen and her penmanship is also gorgeous.

She tells me all about her past as we look through both nuclear blueprints and pages of her book of shadows and she's so happy that I sincerely care enough to hear about them. Most people either don't care or don't comprehend, and I both care and comprehend.

She apologizes for taking up so much of my time, and I know her lucidity is beginning to slip again. Something very bad happened to her while she worked there, I have assumed for some time now, as her lucidity tanks any time we talk about these things. I've never pushed it but she wants to tell someone. Someone who gives a damn. So I listen.

We hug for another long while and I assure her she's okay. I mean, not okay-okay, since she is dying and all but in this exact moment she is okay and safe and cared for. She says she thinks I'm an angel sent to her when she needed it most. I smile and tell her I'm just Inari from around the corner. This gets a little laugh out of her.

She's back again and needs help off the floor. I knew going in that sitting on the floor was probably a terrible idea, but she had really wanted to. She doesn't want help, she wants to do this herself but it is clear she could use help. Still, I don't insist. I just remind her I'm just a step away if she decides it's too much of a PITA, thus reframing it as an inconvenience to get herself off the floor rather than an inability.

She fears not being able to do it herself because that's how she wound up hospitalized for a month last time. She'd fallen and been unable to get back up. I remind her she had not fallen this time. We sat down willingly, so even if she needed help getting back up, that'd be just fine.

She wants to use the chair for assistance, but it's a rocking chair, so I hold it still for her. She knows I am strong enough to lift her into the chair if necessary, but won't without her expressed consent. I encourage her from the sidelines and when she doubts her ability I remind her I'm there to help. Eventually though she does manage to pull herself up off the floor and into the chair. Once there, getting up and moving around comes easily. It's just that first thirty inches that are a bitch.

It's getting dark out, so I ask her if she's hungry and she says she is, but that she can't cook for herself anymore. I offer to cook for her but she doesn't want any of the things she'd gotten from the store the day before. She'd gotten frozen waffles thinking they'd make for a good fast snack she could make for herself, but they hurt her mouth.

She is in a lot of pain now and I hold her hand through it. She says she's so tired of the pain, and in general. I tell her I know, and it's okay to be tired, she's doing a lot of work. My partner texts asking if we'd like for him to bring us food. Perfect timing. I've been gone so long though he probably assumes she's having a bad day. Some of her days are miles from the next.

I ask her but it takes a while to loop back around to what she'd like to eat. I don't want to rush or push her. She's struggling through so much pain. The evenings are the worst. I offer to get her a pain pill. She hates those. I cannot even put into appropriate words how much she does not want pain medication, but tonight she accepts it.

She tells me of a Mexican restaurant just down the street that she loves. By then the kid is having a hard time though so my partner can't go. I explain the situation and apologize, and offer to cook her something but she still doesn't want any of the food she had bought. Not that there's much. Chicken nuggets, hotdogs, hotdog buns and a few sparkling waters.

She heads to the restroom and I learn she is out of toilet paper again. So I tell her I'll be right back with some from our house. I'm hoping we also have a can of soup or something easy I can assist her with while I'm there, but we don't. So I get the toilet paper and resign myself to having to try to encourage her into a food she doesn't really want because she needs to eat. I hate this prospect because what if it's the last food she ever eats?

Thankfully by the time I'm back with her toilet paper my partner has solved the kid situation and can once again go get us all something to eat. I take her order, chili relleno and a chicken enchilada. Solid choices. Now I just need to swap out with my partner so that he can go to the restaurant without leaving the kid unattended but her pain is so bad this takes a good long while.

I help her thought it until the pain pill begins to help and then I hug her and assure her delicious chili relleno is on its way! Also that I'll text her before my partner knocks so she'll know who's out there and why. Then, with some reluctance, I head home. Both physically and emotionally exhausted, but without complaint.

My partner completes his special delivery like a champ and then we share a chimichanga. I'll remember that thing always, it was so, so strange. Our neighbor texts me many thanks and invites me to come watch the moon with her but I have to decline. I need to go to sleep like the moment I'm done eating. We joke about lobsters for a bit and then both get some much needed sleep.

I dream we're at the pool under the aurora borealis, floating. It doesn't last long enough.

Tough day today... and friendly reminder that being human is easier when we help each other.

I saw one of our neighbors, an older woman we sometimes talk to in passing, sitting outside of her house. I don't know what exactly made me look twice, but on second glance as we drove by I realized her walker was in the grass. She was otherwise just sitting there, like she had a thousand times before, so it would have been easy to assume she was fine and go on with my life as normal but something told me to go check in on her anyway.

She was not fine. She was the polar opposite of fine. Just diagnosed with terminal cancer not fine. No next of kin not fine. A veteran facing eviction from her house for missing rent while in the hospital not fine. In constant debilitating pain not fine. Only semi-lucid not fine. She was extremely alone not fine.

I thought, at most, she might be bored while unable to pick up her walker not fine. A five minute detour from my day not fine. A help her back into her house and say "see you later!" not fine. Instead I spent the last three hours with her because she was so scared and alone and no one should be alone.

We talked a lot while I was there. She's actually two years younger than my mom (who also has cancer but slightly better luck, I guess). I helped her into her house and got her a drink and we talked about what all is going on with her. None of it was good. I was as reassuring as I could be, but there's only so much of this I can actually help her with.

