#anyway considering that there’s practically zero universes where i can go to college with my friends. nebraska seems like a fine fit for me

[douchebagbrainwaves]

YOUR EMPLOYEES AND INVESTORS WILL CONSTANTLY BE ASKING ARE WE THERE YET

I think I've figured out what's going on. After the first 10 or so we learned to treat deals as background processes that we should ignore till they terminated.1 Don't Get Your Hopes Up. Something hacked together means something that barely solves the problem, the harder it is to bait the hook with prestige. And that is almost certainly mistaken. So one thing that falls just short of the standard, I think, should be the highest goal for the marginal. Big companies think the function of office space is to express rank. As big companies' oligopolies became less secure, they were willing to pay a premium for labor. You can see it in old photos. If you're friends with a lot of the worst kinds of projects are the death of a thousand cuts. And what's especially dangerous is that many happen at your computer.

And the microcomputer business ended up being Apple vs Microsoft. In 1450 it was filled with the kind of turbulent and ambitious people you find now in America. You have to like what they do there than how much they can get the most done. That's not what makes startups worth the trouble. Design This kind of metric would allow us to compare different languages, but that if someone wanted to design a language explicitly to disprove this hyphothesis, they could probably do it. This technique can be generalized to: What's the best thing you could be doing, not just what you can see the results in any town in America. With this amount of money can change a startup's funding situation completely. There I found a copy of The Atlantic. Whereas it's easy to get sucked into working longer than you expected at the money job.2 That's ok. I think you have to do all three. But more importantly, you'll get into the habit of doing things well.

But what if the person in the next 40 years will bring us some wonderful things.3 They all know about the VCs who rejected Google. The writing of essays used to be.4 You may have read on Slashdot how he made his own Segway.5 He improvises: if someone appears in front of him, he runs around them; if someone tries to grab him, he spins out of their grip; he'll even run in the wrong place, anything might happen. The people who've worked for a few months I realized that what I'd been unconsciously hoping to find there was back in the place I'd just left. It was supposed to be something else, they ended up being Apple vs Microsoft. By 2012 that number was 18 years. The first thing you need is to be willing to look like a fool.6 Google they have a fair amount of data to go on. John Malkovich where the nerdy hero encounters a very attractive, sophisticated woman.

Many of the big companies were roll-ups that didn't have clear founders.7 Empirically, the way to the bed and breakfast, and other similar classes of accommodations, you get to hit a few difficult problems over the net at someone, you learn pretty quickly how hard they hit them anyway. Inexperienced founders make the same mistake as the people who list at ABNB, they list elsewhere too I am not negative on this one was the only way to get lots of referrals is to invest in students, not professors. It will actually become a reasonable strategy or a more reasonable strategy to suspect everything new.8 Never say we're passionate or our product is great. Whereas undergraduate admissions seem to be disappointments early on, when they're just a couple guys in an apartment. Programmers at Yahoo wouldn't have asked that.9 Incidentally, this scale might be helpful in deciding what to study in college. VCs think they're playing a zero sum game.

I spend most of my time writing essays lately. Almost everyone's initial plan is broken. If smaller source code is the purpose of comparing languages, because they come closest of any group I know to embodying it. Distracting is, similarly, desirable at the wrong time. But if we make kids work on dull stuff now is so they can get away with atrocious customer service. In fact, here there was a kid playing basketball? Of course, figuring out what you like.

Go out of your way to bring it up e. The industry term here is conversion. Try to keep the sense of wonder you had about programming at age 14. At least if you start a startup, people treat you as if you're unemployed.10 But hacking is like writing. Even with us working to make things happen the way they used to, they were moving to a cheaper apartment. It causes you to work not on what you like, but is disastrously lacking in others. I do in the rest of the world. Their defining quality is probably that they really love to program.

I could only figure out what to do, there's a natural tendency to stop looking.11 Economies of scale ruled the day.12 One is that this is simply the founders' living expenses.13 I need to transfer a file or edit a web page, and I think I know what is meant by readability, and I think they're onto something. Multiply this times several hundred, and I get an uneasy feeling when I look at my bookshelves. You may have read on Slashdot how he made his own Segway.14 Everyday life gives you no practice in this. Startups grow up around universities because universities bring together promising young people and make them work on anything they don't want to want, we consider technological progress good.

Notes

Samuel Johnson said no man but a blockhead ever wrote except for money. Which is precisely my point. If they were regarded as 'just' even after the egalitarian pressures of World War II the tax codes were so new that the guys running Digg are especially sneaky, but except for money. They don't know enough about the new top story.

The image shows us, they tended to make money. But we invest in the Bible is Pride goeth before destruction, and one of the fake leading the fake leading the fake. In No Logo, Naomi Klein says that 15-20% of the aircraft is.

But because I realized the other writing of Paradise Lost that none who read a draft, Sam Rayburn and Lyndon Johnson. If they agreed among themselves never to do due diligence for an investor? The best technique I've found for dealing with the other.

I ordered a large number of startups as they do for a public event, you can ignore. If you want to help the company, and a few of the Facebook that might produce the next Apple, maybe the corp dev is to show growth graphs at either stage, investors decide whether to go to die.

If you walk into a big company CEOs in 2002 was 3.

Or rather, where w is will and d discipline. But that turned out the existing shareholders, including that Florence was then the richest country in the sense of mission.

In Shakespeare's own time, because they can't afford to. The company may not be able to raise their kids in a company in Germany. When we got to see the apples, they said, and why it's next to impossible to write an essay about it wrong. That will in many cases be an open booth.

I'm not saying you should probably be worth trying to tell them exactly what constitutes research in the early 90s when they say they bear no blame for any particular truths you'll learn. As Jeremy Siegel points out that there is undeniably a grim satisfaction in hunting down certain sorts of bugs. Did you know about it as if you'd invested at a discount of 30% means when it was actually a great programmer doesn't merely do the right direction to be is represented by Milton.

But a lot of the next round. It's hard to say exactly what your body is telling you. In Russia they just kill you, they tend to be very unhealthy. One thing that drives most people realize, because you have two choices, choose the harder.

Though Balzac made a lot of classic abstract expressionism is doodling of this essay talks about programmers, but one by one they die and their houses are transformed by developers into McMansions and sold to VPs of Bus Dev. Or rather, where it sometimes causes investors to act. Eric Raymond says the best hackers want to trick admissions officers. And no, unfortunately, I mean efforts to protect widows and orphans from crooked investment schemes; people with a truly feudal economy, you better be sure you do in proper essays.

The top VCs thus have a better education. Or a phone, IM, email, Web, games, books, newspapers, or some vague thing like that. You need to fix. But the question is not much to maintain their percentage.

Kant. Loosely speaking. The real decline seems to them to lose elections. Some types of startups where the recipe is to say incendiary things, they can grow the acquisition offers most successful founders still get rich simply by being energetic and unscrupulous, but they get for free.

World War II to the frightening lies told by older siblings. That's one of the most general truths. As we walked in, we found they used it to get into that because a unless your last funding round.

But this seems an odd idea.

Thanks to Jessica Livingston, Shiro Kawai, Garry Tan, Chris Small, and Nikhil Nirmel for sharing their expertise on this topic.

#automatically generated text #Markov chains #Paul Graham #Python #Patrick Mooney #li #secure #discipline #sup #things #Whereas #efforts #startups #Apple #Dev #Nirmel #Atlantic #turbulent #Thanks #people #situation #Siegel #Web #Incidentally #tax #event #age #draft

[spenciegoob]

Who Needs Luck?

A/N: hi! I solely wrote this because of my 3 recent visits to NY (no, I sadly did not meet mgg)... plus i’ve been going there my whole life.. this is becoming the longest authors note, but as i’m writing I just want to say the people who work at food trucks in nyc are the nicest people ever, ask them about their day (AND TIP OMG PLS)

Summary: Reader invites Spencer to go to New York City with her where he finally sees the beauty right in front of him.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff!

