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katytheinspiredworkaholic · 4 years ago

Note

✏, hotchreid, first kiss 🥺

You don’t just get a blurb honey, you get the whole damn night. I’ll eventually start writing blurbs and not full-length oneshots for these asks, but Cee (my love my family my favorite always) is who got me back into CM in the first place so yours was always going to be the long, fleshed out version. I love you so my dear.

((P.S. Yes I’m still working on the 200follower asks xD I’m so sorry life got in the way and I discovered hcs but I’m being responsible and finishing all of these now I promise!!!))

Personal plot bunny: Hotch invites Reid over to help with a research paper/with Jack and Reid gets to see his boss all domestic and soft, and in turn Spencer just kind of fits in his home seamlessly and Hotch kisses him as he leaves.

Word Count: 3107

It’s a perfectly ordinary day in late November when Hotch opens his apartment door to Reid standing there in the clothes he’d worn to work earlier that day. Satchel over his shoulder, wrapped in jacket and scarf, and giving him a small quirk of a smile in greeting -- still very obviously thrown off kilter that Hotch had invited him over in the first place.

When Reid said he’d lend him a hand on his most recent research paper, the younger agent had probably expected them to do it at the office. Interviews and research were all a big part of having a Behavioral Science subunit at the FBI, and published papers were a requirement from all BAU members to aid in this endeavor. Every team had to keep a steady output of resources and research studies going just to keep funding for the department afloat. He may be Unit Chief, but Hotch was no exception to these requirements, even with as much work as he has to put in on the regular.

Usually, he can do his research and piece together papers in between his daily paperwork. But this week Jess is sick with a stomach flu, and Jack hadn’t gotten to spend time with Hotch in what feels like a month. So the easiest solution was obviously to invite Reid to have dinner with them at his home, entertain him while he read over the drafted paper and helped Hotch out.

Obviously.

The only reasonable option, really.

“Thanks for coming, Reid,” Hotch greets back with a softened expression as he looks him up and down. “Did you even go home first?” The very first thing Hotch always does is change out of his suit when he gets home, shedding that armour as best he can to switch mindsets between Agent Hotchner of the FBI, and Aaron Hotchner the ever-stressed-out single dad. That evening donning worn jeans and a heather grey Henley to better accommodate himself within the space.

“Oh -- no, I didn’t see much point,” Reid shrugs, then motioning to his satchel which is now filled with books that weren’t there when he’d left the bull pen a couple hours before. “I stopped by the law library in Georgetown and found a few more references, just in case you were using the Favero citations instead of Weston and I don’t have all of those read yet -- or I didn’t. I do now. But I still brought them--”

Hotch smiles, a real smile -- small as it is, but no less fond of Reid going out of his way to help him. But before he can thank him again Jack’s socked feet come thundering down the hall behind him.

“Dr. Spencer! Dr. Spencer! Dr. Spencer!” And he’s slipping past Hotch, smooth and fluid as water, attaching himself to Reid’s legs and waist in a hug with a big smile that looks so much like Aaron’s own. When he’d been younger, only about three or four years old, Jack had been deathly scared of Doctor’s visits. It had been Reid’s idea to have Jack start calling him ‘Dr. Spencer’ to help alleviate some of that fear, associating the moniker with his non-threatening and familiar face. Reid had been much younger then, too, and that had helped the tactic work like a charm. Haley had been over the moon when his reverse psychology worked out so well.

“Jack! Woah, you got taller!” Reid’s whole demeanor changes. A little more animated, more comfortable, even -- and Hotch could remember a time when Reid hadn’t even wanted to hold a child for fear of the interaction. Now, he was always the first to talk to one if JJ didn’t beat him to it. “How’ve you been?” “Good!” Jack says excitedly, barreling over the small talk in ways only children can. “Dad says you’re going to help him with his homework, can you help me with mine too?!”

Reid smiles even wider and chances a glance at Hotch that he feels in his chest. “You bet, I love helping with homework.”

Jack just scrunches his nose up at him. “Why?”

“Because it’s fun.”

“Homework isn’t fun.”

“Well, maybe you’ve been doing it wrong.”

“Let’s let Dr. Reid in from the hallway,” Hotch interrupts with a laugh, herding his son and the younger agent inside. “Jack, go get your homework and you can do it at the table,” Hotch says as he takes Reid’s coat and watches him kick off his shoes by the door. Mismatched socks prominent against the hardwood floors. Making himself at home, shedding some of the layers and getting comfortable in the space much like Aaron does every day after work. “Hope you like spaghetti. It won’t be as good as Rossi’s.”

“Who doesn’t love spaghetti,” Spencer grins with a soft laugh. “Rossi’s is almost too fancy for me, anyway.”

“A man of simple tastes,” Hotch teases him.

“I’m easily impressed.”

“Lucky me.”

It slips out, the low, comfortable banter, and Reid’s eyes are alight and Aaron feels himself smiling enough his dimples show, and he leads the way to the kitchen where dinner is already in the works on the stove. Filling the small condo with the smell of tomato sauce and garlic.

Jack and Reid set up at the kitchen bartop where they can watch Hotch finish cooking and stay within reach of conversation. It doesn’t take long for Hotch to finish making dinner, or for Jack to finish his homework spurred on by Reid’s strange enthusiasm for math problems. With how much time they spend talking about psychology and sociology (and sometimes even philosophy) Hotch always forgets one of Reid’s Ph.D.’s is in mathematics.

“Numbers just make sense,” he explains, when Hotch brings it up while drizzling olive oil on the drained pasta on the stove. “There’s always a right answer and the rest are wrong. It’s comforting, to an extent, but predictable -- that’s why I shifted focus from sciences to humanities. There’s no right or wrong answers in philosophy, it’s all argumentative. Always evolving. I prefer that, it’s no fun having all the answers.”

And coming from someone who does always have all the right answers, that must mean something profound to the younger man. One conversation outside the walls of the BAU and Hotch already feels like he understands Reid more than he has in a long time.

Dinner runs so smoothly it’s as if Reid is always there for it. Jack even finishes all of his food and helps with the dishes before Hotch has to ask him to. Making the two men exchange a glance and Hotch ask, “You charge by the hour?” and Reid laughs into his water glass in reply. They end up talking a bit about the paper Hotch has been working on, along with about a dozen other things Reid launches into in side tangents -- from the books he’d read during his brief visit to Georgetown that afternoon, to his most recent philosophical debate he had with his doctoral advisor about his thesis paper he’ll have to submit at the end of next month.

“Do you need time to piece it together? I didn’t know you were that close to your next Ph.D.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” Reid waves him off. “I just need a weekend where we are actually in town and not on a case, and I’ll get it finished.”

“I’ve been working on this paper for the past six months,” Hotch all but balks in disbelief. “How can you write a Ph.D. dissertation in a weekend?”

“Well, I’m not the Unit Chief or a single parent,” Reid points out with a gentle grin, and Hotch feels one pulling at his own lips as well. “But it’s mostly written anyway, just all up here.” He points to his head, and Hotch bets he could recite the paper verbatim with what he writes up when he has the time.

“You could always write it on the jet,” Hotch says.

“I do,” Reid smirks, and Hotch can’t help but roll his eyes. “In my head, someone is usually taking up the table with a headstart on paperwork.”

“I think they can be talked into relinquishing some table top space,” Hotch says, until Reid gives him a look. “Oh, you mean me?”

“You spread out everything to keep it organized in piles.”

“I’d share with you.”

“You told Rossi to use the couch last week when he wanted to answer emails,” Reid says with a barely contained laugh.

“Yeah, well, he’s not you,” Hotch admits before he can take it back, and Reid almost answers -- mouth open and everything -- when Jack comes back and is all but begging ‘Dr. Spencer’ to help him with his science fair project he hadn’t even decided on.

The rest of the evening ends up with the three holed up in Hotch’s office, Reid surrounded by Law books and reading material he hasn’t gotten to sift through before, Hotch with his drafted paper printed out for Reid’s ease of access, and Jack with his science textbook and a notebook already talking Reid’s ear off about a science project for the spring.

But once the time starts to tip into the later hours of the night, Hotch tells Jack to get ready for bed and say goodnight to Dr. Reid.

“Goodnight, Dr. Spencer. Thanks for your help,” Jack says politely, ingrained in him by his father and Reid smiles a little too bright and soft at the same time at how sweet it is he tries to be good for company.

“You know, Jack, you can just call me Spencer if you’d like,” he says, knowing that the older boy has already outgrown his fear of the doctor and the reverse psychology is no longer needed.

Jack looks a little confused for a moment. “Dad doesn’t.”

“Well, your dad can, too -- if he wants,” Reid says, looking to Hotch and they share a look he once again can feel in his chest. Watching the whole interaction with a carefully guarded expression, but it melts under Reid’s glance and he isn’t quite sure what is there anymore. But whatever it is, it makes Reid smile softly at him.

“Okay, goodnight Spencer,” Jack interrupts their moment, and hugs Reid around the neck from where he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor. It jostles the younger man, and Hotch smiles wide and ducks his head down to hide it. But Reid hugs Hotch’s son back, and tells him goodnight, as well. “You’ll come back, right?”

“Of course, I’d love to,” Reid tells him, and -- satisfied -- Jack goes off to brush his teeth, leaving the two in a lull of heavy silence. “Sorry, I think I just invited myself over, some time.”

“You’re welcome anytime.” And he means that, knows Reid knows that as he looks at him a little more soundly than before. “Not just for work.” If that needed to be said.

And if Reid’s face flushes a little darker in the low lighting, Hotch doesn’t mention. No matter how much he can’t seem to look away.

Reid looks over his entire paper while Hotch tucks Jack into bed, and is already making notes on it at his desk when the man returns. The next hour rolls into two, and Hotch drags another chair in from the kitchen so they can share his desk and work through bullet points on the paper but… it was pretty much done, from the start. Even Reid’s edits didn’t take them long. After a while they dissolve into just talking, discussions and anecdotes and sitting maybe a little too close and laughing so much and so loud sometimes they have to quiet themselves so they don’t wake Jack down the hall.

It’s almost 10:30 by the time they resurface from each other, before Hotch realizes Reid probably needs to go home because they both have to be at work bright and early. But this was… this was the best night he’s had in a long, long time, and he wants to do it again. Soon. More than soon. More than once. He thinks about all of this as he follows Reid to the front door and helps him gather the rest of his things.

“We should do this again, sometime,” Hotch mentions, hands in his pockets and trying to be more cool about this than he feels.

“I’d like that, I had a lot of fun tonight,” Reid answers, standing up from tying his shoes and giving him that bright, wide smile he doesn’t always feel comfortable enough to allow. It never fails to stall Hotch in his tracks, staring a little too long at his mouth than he should be.

“What if, next time, it’s just us? And no Jack?” he continues, elaboration just in case Reid doesn’t grasp what he’s asking. Reid is watching him with this look as if he’s unsure he heard correctly, and Hotch is nothing if not patient.

“I’d… I’d be okay with that,” Reid answers, slowly as he weighs some unseen options and gauges Hotch’s facial expressions to the most minute detail.

“Good. How about Saturday?”

He can see the moment it all clicks into place.

“...Are you asking me on a date?” Reid asks, a little winded.

“If that’s alright with you,” Hotch says with a half smile. Once again sounding more confident than he should in the face of how Reid’s eyes start to dart around and he licks his lips nervously.

“I don’t know how -- how good I am with dates.” There’s a story behind that, and Hotch wants to know it, but he does his best to press Reid gently. Because… he’s been holding off asking the younger man for a long time, now, but after tonight he gets the feeling that he might not have needed to be so hesitant, after all.

“Oh?”

“Just -- the ritual of it all always throws me off. Dressing up and going out, and making conversation over dinner while trying to eat and maintain the other’s attention, and then keeping it all going if you manage to do that I just don’t always do so well one-on-one and --”

“Reid.” He pauses, then -- “Spencer.” And that stalls his stream of thought to words, catching Spencer’s attention and snagging it in the best way. “...we just did all of that. And it was great.” Hotch knows his own expression has softened around the edges over the course of the night, smiles easier to hold, eyes more expressive, and Spencer takes in every change and nuance with a well-practice eye and is… very obviously stunned by what he finds. “So -- I’d like to do it again. Saturday?”

Shocked, eyes a little wide, breath lost to the wind, Spencer waits a beat too long to answer. Enough to make Hotch nervous, before he answers in a sound that could have been a whisper if it had been quieter. A slight crack to it that betrays his emotion.

“Okay.”

Hotch gets a turn to be stunned, because he thought this had been about to take a very different turn. “Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“--Okay.”

Intelligent men that they were, that was the extent of the conversation, and then Reid is smiling that bright, sunshine laced smile and Hotch is trying to contain his own and -- Reid still needs to go home. So, biting his lip, Reid turns as if to leave -- is just about out the door when he stops and turns back so quick he almost runs into Hotch on the threshold.

“So… technically, that means this was our first date, then. Right?” he looks so goddamn hopeful, and like he has something further to add, that Hotch smiles outright and this time doesn’t bother hiding it.

“Technically, yes.” He supposes it was. And it really had been… a great night. Not a bad first date, at all.

Reid takes far too long trying to string together words after that. Keeps looking to Hotch then away to gather his thoughts, then back again as if in search of something; and it’s after about the third time that Hotch realizes what he’s getting at. What he’s trying to find a way to ask.

It hits him so silent and hard it about knocks the wind out of him.

Oh.

He can do that.

Hotch steps closer, about the same time Spencer opens his mouth like he’s finally figured out the right combination of words within the range of the English language to form a coherent sentence, and they all die on his tongue the moment Hotch guides him back with a hand on his hip. He’s done it before, gentle leading when Reid strays the wrong way or needs to be shifted in a crowded room on cases, and this time is just as easy and no different.

Except this time, Hotch isn’t maneuvering them to get past him. This time, he presses Spencer’s spine to the doorframe and leans in to capture his lips with his own. Right there, in the open doorway.

Hotch kisses him, and it’s perfect.

The gentle slide of lips is over before either know it, lasts longer than his racing heart can measure, and before Hotch can decide his next move Spencer tilts in closer and kisses him back, slow and methodical and Hotch feels that. Feels it the way he’s felt every moment they had and shared the whole night. His free hand finds that sharp jaw framed in messy curls getting longer all over again, and Spencer doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands beyond grasp at Hotch’s shirt at his sides and then --

Then Hotch pulls back enough that he can nudge his nose against Spencer’s carefully, a punctuation that ends the kiss soft and apologetic. Silently says that’s all they can do tonight. That there’s more, awaiting them, but that…

That had been one hell of a good first kiss.

“See you in the morning, Spencer.”

For once, Dr. Spencer Reid is speechless in an entirely new way, and he merely nods with lips still parted and a little darker from the kiss. From kissing him, and Hotch knows he stares more than he should, but that’s been a frequent occurrence lately. It’s just getting harder and harder to turn away, watch Reid -- Spencer -- smile at him in that quiet way only ever directed at him, and then walk away. But he lets it happen, feels every step even as he shuts the door behind him.

Because Hotch will see Spencer tomorrow.

And, one day, maybe he won’t have to watch him walk away at all.

#I'm so tired I can't even tell if this is good or not because OF COURSE these dorks would flirt over a damn research paper #tell me I'm wrong #also I'm a sucker for domestic hotchreid we all know this #but I hope you like this my dear I know it's hella long it just got away from me #Cee my love my light ilysm #asks #HotchReid #Heid #katyswriting #200followerasks

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mymedicine · 5 years ago

Text

Occam’s Razor

5.6k of surfer harry and y/n, mostly fluff, frenemies to lovers type beat

moodboard

warnings - marijuana usage, swearing, very light sexual language, lotsa teasing, harry being really sassy

notes - this started as a little blurb for @majorharry‘s 20k fic celebration and then it spiraled out of control into this very self-indulgent fantasy. I used the prompt “You’re lying. I can tell when you look at me like that.” Cass’s work inspired me to start writing harry fic in the first place, so if you enjoy this, you have her to thank! <3

more notes - fair warning y’all, I’m not a stoner by any means. i’ve been high like twice in my life and i cried both times so please forgive any inaccuracies in the smoking department. that being said, I urge you to click this link to learn about the decriminalization of cannabis in the US and how you can help correct the injustices associated with it. ok, yes I will shut up now please enjoy!

Island life was a dream come true for Y/N.

There was no sound she loved more than the crashing of waves against the shore, no smell more lovely than the salty aroma of beach air, and no sight more beautiful than the bright sunrise from her home two blocks away from the sand. She squinted at the rising sun as she rode the familiar route to the beach, surfboard clutched underneath one arm. With the other, she steered her trusty bicycle—the only form of transformation she needed on the island. All she ever needed to do was go back and forth from home to work at the surf shack on the beach and back again, with an occasional Target run in between when she was low on mangoes for her smoothies.

It was a perfect morning for an easy surf. Not too hot, not too windy. Just pale skies and a gentle summer breeze bringing peaceful energy to the tiny shack on the sand. She approached the back of the shop, clutching her board a little tighter as she rode over the uneven beach terrain. When she reached the wooden structure, she deposited her bike and board out back before waltzing inside through the back door.

“Morning, H!” Y/N yelled into the room, gripping the strap of her backpack over one shoulder.

From the main shopping area of the store, a curly head popped into the back room. “You’re late,” he replied, pushing his sunglasses through his already messy hair and perching them on the crown of his head. He sauntered into the back room, following Y/N over to their shared locker in the corner.

“C’mon Harry,” Y/N shrugged him off, “island time.”

In truth, neither of them really cared about her being a few minutes late to their agreed meeting time. The store didn’t open for hours and even then, the owner wouldn’t mind. It also didn’t hurt that said owner was none other than Harry’s mother.

“'S pretty out today,” Y/N continued, shoving her backpack into the locker they stored their stuff in during the day. “Should be plenty of nice hollows to play around in before—”

“My smoothie better not be melted,” Harry interrupted her just as she was pulling two thermoses out of the bag.

He was smirking, obviously uninterested in what she was saying and instead transfixed with the sweet drinks in her hands. Y/N rolled her eyes at him. Harry may not have been the most gracious company, but he was company at least. Island life was simple, relaxed, and perfect for Y/N, but it’d be lonely if it weren’t for him. He also consistently supplied her with decent weed and excellent board wax, which certainly didn’t hurt his case. In return, she brought him a mango smoothie every day. As underpaid and overworked coworkers, symbiosis and a shared love for the ocean kept their friendship relatively intact.

“Just for that, you’re not getting it until after dawn patrol,” she taunted, rattling the thermos above her head. She enjoyed the way his eyes followed the drink like a cat’s would a piece of yarn.

His tanned chest rose and fell as he inhaled an exasperated breath, jaw tight and eyes glinting with playful contempt. Along with his teasing expression, he wore only orange floral board shorts and the pair of sunglasses pushing back his curls. Y/N couldn’t help but notice his lack of clothing, even after months of working and surfing together nearly every day. Fuck, she thought, he just keeps getting hotter.

She couldn’t decide whether the fact that he was an actual work of art was helping her withstand his presence in her life, or if it was just simply torturing her with something she didn’t think she could have. Either way, his beauty was a constant distraction.