"Why did you come?" she asked through tears.

"Because you looked like you might need some help."

She called me an angel. I told her I was just doing my best. I told her that kindness should never be rare. That we should all try to make the world just a little bit better than it was.

She offered to pay me but I told her I was just there as a friend. Before today we were basically strangers. No need to repay me with anything other than her company, I assured her. She cried, a lot. I managed not to somehow. Something tells me she had needed to cry long before this but in being Strong she never had the chance to.

She needed to get her mail, which is a long walk when you're disabled because it is not at all handicap accessible (across a parking lot, over a bridge, across a small field). So I helped her get her mail. We stopped every three feet because her pain was so bad, but she was determined to be able to go do this with me and not just send me on an errand. I patiently stayed with her and reminded her, through her apologies, it was fine to take our time: there was a nice breeze and birds were singing. She appreciated this. She loves nature.

Halfway back she said she wanted to go to the pool. To put her feet in the water. She loves water, and has not been able to even see the pool in a month. Neither of us were dressed for swimming, but I took her to the pool anyway. There is a stair leading down to it, meaning she couldn't bring her walker, so I offered her my arm.

We went to the pool. She put her feet in the water and then, with more energy and enthusiasm than I'd seen the whole time, she jumped in. In her fancy dress! She was instantly ten years younger at least, clear and happy, floating in the sun. Dress and all. She grew up with a pool and had been on a swim team.

I sat by the edge of the pool while she swam, keeping her company and also making sure she was okay. When she got tired I took her back home and then had to help her get undressed and redressed. I made sure she felt no shame. Getting out of wet clothes is hard for anyone, let alone someone with like twenty pounds of tumors racking them with constant pain.

She was so fucking happy to have gone swimming.

She is trying to "make everything right" before she goes. Trying to repay her debt to society and her debts in general. She couldn't understand why the corporation that owns our houses wouldn't take her money. She was genuinely distressed -- not to be homeless on her deathbed but to not leave this world with a clean slate. I told her intent matters. She can only do her best.

This company not letting her repay her debt was their fault, not hers.

When I finally needed to go, I told her to let me know any time she needed a hand or just wanted company. She told me she was going to die tonight. I told her I hoped not, so I could see her tomorrow. I offered her a hug, we hugged and she sobbed for a solid ten minutes into my shoulder. I told her she was okay. That it was okay.

When I got home I cried myself, because I could not believe she was going through all of that alone. I cannot even imagine how isolated she must have felt. Once I pulled myself back together I sent her a text reminding her to reach out any time and I'd do my best to come over. Like, any time at all.

I hope she is here tomorrow.

#choose kindness #existing helps #if we exist together #life #read more #long post

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maschotch · 2 years ago

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Coffee Order

day 3: warm beverages

this is probably the closest I can get to writing a crack fic. the premise might be ridiculous, but I believe they’re wholehearted in their sincerity. it is, at least, by far the silliest headcanon I have

A caffeine shortage would prove deadly at the BAU. The religious devotion to coffee—even cheap, cop coffee—was practically a job requirement. Having “coffee fiend” on your resume was the equivalent of Reid’s several doctorates, maybe even more important. Chugging a red bull laced with five-hour energy is not an experience exclusive to college finals, but at least the fine agents at the BAU had the sense to be discreet about it.

As such, morning coffee was more than an essential. The problem, however, was that not everyone was able to handle temperamental coffee machines available in the various precincts/hotel rooms the team found themselves in. Spencer and Hotch seemed to be the only ones capable of coaxing anything remotely drinkable out of whatever sub-par materials they had to work with. The rest lamented over the slow trickle of laughably watery liquid that filled their mugs. Most had to push away tears as they threw the drink away (other than Emil, who would rip open packets of Splenda and down the drink, pretending not to shudder as she stubbornly refused to admit defeat). It was truly a mockery of a morning ritual.

Many just gave up. JJ could usually bat her eyelashes to get some low-ranked officer to go fetch her a drink. Morgan made a point of waking up early to make a stop at the nearest place offering coffee—whether it’s a coffee shop, gas station, or fast food joint—before rejoining the rest of the team. Rossi followed suit, but was much more comfortable strolling into work half an hour late with a to-go cup from some ridiculously overpriced café, unphased by Hotch’s pointed glares at his tardiness. The lengths they would go to would be laughable, if pitying their desperation wasn’t a guaranteed way of getting shot.

If she called early enough in the morning, Penelope could expect uncharacteristically biting responses to her bubbly greetings. She knew better than to take it personally: they didn’t bother hiding their envy, knowing that she always brought a thermos of ambrosia to savor.

(After hearing JJ complain about breakroom coffee for the umpteenth time, Penelope brought an additional thermos the next morning. Like sharks sensing blood in the water, the rest of the team quickly descended and begged for their own with strained politeness. She woke up early the following day to prepare a gallon to satiate her enthralled coworkers but made sure to tell them it was a one-time thing. She loves them, but there are limits to the effort she’ll go to prove it at seven in the morning.)

