#Literally the reason why I’ve just been binging nonstop | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cacoetheswriting · 3 years

Note

congratulations on your 2K achievement!!! I’ve been binging your Spencer Reid fics all week and can I just say you are the QUEEN of Spencer x pining 🥺🥺🥺 if you’re in the mood to write for him could I request 32 & 37 from the angst prompt list?? I’m ready to cry some more😍😍

thank you so so much 💘 and omg i can't believe you’ve been reading all of them ahh!!! also, jsksjksjssksj to be considered a QUEEN of spencer x pining !?!?!? i’m literally speechless and fucking honoured 🥺😩

Pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!Reader Warnings: a tiny tiny bit of fluff, mainly angst, pining, unrequited / unreciprocated love, jealousy, heartbreak, [spoiler] not a happy ending Word Count: 1.2k Prompts: “I love them and they don’t even know I exist.” & “I can’t just delete my feelings because yours aren’t the same.”

A/N: i listened to falling apart by léon on repeat when writing this little blurb, it doesn't necessarily have anything do with the plot but i recommend playing it while reading for extra ✨pain✨

“Kid, just go and say hi.” Derek encouraged, his hands landing at the back of his head as he relaxed in his chair.

The sigh that escaped Spencer’s lips was slow, almost as if his brain needed the time to come up with a rebuttal. A good enough reason as to why he shouldn't do the only thing he truly wanted to do.

“What then?” The young doctor questioned, nervously glancing at you from the safety of his own desk. “What do I say after hi?”

Rolling his eyes at the resident genius, Derek chuckled softly. “After you say hi, you make small talk.” He stated calmly, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.

Spencer contemplated his best friend’s answer. Small talk. He could do small talk if he really put his mind to it, right? After all, he’s done it many times before whenever the team travelled for cases. Granted, it was usually a one-sided conversation which often left the other person feeling very confused, but it was still small talk.

God, this was hopeless. He was hopeless.

“I love them and they don’t even know I exist.” Spencer mumbled while fumbling with the hem of his sweater, his gaze still very much glued to your perfect frame.

Derek scoffed. “Okay Reid, now you’re just being overly dramatic. They know you exist because we've all been working together for a little over two months now.” He leaned forward before continuing, “But, they’re never going to get to know you, and your amazing personality, if you don't talk to them.”

Spencer’s nose twitched briefly. Sometimes he really hated when Derek was right - which, when it came to advice on his non-existent relationship with you, was more often than the brunette doctor cared to admit.

“Now, go say hi or I’ll do it for you.” Derek threatened with a sly smirk.

It was the mental kick Spencer needed, because he quickly sprung up on his feet and with one last encouraging smile from Morgan, he ambled through the bullpen towards you.

Reflecting on it now, it was both the best and worst decision of Spencer’s life.

Best, because as soon the second he approached you, you asked him to join you for lunch. The two of you talked nonstop for the whole hour. The flow from topic to topic was so natural, Spencer completely forgot what he was so apprehensive about.

Best, because after that afternoon, lunches together became a daily occurrence and it wasn't long before they also evolved to other activities. Even outside office hours.

Best, because the more time Spencer spent with you, the more his love for you grew. Which, coincidentally, was also the reason why he considered it to be the worst decision of his life.

You were spending every waking moment together. Sharing secrets, watching random documentaries, carpooling to work, strolling through museums and art galleries. Now that your friendship blossomed and the two of you fell into a comfortable rhythm around one another, the young doctor couldn't possibly admit just how strongly he felt about you.

Especially since he knew you didn't feel the same way.

“And then, we shared a dessert. Which I know sounds kind of lame, but I don't know Spence, there was just something so electrifying about the moment. I actually think we might see each other again.” You finished, plopping down next to him on the couch.

A part of your friendship the young doctor didn’t really care for was when you’d show up at his door late at night and ramble on about the latest date you had just come back from. Most dates were luckily a complete disasters, and while you complained, Spencer did his best to fight back a satisfied grin.

Most dates. Not all.

Unfortunately for Spencer, this person you were causally seeing now, seemed to be doing quite well.

“So, if you go out again, it will be your fourth date.” The statement came out more jaundiced than the young doctor intended it to, and he was instantly feeling thankful you didn't seem to notice the odd tone of his voice.

You raised an intrigued brow before letting out a melodic chuckle. “Really? Honestly, I wasn't even counting. I guess when it feels natural, it doesn't matter.” You shrugged your shoulders lightly, ready to move onto another topic.

Spencer however, was fixated on your words - “I guess when it feels natural, it doesn't matter.”.

He chewed on the inside of his cheek. The thought of another person giving you what he could only dream to give you made his stomach churn. Jealousy began to stir inside of him. It made the palms of his hands sweat against his jeans. He was suddenly feeling uncomfortable.

“You okay Spence? You look a little pale?” You asked, slowly brining your hand to his forearm. Before you could touch him however, the doctor flinched and jumped to his feet.

“I-I love you, Y/N. I-I... I’m in love with you.” He blurted out, closing his eyes for a split second because he didn’t want to look at you when you said you didn't love him back. He couldn't take that kind of pain.

“Oh, Spencer...”

There was a clear shift in the surrounding energy. No longer free and homey, instead it felt tense as if the slightest movement would shatter the imaginary glass wall currently built between the two of you.

With teary eyes, you stood up and intertwined your fingers with his. The warmth of his touch brought comfort into this heart-rending moment, but was it enough to ensure the two of you would walk out of here still friends?

“I... Spencer, I don’t know what to say.” You breathed with a heavy heart.

“I-I know... Trust me, I know you don't feel the same about me. I just needed to say it because it was eating me alive.” Spencer continued, slowly opening his eyes. When his hazel gaze locked with yours, the butterflies in his stomach erupted all at one before sinking heavily. “I can’t just delete my feelings because yours aren’t the same.” He muttered, a broken look spread across his features.

Lone tears slowly trailed down your cheeks, each droplet representing a different memory you and him shared together. As you silently sobbed, holding onto him with all your might, you searched your mind for the right words.

Although, deep down you knew nothing could fix this.

After what felt like forever, Spencer freed himself from your grasp. He wiped away his own tears using the sleeve of his sweater and took a singular step back. He averted his gaze, eyes landing on his feet, and you’ve been friends with him long enough to understand what that meant.

Spencer wanted you to leave.

Sniffling, you slowly grabbed your things. You didn't want to argue with him, beg him to let you stay so the two of you could talk this out. You’ve caused him enough pain already.

He met your gaze one last time, just as you opened the door to his apartment. You tried to smile in hopes he would maybe mimic the expression, but the best you could do was purse your lips into a thin line which didn't give either of you much hope for your future.

As you stepped outside the threshold, you felt cold and empty - as if you were leaving a part of you behind. In a way you were. But unknowingly, you were also taking something with you.

Spencer’s broken heart.

masterlist

spencer reid taglist: @no-honey-no, @calm-and-doctor, @idroppedmygourd, @averyhotchner, @wowitsel, @elldell1204, @hey-there-angels, @reidabookforonce, @willowrose99

#mal's milestone celebration 🌟#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds angst #criminal minds blurb

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jowritesthingss · 3 years

Text

of being known (and loved)

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Pairing(s): LoSleep (Logic | Logan + Sleep | Remy)

Rating: Teen (for very mild swearing and innuendo)

Content Warning(s): Logan’s coming to terms with being quoiro, so there are very vague sexual mentions/innuendo, just FYI, but nothing graphic

Length: 4,539 words

Brief Summary: Part of the @sanderssides-secretsanta gift exchange! This is my gift as Secret Santa to the lovely @demigodbookdragon ! Features the requested prompt of Logan coming out to his partner(s) as ace and/or quoiromantic, as well as one of the requested pairings—LoSleep!

TS Masterlist + AO3 Links

Logan Sanders. Logic to one Thomas Sanders, voice in his head and vision in his view, informing and (according to Roman) annoying twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, four weeks a month, twelve months a year, so it goes. And yet.

Logan Sanders. Who is Logan Sanders, really?

If there exists anyone out there who knows the answer to this question, Logan would really like to know, because he himself isn’t quite certain. Logan Sanders. Logic. Voice of reason. The smart one. The nerd. And yet.

Who is Logan Sanders?

And who could ever truly know Logan Sanders, if he doesn’t even know himself?

Logan Sanders enjoys order. He likes to know where things begin and end, to keep neat and tidy and color within the lines. He likes to present a clean image, to stay organized and orderly and crisp and clean, even as the other sides grow chaotic and wild and confusing around him.

Logan enjoys the chaos now too, he thinks, in small, manageable doses. Certainly in Remy-sized doses.

The other sides are...nice.

They’ve long since reached a point of not-quite-resolution, of almost-understanding, of mutual cooperation. And Logan is...he’s working through some things. But then again, so are the others.

They all slip, certainly—himself included—and there’s a long way for them to go yet. But the sides have the rest of Thomas’ life ahead to get there, and they have each other to metaphorically (and occasionally literally) lean on.

All the same, it’s just easier to talk to Remy, sometimes.

Technically, as Sleep, Remy isn’t actually one of the sides. He’s somehow still there inside the Mindscape, and no one is particularly sure why.

Remy simply appeared one day out of nowhere, scaring a young Virgil to the point that he refused to come down off the fridge for hours. He was known only as his function—“Sleep”—for a period of time before deciding out of the blue that his name would be Remy.

Logan has been puzzling this occurrence over for decades, but has long since given up, acknowledging that it will likely forever remain a mystery, just like what it is, precisely, that exists at the bottom of the ocean. (Further, the existence of any of them is very much in defiance of any science Logan has ever heard of, really, so he isn’t exactly one that can judge.)

Remy is a bit of a metaphorical wild card. He goes where he wishes, does what he wants. He’ll disappear for weeks on end, follow them around nonstop for days...he goes on ridiculous coffee binges before swearing Starbucks refreshers are the only “valid” drink...he lures Thomas into napping on the couch but refuses to cooperate at bedtime...Logan isn’t entirely sure why Remy does what he does beyond simple whimsy, and it puzzles him incessantly.

However much Remy’s behavior might confuse him, it’s...actually quite pleasant to have him around. Random disruptions and interruptions generally are not something that Logan delights in, but aside from Janus, Remy is the only other side with an appreciation for sarcasm, and his presence as Logan works is...enjoyable tolerable.

Then there is the veritable fact that, unlike the others, Remy always listens to Logan.

Logan knows that the others mean well. And they do—they have since assured him that they truly do. But they get so carried away in their excitement sometimes that having someone a bit more grounded like Remy around to converse with is nice. And in turn, Logan always makes sure to listen to Remy. As loath as he is to admit possession of any “feelings”, he knows how it can feel to be ignored.

One of Remy’s favorite things to discuss is Mindscape gossip. Logan doesn’t understand the appeal of gossip, but he’s sure that Remy doesn’t understand the appeal of the history of the telescope, either, so he listens.

Today, the “hot” topic seems to be Patton and Remus. Or, rather—the relationship between Patton and Remus.

“I’m not kidding you, gurl!” Remy flops backwards in Logan’s bed. Logan refrains from telling him not to muss up the carefully-made bed; it hasn’t worked the past forty-seven times he’s asked, and he doubts it would work today. “I legit walked in on them when I came home last night.”

“You ‘walked in on them’?” Logan asks neutrally from his desk, fondly brushing aside Remy’s improper usage of ‘legit’. He turns the page, looks at Thomas’ schedule for January, winces. Double-booked on January eighth, and in the middle of a pandemic, of all things? How ever did he allow that to slip past him? “Doing what, exactly?”

“They weren’t doing the do, if that’s what you’re asking about,” Remy responds.

“‘The do’,” Logan quotes, puzzled momentarily before the realization hits him. “Oh, you mean intercourse, don’t you?” He pauses in his work to make a note in the margins about updating his vocabulary cards.

“Duh.” Remy pauses to roll over and sip at his drink. He’s on one of his tea detoxes; Logan predicts it won’t last more than a few days this time. “But they were, like, snuggling. On the couch. And watching a romantic movie.”

That makes Logan pause. “Remus, watching a romantic movie?” He pauses and glances over at Remy briefly before continuing to write again. “That does seem a fair amount out of character.”

“Yes! Exactly!” Remy exclaims. “Remus wouldn’t subject himself to something like that willingly. No way. That’s why I think they’re dating.”

“Mm-hmm,” Logan agrees absent-mindedly as the events of January twenty-first catch his attention. Then he pauses. Computes.

Logan abruptly drops his pen and swivels around in his chair. “Apologies. Did I hear you correctly, Remy? You believe Patton and Remus are,” he struggles to get the word out momentarily, “are dating?”

“Yeppers!” Remy nods. He slurps noisily at his tea before popping it back on Logan’s bedside table. Rolling to hang his torso upside down off the side of Logan’s bed, he says, “it’s not the first time I’ve seen anything hinting at those two throwing goo-goo eyes at each other, but that pretty much cements it in my mind.”

“‘Goo-goo eyes’?” Logan frowns as the realization further sinks in. Dating. Patton and Remus. Dating? “Wait, am I to understand that sides can date?”

“Like, of course.” Remy’s face is starting to go red as blood rushes down to it. “Did you miss that whole awkward fling between snakeyboi and prissy mister prince back in college? God, seeing them interacting for the first time in years was so awkward.” He snickers loudly. “Glad they didn’t call me to the stand back during that whole dumb courtroom thing.”

“I...no, I don’t have any recollection of any such thing,” Logan murmurs. He briefly wracks his memories, blue pen scratching crisply against the page in front of him, and comes up empty.

“Mmm, yeah, that’s probably a good thing, babe.” Remy slides off the bed and onto the floor then, hissing as blood starts to rush away from his head again. “Honestly, whole thing was a train wreck to watch. Patton and Remus are pretty cute, though. I guess opposites really do attract, huh?”

“Ah...yes, I suppose so,” Logan murmurs, but as Remy launches into a play-by-play detailing the embarrassment on Remus’ face and Patton’s sheer terror at being the one busted for once, he’s already tuning the other out.

Dating. The other sides date. Which means, of course, that they...feel things. Well—yes, the sides are capable of individual emotions. That has been established prior, Logan knows. But this means that they feel love things.

Sides can feel love?

That question, however, goes unasked and unanswered, as Remy drones on about how flustered Remus had been when he was caught being “lovey-dovey” and Logan’s schedule blurs out in front of his face.

Unasked. Unanswered. Yet still it lingers in the back of Logan’s mind as he finally convinces Remy to let them sleep for the night, as he lies awake in bed staring at the blinking red numbers of his alarm clock:

Sides can feel love?

Logan Sanders enjoys understanding. He loves learning—loves looking up to the stars, down at the ground, in front at the path ahead of them all, even back at where they’ve come from sometimes. He loves to be known to know. Yes, Logan Sanders likes understanding.

This entire debacle, however? Logan does not understand.

Can the sides feel love?

The question follows Logan for weeks as he goes about his days, carefully maintaining Thomas’ schedule and gently bullying the other sides into doing their tasks and taking care of themselves. He refuses to let it interfere with his job, but in the moments he pauses to take a breath, the question is there to steal his breath away again.

Love. Love, love, love. The one thing Logan absolutely loathes—or, if he were to be honest with himself (and as much as he hates the truth, he tries to avoid the practice of denying truth), the one thing that Logan is absolutely terrified of.

He’s known for a while that the others love him, and that he (fortunate or unfortunate as it may be) does love the others in his own way. But that’s easy, and it’s obvious. It’s a purely familial thing—or so Logan had thought.

Then Patton calls a family meeting and awkwardly informs them that he and Remus are an item now. And Roman is groaning over-exaggeratedly, Virgil is hissing, Janus seems all too unsurprised, Remy is gleefully vindicated, Emile looks away while Remus licks Patton’s cheek for all to see, and Logan?

Logan has his answer.

So the other sides—or, at least, some of them—do, in fact, experience some sort of romantic or sexual connection to others. So the sides can feel love, then.

Only—what about Logan? What does he...what does he feel?

Logan metaphorically looks into himself. He isn’t sure what he (again, metaphorically) finds.

As much as he might struggle to understand figurative language, Logan isn’t completely unaware of it. To make full usage of such metaphors, it all seems a confusing jumble of darkness and confusion and occasional swirls of odd colors.

What are those sorts of attraction even supposed to feel like? he puzzles as he sits on the couch beside Patton and Remus, a thick tome about astronomy perched in his lap as he takes in exactly none of the words on the page it’s opened to. He’s always assumed that, as sides, they wouldn’t feel such human emotions, or then again, as Thomas’ sides they would echo his sexual orientation.

But Logan...Logan feels...nothing. Right?

Or, well. Patton and Roman have been very adamant about how love comes in all different forms, and it makes logical sense. Familial love, romantic, platonic, and so the list goes on. And there’s no use in denying that Logan certainly feels things. Logan can’t always recognize it, but he’s trying now. He’s trying to figure it out.

All the same, he still hasn’t felt anything in particular towards Thomas’ past relations—not any love-related feelings, at least—but then again, they were Thomas’ partners, not his own. Logan has never himself felt anything. He feels nothing.

Or does he?