“Fine,” Harry taunted as Y/N put the drinks in the mini fridge beside the locker. “But just for that, I’ll out-surf your ass.”

~~~

Y/N laid with her cheek pressed down on her board, sighing as the hot sun gently warmed her wet skin. Dawn had brought plenty of excitement in the form of large, smooth waves, but by mid-morning the sea had calmed to a pleasant lull. She spread out her arms and let her fingers trail lightly in the water, finding comfort and solace in the coldness of it. Her board bobbed softly with the mellow waves, rocking her body like a mother rocking her baby. She could have fallen asleep if it weren’t for Harry’s sudden loud cursing coming from somewhere behind her.

“Y/N! Wake the fuck up!”

“I’m not asleep, asshole,” she called back, not moving from her peaceful position.

“C’mon, we’re already late. And s’ gonna rain so we have to pull in the racks.”

Y/N remembered the way the rising sun had been beating down on them all morning. She felt like she was being roasted out there in the humid air with her back exposed to the rays, not obstructed by even a single cloud. But the island weather was as volatile as it was beautiful, and the start of tropical storm season was imminent.

Y/N picked her head up and pushed her chest up on the board, observing the large, dark storm clouds in the distant horizon. I’ll be damned, she thought, he’s right. There was no way in hell she’d ever actually say that to him, though. Not with the way he was continuously taunting her from his place on his own board—“Y/N! Waaaakeeeey wakey! We have woooork!”

“Alright, Harry, shut up! I’m coming.”

Despite Harry’s incessant nagging, they both paddled to shore at a pretty lazy pace, trying to savor their last few minutes of peace in the water before having to deal with all the daily nuisances of customer service.

Anne’s shop on the beach was a hit with the locals and tourists alike. For years, she and Harry had been providing beachgoers with sunscreen and board wax and rash guards and even souvenir t-shirts and mugs, that sort of thing. Anne finally hired Y/N when they started selling bikinis two months ago and the business went through the roof. Having more customers was great, but it meant there was more work to be done.

Y/N and Harry approached the store, dragging their boards with their hair still dripping wet and feet caked with sand. There was a boy lingering outside, dressed in a tank top and board shorts that both looked half a size too big on his skinny frame. They both recognized him immediately—he was a regular at the beach but kind of a shubie, which deeply irritated Harry. Y/N wasn’t Tyler’s biggest fan either; it pissed her off a little when he’d show up bright and early before Anne, Harry or herself had even arrived to open up. But she was at least less hung up on it than Harry was.

“I got him,” Y/N told Harry. “Can you start on the racks? Don’t need you chasing away our best customer.”

Little did Y/N know, Harry disliked the guy for more reasons than just the facts that he showed up ridiculously early to the store and that he tried to dress like a surfer and hang with the locals but was too much of a pussy to go near the water.

While Y/N was tending to Tyler, Harry begrudgingly began pulling in the clothing racks stocked with t-shirts that Anne liked to keep outside in front of the shop. During last year’s rainy season, he’d have to pull the damn things inside nearly every other day. He glared through the open front door at Tyler while he interacted with Y/N, making her use the pole to reach one of the tank tops hung high up on the wall. “Interacted” was a soft way to put it, he reckoned. It could not possibly be more obvious that he was flirting with her.

It only annoyed Harry because he knew he was about eight thousand times better than Tyler on literally all levels, yet the boy still got to enjoy Y/N’s attention for as long as he wanted (he was a paying customer, after all). All while she was none the wiser. Harry loathed the way his eyes lingered on her chest, especially since today she hadn’t had time to put her coverup on before having to get the fucking tank top for him.

Y/N’s head snapped away from Tyler and his incessant talking when a loud crashing sound rang out. Harry was already looking at her from the doorway, face twisted with irritation. One of the racks was crashed into the wall beside him, leaving a few fallen shirts scattered on the floor.

“You missed the door, H.” Y/N laughed at him. She was amused by the grumbling noises he was making as he struggled to yank the rack through the door frame.

“You wanna do this yehself then? ‘F you just gonna make fun of me…” He frowned, voice getting fainter as he disappeared outside to grab the last rack.

“Sorry about him,” Y/N turned back to Tyler, who was waiting patiently for her to scan and neatly fold the top he was buying.

The boy flashed her a charming smile. “S’ fine. I’m not here for him.”

Y/N was not an idiot. She noticed his flirting, but didn’t take it remotely seriously. He was far too young for her. He was thinner than she preferred. His hair was too blonde, skin too pale and clean of any ink. And, well, he wasn’t Harry.

She kind of hated that everyone had to be compared to Harry in her mind, but she couldn’t help it. He was a masterpiece. Her gaze followed him as he sauntered back into the store, picking up fallen merchandise here and there before strolling right past her, into the back room.

Y/N sent Tyler a tightlipped smile when she realized she’d been inadvertently ignoring him. She felt his eyes on her as she finished the transaction. He took the bag from her outstretched arm, but his presence lingered even after she’d given him a polite yet dismissive “Have a nice day.”

“I’m Tyler, by the way,” he began, and Y/N internally groaned. He’d introduced himself several times already during the past few weeks. She was nicer about it than Harry, sure, but fuck she did not want to entertain this kid’s advances. “And you’re—“

“Y/N!” Harry’s voice called from behind her, interrupting Tyler rather rudely in the middle of his sentence. Harry appeared at her side as if she’d conjured him up by thinking about him. She be lying if she said she minded the interruption. “Here’s your smoothie from the back,” he said with a charming smile.

Harry produced one of the thermoses and presented it to her as if it were a prize. He knew he was the real winner though—one look at Tyler’s dejected expression confirmed that much.

“Oh! Thank you, Harry,” Y/N chirped, trying desperately to thank Harry with her eyes while still remaining diplomatic. “I was just finishing up with Tyler here.”

The blonde boy looked between Harry and Y/N, lingering for only a few more seconds with his anxious fingers twisted in the plastic bag he was holding. “Right,” he stuttered, “er…you guys have a good one…” And he backed away from the store.

Y/N turned back to Harry as their customer left. She took the thermos from his hand before playfully scolding him. “That was rude, Harry.”

"He was being rude first. He wouldn’t leave.” Harry shrugged, sipping his own smoothie and swooping back into the back room before Y/N could tease him on his poor excuse.

The Tyler ordeal aside, the work day passed as all the others did. Maybe a little less busy than usual due to the impending storm. By early evening, the tourist crowd at the beach had thinned considerably. One or two local surfers lingered in the water as the dark clouds began to roll in and slowly hide the sun. Harry and Y/N watched them absently from their places behind the counter, sitting beside each other on matching stools.

Y/N took in the view. Even painted an ominous shade of dark gray, the horizon brought a serene wave of calm over her. This was where she belonged, and she was sure of it.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?” Harry asked, noticing the far away look in her eyes.

“The water,” Y/N replied. It was true—she was looking at the water. But she was really looking beyond it, taking in the entire scene. The lull of the crystal blue ocean, the fading sunlight hitting the palm trees, the soft sand being pelted with raindrops, even the display case of I <3 2 SURF mugs that was mildly obstructing her view out the window. She turned to face him and, of course, he fit right in. He was an integral part of her vision, the beautiful fantasy that she was lucky enough to be living in.

He smiled at her. “’S pouring fuckin’ buckets, Y/N. There’s water everywhere.”

She laughed at his joke, happy to slip back into her real-life daydream.

“What should we do, then? No one’s gonna be coming to the beach.”

“I dunno. Play a game?” Last rainy season, Harry had been alone in the shop. Those past lonely days felt like an entirely different lifetime. In this one, Y/N was his present. His here and now.

He stood from the stool and crouched down to survey the shelves underneath the counter. Anne kept random necessities like water bottles and fruit snacks and a flashlight and…yes! A deck of Uno cards.

Y/N sighed dramatically. With Harry, she knew even a simple little game for kids would quickly spiral into momentous occasion.

“Well if I’m gonna have to play this game with you, there’s no way I’m doing it sober.” With that, Y/N didn’t hesitate to hop off her own stool and head to the back room to retrieve her backpack.

Harry raised his eyebrows, amused by the suggestion. Maybe it was irresponsible to get high when the shop was technically still open for another hour, but what the hell. The crowd had already been thinning for hours.

“We’re gonna smoke in my dear mother’s shop?” Harry mused.

“We? Did you want one?” Her voice was teasing, growing clearer as she returned from the back room. She perched herself back in her stool and began to prepare a single joint for herself.

“Love, I literally provide you the weed. Of course I fuckin’ want one.”

“Okay, sassy. You can do it yourself if you’re gonna be a dick about it.”

So, he did. And naturally, the task turned into a heated race between the two. The pelting rain outside was an appropriate soundtrack for a race which Y/N, distracted by the way Harry’s nimble fingers packed the rolling paper and pink tongue slipped out to seal the edge, was destined to pathetically lose.

“Hah,” said Harry once he’d twisted the tip, flourishing the finished joint between them for himself to admire.

Y/N rolled her eyes as she finished her own, “Whatever, Harry. I out surfed you this morning and I’ll out smoke you tonight.”

“Well then I’ll have to beat your ass at Uno.”

“Game on.”

They played six rounds of Uno, taking hits in between turns until they were both high as kites. They lost interest in the middle of round seven when Y/N accidentally knocked the deck off of the counter, scattering the cards all over the floor. Even though they each had an even three wins under their belt, neither wanted to pick up the cards, so they agreed to a truce. The pitter-patter of rain and whooshing sound of high winds continued as Harry was muttering in a low voice—something about him dreading having to clean up all the cards tomorrow—but Y/N wasn’t really listening at all.

The high disintegrated the invisible barrier between them, effectively magnifying their usual playful touches into prolonged caresses. Y/N had one leg draped over Harry’s lap, perfectly placed for his massive hands to clutch her calf and gently massage her skin in tune with his soft ramblings. His touch sent sparks flying deep in her belly. He was everywhere, his presence so commanding she was almost disoriented by euphoria. She only fell back down to earth when she realized the comforting din she’d gotten used to had gone silent.

“Listen, H. It’s stopped raining.”

He silenced his mellow prattling and stood from the stool, making Y/N frown a little at the loss of touch. She watched him as he moved over to the window, resting his palms on the sill and peering through the glass at the beach. “Not for long. Look at the clouds.”

She followed his movements, wandering over to him and then tugging one of his arms off the sill. Craving his touch, she effortlessly wedged herself in between his body and the window—a move that would have made sober Harry a little flustered. But his fuzzy brain allowed him to relax into the feeling of her body against his. He lifted his arm to point at the second cluster of storm clouds approaching the beach from the horizon, in turn pressing his bicep to her shoulder.

“Hm,” Y/N surveyed the incoming clouds. “Maybe I should get home while it’s stopped. No one’s coming to the shop when ’s pouring out.”

“Yeh gonna ride your bike high?” Harry mused. “Don’tcha think that’s kinda unsafe?”

She didn’t think so, really. But she’d be lying if she said she didn’t want an excuse to hang out with Harry some more, especially now that they were standing way closer than necessary and she could once again feel his bare skin against hers. “I guess…” Y/N trailed off, distracted by the high coursing through her and the feeling of his arms around her. They were strong from years of propelling himself through the sea water, hot and tan from the hours spent in island sun.

“Fancy a dip to sober you up?”

She paused to ponder the offer, putting considerable effort into focusing on thinking rather than feeling his body. The water did look as inviting as ever now that the rain had let up—temporarily, at least.

“Okay.”

The words had barely left her mouth before Harry was moving eagerly away from her. Y/N stumbled out the door behind him, struggling to keep up while he excitedly meandered down the sand on unsteady legs. Halfway there, Y/N gave up on trying to catch up. She shed her board shorts and sandals right there on the sand, leaving her in her bikini top from earlier and matching bottoms. As she waded into the sea, part of her was regretting skipping the rash guard that morning as the salt water stung the reddening skin on her exposed stomach.

Harry was feeling a similar pain on his own bare abdomen, but he paid it no mind as he bounced through the white water. Instead he took in the twinkling sea and the early evening sunset, appreciating the way the pink clouds reflected in the water. It was so pretty, he thought, endorphins flooding his brain. Might be the prettiest fuckin’ sight I’ve ever seen…

Suddenly, Harry’s reverie was rudely interrupted by a cold blast of salt water slapping him on the back.

“What the fuck?!”

He whipped around and there she was, waist-deep with her cheeky smile and challenging eyes giving her away. Of course she was guilty, there was no one else in the goddamn lagoon five minutes before another torrential downpour. He inched toward her, impishly preparing his own counter attack. She was giggling profusely as she, too, moved backward as if she were his prey.

When she’d backed up to where it was too deep for her to stand, she squeaked and lifted her hands up in front of her face to protect herself. The water was up to her cheeks, flushed with heat, with elation, and alighted by the setting sun. Harry splashed her mercilessly, both giggling like children as her attempts to thwart his attack failed. His head was spinning, melodic laughter and splashes resonating between them. She flung her arms blindly in and out of the water as he moved closer and, foolishly, he underestimated the power of blind luck. Harry spluttered and spat as salt water landed directly in his open mouth. He swatted with his hands, whipping his soaking wet hair around before playfully glaring at her. She was squinting and rubbing the salt water out of her eyes, but she still wore that cheeky, challenging grin.

“Right, tha’s it. Yeh in for it now.” he howled at her. He reached out for her waist, intending to pick her up and throw her into the white water to wipe that stupid victorious smile off her face.

It didn’t work, but how could he be upset when he was faced with her pretty head popping up out of the white water, face lit up with pure happiness? When he was laughing along with her, his heart threatening to burst out of his chest, all with the stunning background of the most beautiful beach sunset he’d ever seen?

The sun had long set by the time they decided to call it quits. It was getting cold and, as expected, it was starting to drizzle again. They marched up the damp beach together, walking side by side with their shoes in their hands. Neither of them had bothered to bring a towel and the once pleasant island wind was now biting their wet skin. Y/N picked up her pace to warm her muscles and keep up with Harry, whose longer legs were trudging through the sand up toward the shop.

“It’s pretty late…” Harry drawled, craning his neck to observe the bright shining moon that had taken the sun’s place.

Y/N took a few seconds to reply, panting from the exertion. “Yeah.”

“And ’s raining again…”

“Mmhm.” Y/N stole a sideways glance at him. He was smiling, as per usual. And he had that playful glint in his eyes that she adored.

“…Aaaand I live just up there…” He swung his arms like a child as he walked beside her, causing one of his flip flops to repeatedly whack one of her sandals in her grasp.

Endeared, Y/N cracked a smile of her own. “Right…”

“Do you wanna maybe…”

She stopped marching then, as they reached the front of the store. She was hit with the sudden realization that part of her fantasy was becoming real. There was no work to be done at this hour, no Tyler to pull tank tops for, no interruptions. Only Harry, her favorite distraction.

Taken with his own thoughtful musing, Harry walked a few more steps before realizing Y/N had stopped. He turned around to face her, and even in the darkness she could see the flush in his cheeks.

“…spend the night at mine?”

~~~

Harry lived even closer to the beach than Y/N in an even tinier studio. Anne of course had a house a few miles into town that Harry frequented, but he was a grown man. It was more than enough to be working for his mum. As much as he adored her, he did not want to live with her.

His place very much resembled the shack they worked in from the outside. Inside he had four walls, a window, a bed in the middle, an armchair in the corner, and a hammock strung out on the porch. Y/N briefly imagined herself lounging in it, maybe sipping a mango smoothie. It would have been very pleasant if not for the fact that it was just exposed enough to be catching the rain water. A brilliant idea sparked in her brain, one she couldn’t ignore.

“I’m g’na sleep in the hammock,” she declared.

“Uh, fuck no yeh not.” Harry replied immediately, equally as firm.

“Yeah I am. It’ll be nice.”

He huffed, setting his backpack on the nightstand and cursing when it slid off. Y/N failed to fight back laughter as she watched him struggle to fit his bag next to the antiquated lamp on the side table. He swore again, finally deciding to push the lamp to the corner of the table and nearly breaking it in the process.

Having successfully removed his shoes, he sat gingerly on the bed and sighed. “But—but…” He paused, shaking his head and letting out a flustered half-laugh. “It’s wet!”

“So?” Y/N teased with a knowing grin, pleased that he’d taken the bait. All she really wanted to complete her real life daydream was to hear him request for her to sleep beside him.

“Do you know what my mother would do to me if she found out I let you sleep outside in a hammock in the fuckin’ rain?”

Oh she knew. Anne would lose her goddamn mind. As kind and gentle as she was, she demanded respectfulness and courtesy from her Harry. She wouldn’t hesitate to fire her own son for misbehaving, or at least withhold his paycheck for a few weeks.

“Fine,” she gave in with a sigh, leaning her back against the far wall, “you’re right.”

He perked up, turning around sharply to face her. “Sorry, what was tha’?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, already knowing what he was getting at. She ignored him and began undoing the clasps on her own sandals, refusing to repeat herself. Admitting he was right once was far more than enough to feed his already giant ego.

“You said I’m… what? Couldn’t hear you properly…” He had the upper hand now, and he knew it.

“Shut up, asshole.” She tossed her shoe at him, and to her delight, it landed directly on his sunburnt face. Y/N laughed loudly as he swatted the air and proceeded to rub his cheek, grimacing.

“That’s not wha’ you said, you little bitch,” He sent her a pointed smirk but didn’t retaliate, too busy tending to his own wounded skin.

Y/N gasped playfully, “What was that you called me?!” she dropped her jaw, committing to the melodrama of it all, “What would your sweet mother do if she were to find out you called me the b-word?”

With that, the ball was back in her court. Victory just within her grasp.

The light pain in Harry’s cheek had faded, but his pride was still feeling it a little. As his hand moved away from his face, Y/N caught a glimmer of mischief flicking in his eyes. “Don’t bring her into this,” he smiled, “she’s an innocent.”

“No one’s safe.” Y/N fired back immediately, a playful grin pulling at her own cheeks.

“Yeah, you’re definitely not safe,” he taunted. He hauled himself off the bed with intent to exact his revenge on her. She had a lot to be guilty of—the shoe incident, the splashing episode she started, the name-calling, the relentless teasing, and mostly the way she was looking at him right then, with fondness and...lust, unmistakable in her eyes, that was making him lose his mind.

He had her cornered against the far wall. Two hands went out to catch her bare waist and release his wrath on her in the form of tickles. Y/N laughed violently, squirming in his arms and yelping, “Stop it, Harry!” Lust clouded his own still foggy brain as he glanced downward, eyes trailing down her bikini-clad chest to her waist where he held her firmly against him.

Y/N caught him, of course. She was staring at him just as intently. As always, she was enchanted by how beautiful he was. His hair was still damp and she was close enough to see bits of sand hiding in the curls. He was grinning wildly, eyes crinkling, cheeks flushed red, teeth adorably poking his pink bottom lip.

Without warning, he ducked his head pressed his lips to hers. Shock melted away as his mouth molded to hers, igniting an inferno in the pit of her stomach. Likewise, flames of passion were roaring within Harry as desperation took over for rational thought. He kissed her with the same eagerness and intensity with which they both would dive into the ocean, head first with no hesitation. His tongue was salty and sweet against hers. He tasted faintly like the sea and weed and mangoes—everything Y/N loved.

Which made it all the more difficult to pull away.

“We should stop,” she sighed but continued to accept the hot pecks he was dotting on her cheek, her jaw, her neck.

“Why?” he muttered against her skin, pruned hands squeezing her waist tighter.

“Because, we’re all salty and gross…” she wrapped her arms around his neck, anchoring his supple lips at the nape of her neck and shivering at the feeling he gave her. His lips were hot on her skin, lighting a blissful trail of fire wherever they went.

“I don’t mind.”

The pelting rain outside sounded distant to her, like background noise against the vibrations of Harry’s husky voice.

“Well...I do. Besides, we should talk about…whatever this is…” Y/N trailed off, thoughts evaporating into feelings, words melting into breathy whines.

“Wha’s there to talk about?” He pulled away from her neck but she didn’t let him go far. She held his sunburnt cheeks in her palms and let their noses brush against each other as he declared, “’S very simple. You’re in love with me.”

Y/N’s eyes widened and she let out a joyful laugh. She pulled away a millimeter, letting the back of her head graze the wall behind her as she continued to softly, nervously laugh, “You’re crazy, Harry. I’m not in love with you.” The lie tasted salty on her lips, as if the universe did not want to let her forget how delectable his own tasted against hers. She let herself gaze into his eyes, helpless against such a force so far beyond her control.

“You’re lying. I can tell when you look at me like that.”

She was sure he could feel her heart racing in her chest as she let out a breathy sigh, “Like how?”

“Like yeh want me to tell you you’re pretty and then fuck yeh into tha’ bed you fought me over.”

He smirked evilly as he said it, loving the way she shivered in his arms. She whined against his skin, way past pretending his words didn’t affect her. She shut her eyes and pressed another deep, languid kiss to his reddening bottom lip, unable to resist. “And what makes you so sure that’s love, H?” she whispered against his mouth.

“You’re kissin’ me like you’re in love with me, you’re looking at me like you’re in love with me, so, says Occam’s razor, yeh must be in love with me.”