Hotch categorically refused to shell out federal funds for a group Starbucks run, which would normally make him a target for violence if he wasn’t the only one capable of making something palatable with the shittiest ingredients available. Spencer was good for a spare mug on occasion (which was usually reserved for Derek), but the young genius typically needed a pot to himself to maintain coherence. The others had no choice but to rely on Hotch’s benevolence.

Because he was really good at making coffee. Rossi credited that to years of training, meaning accompanying senior agents in the early BAU days and forced to make their coffee or risk getting ditched to find his own way back to Virginia—or worse, have to sit in a car for six hours with an ill-tempered Max Ryan. (At least, that was Rossi’s excuse for why he barely knew how to use a coffee-maker in the first place.) Truthfully none of that really mattered to the rest, as long as they stayed on Hotch’s good side long enough (or at least early enough in the morning) to be graced with a drinkable cup of coffee.

If Hotch knew how the others felt, he didn’t let on. His routine just happened to work out so the others benefited from his rituals. He was usually the first one at the office, and even if he was nowhere to be found in the bullpen (why bureaucrats were so adamant about scheduling meetings first thing in the morning was beyond him), there was usually a pot waiting as the others trickled in.

It wasn’t just “the fantastical seven” (or whatever nickname Penelope had bestowed on the group that week) who recognized the unit chief’s skills. It was an unspoken understanding between the agents working in the bullpen that the drinking habits of the floor should be tailored around Hotchner’s schedule: the pot should be empty when he usually took his breaks. If there was an anomaly and he started heading towards the kitchenette area at a different time, someone dutifully distracted him with some inane question about paperwork until the others could drain the remaining coffee before his arrival.

(Whether he knew the reason or not, the most unproductive days at the BAU were undoubtedly his days off. He seemed to know it subconsciously—maybe that was the reason he was so loathe to take a vacation, no matter how well-deserved. They either took too long outsourcing caffeinated beverages or they spent the day agitated and grumpy.)

When they were out on a case, he usually got to the precinct early enough each day to brew the first pot. But the true luxury only happened in smaller towns (or crowded hotels) where they had to double up and share rooms. Of course there were drawbacks to bunking with Hotch: he really was a painfully early riser, and while he remained as respectfully quiet as possible in the mornings, there was an inevitable twinge of embarrassment when the temporary roommate woke to a completely empty room and a bed so neat that it might not have even been slept in.

The team would still silently bicker amongst themselves, however, to decide who would be the lucky one to wake up to the freshly brewed pot waiting for them.

#could you summon up the gist of all my cm hcs by saying 'hotch is good at everything'?#yes. and what about it #cm writings #cm fics #aaron hotchner #curse these fall days

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animeomegas · 4 years ago

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Who is the most needy while in heat?

I decided to write for a few characters for different categories: Clingiest, Horniest, Territorial and Requires Support. Enjoy~

Who is the clingiest:

1. Itachi – Itachi has only ever had soft heats in his life(heats that are not sexually, but instead emotionally charged). He didn’t have his first heat until he was already part of the Akatsuki and didn’t feel safe enough for a proper heat. His health also isn’t the best, so his body knows to have soft heats rather than normal heats. Because he only has these types of heats, they are very strong. He feels a constant urge to be by your side, ideally with you touching him at all times. He can’t take suppressants because they mess with his illness, so he can’t minimise the effects. He spends the two days holed up in his room, the door locked and sealed shut. He won’t let you leave his nest much, growling and whining if you try. His instincts are screaming at him that he has to protect you and that you have to protect him. He can get a little addled and confused because the impulses are too strong. He’s extremely clingy in heat and he hates it. He always feels embarrassed afterwards.

2. Izuku – Izuku is prone to crying and feeling very rejected if you neglect him during his preheat or heat. He feels the sting of rejection very strongly and feeling abandoned during a heat is… not good for omegas to put it lightly. It can make them sick if it’s serious enough. So, Izuku will definitely try and keep you in his nest as much as possible, asking wordlessly to be carried with you if you need to leave for a moment. Going to work or leaving the house during his heats (even when he’s on suppressants) is a no-no for him. He will do anything to get you to stay with him, including but not limited to hiding your keys, seducing you, and begging.

3. Mammon – From the second he’s in preheat, he literally will not leave you alone. He’s very attention starved, but his slight tsundere tendencies keep him from acting on his need for affection. His heat and preheat remove the tsundere tendencies and make him even more desperate for attention. He’s hanging off of his Alpha constantly, following them around and sleeping in their room. He enjoys laying on top of them while they stroke his hair or rub his back. Will growl away anyone who tries to take you from him. If the growling doesn’t work, he’ll whine at you to stay with him because he knows you can’t refuse him when he’s like that.

4. Kaoru – He doesn’t like how clingy he is, but it’s very uncomfortable for an omega to ignore their heat urges, so he doesn’t bother trying to resist it. He’s very prone to loneliness when he’s in heat or preheat, so he likes it if you’re with him as much as possible. He will spend most the time sitting on your lap, innocently and not so innocently.

5. L – He isn’t particularly fussed about constant physical affection, but he wants you to be in the same room as him at all times. He constantly turns away from his work to make sure you’re still sitting in the room with him, and in the evenings, he likes if he can sit on your lap while he works. His heats are reduced from suppressants, and his libido is very low generally, but he still likes to make sure his alpha is safe and with him during his heat and be surrounded by his alpha’s scent.

