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staceymcgillicuddy · 1 year ago

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Prompt #9 please!

Oh, Nonnie, this is my last prompt in the inbox and it got me all in my emotions as well! Love an established relationship feelings-fest! (Prompt is "Listen to me.")

~~~~~~~

“Chrissy?”

Eddie taps on the door of their overpriced hotel room and waits. He has a key, but he wants to respect her need to take a moment. After all, it isn’t every day that your wife flees her little brother’s rehearsal dinner in tears after telling her own sainted mother to “just shut up, okay?”

Not that Laura Cunningham’s much of a saint. Still, Eddie’s treading carefully because this is the first significant time they’ve spent with the Cunninghams since the Christmas disaster of ’91, and there’s nothing that can send Chrissy spiraling back into the abyss of her childhood faster than a scathing comment from her mother.

“Hey, Bets,” he says, trying again with a nickname that he only pulls out when the stakes are high. He can’t remember how it started—Christine Elizabeth shortened to Lizzie, Beth, Betty, Bets, maybe—but after eleven years together, eight of them married, and a hundred pet names split between them, what does remembering matter?

Pressing his ear to the door, he waits until he hears a sob before deciding that she’s had warning enough and uses his key.

The room smells like Chrissy’s perfume with an undercurrent of faux-floral toilet scrub. It’s not a place they could ever have afforded alone, which is part of the problem. As parents of the groom (and at said groom’s request), Phillip and Laura are paying for their attendance, which has set Chrissy on a self-destructive path where she has to battle a tornado of tolerance and an earthquake of obligation and yes, sure, Eddie’d suggested they just get a room at the Motel 8 and save themselves the hassle, but she’d wanted to do it for her brother. For Charlie. For his bride-to-be, Addie, who’s actually a cool girl. They’ve been to stay with Chrissy and Eddie in Chicago twice now, and Eddie digs her taste in music more than he’ll ever admit.

(Addie also said she dug Eddie’s band-on-the-side, which is all he needs to love someone forever.)

“Eddie,” comes a plaintive wail from the bed.

Chrissy’s curled on her side with a pillow hugged to her abdomen, still wearing the blue floral dress she’d sported to dinner. It has ridden up her thighs considerably, and Eddie must have grown as a person because he only thinks about that for maybe .02 seconds as he crawls onto the bed behind her and wraps an arm around her waist to pull her against his chest.

“She had it coming,” he says into her artfully coiffed hair, which rests shellacked and sticky against his lips. “Baby. She did.”

“Is Ch-Ch-Addie mad?”

“Nobody’s mad except your mother.” In fact—and he won’t tell her this now—Addie’d been hiding a giggle behind a napkin. Eddie knows for a fact that she feels about Laura much the same as he does. Only, you know, she can’t say that to Chrissy because while Chrissy’s allowed to hate her mother, nobody else can say a word, and God, yeah, families are complicated. Eddie’s grateful that he only has to worry about Wayne, and Wayne never gives them any trouble.

“I shouldn’t have said anything,” she says around another miserable little sniffle.

“Eh.” He shrugs and kisses the spot where her shoulder meets her neck. “She was picking at you, and you snapped. It happens.”

“But I wasn’t going to do it this time! I was… I worked on all those coping m-mechanisms!” That brings a fresh volley of tears. “Sandra’s going to be so disappointed.”

“What, like you’re gonna get a bad grade in therapy?”

“Yes!” She trills the word out on a wail.

Eddie loves her so much, but she’s making a mountain out of a molehill, and while he never minds comforting this particular damsel in distress, he’s also not gonna let her beat herself up when Laura’s the one who threw the first punch.

“Alright, buddy, c’mon.” He pulls away enough to coax her onto her back, where she stares up at him from puffy, red-rimmed eyes and a blotchy complexion. “Hey.”

“Hi,” she says.

There’s snot beneath her nose, so he grabs a Kleenex from the box on the nightstand and holds it to her face. “Blow.”

She blows—honks if he’s honest—and he chucks the tissue onto the table before focusing on her.

“Okay, counselor, facts of the case. Did your mother kick the evening off by telling you your dress was too tight?”

Chrissy frowns. “It is, and—”

“Bzzt!” Eddie digs his fingers into her side, which has the intended effect of shocking her into a squeal. “Irrelevant. Conjecture. Also, bullshit. You look hot. So, true or false, counselor? Did she do that?”

Chrissy nods, mute, pressing her lips into a thin line. But, hey. Not crying, so that’s something.

“And did she, or did she not, tell everyone at the table that they’re paying for us to be here?”

Another nod.

“After which—and correct me if I’m wrong here—she put her hand over your plate so the waiter couldn’t give you any of the lobster risotto.”

Chrissy’s mouth twists into what might be termed a smile, and she shrugs.

“So then I switched plates with you, and she gave me that look she always gives me.”

“What look?”

“The look where I’m a pile of actual dogshit she’s just stepped in.”

“Oh.” Chrissy’s smile widens, and she shrugs. “Right. That look.”

“All of that to say, by the time she gave her little speech about grandchildren and welcoming a daughter into the family… I dunno, Bets, it felt like justifiable homicide to me.”

“But I did it in front of everyone…”

“Yeah, well, so did she.”

“But—“

“No buts. Listen to me. Your mother’s never going to change, but you change every day. That’s why you’ve got me, and Sandra, and all our friends who actually like you instead of the stupid little dress-up doll your mother spent eighteen years trying to turn you into.”

This is not the first time they’ve had this conversation. Chrissy already knows how he feels. However, if the message takes a million times to sink in, Eddie’s willing to keep talking.

Chrissy blinks, sniffs, and rubs her eyes. “Okay,” she says because she’s not so good at acknowledging the truth of the matter. “I should call Charlie’s room. Apologize to him and Addie and—”

“Or,” Eddie says, cutting her off before she can work herself into another lather. “We could call up room service and charge two fucking massive slices of chocolate cake to your parents.”

“Eddie…”

“Best part is, they’re both for you.”

"Eddie."

"I'll have a bite. And you can call your brother, too."

~~~~~~

All the prompts I've answered!

#bsc diaries #Anonymous #prompt meme #hellcheer #fanfic #hellcheer fanfic

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sequinsmile-x · 2 years ago

Text

Warpath

Emily decides to surprise her boyfriend, but a misunderstanding might ruin things forever.

-x-

Hiiii friends

As requested by a lot of people following an anon I got asking for Hotch/Reader to get into an argument because she thinks he's cheating on her, I made it Hotchniss!

This screams Young Hotchniss to me, and it has been a long time since I wrote them, so here we are! I hope you enjoy this!

-x-

Words: 3.1k

Warnings: References to cheating (no one actually cheats on anyone I promise!)

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

She told herself it was just sex.

She’d told him that too, her hand already in his pants, wrapped around him, whilst his was pushing her underwear out of the way as they kissed. Her words lost against his cheek as he pressed her between himself and his desk. Weeks of long looks and flirting as she distracted him whilst he was meant to be working culminating in the best orgasm Emily thinks she’d ever had up until that point.

It, of course, quickly became more than that.

He’d lay in bed with her, staying in her room much later than he should have if he didn’t want to get caught by one of his colleagues or her mother, and they’d talk for hours. Fingers trailing over skin as they exchanged stories, their childhoods vastly different but similar in many heartbreaking ways. Loneliness and a lack of the love they both deserved leading them to this - seeking out companionship in places they probably shouldn’t have.

They spent the weeks of that summer pretending it would last forever, that their deadline wasn’t fast approaching. On the last night before she was due to go to Yale, he’d snuck into her room as usual, although Emily had since learnt her mother already knew about them by then, and he said he didn’t want them to come to an end. That he wanted more with her and, if she wanted it too, they could make it work.

She still remembered the nervous look on his face, a vulnerability she knew he only ever showed her sparkling in his eyes. She didn’t have to think twice about it, her answer would only ever be yes.

They’d been together for 10 months now, the anniversary of that first night in his old office at her mother’s house fast approaching. It was the best relationship she’d ever been in and she missed him when she was away at college.

They took turns to visit each other once a month. It had only been two weeks since she’d last seen him but with finals coming up and a particularly nasty phone call she’d had with her mother a couple of days ago she felt on edge. She wanted nothing more than to see him, to find solace in his embrace and to breathe him in.

She got in her car without really thinking about it, a haphazardly packed bag on the passenger seat as she drove to see him, the 8 hours passing by in a blur. It’s only when she parks up outside of his building that she realises she probably should have at least called him and let him know she was coming. She blows out a breath and walks the familiar short distance from the building’s entrance to his apartment.

She knocks on the door and waits for it to be answered. She bites her lower lip in an attempt to contain her smile, her excitement, at seeing Aaron for the first time in weeks. She was spoiled by how they started, how he’d been available to her all the time, and she missed him when they were apart. The nightly phone calls and monthly visits were not anywhere near enough, which is what had led her to decide to surprise him like this.

Her smile drops off her face as the door swings open and she comes face to face with a woman who looks a couple of years younger than her. She’s wearing a t-shirt that is clearly too large for her, and a tiny pair of shorts that were sticking out just below its hem. Her hair is mostly dry, but there are damp patches on the t-shirt she’s wearing where her hair lays over her shoulders, a clear sign she’d been in the shower recently. The woman looks her up and down, and she raises her eyebrow.

“Hi.”

Emily continues to stare at her for a moment before she clears her throat, “Hi,” she replies, “Is Aaron here?”

The woman nods and looks over her shoulder, “Aaron. Someone is here for you.”

Emily swallows thickly as the woman walks back into the apartment, leaving her alone, frozen in place on the other side of the door, panic and confusion climbing up her throat. It turns into sorrow, bitter and heavy as nausea rolls through her when Aaron comes into view. He’s drying his hair, a towel in his hand as he rubs it back and forth over his head. He smiles at her, and it makes her heart drop into her stomach, her mouth falling open as he has the nerve to smile at her like she hasn’t just come to see him and found another woman in his apartment.

“Em, sweetheart, what are you doing here?”

She chuckles bitterly and shakes her head, crossing her arms over her chest to hold herself together. She refused to cry in front of him, didn’t want to let him know that he’d broken her heart, leaving it in pieces on the floor in the hallway of his apartment building.

“Wasting my time apparently,” she replies, stepping back when he leans in to kiss her, the smell of his shampoo washing over her, “I should go,” she says, shaking her head, “Leave you with your friend.”

Aaron frowns, his delight at seeing her so unexpectedly fading rapidly, replaced by confusion because of how she was acting. Standoffish in a way she hadn’t been with him since he first started working for her mother all those months ago. Before she trusted him.

“Em- He says as he takes a step towards her again but she backs up even further, almost hitting the wall behind her, putting as much space between them as she can.

“You could have just broken up with me, you know,” she says, cutting him off, her voice strained as she desperately tries to hold back her emotions, determined to keep it together, “I’m a big girl, I can take it.”

“Break up with you?” He asks, furrowing his brow, and she feels fury roll through her. Aaron wasn’t stupid, and she didn’t understand why he couldn’t see what the issue was. “Why would I…” He trails off as it clicks, the final puzzle pieces falling into place. It makes him draw in a breath and he laughs without meaning to. The idea is so absurd to him that he can’t hold it back, “Em, no you’ve got it wrong-”

It doesn’t go down well. His reaction makes the spark of anger in her blood catch fire and she shakes her head at him, once again cutting him off before he can explain.

“Go fuck yourself, Aaron,” she says, shaking her head as she walks away, ignoring him as he shouts after her, “Or better yet, let your new girlfriend do it for you.”