“When did you become a goddamn philosopher?”

“‘M fuckin’ baked, Y/N,” he laughed, his breath tickling her cupid’s bow. “But ‘m also right. Yeh said it yourself.”

“Bullshit, you peaked a while ago.”

“Maybe I’m just fuckin’ smart then, Miss not-so-subtle-at-changing-the-subject.”

“Fine,” she deadpanned. And after a deep inhale: “I love you.”

Her voice was even, but a tsunami of feelings crashed in Y/N’s chest as the words left her lips—relief, joy, adoration, love.

An easy, knowing smile graced Harry’s mouth. “Spectaculah. I love y—“

“No,” she interrupted him with a peck on the lips, “tell me in the morning…when you’re sober. Then…”

She felt the heat rise up her throat and a smile pull at her lips at the vivid images running through her mind. The soft rays of morning sunshine peeking through the window, the sound of waves crashing in the distance, Harry’s naked chest against hers, his mouth muttering sweet, filthy praises across her chest, her tummy, the insides of her thighs…

“Sure thing, my love,” Harry laughed lightly. He had a feeling he knew exactly what was going on behind her red-rimmed eyelids. His own imagination was conjuring up dirty images of himself buried between her legs, basking in her salty skin and breathy whines. But there were softer thoughts, too. Fantasies involving sweet kisses pressed to her lips and her cheeks and the dulcet melody of her laughter and the feeling of her soft hands on his face. He saw her face while she was riding the biggest wave of the morning—lit up with a huge smile and eyes twinkling with the ocean’s reflection in them. He envisioned her soft lips stained orange with mango juice. He saw her cheeky, joyous grin when he was splashing her against the powdery pink backdrop of the sun setting into the sea. The prettiest fuckin’ sight I’ve ever seen.

Come morning, the first thing she heard was the crashing of the waves and Harry’s raspy voice in her ear.

“I’m in love with you, too.”

thank you for reading <3

please tell me what you think! I’d love to hear from y’all :D

informal taglist, aka a lovely bean who requested to be tagged: @fortrapsandfordaphne

#harry styles writing #majorharry20k #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles x y/n #harry styles imagine #surfer!harry

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ksfnmoments · 4 years ago

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~Friday Headcanons~

Today’s Topic: Skye (after the little blurb down below)

y’know what i miss? Posting headcanons, so what am I gonna do about it? FRIDAYYYYY

Still deciding whether or not to do it twice a week (Tuesdays), though knowing me that’ll probably happen. Either way, I love incorrect quotes but I genuinely miss headcanons and I have so many I want to write down that I just never know what else to do with. Since I got a lineup of quotes that are queued for every other day atm, I get so impatient on the days in between but I don’t want to keep going on daily posting sprees and then becoming nonexistent for like three weeks in between-

They’ll mostly be about Chapter 2 battle pass skins since they’re the ones I’m most comfortable writing about (especially 1-3 and 5, won’t include the marvel pals because i really don’t know crap about them lmao), but I’m open to requests on others and will definitely be writing out scenarios for groups! Only thing I won’t really do is ships since I generally just don’t play around with pairings, other than Jules and Fade.

Anyway, onto the headcanons! Today we’re starting with my favorite girl :)

Skye

Gonna go a bit into the backstory I have for her for any newcomers or anyone who doesn’t remember, basically her dad worked for A.L.T.E.R and her mom worked for E.G.O, but her mom was a double agent which was how her parents met. Long story short, someone from A.L.T.E.R found out and killed her mom, then started threatening Skye so her dad handed her off to someone and thus began her story. Skye was only two years old at this time.

She stayed at Camp Cod for four years, back before the loop it was a normal camp (the loop in my universe is a whole different timeline that i’ll have to explain at some point, but the basis is that C2 has been going on for about 10 years in my storyline, but the island existed like a normal place for at least 25 years beforehand.)

When she was six, she was handed off to another person away from Camp Cod due to a safety issue concerning the person who threatened her before she was sent there.

Skye picks things up fairly quickly and usually has an easier time adapting to situations. She takes this with pride and it’s one of the reasons she enjoys camping and adventuring so much. (Speaking of pride, happy pride month! ❤️)

At Camp Cod she was defo one of those kids who more or less says “I love you” to everyone she talked to more than once.

Before Midas took her in when she was eleven, she had four caretakers. Aside from her first at Camp Cod, the longest she stayed with one was two years (age 8-10). After the loop came around, she forgot the names of her first two.

Before she was ten, she had never been past the southern side of the island, or past Misty Meadows.

Weeping Woods is her favorite location and one of her places of comfort. If she really wants to be alone, she’ll go there.

She didn’t stay with Midas at first when he took her in, but with Journey (because Journey wouldn’t let him hear the end of it for literally bringing a child to a dangerous spy base).

Journey would take her to the mountains a lot and Skye absolutely loved it.

Journey taught Skye the basics of handling a grappler, needless to say the adventurer definitely had her gear of choice.

Midas decided to start teaching her tactical skills and stuff sometime after she turned 14. She had already been really interested in the whole agent thing for a while. About five or so months before C2S2, age 15, he officially activated her.

One of the first things she convinced him to let her do as an agent was travel as much as the island as she could, this first adventure being where she got most of the photos you found on her bulletin board. (photo source: reddit)

Her disappearing every so often for a couple days at a time quickly became a normal thing. At first though she’d just kinda leave while forgetting to tell anyone, until Midas got on to her about it so she made extra sure to tell him whenever she wanted to go off again.

One of these little expeditions was where she found her sword, on the hill to the right of The Grotto.

Her third caretaker (age 8-10) had a keyboard lying around and taught her how to play piano. Skye would practice at least every other day and learned a handful of songs.

One day Midas showed her around The Yacht for the first time when she was twelve. The whole tour was a bit of a blur to her, until she saw the piano. Being the little excitable ball of energy she was, she instantly ran over and started playing. She was rusty of course for not playing in a couple years but she remembered most of the things she learned before.

She organized a birthday party for Journey on The Yacht (Midas can’t say no to her at this point) and played Happy Birthday for her on the piano.

A month before C2S2 is when Midas decided to officially make her in charge of The Shark. She had help running the place of course for the first month by various agents and top henchmen, but the day the season started was the day she decided she was ready to handle it on her own.

She especially loved being at The Shark because of the piano; in between missions and patrols she would play it, and sometimes if she really wanted to play but was busy she’d do it in the middle of the night.

In between The Device’s aftermath and the move to The Fortilla, she’d play more often because she couldn’t find much else to do. It was one of the activities she used to cope with the despair GHOST faced after Midas’ and Jules’ supposed betrayal, before the flood took over The Shark for good (in The Tide Rises, The Shark doesn’t fully become the prison version. Only some aspects of it).

Skye loves motorboat rides. Her father took her on them around Rapid’s Rest and Camp Cod often and the exhilaration was something that stuck with her even after forgetting aspects of her past due to the loop.

She absolutely hates seeing others in a bad mood and always offers a shoulder to cry on or an ear to vent to. Always open about her feelings and encourages everyone to be as well.

On the other hand, she’s completely stubborn when she’s sick and tries as much as she can to not admit when it’s the case.

She always tries to see the best in people, unfortunately leading her to be a bit too trusting and naive. Upon becoming an agent, this has been one of her biggest flaws, and it even almost cost her her life after a certain incident (which I will post one day =>)

Unless it’s utterly life-threatening or harmful, can’t keep a secret to save her life. She has to tell it to someone (in this case Ollie doesn’t count) or else, in her words, she’ll literally die. Luckily for her, Fade’s the same way, so when he came along the two would confide to each other what they couldn’t tell to anyone else.

All in all, Skye is absolutely a kid at heart.

#fortnite #fortnite chapter 2 #fortnite skye #fortnite headcanons #headcanon #fortnite chapter 2 season 2 #kayvi0’s fortnite storyverse

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writing-in-april · 4 years ago

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Year in review tag

Thanks @zhuzhubii for tagging me! I’ve really been blessed to get to know you this past year 😌 it’s January 1st already but it’s no biggie I’ll still look back on 2020- which was filled with so many tragedies in my personal life and the rest of the world but I also gained something invaluable this past year. I started writing again in 2020, started posting on here, and gained so many wonderful friends on this platform. I love and appreciate anyone new I met here this year.

First creation + Most recent creation 2020

My first creation on here was Jinxed and it was the first writing I had done in years before starting this blog. My most recent creation is my fic Happy Coincidences a little fluffy meet cute fic.

One of your favorite creations from 2020

This is hard to decide but for writing I’d say Russian Roulette which was one of my favorites mostly because of the plot I came up with.

A creation you’re really proud of from 2020

Definitely a tie between Georgia Peach and Curl Recovery- Peach was a really hard fic for me to finish but in the end it turned out even better than I could’ve imagined. Curl Recovery was a fic that I wrote in one night actually and it was the first time I felt so passionate about a fic that I wrote it really quickly because my whole mind was inspired.

Plus I’m also really proud of myself for my 7 fics in 7 days for my 500 follower celebration - it took a lot of work but I’d love to do something similar again.

A new style you tried this year & a fic that uses it

I mostly write in the first person so I decided to dabble in trying to write more third person fics which was used The Big Bluff.

A creation that took you forever

Like mentioned above Georgia Peach took me forever I wanted to make sure I got it right when I wrote my first Gender Neutral smut and I went overboard over analyzing everything about the fic- but in the end it’s one of my favorite pieces.

Your creation from 2020 that received the most notes

I’m always surprised every time I remember that Surprise Pretty Boy is my fic with the most notes cause I’m kinda embarrassed of it tbh 🙈😂 it’s not my favorite smut I’ve ever written by any means but I’m glad everyone else seems to enjoy it!

A creation you think deserves more notes

Definitely A Greek Tragedy- I knew that since it was an angst fic that it would get less notes but I think it’s one of my best works.

A new fandom you joined and a creation you made for it

I joined a lot of fandoms this year as a writer but besides Criminal Minds I started writing for Oscar Isaac & Pedro Pascal characters- I wrote a Poe Dameron (Oscar Isaac character)fic called Souvenir that was a unique idea I was proud of and I wrote Serendipity a fic for Frankie Morales (Pedro Pascal character) that I think is really sweet.

A creation that you made that breaks your heart

Too little too late is one of my fics I can’t actually reread cause it makes me cry 😓

A ‘simple’ creation you made that you really love

9 o’clock was a fic that was just a simple little meet cute fluff but whenever I reread i die at the sweetness.

A creation that was inspired by another

Too little to late & Curl recovery were both partially inspired by @zhuzhubii because they are the angst god- too little was inspired by their fic cycles and curl recovery was inspired by a blurb they did about curly hair.

A favorite creation made by someone else

@zhuzhubii Be Patient - Sweater zipped up to (his) chin - To anyone who might care - Both Sides - Handiwork

@spencers-dria Lost at Sea - Moody Playlist

@ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff Between Bars - Seahorse

@moon-light-jukebox All you have to do is ask

@brywrites Flight risk

@spencersblog Daily surprises

@absurdthirst Frozen (three part series)

@writefightandflightclub Of rears and vices - Horny Misanthrope - Submit to rule

@stubbychaos Saviin’ika

@twomoonstwosuns Back to you

@steeeeeeeviebb Woman

Some of your favorite content creators of the year

Anyone mentioned above plus: @pumpkin-goob @homoose @catsadams @subbyspence @softpedropascal @lilkermit14 @storiesofthefandomlovers @the-purity-pen @criminalmindzjunkie @sierraraeck @andiebeaword @sunlight-moonrise @propertyofpoeandbucky and many many more

And for good measure a couple more creations of yours that you love

I’ve got a bunch of stuff on my Main Masterlist that I can’t even remember writing 😂 feel free to check everything out!

Tagging: It’s January 1st so I’m not going to tag anyone else but if anyone tagged above wants to do it feel free 😌

#tag game #I’m a day late on this shhh #april’s reading list

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zwiezraczek · 4 years ago

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Your writing is so good! Could I get no. 10 ? the reader is female (she/her) and maybe it could be a soulmate au and Roger is her soulmate and soulmates maybe have the same mark or maybe you have an idea for that 🙊 thank you so much! 😍💕

She's (Not) Afraid Of Falling In Love [Blurb]

Note: Sorry for taking so much time but now I'm here! I tried to pair up this blurb with your idea about a "She's not afraid" by One Direction fanfiction, I hope I managed to do something goid with it! I hope you'll like it!!! 💕

~~~~

You never wanted to fall in love, literally. But the society expected you to. Especially the tattoo on your wrist – the one you hid since high school –, the clock ticking and every second seemed to be an eternity. You were about to found your soulmate one day, and this day was a week away from you and you were scared. It was scarier than anything to know that destiny was about to send you somebody in your life, that you didn't have the right to chose whoever you were about to spend the rest of your life with. Especially knowing that would mean stop everything you had with Roger at the moment.

It never was serious, since the very beginning everything was messy and friendly. You met him during a science class you had together and you got paired up together for the assignment, from there your adventure began with Roger, Queen and Cie. He introduced you to his friends, the whole band and some of his best friends in his course, and you really liked them all. But you had a soft spot for Freddie who enjoyed seeing your work; you were a seamstress in your spare time and seeing that a man cared this much about sparkles and everything you did with any sort of fabric was refreshing since you weren't surrounded by artist on daily basis before meeting Roger. And you made some pieces for him, for the band, matching Roger's luxurious hair and his beautiful eyes.

You liked to kiss Roger in the dark, after their gigs, sitting on his lap and running your fingers through his hair as he was drinking a beer. Both of you knew it wasn't exclusive, and you weren't afraid of being at the center of attention, seen and looked at as Roger's “side chick”; mostly because you knew better than them what was happening between the two of you. Even if everybody was telling you that he would break your heart, you knew he wouldn't because at the moment that wasn't what you were looking for, not for love. You weren't looking for more, and the both closed the “love” door because you knew that all of this was fun, and nothing else.

You never spoke about your soulmate fate, even when it became alarming to the point that you couldn't sleep at night. You never wanted to know anything about other's soulmates, neither to talk about your own. The clock was still ticking, others were finding their love, and you were there, with your friendlier than he should be friend Roger. And somehow, when you were with him, you didn't think about the ticking clock and the moment you would meet your soulmate because Roger made you feel nice, understood and above all liked, or even loved for who you were, not for a bunch of numbers on his hidden wrist.

“Y/n,” he whispered as you were laying on his stomach and his fingers were playing with your hair, and you only hummed to let him know that you were listening to him. “I'll be meeting my soulmate soon.”

“Oh,” you said and put your hand up on his. You didn't like talking about all of this, and he knew this, but the situation had to be desperately bad for him to talk about it with you.

“I know you don't want to talk about this soulmate shit but... I don't know what to do y/n, it's like... I don't want it to happen, but it still will and... Fuck, I know it will make things complicated between us.”

“You have no idea how I hate this soulmate shit,” you replied and sighed right after. “I'm fine with being your friend Rog, no problem. We both know that it's... Temporary. And we both are, you know, free spirits.”

“You should stop hanging out with Freddie so much,” he teased you and you turned on your stomach to face him and pouted and frowned. “See? He has an influence on you.”

“Says the one sharing clothes with him.”

“Mrs. Seamstress isn't happy?”

“Fuck off,” you said adding too much o's to the word and he smirked.

“Hope this soulmate won't change shit,” he said as he put his hand against your cheek.

~~~~

Today was the day. You wanted to know who was the lucky one to take you home after that gig, your soulmate, the one your friends at university were talking about endlessly not knowing that you were about to meet him. In a few minutes. It was one of the Queen's gigs night, and as fate wished you accepted to go out, to be seen and to be looked for by a total stranger who was about to become the love of your life. You were shaking, your eyes wandering from left to right before, during and even right after the Queen's show ended and the speakers began to blast some music in your ears.

Whoever thought that looking for their soulmate was a fun activity was wrong, absolutely and definitely wrong.

You looked at your wrist another time, one of the hundreds of times you already watched your wrist during that day, during that gig and during your time at the bar looking for them. You didn't want more, you never wanted to open the door for some love, especially for an unknown soul. What you had with Roger was sufficient, you knew that what you shared was above what you could have expected from a relationship. You shared laughs and secrets, you exchanged kisses and ideas, and even if your friends told you that you shouldn't be that close to him you wanted to have what yo actually had with him at that moment. But your soulmate was about to enter your life now, and you just refused to let Roger go, even if you knew that you had to. A few minutes were left and you were circling the edge of your glass with your index while sitting at the bar. And then, you felt a hand on your shoulder, and your heart almost missed a beat. You turned around. It was Roger. It wasn't the time yet. You felt happy, yet disappointed.

“Not expecting me,” he teased you and you rolled your eyes and made some room for him at the bar.

“I was just thinking that a gorgeous person was trying to flirt with me, I was just wrong,” you wittily replied and he ordered himself a pint.

“Glad to be that person then,” he outsmarted you before you looked at your wrist again. Only a few minutes. “Stressed?”

“About?”

“I don't know, you're acting strange today,” he remarked and before you could truly come up with an answer to that the bartender pushed the pint in front of him and Roger took a sip from it. “Crazy day.”

“You said that,” you sighed. “But yeah, crazy and shitty day probably.”

“I had high expectations for today's gig.”

“Same on my side.”

And the silence weighted on your shoulders at that very moment, because you felt that your soulmate was truly close to you; but you didn't want to tell Roger about that, you refused to make things even more awkward. So you kept your mouth shut, sipping your drink from time to time while he looked at you from time to time.

A few seconds were left, merely ten, and you felt your heart race as if you were about to explode. You were afraid of falling in love, and you knew it now. You weren't afraid of a lot of things, not of all the attention, not of running wild and not even of scary movies, but afraid of love. You closed your eyes, thinking about what was about to happen to you, butterflies all over your stomach and you heard your name coming from Roger's lips. And when you opened your eyes, you felt a spark, you saw it, you felt his lips against yours and the butterflies on your stomach were already flying away. His hands were holding your cheeks, and you noticed his wrist shining bright, yours was itching. And when he pulled away, you noticed that your wrist was shining too.

"This was't planned at all," you whispered, still not believing what was happening.

"I like how it turned out," he replied and brushed the back of his hand against your cheek.

He was your soulmate, but you had to find yourselves first, convince yourselves that you were made for each other, from the very beginning.

#roger taylor #ben hardy #ben!roger #blurb #bohemian rhapsody

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365days365movies · 4 years ago

Text

Time for some adjustments.

Because lemme tell ya...it’s May, and I’m already tired.

Time to face the facts. 365 movies within a year is...difficult, especially when you have a full-time job, adult responsibilities, yaddayaddayadda. So, we’re gonna downshift gears a bit. I’m definitely gonna watch 365 films...but we’ll see if I get it done in a year. Sorry if anybody’s disappointed by this post, but I’d rather deliver quality posts to people, rather than burn myself out with work and movies. Plus, hey, I love movies; let’s not turn this into an actual chore.

Everything else? Staying the same. Here’s what that means.

Genre-by-month: I’ll still be watching movies of specific genres every month. Since there’s still a liiiiiiiittle bit of May left, look out for a few more science fiction reviews before this month ends. Especially one movie that I REALLY need to get to, and that I’ve hinted at all month. Look at my main blog page to understand a little bit more.

Recaps and Reviews: As you might have noticed, I’m missing a few Reviews. Again, that’s mostly just because of the overload I’ve been experiencing as of late. Well, no more of that. I’ll be making the time to get recaps and reviews done, and I’ll be keeping up with the main style of my posts up to know. Because, honestly...I kinda really enjoy doing this, especially when I’m not on a self-imposed deadline.

Schedule: We’ll get there. I’ll be sure to update thoroughly between reviews, and you’ll still see regular posts from me. Not sure how regular it’ll be yet, but I’m aiming for at least (at least) one per week. That’s actually practical! And eventually, when my schedule lets up, it’ll be more than that.

Other Posts: I’ll still be reposting a bunch of GIFsets from across this site, and they’ll often give an idea of what I’m watching currently. Some of those GIFsets will even be my own, probably! And who knows: I may write some short blurbs on those sets as well, depending!