Who is the most territorial during heat:

1. Sasuke – Will straight up growl at anyone who gets too close to you both, and it won’t end well if someone shows up at his house when he’s in heat. Sasuke immediately views whoever it is as a threat and would likely try and attack them, especially if they were a stranger or someone he didn’t like. He is a lot less stressed during this time if you both just hole up at home for his preheat and heat. One of the reasons he makes his nest in a walk in wardrobe is because it’s an easily defendable place.

2. Shikamaru – He has to have an arm around you or vice versa at all times. He makes sure you always smell like him during his preheats, just as a warning to other omegas. In heat, he gets very intense and caught up in the feelings, so interruptions from outsiders will be jarring and he’s likely to react aggressively.

3. Shinsou – Is very paranoid when in heat and preheat. He gets nervous about people coming to try and hurt him and his mate while he’s weak, so he doesn’t like anyone he doesn’t know around you or him. Shinsou is fiercely protective of his family and his alpha. When he’s actually in heat, he would probably try to attack anyone who got too close.

4. Belphie – Likes to just lay down and sleep with you when he’s in preheat, and whenever any of his brothers (or anyone else) try and get you to move, he growls them away, wrapping his arms around your chest to stop you from going anywhere. Would definitely bite someone if they were brave enough to try and remove him from you by force. When he’s in heat, he uses compulsion charms to keep people away from the attic where he likes to spend his heat with you.

5. Diavolo – He can’t keep his hands or lips off of his alpha during preheat, but not just in a horny way, mainly in a ‘they’re mine’ kind of way. He likes to show off his relationship to others as a warning to stay away. He is delightfully smug if you return the treatment.

6. Kusuo – He pretends he isn’t being territorial when he’s in preheat, but whenever you end up in conversation with someone, Kusuo is just suddenly standing next to you, I wonder how that happened? He also makes a way greater effort to ditch anyone who might interrupt his alone time with you. He turns his friends away if they show up at his door when he’s in preheat. When in heat, he gets off on the ‘you’re mine and I’m yours’ aspect.

7. Light – This boy in greedy for your attention when he’s in preheat, and very bitter if he doesn’t get enough of it. He directs most of his anger at anyone who he perceives as taking you away from him. He will lie and manipulate others away from you both during this time with zero hesitation or regret. Would be possessive if you gave too much attention to a book while he’s in heat.

Who needs the most support:

1. Alois – I headcanon that Alois has some specific heat related trauma, that I’m not going to get into right now, that impacts him greatly. His alpha is his protection. He only feels safe during his heat if you’re there with him. If you leave him alone, even just for a minute, he will panic, fear mixing with his already heat addled brain. For that reason, he needs a great deal of support, he needs a gentle touch and a constant presence.

2. Shouto – His father paid to have him on illegal grade suppressant without him knowing just after Shouto’s quirk came in. Endeavour got the quirk he wanted, but not the dynamic he wanted, so he tried to change that. He experiences similar heats to Neji when he first comes off of suppressants. He’s so sensitive everywhere that it hurts. He wants to be touched so badly, but it hurts him. His alpha needs to work with him slowly to help him overcome the sensitivity.

3. Neji – I mentioned before that due to the suppressant abuse that was inflicted on Neji as a child, his heats can be very painful, especially at first, much like Shouto. For a more in-depth analysis, I have headcanons on Neji’s suppressant abuse listed on my pinned masterlist.

4. Keigo (Hawks) – He suffers from really bad paranoia during his heats. At first, it’s unclear what’s triggering the paranoia, but eventually it becomes clear that his treatment in the hands of the Commission have left him some nasty mental scars. When Keigo is in heat, he needs to have the door locked and bolted, the windows lock and covered with thick curtains and blinds, he needs to be rid of all technology or anything a person could use to contact him, and he needs all supplies to be in his nest with him so that neither you nor him have to leave that one room. It’s why the room he nests in must have an ensuite. He tends to have soft heats (emotionally charge rather than sexually charged) because his paranoia makes his body think he’s in too much danger to have a proper heat. It’s lucky that his heats normally only last for a day.

(N-sfw under cut~)

Who is the horniest:

1. Sebastian – He barely manages to keep it together during the day when he has to serve Ciel, but at night? You better be fucking him so well that he can’t stay coherent. He needs a full eight hours of sex before the heat withdraws enough for him to focus. A demon’s heat is very intensive after all.

2. Kakashi – Every little thing sets him off when he’s in heat. Maybe you knotted him and the heat is subsiding a little, but then you bit your lip or stretch in a certain way, and immediately he’s consumed by his heat again. He struggles to keep it in his trousers long enough to hydrate and sleep. Sometimes he needs to cockwarm his alpha just to be able to calm his instincts enough to sleep.

3. Tamaki A – He gets so horny at the peaks of his heat that any and all nervousness completely vanishes. He will beg his alpha shamelessly to get what he needs. He cannot control his voice at all, so you better hope your neighbours are forgiving, because Amajiki shouts some filthy things when he feels really good.