She makes it to her car before she starts to cry, the slamming of the door followed a sob she can no longer hold back.

___

She’s just about to order room service, her mind set on getting every dessert the hotel served and eating her feelings in bed when there’s a knock on her room’s door. She sighs and places the menu in her hand down on the vanity before she walks over. She groans as she looks through the peephole and sees Aaron standing on the other side of the door, his hands in the pockets of the sweatpants she’d seen him wearing earlier. She gives herself a moment to gather herself, her forehead briefly pressing into the cold wood of the door, and then she stands up straight and pulls the door open.

“How did you find me?” She asks, her voice sterner than she thought it would be considering she’d spent most of the last hour or so crying.

“I work for the FBI, Emily,” he says, trying to joke and sighing when he sees it doesn’t land, “I knew the last person you’d want to see after me would be your mother, so I figured you’d stay in a hotel. I called around until I found one that told me they had a guest with your name.”

She frowns, her hand still gripping the door handle as she stands in place, not giving him room to walk past her.

“I don’t want to talk to you-”

“I’m not sleeping with her,” he says, cutting her off before she has the chance to yell at him again. She freezes, her jaw tense and tight as they stare at each other, “She’s not…I would never do that to you.”

She feels some of the fight drain out of her, her grip on the door handle loosening as she tries to think of another explanation for what she saw.

“What? You just happened to have a beautiful woman in your apartment? Who you just clearly had a shower with?”

He sighs, frustration building in his chest as he clenches his jaw to stop himself from showing it, well aware that arguing with her right now wouldn’t fix anything.

“She’s called Ashley, and she’s Sean’s girlfriend,” he explains carefully, watching how her confusion only gets clearer, “And by the way I didn’t shower with her. She used all of my hot water by having the world's longest shower and then I had to use freezing cold water when she was done.”

“Sean’s girlfriend?” She asks, still slightly dubious as she ignores everything else he’s said, “Your brother who you haven’t seen in years?”

Aaron nods, “He just showed up this morning, with Ashley in tow,” he says, shaking his head at the thought of it, at how his brother just expected him to drop everything just for him, “He asked to stay for a few days. Apparently, he has a job at a diner in the city and they need somewhere to stay while he has a place of his own.” He continues to look at her, his eyes fixed on her face. He watches as it dawns on her, her eyes going wide. “Any chance I can come in now?” He asks, looking around the hotel hallway, “I’d rather other people didn’t hear any more of my business.”

She nods and she finally steps backwards, letting him step past her. She closes the door and turns to look at him, her arms crossed over her chest. She walks back through it, looking at what had happened at his apartment from a new perspective. Ashley’s hair was almost dry and Aaron’s was still dripping water when he walked towards the door, he’d been excited to see Emily. Joy and surprise in his eyes when he found her standing there even though it was still another couple of weeks until they should have seen each other. He’d been calm, content. Not at all like someone who had just been caught out cheating on his long-distance girlfriend.

She feels embarrassment colour her cheeks, her skin burning with guilt and internalised anger that she had reacted in the way she had, accusing him of things she knows he would never do without thinking critically for even a moment. She’d always prided herself on not being emotional, of being able to control herself in that way, but he brought it out of her. Made her feel everything that much more sharply than anyone else had ever been able to. She loved him, the happiness and light that came with that the brightest she had ever known, but she knew it also gave him the power to hurt her, something that she knows he would never purposely do.

“I’m so sorry, Aaron,” she says, her voice shaking as their eyes meet, his hands in his pockets still as they stand just a few feet apart from each other. Now her anger has cleared, she feels like she’s looking at him properly for the first time since Ashley had opened his front door. He looks sad, hurt shining in his eyes as he looks back at her, and she hates herself for doing this to him, “I…I’m sorry.”

He smiles at her and nods, “It’s ok.”

“No,” she says, taking a step towards him, so close now that she can feel his breath across her cheek, but she doesn’t touch him, “It’s not ok. I…should have listened to you, or thought about what I was looking at but I made an assumption and I wish I could take it back,” she finally reaches out for him, her hand cupping his cheek. She feels him lean into it, his stubbly cheek scratching against her palm in a way that warms her from the inside out, “I am sorry.”

“I know you are sweetheart,” he replies, turning his head to kiss her hand, “And it’s ok. I forgive you, god knows how I would have reacted if I showed up to yours to find a guy opening your front door. But I hope you know I wouldn’t do that to you,” he says, taking her hand in his and linking their fingers together, “I love you. I would never cheat on you.”

She smiles and nods, closing the final gap between them as she leans forward and wraps her arms around him. The final bit of tension leaves her as he wraps his arms around her too, a touch of desperation in his embrace that didn’t usually exist.

“I love you too,” she says, pressing her face into his neck and breathing him in, “And I’m going to apologise at least 5 more times before I go back to college.”

He pulls back to look at her, stamping a kiss against her lips, “I never did get the chance to ask what you were doing here.”

She groans and rests her forehead against his. He tugs her towards the bed and they both sit down. Emily leans against him, her legs over his lap and her cheek pressing into his shoulder.

“Finals have been stressing me out, and last night after I spoke to you I had a…fucking horrible conversation with my mother that ended with me hanging up on her. And I realised the only person who could make me feel better was you and that a phone call wouldn’t do. So I got in my car first thing this morning. I probably should have called first.”

He kisses her forehead and runs his hand up and down her arm, “Well, we would have avoided a misunderstanding if you had,” he quips, chuckling when she lightly slaps his shoulder, “But you know you’re always welcome, right? I miss you when you’re not here.”

She hums in response and sinks further into his embrace, “I know.”

They lapse into silence for a moment and he continues to run his hand up and down her arm, well aware that she found comfort in it.

“Do you want to talk about what happened with your mom?”

She sighs and lifts her head to look at him, “She asked what my plans were when I finish my masters,” she smiles tightly, “I told her what we spoke about.”

They’d discussed it the last time they saw each other, the end of her year at Yale looming over them. She wanted to move back to DC, something she would never have even considered before Aaron, and get a job, preferably in the FBI once she was old enough to apply. She was planning on moving in with Aaron, an idea he’d suggested when she commented she’d need to find somewhere to live.

Elizabeth had hated the idea. She’d been unhappy with the relationship since the moment she found out about it, and Emily knew she’d hoped it would fizzle out as they were forced to maintain a long-distance relationship for most of the time they’d been together. Emily knew her mother wouldn’t be pleased, but a small part of her had hoped that she’d recognise her daughter was truly happy and accept it because of that.

She was wrong.

“What did she say?” He asks, knowing she sometimes needed pushing to talk about her mother. He’s sure that if he didn’t know Elizabeth, if he hadn’t worked for her and knew what she could be like, that Emily wouldn’t tell him anything about her relationship with her mother, always afraid that people would think she was being dramatic or that she was simply a spoiled rich girl.

Emily laughs bitterly, “That I’m letting my heart lead me, that you’ll eventually hurt me and then I’ll realise I’ve shaped my life around something I’ll lose,” she shakes her head and blows out a breath, “It’s probably why I reacted like I did when I got to yours. Even after all this time, she’s still able to get into my head.”

She sounds so sad, so downtrodden, for a moment that he thinks about calling Elizabeth himself. Crossing the line he’d promised Emily he’d never cross, leaving her relationship to her mother just to her.

“She’s your mom, sweetheart,” he says, kissing her temple, “She knows exactly what buttons to push.”

“Yeah,” Emily sighs, “Because she sewed them on,” she smiles at him, “She said she won’t be able to make it to my graduation. She claimed it’s because she’s going to be in Italy, but I think she just doesn’t see the merit in it.”

He pulls her closer and he knows he can’t fix it for her, that it would mean more to her than she’d ever admit if her mother did go to her graduation.

“I’ll be there,” he assures her, “I’ll be the loudest guy in the crowd.”

She laughs and pulls back to look at him, “Yeah?”

He nods and leans in to kiss her, his lips firm against hers, “Yeah.”

“I was going to order food before you arrived, do you want to eat?”

He nods, squeezing her tighter for a second before he lets go and she gets up to pick up the menu she’d abandoned on the vanity.

“Yes please, Sean and Ashley have eaten all of my food since they arrived.”

She smiles and climbs back into his lap, menu in hand, “You’re staying tonight, right?” She asks, tilting her head as she looks up at him, “We could go back to yours but-”

“We should stay here,” he says, knowing he’s said the right thing when she smiles brightly at him, “We deserve some time alone.”

She nods and kisses his cheek, “I can’t wait until we live together.”

Aaron smiles at her, his future as clear as it had ever been, “Me neither, sweetheart.”

-x-

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freckliedan · 5 months ago

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I never knew your lore!! What was it like dating in a triad if it's sth you're comfortable talking about. Especially with someone you obviously loved a lot. What were your feelings for the other person? How did you even manage to communicate enough to be able to do that? Was it complicated at all? Was it fun/hot? Sorry if it's a lot but I've had someone proposition this to me and I just was so confused I didn't know better and said no. Now I regret it bc I feel so attracted to these people and would honestly love that (but more in a friends with benefits kinda way)! But I'm not in love with either so that made it easier for me to consider it at least? If I were, idk how I would handle it bc I'm quite insecure/easily jealous person

it's not lore i've talked the most about! but i've been increasingly open about poly stuff on here and i love the people in my life very much so i'm happy to talk about it! under the cut tho, bc this will get long.

when i was dating in a triad w/ my ex, they were actually the newest addition to the relationship—the third person is art, my now husband! and we all have different genders now than we did at the time we all three dated.

in a lot of ways it was very cool and wonderful being in a triad!!! like. they to this day are two of my favorite people in this world. it ruled loving them and being loved by them and it still does though the forms have changed.

me & art were best friends for a couple years before we started dating in 2014, & when our relationship changed to dating it was very much a case of "we're best friends and want to be in each other's lives forever, we just also want to kiss & probably have sex someday about it & to belong to each other".

(probably someday on the sex due to. we were 18 and had both never kissed anyone before. we took it slow).

ex has been one of both of our other best friends since that same point in time, & we dated him from 2017-2018. it was a very similar start to our dating relationship w ex—we already were best friends and wanted to hang out forever, we were just adding more to the relationship we already shared.

and we all had a great dynamic when all 3 of us were spending time together, but also each had individually strong relationships? me and art hung out just the two of us, but so did me and ex & ex and art. adding a new dimension to it all was the easy part?

we spent a lot of time that summer walking dogs and camping and fooling around and laughing together and getting stoned.

& yes it was very fun and hot. i shan't elaborate. but there was a point in time where i'd EASILY had more threesomes than anyone else i knew.

it was sometimes complicated and hard but not because it was hard to have that much love in our lives? i am the opposite of a jealous person and had mostly worked thru the insecurity i felt in the first few years of me and art's relationship/did not see his relationship w our ex as something that could replace what he and i have bc we're all very different people so was not insecure abt it.

it was just. a difficult time in all three of our lives individually? none of us were in a good place with mental health, & largely due to factors outside of our control. i'm not going to get into art & ex's sprcific struggles, but i was being medically neglected, freshly had gone no contact with my mom, & was just out of a toxic/abusive living situation.

(& my ex roommates were also COWORKERS of me and art. yes they treated me like shit at work bc art was full time in classes and only in like once a week. and then ex started working with us too.

one of the ex roommates had also been friends with us since high school and was our ex's ex. i had known the other ex roommate since i was 7 or 8 and she was the assistant manager. they were homophobic to me the whole time i lived with them and started dating after i moved out)

(yes the drama went fucking crazy but i have literally always maintained the moral high ground).