There is something that he feels in there, Logan knows. He knows he loves the others platonically, regardless of how little he says it aloud. And then there’s Remy, of course.

Goodness, Remy. Reluctant as he may be to admit it aloud or even to himself, Logan knows he loves Remy, with his smirk and his snark and his ridiculous leather jacket and his odd yet enlightening ways of using modern slang.

So Logan does love. Somehow. In some way. But he’s never thought to feel anything romantic; can he feel anything romantic? Will he even know when he feels it?

And there’s a lurking thought—likely irrational, Logan reasons, even as his mind tries to convince him otherwise—what even is the purpose of feeling anything romantic? What is the point? Logan steers clear of Roman’s romance novels, but he picks up tidbits from everything Thomas reads. Is there any use of potentially-romantic feelings?

It might be nice, he thinks as Remus drags Patton into the kitchen to bake something that will probably not end up edible. Romantic relations are often the pinnacle of any and all relationships in the eyes of society, for one thing. And while the amount of closeness and understanding conveyed between partners seems daunting, it seems as though it could be somewhat relieving as well.

But Logan’s views on romance mean very little if he has never felt anything of the romantic sort, do they?

Sighing, Logan abruptly shuts his book and stands to walk upstairs to his room. At this point the only thing he’s doing is confusing himself, and that won’t do him any good.

All the same, still the thoughts linger, even as he forces himself into more actively productive tasks for the rest of the day.

Logan feels nothing. Or he feels something. He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t enjoy not knowing.

Logan enjoys simplicity and complexity in equal measure. He takes pleasure in the simplicity of a black coffee every morning and a honeyed chamomile tea before bed—in the complexity of a full, well-organized schedule or an alluring mystery novel.

Love, for all it ought be simple, is a complexity that Logan has always struggled to understand in any and all forms. And to his utter chagrin, it seems romanticism and sexuality are no different.

It all comes to a head one dreary, drizzly afternoon in the Mindscape. (Logan wishes the “drizzly” part weren’t literal, but alas, Roman and Remus’ experimentation in the Imagination went wrong somehow, and now tiny rain clouds hover above every single room and hallway in the Mindscape.)

All things considered, it hasn’t been a great day for productivity—which means that it of course hasn’t been a great day for Logan, either.

Stress has been piling up from internal emotional struggles alongside external scheduling issues. It is to the point that Logan—and he isn’t a fan of flowery metaphors and figurative language—all Logan can think to do is compare the roiling in his mind to a brewing storm, rain falling within his mind as it pours down and soaks his clothing and skin within the Mindscape.

Logan is pacing about his room—doing his best to “wear a path into the floor”, he thinks the saying goes—when Remy bursts in, dressed in an obnoxiously pink raincoat and squeaky polka dot rain boots.

“Oh, thank god. Sanctuary.” Remy very nearly throws himself onto Logan’s canopy bed upon noticing that it is miraculously still dry. The tarpaulin Logan and Virgil wrangled up over it earlier is somehow still holding up; Logan has no idea how and isn’t in the mood to question a spot of good luck.

“Aight, who pissed Roman off this time?” Remy asks

“Surprisingly enough, no one,” Logan answers before realizing that Remy is dripping all over his bed wet. “Please take care to dry yourself off before getting on my bed.”

Remy huffs but complies, unceremoniously stripping off his outer garments. He wriggles his eyebrows at Logan while he tosses his boots over the side of the bed. “Damn. If you wanted me to undress, all you had to do is ask, babe.”

“I—um,” Logan says eloquently. He awkwardly pauses mid-pace before jerkily continuing a moment later. Remy says things like that all the time. Is Remy flirting? Is he not? Does he mean it? Does he not? Logan wants to know, but one isn’t supposed to just flat-out ask these sorts of questions, are they?

“Why don’t you join me where it’s dry, gurl?” Remy scoots over and pats the spot next to him. “C’mon. I’ll even, like, move over and give you some room. So gracious of me, right?”

The corners of Logan’s mouth unconsciously quirk slightly upwards, and he ceases pacing to head over to the bed.

“Uh-uh, gurl,” Remy shoos him away, and Logan’s eyebrows furrow in puzzlement. Had he not just said—

“Strip,” Remy says, and Logan’s mind goes blank in a momentary haze of confusion and panic.

“I—what,” he stammers, and his head feels light and fuzzy.

Remy sees the look of panic in his eyes, and his expression softens slightly. “Logan. If I can’t be wet on the bed, neither can you, babe.”

“Ah,” Logan says faintly. He moves over towards his wardrobe and almost mechanically pulls out a pair of his pajamas. He manages to get them out and over to the bed before they get too wet, where he sits on the edge and quickly shucks off his usual day attire of jeans, a collared shirt, and a crisp and calming blue necktie.

Logan keeps his back carefully turned as he changes. It’s ridiculous that such a thing feels odd now; they all are roughly the same physically, and it isn’t as though they haven’t changed in front of each other multiple times. But all the same, something still feels off this time.

Clothed in pajamas, Logan debates attempting to get his sopping day clothes into the laundry hamper, looks up at the gray little clouds still crowding the ceiling, gives up. He leaves them in a little dripping pile on the floor by his bed before turning to crawl up to the headboard where Remy lounges, leaving a tiny space on the left side of the bed for Logan to weasel his way into.

“Don’t be shy, gurl. We can huddle for warmth and all that jazz.” Remy holds out his arms invitingly, and it takes a moment before it registers in Logan’s mind that he’s offering a hug. “Unless you don’t want to, ’course.”

“I don’t think—” Logan starts before cutting himself off abruptly. He pauses, sucks in a tiny breath. “I do not think I am amenable to a hug at the moment.”

“That’s chill,” Remy assures. He adjusts his position on the bed, allowing Logan space to sit comfortably without touching him. Then he reaches up and drags his sunglasses down off his face, looking carefully at Logan with a searching gaze. “Hey. You good? You’ve been acting a little weird lately, but you’re, like, especially weird today.”

Ever the teacher, ever the educator, ever the answerer of questions, Logan wants to answer. He does. He just isn’t sure that he should.

Logan quietly sits and gets himself comfortable (“criss cross applesauce”, he’s never been able to quite break the silly elementary school habit). Then....

“I am...confused, I supposed,” he finally admits, and for a five word sentence, it is surprisingly difficult to get the words out. But Remy always listens. He’ll listen now—when it matters—correct?

“What about?” Remy asks, leaning back against the headboard and popping his sunglasses back on again, masking his expression.

“I—are you flirting with me?” Logan bursts out abruptly. To hell with his uncertainties—he has to know. He’s itching, twitching to know, to understand. “Have you—is that what this is? Is that why you’re always ‘hanging’ with me?”

“Is that what this has been about?” Remy laughs, but it isn’t malicious, Logan doesn’t think. “About time, TBH. I thought you’d never notice”

“I didn’t notice,” Logan says. “Well—I did notice, eventually, but I didn’t...I don’t—”

“Look, if you don’t feel the same way, that’s...fine,” Remy says, and his voice sounds different, devoid of his usual mischievous tone. Somber, almost. “It doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to, babe. I do, like, genuinely just enjoy being around you, you know?”

“But why?” Logan asks, and something in his voice cracks. Inwardly he curses, hoping that Remy won’t here.

“There’s something bigger going on here, isn’t there?” Remy shifts next to him in the bed, and suddenly he’s leaning closer to Logan. The sunglasses are off again, and Remy stares into Logan’s wide eyes with that more solemn expression again.

“I don’t—” Logan cuts himself off again. He looks up towards the tarp hanging from the corners of his four-poster bed, attempting to organize his thoughts the best he can before speaking this time. It proves to be a difficult task; his thoughts are all jumbled and clumped together in a hopelessly confused mess. He just doesn’t understand. Logan likes to understand, but for once he doesn’t. Emotions have never been his strong suit, and these emotions are proving stubbornly elusive.

Logan clears his throat before speaking next. “Up until you brought up the relationship between Remus and Patton, I had never realized that we as sides could feel romantic or sexual attraction independent of Thomas,” he explains. Unconsciously his left hand goes up to push his glasses further up the bridge of his nose. “It had...never occurred to me.”

“Oh.”

Logan waits for Remy to continue even as he stolidly refuses to turn and look at the other. When Remy says nothing else, he haltingly continues.

“As you and the others no doubt know, I often struggle at identifying emotions,” Logan continues. “Now that I am aware the others have a capacity for other attractions, I have attempted to find them within myself, and I...can’t seem to find them.”

“So you’re aromantic then?” Remy asks, his voice sounding neutral.

“No!” Logan rushes out before pausing. “I, ah. Perhaps? I’m afraid that I don’t know. I do not know what it is that I am feeling.”

“But you feel something.”

“Yes, I....” Logan finally finds it within himself to turn and face Remy. “I do indeed feel something. I feel many somethings. Towards you. But I’m afraid I don’t know what it is, and that...” he swallows, “...that isn’t fair to you.”

Remy is silent, his face impassive, and immediately Logan worries that he’s ruined everything about their relationship, whatever it is, whatever it may be.

Over the years Logan has grown to quite enjoy the lack of pressure and expectancy between the two of them whenever they spend time together, and the snarky conversation between the two of them has been quite refreshing. Not to mention the rare occasions that they do actually touch, or converse more seriously. Is he about to lose all that? Has Logan ruined all of that?

“...Do you think that you might be, like, quoiromantic or something?” Remy asks slowly.

Logan blinks confusedly behind his glasses. “I’m sorry?”

“Quoiromantic. It’s under the aromantic umbrella,” Remy explains. He frowns, tapping a finger over his lips contemplatively. “Hmm. Roman might be better at explaining this, since he’s actually aro. I’m demisexual, but I’ll admit I don’t know as much about the aromantic spectrum as maybe I should.”

“Quoiromantic,” Logan sounds out. “What does that terminology mean, exactly?”

“It’s like....” Remy frowns. “Mm. It’s like, you don’t really know how to tell the difference between romantic and platonic feelings, I think. You’ll wanna double check with Roman on that though, babe.”

“I...yes. That...does sound accurate,” Logan realizes aloud. “Quoiromantic.”

It’s like a metaphorical puzzle piece clicking into place inside his brain. Quoiromantic. Not being able to distinguish between romantic and platonic feelings...that certainly sounds a lot like what Logan has been puzzling over for the past few weeks.

“Quoiromantic,” Logan tests the word. “I would need to perform more extensive research, and perhaps examine my...emotions more before I can arrive at a proper conclusion, but...yes, that sounds...correct. That sounds....”

Good. It sounds good.

However.

Ice prickles through Logan again. He looks back at Remy. “But what would all of this mean in regard to the two of us and our relations?”

“What do you want it to mean?” Remy asks simply.

There comes the darkness again, rushing, followed by swirled colors of confusion.

“I...still don’t know,” Logan admits.

“That’s fine.” Remy shrugs. He looks at Logan, and with his sunglasses still off, Logan can see the earnestness and—fondness, is that fondness—in his bright brown eyes. “We can figure it out as we go. D’you wanna just, like, keep chilling like we’ve been doing?”

Logan licks his lips, adjusts his glasses again even though he really doesn’t need to. “...Maybe with some more hugs now?” he cautiously requests. “And with, ah...I believe it is called ‘cuddling’?”

“Lit. I’m down if you are.” Remy grins, flings himself back and out on the bed, looking not unlike a starfish as he does so. “Get in here then, babe. Can I still call you babe?”

Logan waits until he’s nestled into Remy’s side to respond. “Certainly,” he murmurs into Remy’s side, and Remy hugs him tighter. And goodness, it’s so warm and nice there on the bed with Remy that he can’t help but wonder why they hadn’t done this much sooner.

So warm and nice...that is, until the tarpaulin laden down with rainwater above his bed finally gives in to the weight.

The thing splashes down on the two of them, soaking them and causing a shrieking Remy to drag Logan out of the room in search of an umbrella and a dry towel. Even then it is still kind of nice, if a bit soggy and much colder, and Logan has to bite back a smile as Remy curses and leads him to go tell off Roman and Remus...holding Logan’s hand all the while.

And perhaps...perhaps Logan doesn’t exactly know how he feels on a larger scale. But he knows how he feels in the given moment—content. And that’s all he needs to know for now.

Logan Sanders enjoys solitude plenty, but he has more recently discovered enjoyment for the company of the others as well. All things considered, all confusions included, he enjoys it. He loves quiet nights of coexistence, and maybe he loves Remy romantically. Or maybe he doesn’t. He’s not quite sure, but he doesn’t need to be—not yet, perhaps not ever, even. They’ll work it out.

Most importantly, he thinks, Logan Sanders enjoys the company of himself, whoever “himself” might be or become.

Logan Sanders. Who is Logan Sanders, really?

If there exists anyone out there who knows the answer to this question, Logan still would like to know, because he still isn’t quite certain. Logan Sanders. Logic. Voice of reason. The smart one. The nerd. And yet.

Who is Logan Sanders?

Well. He is himself. Regardless of who or how he loves, Logan is himself. He is known, he is loved, he is himself. And he has his network of fellow sides and of Thomas and of Remy to help him, to know him, as he learns and knows and understands understands more about who Logan Sanders really is.

It’s a journey he’ll enjoy not being alone for.

Fin

Happy belated holidays! I decided to try participating in two Sanders Sides Secret Santa fic exchanges this year, and this is the product of the first of the two. I am SO thrilled to reveal myself as Avie’s Secret Santa! I hope that everyone enjoys this fic—especially you, Avie! <3 Goodness knows I had fun getting to write it for you :D

Want to be added onto any of my taglists? Shoot me an ask or a message here or via my other social media!

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lotusthekat · 4 years

Text

Elegia

Fandom: Steven Universe

Rating: T

Relationships: Lars & Steven, Lars/Sadie, Lars & Lion

Characters: Lars Barriga, Steven Quartz Universe; MINOR ROLES - Sadie Miller, Lion; other characters are only mentioned

Summary: The Pink Lars is a donut like any other. It might be more vibrant than others, both in appearance and taste… but it hasn’t been deprived of its own essence. It hasn’t been brought back as something else, and it has no scar as a haunting reminder. No, the Pink Lars is a cake donut like every other, and everyone loves it.

(Lars would’ve probably changed the name, but he doesn’t want to ruin the nice act from Steven.)

*Takes place after Letters to Lars (s05e16)

Word count: 3.173

AO3 / Fanfiction

A/N: Hello, SU fandom, here’s some good ol’ Lars-centric angst. :) This is probably the biggest existential nightmare I’ve ever written (and I blame Neon Genesis Evangelion for that), so I hope you like this, lmao.

TRIGGER WARNINGS - past canonical character death, thoughts of death, fear of death, trauma and implied past bullying(?)

Elegia: Greek/Latin form of elegy. Also the name of a song by New Order.

el·e·gy

a poem of serious reflection, typically a lament for the dead.

It’s really been two months or so since he’s been away, and it’s quite obvious when Lars returns to the Big Donut; finding not Sadie, but the town’s former mayor. Obviously, he’s been informed by Steven’s letters back in space, yet he wouldn’t contain his surprise. Just Mr. Dewey working at the Big Donut seems to have been attracting a lot more costumers now.

Lars knows he can’t exactly eat, yet Steven insisted he had the pink donut named after him. The Pink Lars is so, well… pink, that even the dough itself isn’t the ordinary donut color. Steven actually orders six of the desserts – as it turns out, it’s become one of his favorites, right along with the chocolate donuts he regularly buys.

There’s quite a lot of people in town today, under the soft, warm blue sky. Steven and Lars soon settle in a bench at the boardwalk, the former already handing the latter one of the pink donuts.

“You think you can give it a try?” Steven wonders.

Lars is, admittedly, not hungry. He has eaten pieces and bits since getting back home, otherwise nothing much. Though a bite might not hurt.

“I guess so,” He accepts. Soon enough, Steven already puts a donut in his mouth. He enjoys it.

Lars, on the other hand, stares at his. It’s possibly the pinkest thing he’s seen – besides Lion and… himself. The donut, however, doesn’t have the same pink tone. Its frosting is sparkling and appealing, but it’s closer to purple, filled with pink sprinkles over a dark pink dough. The difference between his own skin and the food probably goes unnoticed to others’ eyes at first; on the outside, they’re both pink.

Despite the name, Lars knows they’re not the same. The Pink Lars is a donut like any other. It might be more vibrant than others, both in appearance and taste… but it hasn’t been deprived of its own essence. It hasn’t been brought back as something else, and it has no scar as a haunting reminder. No, the Pink Lars is a cake donut like every other, and everyone loves it.

(Lars would’ve probably changed the name, but he doesn’t want to ruin the nice act from Steven.)

“… Lars, are you okay?”

Realization hits him. Lars has really just been contemplating a donut and Steven is reasonably concerned. The pink teenager releases a sigh, to filter the deepness of nonsense filling his head.

“Yeah.” He barely holds up a smile when he returns the donut to the box between him and Steven. “I think I’ll pass. I don’t have the stomach right now… literally.” He lets out a forced laugh.

Steven doesn’t laugh or smile in return, whereas Lars avoids the kid’s big concerned eyes. The younger boy swallows.

“Lars, I…” Knowing what he’s going to say next, Lars doesn’t wait for him to finish.