4. Asmo – No one is surprised that he is completely and overwhelmingly horny for his entire heat. Most omegas have down moments for resting and hydrating while their heat isn’t so bad. Not Asmo. His heat lasts for three days (a maximum amount) and is intense for all of it. You have to make him to eat and drink something while he begs and writhes on your lap for you to fuck him.

5. Kiba – Has a very high sex drive in general, even when he’s not in heat, so it’s no surprise that he’s basically insatiable when he’s in heat. He jumps his alpha five times a day when he’s in preheat, and every hour when he’s in heat. If you can’t provide for him as often as he needs, he will absolutely buy a knotted dildo and use it while he’s on top of you. Most of the time that convinces his alpha to help him get off.

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simonsnowichooseyou · 4 years ago

Text

This excellent essay was posted by @goodbyedandelion and reposted on Instagram—however their account sadly seems gone now. But it is in rememberence of their Tumblr spirit that I post a continuation to their essay!

EVEN MORE Reasons Why Carry On is so groundbreaking as a YA Fantasy/Romance

Misconceptions/Character Complexity

A large topic in YA Contemporary is gossip, but I feel like fantasy doesn’t touch on this as much. Think of how others perceive one another in Carry On. Early on we learn that Simon, for example, saw Penny as different because of her race. But of course, we quickly know this isn’t true.

But what about Agatha? In Harry Potter, for example, Lavender Brown and other feminine characters are often looked down upon because of their femininity. We often as a culture perceive beauty as overcompensation for what’s inside. Sometimes Agatha is looked at in the same light in Carry On, but when we see things from her POV, we realize that Agatha is perhaps the smartest one there. Maybe she’s not Penny Bunce-smart, but she has the survival instincts that Penny lacks.

Agatha isn’t the only one. Baz looks cold and unfeeling from others’ POVs, but we quickly learn that he is a boy with a soft heart that’s been hardened by his past. Everyone thinks he cares about nothing but we know he cares about his mother and how she’d feel about him; his father and step-mother and siblings; Simon, of course; Bunce, in his own way; he even cares about flowered suits and dramatic entrances! We think Bunce is nerdy and perhaps annoying, but we learn she’s very sweet and like a mother to Simon. And the mage. Ugh, the mage. We think he cares about Simon but we learn that for every bit he cares about Simon, he cares about the war more.

Rowell doesn’t allow any character to be simple, stereotypical, or as they appear. My sister, for example, was saying that Baz sounded like a stereotypical gay man in the media. But he’s not, is he? He might love fashion but Rowell does not make him simple or stereotypical. Everyone is so complex, and she uses the multi-POV to not just show us their complexity but also the complexity of how they are viewed by others.

Woman on Woman Drama/Anger

For years and years, only one woman was allowed to have a true seat at the table in films. Take Indiana Jones, the original Avengers, and Star Wars for example. This woman was often made to be the sex appeal or romantic interest, but I’ll save that for another day. Because of there only being one spot, it set a precedent that women in media needed to fight with each other to take that spot, thus depriving us of women getting along!

At first, I was worried Rowell had fallen into this trap. Bunce thinks Agatha is simple and too feminine, Agatha thinks Bunce is a major pain in the ass. Their dislike for one another is complicated in that they’re essentially two different types of feminism battling it out, and half of their fight was about Simon and their roles in his life.

But in the end, Penny and Agatha create a relationship that exists outside of their relationship with Simon. Penny sees Agatha’s strength and resilience; Agatha recognizes Penny’s harsh exterior for what is is. When Agatha moves away, they text without his even knowing. Penny is the one that decides they need to check on and save her. In the end, penny and Agatha fight alongside one another.

Rowell didn’t just give us a feminine friendship—she showed us what we’ve been doing, and how to get from Point A to point B. I think it’s the most underrated part of the series.

True Friendship

It might sound bad, but I truly believe a lot of today’s media ruins the idea of friendship. I just feel like none of the portrayals are realistic. Friends are either joined at the hip and have never fought (toxic) or never get along (also toxic). The fact that Baz and Penny and Simon and Penny and Agatha and Penny can get into fights but still continue to love one another platonically is really heartwarming to me.

Trauma/Mental Illness

I remember getting to the end of Harry Potter and thinking “he went through all of that and we’re just supposed to leave him now?” We see some remnants in the most cursed play ever: The Cursed Child. But more than trauma we see someone who looks back on the days they risked their life everyday with *longing.* While that’s about the most Harry Potter thing Harry Potter has ever done (and the most canonical part of that play) it’s so unrealistic. You’re telling me Harry grew up with nothing and was an amazing father—minus a few spats with his son. You’re telling me Harry was able to hold it together emotionally after fighting for his life from ages 11-18 without a therapists help? You’re telling me Harry lost two father figures in the ministry of magic AND spent 7 years going through what amounted to a lesson titled “the government is corrupt” just to be a part of that government!?

Wayward son isn’t like that. Wayward Son shows us what happened to Simon afterwards, and it’s not peaches and cream. He had therapy, he quit therapy. A lot of us have been Simon on that couch, and we all needed the Baz in our life to drag us across a metaphorical America. Wayward Son is hands-down my favorite book. Realistic depictions of mental illness, check. Subverting our expectations of after the end, check. Reading it feels like taking a road trip, check.