ANYWAYS. i think i was in the best place mental health wise of all three of us at the time. insanely enough. with that incomplete list of hell going on in my life.

but i was the only one of the three of us who had strong social support outside of our group of three, & i was the one who realized that our individual struggles were making it hard to communicate at times & that it was hurting all of us.

so i was the one who realized that if all 3 of us wanted to stay in each other's lives, we needed to break up with ex.

which sucked! a lot! it really hurt ex, but being newer in the relationship than our established dynamic was also hurting him.

he and i both walked away from the breakup feeling like it was uniquely our fault because we wanted too much. it has been amazingly healing to have maintained our connection & been able to process our breakup like. with each other. bc we both went into future polyamory w approximately the same baggage LMAO.

we moved in with each other a little less than a year after our breakup & lived together for almost 4 years! and we'd been living out of each other's pockets for the two before that—art & ex lived w their families like a five minute walk apart and i spent most of my time living out of my subaru btween the two of their homes.

so like. i don't regret it. i will spend the rest if my life loving both my husband and our ex so much it goes beyond words, no matter what form our relationships take. we would probably still be together if our relationship had started under literally any better of surrounding circumstances.

after our breakup i spent some time as a lesbian and that overlapped with ex's gender veering into man so attraction stopped there? though who knows what the future holds.

idk! i would rather my husband adopt a dog with ex and be the cool step parent that never actually takes on a parental role for the dog. i wish we were neighbors/lived near each other rather than states apart bc in a dream world ex and i would have keys to each other's homes and would just get to hang out doing our own thing in one another's room at least 3 days a week.

there's no one size fits all for poly relationships & there's definitely Other friends i want to/do blur the lines btween romantic and platonic with at this point in time.

no other triads currently happening in my life though and idk if it will happen again?

no sorries! & i'm nor sure how helpful this ramble will have been but i appreciate the chance to talk about my experiences bc it's not something that comes up a lot but it means a lot to me and has been such a significant part of my life.

if the proposition was on the table before for you, and it's something you do know you'd be down for & that you're prepared to communicate a lot about, is it for sure off the table now? if it's something that might still be possible for you and it's something you can talk about w the people in question then have that conversation!

worst case scenario, it's an awkward conversation where yall realize you have different expectations and wants out of a triad and that that means it's not something that's going to happen.

best case scenario, you get to have some fun and sexy new experiences?

i'd say it's worth it to try! & if jealousy and insecurity are a concern for you, they might be for the other two in some way, too. i think talking about whether it might come up for you guys and how to proceed if it does as an up front thing would peobably be a smart idea?

for real though! if it's something you want amd that the other two people were down for in the past, i hope it can be an option again in the now too. good luck anon and thank you for listening to me run my mouth.

#our main issue was that we were all 21 and had no other in person friends so like whatever your situation is.#i truly doubt you'll face the same challenges 👍#jam replies #anon #polyamory #editing to add. i didnt mention but ex has a new partner he lives with now who we love a lot & another new partner he doesn't live with who #we've only met once but really liked. and the polycule has aspirations of moving to my current city so. god i hope that's soon

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imnotoverlyobsessive · 2 years ago

Text

Moodboard by the incredible @softhecreator

Mr. Chalamet

chapter two: more than friendly

AO3 info one two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven epilogue

All my work is 18+.

I fell apart when I got home inside my bed. I can’t think, can’t speak; I can’t move, can’t breathe. This is a white heart heat when you get next to me. When I’m around you, it’s like waking up the dead. My back’s against the wall, oh oh, and I’m feeling the pressure. Yes, I’m about to fall, oh oh. What I’m feeling, it’s torture. It’s unavoidable. You are a magnet, it’s unavoidable. I am metallic, so do what you do, do what you do to me.- Neon Trees, Unavoidable

It may have been strange, but Mr. Chalamet was Lea’s first male friend. If one could call one’s friend’s dad one’s own friend, that is. Which he certainly acted like one with her.

He was so nice. So ridiculously nice. He’d finished filming recently, so he’d be home for awhile, he had told her.

She spent a great deal of time over at their house, which, realistically speaking, who could blame her, really? It had a movie theater, for god’s sake.

Lea had become strangely comfortable with Mr. Chalamet, too. He was always so kind to her. And he was funny. Elle was forever teasing him for his jokes, but Lea thought they were hilarious. He seemed to revel in making her laugh, always smiling when he managed it. They’d become texting buddies (he’d offered to give her his motherfucking phone number), and he’d even invited her to follow his finsta and Snapchat, frequently sending her pictures and videos on the latter— sometimes in a group, sometimes just for her. He texted her memes and asked her how school was going. He expressed concerns about his job. They were friends, and it was weird.

She stared at him sometimes. She couldn’t help it. In her defense, though, he was so attractive it was downright obscene. He was a walking, talking orgasm, basically.

But one evening, he did something… so ridiculously, unbelievably sweet.

Lea had fallen asleep on the couch after a movie, and he had carried her up to the guest bedroom she slept in whenever she visited. He’d even tucked her in. He’d stayed for nearly thirty seconds—she had counted—before walking away. Her counting had pulled her almost entirely back to sleep, and his actions had fueled her dreams that night. She dreamt of him getting in bed next to her and holding her close.

It was after this that she sat down and made a list.

List Of Reasons Why I Absolutely Cannot Fall In Love With Timothée Chalamet

1. He’s married.

2. His wife is Lourdes Leon, Madonna’s daughter.

3. He’s sixteen years older than me.

4. I’m friends with his daughter.

5. His daughter (my friend!) has been alive for almost the same number of years he is older than I am.

6. He’s a huge celebrity. I am a nobody.

7. He clearly likes skinny girls. I am fat. He must think I'm disgusting.

8. He sees me as a kid, not a woman. He will never see me as a woman.

9. Even if he did, though, he still has to kiss and pretend to have sex with other women for work. He has to pretend to be in love with them. I’m jealous just thinking about it.

10. He’d never want me. Not in a million years.

And that was that. She put it from her mind.

Or tried to, anyway. It didn’t work. By the end of the semester, she knew it for certain: she was falling in love with him. It was inevitable. Perhaps it always had been.

So Lea did the only thing she could think of to do. As soon as the new semester started up and she and Elle were in Cinema Studies 2—this time they’d been able to request they be partners, although Lea hadn’t been able to think of a good excuse not to, plus she didn’t want to hurt her friend’s feelings—, she avoided him like he had rabies and was likely to infect her if she got too close. She wouldn’t spend the night anymore, and she didn’t watch movies with him anymore. He would sometimes come in and sit down while she and Elle watched a movie, but Lea was always sure to leave immediately. She was terrified that being around him, looking at him, hearing his voice— all of it would make her feelings so much worse.

Her twentieth birthday had come and gone, and he texted her for it. She thanked him, but otherwise didn’t speak to him hardly at all. And yet she daydreamed sometimes about what it would be like if he wanted her, too. If he wasn’t with someone else, if she wasn’t too young for him, no good for him. If he saw her the way she saw him.

Elle slept over at her and Sam’s apartment one evening.

“You’ve been sadder lately,” Elle said quietly into the darkness of Lea’s bedroom. “Are you okay?”

Lea hadn’t intended to fill Elle in on this particular development, but, well. The younger girl was too perceptive, and she knew her friend’s mannerisms too well by that point not to pick up on the change.

“I’m fine,” Lea assured her, “I just…” she trailed off with a sigh. “I like someone. A lot.”

“Ommigod!” Elle squealed, shooting bolt upright from her sleeping bag on the floor. “Who is he?!”

Lea was silent for a moment. “Someone unavailable,” she finally confessed, her voice quiet. “Someone who wouldn’t look twice at me in a million years.”

“Unavailable how?”

“He’s married,” Lea explained.

“Ohhhhhhhh,” Elle said. “Yeah, that would pose a problem. What’re you gonna do?”

“Nothing,” Lea said quickly. “I’m just gonna avoid him so it doesn’t get worse.”

“Why avoid him?”

“He’s really nice to me,” Lea admitted. “It sucks ‘cause I like hanging out with him, but if I keep doing it, I’m gonna end up falling in love with him, I think, and I don’t want to. He’s really smart, so he’d probably figure it out or something, and I don’t want him to be uncomfortable. I don’t want to make things weird.”

“You know what you should do,” Elle started, “is ask my dad for advice. He’s really insightful.”

“I know,” Lea agreed, “but I don’t wanna ask him, really. It’d be weird.”

“Why would it be weird?” Elle asked in surprise.

Because it’s him I’m falling for, she thought. What she said, however, was, “I don’t talk to, y’know. Guys. Especially not about feelings and whatnot.”

“He’s not a guy,” Elle laughed. “He’s my dad.”

“He’s still a guy, dude.”

“If you say so.”

“You won’t, uh…” Lea gulped nervously. “You won’t tell him, will you?” She quickly amended with, “Or— or anybody else, I mean?”

“Nah,” Elle assured her. “Of course not. Not unless you want me to. I do really think my dad could help, though. He gives great advice.“

Lea stared at the ceiling even though she couldn’t see anything.

“I’m sure he does.”

They were cramming for school, which, for Cinema Studies, meant their final project. Lea was subsequently over at their house a great deal.

It was Friday evening, and they’d just eaten a very late dinner. Mr. Chalamet had made it. Which, yeah, he could cook. Swoon.

“I’m gonna take a shower and pass out,” Elle decided. “Lea, are you staying or going home?”

“I should head home,” she said immediately. Perhaps a bit too quickly, in fact.

“In this rain?” Mr. Chalamet asked as Elle walked off. “Are you sure?”

“Uh… yeah,” she gulped anxiously, not looking at him. This was made easier when her phone buzzed as a completely irrelevant notification came through. “Oh, my ride's here.” She didn’t have a ride, but he didn’t have to know that.

“Do you have an umbrella?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she lied. “My purse is waterproof, too, so.” That, at least, was true. Her phone and wallet would be safe, even in the rain. It was fine.

Mr. Chalamet seemed skeptical, but let her leave without further questions.

Lea didn’t have a ride, though. She didn’t even have a raincoat. This was unfortunate, because she had to walk all the way off the Chalamet estate to the street and down to the subway.

Her hair was soaked (as was the rest of her) within minutes, and she knew she’d have a hell of a time stopping the frizz when she got home. She wondered what time it was. When she’d left, it had been just after eleven, what with how late she and Elle had been working. Mr. Chalamet had looked so gorgeous that evening that it had actually been painful to look at him. And he was so kind, making dinner for her and Elle, wanting to make sure she got home safely.

She was musing about it as she walked down the sidewalk not far from the Chalamets’, a car she recognized all too well pulling up against the curb.

She glanced at it, and, to her horror, Mr. Chalamet himself had cracked the window so he could speak to her without the rain getting in.

“Lea?” he asked, concern lacing his voice. “What’re you doing here?”

“I’m, uh…” She gulped anxiously. “I’m going to the subway.”

“I thought you said you had a ride.”

“They had to cancel last minute,” she quickly lied.

He pursed his lips. “Uh huh. Okay, I’ll take you home. C’mon.”

Lea’s eyes widened, and she shook her head rapidly. “N— no thank you,” she stuttered. “I’m fine taking the subway.”

“Not in this rain,” Mr. Chalamet insisted, “and definitely not this late at night. Get in the car.”

“No, really,” she assured him, “I’m fine. But thank you.”