“It’s okay, Steven. I’m…” He bites his own lip. “I’m glad to be here.”

He’s saying the truth, clearly. But…

… no, Lars doesn’t want to sound selfish and ungrateful. Not to Steven of all people. The half-human boy saved his life, and sure, nothing could be the same again. Lars can’t eat the same way as before; he can literally not function like a human being anymore… but he’s glad he’s gotten this second chance. To be there for the people he loves. To be himself.

(But pink, pink, pink.)

Home has changed. He has changed.

Even so, everyone is fine with him becoming pink. Including his parents. They’re definitely shaken at what happened to Lars, and they were brought to relieved and terrified tears upon finding their son again. Yet almost a few weeks later, it’s almost as though he… hasn’t been to space, even though things are different now. If that makes sense.

Sadie is a lot more open and confident now. She sings with all her might, encapsulating the horror films she’s binged into her music. The Cool Kids are themselves, continuing to live as regular teenagers and discovering new interests, whilst giving life to their instruments. Lars cooks and bakes, and he laughs along with his friends. He introduces the Off Colors to the good things of life on Earth. Steven helps with that, as well as his own gem family. The Rutile Twins, Fluorite, Padparadscha and Rhodonite are having the time of their lives, free, loved, joyful. But most importantly, everyone embraces Lars. Everyone accepts who he is.

Everything is good.

(And Lars can’t accept it.)

Lars realizes he’s afraid of the dark.

The darkness was once a place of comfort for him. No one could really see him there. It was endless, omnipresent. Lars often found himself there.

Yet even with the skyscrapers revealing the night sky, today the boy can’t fathom his bedroom without the reassuring light of his lamp, or any background music at all.

(Holes might catch him. Silently, holes might swallow him again, before Lars can scream for help.)

Lars doesn’t need to sleep, but he knows he can. His eyes almost drift off, almost give in and rest. Yet right now his thoughts are loud and clear. His heart may not beat fast, yet his brain works like a machine nonstop.

His ears are filled with the somber music from his headphones. The lyrics, tragic but hopeful.

Lars thinks.

He thinks of Sadie’s hand against his. Her smile brightening when he’s in the same room. He feels her pressing her head against his shoulder, soft blond hair light to his face. Her macabre voice as Sadie Killer, her make-up, the lights and lasers behind her. Beautiful in every way.

He remembers Steven’s bouncy retellings, his patience, his kindness. Lars remembers the kid’s deep honesty, his comfortable presence. Lars feels their hugs, especially as he’s the one who hugs first nowadays.

Jenny, Buck and Sour Cream are their own souls as he’d always known. They’re fun to be around. They’re smart, funny, and supportive. Genuinely the best friends he could ever have.

He talks to his parents more. They’re more involved. They bake together at the kitchen often, his mother teaching desserts that aren’t in his recipe notebook. She helps him with the following potlucks that the Cool Kids plan. They hug, they say “I love you” to one another. They call him Lars.

The Off Colors look up to him. He’s their captain. They love his home, they excitedly watch the sun setting every single day; they have fun in the rain, when the sky doesn’t crack with lightnings. They trust his guidance, and they will follow him until the very end.

They… love him.

(Why?)

Lars is himself now. He’s open, he’s happy, he’s better.

(Why? Why?)

(Pink. Of course.)

(They love pink. They love the Pink Lars.)

He finds the stars above him. They’re suddenly so small in contrast to outer space.

He doesn’t sleep.

Pictures.

His home is filled with pictures. Many, many faces. So familiar, yet so unknown.

Lars sees him. Not the Pink Lars. Him.

Young, young Lars. Orange-skinned. Dark hair. Brown eyes.

A rare smile of such a young boy. A short-tempered kid excluded from his classmates. One that began pushing away the few people who cared. A boy that screamed and locked himself in his room far too often.

Briefly, Lars sees his own reflection on the glass.

Pink skin. Bright pink hair. His right eye, a saturated color, cut by a dark scar.

Gone.

The boy is gone.

(Why does Lars miss him?)

Something that represents him.

Ube. Purple, creamy, tasty. A childhood memory. The pride in a child’s face, dirtied with speckles of purple.

The Pink Lars. Pink, round, soft, alive; sprinkles as a special touch.

Both so full of life.

Both, true to their essence.

They’re them.

Lars is himself.

(Is he?)

Sadie asks him if he’s okay.

They’re watching a horror film together. Lars can barely pay it any mind.

She takes his hand and kisses every pink finger of his. Her eyes, worried.

Lars smiles sadly.

“Yeah, of course. I’m even better when I’m with you.”

(Sadie looks far from convinced. She knows Lars. She knows he’s always struggled with openness and vulnerability.)

The blond girl says nothing, instead snuggling closer against him, his arm pulling her deeper into his chest. Lars feels relaxed. He enjoys staying like this. He listens to her heartbeats. Her warmth enters his pink veins, butterflies shyly filling his stomach.

(For a moment, he feels like he’s never become pink.)

You brought me back to life! Just… let me be somebody who deserved it.

Somebody who deserved it.

(Did the orange-skinned boy not deserve it, then?)

(He was just a boy. Sure, a kid who made a lot of mistakes. Too many. Who let outside opinions get the best of him. But he could’ve grown, too. Maybe, if he were given a chance other than the inevitable.)

(Did he not deserve a chance, too?)

Can't you see that I exist?

And I don't need an exorcist to let me out

Look at me and I'll appear

Why can't you see that I'm right here, that I’m right here?

Why can't you see me?!

I think I might be

A g-g-g-ghost.

(I'm calling you from the other side.)

Today, he’s alone at the beach.

Usually, Lars joins the Off Colors, and sometimes the Cool Kids come along as well. Now, he’s hiding his hands inside his pockets, lonely steps on the sand. The sunset is the same explosion of colors as every other sunny day.

It’s blue, pink, orange and yellow. The sun reflects on the water, which hits the sand softly.

Its pink is livelier than his own.

The orange is there, too.

They’re here and alive.

Lars stays and watches. Alone.

It’s all so distant. So far away.

Maybe they know the truth. Maybe they’re keeping their distance.

Lars doesn’t try to reach them. It’s probably for the best.

Like that, he’s not expecting to be startled by a big creature staring at him.

Lars almost falls back on the sand, only to realize it’s safe.

Lion.

The only other creature that is as pink as him. Same hair (or mane). Eyes that are not scarred but are deeper than other eyes he’s seen. As if the feline has seen years and years of experience, without sharing words about it.

“Hey, buddy,” Lars greets him, voice quiet.

As usual, the big cat says nothing. Still, he gazes at the pink space pirate and understands. Lion snuggles his face against Lars’, who sighs and hugs him back, arms tight around his neck.

Lion practically has no heartbeat, unlike Sadie, or Steven or anyone else. His deep breaths are the only remaining of life he has.

The distant seagulls sing somewhere. But somehow, all Lars listens to is Lion.

His eyes blur.

The town is so distant.

… Literally.

Lars casually figured out that he can walk on water like Jesus now. That’s something. He told Steven and the boy was enthusiastic about it, of course. And well, it is cool. He can see the fish swimming down him, and he gets to touch the sun that reflects on the water. Otherwise, he can’t go for swims anymore, while everyone else can.

He’s fine.

There’s no sun or powerful colors this time. The sky is clouded, foggy, yet the ocean doesn’t react too much. The water is usually not furious, anyway.

It might rain soon.

Lars can actually sit on water, too. So, he hugs his own knees and thinks. Stays.

…

Someone is coming.

“Lars?”

Looking up, he finds Steven riding on Lion, with a puzzled look.

“What are you doing here?”

“Hey, man,” Lars gives him a finger gun. “I’m just chilling here. Got to use my Jesus privileges now, am I right?”

Steven doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t look remotely reassured.

(He understands. He wouldn’t find it funny, either.)

Isolated dripples begin surrounding them.

“Come on, let’s go to my house,” Steven offers. “It might be dangerous staying here.”

Lars hums, noticing the fish have all gone away. He stands.

“Okay.”

In the way, Lars tries to throw in a joke or two about the whales he found near him earlier. Steven still won’t laugh or find it endearing. And Lion simply listens.

When they enter the beach house, the rain starts coming down. The ocean practically disappears in the fog now.

(He almost wishes he stayed.)

The falling water outside is the only sound you could hear, besides the questions in the kid’s puppy eyes. Instead of answering them, though, Lars has an idea.

“Hey, what do you say I bake those space cookies you like so much?” The older teen offers, patting the boy’s shoulder. “You have the ingredients, right?”

“I think so, but…”

“Great! You can help me if you want.”

He ignores Steven’s frown and heads to the kitchen, already knowing where the ingredients are thanks to memory. Lion lies somewhere near, attentive. Though unlike other times the three of them have shared the kitchen, the big cat might not want to attack the ingredients today. Lion is as lazy as the rain day.

The baking session is… surprisingly quiet. Lars is the one that does the talking this time, trying to cheer the kid up. Steven doesn’t seem fazed. He just follows the steps. Lars’ smile will falter little by little, yet he keeps going. Maybe that will change by the frosting, Lars hopes. The kid loves frosting the cookies, more than he does.

But then, Steven is just… there. Staring at the star-shaped fellas without any enthusiasm. Staring concernedly at them, as if something is wrong with them, even though they’re perfectly fine.

“Hey, Steve,” Lars lowers his voice and puts a hand on his back. “What’s wrong?”

(He knows what it is. And Steven knows that he knows.)

For the first time, Steven looks away and hugs his own arm.

“I… I think I should be asking you that.”

(Lars shouldn’t be shocked. He isn’t.)

“I… I don’t think I’ve ever actually asked how you’ve been lately,” Steven admits. “I was so excited to have you back home, and have everyone see you again, that I thought you’d be fine.” He sighs and adds quieter, rather bitterly at himself. “But I’ve never been good at asking the right questions.”

Lars contains the harsh breath that tries to escape, and he gently pats his friend’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay, buddy. You’ve got nothing to worry about me.”

Steven looks back with something akin to disbelief.

“Lars—”

“I mean it, I’m okay.”

“But you’re—”

“Kid, I swear, I’m fine.”

“I don’t want to force you—”

“You’re not forcing me, Steven,” Lars reassures him. “I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”

“You’re—” Steven observes dumbly and groans. “Why won’t you just talk to me?”

(It’s the same look from the pictures. From the gone, lost boy.)

(Revolted. Pushed aside.)

(Hurt.)

“T-There’s nothing to talk about!” Lars defends.

“I’m not stupid!”

“I never said you were!”

“Then why are you treating me like I am?!”

“Steven, it’s fine! I’m fine-!”

“NO!” Lars steps away. “STOP LYING TO ME!”

Whatever words were about to be said, they disappear at the sudden voice raise. At the angry – no, frustrated, tearful eyes. The clenched fists.

(Why does Steven look so much like him?)

Steven covers his own mouth, scared of his outburst. He recomposes himself or at least tries to.

“I… I thought we could count on each other. I thought—” He sniffs. “I thought, after we were stuck together, after everything we’ve been through, w-we could… be there for one another. You were there for me, you’re always there for me.” He pauses, his eyes more and more painful to look at. “But now you’re… you’re suffering, and you want to, what, you want to hide it from us? From me?”

Lars’ heart drops. “No- No, no, Steven, I’m- I’m fine—” He almost approaches again, only to get yelled at.

“Stop! I don’t need to be coddled! And you don’t need to hurt yourself for me! For anyone! Y-You of all people told me that!”

After that, Lars has become completely silent. There’s nothing around them, nothing but the rain falling outside, the shaky breaths coming from Steven, and Lion’s observation. The cookies are abandoned in the counter.

(And somewhere, somewhere far, a boy is screaming from his room, locked away.)

(Crying.)

“Lars…” Steven’s anger has dissipated again. “I’m sorry. I know I messed up. I know things won’t be the same again, and I know you want them to be. I’ve noticed.” He hugs himself, guilt filling his avoidant gaze. “Believe me, if I could go back in time, I would’ve never let you go in that ship. I would’ve never let you…” He shuts his eyes for a moment, clutching his own shirt. “I wish I could fix everything. But I can’t. And I’m really, really sorry.”

Lars would have opened his mouth to reassure him. He would have pulled him in a hug and tell him again and again that it wasn’t his fault. But Steven seems to catch onto that thought, because he then says:

“Even if I didn’t mean to… and even if I saved you in the end, I… I still did this to you.” He pauses. For once, he takes in a deep breath. “So, I promise you, I’ll do what I can to make up for it. I… I don’t know much about my powers.” He begins taking a step forward. “I don’t know how to feel about them most of the time, and I’m still trying to understand how Lion’s work, too, but…”

Steven looks up at him, eyes sparkling like the starry sky Lars sees every night.

“We… we can figure out. Together.” He looks away again, adding, “If you want.”

Lars locks the gaze with him, and before he registers it, a laugh escapes him.

“Yeah.” He swallows a sob. “Y-Yeah… I’d- I’d like that.”

For the first time, Steven smiles yet he immediately bumps into the other’s waist, wrapping his arms tightly around him.

“I’m so sorry…” The kid repeats. Once Lars returns the hug, he freezes when he catches Steven’s following words.

“… You never deserved to die.”

It’s nothing more than a whisper, only for him to hear.

And yet it feels like a complete punch. The good kind of punch.

Lars loses it.

They cry as hard as the rain. So much that Lion eventually joins the hug, offering his support.

Later, they create the cookies together with more delight and trust. They’re more… alive than all the others they’ve baked until now.

Tonight, Lars gazes at the stars with tranquility.

(He lets the boy free.)

#steven universe #lars barriga #steven quartz universe #su lion #sadie miller #larsadie #fanfiction #death tw

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davidobitch · 4 years

Text

Josslyn | Scott Sire

masterlist

(i’ve been listening to this song literally nonstop lately so naturally i had to write based off of it. it took a lot to not write this about todd for obvious reasons. anyways. here’s this for ya) (also i don’t ever proof read so if at points it seems like a 2yr old is writing…that’s why. oops)

also this hasn’t been showing up anywhere so i’m sorry if you’ve seen this already :(

Scott and (y/n)’s relationship was…interesting. For the past year or so they’ve been on and off. Never officially dating, just exclusively seeing each other. They always had talks about one day maybe officially labeling it but neither of them made any effort into doing so.

The two of you were currently in bed watching a movie when Scott’s phone rang. You took a quick glance at the called ID before he answered it. Of course it was David meaning Scotty was being invited to the bars and you knew he was gonna take the opportunity to go out.

You tried listening to what David was saying but couldn’t make anything out. Scott’s answers were vague, like he wanted to hide the conversation. Hoping her didn’t see, you rolled your eyes and moved away from him, eventually getting out of bed and going into the kitchen.

Scott stayed on the phone for another couple of minutes before he emerged out of the room, completely dressed in going out clothes.

“I’m gonna go out with the guys tonight. Are you okay with that?” Scott fidgeted with his fingers, barely making eye contact with you.

Nodding you head, you muttered “yeah” before grabbing your water and heading back to your room.

“Are you sure? You seem upset about it?” Scott says as he follows you, “Did you have other plans for us or something?”

Letting out a deep breath, you flopped down on the bed, “Nope. Nothing planned except spending time with you for once.” You finally looked at Scott, seeing a hint of guilt in his eyes, “Seriously, it’s fine. Just call me when you get home.”

You turned your attention back to the TV, trying to find a new movie to watch but your view was quickly blocked by Scott’s body. You watched as he squatted next to the bed his face only inches from yours, “Will you still come over even if it’s 2am?” Scott says, barely audible.

You couldn’t help but smile at how cute he look in this moment. His hair was a mess, his scruff growing in, and his head rested on his hands.

“Even if it’s 2am,” you replied, softly pecking his lips, “Can you go now so I can watch my stuff,” you joked, causing him to stumble back from your push.

The two of you said your goodbyes and you were officially alone for who knows how long it’ll be tonight. You tried passing the time by binging tv shows, movies, even cleaning but the night seemed to drag on. After a couple hours of nonsense, you checked your friend’s stories to see if anything fun was happening. All it consisted of was the guys doing shots and dancing on each other and at one point there was a video of Zane being..well, being drunk Zane.

With another hour going by since, you checked again and Todd posted a video of them in David’s car, probably on their way to his house. Checking Scott’s location, your assumptions were correct. You contemplated calling him, but you figured he’d call you when he wanted. Passing the rest of the time, you decided to actually fall asleep and hope you’d wake up to his call.

You woke up suddenly to your phone ringing in your ear. “Hello?” you said, voice soft and groggy.

A smile played on your lips when you heard his voice, “Come over?” Scott said, almost in a whisper.

“Of course,” you said as you rolled out of bed to change into better clothes. You ended the call and made your way to his house. When you got there, he met you out front, as always, and escorted you to his room.

The second you stepped into his bedroom, something felt off. His bed, that he made every morning, was now a mess, like it had been slept in but Scott was still in his clothes from tonight. You glanced around the room, trying to find any sort of evidence that helped with your gut feeling, but fortunately for you there was nothing.

“Everything okay?” Scott asked, as he watched you just stand in the doorway. You let out a shaky laugh and made your way to your side of the bed.