As OP mentioned, Simon is a beloved chosen one because he’s just so wrong for the role. He’s not levelheaded where he should be, he’s bold in all the wrong places, he couldn’t possibly maintain a professional relationship with the coven. Meanwhile his super-hot enemy Baz was the absolute perfect choice to be chosen, but he was completely passed over. And part of this chalks up to how Simon became so powerful—fate isn’t twisting its whims this way and that. Simon is only chosen because he was a Petri dish experiment-gone-wrong baby. When Simon asks the fates why, really he should be asking the mage. There’s something delightful about the fact that Simon was made. The chosen one was made, and in the same process, so was the greatest threat.

De-escalation

I think it’s clear by now that Carry On is a great book, Simon Snow is an amazing series, and Rainbow Rowell sure can write. But I feel the need to point out that the end of Carry On wasn’t well-received by everyone. I recommend the series to everyone I know and some people are really disappointed you don’t get a big magical battle at the end. Some people think Simon filling in the humdrum was a cop out. But I disagree. I felt it was thrilling to witness a book where war was as stupid in fantasy land as it can be in real life. This is the first fantasy I’ve ever read where they find a better way to handle conflict than senseless fighting. It’s emotionally rewarding, to me, to see de-escalation. To see conflicts fixed before they start to be huge problems. It was a risky choice for an end, you have to admit. But Rowell pulls it off amazingly.

Nothing is Wrapped in a Bow

A day will never go by without me thinking about the fact that Simon Snow Salisbury doesn’t know who his parents are. Or how Baz will never know what exactly happened with his mother—whether she really ended herself to avoid vampirism and whether she would’ve done it to her too. We’ll never even quite understand the mage’s plan behind fix the humdrum and get an all powerful boy wizard on his side. Rowell doesn’t wrap everything up. She gives you closure as often as she gives you something to ponder. The ending of Harry Potter was so controversial, I think, because it spelled out so clearly much of what was happening. And what you didn’t learn in that epilogue, Rowling released later through Pottermore and interviews. That’s fine and dandy—but there’s something to be said for ending Simon Snow’s books with questions. Not infuriating questions but rather things that I’ll always ponder—that will shed new light on different situations depending on how I look at them. Rowell sets a precedent that you can fill in Simon’s world with your imagination while also reminding us that life doesn’t have endings. Not really, the way books to. Rowell is one of the few writers of today’s fantasy, I’d argue, who’s okay letting things go unanswered. There’s always a thread of fantasy and magic going. It’s something that will keep Simon alive in my heart for many, many years to come.

So yeah, that’s what I think about when I think about Simon Snow. It’s not nearly as coherent as the original post but I hope you enjoy it.

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pascalpanic · 4 years ago

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so i read this scenario on reddit and i thought it would be a cute and fluffy fic idea if you want to write it :)

one of the Pedro boys (i was thinking frankie or marcus moreno but you can put any one of them that you feel like would fit the story) lands himself in the hospital and the reader visits him often cause they’re friends. they notice that every time they visit, his heart rate monitor speeds up, like not enough to cause alarm but enough to be noticeable, and that’s how she finds out that he likes her and they decide to date (after he gets out of hospital)

Appendicitis (Frankie Morales x f!reader)

Summary: ^^

W/C: 2.4K

Warnings: talk of being ill, vomit, pain, lots of talk of hospitals and that being a major setting, Frankie is a dad, language

A/N: welcome back to Josie’s quest to clean her inbox! This idea was so precious!! I hope you guys like it!!

Frankie is in fucking agony. Never has he felt something as painful as this, never has such pain radiated through his body so intensely that he has no choice but to vomit out his stomach’s contents.

He spends the day at home, occupying his daughter as best he can while he’s in such suffering. He figures that maybe it’s just really bad gas cramping or constipation. Marisol plays quietly, at her daddy’s request, watching her favorite Disney movies on the couch while nuzzled into his side. Frankie has never been so grateful to get her into bed at the end of the day.

After a full day of the pain, and realizing that it wasn’t going away no matter how many painkillers he took, Frankie gave in around midnight. Lying in his bed, skin turning gray and the pain now decisively in his right side, Frankie called you.

After a few rings, you picked up. “Hey, Fish.”

“Hi.” His voice sounds agonized. “How much do you charge for babysitting again?” He asks, the strain clear.

You’re confused, pushing the phone closer to your ear and thinking it might be the distance that makes him sound so odd. “Uh, you’re my friend, so free. You need me to take Mari?” You ask him.

He nods. “Yeah; how much for like a week though? I don’t want to impose though, and-“

His voice sounds terrible. “Frankie. Shut up. A week? What’s wrong? I can take Marisol for as long as you need, but I gotta know what’s going on.”

Frankie is quiet before he grunts softly in pain. “I think my appendix might be fucked up. It hurts like fucking hell. Mari’s asleep, I don’t wanna wake her or anything, but could you-“

You cut him off once more, sitting bolt upright. “I’m on my way over. Do you think you can hang on until I get there? I can drive you to the hospital, or we’ll get one of the boys.”

“That sounds good,” Frankie agrees. “Fuckin’ ambulances are so expensive.”

You chuckle softly. “Hang in there, Fish, okay? I’m gonna call Will, see if he can drive you and I’ll stay with Mari. How’s that?”