“Lea,” he started, his voice slow and deliberate, “I am not letting you walk around the city alone in the rain at 11:45 at night. No way in hell.” When she hesitated further, contemplating how to refuse him in a way he’d accept, he added, “Get. In. The. Fucking. Car.”

She did.

He started down the road, and she stared out the window, watching rain. His car smelled like him, and with him so close to her…

Well. She just needed to pretend she was somewhere else.

��You didn’t have a ride home, did you?” Mr. Chalamet asked, sounding displeased. “Or an umbrella, apparently.”

She didn’t respond. He’d made her get in the car, and she couldn’t bear to talk to him. She was soaking wet, and somehow, that made her feel exposed. Vulnerable. Her mom had been vulnerable to her dad. That was why he’d been able to beat her. It was why she no longer had a dad, why she’d never grown up around boys. There was no danger of that with Mr. Chalamet for a whole host of reasons, of course, but the point was, vulnerability led to disaster.

“Why did you lie to me, Lea?” he asked instead. “I get the feeling you’ve been lying to me, not to mention avoiding me. Why?”

She tensed. He was going to make things even more difficult for her, wasn’t he?

When she didn’t answer, didn’t even look at him, he let out a sigh of frustration. “Fine.”

All of a sudden, they had turned around and were going the opposite direction of her apartment.

Trying to figure out what he was trying to pull, Lea finally turned to look at him. “My apartment is the other way,” she pointed out.

“I know.” His fingers were tight on the steering wheel.

He didn’t say anything else, and next thing she knew, they were in front of his house again. He got out, opening an umbrella as he did so. She flinched as the rain started to hit her skin again.

He rushed around to the other side to hold the umbrella over them both. Normally, she’d have smiled up at him and thanked him. This time, though, she marched right past him.

He hurried after her, and soon enough, she was dripping onto his fancy marble floors.

“What is with you?” Mr. Chalamet demanded.

She didn’t answer. She was gonna wait until she was dry enough to not damage her phone, and then she was gonna call an Uber.

“Alright then,” he decided, dropping his keys on the entryway table and grabbing her hand. “C’mon.”

“What—“ she started, thrown off by this turn of events.

“Do not argue with me, Lea,” he said sharply. “I’m not in the mood.”

Mr. Chalamet never got upset. She had never seen him snap or lose his temper, not once. It was… startling, to say the least. So she followed him, allowing him to pull her up the stairs and… into his bedroom?

They walked beneath an archway and then through a set of painted French doors, and then they were in his room. It was huge— vaulted ceilings, a TV above a carved fireplace, a sunroom in the corner that was separated from the rest of the bedroom by columns, a king sized bed with the covers unmade.

That’s where he sleeps, she thought in a daze. He sleeps there. He sleeps there.

They passed a cabinet and counter with a mini fridge and coffee machine before going through another set of French doors and past a large, elaborate vanity that was built into the wall. He let go of her hand once they were between two huge walk-in closets, and he strode into the one on the right. Within a few seconds, he had re-emerged carrying a long-sleeve shirt and pair of sweatpants.

Mr. Chalamet grabbed her hand again and pulled her through a third set of French doors. “Stay there,” he commanded sharply as he let go of her hand again to rifle through some sort of small closet that was built into the wall.

As he did, she took in the bathroom she now stood in. Marble floors, a huge walk-in shower with a seat—also made of marble, and with a large circular mirror inside—a large double vanity, columns around the ginormous tub that was more of a jacuzzi, all elaborately carved. There was even a fireplace with a mirror—and fuck, a small statue in front of the mirror—and a set of doors to a balcony with a table and chair set.

He marched past her and plopped the clothes as well towels he’d retrieved onto a long stool that sat in front of the tub. “Shower,” he ordered, “or take a bath. I don’t care. Just get out of those wet clothes and warm up. I’ll be outside until you’re done.”

“I… I need to brush my hair whenever I bathe,” she told him, her voice soft and hesitant. “It frizzes up really bad if I don’t.”

“I know.” He pointed at the shower seat. “I have curly hair, too, you realize. There’s a brush in the shower for that exact reason. You can use it.”

Lea nodded. He left then, closing the doors behind him. She hastened to lock them, looking around the room anxiously.

She showered, noting that the conditioner—which must’ve been obscenely expensive—was for curly hair. Did he have trouble taming his, too?

The towels were soft, and the clothes were warm. She squeezed out her bra and panties, not wanting him to see them, or see her without a bra.

When she exited the bathroom, Mr. Chalamet was sitting in a chair by the fireplace. She crossed her arms over her stomach, curling her toes in the sweatpants (they fell well past her feet and were essentially socks).

His lips quirked slightly when he saw her. “Feel better?” She stared at her feet in silence, and he sighed. “C’mon,” he told her, “we should sit in the living room.”

Lea didn’t see why, but she wasn’t about to argue with him. She didn’t understand his need to take care of her, really. Must’ve been a dad thing.

Further confirmation he sees you as a child, she told herself glumly. I told you he’d never see you as anything but that. It seems like he sees you as a daughter, even. Ugh.

She let him take her downstairs and into the living room, and she was soon sitting on the couch with him in a chair across from her. She stared up at the balcony behind him; the chandelier and vaulted ceilings, elaborately carved like the rest of the house.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” he finally said. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of fact. “You’ve been lying to me, too. Tell me why.”

She stared at her hands in her lap, where her fingertips were peeking through the hemline of the sleeves off the shirt he’d given her. “With all due respect, Mr. Chalamet, what I do is none of your business.”

“I thought we were friends,” he told her quietly, a smile in his voice.

She exhaled sharply. “You’re my friend’s dad.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t be friends also,” he insisted. “I see you as a friend. Don’t you see me as one, too?”

She crossed her arms over her stomach protectively. Maybe she wouldn’t spill her guts, pour her heart out to him, if she could hold herself together. “I dunno,” she sighed. “It’s… weird.”

He stood, and she watched his sock-clad feet come into view before the couch dipped beneath his weight. He was close, but not close enough to appear more than friendly. “Why is it weird?” he asked her, his voice gentle. Kind. He was always so goddamn nice.

Finally, the prickling of his gaze on her skin was too much. She looked up at him, into his eyes, and…

And she couldn’t take it, couldn’t keep it in. She burst into tears, the emotions bursting out of her like water from a collapsed dam.

Cupping her face with her hands so he wouldn’t see her cry, Lea sobbed as quietly as she could until she felt herself pulled towards him and warm arms around her.

“Shh,” he hushed softly, rubbing her back as she wept. “It’s alright. I’ve got you, Lea. It’s okay.”

She couldn’t stop herself from burying her face in his shoulder. It felt so good to be held by him, to have his arms around her. It was everything she’d ever dreamed of except better, a billion times better.

Lea cried for a few more minutes before coming back to herself. As soon as she did, she put her hands on his shoulders and pushed away from him. Or tried to, anyway. She couldn’t get very far with his arms still around her. “Sorry,” she muttered, still trying to pull away. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Hey,” Mr. Chalamet said gently, cupping her cheek and lifting her face up towards him so she couldn’t help but look at him, “it’s alright. Really. I want to be there for you, sweetheart.”

“You shouldn’t call me that,” she breathed, certain that he shouldn’t call her such things because of the way it made her stomach flutter.

He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “It’s what you are to me.”

“I shouldn’t be.” She assumed he saw her as a daughter, and, well, he should see her platonically, of course, but she couldn’t bear for him to look at her the way a father looked at his daughter. She’d rather he look at her as a friend, no matter how painful that was. Or, hell, even a stranger was better than his daughter. Better than a child.

“But you are,” he murmured. His gaze found her lips, and she stopped breathing. “You’re probably right. You probably shouldn’t be. But you are, and I don’t care anymore. Push me away, slap me if you have to, but I can’t stop myself. I want this with you too badly. I’m sorry.”

“What are you—“ She didn’t even get to finish her question before his lips were on hers.

Lea was frozen. Her lungs wouldn’t work, couldn’t work. And then her brain processed what was happening. He was kissing her. Mr. Chalamet was kissing her, his lips moving gently over hers, his hand migrating from her cheek into her wet hair.

She whimpered softly, closing her eyes and shifting closer to him. He groaned when he felt her respond, clenching his hand in her hair, his arm tightening around her waist. Their kiss deepened, becoming desperate and hungry, and he sucked her tongue into his mouth, moaning as he did so.

She knew it was wrong, knew he was no good for her, that she was no good for him, but she couldn’t stop herself, couldn’t help how desperately she needed him.

She slid her hands up from his shoulders into his hair and tried to move her lips over his the way he was doing with her, and he moaned again, trailing kisses over her jaw and down her throat. “You’re so beautiful,” Mr. Chalamet said against her skin. “God, why didn’t you push me away? You should hate me now. You should find me repulsive, think I’m a gross old man—“

“A what?” she laughed breathlessly. “Are you serious?”

“I’m way too old to want you this way.” He slid his hand down to the base of her spine, almost on her ass, but not quite. She wondered if he wanted to touch her there. She wished he would. She wished he’d touch her everywhere. “I shouldn’t look at you the way I do.”

“How do you look at me?” Lea asked breathily as he continued to kiss her neck. “I thought you saw me as a child.”

He chuckled a bit, the hand on her back bunching up in the fabric of the shirt she wore. “But you’re not one, are you?” he breathed. “You’re a fully grown woman.” His fingers slipped beneath the hemline of the shirt, brushing against the bare skin of her lower back. “God, are you ever.”

“What do you mean?” she asked, having a theory she couldn’t quite voice and hoping she was right.

“You’re of age,” Mr. Chalamet began, “and your body is…” he trailed off momentarily before clearing his throat. “Well. You’re an adult, and you look it.”

“You like the way I look?” she asked hesitantly.

“Fuck yes I do,” he growled. “I don’t wanna freak you out, but you are insanely sexy. Kiss me again, sweetheart. Please.”

“If that’s what you want,” she breathed, pressing her mouth to his again.

“I’ve spent a lot of time imagining this,” Mr. Chalamet confessed. “Thinking about your lips on mine.”

“You— you have?”

“God, yes.” He pulled her closer by the waist. “I can’t get you out of my head. Ever since I first saw you, I wanted to know what you’d taste like, what you’d feel like. What sounds you’d make if I touched you the way I really want to.”

“How do you want to touch me?” she wanted to know. “I… I’ve never… I mean, that was my first kiss, so…”

“It was?” he asked, sounding surprised. “I can’t believe I got to have that. But— I want to touch you however you'll let me. I want things with you—I want to do things to you—that might scare you, and that’s the last thing I want, is to scare you off.”

“You could never scare me off,” she assured him. “Please tell me how you see me. I want to know.”

“Like a fucking goddess,” he growled, kissing her neck again. “Aphrodite come to Earth. I’d worship you if you let me.”

Lea wrapped her arms around his neck, wanting to be closer to him, impossibly closer. “Mr. Chalamet, I—“

“Use my name, darling,” he interjected, running his hands up and down her sides, almost brushing her breasts. “I want to hear you say it. I want to hear you moan it.”

She hesitated, but he was kissing her neck, and it felt so good. He felt so good. “Timothée,” she exhaled softly.

“Fuck,” he groaned, sucking her skin gently, not quite hard enough to leave a mark. “Again, angel. Please. Say it again.”

“Oh, Timothée—“

“I wanna hold you,” he gasped. “I wanna touch you, feel your skin against mine—“

“Yes,” Lea whimpered. “Yes, Timothée, please touch me, I want that, I want that so bad—“

“Fuckin’ love hearing you say my name, baby,” he growled. “Never call me Mr. Chalamet again, you got that?”