Suggestion Box: This one’s new! If there are any films in a specific genre that you think I should watch or prioritize, tell me ASAP! I’ll add it to my mounting list, but I’ll definitely throw it in there if it isn’t already! If there are any films you think I need to see, PLEASE let me know!

Coming Soon: Another new addition! I’ll be updating my page every month with a list of films of the appropriate genre, with some proritized over others in terms of the ones I’m planning on watching, or that are on my Must-Watch List. I may diversify these posts over time, but that’s the current plan. At the end of this post, I’ll tell you what my plans are for May, and you’ll need to look for for June as well!

And so, for this post...

Well, almost. I know that this isn’t the best news for some of you, but I’m definitely still around. Maybe not a daily occurence, but I’m not sure how many of you check for me daily anyway. And if you do...well, geez. I’m truly touched. But I ask, stick around! There’s more to come. For May, for example...

And beyond that, well...next month is gonna be weird.

June: Experimental and Art House

#user365 #365 days 365 movies #365 movies 365 days #science fiction may #art house june #cinema #fil #film review #film essay #usergilli

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angryteapot · 6 years ago

Note

Congratulations on the milestone tea. I said I got dibs on a blurb so here we go. One Clark Kent please; situation of something to do with being rescued by Superman and not knowing it’s Clark yet but oh he knows

Thank you Goose!

Sighing in frustration, you trudged up the rusted stairs of the dilapidated building.

You had begged Perry for a break from writing puff pieces, and he gave you this - a mystery case involving three missing tourists. The police had been working on the case for over four months and had hit dead ends everywhere they turned. Seeing as how the disappearances had seemingly stopped, they had given up the case in light of more pressing matters, and now the "Ghost Presser" case had been passed to you.

The building that the disappearances had occurred in was in a dead zone on the outskirts of the city, an old abandoned printer press that everyone insisted was haunted by some old coot that had offed himself by jumping into one of the giant industrial printers. They say the ink from that day's paper ran red. You thought it was all fabricated, a ridiculous ghost story taken from that Jim Carrey 'The Mask' movie.

It was nearing midnight, but that's when you would get the best "creepy, eerily haunted" photos of the abandoned printer line. A shiver ran down your spine as you heard distant noises, pipes clanging and old papers fluttering in the night breeze.

You were photographing the rusted printers when you heard footsteps and voices from the offices above. The center of the warehouse was all open, with the second floor consisting of a perimeter walkway with offices overlooking the giant machines on the ground floor.

Creeping up the stairs towards the voices, you had your camera poised and ready, footsteps silent as could be. You were nearing the closed doors where the voices were coming from, when suddenly you heard a creak, and a large hand grabbed you roughly by the shoulders and pushed you through the doors.

You fell to your hands and knees, camera shattering in front of you. Shit. Perry was going to kill you and take that out of your pay. Assuming you got out of there alive, anyway.

You looked up and saw a dozen guns pointed at you. Glancing around at the stacked crates, with known mafia affiliates staring down at you through the barrels of their guns, you surmised that you had just wandered into a huge arms deal.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me."

"I'm afraid not, Miss…" A man, whom you assumed was in charge of all these degenerates, looked down at you with a curious gaze.

You didn't answer, staring at him defiantly while trying to memorize everything about him. He looked more like a White-House affiliate rather than the mob boss you had envisioned. Your glare was cut short as he continued talking.

"Well, I don't suppose knowing your name will matter, you'll be dead in a few minutes. Our sincerest apologies for any inconveniences your death may cause. Oh and fellas? Don't get creative, stick to the M.O.. Buh-bye now sweetheart."

With a cheeky wave from the well-dressed bastard, you were roughly hauled away by two hulking men… right towards the industrial ink reservoir. One of the guys went to flip a switch, and the machines below roared to life.

"Shame for such a pretty face to go to waste," one of the men lamented as he ran a finger down your cheek. You bit at his hand, hurling expletives as he snatched his hand back and raised it to slap you.

You heard a crash and flinched, closing your eyes, bracing for the impact. It never came. You peeped an eye open and saw the goon's arm bent at a painful angle, the gorgeous and angry face of Superman taking over your view. He knocked the giants unconscious, catching you by the waist as you stumbled back towards the railing.

"I'll be right back," he rumbled, and was gone in a breath. You steadied yourself against the wall, jumping as you heard gunshots and shouting, heavy thuds as if bodies were hitting the walls. It suddenly went silent, and you shakily stood and walked over to the door torn off its hinges. You looked in to see Superman tying up the bruised and battered men.

The man of steel suddenly turned to you, his intense expression softening as he met your gaze. The last thought you had before blacking out was that his eyes looked very familiar. You must have passed out from the shock of it all because, the next thing you knew, you were being cradled against a wide chest, buildings flashing by beneath you.

"Oh jeez. Oh jeez oh jeez oh jeez," you stuttered out as you buried your face into Superman's emblazoned 'S'.

"Don't worry, I won't let you fall. We'll land in a few moments. Where do you live?"

"I, uh, um," you were drawing a blank. Superman chuckled, the rumble felt against the cheek that was pressed against his chest.

"It's alright, I'll take you somewhere safe where you can gather your wits."

You felt secure in the superhero's arms, so you tried to relax. Face pressed against his chest, you couldn't help but to breathe him in. You couldn't quite put your finger on it, but he smelled… familiar. Earthy with an undertone of the typical musk in popular colognes, and something distinctly other, something sharp and electric like lightning.

As you were still thinking of the familiarity of his scent, the two of you landed on the rooftop of the Daily Planet. You thought it strange, that he brought you here of all places. He gently set you on your feet, hands landing on your waist to support you as your legs wobbled, readjusting to solid ground.

Finally getting a good look at him, your eyes following the sharp curve of his distinctive jawline. Taking in all the details of his face, you felt like you were looking at one of those "find the differences" pictures. You knew something was off, something was familiar, just on the edges of your mind, but shrouded in mystery and denial.

"This is going to sound crazy, but, do we… know each other?"

His eyes widened, and you noticed panic flash across his face for a brief second.

"I don't believe we do," he cleared his throat. "But it was a pleasure meeting you, Miss (L/N), although you really should be more careful about investigating alone late at night."

"I never told you my name," you drawled out suspiciously.

"I uh, I must've recognized you from the newspaper articles. Is there anywhere I can escort you?"

You smirked at his obvious deflection, "Well I live about eleven blocks north of here if you wouldn't mind, y'know, giving me a 'ride' there."

"I'd be more than happy to see you home safely. I'm going to pick you up now, if that's alright?"

"By all means," you gestured, looping your arms around his neck again as he lifted you up with ease.

He shot up into the sky, a gasp escaping your throat at the view. Superman reached your apartment in no time, setting you down on the fire escape landing, hovering in front of you.

"Thank you for saving me," you grinned at his bashful expression.

"It was my pleasure. But perhaps try to be more careful in in the future?"

You throw him a lazy, two-fingered salute and a wink, "I'll do my best. Will I be… seeing you around?"

The corner of his lips tilted up, "Perhaps."

Your heads swiveled around at the sound of a distant explosion. He sighed wearily and looked back at you with an unreadable expression.

"Go save the city, Superman. I'm sure I'll see you again," you looked at him with a soft smile.

"Take care of yourself, Y/N, I'm sure I'll be seeing you soon," he nodded politely and shot off into the night.

You were once again bemusedly puzzled as to how he knew your name, let alone said it so casually as if he was used to saying it.

You meandered into your apartment, immediately taking a shower to rid yourself of the dust and grime. You also took that time to have your freak-out. You’d been mostly calm and witty before, but for goodness sakes, you’d been an inch away from death just an hour before. After getting clean, and your minor freak-out, you took a power nap since you had to be in the office in a matter of hours.

When you got to work and hour late from over-sleeping, you were greeted by Perry photos down on your desk of the tied-up bad guy from the previous night being arrested, and he was all geared up for a tirade.

You shut him down with a sweet smile, explaining that you had solved the "Ghost Presser" mystery and inadvertently helped Superman expose a major arms deal. Perry just grumbled and said he was taking the busted camera expenses out of your check.

A curly head of dark hair, and the accompanying pair of blue eyes with glasses, poked around the corner of your cubicle. Clark Kent asked, "Eventful night?" with a slightly-worried smile. A familiar smile.

"Quite the adventure. You should come with me, next time. Someone in a cape alluded that I should use the buddy system."

"I couldn't agree more, the world is a dangerous place, especially at night," Clark said easily. The corner of his lips lifted in a friendly smile as he turned back to his own desk.

A familiar smile indeed.

#tea answers #200 milestone #clark kent x reader #superman x reader #tea loves her followers

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thesinglesjukebox · 5 years ago

Video

youtube

LADY GAGA - STUPID LOVE

[6.42]

Far from "Shallow" now...

Brad Shoup: Thudding sixteenths and vocal chop straight out of a Todd Edwards remix... it's always great when she visits. [8]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: It must be exhausting to be Lady Gaga. Here's a short list of her accomplishments since 2013's ARTPOP: winning a Grammy for a jazz duets album, winning a Golden Globe for her role in American Horror Story, headlining the Super Bowl, co-hosting arguably the best Met Gala in years, winning an Oscar for A Star is Born, getting a number one Billboard single from the soundtrack, launching a vegan make-up line, and starring in a Las Vegas residency. And yet, the dominant critical narrative has still essentially been: Gaga is absent from pop music. (For comparison, Katy Perry has been a judge on American Idol.) Of course, her self-mythologizing is partially to blame for this, but it's unclear what could have possibly satisfied her critics and die-hard fans outside of re-reinventing music à la 2010. So what's her move given the weight of the world's impossible expectations? To make simple, unpretentious pop music on her own terms. In a recent Billboard interview, she laughed while stating, "I would like to put out music that a big chunk of the world will hear, and it will become a part of their daily lives, and make them happy every single day." My first reaction upon reading this was: yes, we should hold Gaga to a higher standard because she's Gaga, but how can we balance that with the potentially damaging effects for her mental health and sanity? So on "Stupid Love" when she sings, "Now it's time to free me from this chain/I gotta find that peace, is it too late?" I like to hope it's meta-commentary on her rediscovering the joy in her music and being, free of expectation. Gaga tracks are often described as "huge" or "epic", but none has ever so perfectly embodied "fun." I'm definitely excited about how this track sounds -- an ebullient return to her earliest disco pop roots, at a time when radio is dominated by trap -- but "Stupid Love" stands out to me because of her embrace of radical self-love. This is the Gaga that I've always loved -- and she's always been enough. [9]

Leah Isobel: The production filters back an entire decade's worth of Stefani's influence into a three-minute Fruit Gusher burst of tang, but the lyrics are decidedly forward-looking, all declarative statements of "now is the time!" bullshit. In the middle of this past/present/future time-play, as the beat drops out beneath her, she asserts the key line: "all I ever wanted was lahv." If it's a disappointingly shallow retcon for an artist whose initial breadth and ambition was the entire point, the promise of it lingers in my brain. After all, it's not too far from a similar pop megalomaniac realizing that she "traded fame for love without a second thought" about 20 years ago. That rich vein of popstar self-examination writ large is so suited to Gaga's talents as an artist -- a provocateur, fake-deep philosopher, musical theatre nerd, and hook-writing master all at once -- that I have listened to this song five times in a row pretty much every single day since it, uh, appeared on the internet. My paws are reluctantly up, Stef. Don't fuck it up. [7]

Jessica Doyle: Fun, and otherwise unremarkable. If you've been a Gaga fan for a while -- if you're invested in the narrative of this hardworking woman, who has been through downs and ups and downs and then ups again -- I imagine the fun is enhanced by a certain comfort and relief in seeing her have fun; in imagining her feeling strong and secure enough to release a fun song that doesn't have to upend anything. But I am a heartless, acontextual consumer, for whom the marginal cost of listening to something else is zero, and I miss "Bad Romance." [5]

Tobi Tella: For an artist who at her peak overstuffed everything with too many ideas, there's really not much happening here. It's loud and upbeat, sure, but the lyrics are barely the thread of a coherent song, and the production reminds everyone who wants "pure" pop to come back to be careful what they wish for. Maybe that A Star is Born "pop music bad guitar music good" cynicism rubbed off too much? [4]

Katherine St Asaph: Just when I thought Gaga was lost to the land of Real Music™, or worse, flailing attempts to be chill by the least chill performer in pop music (yes, including Taylor Swift), she goes and releases this, 50,000 firecrackers on a Eurovision stage. The thicket of hooks is packed, with Black Midi levels of referential density. The whole thing sounds like "Born This Way," which is to say it sounds like "Express Yourself"; there's a juddering sequencer out of "Do What U Want" (reminds me more of "Weekend" by Class Actress, but which is more likely to be the actual inspiration?) and a touch of, of all things, September's "Cry For You." Gaga fills every crevice of the song with singing, throaty and belty and huge: a relief after years of songs filled only with half-assed #vibes. If it feels frivolous against much of Born This Way and The Fame Monster and some of Artpop, and far less ambitious, it at least pulls her out of the "Shallow" piano muck. [7]

Vikram Joseph: Perhaps a stupid song about making stupid choices is the Lady Gaga lead single we both need and deserve in 2020. The battering-ram synths feel like running down a hill into a gale-force wind; the best thing about "Stupid Love" is that Gaga sounds like she's having a lot of fun, and by extension so are we. [7]

Alex Clifton: "Stupid Love," much like "Born This Way" before it, is ready-made for pride parades, grown from the same mystical lab that gave Lady Gaga her incredible melodic sensibilities. Unlike its predecessor, though, it has more euphoria in it, presumably because it's not making a political point. Gaga's more focused on having fun here, and you can tell. The verses aren't my favourite, but the chorus hits as an overwhelming rush of dopamine, and now I can't stop dancing in my computer chair. Between this and Dua Lipa's album, we're in for a hell of a good time for pop music this spring, and I am extremely excited. [7]

Thomas Inskeep: She was doing this better a decade ago. A lot better. [2]

Joshua Lu: The narrative surrounding "Stupid Love" regards it a return to the Pop Gaga that's been mostly absent since 2013: A revival if you're a fan, a regression if you're not. The issue with this narrative is that "Stupid Love" lacks any key similarities to the Gaga of yesteryear; the only real sonic link is how the bassline brings to mind the since-redacted "Do What U Want" beat. Instead we have something that's somehow not a Kygo song, with vocal chirps that got old last year, serviceable but clichéd hooks (the entire pre-chorus has all the charm of a Taio Cruz album track), remarkably basic lyrics filled with platitudes, and a title that has no bearing on anything in the song -- there's nothing lyrically or aurally stupid about anything here, and Gaga has shown a deep capacity to be stupid in her past pop works. In reality, what we have here isn't a return to anything, but rather the continued flagging of Gaga's desire to develop genuinely off-beat or interesting pop music, whether intentional or not. Gaga's talents as a vocalist elevate the song beyond the usual pop pap, but it's not nearly at the level I once hoped she could remain at. [6]

Alfred Soto: Kudos to Jamieson Cox for catching an obvious forebear: the rattling sequencer recalls 2013's forgotten "Do What U Want," which was all set to do some business until radio programmers remembered R. Kelly had been a menace for years. Amiably confusing lack of affect with simplicity, "Stupid Love" flexes its pop strength with the expectation that fans will admire it. [7]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: The synths pack a punch but they never quite get me to where I should be. I wanna feel desperation, exasperation -- that love is worth looking stupid for. All I get is a familiar, quasi-stoic performance that sounds like Gaga's doing some excellent karaoke. [4]

Kayla Beardslee: Sure, it's competent, but Gaga is capable of so much more. Many other blurbs will discuss the song's aggressive datedness and bland lyrics, but what really bothers me is that the two halves of "Stupid Love" -- the dramatic vocals and the unrelenting gallop of the synths -- don't fit together. Gaga is giving her all with those signature "laahv"s, but there's just not enough empty space left for her in the production. Her performance ends up laying flat on top of the track, adding nothing except a sense of laziness from her producers and engineers. [5]

Pedro João Santos: Serviceable Max Martin bopathon scams its way into my brain again -- no matter how direly in need of an incubator this whole structure is. Gaga's weakest lead single feeds you Kygo, threatens to ascend during "All I ever wanted was love", and still can't fight the aura of afterthought. [6]

Jibril Yassin: "Stupid Love" is a giddy rush of EDM-pop fun, but it's the first time experiencing a major Gaga single entirely devoid of surprises. Bracing yourself for a twist that never arrives or a strange turn of vocals rearing its head from nowhere, "Stupid Love" makes up for its unremarkableness with a masterclass in songwriting. What Lady Gaga hasn't forgotten how to do is translate the feeling of having your initial gut feelings completely validated. "Stupid Love" makes its magic in casting the act of love as necessary and dare I say it -- radical. [7]

Jackie Powell: On "Stupid Love" Lady Gaga achieved a corollary. By trying to put her healing process into simple poetry, she also created an accompanying sound that's comparable to an analgesic. The function of the track is to heal and liberate. (Truth be told, Little Monster or not, the song has helped me get out of bed in the morning.) Gaga's latest cut is packaged into a familiar formula, and that's part of the reason why this track serves as a formidable lead single and symbol for the upcoming Chromatica. The equation is one that mirrors the "best of" Stefani Germanotta. What's brilliant about "Stupid Love" is that its visual and lyrical messaging and surrounding sonic arrangement and melody bring what Little Monsters and casual music fans with a Gaga fascination expect. And that's okay. She has told Oprah that her goal now isn't just to shock people but rather to exude authenticity. She stirs elements from all of her pop eras into the most hearty and flavourful version of Gaga soup (and that does include Joanne contrary to popular belief.) Each ingredient works and is soluble. She tossed in the elements of the The Fame that made fans want to Just Dance and sprinkled some catchy Swedish-sounding pop melodies (Max Martin, hello!) and sung onomatopoeia from The Fame Monster, à la the "hey-ah, hey-ahs." A suspenseful build, uniquely potent and soaring vocals are ounces of Born This Way. Don't worry, ARTPOP is doused on this track not only in color, but in sound. There's a reason why that sped up "Do What U Want"-esque bassline works. There's a contrast between her bright vocal performance and the electronic bass' darkness. Joanne comes across in the allegorical concept which once again can be interpreted to reflect the current American experience. Music video director Daniel Askill confirmed that Gaga wanted to portray the "warring tribes as a metaphor for the state of the world today." So, Mother Monster is on a mission to introduce the world to her new brainchild, ever-developing ideologies and honest ways to examine life. "Stupid Love" isn't the end-all but merely the beginning. Paws up and welcome to Chromatica bitches. [8]

Nortey Dowuona: NOPE! WAIT. wait. This is actually a welcome back for... the bass, who is joined by his drumming sister, his synth bros and Lady Gaga, who has come here from the Make A Wish Foundation to take him around New York. They have a wonderful day together, with the synth bros getting their percussive background vocal girlfriend an NYPD hoodie, and the experience convinces Lady Gaga to make bright, happy pop music again! (The bass, in the midst of a happy dance, got hit by her limo and had to go back to the hospital.) [8]

Scott Mildenhall: Between its hyperventilating over-excitement and ever-exciting hyper-sincerity, Gaga seems to have finally created a pop emergency. The false alarm of "Applause" was overstuffed and underpowered, but "Stupid Love" redresses that balance by going harder and clearer, like a newly thawed cut from a cryogenically frozen, course-correcting Artpop Monster edition. Time might seem to have turned in on itself, but no: the greater lyrical directness arrives in a way that feels culminatory. The plainspokenness of that indelible "all I ever wanted was love" makes it almost an epitaph, grounding it in a present in which all experience has been lived, and all realisations are realised. Undeniably, Lady Gaga is not dead, but this is what she knows. [8]

Will Adams: I defended "The Cure" and lamented the immense pressure on Gaga to make every release the Next Big Thing, however even that soured when it turned out to be part of A Star Is Born's ~superficial pop~ world. So where to next, when she's caught between turgid rock balladry and ill-fitting trop-pop? On "Stupid Love," we get the best possible outcome: whizzing past Joanne, making a brief stop at Artpop but ultimately landing on the dazzling excess of Born This Way. Like any good synthpop number, the synths display a wide range of textures: they tunnel, they drill, they poof, they gleam. Gaga is more than willing to match their energy. Noteworthy, though, is that she takes a brief pause only on the pre-chorus's "all I ever wanted was love"; even the way the title scans it almost sounds like she could be singing "I want just to be loved." This is the essence of pop: amidst the big dumb fireworks display, a human message at the core. [7]

#Lady Gaga #pop #music #music review

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steamishot · 5 years ago

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Changes

~4/21? I think my mindset shifted a lot this past week, especially after staying with Matt and his family for a few days. Admittedly, I used to be very fearful of going outside to public spaces and be extra cautious every time I did take out. For example, my family and I have “outside clothes” and “inside clothes”. I would immediately toss my “outside” clothes into my laundry basket when I arrived home from the market or picking up food, even if I was out for just 5 minutes. My parents were against me doing any uber eats or takeout. They believed home cooked food was the best during this time and refused to eat non-homemade food. My mom left the house less than 2 times this past month. My dad is less fearful - he’s gone out multiple times a week (to buy food and for work) and doesn’t really care, but my mom and I always gave him shit for doing so. I felt like a huge hypocrite going out to see Matt, and was afraid of how my family would react.