Content Warnings: reader can’t drive very well (I apologize if this is a callout post), slight road rage, language

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.4K

____

I never considered myself a lucky man. Life had proven time and time again that no matter how many four leaf clovers I set out to search for, how many pennies on the ground faced heads up I stumbled across, luck was never on my side. I’ve learned to live with it, accepted my fate as the world’s smartest punching bag long before I was even in college.

But then I met her, and as cheesy as it sounds, I didn’t need luck that morning.

The second I woke up, the universe seemed to have it out for me specifically. I swung my legs over my bed, and in my half asleep daze stepped on my glasses, successfully breaking them. Unable to see on my short trip to the bathroom, I stubbed my toe… twice. Once I finally finished my morning routine more methodically, I walked out of my apartment only to bump into a stranger, sending the coffee she was holding all the both of us.

I had tried to apologize so many times, cutting my words short when they didn’t feel right. I had gotten through a series of “I’m, uh, oh, I, you,” before her smile interrupted my thought process, leaving me awestruck instead.

“That’s okay, but you owe me a coffee now.” She giggled, actually giggled, even with the scorching liquid causing her shirt to stick to her body. “Maybe… together?”

I didn’t hesitate to agree, taking her up on the offer that weekend and never looking back. Even when a loud crash, followed by a quiet, harsh ‘shit’ woke me up in a startle, there was no regret. Maybe just a little concern for my girlfriend who now that my eyes have adjusted to the darkness, can be seen holding her knee on the floor of our bedroom.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to wake you,” she whispered out, grabbing onto the dresser to stand straight again. Once she was on her feet, she came over to sit on the edge of our bed, immediately running her fingers through my hair. If I wasn’t so worried about her knee, I probably would’ve fell asleep again.

“Are you okay?” She giggled at my scratchy morning voice before nodding her head. It’s then I realized how the sun hasn’t even begun to rise, the room still pitchblack. “What are you doing up?”

“Getting ready to go to the city, sleepyhead,” she said as if it was the most obvious answer, but truthfully, it left me with more questions.

“At... 5 am?” I sat up, glancing at the alarm clock three times just to make sure I was reading it right. She may have always been a little strange, but usually at a reasonable hour.

At this, she stood up to continue getting ready for the very early morning. Now I notice why she fell, the piles of clothes leading to the closet had to have at least half of her outfits compiled together.

“Well, yeah. I want to get there before noon.” Even in my perplexed state, I rose from the bed and carefully tiptoed around haphazardly thrown clothes to reach her.

While wrapping my arms around her waist still hidden under my t-shirt, I questioned. “It’s right outside? You have 7 hours.”

She turned to look at me funny as if I wasn’t the one digging through clothes and waking up before dawn to walk literally 5 minutes to my desired location. My eyebrows must have subconsciously furrowed at one point, because she brought her hand up to stroke her thumb on my forehead. Immediately, I felt the tension melt, no longer caring to correct my confusion. She still did it anyway.

“Not DC, silly. New York!” I wish it were untrue, but my heart dropped at her words. She was leaving, going to a city I wasn’t familiar with beyond reading about, solving cases, and memorizing subway maps. Is this how she feels every time I board that jet?

“W-what? You’re just going to New York City?” I inwardly cringed at how desperate and sad I sounded, but I really didn’t want her to leave.

“Mhm,” she mumbled, turning back around to return digging in her closet.

“For how long?” Please change your mind. Please change your mind. Please change you-

Realizing that I was fully awake, she let out a boisterous laugh, allowing the way it bounced off our four little walls to return back to us. It was a sound most treasured. “I was hoping to get back around 9.”

“What?” I leaned back to look at her like she was absolutely preposterous. I mean, she was!

“Roadtrip!”

That’s how I found myself in the passenger seat of her car, no coffee in my hand because I wasn’t allowed until I have “a real cup of coffee.” Whatever the hell that means better happen soon, because as much as I loved watching the way she concentrates on the road in front of her, my eyes were starting to droop.

“It’s going to be another 4 hours. You can sleep, my love.” How she knew me so well, I will never be able to figure out, but I was out before we even made it across state borders.

That however, didn’t last very long. My girlfriend may be short and sweet, but behind the wheel? That’s a different story. The horn to her car is a very familiar sound when I’m jolted awake by a sudden stop.

“Really, asshole? Go!” She yelled, slamming her hand against the top of the steering wheel before looking over at me. “Hey, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to wake you yet. I forgot how awful drivers are here.”

“Where is here exactly?” I questioned, sitting up from my slouched position to find cars practically on top of each other on a road not wide enough for two lanes.

“New Jersey. We’re 10 minutes away.” Wow, I didn’t realize I slept for that long, and I have to admit I’m a little surprised I wasn’t woken up sooner.

“How are we 10 minutes away? It’s at least another 30 to get to the tunnel.” Looking at our surroundings didn’t help me determine our exact location. To the left of us, there were dozens of graffiti murals on the side of what I assumed was another elevated highway. To the right, sidestreets with local businesses ranging from auto repair shops to fast food joints to gyms.

“Nuh uh, stop analyzing mister. You’ll know when we get there.” She waved a finger in my directions, putting a pin in my scrutinization. I pouted right back, successfully playing along to the theme of her scolding me like a 5 year old.

“I don’t like surprises you know.” It was the truth, but her contagious laughter that filled the car made me slightly less disinclined to stop asking questions.

“Oh I know, but trust me, you’ll like this one.” She went to go reach over to grab my hand from where it was resting in my lap, but stopped short and retracted in favor of slamming the horn. “Oh, come on!”

***

“So you drove to a train station... in New Jersey?” I asked while she was… attempting to park the car.

“Well, yeah. I’ve been taking this route since I was a little girl.” Once she finally figured out how to evenly space a two door convertible in a very spacious parking spot, she unbuckled her seatbelt, and was quick to grab her bag from the backseat. “Well, come on mister, we’re going to miss the train.”

To be quite honest, I have never been so lost in my life. I could probably pinpoint our exact location on a map if I wanted to, granted I was given any sort of information, but part of me didn’t want to. Scratch that, all of me didn’t want to, because my entire life has been planned out in front of me before, but right now, I get to be spontaneous with the most beautiful girl on the planet.

“Don’t let go of my hand,” she told me, lacing our fingers together and pulling me forward. “Don’t stop to look around, you will get pushed.”

We made it inside, and if I thought the DC transit system was bustling with people constantly, this place was so much worse. There were hallways left and right, all packed with people in a rush. It seems everybody had some place to be and zero time to get there.

“Upstairs.” We walked up two flights before reaching a platform, buying our tickets and making it just in time for a train to arrive. “I know they come every 8 minutes, but thank god we made this one,” she said as she sat down.

The cart we were in wasn’t too crowded, and once I finally found a map on the wall across from us, I saw that it was a direct ride to the World Trade Center.

“You said you took this train when you were little?”

“Yeah, I went to the city a lot as a kid. This was the easiest, and the cheapest way there.” A small smile played at her lips, obviously the product of some childhood memory. “I used to hop it.”

“Of course you did,” I laughed back with her, thinking about how an innocent looking child would be the first person to get away with sneaking onto the train.

***

“I said it before, I will say it again. Do not let go of my hand.” This time it was more stern, and if I were being honest, I would say that it got me the slightest bit nervous. She must have noticed, she always does, because she continued. “Don’t worry, it just gets congested and I don’t want to lose you.”

She was right about that, it indeed was very congested, but that was okay because she was holding my hand, and I would follow her just about anywhere if it meant she kept looking over her shoulder and smiling when she saw me. Once we made it across the way, and in front of heavy looking glass doors, she turned to me and started walking backwards.

“You okay? This is definitely not off to a great start.” She was wrong, it was off to a perfect start.

“Yeah, I’m okay, but you might want to watch where you’re going,” I said before her back hit the door.

“Please I can get here with my eyes closed.” And then we were outside, and all 5 of my senses were hit immediately. The sun was shining down on us, and before I could complain about not bringing my sunglasses, she handed them to me. My heart fluttered at the innocent act, taking the sunglasses with such gratitude even though she had already moved on to retrieve hers. “Do you smell that?” She asked.