“Whatever you want,” she promised, kissing him hungrily.

“This is why you’ve been lying to me, isn’t it?” Mr. Chalamet—no, Timothée, he wanted her to call him Timothée—asked. “Why you’ve been avoiding me, won’t look at me.”

She buried her face in his neck in response. “I’m sorry. I never meant to feel this way about you. It was an accident.”

“I didn’t mean to feel this way about you, either,” he confessed, “but that doesn’t mean I’m not happy I do, that you feel the same way about me.”

“I tried to hide it,” Lea admitted, “but I’ve never liked anybody before, so I don’t think I was very good at it.”

“No,” he chuckled with a slight shake of his head. “No, you weren’t. I suspected—or hoped, rather—that that was what was going on, but I wasn’t sure. I’m so glad I was right.” After a moment, he said, “Kiss me again, Lea. I need you to kiss me again.”

She was leaning in to do just that when there were footsteps on the stairs. Jumping away from him like a kid caught with their hand in a cookie jar, she panted heavily.

“What’re you guys doing?” Elle asked when she saw them.

There was silence for a few tense beats. “I was just about to take Lea home,” Tim—she got to think of him as that now!—finally said. “She’s not feeling well.”

“Oh, shit,” Elle muttered. “You okay? Why’re you wearing Dad’s clothes?”

“She got sick while still wearing her clothes,” he explained. “Do you need something?”

“Just a snack,” Elle said, strolling towards the kitchen. “See you later, Lea. Hope you feel better.”

“T— thanks,” Lea stuttered back, feeling very much like she’d just committed treasonous levels of betrayal.

“C’mon,” Tim told her gently, pulling her up and leading her towards the door.

She was in a daze on the drive to her apartment, trying to process what had happened.

He’d kissed her. He’d told her he liked her, wanted her, couldn’t stop thinking about her.

What the fuck?

He stopped in front of her building, pulling off to the curb. “The rain has stopped enough for you to walk in without an umbrella,” he observed.

“Yeah,” she agreed softly, staring at her hands in her lap. “Thanks for driving me home, Mr. Chalamet.”

“Why are you calling me that again?” he wanted to know. “I thought we agreed you wouldn’t anymore, now that we’re…” he trailed off.

Lea clutched the fabric of the sweatpants he’d given her. “We can’t do that again,” she informed him shakily. “I’m sorry. We can’t. I’ll see you later.”

He objected, saying her name, but she was already getting out of the car.

She curled up in a ball when she got to bed, crying until her eyes were raw.

Aaaaaaaa I’m sorry I’m sorry I promise it has a happy ending

Tag list: @ellamaianderson @shika1200 @blackqueenstarseed1 @gatoenlaciudad @esmaada @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @softhecreator @timolaurence @timmymyluv @oddlyenoughiamweird @leecrunchybones @s-we-e-t-t-ea @almostg @vampire-reanimator @leespparker @bubblebuttwade @glizzymcguirex @starberry-cake

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serenasoutherlyns · 2 years ago

Text

a gift - chapter one

Alex Cabot doesn't care about her birthday.

Calex/kind of an Alex character study two shot about her birthday. Olivia, Amanda, Munch, and Fin appear. Part two out soon. I write requests! This one was from @cabotlvr.

ao3

“Oh,” Her mom said from across the dinner table, “It’s your birthday today, isn’t it?”

Somehow, even Alex forgot this year.

“Oh, yes. It is,” she said, surprised. Today I am seven.” She barely felt excited. She never enjoyed other children’s birthday parties, so she hadn’t had her own since she turned four. It was really only another day. It was a Saturday, so she even got to skip everyone’s attention at school.

“We should sing,” her mom said, turning to her father.

“No, thank you,” Alex said, “May I please be excused?”

Her mom looked at her with a slightly downturned mouth.

“Of course. Happy birthday, Alexandra.”

“Thank you, mom” She said.

When Alex got to her room, she opened up her book, a new one: Ramona Quimby: Age 8. She liked Ramona, even though they weren’t very much alike. Ramona was so naughty! But, she had a big imagination like Alex did. She spent the evening of her seventh birthday with exactly the company she wanted.

“ALEX!!!!” Heather yelled when she entered the classroom. It was buzzing with the excitement that always came with the last week of school. Alex startled. She looked behind her, then patted her skirt pockets. She didn’t see any threat or reason to be so agitated.

“What?” She said.

Heather pulled out a noisemaker and blew it.

“Happy birthday!” Heather said. Some of the rest of the class looked at Heather, annoyed, then turned away. Some of them stifled laughter, a sound all too familiar to Alex.

Oh. Alex had noticed that when she crossed today off in her calendar at home. She should’ve guessed it would be a big deal at school. Against her will, her face turned pink and she started to cry. It made them all laugh louder. Alex ran to the bathroom, the tears in her eyes rolling down her cheeks now. Sixth grade was the worst and she never wanted to step foot in that stupid school again. And she never wanted to see Heather Montague again either.

When she stopped crying, she went to the nurse and said she had a stomach ache and she threw up in the bathroom. When her nanny arrived to pick her up, Alex didn’t say a word. When they got home, she went straight to her room. She missed soccer that day, and she missed French class the next. When her parents asked what was wrong at dinner, she told them it was nothing. She didn’t talk to Heather for a week.

She hated her stupid birthday.

CONGRATS GRADS — CLASS OF ’92 read the banner in front of the auditorium. There should’ve been two parties today. Graduation meant a lot to Alex, as did her 4.0 and her acceptance letter from Wellesley. Still, she didn’t see a need for much fanfare. Everyone she loved had congratulated her already, so what was the big deal?

18 was just another year. She didn’t want to buy cigarettes, or go all the way to Montreal like some of her classmates were.

No, she wanted to spend the day with one person and one person only.

After the ceremony, they drove out to Heather’s uncle’s country house, still in their graduation dresses, polaroid camera in tow. They stole a bottle of champagne and laid a picnic blanket out by the lake. As the night got chillier they got closer. Alex’s heart pounded when they finally kissed.

“Happy birthday, Alex,” Heather whispered a centimeter from her lips. Alex started to cry.

“What’s wrong?” She asked.

“I’m just going to miss you.”

Heather kissed her again, and Alex wanted the night to last forever.

Year two was over, and Alex truly felt like celebrating. While she did have an internship looming over her head, at least there were no more classes to go to. Anne, Cecilia, and Thomas were going out so Alex was going out, the three of them were attached at the hips these days. Thomas had found a guy, and Anne and Cecilia were all over each other, but Alex didn’t mind being the fifth wheel.

“Alex!!” Thomas slurred from the dance floor. “Alex, come dance with us,” he continued. “Aaaaaalex!”

Alex did as she was asked. Thomas was very compelling, she loved that about him. He was very charming and he always had some guy or another on his arm, whether they were at a school event or a jam-packed dance floor.

She was just tipsy enough to dance her whole heart out. She saw someone she recognized sitting at the bar, the cute redhead she’d only seen in passing at the library or in faculty talks. They must be in different years. She was with a big group of girls and guys; some of whom she recognized as classmates, some of whom she didn’t. She was wearing a pair of black overalls and a baggy white t-shirt, she had her somewhat short hair tied back in a sensible ponytail.

Alex thought she would make an excellent dance companion.

“Can I buy you a drink?” She said when she walked up to her. She smiled back when she turned to face Alex. It was a pretty smile, big and genuine. It made Alex smile too.

“You can,” she said, “But don’t ask me to dance with you unless you want an elbow to the eye.” Alex laughed and shrugged. She didn’t know how the woman would manage that, since they seemed about the same height, but the conviction with which she said it made her think that it had happened before.

“Deal,” she said, making eye contact with the bartender. “What am I getting you, um,” Alex trailed off, realizing she’d forgotten to ask her name.

“Casey,” she said, “Gin and tonic.” Alex ordered them two. She took the time to really notice Casey, her toned arms and rosy cheeks: she was pale, and it was hot inside the bar. Casey licked her lips and Alex noticed them, how plump and soft they looked. She liked everything she saw, very much.

“Alex,” she said. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Casey said. “I think I’ve seen you around.”

“Yes, I recognize you from the library.”

“That’s it! You’re the one who’s always sitting on the couches with your papers spread out,” Casey said. Alex must’ve blushed, because Casey reassured her, “It’s very, um, intriguing.” She squeezed Alex’s arm and ran her hand down to Alex’s, touching her thumb and thigh before she pulled away.

“You’re the one who always has an iced latte,” Alex said in return.

“Caramel,” Casey said, nodding. “I guess we’ve noticed each other,” She said, and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

Happy Birthday to me, Alex thought.

It was her birthday. Or, the day that wasn’t her birthday anymore.

It was hard to keep it all straight. She was already on her second round of names, birthdays, towns, backstories. She should’ve counted on running into someone she knew, but she didn’t think it would be so soon. So a month into being Penelope Greyson, office manager for the county clerk, she still felt like Alex Cabot. She was clinging to feeling like Alex Cabot, holding out hope that one day it would be safe to return to her. Maybe she could even work for the DA again, maybe even in SVU. Maybe Olivia would still be there. She wondered who they replaced her with.

She could never have imagined it would be like this. Not in law school, not when she started in the DA’s office, thinking it would just be a stepping stone to politics. Not even while she was trying cases for SVU did she think things would rise to this level. Protective detail sometimes, sure, but not losing her entire life this way. Sometimes she thought it was only a few steps better than death. To lose it all: no friends, no family, none of the work she cared about, just numbers and schedules and meetings. She went to the park sometimes, brought a book. She watched TV, the news; all the dramas and comedies she’d never had time for in her old life. It bored her to tears. Alex found herself wishing she’d had all those birthday parties she skipped.

When she got home from work, Alex dropped her bag on the floor. Then she picked it right back up. She was craving birthday cake, though she hadn’t had one of her own in 26 years.

The store was busy: it was the only supermarket in a half hour radius from most of the county. It seemed like the whole population was there, women with full carts carrying babies, men in jeans picking out steaks, teenagers with baskets full of candy. Before, Alex hardly ever went into a supermarket. She found it so funny and so foreign how kids hung out in the parking lot, driving out there just to sit in their cars and make trouble.

In the baking aisle, Alex stared at the millions of options in front of her: funfetti, angel food, yellow cake, dark chocolate, not to mention the brownies, cookies, and muffins. Alex didn’t know what kind she wanted. Other people seemed to mostly pick yellow cake, so she guessed that was what made the most sense. She picked up the box and read the instructions. She had eggs and vegetable oil. She’d slowly, very slowly been learning how to cook.

She made it all the way to the cash register before realizing she didn’t have a cake pan. The foil ones seemed like her safest bet. And frosting, people had frosting on birthday cakes. Alex picked chocolate.

Alex mixed the cake in the pasta pot. She liked how it looked while she poured it into the foil pan, how it flowed. She smoothed the top like the box instructed, and she liked how the batter felt under the metal spoon. She liked how it smelled as it baked, the whole house was filled with vanilla. When a knife inserted in the center came out clean, she pulled it out of the oven.

Somewhere, somehow, Alex remembered that you shouldn’t frost a cake before it cools down. So, she let the cake cool all the way down. It was almost 11:00 before that happened, but she didn’t care. She spread the frosting on top of the cake (she left it in the pan, she wasn’t that brave). She forgot the candles, but she didn’t care. She hummed herself happy birthday.

The cake was delicious. Alex Cabot made a cake. It was her birthday.