“Yeah, sorry. I thought I forgot something,” you lied, not wanting to start anything.

Just as you were about to put your purse on the ground, your eyes landed on something on his bedside table. A wrapper of some sort. And then it hit you. A condom wrapper. You bit your lip, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over. You didn’t want to believe he was cheating, but you knew it wasn’t from you.

“Who’s the girl?” You asked, your voice low and soft. You kept your eyes on the wrapper, still trying to wrap your head around what could have happened.

Scott followed your gaze, seeing his mistake sitting at the corner of the table. “(Y/n)…” He started to say but he couldn’t come up with an excuse quick enough.

“Her name, Scott. What’s her name?” You pryed, hoping he at least had the decency to know some sort of information.

Scott let out a deep breath before finally giving you your answer, “Josslyn.”

You finally brought your attention to him, “I know we never made it official but I thought we made it clear how we felt, where the line was drawn, Scotty.”

His eyes flooded with guilt and sorrow, his once happy face nowhere near that. “Listen, I can explain if you just let me,” Scott says, making his way towards you. He stopped in his tracks when he noticed you take steps away from him.

“I thought you wanted to be us. Officially. I thought you wanted to stop this whole on/off relationship. But now we’re off and we’ll never be on again,” You kept your cool, not wanting to show him the weaker side of you. “I’m not gonna make a big fuss over this shit but I hope that it was worth fucking Josslyn.”

You walked towards the door, ready to leave but Scott had other plans. “(Y/n), please. I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to end like this.” His eyes were reddening as he fought back his emotions.

Shrugging your shoulders, you took a couple steps back again trying to keep your distance, “I’m not fighting, I just never want to talk again.” You sighed, focusing on your feet.

“I didn’t want to hurt you, I didn’t want to be like one of those assholes,” Scott pleaded, “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”

Your head shot up as a llaugh erupted from your throat, “Are you fucking kidding me, Scott? You say that but here we are. But you know, I guess I can’t be mad ‘cause I was never yours in the first place.” You couldn’t help but keep laughing over the situation, “I can’t believe I was so stupid to think this time was actually going to be different. Everyone said I shouldn’t go through this again and I should’ve listened to them.”

Letting your emotions get the best of you, you finally broke. The tears flowed freely down your cheeks, not caring about anything anymore.

“I’m sorry, baby, I-”

“You don’t have to lie to me like the truth is some sort of chore to you,” You cut him off mid-sentence, “You’re not sorry. You knew what you were getting into and what would happen when I found out. If you were sorry you wouldn’t have even thought about it. So you know what Scott, I’m done.” You pushed your way past him, not giving him a chance to get his apology out.”I really hope she was worth ruining this, all for a quick fuck huh.”

Scotty followed you out as you quickly left, “Please don’t leave like this, (y/n).”

With your hand on the front door handle, you turn around to face the man you once had so much love for. “Please don’t call me, ever again.” And without any hesitation you turned your back on someone who was supposed to be your world.

#ss #scotty sire #scotty sire imagine #scott sire #scott sire imagine #the vlog squad #the vlog squad imagine #vlog squad #vlog squad imagine #davids vlogs #davids vlog #masterlist #prompt #imagine #zane and heath #david dobrik

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queensdivas · 4 years

Text

Wildest Notes Chapter 4

So there’s about three reasons why this chapter took a little long to come out! But they’re good reasons of course because I like to make sure things are somewhat perfect!

First! Mostly because I’ve been busy with Grigor and trying to work on such a historical fic and y’all know I throw myself into my fics.

Second. I got in touch with a certain bad ass artist by the name of @punky-peach who drew that beautiful picture below for Cora and Gard. Oh yes. It’s absolutely beautiful and I might have cried when I received it ten minutes ago. It’s so fantastic that I just can’t stop looking at it and I know y’all can’t either! Especially after this chapter.

Third. I got distracted. And I got into bioshock for a while (I’m still binge playing it over and over. But fear not! I’m back and

Okay here we go!

Y’all ready!!

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter.

Masterlist

My fingers softly began rubbing my eyes as we finished the last set of the night. Sometimes I forget that playing the piano day after day would hurt my eyes. I hate that sometimes I forget that I’m near sighted. Should probably take a day off because I’ve been doing this nonstop since I moved here. Luckily I’m not clumsy with them and have never broken a pair in my life! Which is saying something about myself.

Closing the lid to the piano as the club was beginning to clear out of everyone excluding the waitresses, bar tenders, and us musicians. I began gathering all my music sheets together as I watched everyone go into their own little social pods. Not that I don’t wanna become social with any other them. But a first impression of them flocking towards me in all directions to screw me wasn’t exactly a warm welcome.

Once my music was all put together. I knocked off my heels to switch over to my Jesus slippers so I could walk home comfortable. Do you think I walk from my house to the city in heels? I don’t even like being in some sort of heels in the first place. My preference is my Jesus slippers or my bare feet. I mostly garden in my bare feet so it’s safe to say that I really hate shoes.

Kobi the bassest and Chandler who played first chair trombone approached me as I placed my feet into my Jesus sandals. Kobi was rubbing the back of his neck as I waited for them to speak to me because obviously he was going to say something.

“Chandler and I were wanting to apologize for what happened when you first arrived here. Kind of got us all excited for a new member and we acted like wild dogs. I’m sorry.” Wait what? An apology? Kobi smacked Chandler's chest as he shot up from the ground.

“Yes Cora. We’re sorry..”

“It’s quite alright. Thank you for the apology.”

“Listen why not have a drink with us?” Chandler offered as I took a step off the stage with all my belongings.

“I don’t drink.”

“Then water. C’mon you have to socialize with us eventually and running off back to your house isn’t an option.” Kobi mentioned that both of them walked over to the bar along with the workers and other musicians. I mean a sprite does sound delicious and I could use the energy walking home.

I sat down on the bar stool as the tender was mixing all sorts of drinks for everyone. He stood in front of me and waited for me to give him some sort of answer. I get the feeling their eyes are shooting bullets at me for not drinking liquor. Look I know being a jazz musician you’re supposed to smoke and have a thing of Jack Daniels by your stand in order to fit the profile. But I’d rather have a really bubbly sprite and some grapes and we’re sitting.

“Just a sprite please.” I told him as he filled a tiny little glass of sprite for me.

“You work at a nightclub and you drink a sprite?” Chandler commented as I took a sip.

“I told you two I don’t drink.” It’s like talking to a brick wall. Like I said I will not socialize with these people and just come to work.

“Heys guys great news!” Theo jumped down from the stage and sashed himself over towards us.

“We got ourselves a new lead female singer by the name of Kyia Mair. Just graduated from Oberlin Conservatory of Music in Ohio. She said she was looking for a full time gig and bam! We got one!” HE clapped as he sat down on one of the stools.

“A round for everyone! Make it an Irish car bomb for everyone!” Theo pulled out his cash as everyone cheered as for free alcohol...for me I was slowly sipping sprite from my glass. I should’ve mentioned that I could’ve also sang..though it’s not excellent like Gaga or even Billie Holiday. But it’s decent.

The bartender placed the shot in front of me as my sipping through the straw began to go faster as I was trying to avoid the car bomb or whatever it was called in front of me. No..no I don’t drink. Drinking leads to drugs...drugs lead..lead...

“A shot isn’t going to kill you Cora. You gotta live a little.” Theo moved the shot in front of me as I kept sucking up more and more sprite till the glass was empty. My throat closed as I looked away from the shot. Time for me to head home and read some sort of book. Digging into my purse then my wallet to find some sort of cash.

“Tell ya what. Here’s twenty dollars on me for whatever you want and you guys never speak to me again that isn’t business related. Now if you’ll excuse me I’d like to go home. Goodnight everyone.” Telling them as they slapped the money on the bar and began my walk home.

Wrapping my arms around myself to place my binger down onto the ground to feel the warmth of the night rest on top of me. Taking in a deep breath as I dove into the inner layers of my confused train wreck of a mind. It felt like I was pushing the door shut of my past self trying to keep those memories shut.

Think of something nice Cora c’mon!

“I’m..I’m sorry. I.. I generally don’t hang out with civilians this much.” Civilians? DO I look like I’m in the army? Do I need to salute him or something?

Why is it that this tightly wound mailman by the name of Gardner is prancing around in my mind? Is this what a crush feels like? Heck I’ve never had my first kiss in my life with anyone! I’ve lived quite the solitude life for obvious reasons..and no one has ever had that kind of talk with me.

Stopping along the river as my upper body leaned over the railing. Surprisingly a warm gust of wind entwined itself around me as I just stared down into the dark water. The lights from the city began dancing upon the top of the river.

Mama Seymour wasn’t into the relationships because she was always busy with myself and my brothers and sisters. Mr. Lister..er Dad..may he rest in peace. He was just there for me in the end and never got around to this conversation. So I’ve got no idea what on earth I’m doing. Normally my ass would be running from this situation and just diving into a different situation. But..

I..I wanna dive..

This whack uptight mailman…

“Gard? What are you going?”

“I’m sorry. I heard you playing and I wanted to stay till the end.”

Someone tell me how the heck this is supposed to work? No mailman would just casually stay and let himself come inside the house. Not to mention he let me dry his socks after walking around in the rain. It’s not love...it’s just my heart rapidly beating out of my ribbed cages and spewing out all over the sidewalk! My right hand rested over my heart as I stood up standing tall.

Just keep calm..if you see him tomorrow just be nice and not do anything..

Walking back to the house to see that Angus was sitting in front of the front door sleeping soundly as I stood in front of the gate. Opening the gate woke him up and trot his way over to me. Sniffing my feet, licking my palm, and then walking back towards the door. For some unknown reason Angus loves to sit outside or sleep when I’m gone for work.

Sitting down on the porch steps as Angus sat up next to me then began licking my face, yet stopping when he had some of my makeup in his mouth. My nails softly scratched the top of his head as he laid back down next to me with his head resting on my thigh. Time to let my hair down, literally. Pulling apart the large black bow I had in my hair that was keeping at least some of it up to let my grande cluster mess known as my hair.

“C’mon Angus. Time for bed.” Kissing his forehead as we both got off the ground to walk inside and get ready for bed.

*Gards P.O.V.*

Wasn’t supposed to be 90 degrees today. Stupid weather! Looking up to place the mail in the box I noticed that I was right around the corner from Cora. I imagine she’s out in her garden planting or digging until it gets too hot.

Turning the corner then down the hill as I kept my eyes on what I could see but sadly trees we’re covering my view. Just keep going..wait. What should I say to her? Hey? Is it hot outside or what? Too cheesy? I’ll just be quiet, drop off her mail then moving on.

Is..is that Margaritaville? I don’t know much about music but I know Margaritaville whenever I hear it. I remember Dad and I would be on the boat washing it down and whenever this song would turn on, he would just go berserk. Cause ya know, it’s a Dad song.

“Wastin' away again in Margaritaville..Searchin' for my lost shaker of salt..Some people claim that there's a woman to blame..Now I think, hell, it could be my fault..” I could hear her singing as I got closer to the gate.

When I made it to her white gate. My head looked up. I saw that she was sitting in the front yard sitting in a beach chair. Her feet were in a kids plastic pool as Angus came around the corner to then step into the kids pool and watch me.

“GARD!” Cora cheered as she stood up to then stand in her pool. Opening the gate as I approached her as she kept herself in the pool.

“Want a drink? It’s kool aid.” She held out her glass as I shook my head.

“How’s the route on this stupidly hot day?” I shrugged as she offered me her seat. I sat down as she went around back to probably grab another chair. Placing my mail bag next to my chair as I watched Angus in the pool. He’s literally just laying down in the water with only his head laying on the rim. Coming back as she had one of those really colorful beach chairs. Opening it up then sticking her feet back into the pool as Angus was laying down in it.

“Gard relax for a little bit. It’s 90 degrees and there’s no way you’re not boiling alive.” Fair enough.

“While you get comfy. I think I got some sunglasses for ya.” Getting up again to go into her house. I took off my shoes then socks to stick my feet into the ice cold pool. I let out a very large sigh as my entire body relaxed. I should get a kids pool for Calvin and I because this is so relaxing.

She came back out with a glass of water and a pair of sunglasses. Smiling as I took them from her hands as she climbed back down into her seat then laying out in the sun.

“Thank you.” Telling her as I placed the sunglasses on my face then taking a sip of the cold water.

“No problemo Gard.” She smiled as she bent forward to splash some water on Angus who tried to eat the water she splashed him with. She looked so beautiful with the sun shining down on top of her. Coras skin was shining and her smile..it feels so genuine and contagious. Like if you’re not smiling you’re out of place. Not to mention she’s just so bubbly that..it’s a good feeling when I’m around her.

Blinking a few times as Angus got up from the pool to then shake himself as all the water splashed over Cora and I! If a dog could smirk I think Angus would. We both watched as he opened the screen door to then walk inside. What a dog.

“Sorry that my dog just gave you a shower.” She took off her glasses to whip off the water.

“I’m assuming that you taught him how to do that?” Asking her as she nodded. She put her glasses back on her face to look at me.

“Spoiled loveable child.” She shook her head as she went down to take a sip of her kool aid. I reached down for water to start drinking it.

“Glad you’re finally relaxing. Though it would never happen to Gard. You 're more wounded than a screw itself.” I’ve always had my own way of doing things and enjoyed my very..tight.. Schedule..But here Cora comes to basically destroy that schedule..and I’m kind of okay with it...

“Not that there’s anything wrong with that of course. I mean it’s great that you have such a tight schedule and you like to do things your way. But sometimes you just gotta take a step back and breath a little. Also have your feet chillin 'in a kiddie pool while you get a sun tan and take a break from the job.” I will say though we look a little silly sitting in her front yard. But I imagine her backyard is covered head to toe in veggies and flowers.

“If you keep working and not taking a second, you’re gonna watch your life go by without ya. Sorry..didn’t mean to sound so preachy there holy crap.” She laughed at herself as I couldn’t stop looking at her. Why does she care so much? I know that about 90% of the people I deliver mail to don’t even know me. Trudy is the only one I talk to..and then she comes into play...and..

I..I want her to see the boat. I mean. She’s shown me her entire home and she’s yet to see mine. Wouldn’t you think she’d like to see mine? I know she’s asked but..I didn’t know what she would do if I told her I lived in a boat.

What do I say to her? Hey why don’t you come see my boat? Wanna see my boat? How do I make myself sound extremely creepy towards her? Her beautiful copper hair that was just all over the place shined beautifully. Cora’s smile kept making my heart skip a few beats as her fingers were messing with the book. I want her to come on my route so I can show her the boat. Don’t most women love boats?

“Wanna see my home?” Blurting out as she turned towards me then rose up in her chair.

“Sure. Let me get my keys.” She looked so adorable. A big Hawaiian shirt that had a tank top underneath, a cute pair of white shorts then her sandals. She walked inside her house as I finished chugging the water for the walk home.

“How long have you been a mailman?” She asked as she was walking backwards in front of me with her hair flapping with each step.

“Since I was eighteen. I was even a designated note passer for these two kids in school, kind of appropriate.” She looked so..pretty. Her hair shined, she walked with such a lovely step. As if she was almost skipping. How does someone be this happy all the time?

I found out that she’d been playing the piano since she was a kid. Umm she can make a mean lamb roast, and sells vegetables at farmers markets and even tries to get a stand at county and or State Fairs. I had no idea she was so resourceful. Is it weird that I kind of want her to make dinner for me so I can try this great lamb roast.

“It has a crap ton of garlic but don’t worry it works extremely well together.” She was so passionate about her cooking and bubbly. Most women I know who are my age who can’t even cook spaghetti.

“What side dish?”

“Marinated white beans. You’ll have to come over for dinner sometime and you’ll be leaving ten pounds heavier!” She laughed as we turned down my street. Oh boy. How is she going to react that I live in my boat instead of inside with Calvin.

“Here we are.” Telling her as she began walking in the driveway.

“Umm Cora.” I stopped right next to the ladder that led me inside my home. She took off her glasses, rubbing her eyes then back at me. I began walking towards the ladder to climb in.

“The nameless grace.” She pointed out as I halted.

“Huh.” Turning around as she had her arms crossed.

“You do know boats are meant to have names right? There was this one boat that was always docked and it’s name was Floppy Wenis!” I mean I’ve heard of some weird one in my books when I’m trying to sleep. I think there was one called Buoyoncé and another called The Cod Mile.

I climbed up into the sailboat as she followed right behind me. Glad I got the place cleaned up before going to bed last night. Not that it was dirty or had underwear all over the place. Crouching down into the sailboat to stand straight up as she poked her head in.

“Cute. I love what you’ve done with the place.” Cora giggled as she held out her hand so she wouldn’t fall flat on her face. Helping her inside as she kept a hold of my hand. They were a little cold but extremely soft to the touch. Wait..I’m still holding them!

“I’m sorry!” Walking over to the radio as I turned it on for some soft acoustic song to start playing.

“I sit there. You can sit anywhere else.” Telling her as I tossed my bag on the other side of the booth table. I placed the sunglasses she’d given me on the table right where I usually sit.

“Gard this is so homey. Really love what you’ve done with the sailboat. Also the ferns that hang off the railings.” She commented as it made me smile. Cora looked around to then sit down across from me on the bench.