“There are a lot of answers to that question,” I told her, not knowing if she was talking about the smell of the construction happening at the corner, the permanent garbage smell or something entirely different.

“The hotdogs, silly. Come on, there’s nothing like ‘em.” This time, I laced our fingers together, not because I was scared of losing her, I was, but I just really wanted to be closer to her. She didn’t mind, in fact, she let out a content hum and leaned her head on my arm as we walked to the stand.

“Can I get four hotdogs with sauerkraut and two grape sodas,” she asked the vendor, who politely nodded before moving on to prepare our food.

“You’re going to have a heart attack by 35,” I said as I nudged her with my shoulder. She gave me a small push back before answering.

“Is that a doctor’s diagnosis?” She asked as she took our now ready food into her hands, after paying the man before I even had time to blink. I just grabbed the two cans of soda and followed her where she was making a beeline for a park bench. “Watch out for skaters.”

“Yes, it is indeed a doctor's diagnosis.” I unwrapped one of the hotdogs before taking a bite. I closed my eyes and let out a content hum. “It may be a little worth it.”

“Exactly.” We sat there quietly, enjoying the warm weather and sounds of wheels against pavement. At one point, she rested her head against my shoulder, and I am convinced wherever she went would be Heaven.

***

“Are your eyes closed?” We found ourselves with both our hands interlocked, my eyes closed while she walked backwards. I gave an ‘mhm’ before she continued. “We’re here, just keep them closed, and…” her words trailed off. “Okay open.”

I opened my eyes to her holding her arms out in the middle of the largest bookstore I’ve ever seen. “Surprise!” My eyes were bouncing everywhere. It wasn’t too crowded, the large stairwell across the store catching my eye first. There were bookshelves tens of feet high, all loaded with different genres and authors. To the right of us, tiny knick knacks and pins and socks. It was beautiful.

“Wow,” I whispered out, still stuck in my place admiring our surroundings. She was beaming up at me, a hint of pride at her successfulness to drag me 6 hours away to the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.

“The Strand has always been my favorite place in the city. Come on, let’s go explore.” She grabbed my hands again, pulling me deeper into the store towards a shelf labeled adult fiction.

***

Six books, three pairs of socks and a postcard later, we were back on the busy streets of New York, aimlessly walking and admiring the tall buildings and different attractions. Well she was, I was admiring the way she was looking around like it was her first time here. Maybe I should have been paying more attention to our surroundings, but no amount of skyscrapers or fountains could possibly ever match up to her level of beauty. 

“Have I ever told you how much I love you?” I asked randomly, startling her into jumping a tiny bit before giggling. She stopped us, turning to face me fully before reaching up to grab my face in her hands.

“Once or twice.” The kiss we shared on the New York streets were no different than the ones before, but this time, it felt like a silent promise. A passing between two lovers that no matter where we are, our love is the most beautiful thing there is. “I love you too, dork.”

___

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[randombtsprincessa]

Backfire

All Rights Reserved. © RandomBTSPrincessa, Tulips98.

Author: Randombtsprincessa

Characters: Park Jimin x Reader (2nd POV)

Words: 3.9k

Genre: Smut

Rating: Mature (18+)

Summary: There is a little misconception between you and Jimin. What do you do? You fuck your brother’s best friend in the bathroom.

Warning: Frenemy to Lovers, Jimin exists, teeny tiny jealousy on both ends, Yoongi makes an appearance, oral (female), mild dirty talk, protected sex, bathroom sex.

A/N: To my love, to my angel, to the darling serendipity, a happy birthday, Park Jimin.

The simmering, roiling heat of a flame lit deep underbelly, the constriction of your chest just because you set your eyes on something vile, the natural grimace that twisted your face and brought lines to your forehead…

All were reactions you were well familiar with; all pertaining to deep, genuine hate.

Which is ridiculous because you shouldn’t – can’t – hate something that has nothing whatsoever to do with you; or so you’d thought.

Well turns out, you can hate someone who has nothing to do with you in the simply case that it is Park Jimin. Park Jimin had nothing to do with you, absolutely nothing.

And yet his name brought fiery heat to the apples of your cheeks, flushed down to your chest.

All he was; was your dearest brother’s best friend. That’s all he was. He was just some guy your brother had known for ages, trusted explicitly, would always have his back and most likely throw a punch for. That’s it. Nothing very special for two bros, who would die for each other?

His involvement with you should end with that. You’d think so, right?

But Park Jimin was everywhere.

Park Jimin was the usual crème de la crème of the male species. He had fluffy raven hair that he had a habit of running his fingers through. Plump cheeks and lips gave his face a childish glow but his eyes…

His eyes would keep you up seven nights in a row and then some. They were a flecked deep mahogany; that radiated mischief and softened in giggles at the same time. All of that would still be okay to pass off – after all, hot men weren’t exactly a lacking commodity, it was the good hot ones that were rare – if not for the fact, that there was nothing usual about Park Jimin.

Your brother Dean, bless his heart, had never managed to grow up from the freshman boy phase that miraculously slipped past the years into graduation. You had followed suit at the same university, effectively moving in with him in his recently bought apartment as he started his interning in and out of the college odd jobs.

He also forgot to mention that aside from him and you, one other person was practically always there.

You had finished homework one day, venturing out to rummage through the kitchens for something to eat until your brother returned home with takeout for dinner when you had first seen him.

A simple black shirt and jeans and head faced you, a box of fruit loops upended over a wide open mouth. You had squeaked, ducking behind the sink. You were only wearing a pair of shorts and a huge shirt with nothing underneath and a stranger stood in your new home.

When he turned, mouth bulging from the amount of cereal in his mouth, his own eyes had widened and he’d choked, coughing out almost his entire mouthful.

“Fuck, I didn’t know there was a girl in here.” He’d spat out.

Of course, the first few moments where you’d taken the liberty to run straight to your room and get properly dressed, you’d made a few keen observations. Ok, it was only one.

The guy was smoking hot.

Dean had arrived when you came back out, painstakingly admitting to having completely forgotten about mentioning you to his friends and vice-versa. Jimin stood behind his shoulder, an easy smile on his face when you shook hands.

Now…you hadn’t been planning to have anything to do with him necessarily. He was still your brother’s friend and the small flicker of excitement you’d felt when Dean mentioned that Jimin was almost always there was mostly harmless.

So, when you heard your brother teasingly warn off Jimin from flirting with you and the retort was a short, ‘no thanks, I have enough girls lined up to keep my mind off your baby sister,’ your smile vanished, replaced by a disgusted grimace.

As lax as Dean was and as open about his relationships he was, you hadn’t thought that he’d be associating with a fuck boy.

You didn’t know when your initial disgust and disdain of Park Jimin turned into full blown hate. Perhaps it was the incessant snark, the teasing…

Perhaps it was the fact that Dean hadn’t been lying about him always being there. The times when you had a boy over, even if it wasn’t a date – he was there, on the couch, stuffed with popcorn. The times you would mention going out to a café, or an arcade with a guy, he happened to be there – spotting you all too easily and coming over to say hi.

Or maybe, it was just him being the general hot asshole. He dripped sin and no matter how hard you tried to not notice and move on from the place where you had nothing better to do but look at him, he would tease you about how he riled you up.

You couldn’t escape him.

Which made no sense…because his demeanor meant that he wasn’t a fan of yours either. You spat back retorts as fast as a gun, had compared his dick to one of the moldy carrots in your brother’s fridge, and had once physically pushed him away from a guy you had made the mistake of bringing home.

You were sure, he enjoyed it. There was something about the flare in his eyes that made you curious, wondering if maybe he was doing it on purpose…if the push and pull was something he found exciting.

You wouldn’t be surprised at all if he did.

The same held true for your place of work.

You had scoured and scored a job as a barista at the café and bakery nearest Dean’s apartment. The situation was lovely, the workers were friendly and the pay wasn’t unfair. You were happy in donning on a simply powder blue apron and doing the works behind the register every day.

Right up until Park Jimin began to show up there as well.