#alex cabot #casey novak #svu #law & order svu #svu fanfiction #sficx

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bitchinbarzal · 2 years ago

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lulu’s summer prompts 💘

it’s summer! so for the next week you can request prompts from my prompt list 🌼🤍

rules;

when requesting please send in the full prompt and not just the number. this makes it easier for me, the writer. if you don't do this and just send the number your request will be deleted no questions asked.

you can find my list of who I write for here

1. "you're so cute." "what did you just say?" "I said you look like a boot"

2. "yeah, okay, so what if i dreamt about kissing you? don't we all do that to our best friends? …..no? what do you mean no?"

3. "you're cute." "what?" " said you look like a fruit." "that doesn't even make any sense."

4. "how do i know if i have a crush on someone?" "well, you can't stop thinking about them, you feel strange when they're around, and then you want to- why are you looking at me like that."

5. " I can't get you out of my head." "..thanks?"

6. "would it be weird if i kissed you? be honest." "honestly? yes. do i care? no."

7. "¡ feel strange when you're around." "do you have a fever or something?"

8. "just to clarify: me holding your hand doesn't, like, mean anything, by the way. not in that way, at least. unless you want it to mean something. i don't mind. that's cool."

9. "this sounds like you're flirting with me." "..i have been trying to do that for three years now."

10. "What, did you think I kissed you all these times because I was doing it for the shits and giggles?" "…Let's be real, you did have a lot of fun shoving your tongue down my throat in public."

11. "Oh my God, why are you crying? Does me liking you disgust you that much?" "No, you dumbass, it's because you like me back but I spent all of this time thinking you'd never like me that way!"

12. "Look, we can pretend I never confessed if it means you'll stay-" "What?! No! You can't just take back your confession! That's such a coward move and l'II not allow that! Especially when I feel the same way towards you."

13. "I'll get over you. I promise. These feelings, they're- they're only temporary, I swear I’ll get over you. Just please don't leave me-" "Did you ever think, that maybe, I don't want you getting over me? What if I don't want these feelings to be only temporary? That maybe I... Like you, too?"

14. "I didn't mean to fall for you." "And neither did I." "..Fucking pardon?"

15. Classic "there was only one bed"

16. Alternatively, there was only one couch

17. Having to share one blanket, fighting over it the whole night.

18. There's only one pillow, and neither of you can sleep without one. You both end up using each half of the pillow to rest your head on, causing your faces to be only a few inches apart.

19. All other seats are taken, so you both have to squeeze into one chair.

20. Wanting to borrow the same book but there's only one copy of it available at the library. After arguing over who will get it, you both decide to share it and study together.

21. "Oh no... what did we do?"

22. "Hi! You need to leave."

23."I'm sorry.. who are you?"

24."Ugh...I drank so much."

25. "I can't believe I did this again." / "I can't believe we did this again."

26. "Where are your clothes?"

27. "…I'm sore in such weird places."

28. "Hey, sorry! I'm gonna go. Right now."

29. "You didn't seem like you were having such a bad time last night”

30. "I think this was a mistake."

31. "It was always you."

32. "Can you just hold my hand?"

33. "I wished every day to hold you once more."

34. "There is something between us and it is the most beautiful thing I have ever felt."

35. "If I could stay here with you forever, I would."

36. "You are the first thing on my mind, the last thought before sleep”

37. "You made me feel weak."

38. "I didn't mean to love you so much."

39. "You were the only person I thought I could trust."

40. "You promised you wouldn't forget me.

41. "I don't have anyone else."

42. "I thought you still loved me."

43. "You never cared that you broke my heart."

44. "It wasn't supposed to end this way."

45. "Please just stay with me. For one moment at least."

46. "You're leaving now?"

47. "You didn't miss me at all?»

48. "I can't love you anymore."

49. "I wish I was sorry."

50. "Did I ever really matter to you?"

51. "Admit that you're wrong!"

52. "Do not compare yourself to me."

53. "My hate for you runs deeper than your ego."

54. "You left me!"

55. "You will never know how I feel."

56. "Liar!"

57. "I wish you were dead."

58. "You will regret this."

59. "Get away from me!"

60. "I don't know you anymore."

61. “She's not yours.”

62. " It wasn't meant to go this far. I swear. "

63. "Please, not now."

64. " You were ready to leave me for her. "

65. " There is no us, there never was.

66. "Why didn't you tell me? "

67. " If lies keep spewing from those lips then i'm walking out that door.

68. " Shut up. "

69. "Are you ever going to listen? "

70. " Don't leave me. Don't you dare leave me. "

71. " You know for a fucking fact that wasn't supposed to happen. "

72. " Sort yourself out first.

73. " Shhh. I know. "

74. " Tell me a story. "

75. " Leave. Before we wake up regretting what we've done. "

76. " All he ever did was use you. Why can't you see that? "

77. "You think this will make me stay? "

78. " You thought this was real? "

79. " My mum asked about you again. "

80. " Alcohol's the only constant in my life. "

81. " Sirf tum hi ho "

82. " He already knows. "

83. " I was doing fine. Really, and then you waltz back in like you didn't break my heart”

84. " You're married!! "

85. " You deserve so much better. "

#lulu’s summer prompts

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travmalyubvi · 11 months ago

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Headcannons because why not HUMANIZED. Dusty has two younger sisters Holly and Iris. Holly and his age gap is three years. That's not much, so there had been a little "fight" between them for their parents' attention. You know, the usual thing for siblings with a small age gap. Nevertheless, they played a lot and spent a lot of time together (naturally). And, of course, they spent most of their lives outside. Playing games, picnics, building a tree house. Holly also loved swimming, but Dusty never knew how to swim. But he loved to ride his bike. In the evening, their family always spent time together, such as reading books or playing chess. Also, Dusty and Holly, of course, helped their parents who are the farmers. The older Dusty and Holly get, the closer they become. They are ready to kill if anyone lays a finger on their sibling. Holly and Dusty support each other in everything and respect each other's choices. But they have very different opinions and goals. In the Planes universe (non-humanized), Holly works as a crop duster.

When Dusty was 8 years old, his parents divorced. They separated peacefully and by mutual consent, love had just passed. Dusty and Holly stayed with their mother, but they still have so warm and good relationship with their father. At least once a week they went to visit him. Benjamin (father) is always ready to help his children and Melissa (mother). However, later Melissa met another man (yes, I never came up with a name for him! I don't know) and they had Iris. Dusty was 12 then. Iris is a forever baby girl, the beautiful sunshine in their family. As is always the case with the youngest. And even now that she is 20, she is still their little girl. Iris has been surrounded by love since she was a baby. Sometimes, though, she doesn't like being treated like a child

#disney planes #planes fire and rescue #cars fandom #disney #planes disney #dusty crophopper #disney planes fire and rescue #humanization #pixar planes #planes

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thistlethimble · 1 year ago

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location: district 8 date: the reaping

I grieve to sew up my heart's delight. heigh ho says thimble.

district 8 was packed to the brim with each inhabitant of the textile focused urban infrastructure. as usual, the stage was set up in the main square of town just in front of the government buildings. while surrounding that and reaching well into the sky were the nicer factories. the wealthy and well-statused families were grouped and seated nearer the stage. the less fortunate had a much longer walk, and those of little cove could barely even see the large bowls of names from where they sat on the very outskirts.

thimble still felt uneasy. it was the first year that reaper blue, her older brother, had aged out of the process, thankfully, so she sat on their bench alone. well, not alone alone; there were all the other lucky lottery participants, but it felt absolutely isolated.

the night before, thimble accidentally pricked herself on a needle while sewing her reaping dress. the blood quickly welled up on the tip of her finger and stained the white linen fabric. that felt like a bad sign. reaper noticed too. he and clementine rose, their eldest sister, always spent the night before the reaping in the same room. soft carpets were rolled out in padded stacks across their grandmother's floor and pillows were littered in the corner. one messy stack of blankets contrasted sharply against the ones perfectly folded next to them.

clem was already tucked beneath those folded blankets and attempting to get some rest, but reaper noticed and frowned. thimble hadn't done that in years. he hopped up to get her a bandage and suggest that maybe she wear one of her dresses that were already done. there was no chance of that happening. thimble loathed to repeat a style, especially not on a day like this.

"I'll make it work. it is still fixable!"

he crossed the room and sank down next to her to tend to the minor wound. it seemed like there was a lot that he wanted to say, but for maybe the first time, could not find the words. he opened his mouth, but thimble interrupted him. "sing the song for me." she suggested instead. reaper obliged. he began to sing a ballad about falling stars while she stitched a big, red rose blooming from the stain on the corset of her gown. he sang until thimble herself tumbled into the mess of blankets all tuckered out, and the morning it appeared he had the words.

"thim." his voice had always been a pleasant tenor and warmth as winter breakfast. "listen. just save the one in a million for your dresses, right? I love you." he pressed a kiss onto her forehead. clementine brushed her hair out and arranged it with a flower before they went down the two levels to meet their parents and walk together towards the reaping. thankfully, their grandma was elderly enough now that she was no longer forced to witness this sort of sight.

it took forever for them to bumble through the first drawing. yet, the second happened so terribly suddenly.

the mic feedback whistled. 'THIMBLE VIRIDIAN RENALDI' oh. her brother cried out before thimble even realized what was happening. she looked over her shoulder to catch reaper doubled over and clem allowing silent tears to slide down her cheeks. thimble stood up. thousands of faces turned to look at her now, but every sound disappeared behind blood rushing in her ears. if thimble looked at her family again, she would weep. she couldn't cry now. the game had already begun. thimble tried to swallow which was entirely useless as her mouth was dry.

in a few steps, thimble made it out of the benched seating to the runway that lead up to the stage. it was a long walk. good. that would give her some time to calm down and think. no one was going to volunteer for her so how did she survive this? could she? could thimble win? yes. they could. it wouldn't be easy. there was no way the playing field would be even, but had it ever been? didn't she already play those odds? hell, it may not be worth it, but shouldn't she try?

as her pace remained steady, people began to whisper through the crowd. the cameras panned and pulled to see her full gown. style was always a statement. thimble, by happenstance or fate, was making a loud one. her dress made it appear as though blood were already pooling at her rib cage; stabbed in the gut as she had been by her name being called. it was appropriate. it told a story. a story that could help her. thimble took the stage, found the camera, and offered a knowingly empathetic smile.

this could work.

it had to.

#odds:tasks #;tasks #;task001 #tw: blood #tw: needles

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audio-luddite · 1 year ago

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I did a browse of Tumblr "Audiophile".

OK weird.

Much of the stuff is photos of old stuff from brochures and magazines (like paper OMG). I guess some people kept all that stuff. Grandpa was a hoarder of audio mags? I see lovely ads for crap product. It was crap 60 years ago and still is today (like the BOSE 901). There are some bits showing good stuff but not much. And there are the confused people who don't understand obsession with vacuum tubes and LP records.

There are links to very artistic audio themed soft-core porn. Some are adds for console stereos draped with girls in lingerie. A good stereo will bring the girls in for sure. At least that was thought in the 60s? And there are people posing as golden ears. Some experts might be expert, but you gotta pay the bills no matter the crap information they put out. Number ten in this guy's top ten turntable list is pure crap now and forever.

I have even seen totally phony photo-shopped systems that I know could never exist. You know a turntable has to be at least a bit more than 12" across to fit an LP which is 12 inches in diameter. So that picture just don't scale right.

I guess in summary it is not much fun to look at that tag as there is so much dross.