“Thank you.” Molding my fingers together as I made my thumbs started going in small circles.

“So do you have a thing for not sleeping in houses? Ready for some sort of flash flood coming here and all of us vanishing overnight?” Very funny.

“I’ve liked boats. SO why not live in one.” Shrugging as she raised her eyebrow right at me. Yeah figured she wouldn’t accept that excuse.

“Why not live with Calvin then? I mean I love my sunflowers but you don’t see me sleeping in the middle of my garden.” Fair point. She put her legs up close to her chest waiting for some kind of response from me.

“I came from school one day and my parents were gone. The house was empty. The only thing they left behind was this boat. So I moved it to Calvins driveway. His parents took me in.” I somehow get this feeling she can sort of relate. I’m not sad about it anymore and have moved on. But...sometimes I keep thinking they’ll come back for the boat even after all these years just to say hi. A pipe dream and realistically impossible. But wouldn’t it be nice. Her face that was once filled with bubbles just turned into concern and somewhat saddened. I didn’t mean to make her feel sad..just wanted to be honest.

“Any luck trying to find them?” Her voice cracked a little as she stared directly at me.

“What would I say?”

“Something I would Gard. Why? Why have me if you wanted to run?” Shaking her head at her own comment as she looked at the wall then back at me.

“If we’re being open with one another. I sadly don’t remember my mother at all. Either she died of childbirth or just left right after I was born. Father was a..an extreme druggie who ended up..ah doesn’t matter. Oh what do we have here.” She grabbed one of my binders of my stamp collections to start going through them. I noticed on her ankle looked like some kind of old scar around the ankle. Probably none of my business.

“I love this one so far. Ya know I wasn’t going to make the assumption that you collected stamps due to the fact you were a mailman. But I gotta ask. Why stamps?” Nothing is more cliche than a mailman collection stamp. Cora’s eyes looked so passionate while she skimmed through all my stamps.

“It’s just this endless potential that sits within these little tiny squares. Kind of wonder where they could’ve gone sometimes when I look at them. Always wondered what people would’ve said in these letters, though no one writes letters anymore. But if they did, they need one of those.” I’ve...I’ve never had the chance to fully tell someone about my stamps before. I mean besides Calvin and my friends down at the office when we have our meetings. But she seems so interested in them and letting me vent about them.

“I’m going to assume you’ve got a favorite?” My eyes drifted over to The Duke as I motioned her to come over and look. She got off the bench to squat a few inches next to me. So close I could see deep into those sparkling dark blue pools.

“So why is the shirtless man so special?”

“That my dear friend is The Duke, King of the Longboard. You have your Elvis china and I have my stamps, sort of the Elvis of my collection.”

“Why? What’s so special about Mr. Duke?”

“It’s a misprint.”

“Wait what?” She giggled to take another look at the stamp.

“It’s a misprint. It’s the only one in the world. His longboard is upside. See?” She nodded as our heads were almost butting into each other.

“Well..son of a biscuit. What a misprint.” My throat unexpectedly dried up quicker than I expected as we just kept smiling at each other.

Slowly moving towards each other as our lips finally made contact. Her beautiful lips sent shivers up and down my body. I’m too afraid to touch her or even do anything..last girl I kissed was a bet in High School..I could feel my face turning dark red as I cupped her face in my hands.

Cora abruptly backed away from against the wall with her finger types on her lips. Gulping as her eyes were widened. She was going to say something but kept falling short of words.

“I’m..I’m sorry..I..” Spinning around to dash out of the boat and almost tripping trying to get out.

“Wait Cora!” I was about to sprint out towards her but she must’ve knocked over the sunglasses because they made a loud cracking sound in my feet.

No...no..I didn’t ruin it did I!? Looking at the time as I realized that it was already after four...I’ll keep my bag for the night then when I do my route tomorrow I’ll just deliver whatever else I didn’t get the chance to deliver.

Should probably go inside and try to act normal. Although I imagine Calvin will be having a field day because today is his day off. Climbing out of the boat then down the ladder as I tried to keep myself panicking in front of Calvin. He’s going to go on and on about approaching her and how to get her into bed. Not exactly what I’m going for.

I made it through the front door then into the kitchen where Calvin already had dinner ready. And now I just realized that I’m extremely late for dinner. This should be absolutely fun to deal with.

“Sorry I’m late Cal.” Sitting down at the dining room table but he didn’t turn around to say anything to me. But only letting out a big sigh.

“Cal!” He smacked the eggplant on the plate as he was about to say something.

“My eggplant parmesan is congealing.” I’m not quite sure if I’m even in the mood for eggplant. Vietnamese or Greek just sounds better than eggplant.

“I had to work late.”

“Am I living in a house of lies! You come through that door everyday at 5:29 pm on the dot for the past six years, and who was that guy with the 80s hair band running from your boat?” She’s not in a hair band? I mean obviously I knew he would catch me but she’s not even a man, Cora just has beautiful humongous hair. Which I imagine is super soft.

“It was a woman.” Never thought I would have to say that.

“My man! She smokes your hogan?”

“I don’t think so and what does that even mean?” What does smoking your hogan your mean? Like..a..I don’t even wanna think about it.

“Where did you meet her?”

“Work.”

“Is she a mailman?” She’s far too beautiful to be a carrier.

“Carrier and no she’s a customer. Her name is Cora.”

“Whoa whoa whoa. Is she an old lady?”

“No.”

“Lady of the night?”

“No!”

“Housewife?”

“Single and no. She lives by herself.”

“Single, her own home and on the route nice! So okay theres lots of ingredients here for a very erotic role-play situation.”

“You gonna see her again?”

“Probably tomorrow.”

“You nervous?” Shaking my head as Cal saw right through it.

“You must not like her if you’re not nervous.”

“I’m a little nervous.” More like shaking in my own shoes from the fact that I don’t wanna mess this up.

“All right okay lets get a good solid plan together. This is you and this is her.” He was messing with the table mats.

“No no I don’t wanna plan this.” Last time Cal had one of his plans he ended up spilling the nacho cheese all over the girls jeans. Yeah never letting him plan anything dealing with my love life.

“Well you’re gonna need a plan or you’re just gonna get passed over like celery at the salad bar.”

“I just wanna let it happen.”

“Alright if that’s your play.” He began reading through his magazine of Martha Stewart recipes and home diy.

I really don’t wanna mess this up..she’s absolutely fantastic..just the thought of her..oh boy what have I gotten myself into now.

Taglist

@bonafiderocketqueen @filmslutt @johndeaconshands @amethyst-serenade @soy-guey @jd-johndeacon-or-jackdaniels @queen-turtle-boiii @mercury-wife @deck-heart @deakydeacs @mirkwoodshewolf @supersonicfreddie @yourlocalmusicalprostitute @dancingcoolcat @bitchyleek @belladonichaaze @mrsmazzello

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imnotcameraready · 5 years

Text

chivalry is dead (19 [INTERMISSION 2])

A/N: cut to me rubbing my little fly hands together — i am SO excited to get this ball started that i’m literally boutta post 2 chapters, so bear with me here ,., also, posting them now because i’ve gotta go to work at around 11 and then dont wanna do posting/edits at like, midnight lmao

bc that’s when im just gonna. keep writing., im so excited for this arc y’all im literally shaking

WARNINGS: massive descriptions of disassociation, being lightheaded, mentions of being dehydrated, mentions of not eating, threats of being pushed down the stairs, bandage mention ig? — i think that's all on this one!!!

Words: 1181

AO3 link!

MASTERPOST! <– look here!! for the longterm warnings!! including sympathetic Deceit and cursing/swearing!

enjoy !!! <3 <3 <3 <3

“You’re in my world now, not your world~”

“Why are there so many stairs?”

“And I’ve got foes on the other side~”

“Wait, that’s not the lyric.”

“Sit down at my table~”

“.....Fine.”

“Put your mind at ease~”

“I put a spell on you~”

A small, tired laugh. “If you relax, it will enable me to do….”

“And now you’re mine~!”

“...Anything I please. I can read your future~”

“Be prepa-ared!”

“I can change it ‘round some, too~”

“Trust in me~”

More laughter. “Ironic.”

“Fuck off or I’ll drop you down the stairs. You started it!”

“I know, I know. It’s all almost done. I only hope Thomas is-I hope he’s okay.”

“Eh, who gives? He’ll be fine soon enough, don’t worry your bandages off. Come on, your gown is waiting.”

Thomas flicked his feet left and right, watching the television while paying absolutely zero attention while laying on the couch upside down. After failing to summon the Sides that morning, he’d gone to watch television, and found himself rewatching The Office again in a semi-binge state. It’d take a solid four days to watch it all but it wasn’t like Thomas had the motivation or drive to do anything else, despite the looming deadline on the new video’s script.

On any other day, he’d be able to hear Virgil screaming at him, Roman rushing around with ideas, butting heads with Logan over rewrites and edits. Patton’d pop in with some supportive words and an offer to make dinner sometimes.

But now? Now he wasn’t getting anything. It was as though all of his sides had clocked out at once — even Deceit and Remus weren’t delivering input. And whatever was holding back any of the other Sides he had (because, lets face it, Thomas had no idea how many Sides there were in total, especially not after Remus’ introduction) wasn’t letting up. So, using every ounce of deductive reasoning he had left, Thomas figured that he just. No longer had a personality.

The more he thought about that, though, the more he considered how irrational that would be. But he didn’t care enough to believe a separate reasoning? And didn’t have the focus, creativity, or capacity to think of a different explanation.

So, The Office.

He had been sitting on this couch for upwards of twelve hours. Probably bordering on sixteen to seventeen hours, but he couldn’t count. It was long past sunset outside, perhaps the stars were out.

An empty pizza box was sitting on the couch beside him. At least he had the common sense to eat one meal — an extra large pepperoni meal, but a meal nonetheless.

What the heck was happening?

The phone on his chin, balanced there out of boredom a few hours ago, buzzed and nearly fell off.

Thomas’ hand smacked up to it, causing his phone to fall and hit his nose. That caused a chain reaction of him falling over, first sideways onto the couch, then rolling off the couch all together and onto the floor.

So much for “nothing happening.” Thomas groaned as he pushed himself up onto his elbows and grabbed his phone, which had slid beneath the table.

He flicked it on.

JOAN —> IMG0492.JPG

Ah. Thomas squinted and opened it.

It was a Sanders Sides meme, one of the new templates. He covered his mouth and snorted with laughter, shaking his head.

Another text from Joan dinged.

JOAN —> you alive? you missed prime coffee shop writing hours

Oh, heck. Thomas mentally chided himself. He and Joan were going to hunker down at a cafe and hash out the new script today to get it done before the deadline. Of course he forgot, like an absolute doofus.

He began typing out a response. The thought of lying flitted through his mind, the excuse of being “out of it” wasn’t exactly the best reason. He thought for a second but he couldn’t even think of an adequate lie. Wow. Even Deceit had clocked out. Thomas probably should have tried to summon him, now that he thought about it. A little past time, but, oh well.

Alright, the truth. How the heck was he supposed to explain that he couldn’t think? Thomas pushed himself off the floor on his elbows, but winced as the weight seemed to leave his head almost immediately. He kept a hand on the couch as he sat up on his knees, one hand running through his hair and then resting on the back of his neck.

How long had he been sitting upside down again? Goodness gracious. Part of him wanted to be worried about the repercussions of not having a coherent thought process, but the other was kinda singing Disney songs on repeat.

In actuality, the most coherent thoughts he had held all day was the nonstop playlist of Disney songs that seemed to run through his head.

At least that meant Roman was still kicking? That’s what that meant, right?

Oh, yeah, the text. Thomas pushed himself up onto the couch, ignoring how both of his legs seemed to be asleep, buzzing with the prickly pain of pinched nerves and a lack of blood. Lack of blood. All the blood was in his head. Heheheh.

Gosh, he should sleep soon, he was getting light headed. Had he had any water today, actually? The thought of water made his throat run dry — no, no he hadn’t.

Focus, Sanders. He bit his tongue and typed out a response. Using both thumbs, because for some reason, his single-hand coordination was not working.

THOMAS —> Yeah. Sorry about that, I think I’m sick or something. Haven’t been able to hold a thought all day and my head is super light.

JOAN —> thats fair, do you have tea or some soup? :( if youre that sick do you wanna push the script deadline a day or two?

What did Thomas do to deserve Joan, they were always such a beacon of sunlight. He smiled to himself and responded as fast as he could while typing like a technologically illiterate fool, one letter per minute.

THOMAS —> That would be awesome. I’ve got tea, too. Think I’m gonna go to sleep soon though

THOMAS —> Could we push one day? And if you’re still not doing anything on Sunday, we could reschedule

JOAN —> okay, I’ll let the team know. you get some sleep!!

JOAN —> I’m down for prime coffee shop o’clock on Sunday. 9 am at brewed awakening?

JOAN —> if you need some soupy soup let me know

Then they sent a cat gif with hearts from Giphy. What an angel.

Thomas exhaled and leaned back on the couch. He put his phone flat on his forehead, then crossed his arms. That was the best news to come out of today, honestly. One day was better than no days. And if he and Joan could mix up some good ideas on Sunday, then all the better.

Hopefully that’d give the Sides enough time to figure out what the flip was happening in there.

taglists!

chivalry taglist: @starlightvirgil @forrestwyrm @daflangstlairde @marshmallow-the-panda @askthesnake @k9cat @patromlogil @theobsessor1 @ninja-wizard101 @fandomsofrandom

general taglist: @jemthebookworm @okay-finne

#chivalry au #thomas #thomas sanders #sanders sides #fic #my fic #roman #roman saners #ts roman #ts fanfic #pour one out for 1 braincell thomathy #hes been having a rough time #i like how as soon as remus was introduced ive begun sliding him in at every possibility #like im wow

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cromulentbookreview · 6 years

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Weaponized Jaws

Or: Seafire by Natalie C. Parker!

Action on the seas featuring badass female protagonists? Yeah, I’m definitely going to read that. Very little needed in the way of convincing me to read this book.

Seafire had been advertised before as Fury Road meets Wonder Woman meets the ocean, which makes sense. Though with much less Wonder Woman and way more of Kevin Costner's Waterworld.

Alright, children, gather around while I explain to you what Waterworld was.

Yeah, Waterworld. Not a video game, it was a movie starring Kevin Costner, the world’s only American-accented Robin Hood (hey, I like that movie, Alan Rickman was a treasure and I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise). Waterworld came out in 1995 and was massive flop, now a bit of a cult-classic. I remember 1995, somewhat vaguely. God I’m an Old now, aren’t I?

I’ll never be as cool as Steve Buscemi, though.

For those of you who enjoy both Fury Road and Waterworld, then you’ll definitely like Seafire. I love anything that takes place on the ocean - a side effect of my strange Dudes on Boats fixation that I’ve mentioned previously (my apologies to For a Muse of Fire, . Sea stories are kind of my thing. So is post-apocalyptic YA fiction. So this book ticked all the “I need entertainment and want to forget the news exists right now” boxes and worked out perfectly.

Caledonia Styx lives in Crapsack Waterworld, a post-apocalyptic flooded version of our world (referenced occasionally as the “old world”, flooded/destroyed as a result of some unknown calamity). Caledonia has the misfortune to live in an area controlled by Aric Athair, a vicious warlord and sir-not-appearing-in-this-book (since Seafire is the first in a planned trilogy, I’m sure we’ll meet him eventually). Anyway, Athair controls his war boys, called Bullets, by drugging them with something called Silt, made from some sort of weird hybrid poppy-flower-thing. Life in Athair’s territory sucks, so Caledonia’s mom, Rhona, and a bunch of other families have gotten together on the Styx family’s ship, the Ghost, to break through Athair’s blockade and head off to freedom elsewhere.

Unfortunately, the night the Ghost intends to escape, Caledonia and her best friend Pisces (they’re really big on the names from Greco Roman mythology in crapsack Waterworld) are sent ashore to gather some last minute supplies. Caledonia comes across a bullet called Lir, who asks for her help. It’s all bullshit, though - the second Caledonia gives away the location of the Ghost, Lir and his fellow bullets attack, slaughtering Caledonia and Pisces’s families and sinking the Ghost.

Pisces didn’t witness Lir’s treachery, though, and Caledonia, feeling responsible for the deaths of all those onboard the Ghost, keeps that bit where she gave away the position of the ship to herself. That makes sense, considering how guilty it feels, but later, as Caledonia refers to Pisces as her “sister”, the fact that she kept this bit of intel under wraps does become a tad annoying. Especially when Caledonia refuses, multiple times, to clarify why it is she does’t trust Bullets. She’s just like “nope, can’t trust Bullets” instead of “no, that one time I trusted a Bullet, he slaughtered our families.”

Anyway!

Four years after the deaths of their families, Caledonia and Pisces have raised and repaired the Ghost, renaming it the Mors Navis.

(Language nerd sidebar: Mors Navis, by the way, is Latin for Death Ship. Thank you Google translate! No thanks to my 10+ years of German education. Why couldn’t I have picked a Latin language? Noo, I had to go with the Germanics. Mors Navis does sound way more menacing than Totenschiff. Eat it, B. Traven).