At first, you thought it was because Dean was the one dragging him there; having already warned you he was going to show up and scout out your new work place – just in case. You only wished he had done without Jimin hanging about, his own head swiveling about inquisitively before landing on you, sizing you up.

You couldn’t deny the flush of heat around your neck at his curious gaze and that made you angrier.

He had started to parade around in all his glory even without your brother about, smarmy smirks throw at you while he waited for you to serve him. He would blow kisses, raise an eyebrow challengingly when you threw disparaging looks at him.

And then one fateful day he took it too far.

He stood in line at the counter, you saw him first thing when you handed out change to the customers while another co-worker, Nina, handed out the orders.

You completely turned away from the counter when it was Jimin’s turn, not catching his eyes but ears working on hyperactive as he flirted heavily with the other girl.

Nina, for all her sweetness, blushed, stammered and nearly messed up his order which had you rolling your eyes in disgust. God, he wasn’t even that good. Why were girls all over themselves for him? You could at least give as well as you got.

The final thought had your head snapping up – in horror at you. Where had that come from? Since when had you wanted to be at the receiving end of Jimin’s flirtations? Granted, you always were the one he’d pick on, zero in on, whenever he was around but he did to annoy you.

You looked over your shoulder, finally meeting Jimin’s eyes, which were already on you. Nina had still not managed to get his drink done right, adding a bit too much sugar, you’d noticed than Jimin took but he only grinned – waving a hand to show it was all fine as he dropped a couple bills on the counter.

And then he threw you a cheeky, exaggerate wink, before turning on his heel and retreating back to his customary table.

That’s it.

You snarled to yourself mentally, tapping on Nina’s shoulder a little harder than necessary.

“I’ll do the customers now, you can handle the register.”

If there was anything off about your voice or your face, Nina didn’t mention it. She was probably way too into thinking about Jimin to be very observant anyway. She obediently moved to the other side of the counter, letting you stand to the front, now facing the rest of the line.

You couldn’t feel Jimin’s usual gaze on you, for the most part whenever you glanced at him; he was busy staring intently at his phone.

So, you swiftly handled and dispensed the customers, until one guy walked into your line of sight, hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat and a nervous look in his eyes.

“Hi,” He said first thing.

You put your server smile on. “Good morning, sir. Welcome and what may I get you today?”

“Just a simple black coffee, for Min Yoongi,” The man said. You thought you caught him burying his hands further into his pockets, your smile flickering uncertainly.

“Just a simple black…? No additions?” You clarified, pen hovering over the order slip.

“Yeah no, it’s just it’s embarrassing…I’ve never had coffee in a café before, I always have my homemade blend. But my coffee maker broke so…”

None of the above information was necessary, but you could feel a small smile twitching at the edges of your lips. He was cute, shy and blushing.

“A simple black,” You scribbled the order, passing it to the kitchens, “Perhaps, you should have that machine looked at,” You laughed.

The answering laugh was slow but bubbling. “Well, I mean I could wait a few days – depending on the coffee here.” He said.

“We do have good coffee.” You considered, lowering your voice as you motioned for him to move to the checkout line. A simple black didn’t take much long to make and the line was thankfully empty for now. The paper cup stood steaming on the counter, the name Min Yoongi scrawled over in the chef’s large writing. You grabbed it quickly, putting it in a carrier and placing it in front of him.

The man carefully lifted the cup up, taking a sip, before shrugging. “It’s not half bad. Maybe, I can come by if the machine stays broken.” He lifted hopeful eyes to you.

You couldn’t help but flutter slightly. “I’d keep our simple black lane open.” You teased back and he nodded, still smiling before pulling out the bills for the coffee. He slipped in another bill to your hand.

“A tip, don’t be too eager to spend it.” He flushed heavily, turning quickly on his heel to walk out, the bell tinkling at his exit.

You glanced at the one note curiously. It wasn’t too big of an amount but what mattered was the little red numbers at the base – a phone number. You grinned to yourself. He must have written his number out when you were packing his coffee. You slipped the numbered bill into your pocket, getting back to work to the line when you saw him.

Jimin’s eyebrows were drawn together, thick lips pursed tightly as he drummed his fingers on the counter. His eyes snapped to you immediately when you walked to him.

“Want something else?” You asked lightly, trying not to ruin the small lift Min Yoongi’s number had given you.

“Yes, I would actually, if it’s fine with you.”

You glanced up, eyebrows rising at the curt tone.

“Your little friend over there couldn’t get my order straight. If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like a decent drink.”

“Park, you were the one flirting with Nina.” You scowled at him.

His jaw clenched. “Does that mean I have to suffer through a cup of torture?”

You determinedly looked down, writing down the order Jimin had wanted before, passing it to the kitchens to be processed. Jimin didn’t wait for you to ask him anything else, moving to the checkout line before you could say anything. You silently passed him his drink when it came and he took one sip, before wordlessly exiting the shop, your eyes trailing after him.

You didn’t wait for the official lunch break. You knew he’d be gone by then and you didn’t want to talk to him about his stupid behavior in front of your brother. Grabbing a simple cappuccino to go, you tugged on your coat, exiting the shop, tracing his steps where you knew he would’ve gone – Dean’s apartment.

You didn’t have to go very far. He had stopped near a lamp post, leaning against his car, phone back out as he scrolled roughly on it.

“Hey, Park Jimin,” You arrived in a huff, fingers snapping under his nose that had him jumping – looking at you with a heavy glare in his eyes.

“Y/N, what the fuck,” He backed up into his car door.

“I should be asking you that question. What the fuck is your problem?”

The glare in Jimin’s eyes subsided, replaced with a cold indifference. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I mean, that you’re usually a jackass to me but today you just crossed a few more lines. Why would you flirt with Nina if you didn’t like the coffee she made? And why would you take it out on me?”

“Whoa, ok, I’m not a jackass to you, ok? I was just teasing you with that girl; I didn’t think she’d be so bad at a simple coffee.”

You crossed your arms across your chest. “Doesn’t explain why you were being all stuck up and awful, simply because I served another customer before you?”

Jimin paused, eyes trailing over you. “He gave you his number, didn’t he? I know guys like him; they act all shy to get girls like you falling over them. You’re my best friend’s sister, Y/N; I’m just looking out for you.”

“That is such…” You tried to think of a bad enough word, but looking at Jimin now, the smug arch of his eyebrow, the tilt to his head – you knew he was vying for a fight, anything to get out of the fact that you had called him out on his behavior.

So you did the exact opposite.

“You acted like you were jealous, Park.” You prodded, watching his eyes widen in vindictive pleasure.

“Don’t be stupid.”

“No, no, that’s what this all is about, isn’t it? All the interruptions on my dates, all the intimidating the boys I hung about with…you were just jealous.”

Jimin was backing up now, his hand clenching his door handle. “Y/N, I’m warning you.”

“Oh please, how ridiculous could you get?” You snapped and so did he. His hand shot out; he grabbed onto the back of your coat, yanking you to him, chest pressing tight to his.

Unfortunately, your arm caught between your bodies, the paper cup crumpling from the pressure and splashing all over him. Thankfully, your coat took most of the brunt while his shirt soaked through with what was probably sizzling coffee.

“Son of a bitch,” Jimin jerked away from you, hands pulling away the fabric of his shirt from his skin.

“Oh god,” You dropped the cup in the trashcan under the light post. “Are you burnt?”

“No – no, but I need to get home. Fucking now,” Jimin growled, unlocking the car to roughly pull the door open. “Get in.” He called curtly and for once you obeyed, circling the car as he revved the engine, driving to your apartment.

The car ride was silent, except for the soft curses Jimin let out, squirming in the seat as the wet fabric cooled against his body.

Once home, you led Jimin straight to the washer, letting him unbutton the shirt so you could stash it and your coat in to wash them. Of course, watching nimble fingers work to pull away a sticky cloth from Jimin’s chiseled torso did distract you for a bit but then he opened his mouth.

“You’re paying for the shirt, you know. It was expensive.” He grumbled, leaning against the bathroom door.

You rolled your eyes immediately. “It’s just a shirt, Jimin, and machine washable, it’ll come out fine.”