I’m really awkward whenever talking about love or romantic partners with my family - especially after what happened with my last parter. I’m avoidant. So I ended up only telling my mom I was going to leave to see Matt 30 minutes before I actually did pack up to go, which was very bad on my part. She was heartbroken and was super fearful and asked “can you not?”. She later called me during the car ride and told me not to come home for a month. Hearing that made Matt feel guilty, and he called my mom’s idea stupid. We got into a huge argument, with me trying to defend my family. I found out later there was some underlying resentment, where he felt like my family treats him like second-rate, which is probably my fault because I choose not to talk about partners to my family.

4/25- it’s now been over a week that Matt has been home and I’ve seen his family every single day even on the days that we were staying at the Airbnb. Things have been kinda tense between us (I think he’s being mean to me, he thinks I’m mean to him). I realize that this is due to several issues:

- Quarantine/pandemic stresses: he’s a frontline worker in the epicenter of covid and working at one of the hardest hit hospitals. Even though he doesn’t verbally acknowledge his feelings and pretends he’s ok, he’s definitely more stressed out than usual. During this time, he’s even more sensitive to any criticism I have. He used to take it all (mostly), but he’s been retaliating more often recently. On his end, he feels that his whole life is a sacrifice, and he’s working extremely hard especially during this scary time - why do I have to criticize him during his vacation? I should just let him enjoy himself.

-Attention: We’re staying with his family during this time, so it’s his time to catch up with everyone. He’s also catching up with his friends online. Because these are the people he rarely talks to (he calls me everyday vs. calling family for like 5 min once a week, and never calling/texting his friends), I have become last on the priority list in attention during his vacation. I keep telling myself it’s fine. However, because I’m also the person he is closest to, I feel like it’s me who puts up with his shit the most. Then I question, why do I have to be so nice to someone who is not very fit as a good partner (due to residency, especially during a time like covid), and on top of that has to be rude to me? I started feeling salty about that.

- Lack of comfort: not to be ungrateful, but I realize that staying at someone else’s home for an extended period of time is stressful, even more so under quarantine. I’m not carefree at his home, and I feel like I have to be on my best behavior/ “professional” around his parents. I lose structure in my daily life and I always have to depend on someone else. I have a few articles of clothing I’m wearing over and over lol. His dad generously gave us his room (because it’s attached to a restroom). However, we’re sleeping on an old spring mattress that creeks with every movement. We’ve had to have quiet, inhibited sex lol.

Anyway, I’m PMSing - 6 days before my period. I hate that I tend to PMS during the times that we have to spend together. I know my concerns are legit, but PMS can make it seem worse/more dramatic than what it is. I was watching Insecure season 4 yesterday, and there was a scene that stuck out to me. Issa’s best friend Molly (who has been single for quite some time) started dating a guy that she really likes. A few weeks later, she got upset that he wasn’t opening up to her. Issa asked something along the lines of “do you actually wanna be happy? you keep looking for problems.” Hearing that kinda put things into perspective for me, as I tend to focus on the negatives than see things as a whole.

Let’s focus on positive things:

- Having a partner in healthcare feels like having the fastpass in an amusement park. Going to costco and beating the line. Free stuff/food everyday. His mom is a PT at USC and she’s received free food, free orchids, free tangerines, etc. I stopped feeling guilty about being out for non-essential things (like going out for take out multiple times a day), because my doctor partner deserves it. When I return to my life at home, I’m not going to do this anymore. Also, he had a healthcare worker discount at the north face, and bought a jacket for me, his mom, and himself.

- Running. The men in his family are all into running. His dad is almost mid-60s and runs 5 miles multiple times a week. His teenage brother runs 7-9 miles like everyday. Matt used to run a lot too, and was the top runner in high school. That’s why even though he’s fat now, it’s only his upper body that is actually fat. His lower body still has that runner’s physique. I went out to the trail with them 3 times already. It’s hard because I have allergies in this weather, and also it’s damn hot. But I was able to run 3.5 miles last time. I’ll try for 4 today.

- Everyday, his parents always ask him what I want to eat. They’re so accommodating, especially his dad. Tea is sacred to his dad, and he never really shared before. No one else in his family was interested in tea either. But because I showed interest and love tea, he’s been asking me multiple times a day - do you want tea? Do you want wine? LOL. He buys breakfast everyday - dimsum, burger king, mcdonalds, chinese breakfast, etc. They always make sure I am fed.

4/30 - after I wrote my last blurb, everything started going uphill. We both became more understanding of each other, and more forgiving. He became more relaxed, I became more relaxed. We were able to have fun again. to highlight the fun times that i had with him and his family:

- the first or second day i was over at his parents house, his dad offered me some tea, but i declined because it was already late and i was afraid i wouldn’t be able to sleep. i asked if we could take some tea leaves to go since were staying at an airbnb at the time. matt says he’s protective of his tea. i think he was a little shocked when i first asked him, because no one in his family is interested in tea, but he gave me like 2 bags initially. his mom was like GIVE HER MORE, GIVE HER 10. SHE IS LIKE FAMILY. i felt a little awkward but i love me some tea.

- did so. much. takeout in 13 days. the first couple days I was still kinda paranoid about going out, but by the last day it felt like NBD to me. Got to eat poke, sugarfish sushi, nabemono hot pot, pho x3, banh mi, boba everyday, ramen x2 (men oh, ramenhood), burgers x3 (in n out, bunz, the win-dow), sugar cane x2, taro cake, yin ji chang fen, thai, philz, dim sum etc. it was reminiscent of our lifestyle whenever we went on vacation. we were still fatasses during quarantine.

- played board games with his brother and mom. played poker with the family and his dad. his younger brother and i lost early on cause we suck, but he and his dad continued playing for another hour and a half or so - matt ended up winning. but it was very nice to see them spend time together as spending time playing games like that was never a thing in their family

- i helped his family take some cute family photos (with and without masks on). his mom likes taking family photos and usually gets to do so on family trips, but said they didn’t get any this year because of the quarantine. the boys aren’t big fans of photos either so she took advantage of me being there. i was also part of a few family photos!

- made charcuterie boards for his family. they really enjoyed it.

- i spent some quality time with his 88 year old grandma. she mostly does her own thing (which is being babysat by an ipad), but one day i made her draw with me by following youtube tutorials - we drew a flower, mickey mouse, a cat, and a monkey together. she asked me to save a video so she can continue doing it and get better. another day, i wanted to have her write/read in english and chinese. his mom found an elementary chinese workbook and she ended up teaching me. the material was very easy and she was like “uh you’re already very good” lol. i then switched the roles and asked her to write in english - she was surprisingly very good and could write quite quickly. as an assignment, i asked her to write a letter to matt. it was precious. it took me back to the days where i would teach english to chinese seniors. i took a pic of them using my instax camera, and she really loved it.

- watched farewell with his grandma, brother, and mom. we already watched it once before so he was sitting in the back only paying half attention. his brother was immediately into it and got emotional at times. at one point, he had to stand up and go towards the back of the room because the emotions were too much to handle. matt said his brother was tearing up. his mom said that watching their family was very relatable and it reminded her of her own family. i tried watching this film with my mom and grandma, but they didn’t get it and found it boring. it was nice to watch a chinese-american film with a chinese family to get that commentary.

- ran/walked/jogged at the trail a total of 20 miles during my stay there

- did home work outs - yoga, blogilates and peloton HIIT with him, his family and friends. we did echo park steve’s yoga one day too. his mom enjoyed peloton yoga and blogilates and asked me to save the videos for her.

- in the first few days, his mom kept repeating “life is beautiful”. the first day, we cheered to him still being alive lol. (not funny and his mom was sleepless a few nights due to worrying, but i think it’s gonna be ok)

- news so I can remember: 3 programs in cali reached out to matt during his vacation, asking if he’s still interested in interviewing for a PGY-2 program. loma linda was one of them and would have been an amazing program to be a part of. it was a very hard decision, but he declined. he had already signed a contract with brooklyn, and this would require him to speak to his program director about his interest in switching programs. not a good look if you don’t actually get into the program.

- his parents (moreso mom) is an avid, adventurous traveler. they had plans to go to africa this year and talked about rescheduling. she included matt and i in the plans to go next year and said “the four of us”. matt brought up norway instead, since that’s more doable. so we settled on going to norway as a family.

- went with matt’s dad to drop him off at LAX yesterday morning at like 6:30am. he then dropped me at home, and officially met my mom for the first time. they shook hands and he told my mom “connie is so nice”. LOL.

After coming home yesterday, my mom bombarded me with questions about matt and his family. and then asked about our future and whether we are thinking of marriage. she is against me moving to nyc during this pandemic, and i hate how uncertain everything is right now. she also thinks that i should be engaged before i uproot my life to move over to be with him. i agree to an extent, but i also understand if he is not ready. it is crazy that we have now been long distance longer than being together in person, and with this pandemic, i’m not sure how long that’s gonna continue. i found out that my mom feels ashamed of me going to stay at a boy’s house for that long. a boy i am not engaged/married to. she doesn’t say it but the actions make me seem slutty to traditional people. she hid the information from my brother and SIL - i think because she would be ashamed if the info leaked out to her parents. that is why she keeps pushing the idea of marriage/engagement on me.

I took yesterday to kinda get used to being back at home, and felt quite sad to detach from my “second family”. In a way, even though it wasn’t always comfortable or easy, I at least felt I wasn’t stagnant. It was like a “bootcamp” to fit in with someone else’s family, their routines, and their daily lives. I’m also happy that I was pushed to run. They eat pretty heavy food, and they all overeat, but they also exercise a lot. My family portions well and eats very clean, but has milder workouts. Sometimes they intentionally skip meals to lose/maintain weight, whereas my family would throw a fit if we didn’t have food at a certain time. Their family is larger (130-190lbs), whereas my family is like (110-150 lbs)? After coming back home and eating my mom’s very clean food, I felt it wasn’t as tasty and I started craving heavier food lol. I think it would be beneficial for me to eat/live like their family for a few months (to gain weight and be stronger), and for matt to eat like my family to lose weight.

When we were eating takeout ramen one day, his mom mentioned that he never used to eat carbs. When he was at home and had a workout routine, it was just protein and veggies. I realize that without me, he probably wouldn’t be such a fatass lol. He said he would probably be too lazy to go out to eat, especially if he didn’t have a partner. I remembered that before meeting me, his diet would be soylent and protein bars. We’ve come a long way.

Anyway, I’m finally getting back into my routine at home. It’s kinda boring now, but I’ll adjust. I did only the minimum for work these past two weeks, and now UC Path is down for a week, meaning I can’t really do much work. I’m taking a half day tomorrow, using COVID admin pay. My tomato plants grew a lot. My ginger may have sprouted a little, but my strawberries seem like they’re a fail. Finally applied for PUA for my uncle, hope he will be receiving a paycheck soon. Supposed to get my period really soon so I’ve been feeling pretty lazy. I may start running outside on my own.

I’m worrying less about covid now. I used to freak myself out by reading the news everyday and following the subreddit, but looking at statistics, I feel ok.

0 notes

sevralships · 8 years ago

Text

“Just Because You Can” Part 4 of 7, Chapters 12-16

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7 FIN]

The Pines triplets, Mabel, Dipper, and Jolene, have always been best friends. But lately, there’s been some distance growing between the Mystery Kids, due in part to the forbidden feelings with which they are each struggling. How will they manage to see eye to eye, when torn between wanting each other and craving adventure?

(This is a new AU that I’ve been calling Jolene AU, devised by myself and @handleonthescandal after one of us asked the question “What if Mabel and Dipper were triplets but with another sister?”. Although this AU is similar, it is not connected to Double Dippin’ AU, and Jolene is in no way connected to Tyrone.)

Shoutout to @sirwaddlesesquire for being the trustiest squire and an insightful, helpful, and supportive beta.

Mostly SFW, mostly angst with some action/adventure and a little bit of fluff, tw incest

Fic under the cut, enjoy!

Chapter 12: Mystery Twins

Exhausted and ashamed as Jo and Dipper had both been, it had turned out to be a lovely evening with their sister. Wet-haired from showering, they’d sat in the kitchen, gratefully eating the meal Mabel had cooked. Dad had been teaching her over the last year and she’d improved a lot. They’d eaten their food and then moved into the living room and curled up on the couch together. No sooner had they sat down than Jo had fallen asleep with her head on Dipper’s shoulder, snoring softly in his ear. Mabel had played the mom role and shooed them both up the stairs to bed while she cleaned up in the kitchen.

Dipper was bone-tired when he shut his bedroom door. His body ached from the day’s exertions and his bed looked wonderfully inviting. But there was something he had to do first. He turned on his bedside lamp and twisted it so it illuminated his bed brightly, and pulled the twisted blankets aside. He placed the scale from the lake gently on the bed and switched on the camera, quickly taking a few shots. It had been much more beautiful in the natural light, but the photos were adequate.

Almost on autopilot, he’d moved the photos from the camera to his laptop. He’d clicked the bookmark in his browser that took him to ‘mysterymonthlymag.com’ and eyed the featured daily headlines for a sec before clicking the ‘Explain the Unexplained! Contest Submissions’ link. He attached two images of Tessie and one of her scale, an picture Mabel had taken of he and Jo before their search for Scampfires in Gravity Falls last summer, wrote a 250 character blurb in the space provided, and hit ‘Submit’. Normally, he would have read and reread and obsessed over it, but he was tired enough that he couldn’t bring himself to obsess. The pictures are as good as they could be, he reminded himself, better than we could’ve hoped. He wanted to win, but at this point, he wanted nothing more than he wanted to sleep. He shut his laptop, crawled into bed, and fell asleep instantly, forgetting to switch off the lamp.

The following Thursday, the triplets had been sitting in the basement den together. Mabel sat at her crafts table, putting finishing touches on props and accessories for ‘Twelfth Night’, Jo lay on the floor rereading her worn old copy of ‘Journey to the Center of the Earth’ snacking absently on a bowl of chips, while Dipper sat on the ugly pink futon, tapping away on his computer, working on an essay for his Ancient Mythologies class. They were in their Greek Mythology unit and Dipper knew the material so well he hardly had to think to write about it. The pain had been finding sources to cite when none of the information was new to him.

Dipper’s laptop and cell phone pinged in unison, the specific ping he knew to mean he’d received an email. Happy with the distraction, Dip clicked over to the tab in which his email inbox was already open. Probably junk, he thought to himself, watching the page reload. When it loaded, a new email was indeed on top of the list and Dipper’s heart skipped a beat, his eyes training on the subject line ‘CONGRATULATIONS!’

“Holy shit…” Dipper muttered to himself, opening the email and quickly reading the contents, “Hoooly shit…”

“‘Sup, Dip-man?” Jo asked lazily, not taking her eyes from her book.

“We won,” he said softly, disbelieving, reading the email a third time.

“Speak up, Dip-dot,” Mabel chimed in distractedly.

“Holy shit, we won!” Dipper repeated, the excitement in his chest finally catching up with his tone.

Both his sisters dropped what they were doing, echoing ‘holy shit!’ in unison. They scrambled over and hopped onto the futon on either side of him, eager to read the email over his shoulder.

“ ‘Dear Mr. Pines,’ ” Mabel read and chuckled, “Hehe, sounds like they’re talking to dad…”

“ ‘Dear Mr. Pines,’ ” Jo read, impatiently, “ ‘It is with great pleasure that we inform you that your submitted findings on the subject of Tahoe Tessie have been selected to be the featured winner of this year’s ‘Explain the Unexplained!’ contest!’ ” the pitch of her voice rose steadily so that it was a shrill excited squeak by the end of the sentence.

“ ‘Our judges were very impressed by the professional attitude and enthusiasm exemplified in the style and content of your short response as well as the remarkable nature of your findings.’ ” Dipper read on, his tone uncharacteristically confident.

“‘If you wish to accept your spot as winner, we urge you to contact us promptly to set up an interview. Congratulations again!’ ” Mabel chimed in, “ ‘We look forward to getting to know the Mystery... Twins... much... better.” Her voice lost its enthusiasm and stiffened on the last few words.

“ ‘Sincerely, Matthew Michaloff, Manager of Reader-Submitted Content at Mystery Monthly Magazine.’ ” Jo read, still high on cloud nine, “With his number, ooh, I wonder if that’s his personal extension!”

“They misspelled ‘Mystery Kids’...” Mabel grumbled, standing up and walking back to her craft table.

“Yeah, I know,” Dipper said, “Sorry about that, Mabes. I only had 250 characters to tell our story. There wasn’t room to talk about being triplets, they must have figured from our names and picture that Jo and I were twins.”

“It’s fine,” Mabel said stiffly, picking back up what she’d been working on. How appropriate, she thought bitterly, jabbing the needle harder than necessary into the crown of Olivia’s wedding veil for the following night. Maybe I’m Olivia after all, stubborn and grieving and they’re the twins. Suddenly, ‘twins’ was the ugliest word she’d ever heard when for ages it had been her secretly coveted dream. They’re the twins, she thought, the jab prickling, and there’s no room for me in only 250 characters…

A click at the top of the stairs announced the door opening, “Mabel? Scout?” Mom’s voice called, “Are you girls down there?”

“Yes, ma,” Jo called back, her attention still focused on Dipper’s laptop screen.

“Could you two come up here and help me with something?”

Mabel looked over and met Jolene’s eyes, trying not to look angry. Jo had a familiar deer-in-headlights look, the same one she got whenever mom or anyone else required her input on girl matters, “Sure thing, mama, we’d love to,” Mabel called back. Let Jo squirm a little, she thought with sick satisfaction, besides it’ll peel her away from Dipper’s side for a hot second. Dutifully, Jo joined her sister and went up the stairs.

Mom met them with a slightly anxious smile, one that only Dipper had inherited. Of her three children, mom definitely was the most like her son. They were similarly high-strung, in an exceedingly well-meaning way, both dedicated micro-managers. The girls followed their mother up the stairs to their parents bedroom and the matter at hand was instantly apparent. There were clothes strewn all over the bed and dresser, a disarray of garments and accessories. Whenever mom needed help from Jo and Mabel, it usually pertained to this sort of thing, as it was the only area in which Dipper’s similarity to her was no help at all. Dipper shared mom’s usual feeling that clothes were a utilitarian necessity, but were neither important nor interesting beyond that.

“Whoa, did a bomb go off in your closet?” Jo asked sarcastically, and mom reddened a little. Jo grinned, “Finally payback for all the times you said that about my room!”

“What’s the dealio, momsy?” Mabel asked, ever the more sensitive daughter.

“Well,” mom squirmed a little at being on the spot, “You girls know your father and I have been making a point of making time for dating and romance,” Jo looked queasy at the use of the word ‘romance’ in conjunction with her parents, “We’re going on special date tomorrow night--”

“And you don’t know what to wear so you called for backup,” a grin was spreading on Mabel’s face, “You did the right thing.”

“So you’ll help?” her green eyes glittered with gratitude.

“‘Course mama-bear,” Mabel said, “Right, Jo?”

“I think this is more your forte, Miss-Sis--” Jo glanced at the door.