Over those four years, Caledonia, acting as captain, and Pisces, her first mate, have collected a crew composed entirely of girls and women, all of whom have no love for Aric Athair and his Bullet army. Caledonia and her crew basically go around the Bullet seas, making life hell for Athair’s people. During one such mission, Pisces is wounded and then captured, only to be rescued and returned to the Mors Navis by a Bullet who claims he wants to escape. Caledonia, who has literally zero reasons to trust Bullets, doesn’t trust him. Pisces points out, reasonably, that he saved her life when he could have left her to die. But Caledonia simply repeats her mantra of “no trusting Bullets” while refusing to elaborate.

Until the Bullet lets it slip that Donnally and Ares, Caledonia and Pisces’s brothers, respectively, survived the massacre on board the Ghost and were pressed into Athair’s drug-addled Bullet army. He knows what ship Donnally and Ares are on, and the route it takes to bring in conscripts (read: children stolen from their families, drugged, and forced into Athair’s army, refusal to comply met with extreme violence, in the usual fashion of a murderous tyrant).

Suddenly, Caledonia has reason to question her strict “don’t trust Bullets” policy. But it’s one of those Meek’s Cutoff situations: the Bullet could be a lying sack of shit and leading the Mors Navis into a trap. Or he could be telling the truth, leading Caledonia and Pisces to their long-lost brothers. What to do?

Well, it’d be a pretty short book if they just shot the Bullet, dumped his body in the ocean and moved on, wouldn’t it?

It took me a little longer to read Seafire than I intended - I’m a slow reader anyway, but while I was reading Seafire, I was also binging on Scott Lynch’s Gentleman Bastard series (which are fantastic by the way - highly recommend the audiobooks, Michael Page is an amazing audiobook narrator) so my focus may have been just a wee bit divided. My biggest complaint is now we have yet another seafaring heroine with red hair. How come all the seafaring heroines have to have red hair? Also, it’s funny you should bring up red hair, because in the world of the Gentleman Bastards, bad things happen to girls with red hair. Seriously, how come all the fiery heroine types have to have red hair? I mean, it’s not like I’m jealous or anything. I mean, it’s not like I should have been born with red hair, but no, it ended up a dull, boring blonde, and hair dye is expensive and smells terrible...

Uhm.

I mean.

Seriously, though, red hair is a rare thing - if Caledonia’s father had dark hair and her mother had red hair, the most likely outcome would be a bunch of kids with...dark hair. Though if her father did have a recessive red-hair gene, then it’s entirely possible for him to have produced red-headed children... So I guess it’s possible.

Not that I’m annoyed that my hair didn’t turn out red. Even though it should have, goddamn it! I know those recessive genes are in there somewhere!

Stupid lousy blonde hair grumble grumble grumble...

Ok, back to Seafire - it is definitely a highly enjoyable book, lots of nonstop action, but not a lot of resolution because it’s the first in an intended series. I highly recommend breezing through the book in one go, rather than endlessly picking it up and then putting it down in order to find out whether or not Locke and Jean finally kiss (they don’t).

But yes, jealousy over fictional characters’ red hair aside, the only major complaint I have about Seafire rests with a single line. The thing about reading ARCs, which I think I’ve mentioned before but, again, nobody reads these, so I might as well: ARCs are not finished copies. The final copy of Seafire might not even feature this line, so it seems silly to complain about it, but complaining is fun so I’ll do it anyway.

So the secondary-boss villain, Lir, Caledonia’s sworn enemy as he killed her whole goddamn family, is described as having a “long face with a jaw that looked sharp enough to be a weapon of its own.”

From that line onward I found I was unable to focus on anything except how a man’s jaw could be sharp enough to constitute a weapon. It’s a question that’s been driving me to distraction for weeks now. Is Lir’s jawline sharp enough that it comes to a point, like a knife? What would that look like on a three-dimensional human person? How would one wield their weaponized jaws? Like a battering ram? Or would you just like, wave your head around like a sword? Does this mean his chin comes to a point, too? That one line of the galley proof of Seafire has caused me more consternation than anything else in the book - and this is a book that features lots of violence. Lots and lots of it. And here I am contemplating a man with a weaponized jawbone.

I mean, of the whole book it’s one line and it doesn’t even matter but...but...gah, I can’t help but picture a guy with knives for a jaw.

RECOMMENDED FOR: Fans of badass female protagonists kicking ass on the high seas, fans of YA lit who also happen to be fans of Kevin Costner’s Waterworld.

NOT RECOMMENDED FOR: Anyone who takes physical descriptions of fictional far too literally.

RELEASE DATE: August 28, 2018

RATING: 4/5

ANTICIPATION LEVEL FOR SEQUEL: Lhotse

OBLIGATORY STYX REFERENCE:

#seafire #natalie c parker #ya fiction #ya action/adventure #young adult fiction #review #badass female characters #sea stories #post apocalyptic #caledonia styx #mors navis #seafire trilogy

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angrygoatgirl · 6 years

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have you heard about that eating disorder diabetics get when they purposefully don't get insulin so they can lose weight? I'm trying so hard not to start it, but it's like an urge inside me. I'm not "fat" but I would say I'm a little chubby. I really want to lose about 15 pounds before college, but every time I start to exercise and eat right I gain weight since my blood sugar is low all the time no matter how many adjustments I make. Do you have any words to offer me?

This is a topic I have often thought of writing about, but never had the courage to post. Anonymous, I’m doing this for you, please listen:I know exactly what you are talking about and exactly how you feel, because I’ve done it, it almost killed me, and even though I nearly died from it, I’m sometimes still tempted. It’s called diabulimia (if you don’t already know) and while not yet officially recognized as an eating disorder, it is finally gaining the attention of the medical community and even the media; the BBC did a brief documentary on it recently, which I haven’t yet seen. Diabulimia falls under the bulimia umbrella because restriction of insulin is used as a form of purging; one doesn’t have to induce vomiting to have bulimia, as some people think – people may have exercise bulimia (overexercising as a form of purging), use laxatives, or other purging behaviors. For us type 1s, insulin restriction is a unique option. The first and most important thing to know is that you are not alone. You are not alone. And that is worth more than you may realize. In a survey conducted by Joslin Diabetes Research Center, one third of type 1 women admitted to having manipulated their insulin in an attempt to lose weight. Yes, you read that right: one third. And that is self-reporting, which means it’s probably lower than the real number. The statistics on the incidence of eating disorders in both men and women with diabetes have not yet been nailed down, but the evidence does show that people with diabetes also are much more likely to have eating disorders than the general population.

To understand one of the possibilities why this is the case, here is a quotation from Ulla Kärkkäinen, a Finnish research nutritionist, defining disordered eating:

“Eating is disordered when a person arbitrarily decides when they are hungry or full, regardless of how they are feeling; weighs themselves constantly; or drinks non-caloric drinks to keep from feeling hungry. Eating can also be considered disordered if a person meticulously plans each meal long into the future, counts calories and weighs foods, follows an excessively strict diet or cuts certain foods from their diet…”That is the treatment for type 1 diabetes. Whether or not we eat is dictated by a number on a meter, not by how we feel. Meals are planned and food is measured and weighed so that we can dose properly. What and when we eat is almost always at the forefront of our minds, literally so we won’t die. Our bodies are constantly being measured to see whether results are satisfactory. Add to that societal misconceptions about diabetes, the tendency of insulin to make some people gain weight, the recently discovered direct effect of insulin on dopamine levels, and the multitudinous other factors that can make weight management harder for diabetics, and you’ve got a perfect storm. So I’ll say it again: you are not alone.The first time I experienced diabulimia I was fourteen. I didn’t have a word for what I was doing, because the word hadn’t been invented yet. I just knew that before I was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes, I was losing weight and feeling good about my body, and after I was diagnosed and started taking insulin, I gained weight and felt ugly and fat. It was the mid 90s and heroin chic was in, the pressure to be super thin was already overwhelming for any girl, but added to that was the pressure not to conform to diabetic stereotypes: I didn’t want the ignorant kids who thought I got diabetes from eating too many sweets to be validated. I knew rationally that my chubbiness didn’t make them right, but reason couldn’t change how I felt. I was too afraid to restrict my insulin for more than a few days, though…or maybe I was too strong and had not yet been worn down enough? I don’t know. It wasn’t until my twenties that I really went for it. Like you, I wasn’t fat. I was athletic with maybe 10 or 15 pounds of chub that I would have liked to have shifted. My family life was difficult. I was broke and on my own. I had no insurance and was already rationing insulin to try and make it last. I didn’t know at the time that burnout is common for diabetics, but I was suffering my first burnout. I was completely worn down by life and by diabetes, and I just wanted to be able to control one thing. Just one. So I started manipulating insulin. I took control by refusing to control my diabetes.And, oh how I rationalized it! I would take my long-acting and skip the fast-acting, I was still taking some insulin, that was surely better than none, right? I was riding 300s and 400s, but it wasn’t 500s or 600s, so it couldn’t be that bad, right? I’d had perfect A1Cs ever since my diagnosis – that was over a decade! What could a few weeks of high sugars really do? Other people were out of control of their diabetes all the time, and they were still okay. There were type 2s walking around with high blood sugars for years not even knowing! And when it started to work and the weight just fell off, it was easier and easier to rationalize. “Just five more pounds,” I’d say. “Just ten more pounds and I’ll stop.”Of course, one of the side-effects of high blood sugar is extreme hunger, so my eating habits became harder and harder to control. I craved carbs like never before. A whole pizza, an entire box of cereal, two dozen Oreos couldn’t satiate me: and the more I ate, the thinner I got. I never binge ate before the diabulimia, but my body was starving, and so bingeing became a thing for me…especially since it just made me lose more weight. I hadn’t gained control, I’d lost it. Completely.One morning at 5am, after three months of rationing insulin and rationalizing my diabulimia, after a night of nonstop vomiting…I realized I was dying. I was so sick, I lost seven more pounds THAT DAY. I could barely breathe and my heart felt like it was going to explode, trying to pump the sludge that was my acid blood through my veins. I asked my roommate to drive me to the Emergency Room, but before I left, I stepped on the scale and felt really good about how much weight I’d lost. I’d gone from someone whose chronic illness necessitated disordered eating to someone with a full blown eating disorder. And the eating disorder had taken me over.I spent the next 3 days in the ICU wearing an oxygen mask, catheterized, a massive hematoma on my arm from the excruciating arterial blood draws, searing potassium being delivered via IV to the other arm. Five IVs in all. They told me if I’d waited just a few more hours I’d have died. I’m not telling you this in an attempt to “scare you straight”, though. You know the risks as well as I did. Sometimes knowing the risks and even having lived them isnt’ enough. Eating disorder wouldn’t be a mental illness if it was rational. What you may not know is just how quickly and easily and how TOTALLY it takes you over.So I’m going to tell you the one thing that keeps me from going back to diabulimia when I am really struggling: diabulimia doesn’t really work. The minute you start taking insulin again, the weight comes back with a vengeance. It is a fleeting fix – the high blood sugar might as well be the high of heroin or meth: you feel better in the moment, but when you come down off that high it is hell, and everything that pushed you to try it the first time has just been made worse.I’ve been struggling with eating disorders ever since, though I’ve not resorted to diabulimia again. Sometimes, like I said, I feel so down that the only thing keeping me from it is knowing its effects are temporary. I even checked myself into one of the most renowned eating disorder treatment centers in the country…sadly, there is little known about treating eating disorder in type 1 diabetics, and the traditional treatments for eating disorders are in direct contradiction to the treatment of diabetes. In the end, their attempts to help me only made me worse. With hard work and help from a sympathetic endocrinologist and diabetes educator, though, I’ve been recovering. I’ve even gone a few years at a time with the eating disorder tamed. I still have relapses, though. While I can never know for sure, I think that if I had never tried diabulimia, I would never have developed any full blown eating disorders.You asked if I had any words for you and it saddens me that I have so many, and that so few of them are good. I don’t think it is hopeless, though: I have lost weight in a healthy way with diabetes, and without my eating disorder taking control. It was harder for me than for people without diabetes, but it can be done. I’ve had periods where the eating disorder was barely even there. I learned that weight really wasn’t even the real problem, and learned that there were other things to focus on for my mental and physical health. And even though my treatment experience was mostly negative, I took a few really positive things from it: the realization that my eating disorder didn’t have to define me, the realization that I wasn’t alone, and that it was okay to ask for help. You see, just as the stereotypes about diabetes are mostly wrong, so are the stereotypes about eating disorders. Eating disorder is seen as the ailment of the young, white, middle-class, anorexic chick. But the truth is, there was every kind of woman in that treatment center: women from age 14 to 64, of every ethnicity and religion, rich and poor, rail-thin to morbidly obese. And there were so many women there whom, had I not known they were struggling with eating disorders, I would have thought totally had their shit together, were confident, were admirable. Knowing that such admirable women were facing the same struggle as me made me hate myself less. You are not alone. Your weight doesn’t define you, and it certainly isn’t worth developing an eating disorder and potentially losing your life. If you need more help, ask for it, but remember that you have to balance your mental health with your diabetes, and don’t let anyone tell you one is more important than the other. They are both necessary.And that is it. There is no easy solution to this problem, there is not a moral or neat ending to this story, there isn’t a tidy little bow to tie this shit up with. I just hope that you will read my experience and spare yourself going through it, because it’s not worth it.

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airbnbfestivals · 5 years

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How should this be reviewed...

Okay... I had a guest, S. What do you think is a fair rating and what would you, as a Host, want to know if the review?S. is a male, low 60's, 1st time Airbnber who booked 3 nights. He started off by replying to in-app messages (around 930PM) but wouldn't answer anticipated arrival via app or text. I called him, and long story short, over the hour, I'd give him directions multiple times, almost beg him to please just use GPS then follow my last directions, drive out to find him to learn he's 15 minutes away... and he got there just before 12AM. He proceeded to spend the next 3 days following me around and being inconsiderate of my House Rules and basic space-sharing decency. I make breakfast, so that is my time I designate to socialise with guests. I did that, but S. wanted to follow me all day. (He left the house 1 time in 3 days to drive 8 blocks away and get local pizza I recommended.) I'm disabled and live at the house, so when someone is literally going floor to floor, calling my name, asking me to do things for him, knocking on my bedroom door... I cannot escape and he made me really uncomfortable. I was turning over 2 other bedrooms I rent, and doing a deep cleaning in those, and he took it upon himself to hover in the doorways and watch and talk at me. I tried to use that as Airbnb educational time, reminding him some typical rules, norms, and reiterating some of my most important House Rules because he nonchalantly refused to read them in the app when asked. He did other things that if one or two, would he normal, but he was like a nonstop attention-seeking act. One example is he spilled chia seeds outside. In the gravel driveway. I genuinely did not care - they're biodegradable and I didn't want to keep dropping what I was doing whenever this guy has a thought. So, he asks for a shovel, which I go to the shed and get, yada yada, and I proceed to compost a little pile of chia seeds because this guy wanted to make an afternoon of it and it was unnecessary. Later, when telling me how I "look good today, much better than last night!" he included some commentary I think might make him an unwelcome guest to many. He asked why I don't eat much, and I said "I have a stomach condition, so I can't," to which he replied "Oh, I just thought you were anorexic. You look anorexic, but I'm sure you know that."That night, Night #2, S. decided to Netflix binge Dexter in the living room, after getting pizza and having a loud phone call in the living room complaining to his partner that "the little gal at the house suggested it, but I just don't like it." Italian, family-owned bakery that's been open over 100 years... and he gorged on the pizza, but... k. I feel like everything he was doing was at minimum, just really inconsiderate and probably annoying me intentionally. This guy would be a terrible roommate because he only cares about his own peace and comfort. Sharing a space, to him, meant owning it, not sharing a space.S. proceeds to spread out, turn the TV up, and violate my stated, reiterated, official, blah-blah quiet hours after about 5 hours of loud Dexter. I posted in here asking for advice while this was happening. 10PM-5AM is quiet time in the house. I've never had to enforce this because most people are reasonable. When I finally did tell him, he proceeded to maintain the TV volume and would be done when the episode was over. He kept the TV on til after 1AM, then went downstairs, took his 2nd long shower of the day, and had another loud conversation with gf that could be heard through out house til 315AM.In the morning, I wake up around 430AM... I decided there is no way I am making AMD eating breakfast with this guy, after that stunt. I'm literally holed up in my room avoiding him from about 830-1030AM. I can hear him pawing at dishes in the dining room and pacing back between dining and living room outside my bedroom. I bailed when I had an appointment. He asked me about "if he missed breakfast?" and maybe he could have it for lunch heated up if he did. I said, "S., I didn't get sleep last night because you decided to ignore me when I told you to turn the TV off. No, I didn't go out and make you breakfast today when you kept me awake all night."S.: "Girlie, if you think the TV was loud, we're going to have problems!" (He wasn't saying that aggressively or anything.) Me: "It really doesn't matter because either way, my rule is quiet after 10PM. You can find another spot to stay if you don't want to do that."Later that day, I was leaving with a friend who had come in to get me, and S. took it upon himself to argue my House Rules some more, seemingly to keep me from leaving because I was trying to. "I mean I didn't think the TV was loud. So, after 10, I turn it down?" Me: "You turn it off. I told you that before I went to bed, and after. It's different if you're home alone, S., you knew I was trying to sleep and disregarded it. I'm heading out, have a good night." S., "So, if you get another guest, do I have to share the TV? Are they going to est with us?" ... I let him know that I had breakfast for him in the fridge he could heat up in the morning before he checks out, and I left.In the morning, I heard him pawing around in the dining room again, so I imagine he didn't want to have food if I wasn't planning to eat with him or serve it. He did check out on time and left the rental areas pretty clean. I'm torn on that as a 3 or 4 for cleanliness because he did other things like wear shoes in the house where asked not to and provided ample appropriate footwear places... so clean bathroom but more carpet vacuuming. And probably a 3 because I found the pizza box outside with pizza in it by where he had parked. Not a trash can, he probably drove off with it on his roof. Ugh. Communication was excessive, often passive-aggressive. He expected me to do everything for him and didn't understand he rented a room, not a person.This is where I'm am, currently.Communication: 1 Cleanliness: 3 Observance of House Rules: 2-3Thoughts on Mr. "Thought You Were Anorexic / Obnoxious Clingy TV Binger Guest" review?I've never wanted to leave such a low rating for a guest I didn't actually think would burn down the house. How bad was S.? Get $20 off your first AirBnB stay.