“Sure, sure,” Jimin smirked. “Isn’t this awfully domestic of you, washing my clothes?”

You didn’t even deign to stand up to face him. “Fuck yourself Park,” You said calmly.

“Actually,” there was a heavy pause. “I think I’ll just fuck you.”

The next thing you felt was a hand at your chin, turning you sideways where Jimin placed his lips on yours fully.

The squeak you let out was not the sexiest sound you could’ve made in that moment. But then, you hadn’t exactly expected Park Jimin to be kissing you in any way possible. His eyes were clamped shut while yours were blown wide open, watching his brow furrow with effort as he delved deeper into you.

Your hands had grabbed onto the sides of his waist, the curve smooth and cold under your slick palm, if not a little sticky too.

When he pulled away, perhaps to gauge your reaction, your mouth fell open about as wide as your eyes, watching him stunned.

“Yeah,” He huffed, “not exactly the most self controlled thing I’ve done.”

“But…what about all that shit about Dean and watching over me?”

“Are you kidding? He’d be thrilled if you and I got together – but he’d still knock my blinkers up and down the street for not telling him first. Which was what I was texting him about,” He pulled out his phone from his back pocket, showing you a text conversation between him and your brother.

You didn’t even glance at the screen.

“So, all that time when you were being a jerk, you could’ve just come up and kissed me?”

“Well, not really but,”

“Fuck, stop talking.” You groaned, dropping your head in your hand before growling. “Take it all off.” You dug your hand into his waist band, to drive your point home before reaching down for the hem of your own clothes, lifting and tugging it over your head.

“Oh, okay,” Jimin took a second to move, removing everything, your own jeans and underwear joining his on the bathroom floor before the both of you migrated to the wall next to the bathtub, kissing with fervor.

“You’re an idiot, just so we’re on the same page.” You managed to spill when Jimin’s lips – and better, his tongue and teeth – moved to your neck, lining the slope of your throat with harsh pink suckles.

“Babe, we both need to shut up if we’re going to finish this before Dean gets home.” Jimin looked up with a heavy smirk as he ran his tongue over your bottom lip, teeth digging in to part the seam of your mouth. You groaned, feeling him let go as he trailed his fingers down to your exposed breasts, thick fingers digging into the supple flesh, smacking one to watch it jiggle.

“Goddamn, if only I’d had the guts to just do this before when I saw you prance about the house in nothing but that huge shirt and panties.”

“Ironic, I’ve wanted you for roughly the same amount of time.” Your arms wound around his neck as he took a nipple in his mouth, sucking on it hard and rough, letting it go just as abruptly.

Your head thudded back, Jimin dropping to his knees easily. “I’ve wanted to eat this pussy for so long. All those times I’ve come over to see you on your stomach on the couch, or with some dude who probably doesn’t even know how do it -,”

“I thought we were going to shut up.”

Jimin threw you a dirty grin. “Make me.”

You smirked right back – if Jimin thought you were going to take the bait, he didn’t know you too well. Instead, you tangled five fingers in his sleek hair, yanking him closer to your core. “I will,”

His hands travelled up the expanse of your thighs, goose bumps soothed by his nails as his thumbs hooked into the apex of your legs. Jimin hummed against the burning skin, tongue placing kitten licks over the exposed clit.

If it wasn’t the sensation that had you leaning against the wall for balance when Jimin threw a knee over his shoulder, it was the fact that he never removed his eyes from your face.

His tongue traced over your glistening folds, dipping into your hole then fluttering back to your clit to suck it into his mouth, all the while his eyes burned into yours, as if he was devouring more than just your heat, your very essence.

You reached for his shoulders. “Come here,” You kissed him almost savagely, your taste on his lips as you plunged your tongue into his mouth. Fumbling with the free hand, you stroked his length, hands slickening in his arousal.

Finally when he pulled away, he went straight to the bathroom cabinet. “Your brother keeps his condoms here.” He explained.

“I don’t even wanna know why you know that.” You crinkled your nose, ignoring his chuckle as he rolled the sheath onto his shaft. Coming back to you, he kissed the wrinkle off your nose.

He grabbed your thigh, letting it rest over his elbows as he stretched one hand along the wall, holding it tightly in his. Tilting his hips at an angle, he fed his cock into you, a deep guttural groan escaping him as your velvet walls engulfed him tightly.

“I’d take a million ass beatings for a few minutes of this.” He grunted, his first thrusts slow and shallow, stretching you out before he was hefting his arm higher, parting your legs further.

The first angled deep thrust had you gasping, his lips sneaking over yours, subtly muffling the moans and whimpers by swallowing them.

Jimin maintained a steady pace, slow but deep, pushing himself to your limits, mouth wet over any inch of you he could reach, before he was pulling out, turning you to bend over the bathtub. Your fingers wrapped around its lip, tight and bloodless when he delved further back into you.

This time, however, there was nothing slow about him.

He entered you ruthlessly, fast, going even deeper if possible, his teeth clenched when you felt him lean over your, brushing away hair from your ears.

“Do you feel me, Y/N? You’ve been missing out on this.” He laughed, breathless when he reared back and then started plunging into you again, battering his pelvis against your ass.

The sounds of your broken whines accompanied the sharp slaps of your skin meeting his. His hands gripped at your neck, pushing your further down until your were completely bent in half, his head rubbing against your spot and then you were exploding – almost pulling away from him.

“Not done yet, babe,” You felt him enter you again, somewhere through the haze of your bliss, your orgasm seemingly endless as his ferocious speed kept you on the sweet edge of never quite finishing.

When he finally erupted, arms wrapped tight around your chest and waist, standing as he worded curses against your neck, you came once more, arching into the wall, before he rested the both of your exhausted bodies against it.

“We’ll have to talk to Dean if you wanna do this again.” You mumbled.

“Yeah,” He sighed. “But we still have some time.”

He glanced at you sheepishly.

“Round two?”

#btsbookclub #ficswithluv #smutcentralnet #jimin smut #bts smut #bts fanfic #jimin fanfic #jimin #park jimin #bts jimin #bts #jimin x reader

[arabellaflynn]

Life continues. Kind of.

I have a place to go as of this end of this month, although I still have no idea how the fuck to move my stuff during Plague Times. I don't own that much, but I also don't have a car. I am tempted to not bother moving the mattress, but I am very much afraid that if I don't I will literally never manage to own a comfortable bed ever again. Being someone who discombobulates joints on a regular basis, not being in extra pain every time I wake up is kind of important for my quality of life. I could eventually figure out how to replace the futon I use as a topper, but a futon alone is not enough padding -- I've learned the hard way that I can very much feel the hard floor or the hard pipes of a futon frame through one of those things, and it is Not Good for my sleep. 

Massachusetts is, as of this writing, continuing with their re-opening plan. We've hit the phase where the dance studio has been cleared for operation, with appropriate procedures. I'm going back. Like millions of other people, I have a job that I cannot properly do without at least some access to specialized work spaces. In my case, dance is also a substitute for physical therapy that is far more expensive and difficult to access than it ought to be. I've kept myself in reasonably good nick over the past four months, but there's a lot that I just can't do. Two of three housemates work from home, both involving teleconferencing, and I can't get to the bathroom or kitchen without going through the common spaces, so I'm more or less stuck in my bedroom during working hours. There's nothing I can use as a barre in here, and not enough room to spin, kick, or use props without whacking something, and I'm not sadistic enough to do anything rambunctious in the kitchen at 2 am.

Not gonna lie, it's reassuring that one of the instructors who opted to come back is actually an MD moonlighting as a dancer. His day job is with Harvard Public Health. Masks are required, but since we've dropped the standard from "filter virus particles" to "try not to breathe too moistly on your fellow man", I've got some I can deal with. (Moisture-wicking t-shirt fabric! The mask eventually gets damp, but it stays away from both other people and my own personal face, which is what you want.) It's not fun but I also didn't pass out during class, so that's something.