If you are an audiophile then you probably know good from bad or want to. If you are just interested or new to this then there is a problem. There is a hell of a lot of misinformation conspiracy and noise.

First problem is the term audiophile. It means literally you love sound. The presumption is you appreciate the quality of sound. That is different than liking music in general, or some specific type of music. That would be a musicophile. All it takes is adding -phile to the end of a word.

So if you like music as opposed to just the sound of steam locomotives passing by and care for good clean sound then you are bumping up against this other -phile thing. Do not be intimidated. I assure you that listening to a favorite artist with all the sounds fully resolved and blasting away in your home is a good thing.

It is strange to me that people will spend a small fortune on a sound system for their car and far less in their home. Though I suppose if you live in an apartment loud music will make no friends, but being a big bass thumper in traffic is OK and even expected. Hey if you love that sound well sorry to tell you... yup audiophile.

Now to cost. There can be a lot of money spent. Some people will spend six figures restoring a car from when they were young. It is a hobby where it is possible to spend gobs of money. And there are many people, and companies who will help you spend your money.

You can spend much less and get good results. My equipment has only two relatively new things in it. One Phono Cartridge, and one vacuum tube. All the rest of the electronics are decades old. My speakers are a few years old but I built those as I know best. The cost has been interesting. By selling off older even collectable stuff I have spent effectively no money over the past 7 or 8 years. Yes I bought that stuff once long ago, but economically it was sunk money.

I have the advantage of experience and know the good stuff from the less good. I know what brands to look for. I also know which products have cults around them that blur the flaws. I call myself a "cheap audiophile" as I will not spend more than low four figures on anything. The most expensive thing I ever bought was under 2k bucks. Most was far less than that.

One of the links the tag search brought up was guy who did not understand why anyone would buy Vinyl Records. The equipment is expensive and the media is less available than digital streams. There was one reply about the tangible nature of an album and actually owning a thing rather than just being allowed to access it. I will go further.

I have avoided high end streaming because of cost and complexity. To get good sound out of numbers you need several lumps and most are expensive. You need a computer or a server that is logged into a provider like "tidal" or "qobuz" or "apple music". Then you need a device that can store the bits on a drive either an SSD or even a spinning magnetic disc to avoid drop outs that can be the music server, but not the computer. Then you need a DAC to convert the particular stream to analog sound which is finally fed into your audio system proper. Aside from the subscription (I have apple music) you need three lumps that each cost more than a good turntable if you want audiophile sound.

In order to add a high end streaming line to my system would cost more than the replacement cost of my system as it is right now. So I have a low end solution. I plug my Iphone into my CD player with a nice-ish DAC in it. It is OK sound. But I swear if I play an LP of the same music after hearing it off my iphone to CD quality there is no comparison the LP is better.

And yes when it comes to vacuum tubes I vacillate. They are expensive and wear out. They sound nice. They have more distortion and artifacts than solid state, but it is nice sounding distortion. A big part of this hobby skews preferences to nice sounding distortion. Vacuum tubes and moving coil phono cartridges are prime examples.

My most recent experience was going from a full vacuum tube preamplifer to a hybrid with only one tube. The sound was rich and deep and involving before. Yummy like a good sticky baklava dripping with honey. Now it is detailed and frankly palpable. I can hear a singer part their lips before a phrase. You have to hear that to appreciate it.

I have been recently been tempted with two vacuum tube unicorn amplifiers for a very good price for that type of device. That price is double what a competitive solid state amplifier would be. And like I say at the local pub after my fourth beer, I want another but I don't need another. I am seriously tempted. I have a nascent love for the sound I know is in them. They have a voice and it is good. Actually this is a key aspect of the hobby. It is an emotional response to something. It is irrational.

Welcome to the irrational!

#audophile #irrational audiophile #cheap audiophile #high end audio #tubes vs transistors #audioblr #vinyl #turntables

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nistarot · 2 years ago

Note

Do as many or as few of these as you want!

Band/Artist: Hippo Campus

Song: Simulation Swarm by Big Thief

Album: Ed Buys Houses by Sidney Gish

hey this is ira 4-5 days in the future this is going under a read more you'll see why thanks so much love you

Hippo Campus

Do I know them already?: yes :) and i am so normal about them come closer | no

If I know them:

Favourite Song: Usually Chapstick, Formerly Bambi, Currently Listerine ; okay i've been working on this ask for a few days because busy. i also really like ease up kid an abnormal amount.

Least Favourite Song: uhhh. not necessarily "least favourite" as much as "have listened to it less than 10 times" - baby

Favourite Album: i think landmark is just always going to be a part of my life forever and ever to be honest with you. it's the album that got me into hippo campus and the summer a few years ago now that it was the only album i listened to for 3 months was the lowest place i've ever been in and i think this music + walking aimless and flat broke in a city i had literally run away to on a manic whim for hours because i worked all the time but never made enough money to do anything there + listening to landmark on total flat out loop until i heard the music even when i wasn't listening to anything - is something i don't think i will ever be able to forget. those 3 months were...not ideal? but this one album has attached to it every single small shred of a good thing, a good feeling, a good meal, relief from sitting down after a 12 hour restaurant shift, sunset in the best autumn weather i've ever experienced, riding a bus that wasn't for school for the first time, my first taste of a real, actual city life, boardwalk wandering, the laughter however rare and even the month i spent in the hospital; which, mind you, was easily the best month of the whole three of them. really good album. lp3 is really bomb too :)

Least Favourite Album: mmm. demos I ? but not. all the songs on it i just vibe better with the mesh of how demos II is set up...

Song that got me into them: it has quite literally been. years and years but i think it was halocline, waaay. way back in 2015 on my not-boyfriend's 8tracks. then i forgot about the band when i stopped talking to my not-boyfriend. then found them again a few years later with bambi, which still is very very very dear to me and very important

Seen Live?:

Not. Yet. Soon.

Rate: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 100 this is literally my favorite band almost 10 years running babey #hippocampussweep

Song: Simulation Swarm by Big Thief

Oh my g-d the lyrics are so fucking good. yeahyeahyeahyeah yes sing to me about the crooked corpses the empty horses yes yes the river of light yes yesyesyesyes i love when words are so good oh my G-D they say simulation swarm just now. yes. yes. yay. holy shit. i already really loved a few Big Thief songs going into this so i am of course not disappointed; i really love this. you should listen to bloodlust by aeseaes.

Album: Ed Buys Houses by Sidney Gish

wait holy shit i just looked it up i know this album. i did not recognize the artist name or album name at all. what do you want from me tonight is one of my fav songs that i point at and say look its me. hell yes

Opinion on cover design: it's so good it looks like the inside of my brain :]

Favourite song: what do you want from me tonight (before listening to full album) | ...Other than WDYWFMT (bc h. yes) probably either hexagons and other fun materials Or presumably dead arm. :) i also really like homecoming serf for sureeee!!

Least favourite song: midnight jingle sorry or not sorry depending on how you feel abt it

Underrated track: i do not follow a lot of ppl who talk abt gish. but probably buckets of fun

Overrated track: i do not follow a lot of ppl who talk abt gish. pbb wdywfmt because thats the one that came up on my discover weekly like 2 years ago when i foudn that song and proceeded to not listen to any of the rest of it until just now so thank you

Rate: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9.5 | 10

Song opinions:

!Ed Buys Houses! -- Cute and poppy absolutely zoned out during it though because I was so floored at the realization that i knew this album and haven't recognized it this almost whole week

Midnight Jingle -- Unfortunately i am extremely nitpicky about speaking voices in my songs and the niche where voices are good in a song and where i start getting bored / annoyed is thin and veneered in judgement. the actual song is good i just almost skipped it entirely because of the phone convo at the beginning

Buckets of Fun -- YES YES YES STATIC DISTORTION IN SONGS <333 YES BABE RUUUUIN THE LEVELS ON YOUR AUDIO FILES!!!!! YES !!!!!!!!!!!!

Homecoming Serf -- oh good the melancholy. hm this is less about the Song and more about the Experience thus far (oh hell yes jesus of suburbia reference <3) but i really love how the songs so far haven't been super jarring to the pace of listening to it straight through, midnight jingle is almost in my mind retroactively justified because i can't imagine the disappointment i'd feel about another I CAN EASILY ACT GAYER THAN FUCK HATE. i love you gish. thanks. i'd feel about another phone call dragging on for a minute before there's any Song. so if it has to exist it does make sense to be a "first song" after the "theme" song that !EBH! is serving as a role. this song though goes so fucking hard i relate so hard <3 i love the atmosphere. it's not a sad song? it's a song that's lowkey and expressionistic--okay, sorry to be...a theatre person but in this song specficially sidney sounds like veronica sawyer from o'keefe's running ?? i think ??

Vaudeville -- aw hey apparently i have vaudeville relatives on my mom's side that's fun. this song does sort of slow down but again the pace is very intentional / consistent still. almost like a heart beat! i don't know how to word it but there's some kind of specific Thing that gish is doing with the music overall that is very funky and i enjoy it very much. the words and phrases and curses placed so Casually throughout the music is very harsh in a very good way. like a scrape at a waterpark. or rope burn on a tire swing.

Friday Night Placebo -- i've been eyeing the title of this song this whole time... it definitely is starting to slow down, but again it's like the entire album is on a curve. okay it ramps up and then down. i also feel like it's possible the album is weaving a specific story but i can't read the lyrics while i type this so i struggle to hear all the words (#hohW) but i do love just this feeling. very hazy? is that the word? i'm trying to find this word that encompasses this feeling. it's not hazy, it's not juvenile. what is the word! sorry i kept getting called by a telemarketer during this song but tbh that added i think to the intended emotion overall. maybe. it feels very ... not rugged. what is the word. oh the song's over--

Hexagons and Other Fun Materials -- funky groovy ass bass line. hell yes. also i love shapes please explain math and shapes to me. oh no i relate to this song already oh g-d oh fuck fuck oh no. fuck. well. what a fun little story about wanting to find something to excel in so that you will seem in some way meshed with those around you, but you are not able to force yourself into it. okay. there's voices in this one but i relate so deeply to the song itself in a way that is a little shocking for some reason that actually i don't even care. i might even Like those voices being there. oh my g-d i need to call my therapist. sorry. hesus christ.

Cokesbury -- back down to the dampened tone... you know those hoodies? with the - like - wool, i think, or maybe hemp...? thick knit and super super rough textured, with the slow diamond patterns. you can get them in stoner shops a lot i think. that's what this sounds like. it smells like incense and a super dark, barely lit, cramped souveneir shop in a college town (not a college city. college Town.) there's like one employee who leans against the cashier counter and ignores you as long as they possibly can (as they should). this album is probably the type of music that would play on those shitty little sony speakers hung up way too far apart in each corner of the store and played at too low a volume to actual build into a song you can hear properly. it's great.

It's Afternoon, I'm Feeling Sick -- this album came out in 2016 which is when-ish i moved across the country to live with my dad i hadn't spoken to in 5+ years out of nowhere and i know this is not true this is a joke here but also i do think if you put this album to a wordless biopic of the last 2 years of high school and first 2 years of my dad having custody of me you would think it had been written for that biopic specifically. good song!

Presumably Dead Arm -- yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes the intro. is nice. yes there's the words. oh i love this alreadyyyy. second to last song on the album yes babe i love it. honey you are nothing to me!!!! i am dying on the sofa and i'm . oh my G-D this one could be the ending of the biopic where i had run away from home and was insane for several years following. i want to have a coffee with gish gonna be honest with you i think we'd have some things to talk about. i love the "i want to go back, i want to know you when i didn't and i want to have what everyone i knew had" ... oh boy this song hits for me. i think this one's going on my "songs that look like me" playlist. btw i genuinely have no idea if any of this Says Anything about my mental state or whatever so like feel free to psychoanalyze me should you ever want to i love being perceived. 10/10 song. oh no we're almost done. i was just starting. where did the time go.