“Nonsense!” Mabel interrupted, “It’ll be fun!”

As their mom started pulling hangers from her closet, Dipper sat in the basement den, listening to the phone ringing, hoping the other line would pick up. And with a click, it did, “Thank you for calling Mystery Monthly Magazine, you’ve reached the office of Matthew Michaloff, Manager of Reader-Submitted Content. My name’s Petra. How may I help you today?”

“H-hi,” Dipper choked, cursing the crack in his voice, “My name’s Dipper Pines. I received an email from Mr. Michaloff saying my sister and I had--”

“Oh! Tahoe Tessie Dipper!” The woman interrupted and Dipper couldn’t help thinking how awesome it would be to work somewhere that even the receptionists were excited about the supernatural, “Congratulations to you and your sister, Mr. Pines! I’ll put you through to Mr. Michaloff at once!”

“Thanks, that’s awesome,” Dipper responded, pleased to be taken so seriously.

There was a click and a couple seconds of silence, followed by another click and a man’s voice, “Matt Michaloff speaking,” he said, “My assistant tells me I have our winner on the line?”

Dipper laughed nervously, “Ha, yes, ha ha, I guess that’s me? My name’s Dipper Pines, my sister Jolene and I investigated Tahoe Tessie?”

“The man of the hour!” Dipper imagined he could hear the man smiling, wondered if he was looking absently at small replicas of Nessie and the Jersey Devil and the Central American Whintosser on his desk, “Congratulations again to you and your sister, Jolene! I trust you’re both well?”

“Um, yes, we’re both well. Thank you, Mr. Micha--”

“Oh, please, call me Matt,” The man interrupted with a laugh, “Mr. Michaloff is my dad!”

“Ha, that’s exactly what Jo said about you calling me Mr. Pines in your email,” Dipper said, loosening up a little. He had the feeling most of the employees at Mystery Monthly were kindred spirits.

“Well, Dipper,” Matt Michaloff said, in a more informal tone, “Would you and Jo be able to do your interview with me tomorrow evening?”

“Tomorrow?” Dipper squeaked.

“Yes, tomorrow, if at all possible,” Matt reiterated, “We’d really like to get the story to our editors as soon as possible. Of course, if you can’t make--”

“Oh, no, we can make tomorrow work!” Dipper interrupted eagerly, “If you wanna do tomorrow night, we can definitely do tomorrow night!”

Matt laughed good-naturedly, “I’m loving your enthusiasm, Dipper Pines,” he said, “Well, if there isn’t anything else, I’ll talk to you at, say… six o’clock tomorrow?”

“Six is fine,” Dipper agreed, “But there is one other thing actually.”

“I’m listening,” Matt said.

“Well, Jo and I aren’t actually twins like you said in your email,” Dipper corrected, “We’re actually triplets, we have another sister named--”

Matt laughed again, “You know what, Dipper, if it can wait till tomorrow, I’d love to hear whatever you have to tell me then.”

“Oh, uh, okay,” Dipper acquiesced, “Sure, yeah, I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“Fantastic,” Matt replied, “Talk to you then, Mr. Pines.”

“Okay, Mr. Michaloff, thanks again.”

“Extend my congratulations to Ms. Jolene Pines, if you will,” Matt said, smoothly, “I look forward to making her acquaintance and hearing all about your experience.” He hung up and Dipper sat in stunned, giddy silence, and took several minutes to lower the silent phone from his ear.

Chapter 13: Interview Jitters

“Do you think he’s going to ask what kind of gear we had?” Dipper muttered at Jolene, “Should we lie? I mean, we don’t have any freaking gear--”

“We’re not lying,” Jolene said, stuffing a coiled rope into her pack, “Gear doesn’t matter. In fact, doing it without gear is cooler.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, that’s right, you’re right,” Dipper grumbled, flipping through the cue cards he had hastily prepared, “Not lying, duh. But I mean, he’s gonna wanna know how we went about it, if we planned, if we practiced. Dammit, I’m forgetting something but I don’t know what it is! Ugh! Oh man, do most people--”

“Holy moses, Dipper, get a hold of yourself!” Jo exclaimed, shooting him an exasperated look, “We’re gonna be great. We’re charming little shits, remember? Can’t we just do this normal conversation style?”

“Are you serious…?” he could hardly make it through the question, “Like, yeah, we’re great but no, Jo-jo, we are following the cue cards. Man, I really feel like I’m forgetting something… The cards, they’re color-coded to make it easy--”

“No fuuuuucking way,” Jolene laughed, nestling a couple water bottles into her pack, “I am not following your dorky cue cards.”

“No, Jo, seriously, you have to--” he stopped talking abruptly, staring at her, “Hey, what are you doing?”

"Oh, whatever do you mean?" Jo asked, batting her eyelashes at him before shifting her attention back to her pack.

“Your bag. Why are you getting your pack ready?” The pitch of his voice rose anxiously, “I swear to god, Jolene, if you are ditching me to do this interview alone--”

“Pssh, as if,” Jo said, putting her hands on her hips, “I’m not leaving you alone with your boyfriend Matt, who knows if you lovebirds will even use protectio--”

“Well you’re not even paying attention to what’s going on! Why are you getting your pack ready?” Dipper demanded, “Why aren’t you freaking out?”

“Dip-man, I’m not freaking out because you obviously have the panic attack quota covered,” Jo said, putting the last couple things in her pack and pulling the drawstrings to tighten the opening before snapping the flap shut, “Aaaand I’m getting my pack ready for our trip to Lone Pine Mountain.”

Dipper laughed derisively, “You’ve got to be kidding me, Jo.”

“Why would I be kidding?” Jo countered with a shrug, “Operation Tessie went well enough that we freakin’ won, which is awesome, now’s the time to go--”

“Oh, I know you are fucking joking,” Dipper said, the hint of anger in his voice stopping Jo in her tracks, “Operation Tessie went well? I’m sorry but we must be thinking of different fucking days.”

“Dip, I know it wasn’t perfect,” Jo conceded, “I know it was fucked up, but we did win and--”

“Yeah, it was fucked up, Jo,” Dipper agreed, throwing his cue cards down on his desk, where they scattered, “We almost died. And in case you bumped your head, you promised me no more unnecessary risk.” Jo fidgeted uncomfortably under Dipper’s accusatory gaze, of course, he’s right, you did promise. “No Lone Pine Mountain Devils. End of conversation. Now we need to prepare for--”

As if on cue, Dipper’s phone started ringing, playing the iconic ‘Z-Files’ theme song. Both of them stared at if for a second before Jo rolled her eyes and grabbed it, swiping the green ‘accept call’ button, “Hello, Jo Pines speaking, who is this?” she said, and Dipper cringed at her brusque tone, “Oh, thanks. Yeah, Dipper’s here. Gimme one sec and I’ll put you on speaker.” She took the phone from her ear and rested it against her chest, “No flippin’ cards, bro-tective, just be your debonair lil self.” Dipper nodded and Jo nodded back, looking at the phone screen and pressing the speaker button.

Chapter 14: Opening Night

“Hey, uh, Mabel, um, are you, uhh, sure this is gonna fit?”

“Brandon…” Mabel said, wearily, resisting the urge to facepalm, “Yes, it will fit. It fit you at dress rehearsal less than 24 hours ago.”

“Okaaay, if you say so…” Brandon said, sounding unconvinced, walking away testing the elastic waist of the costume in his hands.

The show was set to start in only a few minutes. Mabel stood in the wings, checking on the costumes of the characters in the opening scene. Judging by the noise level, the theater was filling up nicely. Ticket sales had been good and they had every reason to project a successful opening night. And at least two of those seats are filled for my sake, Mabel thought with a smile. She hoped Jo and Dipper had gotten here early enough to nab a spot with a decent view of the stage. Even if they hadn’t, she hoped there would be sufficient sparkliness to shine all the way to the back row.

“It’s show time,” Mr. McMahon said, coming up beside her as the house lights dimmed and the audience obediently applauded. She gave him her patented ‘you-got-this’ million watt smile and he walked on stage to give the standard ‘thanks for coming, a word about the production’ speech. Duke Orsino showed up behind her, ready for his entrance for the opening scene. He was fidgeting with the velvet hat she’d made him, unsure of how it should fall. Mabel adjusted it for him as Mr. McMahon finished up his speech to polite applause.

The first half of the play went off without a hitch. No lines flubbed, no entrances missed, no costume catastrophes. Mabel helped with set changes and preened the actors before they went on. Many of them received a last dusting of glitter for good luck from the container labeled ‘For Emergencies’ that resided perpetually in Mabel’s pocket. In her uncharacteristic stage crew blacks, only her face was easily visible in the dim of backstage, beaming with pride. The costumes glimmered beneath the stage lights and made all the hours of stitching and gluing well worth it.

The house lights came up after the act break to signal intermission, and most of the audience started to file out into the lobby, in search of snacks and bathrooms. Mabel happily skipped out from behind the side curtain and down the small steps at the left corner of the stage. She scanned the crowd for Dipper’s scruffy head. He was tall enough to usually find easily in situations like these. They must be out in the lobby already, she decided after having ascertained that they were no longer in the theatre, That’s a bummer. Only the people with seats in the back are already out there. Well, this would not be the first time her siblings had gotten to something too late to get good seats. With the sufficient sparkles it should be fine.

She made it through the press of bodies into the lobby. Everyone was chattering about the production, and with pleasure she caught a few snippets about the “eye-catching costumes”. Damn skippy, they’ll catch your eye, she smiled inwardly. There was a card table with snacks and drinks for sale over by the entrance, and Mabel knew her Trips enough to know that they’d make a beeline straight to the refreshments. She made her way over to the table. Liz, one of the costume crew drop-outs, was manning the table. Traitor, Mabel thought as she slipped ahead of the line, peering through them. No sign of the sibs. She frowned, “Hey Lizzie?”

“Oh, hey, Mabel!” Liz said, her tone a little too friendly, “Hey, the costumes look awesome! Great job on those!” She handed a couple candy bars and some change to a parent in line, “Like seriously, wicked. Even better than ‘Oklahoma!’!”

“Oh, uh, thanks,” Mabel said, unfazed by the buttering-up she was receiving, “Listen do you--”

“Hey, look, I know,” Liz interrupted, her tone a little more serious, “It was really lame of me to quit. I’m sorry I left you with so much to--”

“It’s fine, forget it.” Mabel said impatiently, tensely checking every face in the crowd, but not seeing the two that looked like her, “Have you seen Dipper or Jo?”

“Dipper and Jo?” Liz repeated dumbly, and Mabel resisted the urge to flip a nearby tray of cookies on her.

“Yeah, Dipper and Jo. Jolene. My brother and sister?” Mabel reiterated, “Ya know? One looks like me? One looks like me, but a boy… and like a foot taller? C’mon, we’ve been in school together since we were like lil piglets!”

“Ha, yeah, Mabel,” Liz said, a little snotty at being condescended to, “I know who Dipper and Jo are. But no, I haven’t seen them. I don’t think they’re here.”

“Thanks,” Mabel huffed, turning on her heel and walking away from the concessions. Okay, no way. They’re definitely here. Just cause Liz didn’t see them doesn’t mean squat. She’s not the brightest light on the tree. They were definitely not in the lobby, though. Maybe they went out to Aoshima? Yeah, of course! Of course, they’d gone out to the car. They usually would sneak snacks of their own into this sorta thing, they’d probably just gone out to restock their pocket candy. Mabel could feel a grin spreading on her face as she leaned her weight against the glass door to open it, the cool air of the spring night refreshing. It was a nice night, and both her sibs would rather take in the night air that stand around in a mob of people.

Her feet carried her several feet into the parking lot as her eyes bounced from car to car, looking for the smiley face antenna topper and the outline of a friendly sibling head. No smiley face, Mabel frowned. Well, if they were late, maybe they’re out on the road? She checked the clock on her phone. The next act was starting in only a couple minutes, and there was no time to check.

Mabel went back inside to check the bathroom. No Jolene in the ladies’, and no Jo or Dipper waiting by the door for the other. Maybe they went back in the theater already…? Mabel wondered, deflating by the second. The theater was filling back up and she followed the current of the audience. She automatically kept searching, the pit of doubt in her stomach getting deeper and deeper by the second. Could they really not be here…? It didn’t seem possible. Since they were little tots, all three triplets had had plenty of events like this. Dance recitals, plays, science fairs, art shows, talent shows. Like tonight, every once in a while their parents wouldn’t make it, but they had never ever ever missed each other. Not once. The Trips were each other’s biggest fans. They wouldn’t miss a thing, even if it was boring to them. They know how hard I’ve been working on this…

But do they? Things had been so weird lately. She’d been so wrapped up in working on the play and her stupid pesky feelings clogging up the works. She knew she’d told them it was opening night. It was marked in pink on the calendar on the fridge and the one by her bed and the one by her desk in the den. They were distracted to, though, ever since they’d gone on that mission to find the sea snake thingy they’d been so caught up in adventure stuff. Mabel reached the little steps to the stage and looked back over the audience. The lights were flashing in the lobby to communicate the end of intermission, and the last few stragglers were trickling in. With a clear view of everyone like this, there was no denying it.

They’re not here. They really didn’t come. Mabel tried to banish the tears from her eyes as she hurried back into the wings. She was on autopilot now, straightening collars and flattening out creases. The joy of it had left her. The play was going well, the costumes looked fantastic, but what the hell did it matter? They forgot me.

Chapter 15: A Chat With Mystery Monthly

“Well, let me tell you, that is just incredible!” Matt Michaloff said over speakerphone, “You two sound like quite the young adventurers!”

“Thanks, Mr. Michaloff,” Dipper said, with that starstruck tone he’d had in his voice for the entire interview.

“Please, Dipper, please,” Matt said laughing.

“Right, Matt, sorry,” Dipper said, his cheeks reddening at having his manners corrected yet again.

“Sorry, Matt,” Jo cut in, “My brother’s a bit of a dweeb.”

Matt laughed politely, “Well, he’s a lot cooler than I was in High School, I’ll tell ya that much.”

“Oh, really?” Dipper’s voice cracked slightly, “Ha, thanks, Matt,” Dipper said, with the bashful smile Jo harbored a secret love for, “Did you have any other questions?”

“No, I don’t think so, Dipper,” he said, with the sound of some sheets of paper rustling, “You guys gave me so much great material! Thank you again for making time for the interview so promptly.”

“Yeah, o-of course, no problem!”

“Do you know when this issue’s coming out?” Jo asked eagerly.

“Well, we’re hoping to have it hitting the presses in the next two weeks,” Matt said, “But don’t you fear, you two will be getting a box of advance copies.” Dipper and Jo grinned at each other. Advance copies?! Jo thought excitedly, that sounds so legit! Matt rustled his papers again, “If you two have nothing to add, I think I’ll be saying goodnight to you. I’m eager to get to work on this story.”

“Thanks, Matt!” Jo squeaked, as Dipper said a polite ‘goodnight’ and ended the call.

“Ooooooooooooh my god!” Dipper wailed excitedly, the second the call disconnected, “Oh my god!”

Jo leapt to her feet, full of thrilled nervous energy, “That was so so so freaking cool!” She hopped excitedly from one foot to the other, “That was-- hoh my god!”

“Right?!” Dipper agreed, his eyes gleaming with exhilaration. He hopped to his feet and offered Jo a fist bump with each hand, “Fuckin’ Mystery Kids, man!”

“MysteryKidsMysteryKidsMysteryKiiiiids!” Jo chanted, punching fist bump after fist bump rapidly against her brother’s knuckles.

“You did so good, Jo-jo,” Dipper said, grinning ear to ear, his cheeks still flushed, “You were so cool and casual and like, poised, not a fangirly dork like me.”

“Oh, cram it!” Jo said, directing one of her punches for Dipper’s shoulder instead of his hand, “You were a total boss, bro-tective! You put the man in Dip-man! You were professional as shit.”

“As shit, huh?” Dipper joked, but she could see his shoulders straighten with a hint of pride.

“Yeah, you and Matt had like this awesome rapport goin’ on,” Jo teased, “Like you were the same species and you recognized each other. I had to interrupt a few times there, ‘cause the sexual tension was just, whoa, through. the. roof.”

Dipper had just wiped the grin from his face when Jo elicited the coy, playful crooked one. He ran a hand through his hair from brow to neck, “Oh yeah? Well, how could ole Matt resist this?”

It was so rare that Jo had a chance to see Dipper exuberant and cocky like this. Normally so reserved and responsible, although there was no end to his dry jokes, he rarely let himself play around quite like this. With me and Mabes in the house, there’s already a surplus of silly, Jo noted, It’s a shame. Silly Dip is the cutest Dip. He was still making a show of some idea of manliness, flexing his flimsy biceps and making some attempt at bedroom eyes. Without warning, he grabbed Jo by the waist and dipped her low, as if he knew the first thing about dance.

It didn’t matter. It worked. It ripped Jo right from her thoughts and into his hands, warm and strong, broad against her lower back. His eyes were gleaming darkly, his hair falling softly over his brow, his cheeks pink, his lips just curled in a crooked smile. His lips were like a magnet, like the tastiest morsel of food hung over her and she was starving. Her heart was bouncing around her chest with the thrill of the interview and every beat seemed to push her closer and closer to the invitation of Dipper’s lips.

What the hell are you doing?? She screamed at herself, tugging herself awkwardly from Dipper’s grip. He gave her a perplexed look and she saw the small crease knit between his brows, concerned that he’d offended her, “Jo?” he asked tentatively.

“I’m gonna, uhh, go wash my face,” Jo muttered, unable to meet his eyes. She scurried from the room and into the bathroom, shutting the door a tad too hard behind her. She leaned her back against it, her eyes tickled by tears, trying desperately to slow her frantic heartbeat. You stupid, selfish freak! You could have ruined everything! Jo covered her face with her hands, That was way too freaking close.

Chapter 16: Confrontation

Mabel parked the music department van by the mailbox, right behind Aoshima. Right where it has been, this whole time, Mabel griped bitterly. She realized she’d been holding her breath and made a point of letting it out. She looked at the house apprehensively. Mom’s car was gone, meaning she and dad were still out on their date. Mabel hoped she’d worn the red sweater she’d suggested. The lights were on in the living room, as well as Dipper’s room upstairs. Her heart twinged. They’re in there.

She opened the door and got out, cutting across the lawn to the front door. It had been a long day and her body was weary, but she didn’t feel it. Anger was coursing hot and livid through her veins, stronger than any amount of sugar or caffeine. Her hand was shaking as she turned the key in the lock and entered her house.

Without slowing down, as if pulled by a magnet, Mabel made her way swiftly up the stairs. She reached the second floor as the bathroom door shut hard, just shy of slamming. Dipper’s head poked out of his bedroom door, looking towards the bathroom, after Jolene, Mabel assumed. Mabel stopped in the hall a few paces away from him and crossed her arms, glaring at the back of her brother’s head. What the hell is so interesting about Jo going in the flipping bathroom?! Impatient for Dipper’s attention, having been denied it when she thought it was guaranteed, Mabel pulled her purse from her shoulder and dropped it loudly on the ground.

Dipper nearly jumped out of his skin at the loud thud behind him. He whirled around to find Mabel standing in the hallway, and the sight of her was scarier than the noise had been. She almost didn’t look like Mabel. She was dressed all in black, from head to toe, a black long-sleeved tee shirt and black leggings, glowering at him. Her cheeks were pink and her brown eyes glittering angrily, accusingly. Dipper felt the blood rush from his face. Did she see that? Did she see Jo almost…? Dipper glanced back towards the bathroom, See what, asshole? She wasn’t gonna kiss you, it was all in your twisted up head.

“What the hell, bro,” Mabel said. Her voice was dangerously low, a tone rarely heard that Dipper knew meant business. He looked back at her at once.

“Uh, hi… Mabes,” He said, uneasy under her glare.

“Don’t ‘hi Mabes’ me,” Mabel shook her head, crossing her arms. It was seriously off-putting to see her dressed in black. He was tempted to ask who’d died, but had the sense that they might be his last words.

“Oookay,” Dipper said cautiously, unsure what he was supposed to say if ‘hi’ was out.