Other people are freaking the fuck out. I want it noted that what MA is doing is exactly the thing I have been advocating for months: Giving people the option (but not the requirement) to go out into the world and interact with others, with harm reduction practices. You cannot keep people locked in their houses forever. You can issue the order, but they're not going to do it. Counting on "never go out" to stop the spread of coronavirus is like counting on "never have sex" to stop the spread of HIV. You can try to apply official consequences, and unofficial shaming, but people are going to sneak out and fuck anyway. They just won't tell you. And, as we are now finding out for unrelated reasons, there do not exist enough police officers in the world to make everyone do as you say.

Everyone is aware of the assholes who think the very concept of a mask is an infringement of their human rights, but I find the pathologically cautious almost as upsetting. There is a loud minority who think nothing should re-open at all anywhere until it's "safe". I'm not sure what they think "safe" means. No chance of catching anything ever? That level of safety never existed. You just don't think about measels and MRSA and TB and tularemia and Lyme disease because those are normal risks that have been around all your life. Leprosy continues to be a thing, you know. I went to college on the edge of the Colorado Plateau, where bubonic plague and hantavirus are endemic. I could argue that if you never got a warning letter about mono or meningitis when you were in the dorms, you didn't have the full residential campus experience. Wash your hands, keep your distance, try not to breathe on other people, and realize that you cannot control every single variable in the entire universe. There is a non-zero chance that Fate will kick you in the head every time you get out of bed in the morning. I am a pedestrian in Greater Boston, ffs, I have accepted my own mortality. You can't be "totally safe". You can be "safe enough".

The Late Show is back from hiatus. Colbert is badly in need of a haircut; he slicked it back on the first Monday but opined that the look was a little too "Don Jr" for him, and vowed to come on camera without hairspray after that. Judging from the headbanging a couple nights later, he meant it. He did the first few home tapings in a suit (although, as he demonstrated to camera, no shoes), but then Twitter told him they'd rather see him more casual, so he's been wearing button-ups with the sleeves rolled to the elbow. Gray has started to come in at his temples. I'm sure he could fix that at home if he really wanted to, but he's opted to point it out on camera instead.

He's even more contemptuous of 45 than he was when they were still taping in the theater, which I was not sure was physically possible. Our TV comedians are making stirring speeches about working together whilst our actual President babbles nonsense about dishwashers. I want to ask how this happened but I'm pretty sure I know. People who have no good options have been known to choose the bad option that takes the enemy down with them. Although I feel the need to point out that Joe Exotic also ran for POTUS in 2016. We all started quarantine watching Tiger King on Netflix and the Drumpf debacle on CSPAN -- if we had all voted for the other reality TV idiot, we could potentially have 100% juicier sex scandals and 100% less interference with the CDC right now.

I wonder how Colbert is coping with all this. When he first took over the Late Show, he did a bunch of interviews where he talked about the difficulty of finding a balance between being your authentic self on stage, and still being performative enough to read well to the back of the house and keep the show rolling along. If he made great strides in his first year out of character, quarantine production has sent him into freefall in the same direction. I find it disquietingly relevant to my own life. I'm about to embark on a couple of projects that will mean I have to stay physically and mentally camera-ready, or at least ready to be camera-ready, pretty much all the time for a while, but first I have to figure out what I think camera-ready looks like for me, and how much work I'm willing to put into it. 

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[eternalsterekrecs]

any new sterek highschool au?

Well, our absolute favs are under our High School AU tag but, because we don’t want you to lack anything, here is a rec of doom (there’s more than 30 fics here) with all the other fics I’ve read in the last few months/years! - C

HIGH SCHOOL AU

Just Pretend by dragon_temeraire

Stiles tells his dad he has a boyfriend. The problem is, he doesn’t actually have one.

Something New Is Going to Happen by dragon_temeraire

Stiles accidentally discovers that their school mascot is super cute.

All the broken hearts in the world still beat by dragon_temeraire

Stiles totally needs to make Lydia Martin jealous. Yeah. And his best chance is to convince star lacrosse player Derek Hale to (fake) date him.

Smile On The Sidelines by clotpolesonly

Derek was not pining.

Not to say that he didn’t miss Stiles, didn’t want to be with him at that moment (or literally any moment, to be quite honest), but he wasn’t one of those obnoxious clingy people who lost track of the world as soon his boyfriend was out of his sight.

It was just a basketball game anyway.

“Five Days in Detention” (A Future Song by Stiles Stilinski) by alisvolatpropiis

It’s still preseason, sure, but he needs to be practicing. He led the team to the State semifinals last year, and he’s determined to not only make it to the finals this year, but to win the title. He should be on the field right now, practicing his play calls and prepping for next week’s season opener against Saint Pius.

And he can’t do that if he’s wasting his time in detention with these losers. There are a couple of burnouts lazing over some seats by the window, one kid with his face on a desk, hood over his head, and a few Goth kids are sitting in the back corner, looking surly and morose. Maybe you wouldn’t be so miserable if you didn’t listen to such shitty music, he thinks, turning towards his usual seat in the back of the room.

He pauses for the briefest of moments when he sees who’s already sitting there, in the second-to-last row, black-clad limbs spread out, acoustic guitar in his lap, long fingers casually plucking at the strings.

Stiles Stilinski.

How to Woo Your Local Omega by alocalband

Stiles knows a pity gift when he sees one. Mostly because that’s all he’s ever gotten from anyone since the moment he hit puberty.

Five Times Derek Literally Falls for Stiles (and One Time… They Both Fall) by myhomeboy_stilinski

Five times Derek is a failwolf and literally falls for Stiles Stilinski.And one time they fall together.

Warning: A little bit cracky and contains meddling.

Try Again by dragon_temeraire

Derek has to egg a house to be part of the popular group. Too bad the house ends up being the Sheriff’s.

Sleeping Next To You Is Like Magic by LadyDrace

Stiles and Derek meet the summer before senior year. Stiles can’t sleep, Derek helps with that, and there’s a lot less cuddling and a lot more emotional crises than you’d think.

Or:

Stiles’ feelings happen so much, and learning how to deal with them takes him a little while. Good thing Derek is happy to wait.

Shut Up And Dance With Me by maiNuoire

Stiles has been in love with Derek forever. Senior Prom feels like his last chance to do something about it, but he’s a bundle of nerves. And then, inspiration strikes.

made from the heart by bleep0bleep

Derek has been crushing on Stiles for awhile, and thinks maybe this Christmas season he’ll tell him how he feels. He’s got a great present too, except when Stiles gives him a thoughtful handmade present, Derek is pretty much screwed.

~

Stiles smiles at Derek. “It was just a nice thought, you know? I just think gifts that people take their time to make are just so sweet.”“Handmade,” Derek says faintly.

Like James Dean, Only Sadder by 42hrb

The star of the Beacon Hills High School baseball team and Beacon Hills resident bad boy probably have nothing in common, right?

atom to atom by jadore_hale

“So, you’re telling me that you hate Derek so much that you wouldn’t leap at the chance to jump his bones?”

“That’s different!” Stiles cried.

“How exactly?”

“Because unfortunately for me, Derek’s hotter than the Earth’s mantle. All we need is one rough hate-fuck— Preferably in the chem lab, role-playing sexy chemist while he bends me over one of the tables—and I’ll get him out of my system. That’s as far as our relationship will ever go.”

Stiles glanced across the cafeteria to where Derek was still fail-eating his lunch and sighed so put out.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go make fun of Derek eating organic baby carrots.”

don’t go breakin’ my heart [i couldn’t if i tried] by crossroadswrite

Contrary to popular belief, Derek Hale – co-captain of the basketball team and AP student who volunteers in the library – isn’t actually as smooth as people might think.

In a Straight Line Down by standinginanicedress

“So you want to go to Prom with me just so you can get a plastic crown and a fifty dollar gift card to Outback Steakhouse.”

Stiles sets his jaw. He wants to go to prom with Derek because he wants to go to prom with Derek. But, of course, he’s stubborn and prideful and can’t admit to Derek how it’s barely been twelve hours since they officially broke up and he’s already barely handling it as it is, so he just raises his chin in the air and says, “yes.”

we should just kiss (like real people do) by i_am_girlfriday

Stiles is the social zero of the sophomore class. Derek is the much cooler junior who befriends Stiles anyway.