Marisol loves you. There’s no better solution in Frankie’s eyes: she behaves better for you than she does for him. She’ll be in good hands, happy for as long as he needs to be in the hospital healing. “Perfect. God, you’re a fucking angel. Don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve better than me,” you snort as you pull on a hoodie and slip on some shoes. “I’m gonna call Will. You got this, Fish. Distract yourself. I’ll send you updates.”

When you arrive at the Morales household, Will’s truck is already in the driveway. He lives closer, so it makes sense. Be quiet and don’t wake Mari, you remember as you slip off your shoes and head up the stairs of Frankie’s home. It’s quiet, unsurprising for this time of night, and you know Mari is a light sleeper. Frankie would never want to wake her at this hour.

Wandering into his room, you find Will standing next to the bed and an incredibly worn-looking Frankie. His skin holds barely any color, his face almost green in nausea. You rush to his side. “Frankie, holy shit,” you exclaim in a loud whisper, taking his hand. “You’re okay?”

“I will be if Miller mans up and gets me out of this bed,” he says, followed by a chuckle with no humor.

Will sighs. He’s wearing pajamas too, looking as exhausted as you are. Frankie groans as he hears Mari’s tiny voice over the baby monitor. “Fuck. You’re staying with her, Will’s bringing me?” He clarifies, looking up at you with bloodshot eyes.

Nodding, you squeeze his hand. “Give me directions quickly and I’ll go get her. You gotta sit up first, Frankie,” you reassure him.

He squeezes your hand back tight and sits up, his face contorting in pain. There’s a flush of redness to his cheeks, and it makes him look more human for a moment until it fades again. “She won’t fall back asleep unless she’s in this bed with you. She needs the attention. Uh, food is in the fridge, you know emergency shit,” he says, with surprising coherence for the pain he’s in.

You nod and ruffle Frankie’s soft bedhead. “Benny- fuck,” you wince, knowing the Miller brothers hate being mixed up. Somehow, even with their distinct personalities, you do it all the time. “Will. Send me updates,” you remind him as you stand. “And you, Francisco,” you murmur and press a kiss to his sweat-beaded forehead, “get some strong pain meds and get better for me and Mari.” You smile softly and walk out of the room.

The room next to Frankie’s is beautiful, a sage green paint and lots of woodland creatures painted on the walls by Frankie’s surprisingly artistic hands. There’s a crib covered by a creamy white canopy and the little girl pokes her head up, tilting to the side in confusion as she sees you.

It’s not fear, of course. Mari loves you, absolutely adores you in fact. She’s just… confused. Her little brain can tell it’s the middle of the night. “Where’s Daddy?” She asks, making uppy arms at you.

You walk over to her crib, picking her up and kissing her head. “Daddy’s got a tummyache, cutie,” you tell her and tickle her tummy gently, making her giggle and bury her tiny face in your chest. “He’s gonna go see the doctor and get it all fixed up, okay? You and I are gonna have so much fun,” you assure her, and she giggles again.

You can hear two sets of feet, slowly moving. “Let’s go give Daddy a kiss goodbye, okay?” Mari nods and rubs her little eyes.

Frankie’s got an arm around Will’s shoulders in the hall, looking absolutely agonized. He smiles a little as he sees you and his baby. “Hey, patita,” he chuckles. He dubbed her duckling from the soft tufts of fluff on her head as a baby. “Be good while I’m gone.”

Mari nods and puts a hand on either side of Frankie’s sweating face, making a little pout and giving him a kiss. “Love you, Daddy,” she says, a yawn overtaking her tiny face.

“Love you too,” he nods and looks up at you. “I owe you.”

“Friends don’t owe each other,” you shake your head. “Now get your a… butt to the hospital, Morales,” you tell him and pat Will on the shoulder. “Thanks, man.”

He nods at you and the two men shuffle along through the house until they can get Frankie into the car and on his way to (hopefully) sedation and a cure.

Yawning again, Mari’s big brown eyes look up at you from where you hold her on your hip. “Snack?” She asks you, pointing towards the kitchen.

Her little voice and tiny, pudgy fingers are too much. “I suppose. Only because we’re having special girls’ time,” you tease and boop her nose. Setting her on the counter, you grab some cubes of cheese and some berries, which you make sure are in small pieces.

Mari’s content to eat her snacks with you, and you can see her growing sleepier again as the plate empties out. “Sleepy?” You ask her, and she nods. “Alright, cutie pie,” you sigh and lift her, holding her to your chest as she wraps her arms around your neck and her legs around your torso. “Do you want me to cuddle with you?” You ask.

She nods. “Gotta snuggle for late sleepies. Daddy says that.”

The words melt your heart. Frankie’s always been so good with her, so warm and skilled and precious. It only makes your crush on the man grow every time his little girl babbles about how much she loves her daddy. “Does he?”

She nods. “Daddy sings for me.”

Frankie singing Marisol to sleep. The idea melts your heart. You need in on that. “What does he sing to you?” You ask. “What’s your favorite song that daddy sings to you?”

She thinks for a moment as you sit on the edge of the bed, allowing her to clamber off your lap and into the cozy king-sized bed. “Rocket Man.” It’s hard to decipher in her baby-talk, but you get it.