#How should this be reviewed...#vacation #family #place to stay #airbnb #hotel #holiday #gratitude

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fenixchick · 7 years

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why do i drink so fucking much?

a detailed, sober, late-night exploration. probably intensely boring to anyone who doesn’t know me personally, and probably highly problematic for anyone who does. fair warning: i don’t care. i started this nonsense to keep an eye on my friends and to have a little place to vent, and i kept it to see cute cat vines and fury road gifs, and at this point, it’s the closest thing i’ve got to a diary. it would DELIGHT me if most of you unfollowed me, so yeah, i don’t care.

here goes.

why DO i drink so fucking much?

well, ok, i’ve actually put some serious thought into this, not just tonight but for a while now. and i’ve got some pretty solid ideas.

a brief history of my boozery:

i often say that i started drinking at thirteen, and that’s fair, i think, because while i’d certainly had alcohol before then, it was the occasional can of beer or half-glass of wine or, once, soco and sprite at a neighbor’s house. when i was thirteen, i got DRUNK for the first time. i drank nonstop for hours at a super trashy hotel birthday party. i tried to go swimming; it was hilaribad. i got wasted, and i fucking loved it. i drank occasionally in high school, with my sister sometimes and with my friends (usually in math class; oh, the irony) sometimes.

at seventeen, i visited said sister at college and got really drunk again. ended up naked on some (also naked) guy’s couch, looking at his gun. literally, not figuratively. lost my favorite panties that night, which in retrospect is real creepy.

and then i went to college, and began to party every weekend. but only on weekends, and only if i didn’t have a race in the morning, so.... every saturday and occasional fridays. classic collegiate binge-drinking; i was that kid who invented new drinking games because the old ones weren’t fast enough.

2007! i graduated (somehow)! i got married (unfortunately)! and wasband wasn’t a big drinker. i was in excellent health and was so heavily affected by his smoking that i honestly couldn’t justify drinking, so i mostly didn’t. and when i did, we were out in public and it almost always led to a fight. more often than not, these fights began the moment we walked back in the door, whereupon he would lay into me about flirting too much with.... someone, anyone at all. or not listening to him. or emasculating him. or something.

so - i associate drinking both with great times, and with terrible ones. i’ve been on top of the world drunk, and i’ve been crying in a ditch drunk. i’ve been passionately in love drunk, and i’ve been sexually assaulted drunk. i’ve been everybody’s best friend drunk, and i’ve been every kind of abused drunk.

on balance, it looks like this: many, many, many of the best moments of my life have happened while (and partly because) i was drinking; however, enough of the WORST moments of my life have happened while (and usually because) i was drinking that i’m desperately trying to control how much i drink. also when and where and what and with whom.

this is no small task.

i joke sometimes that i’m a high-functioning alcoholic, or that “i’m not an alcoholic, i’m a drunk!” no one who loves me laughs at those jokes.

the truth is, i’ve spent the last 16 months or so drinking way too much. before that, i was stone sober for about three months, longest i’ve gone in many, many years. and before that, i was a steadily declining drunken disaster for about a year and a half; ever since the beginning of my divorce.

some of that is absolutely due to living with an even bigger alcoholic who constantly encouraged my drinking. look: he can deny it all he wants, but on more than a couple of occasions, we searched the house for enough coins to buy three-dollar wine, because we were too poor for food and goddammit, we needed to get drunk.

and some of that is due to breaking up with said alcoholic, and not really having a lot of healthy coping mechanisms for my pain and sorrow and loss.

(side note for anyone still reading: yeah, i said pain and sorrow and loss. i love that asshole. he saved my life a bunch of ways, and he’s a damn good soul under all that bullshit. we were together for three and a half years (and friends for a couple of years before that) and i loved him with all my heart. and yes, we were terrible to each other. and yes, breaking up was the right thing to do about a dozen fucking times before i managed it. it still broke every strand of my heart. it still hurts to this fucking day. i do miss him, sometimes, and more importantly, i miss the future i thought we were going to have. i wore his ring for a reason; i had every intention of marrying that man and making babies with him and spending my life on the wild adventure that was jimmy, and losing that is like viciously field-amputating a limb i’ve spent years relying on. and that pain is gonna come up again here in a minute, so i need you to understand - there’s a lot of me that’s still grieving the death and horrific necrosis of that relationship).

ahem.

none of that, ultimately, is WHY i drink so goddamn much. those are.... factors. vectors, to use the modern term. but they aren’t the fundamental reasons, of which i currently believe there are two.

first.

i know you all know this, but i’ve been abused. (i hate saying i’m a victim of abuse, because that makes me sound more innocent than i am or was, but i also kind of hate saying i’m a survivor, because that makes it sound like a thing that happened and is now over, a thing i conquered. i have not.) mentally, emotionally, spiritually, sexually, physically, you name it. you probably can’t name it. gods, i hope you have no reason to be able to name it. but yeah, i’ve been abused.

and the longest, deepest, most profoundly affecting abuse is this: people have been telling me, for twenty years, the worst possible things about me. and for some reason, i’ve believed them for twenty goddamn years. like this: i can’t remember the first time i was called a slut, but i was probably eleven at the time. i’ve been told i’m ugly, disgusting, stupid, useless, gross... lazy, sloppy, dirty, nasty, prudish, desperate, pathetic... mean, rude, cold,aggressive, heartless, awful... worthless.... for twenty fucking years. and often by people i dearly love, including my family, all of my significant others for the past ten years, a lot of the people i used to work with, and some of my former best friends.

i’ve said all this before. i’ll probably keep saying it, over and over and over again like talking about it is the only way i know to purge it from my mind. because you see, here’s the problem:

drinking lets me be all of those things.

think about it. an example: one of wasband’s frequent tricks was gaslighting me; convincing me that i didn’t perceive, or more often, remember, something correctly. he spent six years telling me my memory was shit, and “proving” it to me over and over again, and now that belief is deeply ingrained in me. i freeze whenever someone asks me a question that’s phrased like they’re quizzing me. if you tell me i’m wrong about something, no matter how sure i was a moment ago, i’m going to instantly second-guess myself. i get inordinately excited when i do remember something correctly. and when i’m drunk, no one expects me to remember things. yeah, i get blackout drunk and lose chunks of memory (which, whoooo, is that terrifying and boy do i wish my friends would stop acting like it’s ok), but i mean even a few drinks and it’s suddenly forgivable that i can’t think of the name of that movie, or that i mix up the details of a conversation. more relevantly, when i’m drunk, i don’t necessarily feel ashamed of my memory.

or anything else. when i’m drinking, i don’t care that my room (or house or tent or wherever i’m living) is a disastrous mess. i can be a slob like i’ve been told all my life i am and who cares? when i’m drunk, i’m ugly, and while i certainly do care about that, i can’t do anything about it and i can just sort of revel in it. i can be defiantly ugly, aggressively so, and no one can stop me. speaking of aggressive - alcohol is an excuse for me to be violent. yeah, that’s horrific, i know, just... look, if you’ve read this far (bless your heart), just stick with me, because i’m going somewhere with that idea.

i’ve been violent whilst drunk. i’ve done things that, had i been a dude-type person, would have gotten me arrested. i put a guitar through a wall. i stabbed a sword into the living room floor. i’ve been in physical grabby-shaky fights. and those are just the bits i actually remember. i’m told i’ve thrown punches, i’m told i’m a biter. i’ve seen the teeth marks, so that one i believe. i’m told i hit jimmy with a baseball bat once.... and this i’m not sure is true, but that’s a whole other story.

and i am, in my own mind, “allowed” to be violent when i’m drunk. it’s understandable and almost excusable. literally no one holds it against me, not even jimmy (except when he’s on his own drunken rampage). and that’s really, really fucked up. but the thing is, i need to be violent sometimes.

and that brings me to:

second.

i am very, very often not “allowed” to feel or (gods forbid) express my feelings. and when i’m drunk, i can... even if they come out as blatant lies sometimes. i’m stuck in this horrible catch-22 situation; i need the people in my life to stay close to me, and i do mean literally need, as in i will die without them, and at the same time, i desperately need the space to safely experience and express my emotions.... and the closeness of the people around me does not allow that.

i’ve been a peacemaker my whole life. my therapist says i have a completely supernatural, extraordinary amount of compassion, way more than most people (which baffles me, but again, that’s a post for another day), and for as long as i can remember, i have been the mediator in every dispute around me. i have been the person providing comfort, compassion, logic, solutions, and care to everyone who gets close to me for my whole thinking life, and that’s awesome. i’m so glad i have that in me, and that i’m able to do that for people i love.

at the same time, i need that skill. i have to keep people close to me, invested in me. i need to be important in other people’s lives. it is, ultimately, the thing that has kept me from suicide all these years - knowing other people need me. and so i’ve designed my life so that enough different people need me that even when catastrophic shit goes down, i’ve got others in my mind that i can say, i can’t die, that would be bad for so-and-so. and it keeps me going.

this means that a lot of people with mental illnesses, situational hardships, emotional problems, and just general struggles come to me for help. and that’s great! that’s a thing i want and actively cultivate in my life!

it’s also a huge problem!

i have a super hard time setting healthy boundaries with these people because their need is so great and my capacity is pretty great too BUT ALSO because i have almost no sense of self-worth (see section the first) and therefore very little instinct for self-preservation. i know where those boundaries ought to be (or at least, i think i do and my therapist confirms that i’m right) but like, how do you respond to a kid saying she wants to kill herself with “ok, but i need to sleep before work in the morning?” and how do you respond to someone cutting you off because they “needed to talk” and you were at work and couldn’t see their message? i’ve had friends threaten suicide because my phone was out of signal range for a few hours. i’ve got a friend with serious ptsd who will alternately beg me to quit drinking and invite me over for whiskey. i had a friend flat out tell me he wasn’t seeking treatment for cancer because i wouldn’t date him. (he recanted later and said he hadn’t meant it; the damage, however, absolutely happened).

look: when i broke up with jimmy, which was literally harder than throwing out wasband, i cried for days. my girls were there for me as much as they could be, offering hugs and hangouts and a photoshoot and sympathy and advice and support. and at the same time, i was fielding all of jimmy’s emotions (because he never learned how and doesn’t have anyone to talk to). i still am. at the same time, i was trying to help my best friend with his severe depression and horrible situation, from 1200 miles away. at the same time, i had to continue working on my life’s art, and then handle auditions and the fucking debacle and subsequent emotional wreck that that turned into. at the same time, i was providing housing and support to two of my best friends, which isn’t objectively all that hard, but was more than a couple of straws on my back. at the same time, those aforementioned struggling friends still come to me every few days, and i’m still doing absolutely everything i can for them.

there is no space for my grief.

here is a thing you may or may not believe: during this exact time period four years ago, i was in the process of grieving the relationship i’d just lost with casey, while still seeing her every day at work and while having to be her only emotional support. you know how hard it is to be the person who has to comfort the person who just broke up with you? probably not; who the fuck does that? (hint: it’s me.) i was in the process of throwing wasband out, slowly but surely. (hey, statistics show that, on average, it takes about seven tries to get out of an abusive relationship. the fact that it only took two with wasband is impressive, and may be a contributing factor as to why it took so many with jimmy.) i was in the process of falling hard for jimmy, while working with him on the most emotionally challenging script i’d ever done up to that point. i was in the process of figuring out a new job; i was forced to quit teaching for casey’s sake, although honestly i’d long since decided it would be my last semester. i was in the process of deciding where to move, knowing i could not stay in salisbury without wasband. it was rough, and in it, i had no time to grieve, to heal, to feel my damn feelings.

except when i was drinking.

i cried in a lot of beer that semester.

when i drink, all of my emotions happen. i get happy; i get sad; i get angry. i get so, so, so angry. i get angry at myself, at my life, at my choices. i get angry at my friends, at my lovers, at my family. i get fucking furious with everyone who doesn’t let me be fucking furious when i ought to be and when i need to be, and that fury comes out as mean shit and violence. i’ve been told for decades that i’m stupid and mean and ugly and violent, and quite frankly, humans all need to be those things sometimes. but i’m not allowed to be those things sober, so i get real drunk and take my opportunity.

gods forbid i ever attempt to vent my anger sober; no one takes me seriously, which is infuriating. and fuck me for trying to be sad in public; i’m not allowed to be bothered by things, and everyone gets uncomfortable if i need help. i’m the one holding her friends through panic attacks; i’m not the one who gets held, even when i’m having them. the only way anyone will take care of me is if i’m drunk, and man, is that an appalling realization to have.

and see, even writing this out makes me nervous. i’m afraid i’m going to offend y’all, the two or three people who will bother reading this shit. this is why i never want to talk about it - i’m not allowed to feel these things, not allowed to express myself. people can hurt my feelings all day long (and believe me, they do!) and i’ll take it and respect their positions and try to understand and of course forgive, but fuck me for feeling anything out loud.

so i get real drunk, so that i can feel without being able to control myself.

now i know what you’e worrying about, best friend. you’re worried, as you have been all week, that the mean shit i apparently said while drunk is true, is really how i feel. and honestly, i can’t tell you. i blacked out. i don’t remember. and i don’t really trust what anyone says i said or did while i was blacked out. remember all that gaslighting? that’s a side effect.

but if you can’t trust what i’ve said sober for the last three years, then what the fuck is your half of our friendship built on? i know the difference between you talking and your depression talking, and i deserve the same understanding from you. and that’s my sober, firm opinion. so stop worrying. i love you.

anyway, i get drunk to force myself to feel things, and to force anyone unluckily close by to give me that feeling-space. i get drunk to sink into all the things my subconscious is trained to believe about myself, and to wallow in all the fucking pain that i have that i spend all of the rest of my time pretending isn’t there.

how do i fix that? ah, i’ve got some thoughts. but i sat down to write a half-hour’s quick synopsis and have ended up with ninety minutes of passion on the page, and now it’s three am and i do, in fact, have to work in the morning. so that’ll have to wait for another late night.

#personal drinking toolong;don'tread

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funnythingshere0-blog · 6 years

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Jimmy Kimmel's 35 Funniest Jokes From ABC's Upfront

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Jimmy Kimmel's 35 Funniest Jokes From ABC's Upfront

Jimmy Kimmel delivered a welcome respite from the nonstop network shilling, show promos and ratings spin during this year’s TV upfronts.

In keeping with tradition, the ABC late-night host took the stage at the Lincoln Center in New York on Tuesday afternoon to skewer his network. He spared no one during the 15-minute set, taking jabs at all the other broadcast nets, Roseanne and Shonda Rhimes’ departure for Netflix.

He kicked off the set on a more serious note, however, addressing the reason he was absent during the 2017 presentation. “On behalf of my family, I want to thank you for the outpouring of support and well-wishes for my son,” he said, noting that his son Billy, who had heart surgery during last year’s upfronts is now a year old. The Jimmy Kimmel Live! host then quipped, “You’ll be happy to know he’s doing much, much better than network television.”

Below, The Hollywood Reporter has compiled Kimmel’s best lines.

1. This year’s upfront is going to be a little different because this is our first ABC-Freeform presentation. I’ve been a big Freeform fan since, uh… 20 minutes ago when I learned what it was.

2. We have a new slogan this year at ABC: Forward Together. Hillary Clinton had a yard sale and she let us have that for almost nothing.

3. Somehow we have more people watching this upfront right now than most of our 10 o’clock shows.

4. I’m proud to say that unlike last year, we’re not in last place. I’m proud to say that honor belongs to Fox — I mean, New Fox. Now with jazz pods. What a week it’s been for you guys. NBC gave you jazz hands, Fox gave you jazz pods. Jazz pods sounds like something you’d use to wash leotards. But the reason Fox is calling them jazz pods is that they wanted to find a way [to offer] shorter commercial breaks and appropriate black culture at the same time.