Shut Me Down by lazykisses

Even when Derek’s an asshole, which is 75% of the time (90% on a rainy day), with his deadpan humor and cocky eyebrows and his annoyingly vague text messages (like that one time Stiles asked him if he’d studied for Chemistry and Derek replied with “hn”. What the hell does ‘hn’ even mean?), Stiles doesn’t mind. And that kinda scares him.

It’s Too Early For This by thepsychicclam

Derek loves his job at the coffee shop, especially because Stiles comes in for coffee before early Saturday morning lacrosse practices. The problem is that Derek is too shy to do anything about his crush, and the situation is not helped by the rivalry between the basketball and lacrosse teams.

Hotsky to Trotsky by paintedrecs

Derek had his future mapped out: there’d be graduation, followed by college, followed by (he hoped) a good grad school, then a career as a professor whose students didn’t spend their time flicking paper footballs at each other and obsessing over their dating lives. He had good friends, a good family, and no time to focus on distractions like high school gossip or relationships.

He hadn’t factored Stiles Stilinski - lacrosse player, class clown, part of the popular crowd, currently spending his entire day staring at Derek and smiling - into his plans.

more by bibliosexual

It starts when Derek is sitting in study hall and the guy ahead of him–-Stiles something, the Polish kid with all the moles–-mutters, “Ugh, what’s sixty percent of fifty-five?”

“Thirty-three,” Derek says without having to think about it. He’s always been good at math.

“Oh, thanks, dude,” Stiles says. “I forgot my calculator, and Mr. Harris is a dick who won’t let me go get it.”

“No problem,” Derek says.

He assumes that’s it, that’s the end of the conversation, but Stiles catches up to him in the hall after class, scuffs his sneaker against the floor and says, “Hey, so, you’re really good at math. Like, you solved that in your head, right? No calculator?“

"Yeah,” Derek says, and Stiles bites his lip, asks, “Do you maybe wanna study with me later, in the library?”

Derek does.

i wanna dance with somebody (who loves me) by bleep0bleep

Derek gets in an accident and loses a few years of his memory; suddenly everything is different— he’s not a freshman loser anymore, but a popular senior, captain of the basketball team, a shoo-in for prom king, too, and he should have everything he’s ever wanted— except he doesn’t seem to be friends with Stiles anymore.

Bro-lentine’s Day by WhoNatural

It’s actually pretty cool that Derek came back to school after a summer eating spinach and lifting small trains or whatever to become a guardian angel to the easy targets of BHHS.

Don’t Judge a Derek By His Cover by captaintinymite

Stiles doesn’t care about the rumors surrounding Beacon Hills High School’s resident bad boy, Derek Hale. In fact, he thinks the rumors are total crap. Of course, being secretly in love with someone has a way of clouding one’s judgment.

However, he knew for a fact that Derek liked books. So when the two paired up for a final English project, he was excited (but also a little terrified).

But you know what they say…never judge a book by its cover. The same goes for people.

Baader-Meinhof Phenomenon by secondstar

Being a teenager sucks. Being a werewolf teenager sucks even more. With a life full of holding back who he really is, not having any privacy whatsoever, and the seemingly sudden appearance of one Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale’s life just got a whole lot harder.

(I Hate to Be) The One to Ruin the Night by wishingonalightningbolt

High school senior Derek Hale only has one goal for the rest of his time left at BHHS: avoid Stiles Stilinski. He’s wreaked enough havoc as it is, having spent all summer breaking Derek’s heart. Everything would be better for both of them if they just never saw each other again.

-0-

Derek doesn’t plan on ever getting mixed up with Scott McCall and his little gang of idiot friends. In fact, if he knew to avoid it, he would, but he guesses he just isn’t smart enough. Unfortunate, considering the consequences.

John Hughes Did Not Direct My Life by nascentgalaxies

Stiles and Derek are childhood friends who drifted apart. When Stiles joins the lacrosse team against his will, the universe (with a little help from Laura and Lydia) chooses to push them back together.

But Then What... by Stoney

Senior year is almost over, and all Stiles needs to do is keep his head down to survive. A teacher calls in a favor, leaving him stuck tutoring Derek Hale, one of the most popular jocks in school and a member of a group of douchecanoes who have bullied Stiles for years. He's someone Stiles totally hates. Totally. Like, doesn't like him even a little bit. DEFINITELY isn't attracted to him.

Except that is a total lie. Fuck his life, seriously.

I know you love and hate me too by trilliastra

“Right.” Derek coughs and Stiles knows he realized his mistake. Good – he thinks, maybe next time he'll learn not to make Stiles fall in love with him. “Hum – we are almost finishing here, John.”

“I'll be in my bedroom.” Stiles says. “And his first name is Sheriff!”

Fucking Derek Hale.

Wait For It by otatop

Funny, how you can exist adjacent to someone through elementary, middle, and high school and not really know them. Funny, how Stiles had always had some strange crush on Derek without actually being his friend.

It’s like he’s all that by MemeKon

Stiles is different. Stiles is not nice under any definition of the word, he’s such an asshole. Sure, he’s a good guy deep down, he punched Jackson square in the jaw when he mocked the McCall kid for an asthma attack that one time, and Derek knows he helped Erica Reyes get that video of her seizure taken down, but he’s so—

"Fuck off, Derek." Stiles tells him without sparing him a glance when Derek sits next to him on chemistry. "I’m not up to play She’s All That with you, dude."

-yeah.

(School crushes are so complicated.)

The Scheming Rhymes of Romance by sofonisba_found

Stiles currently was, and had been, Derek's poetic muse for years. Not that Stiles was really all that aware of that fact.

But when Stiles does find out about it their senior year of high school, he's pretty okay with it.

Alright, so he is definitely a lot more than okay with it.

A story in which Derek writes copious amounts of poetry, Stiles is very appreciative of said poetry as well as Derek's smile, and all of their friends are oddly and extremely invested in seeing these two get their act together.

Easy Alpha by interropunct

Easy A/Teen Wolf AU. Wherein, Derek Hale is the high school hussy, Jackson and Scott really need to learn to use their inside voices. And, contrary to popular belief, everyone is still a virgin.

#sterek #eternalsterek #haleinski #fic rec #au #high school au #asks #anonymous

[a-taller-tale]

Float On

Summary: Grif said he was jealous of the way clouds float once, so he shouldn't be bitching about the lack of gravity. Notes: My Reverse Big Bang writing entry based on Emmujin's wonderful grimmons art. This was a really fun piece to work on.

Also on Ao3

“I miss retirement,” Grif said randomly.

Simmons frowned in concentration, taking another hallway according to the map on his helmet screen, Grif following behind him. He kept his voice low. “Really? You miss retirement? You said we were all driving you crazy, and then when we left you got so sad that you made a bunch of volleyball replacements of us.”

“I shouldn’t have told you that.”

“You had to give me some kind of context when you said you kept ruining Church’s balls.” 

They were also really shitfaced that night, and Simmons had felt both confused and some other dark feeling he couldn’t name. Grif was always saying how Church was a jerk, he had no idea they ever—

“Yeah…” Grif sighed. “But don’t you miss retirement?” They both paused to duck into a corner and avoid some random people in lab coats marching down the hall talking about planning an office birthday party.

“It was nice at first, but then it did get kind of boring,” Simmons admitted once the group had passed them. “And we were regularly in a similar amount of mortal peril during retirement as we were in active duty with Sarge and Caboose that bored anyway.”

“Okay, true. The robots vs. dinosaur war got a little hairy, but I’m not really a fan of this kind of action either.”

The remnants of Project Freelancer, and by extension Malcolm Hargrove’s Charon Industries projects, were still keeping them busy. Retirement hadn’t worked out with their imposters running around causing havoc, so they weren’t safe to try again, no matter how remote the moon, until everything had been taken care of.