“He sings that for you?” You ask as you get under the covers, into the blankets that are still warm from Frankie’s body heat, that smell like his cologne.

Mari snuggles into your chest, and nods softly. “Can you sing Rocket Man?”

“Of course,” you nod and trace little circles into the toddler’s back, singing the Elton John song to her in a soft voice. It doesn’t take long, now that she’s in her daddy’s bed and got a snack, for her to fall asleep. She snores softly, and you follow suit not too long after.

It did turn out that Frankie had appendicitis. The doctors weren’t entirely sure what caused it, but you and the Miller brothers rotated your time with Marisol at home and the hospital with Frankie, as his stay was painfully long for such an active man. Santiago video chatted often, but being out of town prevented him from physically seeing Fish.

It took him about a week to recover, and that time was mostly spent napping or watching the television in his room. He’d bullshit with the guys or you when you were around, and he especially loved the time of the afternoon every day where one of you brought Marisol to see him.

Usually it was just you or one of the Millers who stayed in the room with him. The other two either stayed with Marisol or got to stay at home and rest for themselves. It was a lucky day when you and Benny got to both be with Frankie for a while, telling stories and laughing. It was your turn to be off-duty, but all you wanted from your free time was to be with the man.

Your presence has always made Frankie’s heart rate a little faster. It’s always made his palms a little clammy, and his pants a little tighter sometimes. At least now he can attribute it to the pain.

Every time his eyes catch yours, his heart monitor gets a little louder. It’s odd, but you shrug it off. It can’t mean anything. It’s just your Frankie. After an hour or so of spending time with the guys, you run to get fast food for the three of you. While you’re away, you receive a text from Benny.

Benny Boy: you’re fucking with his head, bro

You: what?

Benny Boy: the heart rate monitor is nearly silent right now. every time frankie looks at you it spikes, don’t tell me you haven’t been noticing that

You: do you want nuggets or a burger?

You: thats ridiculous, Benny.

Benny Boy: always nuggets. but seriously, his heart rate is at like 54 right now, he’s just chilling and kind of dozed off. let’s check it when you come back.

You: be prepared for the most boring science experiment ever. also, what dip do you want?

After you receive your bulging bags of food, stuffed from both Benny’s and Frankie’s massive appetites, you return to the hospital.

You: walking in. pulse status?

Benny: 60. he’s a little more awake now.

As you enter the room, Frankie turns to you and grins. “Hey. What did you get?” He asks.

You plop the bags on the small table overhanging Frankie’s bed and grin. “Just your usual order. I know what you like,” you shrug as you unpack the food.

Beep beep beep beep. HR: 77

Smiling at the rate of Frankie’s heart, more than you should really, you sit down back next to Benny and the three of you eat your food. It’s somewhat quiet, the chatter dying as you devour the fast food, savoring the grease and salt.

After everyone is finished, you stand and clean up the garbage, tossing it all away. You sit back down on Frankie’s bedside. “So, macho man. How’s the pain?” You ask, your fingers tracing his good side.

Beep beep beep beep beep. HR: 86

He shrugs. “It hurts like a bitch, and they said it’s gonna keep hurting like a bitch.”

“Poor baby,” you chuckle, cupping the side of his face and kissing his forehead softly.

Beep beep beep beep beep beep. HR: 96

Benny groans and stands. “I’m gonna hit the bathroom.” He smacks your arm as he walks past, as if rubbing in the evidence he’s found. “And then take a walk, I think.”

You’re still seated at Frankie’s side, on the inflatable hospital mattress. “Oh Benjamin,” Frankie rolls his eyes. “Why’d he leave so quick?”

You shrug, though you know the answer. “Who knows? Benny can’t even predict himself,” you chuckle. Frankie’s hand rests over his chest. You slide your hand over his torso and lace your fingers through his until you’re holding it. You can feel his heart thumping steadily against it. “I’m really glad you’re okay.”

Beep beep beep beep. HR: 104

He smiles. “I’m lucky I have you.”

You sigh softly as you look up at the heart rate monitor again. “I gotta say, you have a really high resting rate,” you say nonchalantly, as if you believe it.

Frankie’s face warms. “I, uh-“

“I’m kidding, Frankie,” you mumble softly to him, smiling a little. “I really like you, and I think that monitor is helping me know you like me too. When you get out of here, can we maybe go on a date some time?”

Beepbeepbeepbeepbeep. HR: 112

Nodding enthusiastically, those floppy curls move with his head. “I would love that,” he tells you with a beaming smile. “God, have you been able to tell all day?” He asks as he looks up at the monitor, his ears burning with heat as he reads the pulse rate. It’s embarrassingly high.

“Yeah,” you finally admit and smile down at him. “But it’s cute. And it makes me feel all warm inside because I finally know you like me too.”

Big brown eyes stare up at you with all of the love in the world. “If I wasn’t wearing a hospital gown, I’d kiss you right now,” he promises. “But that’ll have to wait.”

“Yes it will,” you nod and kiss his forehead again, easing him back against the mattress he’d lifted up from slightly. “Now I’m going to go find Benny, and you slow down that heart rate,” you tease and ruffle his curls.

“I’m not gonna be able to slow it down with you around,” he says with a soft smile, his eyes slipping shut.

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