“So,” Mabel urged, raising an eyebrow, “What the heck is your excuse?” Dipper blinked at her, desperately trying to come up with an excuse, and an explanation to himself as to what needed excusing. Mabel raised her voice a little, “What happened tonight?”

What happened tonight? Finally! A question he knew the answer to! He knew what had happened tonight, so long as he left out the almost-kissing-Jo part, “Oh! The interview! It went great! It--”

“The...interview…?” Mabel asked, cocking her head cluelessly.

“Yeah, the interview!” Dipper smiled a little, confused by chasing Mabel’s signals this way and that, “With Mystery Monthly about--”

“The interview?!” Mabel spat at him, cutting him off, her eyes suddenly blazing, “That--that is what you were doing tonight?!”

“Umm,” Dipper fidgeted, “Yes?”

“Of course!” Mabel threw up her hands and gave a derisive laugh, “Of course! Of fucking course that’s what you were doing tonight!” Dipper opened his mouth to ask what was going on as she took a step closer to him, “Of course, your stupid mystery thing was more important than my play!”

Oh, shit.

Dipper’s blood ran cold. The play. Everything suddenly clicked into place, opening up a hole in the pit of his stomach. The play, the play, the play. Oh my god, the play was tonight. He accidentally muttered the last part out loud, “Ohmygod, the play was tonight.”

“Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding!” Mabel verified facetiously, “The play was tonight and, for the record, it was off-the-charts awesome. Not like you care.”

“It was just opening night, though, right?” Dipper supplicated, holding out his palms, trying to find a solution, “We’ll go tomorrow--”

“Oh, gee whiz, Dip,” Mabel rolled her eyes, “Heartwarming as it is to be an afterthought, that’s really not the flippin’ point at all!”

Ouch, Dipper winced, his hands dropping to his sides, “Mabes, you’re not an afterthought…”

“Yeah?” She scoffed, “Because it sure feels that way! This play has been the only stinking thing I talked about for weeks!” She took another step toward him, angry tears sparkling in her eyes, “I have lived and breathed ‘Twelfth Night’! I have sewed and glued until my fingers bled! I have gone to school early and come home late and you,” she scowled and Dipper’s heart ached, seeing the hurt just under the veneer of her anger, “You--you guys were, were happy to have me gone!”

“That’s not fair, Mabes,” Dipper said, how could she say that? He tried to resist the anger blooming inside him, “That is so not fair. Just because we forgot--”

“Ugggh!” Mabel’s hands clenched into fists, “But you didn’t just forget the play!” She took another step, glaring up at him, “You forgot me! Did you even wonder where I was? While I was looking for you in the audience, in the lobby, out in the parking lot, did you once think ‘Hm, where’s Mabel tonight?’ ” She pointed at him, “No! The whereabouts of stupid Nessie is more important to you than your own sister!”

“What the fuck, Mabel!” Dipper’s anger flared, eating up the unfair accusations like kindling, “You can’t compare Tessie to how--”

“Oh excuuuuse me,” Mabel mocked, “Tessie, not Nessie. Of course I would mix that up, silly stupid Mabel can’t even--”

“Shut up!” Dipper interrupted, grabbing Mabel by her shoulders, “You’re not stupid! You--”

“No, Dipper, I am stupid!” Mabel disagreed, the tears welling in her eyes becoming harder and harder to keep at bay, “It was stupid of me to assume you’d be there, it was stupid of me to--”

“Mabel, no,” Dipper’s anger wilted at the sight of Mabel fighting tears, holding onto her anger so hard, turning it back on herself. His voice softened, “I should have been there. I know how important this was to you and it was selfish and careless of me to forget.” His hand moved from her shoulder to soothingly pet her hair, looking into her tear-glazed eyes, “You’re not stupid. You’re so completely not stupid. I’m stupid for getting so caught up in this contest thing. You know I love you.”

“I love you,” Mabel said softly, blinking hard, fat tears squeezing out from under her eyelids and rolling down her cheeks.

“I know, Mabes,” Dipper said, a little relieved that her anger seemed to have been extinguished.

“No,” Mabel shook her head, and met his gaze again. His stomach dropped, confused by the deep sadness in her eyes, “I love you, Dipper. I love you.”

“Mabel, I don’t--” Before DIpper could blink, he was cut off by Mabel’s lips crushed against his own. She had thrown her arms around his neck and wobbled on her tiptoes, and he leaned down his head towards her, allowing her to rest back on her heels as he eagerly met her kiss. To him she tasted like ice cream and apple pie and just like glitter would taste if it was made of candy and her tears were salty but her lips were soft and Dipper’s mind was shutting down as his body was waking up. His arms went around her and hugged her to him and god she was so small and soft and he could feel her trembling as her anger went out of her. A voice in his head was screaming what’s happening? What’s happening? What do you think you’re doing? What the hell is happening? But it was quiet compared to the sound of Mabel’s almost inaudible sigh against him. Her sigh was in his mouth and a stray thought wondered how her voice could taste so good.

The haze of Mabel that enveloped Dipper like a cotton candy dream shattered with the sound of Jolene’s shocked cry.

Continue to Part 5

#pinecest #pinescest #gravity falls fanfiction #jolene au #jbyc #just because you can #sevralfics

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mrtroy · 6 years ago

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Starter

Every time I go to Wikipedia to look something up – either for work or when I’m writing for fun – I chuckle a little bit thinking back to high school writing classes. <Artificially nostalgic voice > Way back in the early 2000s, the Wikipedia was very much frowned upon in the realm of the academic trustworthiness. <End artificial voice usage>

Now, I mostly just use it to get a quick blurb of information about subjects I don’t know much about. And whether the academic community frowns upon that or not, I like it. I like Wikipedia. And today, I really liked it.

I’m writing this post about bread starter and in the midst of doing my cursory research on what makes up a starter, I learned one of its alternate names is ‘mother dough.’ As you’ll soon find out, this was a very fitting thing to learn, indeed.

- -

In August of 1986, my mother was given a sourdough bread starter. I don’t have a lot of details on the origin of the starter, but given some other things I know about my mom’s life in the mid 80s, if I had to guess, it was given to her by a lady with a Midwestern sounding name from the neighborhood. My parents have lived in a picturesque suburban neighborhood since 1984, and back in the early days of the neighborhood, residents did a lot of neighborly activities together. Ladies named Kathy hosted bi-monthly games of mahjong and bunko. I seem to remember at least two different Sharons that hosted Tupperware parties. My dad played on a neighborhood softball team and looking back on it now, it seems like the kind of place that developers have in mind when they pitch the idea of a large sprawling neighborhood to a Chamber of Commerce.

I realize there’s a twinge of sarcasm in setting things up this way. And while the Sharons and Kathys – and the 80s hair I am picturing them with – are both real and tongue-and-cheek all at the same time, there’s something spectacular about the fact that the neighborhood functioned the way neighborhoods are supposed to function. More on that in another post, perhaps. Let’s get back to bread.

I was moved to write on this topic today when I cut myself a few slices of sourdough bread for breakfast. The same sourdough bread, from the same starter, that my mom has been making every few weeks since August of 1986. The sheer fact that this bread has been a part of our family for 32 years now is amazing in its own right. What it means beyond that is what makes this topic worthy to write about.

- -

A bread starter works when a pre-ferment is made (thanks Wikipedia). The pre-ferment contains an active ingredient like yeast that grows, is fed, can be split, and then grows again. In the process of bread making, this translates to starting with a ‘starter,’ which is like your base. You feed the base by adding ingredients to it, it grows, you take half of what grew and make bread out of it, and you put half of it back to start the process all over again in a few weeks.

This is more of an old fashioned or artisanal way of making bread. There are ways to make bread – even using yeast to make it – that don’t require the use of a starter. There are also bread machines that can be used to speed the process of making bread as well. Mom’s bread doesn’t use a bread machine, and is very much old fashioned. She feeds the starter, she lets the new dough rise over night. She then punches the starter down do some sort of air releasing, or yeast activating something or other and bakes the bread in the oven at a low and slow 275 degrees for one hour. In the midst of this process, she saves half of the starter and puts it in the refrigerator to grow again over the next few weeks until she begins the process again.

The loaves of bread that come from this process are nearly magical in my own mind.

I’ve eaten this bread since I was a year old.

It was in my lunches slathered with peanut butter and honey when I sat at the lunch tables in elementary school. I probably had the bread a little less than half the time for those lunches. It takes time for the starter to revitalize itself, and the time that took was always longer than the time it took to eat the loaves it produced. So, that meant that there were days when you got a sandwich on ‘Mom’s bread,’ and there were days you got a sandwich on something from the store. I always knew which days those were going to be – as I was acutely aware of what the Mom’s bread inventory was – but even knowing this, un-Velcro-ing my lunchbox to find a sandwich on Mom’s bread was always one of the best feelings. Early on in my school career, Mom sent me with Tuppeware containers (probably purchased at one of the Sharons Tupperware parties). After losing the lids on those containers, Mom switched to packing sandwiches in the fold top sandwich bags. Never Ziploc. Always fold top. Fold top bags require a certain level of care during the process of bagging and unbagging the sandwich. Gentle on the way in and on the way out – so as not to damage the corners of the sandwich masterpiece. Mom’s sourdough can be a bit crumbly, so achieving a perfect extraction from the fold top bag without breaking off a corner of the sandwich became one of my favorite daily challenges.

As a family, we also ate the Mom’s bread prepared as toast with a topping of cinnamon sugar. Few things in this world taste better than a piping hot slice of bread with a crunchy layer of cinnamon and sugar. We had a toaster oven in our kitchen growing up, and I used to enjoy watching each slice crisp to a goldenness that just started to show some burnt corners. This level of doneness guaranteed that the center of the slice was amply toasted. After removing the slice from the toaster oven, you had about fifteen seconds to apply the slightest amount of butter and then sprinkle cinnamon sugar over top to ensure that the bread was still hot enough to fully melt the butter and create the optimal level of cohesion between the sugary mixture and the breaded base. Mmmm. My mouth is watering right now as I think about it! Some of my fondest memories from growing up are in the kitchen with each of us preparing our slices of toast. Mom – if she ever did add cinnamon sugar – applying it ever so lightly. Patch applying his much more liberally, however, always taking great care with sugar application so as not to lose any of the precious topping. And Pops, well, he liked his toast a little more well done. After his sugar application there was a distinctively crunchier sound as he bit into each of his slices. I loved Sunday mornings when the whole family was together eating toast on Mom’s bread.

And while I’ve described both a breakfast and a lunch scenario where Mom’s bread shined, I’d be remiss not to mention its versatility around dinner time.

At more formal occasions, it serves perfectly as an accompaniment to a fine dinner. Cut each of the normal-sized, large-loaf-pan slices in half width-wise, and you have yourself a perfect morsel to have along with your meal. (Although, this has spawned the great butter debate with my grandfather. One of our only true arguments in life. He insists on having his with butter. I contend that sourdough never needs butter. I feel deep in my heart that I’m right on this one, but we’ve been at a stalemate on the issue for years….)

Beyond its use as a side item, Mom’s bread is also the foundation for a mean – if not the meanest – grilled cheese sandwich you may ever have. Pair a perfectly golden brown sandwich with two and a half slices of your favorite cheese, and you have yourself a perfect Fall dinner. Served with apple slices, and if you’re my dad, a bowl of tomato soup, it’s hard to top this classic.

Now, I’ve made it through each of the meals – and I could have spent more time on the viability of a Mom’s slice with a thick layer of peanut butter, open face, heated in the microwave for eight seconds – but I want to go beyond this bread’s tangible value into the intangible.

- -

For 32 years my mom has made this bread. Let’s say roughly 650 times. Every few weeks she has fed the starter, mixed in the other ingredients, punched down the dough, split that ball of dough into two smaller loaves to put in loaf pans. Etc. Etc.

As I stop and think about this, it blows me away. What has any of us done for 32 straight years? For me, breathing is all I’ve got…

Now, it hasn’t come without trial.

A few times, Mom has experimented with different flour. Sometimes it’s all white flour. Sometimes all wheat. Sometimes a mixture. Some of those times have produced good results, others have fallen flat. There have been times she has absentmindedly forgotten to add the requisite sugar called for in the recipe. Those were NOT good loaves. There have been times where the duration in between making the bread was too long, and the starter had over-fermented to the point where the made bread hardly rose. There was even a time when the started died all together. Luckily, she had split it and given a batch to her best friend who was then able to re-split it and give it back to her to keep it alive.

As I was cutting myself a slice today, it was the above paragraph that provided the perspective I really wanted to share in this post.

Life isn’t perfect. Sometimes you experiment and in those experiments things work out well. Sometimes they don’t. Sometimes we forget key ingredients and things fall flat. Sometimes we have close calls to the point where we almost ruin things and we have to endure the consequences. Sometimes we can literally almost kill the best things we ever have going for us. And when that happens, if we’re lucky, we have best friends who can bail us out.

Mom has given me her starter two different times. I’ve successfully made her bread a few times. A few other times I messed up somewhere in the process and my loaves have fallen woefully flat. One time, I accidentally let the starter die. Another, I gave it back to her right before I moved. Someday, I hope I can get it back again and keep it going. I hope it’s something I can pass down through the family until it’s 100 years old.

I hope I can give it to dozens more people if they’d like it. To use it as a tool to teach about baking and about life. To model longevity and discipline. To provide a tangible link to an intangible love.

As I finish this post and go to close the Wikipedia tab on my Internet browser, I am reminded that a starter is sometimes referred to as Mother Dough because new bread and new life grows from the original. And yes, I think this is quite fitting.

Mom, thank you for starting that starter 32 years ago. I’m sure you had no idea at the time what it would eventually start, but man, has it started something special. Thank you for your dedication to keeping it going. Thank you for all of the life lessons and good times it has spawned. Thank you for perfectly timing when you make fresh loaves with holidays, or the times Patch is home to enjoy it. Thank you for giving me loaves to take home when I know you and Pops would enjoy it so much for yourselves. I know you already know how I feel about your bread, but I figured you might like to see it in print – it’s the best.

- -

To anyone else reading this note, what can be your starter?

It might not be sourdough bread, but it can be just as meaningful. Start something meaningful today. Commit to it. Keep at it. Share it with those that you care about. It doesn’t have to be anything on a grand scale. It doesn’t have to be a once-a-year holiday tradition or anything that costs a lot of money. But whatever it is, know that it has the power to do amazing things as an example of longevity and of love.

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nickzimmermandesign · 7 years ago

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Productivity Techniques Documentation

When I was in the process of coming to graduate school, one of the aspects I was most worried about was my time management skills, or, more specifically, the lacking nature of those skills. At my undergraduate institution, I was able to manage things pretty well because, honestly, not much was asked of me the majority of the time; when more was asked of me, I scrambled and pulled all-nighters for a day or two before assignments were due, and often turned projects in within a few minutes of the deadline, if not past it. I had been bad at time management for as long as I could remember, and I knew that moving to New York and interacting with people that mostly worked 9:00 AM-5:00 PM during the week that were free otherwise would only exacerbate my productivity issues.

I tried a few productivity tricks that we learned about, like the Pomodoro Technique, but I found that regardless of what technique I used, as soon as I took a five-minute break, I would forget about the five-minute mark, and as a result, spiral, and spiral, and spiral, and spiral. Four hours later, I would find myself watching yet another muted YouTube video compilation of cats being dumb on one monitor while playing Hearthstone on my laptop and watching a pretty trash Netflix original show on my TV. It is now 2:00 AM, none of my work has gotten done, and I just give up and go to bed. Needless to say, I was a bit worried after about a week of this, because I knew that my old ways would not work here, and I also really just needed to get an actual sleep schedule and learn to adult like a normal person Due to this nervousness, when I saw that a couple of my professors recommended David Allen’s book Getting Things Done, I ended up buying it. I have never been one for self-help books of any kind, but this book has actually been really helpful, and I’ve been doing my best to apply most of his advice in my daily life. Unfortunately, it hasn’t all stuck yet, but I think I’ve made a bit of progress, which is what’s most important to me. The one piece of advice from Mr. Allen that I feel has really stuck with me is his Two-Minute Rule, as in his rule to complete any given task immediately unless it will take you over two minutes, in which case, you prioritize it via its context and put it on your schedule for later.

I really like Allen’s Two-Minute Rule because it helps me declutter all of my separate daily tasks floating around in my brain, which helps me be significantly less overwhelmed by the sheer amount of things I need to get done. One thing I’ve noticed, however, is that in real life, I only took on the sentiment of Mr. Allen’s rule. Most of the tasks I think it will take me two minutes or less and do immediately end up actually taking me roughly five minutes every time. I suppose everyone is different, so that is okay. I’ve been trying to remind myself that I need to strive for progress, rather than perfection, because that’s what’s attainable, and that it is okay to be human.

So, while putting this rule into action, I had to figure out a way to document and schedule the tasks that I need more time to complete. At first, I tried writing it all down physically in a notebook. I figured that, since I need to write information out to retain it when I study (preferably on index cards), if I wrote out the tasks I had to complete in a notebook, I would remember to schedule time to do them and accomplish the tasks later. I was very wrong. As with every school year since middle school, after roughly a week and a half, the planner/notebook that I used to write down all of my assignments sat idle on my desk under a pile of papers.

However, this time was different. When I cleaned off my desk and discovered the ‘I <3 IDM’ notebook I used eight pages of, I thought to myself ‘there has to be a better way for me to remember to write this stuff down.’ So, after about ten years of suffering through not writing anything down, I finally ended up actually Googling the issue I kept having. As a result, I found the browser extension Momentum.

This is Momentum. Momentum is an extension that displays a page similar to the one pictured above every time you open a new tab in your browser. In the extension, you write your main focus for the day below the time in the center of the screen. In this example, my main focus for the day is Ideation and Prototyping. The background picture and motivational quote changes every day, and the weather widget is fairly accurate as well. The To-Do list function is typically closed, but I leave my window open, as an extra little reminder that I have a To-Do list whenever I go to a new web page. I love this extension because of how easy it is to navigate to, and how it is literally a constant in-your-face reminder that A) I have stuff I need to do, and B) I need to write down any additional stuff I need to do. The best part: I can’t lose it or forget it in my apartment, making me miss a day and then lose motivation to continue using it.

So, I personally use Momentum as a notepad of sorts and a running list of all things that I have to do that day. Whenever someone says something that reminds me of a task I need to complete, I hit CMD+T to open a new tab, click on my To-Do list, and write it down. Later, when I’m looking at my To-Do list in Momentum, if I see something that is more of an academic task, I put it into My Study Life as well. I try to keep my Momentum list as non-school-based as possible, and typically write an item like ‘Schoolwork’ or a class name as a reminder to myself to check My Study Plan and see what work I have to do for that class.

My Study Plan is another app that I ended up finding that fateful day I ended up actually Googling how to be a productive student. I use My Study Plan as my lifeline for managing graduate school’s workload. It’s a pretty simple app and really helps you organize your academic life once you input all of the necessary data, like your class schedule, exams, assignments, and more.

This is My Study Plan’s dashboard. It walks you through your week and the things that are coming your way. I like how the app lays everything out really visually and tells you your schedule and exactly what you have due what day as soon as you open it. I don’t leave the dashboard most of the time when I open it honestly, because I can do most things I need to from there, and all of the other parts in the application I either have memorized or don’t use. (I am so glad all of my classes this semester are project-based.)

This is my calendar! I only really go to the calendar section to mark down formal group project meetings. Typically I will cross-post that information as a task as well, so that I see it immediately when I go on my dashboard and don’t forget to go to the calendar. I have been thinking about using it to assign and block out times to work on homework, but since I am notoriously bad at estimating how long it takes me to do something, I’m very wary of this.

This is the task section! I go to the task section maybe once a week, just to see all academic tasks I have to complete in the short-run and the long-run at the same time. Most of the time, when I have to input a new task, I do it on the dashboard, but it’s sometimes helpful to see everything listed out like this.

This is my schedule! It’s a list of my classes and the information surrounding them (place, time, day of the week, start/end date, etc.). This information is then input into the calendar for ease of tracking. I have only come to this page once since starting to use My Study Plan because after inputting the info, I really have no need; I have the time, place, and day of the week memorized, and the individual classes appear in my calendar every week, so if need be, I just look there.