What Do You Want From Me Tonight? -- WELL I TOOK SOMEONES ADVICE WITH A ROLL OF EACH EYE!!!!! SHE TOLD ME TO SIT DOWN TWICE WAHT DO YOU WANT FROM ME TONGITH NOW IM STUCK LOSING MY MIND WHILE EVERYONE ELSE JUST THINKS THAT IM REALLY SHY WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME TONGIHT CUZ IM INVITED BUT IM TERRIFIED TOO AND ILL SIT HERE FOR A MILLION YEARS JUST STARING ACROSS THE ROOM BUT WHAT DO YOU WANT CUZ I WANT IT ALL AND ID REALLY RATHER STEP BACK BUT MY WALLS AGAINST THE WALL WHAT IF IM TOO NICE ITS A PUNCH IN THE FACE TO BE SO OVERPOLITE WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME TONGIHT MY VOICE IS TOO HIGH AND IT MATCHES MY HEAD AND I LOOK LIKE I WANNA DIE WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME TONGIHT? CUZ IM INVITED BUT IM TERRIFIED TOO. AND ILL SIT HERE FOR A MILLION YEARS JUST STARING ACROSS THE ROOM. BUT WHAT DO YOU WANT CUZ I WANT IT ALL AND ID REALLY RATHER STEP BAACK BUT MY BACKS AGAINST THE WALL ADN IM BORN TOO TALL TO CONTORT MY SPINE INTO A BALL AND I WANNA DISAPPEAR BUT IM NOT ADEQUATELY SMALL!!!!! AND IM INVITED BUT IM TERRIFIED TOO AND ILL SIT HERE FOR A MILLION YEARS JUST STARING ACROSS THE ROOM BUT WHAT DO YOU WANT CUZ I WANT IT ALL AND ID REALLY RATHER STEP BACK BUT MY BACKS AGAINST THE WALLLLLLLLLLL.

#asks #l-cereta #was so tempted to post without a read more. look at my music opinions!!!!!!#thank you add this was fun to work on in increments thru the week #for clarity purposes i literally Just Now sat down and listened to the album all the way thru though!!!!!

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elodieunderglass · 1 year ago

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I think a couple of things combine: you now have enough experience in the persistence of material objects to understand that if they don’t actively fail, they continue to define the shape of your material existence. The four stainless steel forks you randomly bought for your first place are now the forks you might, conceivably, have for the rest of your life.

You also have experience of the world around you. You realize, by comparison with your friends who like nice things, that your forks are shit. Incidentally, you also realise that despite having made choices that were defined by being broke or frugal, you do not actually get points for having shitty thin-handled forks that are annoying to use. You don’t get respect or appreciation or comfort or pleasure. After ten years of use out of $5 cutlery, you have inarguably gotten your money’s worth. You will get nothing else from them. You only get, forever, the experience of using shitty forks.

You have probably lived on your own for a few years now, perhaps even for more than a decade. Some items have fallen behind and been lost, thrown away, broken or failed; both others are still your companions. Depending on how nice they are, this is a source of comfort and frustration. Love to the hiking boots that have lasted! Affection and allegiance to the 20 year old band t-shirt! Disgust to the t-shirt bought last year that is sent to recycling for being so shit. Increasing admiration to the grand-grandmother’s mixing bowl, especially compared to the 2016 purchase of a mixing bowl that couldn’t handle the fast-paced lifestyle. Annoyance, disappointment and sorrow to smartphone case number 241, what the fuck. Smug pride in oneself for having the foresight, in an earlier house move, to splash out on a decent new mattress. As these items persist, you cannot help but notice that quality of materials/items is now obvious and visible, because you’ve spent more time with them. A 22-year old newly in possession of two knives - a cheap shitty kitchen knife and a good one they inherited - will have spent the same amount of time with both objects; when you’re 30, you’ve worked for 8 years with the good knife, while the cheap one (if you even recall ever having it) was thrown out in a fit of annoyance six years ago.

You have, at this point, in addition to using them, also handled and cleaned most of your possessions several times. You have realized, very materially and fundamentally, that you must care for these items for the rest of your lifespan, or theirs.

You are (possibly) out of the early desperate scramble to suddenly, instantly furnish an entire independent life (sheets, mattresses, winter coat, forks) with no money. This naturally led to restrictions on what you chose.

You are (possibly) out of the eaves of how you were raised. Many people spend their early twenties reconciling how they were raised with how they want to live. Perhaps you were raised to feel guilty for wanting things, such as toys or attention, which you later dutifully applied to things like education or new forks. Over time, you will have surprised yourself with how you met, identified, addressed, and reconciled these tensions from your upbringing; through conflict and resolution with parents/teachers/church/internet/social media, you have now arrived at what you have. If you had big things to confront, like coming out as queer, you may have thought this work was done. Now you suddenly find yourself confronting the weird beliefs you have that “you don’t NEED new forks” or “it’s bourgeois to want things” or “NOBODY spend £200 on HIKING BOOTS, what are you, rich?” And you might find yourself feeling like, well, actually, I’m grown-up and I hike and eat, actually.

So yes, I think that when you are 30 you are in the danger zone of getting a new couch.

I'm turning 30 this month, and for some reason have become suddenly interested in material possessions. like what if,,,,,,,,my couch was nice. what if my sheets were nice. is this what happens to you??

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engbergsinfinland · 11 days ago

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Tuesday hello!

Since my post last week, we have had a party, gone to a dance recital (two times), witnessed a foot of snow fall in 24 hours, and started the wind-down from school, heading into Christmas. We have also experienced the fabled "Christmas lunch" in Finland, just yesterday. Want to know more about these events and experiences? Read on, below!

So, first off, Cece's gymnastics training with the perhoset group has been quite demanding, time wise! We've had to find a way to get her to 7.5 hours of training at the gymnastics hall (that's basically what it's called, or Ikuri sports center), up from 3 hours before. Now, we also have to perform the trick of getting her from the farthest-away ice-skating rink to gymnastics two times a week. We had to take Ubers twice for that last week and it was a real rigamarole. We are going to be trying out some other different strategies in the new year. But, Cece is so pleased with this new group (though I am still really disappointed in the lack of spotting!!). They really do want her to use these totally weird wrist straps on bars, which I am like constitutionally opposed to. I have never seen anything like them in the US and I can't figure out how they have any benefit at all, other than just connecting, materially, a person *to* the bar. That is great for just learning how to swing without your hands slipping off, but that does not happen that much anyway, and, well, you've got to learn, and you have to develop your grip strength. *But* -- I did say that if her coach here really wants her to do that, I guess she can, with the understanding that she will never see the likes of those odd wrist straps again once we return to the US. I am such an old, curmudgeonly gymnastics mom. Grips for bars, yes. Weird wrist straps for bars, no.

Saturday was a big, busy day! Rowan had ballet rehearsal after a morning of figure skating. I did some errands to the mall, Ratina, and went to Clas Olson and bought yet another Christmas star for our window ;) This one plugs in and is hanging in our corner window and is much bigger than the others. We can leave it on much more than the others, because they burn through AA batteries so fast! The Christmas stars are made of paper and fold flat, so they can easily be transported back to the US. So, we also spent Saturday getting ready for our cookie-decorating party that night. At 5:30, the guests started to arrive: 6 kids, including ours, 6 parents, including us, and one Fulbright MA student, who came to get a whiff of the cookie chaos. She's so rad. It was great to have her over (Megan). I had baked sugar cookies and made icing and after the kids ate pizza, large pizzas from Koti pizza (definitely not American pizza, which is fine, but I do have a hankering for some Dion's), they dove into the cookie-decorating (and getting icing and sprinkles on the table and floor; I guess that is what always happens!). We had a really fun time -- and everyone was outta here by 8!

The next day, Sunday, Rowan had a tap rehearsal at the theater in the morning and then two performances, one at 1 and one at 5. Eric and Cece came with me to the 1 p.m. performance and we did not know at the time that that performance was the one that featured all of the toddlers. It went on forever. And Rowan's piece in the Liisa in Wonderland ballet was in both shows but he and his group were only cast for that piece in the second show! I did not know that! His tap piece was the last number in both shows, so for Eric and Cece, they had to wait a very, very long time to see him once. The tap piece was excellent and Rowan is such an enthusiastic, natural performer! He really rises to the occasion, rather than shrinking from it! He loves it. I am so proud of hm! And then when I got to see him in the ballet piece in the second show, I was so excited and pleased; he was grinning ear to ear, for that too. He really gave it his all! Such fun. Once he was finally done that night and we were leaving the theater to head home, he kept saying how much fun it was. I am so glad. He doesn't seem to get destabilized by nerves, like I always did.

I've got to say-- having been involved with ballet studios for decades-- that some things appear to be the same the world over ;) A recital always feels too long, sometimes the music is too loud, there are always adorable 3-year-old who know no choreography and just stand there on stage waving to their parents, and there are music/costume/set glitches, invariably. It is of some odd comfort to know that I know the language and customs of dance recitals, though I can barely say anything useful in the Finnish language ;)

On Monday, the kids had a normal school day, but they get out at 1:15 on Mondays and this was the day of our Christmas Lunch! I had made a reservation a month ago to go have Christmas Lunch at the Hotel Tammer, which is a historic hotel, now under the Radisson Blu umbrella (at a Radisson Blu in Gothenburg, Sweden, two years ago, an employee told my kids they were the greatest kids ever, so I guess I have a soft spot for that chain -- haha). So, I made Cece her "2024 Christmas Dress" in time for this lunch, but she wanted such a simple dress (which is fine, as simple is great! yet, as is my way, I did double and triple confirm that she indeed wanted no buttons on the cuff or bow at the neck) this year, and I was so, so rushed, that this year's model left, erm, something to be desired. But, Christmas Lunch is quite the occasion! I was so excited to see the whole food spread and all of the customary Finnish Christmas foods, which many people I have spoken with say they are actually not that fond of or are really tired of. So, the Big Three, from what I can tell, are three casseroles: turnip, carrot, and potato. The links I shared all go to pictures of prepackaged ones you can buy at a grocery store. The turnip and potato ones are verrrrry smooth. The carrot one is more grated. Also featured are ham, lots of pickled fish, Christmas eggs (basically a hard boiled egg with mayonnaise on it), boiled potatoes, lox, baked whole salmon, lots of other meats, and a dessert table with cream cakes, mousses, ginger cookies, and chocolates. We enjoyed it so much and really had a beautiful table looking out over the rapids (koski) and now we know the drill with Christmas Lunch! It is so odd that they only have them Mondays through Fridays, so it is rather hard to be able to get one's kids there, and they end around the 19th of December. So, I guess they're for adults and working people. They do have it at Ikea here, too, so the kids could make it to that on the weekend. But, our kids got to experience the pièce de résistance of Christmas lunches, from my sampling of one of them, at the Tammer Hotel. I will say for the record that I do not like the turnip casserole. The others are OK, with the carrot one taking the superior position.

Before I sign off, look at this, the cutest Christmas ad I have seen. I can't seem to find it in English, though I did find it once! Anyway, you can still see how cute it is; I love this rabbit in the S Market advertisements!!! I will write again soon <3

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