5. Fox needs help. They canceled Lucifer and The Exorcist. They can’t even make a deal with the devil.

6. As you know, Disney, our company, is in the midst of negotiations to buy Fox. It seemed to be a done deal but then last week, Comcast did, like, the surprise ex-boyfriend who shows up on The Bachelorette right before she’s about to get engaged. Comcast shows up and weasels their way into our business. We got peacock-blocked is what happened. So now, it looks like there could be an epic bidding war. But mark my words, if there is a war, Bob Iger will prevail. He can just charge it to his Black Panther card.

7. How this will work if the sale goes through, nobody seems to know. All we know for sure is someone is buying Fox, the Murdochs are getting richer and everyone is redoing their kitchens with a motherfucking pasta faucet.

8. We have a lot riding on this merger. We can’t lose Fox and Shonda Rhimes in one year. As you know, Shonda has decided to part ways with ABC. She’s moving on and it’s a shame. Shonda is an amazing talent and person who changed the face of this network. Now that she’s leaving for Netflix, I can honestly say on behalf of everyone here at ABC who have worked with her for so long, we hope she rots in hell.

9. No, we’re very sad to see Shonda leave, but as the saying goes: When one door closes… you’re fucked.

10. So we’re saying goodbye to Shondaland and we’re going head-first into Roseanne-istan with no exit plan. Our bigly-ist hit of the year is Roseanne. Roseanne is the No. 1 show as you’ve heard repeatedly in total viewers and the demo. So everyone who says Hollywood is out of new ideas, we’re not; it’s just that one of our new ideas was to Google, “What were our old ideas?”

11. No one at ABC expected Roseanne to be a big hit. Although, to be honest, we don’t expect any of our shows to be hits. But Roseanne‘s success proves that the older and crazier you are, the more today’s audience likes you. And that’s why we’re so proud to announce our new series, “Gary Busey Proves 9/11 Never Happened.”

12. Our new strategy is resurrecting old crap, and with that said I have three words for you: “Who’s the Boss?” I mean, literally — who the hell is running this network?

13. We’re not the only ones doing our greatest hits. Will & Grace; Fuller House; Murphy Brown is back at CBS. That’s right, CBS knows what millennials want and they’ll be damned if they give it to them. Maybe I shouldn’t say this but I have to admit, I’m kind of excited about Murphy Brown. I think it’s refreshing, really, to see anything brown on CBS.

14. NBC privately has been talking about rebooting The Cosby Show. But for obvious reason, they’re not going to call it that. They’re calling it “The Bad Doctor.”

15. We’re also recycling shows that other networks throw away. Fox is reviving canceled ABC shows; ABC and NBC are reviving canceled Fox shows. This is what’s known in the industry as a failure orgy. You cancel a show and it doesn’t even mean anything anymore.

16. Sometimes we have high hopes for a show and they don’t pan out. For instance, America will not see a fourth season of Quantico, in the same way they also didn’t see the second and third seasons of Quantico.

17. We canceled Deception, a show about a magician who used magic tricks to help police solve crimes, which is a shame because it was such a good idea.

18. We even canceled Marvel’s Inhumans. ABC did something remarkable with that. Somehow we managed to have the only unsuccessful project with “Marvel” in the title — ever. It had never been done before.

19. But look, this year is going to be different. This year is going to be so great.… That was a joke.

20. We’ve got three new comedies and five new dramas. And I should warn you, some of the comedies aren’t that funny. But some of the dramas are hilarious.

21. We also have a new reality dating show called The Proposal. The idea of this show is contestants compete to marry someone they haven’t met. It’s like The Bachelor without The Bachelor. I haven’t seen this yet but it sounds to me like this isn’t a dating show so much as it’s a thinly veiled sex-trafficking operation. The Proposal is actually very similar to these upfronts because you guys are opening your hearts, or wallets, to a slate of shows you know literally nothing about. Will they be good? Will they be terrible? You really won’t find out until you’re already fucked.

22. Nathan Fillion is back with a new cop show called The Rookie, which is great news if you were worried your Aunt Joanne wouldn’t be horny enough this fall.

23. We’re also picking up a show called Whiskey Cavalier. It took a while but we finally came up with a title that’s worse than Cougar Town. Whiskey Cavalier is described as a high-octane hourlong action dramedy that follows the adventures of tough but tender FBI super-agent Will Chase, whose code name is “Whiskey Cavalier.” Should we cancel it now or should we wait until you leave the room?

24. NBC is touting an all-Chicago Wednesday — Chicago Med, Chicago Fire and Chicago PD — all in one Chicago night. Hey NBC, I have an idea for a show. It’s called Chica-go to another fucking city already. You ever heard of Denver? They have a fire department, too.

25. NBC also says they’re cutting back on commercials. Their plan is to add 10 percent fewer ads on primetime. They need that extra time so Law & Order: SVU can have one more cab driver per episode who says, “The victim was a nice lady.”

26. Fox is cutting their commercial time, too. I mean, Netflix cut their commercial time down to none and they’re doing great, I guess. But everybody goes crazy binging all these programs. I’ll tell you something — maybe I’m old-fashioned but I don’t like watching a show straight through with no commercials. I need a break every nine minutes so I can breathe and learn about Chobani yogurt.

27. More people are streaming content than ever before. According to a new report from Nielsen, adults aged 25 to 54 watch two hours and 28 minutes of streaming content per day. What they don’t mention is that at least an hour of that is porn.

28. Young people are abandoning traditional television in droves. They’re not just cutting the cord, they’re eating the placenta. We are definitely not down with OTT. We need to bring these millennials back to television. Millennials, by the way, are the people responsible for the smell of strawberry vape smoke in every Uber. Those are the people we need back.

29. Millennials have no idea how good they have it with all these choices. We didn’t have choices. Remember when we didn’t give a shit what was on TV? Frasier again? Fine. What am I going to do, read?

30. But what they didn’t have back then was the ability to target specific types of viewers. Now, more than ever, we have so many ways to reach your customers. You’re going to hear a lot about “blockchain” this week. And here’s what’s important about it: Nobody has any idea what it is. You don’t know, we definitely don’t know — but what we do know is that we’re going to charge you up the ass for it.

31. Our technology gets more advanced every year. We are on the verge of having data that is so specific, you will be able to blackmail viewers into using your products. Imagine how many cases of Budweiser your customer will buy to stop you from revealing that they actually watch Man With a Plan.

32. If anyone in this room has used the words “retargeting,” “grand purpose” or “vertical anything” today, please raise your hand, stand up and walk out into traffic.

33. We promise you this: At ABC, our programmatic ad-tech attribution models are retargeting SSP using AI and omnichannel blockchain algorithms to offer hyperlocal content amplification with an optimized CTR and ROI that will make you S-H-I-T your P-A-N-T-S.

34. I don’t know what I just said but it seems to have resonated. Let’s be honest, this is all nonsense. Our ratings are going down and our price is going up. Too bad, eat it. We’re four years from having our brains digitally infused to our Instagram accounts, OK?

35. So here’s what I think we should do. Just let these stupid shows wash over us, clap politely and then let’s just get blackout drunk together. Our president is a lunatic and we’re all going to die. And if we keep this up, with these buzzwords, you know what it’s going to say on our headstones? It’s not going to say “RIP” anymore, it’s going to say “KPI.” You want that? I know I don’t. Let’s not do this again next year.

Jimmy Kimmel

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consulting-celiac-in-the-tardis · 7 years

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15 Self Care Activities You Can Do in 15 Minutes or Less

New blog post! I get it: when life gets busy, setting aside time for self care can seem impossible. However, self care activities are perhaps the most important when your to-do list seems like a mile long.

As I start my third month of grad school, I can definitely relate. In fact, this past weekend felt like nothing but food prep, grading papers, lesson planning, squeezing in a few hours of socializing, blogging work and sleep. Hence, this list of 15 self care ideas that take 15 minutes or less!

Whether you're a college student, a first-year teacher, a badass full-time worker or the parent of three hyper kids, here are 15 fun ways to add 15 minutes of self care to your life this week!

1. Write - and send - a letter.

There's something endearing about handwritten letters. It takes more thought and effort than shooting off a text or Facebook message (though I'll never turn down a funny meme or random "thinking of you" text from my besties). If the person you're writing to values letters like I do, your reminder to smile might even end up pinned to a bulletin board in their room.

Plus, the act of writing a letter can be rewarding in itself. Research has linked expressive writing - including writing letters - to improved mood, reduced stress levels and an overall boost in wellbeing.

So why not pick up a pen, a piece of paper and give a loved one an old-fashioned surprise?

2. Unleash your inner yogi and stretch it out.

First of all: it doesn't matter if you've never done yoga or have no idea what kind of stretches you "should" be doing. The goal of "self care" activities like this is to, well, care for yourself. So let what feels good guide your stretching!

If you have fibromyalgia (or another muscle-related chronic illness) like me, taking mini stretch breaks is vital. Sometimes, I get so "into" my work that I don't realize several hours have past and my shoulders are hiked up to my ears. Being more aware of how my body is feeling can prevent a migraine or extreme body aches from sidelining me hours later.

If you want to follow a "proper" yoga routine for your 15 minutes of stretching, I highly recommend Fightmaster Yoga on YouTube. Otherwise, you do you!

3. Watch a cute cat (or goat...or any adorable animal) video.

Admit it: there's something insanely relaxing about watching baby goats in onesies practice jumping or seeing a kitten play peekaboo. You're also not the only one whose stress level drops after watching a cute animal video. Scientists have actually discovered that cute videos trigger a release of dopamine - AKA, one of our "happy hormones" - in viewers' brains.

Apparently, people's love of cute things has ties to evolution; basically, our brains are trying to ensure we properly care for our adorable infants. All that really matters, though, is that you now have a science-backed reason to crank up the cat videos during your Monday lunch hour!

Like this post? Then tweet me some love by clicking here: "Too busy for #selfcare? Then check out these 15 self care activities you can do in 15 mins or less! #health #selflove http://bit.ly/2y6j2vm"

4. Throw a (solo or friend-filled) dance party.

Do I really need to explain this one? Dancing is fun. Dancing to your favorite pick-me-up songs is even more fun. And dancing without worrying what anyone thinks of your super groovy dance moves is a blast!

The hit of adrenaline from your mini-burst of exercise doesn't hurt either!

5. Go for a walk in nature.

Can’t stop thinking about the mistake you made during your big presentation or the annoying co-worker who works at the desk across from yours? Then taking a walk outside is exactly the self-care tip you need.

Everyone has moments of brooding, or nonstop thinking on negative parts of your day or life. Research has found, though, that spending time walking outside in nature can decrease brooding and improve mental health. And even if you aren’t brooding, spending some quality time with your local park can’t hurt. So find a nature trail and get walkin’!

6. Prep a delicious dinner.

If you're a foodie like me, a delicious meal is a great way to show people that you care. Sometimes, though, we forget to show ourselves the same edible self love!

Even if you're short on time, you can lay the groundwork for a delicious meal later on. Cut up some veggies that you can roast while you work; put your choice of protein in a marinade to soak up flavor while you're away; throw a bunch of ingredients in the slow cooker (following recipes like these!); or even Google and bookmark a recipe that looks yummy and easy to make.

Remind yourself that you need fuel to kick life's booty...and that you're worthy of making fuel that actually tastes finger-lickin' good!

7. Look at your calendar and schedule at least one "just for fun" activity that week.

Once you get in the mindset of "work, work, work," it can be hard to remember to give yourself the social breaks you need. Prevent yourself from putting on "productivity blinders" by spending a few minutes adding at least one fun event into your weekly schedule.

Of course, we all have different definitions of "fun" - and as long as you're enjoying yourself and taking a break from work, anything is fair game! Have a spa; go for a walk with a friend; curl up with a good book in your favorite coffee shop; binge watch Netflix for a few hours in your PJ's. The choice of how to have fun is up to you!

And if an even more amazing social opportunity comes your way - like a girls' night out - you already have some time set aside in your schedule to join in.

Like this post? Then tweet me some love by clicking here: "Too busy for #selfcare? Then check out these 15 self care activities you can do in 15 mins or less! #health #selflove http://bit.ly/2y6j2vm"

9. Start and finish one (tiny) chore.

Raise your hand if you've ever felt like you have so much to do, you don't know where to start. Between blogging, teaching, taking classes and doing everything needed to stay alive, I can 100% relate. One self care tip I've started following regularly, though, is doing little chores any spare chance I get...and patting my back for a job well done.

For instance, let's say you need to finish a 10-page paper, write and publish a blog post and reply to five important emails. Which should you start with first? While it may feel the most rewarding to finish your paper or blog post, it'll probably take less time to shoot off a couple emails - and then you'll already have succeeded crossing one "to do" off your list!

8. Work it out (literally)!

You may already know that exercise is an easy way to boost overall health, with studies finding that exercise increases endorphins (aka, the “happy hormones”) and norepinephrine, a chemical that can improve your brain’s reaction to stress. Not to mention all the physical benefits exercise offers.

However, you may not realize that even 15 minutes of exercise can make a difference. Research shows that short (as little as ten minute!) bursts of intense exercise are just as effective as 45-minute workouts in improving heart health and other indicators of fitness. And trust me. If you do a 15 minute HIIT workout or even just a moderate weight lifting session, you still get that endorphin rush!

Some of my favorite short workouts are quick targeted workouts (like abs or cardio) on the free Nike+ Training App; a random combination of jumping jacks, jogging, push-ups or whatever other exercises pop in my head; or even a short 15-minute sprint on the treadmill or elliptical. Find what works for you and for your body, and stick with it.

10. Get lost in a book.

When you’re feeling stressed out, what’s a better escape than visiting another “world” through a good book? It turns out that there are way more benefits of reading than you might expect. Studies have found that reading for as little as 30 minutes a day is associated with a longer lifespan and a more extensive vocabulary. Reading even a chapter of a fiction novel has also been linked to increased empathy. Talk about self care that doubles as self development!

If you love reading but never have the time (trust me - as a grad student earning an MFA in writing, I can relate!), start scheduling 15 minute reading breaks into your week. You’ll be amazed at how much you look forward to putting down your laptop and picking up a book instead.

11. Eat something delicious.

“Comfort eating” has a slightly negative connotation nowadays, with it often associated with unhealthy binges on junk food or mindless snacking. While it’s unlikely that either of those two habits are healthy, I do think there are times when you just need a big, juicy burger or creamy bowl of ice cream.

Food is fuel - but it is also memories and quality time with friends and family and, yes, sometimes exactly the kind of comfort you need. So if your brutal week calls for a visit to a local bakery for a cookie the size of your head, eat and enjoy the dang cookie - and then keep kicking life’s booty!

Like this post? Then tweet me some love by clicking here: "Too busy for #selfcare? Then check out these 15 self care activities you can do in 15 mins or less! #health #selflove http://bit.ly/2y6j2vm"

12. Explore somewhere new.

You don't need hours - or even days - away from home to go on adventure somewhere new. Oftentimes, there are plenty of hidden gems to explore near your own front yard. Instead of swinging by Starbucks like usual, check out the cute local coffee shop a few blocks away. Take a different path around your favorite park. If you're a foodie like me, you might even want to spend your 15 minutes walking around a new-to-you grocery store. (Does anyone else love finding new grocery stores, or am I just weird?)

Who knows - you may find your new favorite local hangout!

13. Give yourself permission to do absolutely nothing.

I'll admit it: I’m slightly addicted to productivity. Even when I’m taking a break from work, I’m usually working out or working on a side project like baking or blogging. If you can relate, why not give yourself the gift of 15 minutes spent doing absolutely nothing?

Lie in bed, waste time scrolling through Instagram, watch the sunset, do some people watching. Those fifteen minutes of “nothing-ness” are yours to do with what you wish. Just don’t do anything productive!

14. Call home or a good friend - and be honest about how you're feeling.

When you're jumping from one obligation to the next, it's easy to forget to check in with the people you love most. So why not make calling home an official part of your weekly schedule? Researchers have reported that hearing a loved one's voice can actually trigger jumps in particular hormones and nerves. In fact, one study found that hearing a mother's (or father's) voice caused a jump in pleasure areas of children's brains.

Don't just talk about the weather either; really talk. Advice from an old friend about a problem you're struggling with or some reassuring words from mom may be exactly what you need.

15. Look back on your week and make a list of everything you’ve done, no matter how small.

It never hurts to remind yourself what a true badass you really are! Sometimes we can get so focused on the things we still need to get done or the mistakes we’ve made that we forget about everything we majorly #slayed that week. So take 15 minutes to review everything you’ve kicked booty at during the week - and don't forget to mention the small stuff, too. Research has found that, when people acknowledge their small successes, they not only boost their self confidence, but also have more motivation to work. This isn't bragging - it's setting yourself up for another killer week!

Like this post? Then tweet me some love by clicking here: "Too busy for #selfcare? Then check out these 15 self care activities you can do in 15 mins or less! #health #selflove http://bit.ly/2y6j2vm"

Regardless of which of these self care ideas you want to add to your weekly routine, one thing is certain: no matter how limited your free time, there's always time for a little self love.

And as I prepare for another crazy week of grad school, you can bet that several of these self care activities are landing on my to-do list! What's your favorite self care activity? Which of these would you want to try first? Tell me in the comments!

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