The last tool I have been using consistently and has actually improved my productivity is a tool someone in class discussed called StayFocusd. This extension allows you to prevent yourself from accessing certain websites while you’re working; despite the fact that I can easily turn it off, I find that whenever I actually go to turn off the extension, I feel bad enough about doing it that I get back to work and start focusing again. The app really lives up to its name and has helped me stay focused.

Here is my list of blocked websites. I feel like it keeps growing because I keep finding new ways to distract myself on the internet while I’m trying to work, but nevertheless, it works!

Here’s the blurb that comes up whenever you go to a page that you have on your blocked list. I give myself ten minutes max on each of my listed sites before StayFocusd actually cuts me off, so that I can control myself and my breaks. I really like how the blurb tells you your time limit, and gives you the options to block the site immediately, go ‘nuclear’ aka block the entire internet, or go into your settings and change things around. I have yet to turn off the blocks to circumvent that, and I really hope it stays that way for a while.

As of right now, I have been using these methods to manage my time and be as productive as possible. I am honestly very happy with my progress, and I feel that I have come very far since coming to graduate school because of these techniques. Hopefully I will improve as the semester goes on!

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tomsrebeleyebrow · 5 years ago

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hi! i just wanted to say that i love ur writing! and quite a fan! can i request the reader asking peter to take care of her pet turtle bc she’s going out of town to visit some family? and peter hesitates bc of his spider-man duties but soon just falls in love the readers pet turtle and doesn’t wanna give him back. “peter, give him back” “no🥺”

A/N: okay. wait. CUTENESS LEVEL EXTREM! ABOART! ABOART I SAID!! 😱😱😱 alright jokes aside, this is the most adorable request i’ve ever had and it got me soft af 🥺💞🥺💞 so thank you so much for this but also for your kind support, my dear 😳❤️ stay safe, darling 💖💗

‘Stay safe, Cheer up’ blurb event

Peter was confused. And when Peter Parker was confused, you knew something was really going on in his head of his.

The boy was currently sitting on the couch in the living room, the apartment completely silent. His elbows resting on his knees, upper body slightly leaning forward, Peter’s eyes were glued on the rectangle terrarium on the coffee table right in front of him, not saying a single word. Just looking straight at it. Thinking.

Peter let a long sigh out.

“On all domestic animals possible, (Y/N) chose you.”

Silence.

“I’ll be honest, alright: I’ve seen more active and entertaining pets than you.”

Silence.

“... Why am I even talking to you, in the first place?”

The little animal stopped its “wild” parkour inside the glass terrarium to, somehow, look at Peter. Their eyes locked for a few seconds before the teenage boy exhaled once again, the muscles in his neck relaxing to let his head fall forward.

Yesterday evening, you hurriedly stumbled over yours and Peter’s shared apartment after your classes, your boyfriend already immersed in his homework, because your brother-in-law sent you a text explaining your sister went into labour. Frantically, you tried to gather some clothes and random toiletries’ essential in a travelling bag to leave right away and hopping to arrive in your hometown a few hours later that same night by car. While doing so, Peter couldn’t really place a word as he knew how much your older sister was so dear to you, also because you being an aunt got you all excited and so stressed at the same time. And right before you left, Peter kissing you goodbye by your car and telling you to drive safely, you remembered something at the last minute.

“Ah! Pete, please, don’t forget to take care of Dollie while I’m away!!”

Dollie. Your tiny tortoise. Your pet with who Peter was currently “having a chat” with.

Thanks the lords, Peter was relieved to have an organised girlfriend because you created a little list of things to do or not with Dollie on a daily basis, right after you bought her. At least, the boy kind of knew what he was supposed to do (or not) with that strange pet of yours.

It was not like Peter disliked Dollie. Well, he didn’t really like her either, as he was completely unaware that having a tortoise as a pet was even possible until the day you came back home with the said animal. You told Peter you grew up while having animals around since your youngest age, but still... a tortoise. And what about his Spider-Man’s duties? Even if recently, the neighbourhood was rather quiet and calm, Peter needed to do his regular patrols just in case.

Anyway, Peter didn’t really have a choice. He had to take care of Dollie, for you. Seems like Spider-Man will take a break.

“Okay, time for you to get some exercise done.”

Delicately - but still awkwardly, Peter took the tiny reptile in his hands to put it back on the ground, next to his feet.

“Come on, go explore the world that is the living room, I guess?”

As if understanding his words, Dollie started to move around at her own pace which was not the fastest of all. Peter kept an eye on her as he decided to watch some tv to get some better distraction.

Some time later, Peter felt something bumped on the side of his foot. And as he lifted his back from the couch to see what that was, he couldn’t help a light smile making its way at the corner of his mouth as Dollie just started bumping her tiny pointed head on Peter’s foot.

“What’s going on, there?” chuckled the teenage boy.

His eyes went to his left wrist where he read the hour on his digital watch.

“Damn, already past seven!? You must be hungry, right missy?” asked Peter while slowly standing, fists resting on his hips. “To the kitchen we go!”

* * * *

What a weird feeling it was to be an aunt for the first time. But still exciting and critically emotional in the best way possible.

After spending three days at your sister’s to finally meet the new addition to the family, your visit ended as fast as it started due to your exams approaching. But you still promised your sister to come visit again for your next holiday, probably with Peter this time.

Finally back, you locked your car and got up to yours and Peter’s apartment, climbing two stairs at the time as you still missed your boyfriend and was excited to show him all the pictures you took of your newborn niece.

Unlocking the door of the flat, your eyes instantly fell onto Peter’s brunette hair as he was sitting on the couch.

“Peter! I’m back!”

“Welcome back, dear! We’re here!” replied Peter, cheerfully.

You left your travel bag in the entrance to tidy later and walked towards the living room where your boyfriend was. When you arrived behind the couch to kiss him upside down, you noticed a tiny guest sitting on top of his thighs.

“Oh, hi Dollie! What is she doing here?”

“I was feeding her some apple before you arrived” said Peter, his attention going back to the little reptile.

You watched the two beings interact together for some seconds, not saying a word, but mostly surprised at Peter’s unexpected behaviour towards your tortoise.

“Looks like you became good friends in the end” you giggle, lightly bumping your head with Peter’s, still looking at Dollie enjoying her apple slice. “Come say hi to mama, Dollie doll!”

As you were about to take Dollie in your hands, Peter moved the tortoise away from your grasp. Surprised, you glanced at your boyfriend with raised eyebrows.

“First, let her slowly finish her apple or she’ll get awful later” noted Peter, quite seriously.

“Excuse me? Let me-”

“Nope.”

“Peter, what in the world-”

“Later, I said.”

“Peter Benjamin Parker, give me back MY tortoise now!”

“Nope.”

Later that same evening, you understood that your nerdy boyfriend definitely grew attached to that tiny reptile he used to avoid at the beginning.

The day ended with you and Peter laying on your bed, with snacks and fluffy covers, catching up with a series with little Dollie resting on top on you guys, resting after another eventful day of her tortoise’s life.

🏷 Permanent tag list & mutuals 💖 (get notified)

@allegra-writes @tom-holland-is-spiderman @detroitbydark @blissfulparker @farfromhaz @xxtomxo @worldoftom @charismas-world @stiles-banshees @americaxo17 @zabdisamor @princezzariel @mcuassemble @thatweirdomimic @juliebean247 @harryhollandwhore @spiderbibby @intiate03 @himynameishooman @bookworm06 @flowerboyparker @miraclesoflove @eridanuswave @jillanaholland @mendes-marvel @biebsmylife95 @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @tsh-darling @popbubblegumpop @fanficscuziranout @beiroviski @langdonlovey @markleehee @riverxholland @tomhoran @itseightbeats @xxrebelswithoutacausexx @rubberducky-jrr @howdyherron @jacobsppsleeve @lovewolfspirit @saysomethingspiderman @yoongi-holland @xxrebelswithoutacausexx @quaksonhehe@the-crazy-fanfictionist

#staysafecheerup #blurb event #blurb #peter parker #peter parker request #peter parker blurb #peter parker fluff #peter parker x reader #peter parker x fem!reader #peter parker reader #peter parker reader insert #peter parker oneshot #peter parker one shot #peter parker imagines #peter parker imagine #fluff imagine #fluff #stay safe

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risewisemind · 7 years ago

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Seeking a smart & compassionate person to TALK ABOUT THE WORST THINGS IN SOCIETY so okay, I’m up for the job. Everything put in motion has been altered since you find out where you plateau & then go from there & this is it.

I plateaued meaning I can’t continue NOT TALKING about what happened as DIRECTLY as possible, many posts an attempt to MODEL how you dampen the trauma, but to me, this trauma has taken up too much of my life already & I don’t care to give it anymore of my time. The catalyst?! THE QUICK RESPONSE after years of delaying in order to argue “this is my attempt to be taken care of” but I’ve already been taken care of in the ways that matter.

I know myself. I hear my voice. I will not back down & from now on, everything goes out into the universe which is this crazy internet. The place that is most scary since you are connected to people who may want to harm you, use you & try to shame you for sick reasons that I now fully understand.

When the universe gives you a sign : 3 fortunes you listen : THIS IS THE RIGHT ANSWER & so go with it : I didn’t know how to tell this story since the truth HURT MY BODY & HEART but not my brain. It can’t have my brain.

A thought pops up & now the body is already in pain

it’s the adrenaline : you get it & it makes you feel powerful but to me, it just hurts my physical body so I have to do something differently

What is that different thing? Ummm, just talk about the thing I love the most. EDUCATION & how to make it better for the students I REPRESENTED because their treatment was NOT OKAY. WILL NEVER BE OKAY & NEVER WAS TO BEGIN WITH & since I went from above average in health to not being able to sit, stand, walk & breathe & learned how important CONCENTRATION & ATTENTION are in EDUCATION because we live in a sensory pre-frontal experience.

LIFE to me is DOING & what did they do? DECIDED WHO GETS IN & WHOSE LEFT IN THE RUBBISH BIN when others doesn’t get to decide for you...

What I’ve learned about human nature & it’s the darkest matter out there...

KIDS are ignorant & can’t survive on their own. It is up to the adults to model behavior that they expect & all the things you shouldn’t do, like lie, cheat & steal. Adults know kids with disabilities SHOULD NOT BE taught in the hall & the cafeteria & adults know when a child self-harms & is now attacking others there should be a voice that says, “No!” Why was it different that year? There was no reason for students not to have a classroom when the VERY ROOM I REQUESTED was converted into an amazing classroom.

You’re asking me what will I settle for & claim to want to negotiate but I doubt that since you know RAPE is a pretty heartbreaking thing to happen & you can blame the victim. Never even though of myself one of those since I always had amazing support. IT WAS DRILLED IN ME what A VICTIM IS & what I was witnessing was the end of acceptance : NEVER AGAIN. 90-days to do anything & time doesn’t tick by, it soars. Speed of light & it’s over & it’s Spring and nothing has been done & life has stopped for those stuck in these past assaults. What it means to be sexually assaulted : I don’t have a choice anymore but to tell you what it is like so we can have a discussion.

What is hurting us?? (2) lack of desire to do the right thing.

WHAT HAPPENS WHEN PEOPLE MAKE REPEATED BAD DECISIONS & USE TACTICS like DEFLECTION & DISTRACTION TO AVOID TRUTH?

I’m sharing it

How is one environment like a mini-society & what can be learned from the lessons there?

They stop with the leader.

Or reader? Why kids have to be taught to read & to love literature & words...

the very first floe : created Darkest Night, 2016

hOW to share the worst? You have to lose your mind a little, then wait THE PROCESS is not HERE for you since THIS IS ENOUGH : daily news is killing me so why would I complicate when INTERNET CREATES pockets, like the ones I hide my hands in because they do “weird” things & I FELT THAT HURT from people who couldn’t understand...the way they talked about people behind their backs!!!! The way the door closed as soon as we entered that HOUSE because something was not right. ACTIVELY HIDING what is supposed to be that presssssure to be perfect & that’s supposed to now mean something else, just like that. Out-of-the blue. Do you think I’m blind? Do you think I’m a moron? Do you think I’m going to believe another word you say until you EXPLAIN what the fuck you are doing because it’s SUSPICIOUS. Hindsight is the truth & the shame goes back to you : THE FUTURE FOR ME IS BECAUSE OF THAT MOMENT /THAT CHOICE/ A SPECIAL VIOLATION?! NOW YOU FUCKING HEAR MY VOICE WHEN I SAID GET OUT of my MOTHER FUCKING HOUSE and isn’t this the same as a SYSTEM fucking up : safety & violence to my body, brain & heart is all that I care about. What’s wrong with this? & when I get through the rest of “it,” now that I’ve name IT : THEIR SHIT

Survivor, I hear you, I’m sitting next to you. You gotta get a little dirty to get clean, those who’ve struggled already know what I mean, a lifestyle that’s the opposite of a dream since I’d rather die than be hurt again. That feeling on my skin . That’s what was put back in me when YOU LIE & why you do everything right . What!? Are you above hindsight!?

This is not an instant sickness with a blurb to describe. It’s those who live without consequence --they’re the ones who have to hide--meanness was already identified & doing it differently, didn’t want to be treated a certain way about money--& now we get to living : that means snuffing out hypocrisy, hate, evil & ignorance. It’s the conversation had constantly about difference.

You must treat them like people, too!! (see how I got out of that zoo)

How you lead, pee-ew!! Everyone is infected & now everyone is just too SICK. Take this pill, called “give a shit & do what you said you will” & I’m the one who has to defend a past crime against me!? And the one who is not chill

LOLOLOLOLOL : never used to do that so that’s a fuck you to you-know-who, techie/non-tech the strength “for good” : gratitude was the answer to change one’s attitude & how many examples did you need? So going back to my life philosophy, you raped it : these selfish, uncaring & diabolical means to fulfill that need

Have fuuuuuuun with that : the point of everything & why those flaky relationships have no meaning so that’s how I know all the ways you tried to get away from your past--really had too lil faith in me--why these ptsd memories belong in this dimension, the ones that are triggering me.

Physical & Emotional “follow the process” : be devotional to your SELF, it’s not about mental health but WHO YOU ARE at the core : why you hate yourself or you’re always able to give a little more...the day-to-day is how “mental health” sways & I got to see how someone takes DIGNITY away

LET’S define THAT word : we NEED IT PLEASE

as someone from my past likes to say, you do it “I can’t tell IT anything, a grOWN...”

My answer : you’ve made it very clear what you mean except for all the conversations about how un-grown-up IT is : these are the talks NO WONDER MY BRAIN HURTS : so get it out in stops & spurts, util it’s all gone : then & only then will I write those songs

done with consciousness : TO COMPARE when I’ve had the right rest

FOCUS

the dreams in me can’t be believed unless we take abuse seriously. I’ve seen this idea of trickle down, it doesn’t work in these smaller worlds, it’s all about them them them, well IT IT IT, showed me a stack of cards that didn’t fit his story so had to make something up, using emotionally that was witnessed one time as the guide : as if others bad behaviors would ever justify...

PAST WRITING

This is my attempt to organize the noise that is ptsd (what sticks & why!?) Like many, I was getting anxious over current events, but unlike others I found it connected to two real-life settings that are triggering me now, this prolonged exposure therapy a useful tool in ptsd recovery after assaults. This a STEP in a PROCESS & a way TO HEAL

Find a way to express the truth | found that way : just doing what I DO

Be truly grateful for what has helped & in this case this modern tool that is mostly magical to me (who knows how it works?) : THE GOLDEN RULE

TY tech : in check, no longer a wreck & don’t have to hide amongst the folds of where I’m catching these triggers & putting them down.

TODAY I KNOW HOW TO ORGANIZE just one bit of all these pieces bubbling up . . .

WRITING TODAY 01/31/2018

DATING is important & does not trigger : able to choose to date or not : date all “first times” & “last times” | Date anything that you don’t question too much

dating this because I am clear NOW & see how unclear, but mostly able to organize, but leaving IT out since not ready yet [if ever]

You must be ORGANIZED so (a) know strengths (b) know weaknesses (c) learn new skills (d) take infinite risks (e) be courageous with little bits of fear (f) give in on the days that are simply too _____ . You don’t have to make sense since the goal is to get through the night

why is the date the trigger : it’s an ANNIVERSARY : we really don’t understand triggering events happen every year when we appreciate & celebrate happy occasions, right?

how can pretend now to know?

this is how you completely blame another person : put self first : dispersed over 🕳 🕳 🕳 🕳 🕳 🕳 🕳 🕳 🕳

When you don’t make sense people think you’re crazy --recent experience with health care specialists have shown me how opinion, expertise & something that is very unique to me, not a thing I FEEL or think about to be honest since I STILL ASSUME people are trying their best & they’re not.

FLOE GOES HERE

ptsd is a physiological thing : I CAN EXPLAIN IT ALL

FLOE GOES HERE

How people are not empathetic & what harm that truly does to the BODY & then the MIND or the BODY & then the MIND. THE BODY is the INDICATOR & thank goodness it exists.

People are also kind of, well, they make their own conclusions & it’s harmful. Let’s get back to real discussions, please!!!

Out & about & stuck with a group of people who do not care a lick : I’m stuck & physically SHOWING (shaking, crying, body way OFF, but talking in a regular tone) & now being told I’m triggering when I am not by an expert. There is truth that after assaults some individuals do not heal & make happy lives, but why is that the automatic assumption? This is the problem : failure to regroup in a real way leading to lots of fakery that tends to skew the original message: get over it. TRYING !!!

Sexual Abuse & Power GO HERE : not the prettiest topic but the one that uncomfortably fits best since we do overlook the effects of crimes of an intimate nature. I’m going to share what it’s like to GO THROUGH to provide a way for others to say, “Hey, read this” and maybe it’ll be easier to discuss things that aren’t that bad compared to the actual act. The narrow minded opinion of those who equally admit to not listening & being confused do the most damage since it allows BEHAVIOR based on feelings that don’t have to be explained. That’s a bit like belief & to just believe without proof of why is a very dangerous place to linger in...it’s like being sucked into an atmosphere your body isn’t used to. I’ve been hit with a sledgehammer, my breath taken away.

The blog is to give VOICE to the feelings of ptsd triggers as they happen or shortly after in a “formal reflection.” I’m demanding more collective interests in SOLVING PTSD & SUICIDES because we are a nation that WANTS TO HELP & HAS THE ABILITY TO in great & small ways. I woke up from a FOG of ptsd in Nov 201_ & followed my gut & it was the right choice since it showed me HOW GROSS PEOPLE CAN BE. They stick together & protect for reasons that needlessly hurt others & if that is how they VIEW VIOLENCE I start to question their worst. If someone does MORE HARM than GOOD...isn’t that a ticking time bomb just waiting to go off in tremendously sad ways?

Find a better way because they showed me it all so thanks Fuckers. F

Do more to END VIOLENCE by identifying the FEW KIDS in each school who are being bullied & environments of indifference that leave them ISOLATED

DO more to INCREASE ACCESS to CARE, the ARTS, EDUCATION (liberal arts, vocational, big brained specialists) to give options of self-expression especially if they’re not being taught basic LITERACY & left in the back of the classrooms to learn nothing & be treated like a PET

Do everything you can to never lose hope : JUSTICE whenever possible

superheroes don’t actually exist so the justice system cannot fail

DO nothing & have nothing to complain about --- kind of obvious - - stop being those people that JUST don’t get it & never will. You are not your image, your income, your car or your “story” because you lie

Be who you are, but don’t try to pretend what you’re not ---like, really

IDENTIFY FAULTY THINKING : snuff out ignorance & indifference whenever it pops up and those who can’t do it, kick em out. They don’t get to wank off to bank accounts & treat people shoddily knowing they can & NO ONE will question.

EDUCATIONAL REVOLUTION for the kids who want to be TAUGHT HOW TO LIVE in a world where, yes, no one will accommodate you, but you also don’t have to have FEAR & a shit image of self because of someone else.

#ptsd #hypocrisy #mental health #self-awareness #recovery #writing #drumpf #support #goal #reflection in bold #happened 3x #self-education #fearlessness #love #ASCD

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