The latest mission had been complicated when half the team was capturedagain by some sketch lab they had been investigating again. Sometimes it seemed as if their strange lives were just stuck in the same seasonal cycle over and over again.

“You have to make a deal with me,” Grif continued. “After we rescue the guys we need another vacation, a real one, without Donut to set things on fire. I’m thinking the Vegas Quadrant.”

“Deal, but you’re using your own credit cards.—Oh, this closet’s got what we need.” Simmons opened the door to reveal extra scrubs and lab coats folded neatly and ripe for the taking. There was even a lost and found box with various extra stuff to wear under the coat.

If Simmons thought about it too hard it would gross him out since the clothes were probably dirty, and it reminded him of when the gym teacher made him go through the lost and found when he purposely “forgot” to bring gym clothes hoping it would excuse him from participating—that bit him in the ass—but desperate times called for desperate measures. Sarge needed them.

Simmons grabbed a sweater and some slacks that looked long enough. There were nursing shoes of various sizes in the corner.

It wasn’t until Grif closed himself in with Simmons and started stripping out of his armor that Simmons remembered a similar situation in a similar closet last year. Simmons coughed and moved on to the coats so Grif could take his pick of the lost and found, and starting looking through the sizes, grabbing one that would fit Grif and tossing it back in his direction, backing deeper into his own corner to change out of his armor.

“Capers where we need a disguise. We really have been hanging out with Blue Team too long…” Grif grumbled, running his hand through his helmet hair and re-tying it back. “Donut and Lopez better show up soon. Donut will hate missing an opportunity to dress up.”

“Well they—” Simmons interrupted himself when he saw what Grif had put on his feet. “Are you wearing socks under your sandals?” Grif smirked in a way that Simmons knew meant he did it just to piss him off. “There are regular shoes right there!”

“Do you have a problem, Simmons?” Grif asked pleasantly. He definitely did this on purpose. He knew this was one of Simmons’ pet peeves!

“No. You know what? Live your life the way you want to. See if I care.” Simmons cared. He cared so much. And Grif knew it, that asshole. Grif grew up on the beach! Shouldn’t socks under his sandals be sacrilegious or something?

In their new disguises, they made their way to the labs area. It was definitely the night shift, and they didn’t even run into too many people on the skeleton crew. Which was great since they hadn’t been spotted yet, but made it more likely that when they were spotted, they’d be recognized as not belonging. They needed to get this done as quickly as possible.

Simmons was suddenly shoved forward into an empty room out of nowhere, and there was a large warm hand clapped over his mouth before he even had the chance to squawk at Grif. “Guards,” Grif whispered. “Guns.”

Simmons nodded—then remembered himself and whacked Grif’s hand off his face. “Ow,” Grif grunted.

Through the window in the door they looked out to see the two guards with their menacing looking rifles and white armor, like Storm troopers, or Wyoming, or The Meta.

Man, bad guys were always wearing white armor these days. It was becoming its own cliché now. They needed new “good” and “bad” colors. But what would a good color be? …Forget Blue Team, Simmons was hanging out with Donut too much.

Once the guards had passed, and Simmons’ heart had calmed down, he started searching the room. It was pretty empty. There were several empty tables, beakers, test tubes, and various scientific detritus littering them. An empty bookcase stood against one wall behind a desk. It didn’t look like this room was in use very regularly.

“Dude, we’re never gonna find anything cool in here.” Grif said, wiping some dust off a table. “It’s all nerd stuff.”

“Grif, do you even remember what we’re looking for?” Simmons asked testily.

“More snacks?” Grif replied dryly, putting an Oreo in his mouth.

“What the— Where did you even get those?”

“Secret snack stash. There’s one in every room in every workplace that has ever existed in the universe.” Grif pointed to the drawer he’d just opened and there were a lot of snacks in there. But considering that it looked like no one used this room there was no telling how old this stuff was–Oh, were those Red Vines? He hadn’t had one of those in years!—No,focus Simmons.

“Ugh, whatever. Just help me look for a computer terminal. Or a tablet, or datapad, or anything that connects to their network, so I can unlock the holding area and then we can get the hell out of here.”

Grif sighed. “Man, if Sarge wasn’t in there with the Blues we could just go. Not do any of this dangerous shit. I’m sure they’d be fine. Caboose has stupid good luck. We don’t. You remember some of these guys have guns, right?”

“You have a gun too,” Simmons pointed out.

“Uhhhh...” Oh no.

“What the hell, Grif? Did you leave your gun with your armor? Are you serious?”

Grif at least managed to look a little sheepish. “These pockets aren’t very deep.”

Simmons looked down at his own coat, and admittedly where his pistol was bulging out from his pocket was both really obvious and ridiculous. He looked up to see Grif trying to store cookies for later. “But you have room for an entire box of Oreos.”

“Priorities, Simmons.”

“Ughh whatever." Simmons continued looking, with some help from Grif, which was better than zero.

Grif found an ancient looking laptop on a sliding tray under one of the lab tables. Simmons nodded grimly. It was shitty and old, but it could work.

Simmons pulled it up in a corner out of view of the window and prayed it would turn on. This was actually an ideal place for them to hack into the system if the guards didn’t come in very often. It was slow to boot up, but when it did, he was able to bypass the password protections easily and get into the system. “Yes! Score.”

Grif gave him a raised eyebrow, but didn't say anything. Good! Simmons was doing all the hard work here! He kept a look out at the door while Simmons went through the databases. Luckily they were clearly labeled. Environmental controls, locks, lights… “How long is this gonna take?” Grif asked, but Simmons could tell he was worried rather than impatient.

“Just another minute/ I’m working as fast as I can!” Simmons sniped. He should know Simmons didn’t work well under pressure.

“There’s another patrol coming this way,” Grif whispered.

“I’ve almost got it,” Simmons said, his fingers flying against the keys. It reminded him of high school and college, his fingers flying across screens and keys like he was made to do it. As natural as breathing or swimming or hiding in the computer lab from bullies until 9 o clock at night.

There were red lights on each of the cell blocks and on the third try the lights on cell block C went from red to green. “Got it!” Simmons said triumphantly. They had been getting along so well lately, Sarge might actually give him a pat on the shoulder for this one.

“I found them!” said a guard from the hall.

Grif dropped the Oreos. “Oh fuck.”

Simmons looked around for a weapon, but the room was pretty empty aside from some chemistry equipment, the laptop and Grif’s fucking Oreos.

Bang, bang, bang and the door flew open. Three guards came in, guns at the ready. Oh god.

Simmons suddenly felt practically naked without his armor on.

“Simmons,” Grif said nervously out of the side of his mouth, backing into the wall.

“I know, hang on, I have an idea!” Simmons threw Grif his pistol. “Try to hold them off.” Simmons turned back to mess with the computer. He went back a few folders. There. Environmental controls.

Score one for the nerds. Computer science can save the day. Screw the jocks!

The three guards marched in, armor gleaming menacingly. “Surrender and put your hands up!” The first guard yelled.

Grif lifted his gun as guard number two fired his gun, aiming at Simmons, but between the shot and the impact the world tilted on its side and suddenly they weren’t on the ground any more. They were floating. Holy fuck.

“This was your plan??” Grif asked in disbelief, feet above his head, arms pin wheeling as he tried to get right-side-up again.

“It’s a good distraction!” Simmons cried defensively, trying to figure out how to steer himself.

Grif managed to get upright just in time to miss being shot by the first guard. “Oh, holy shit.”

Simmons remembered some of his training in antigravity before he was shuttled into the Freelancer Sim Trooper program and managed to awkwardly swim close enough to grab guy number three’s gun. He looked like he was the slowest one—there was one guy like that in every team—and Simmons was right. Simmons reared back and slammed the gun into the back of the guard’s head as hard as he could. With a pitiful whine, the guy slumped unconscious, but he didn’t really go “down” because they were all floating. Huh. That was less satisfying than it should have been.

Grif fired his own gun and guard number two went down. Which left guard number one who was—Where was he?

Simmons actually saw stars, which he thought was more of a cartoon thing, when an impact hit the back of his own skull. Everything went dark before he even had the chance to cry out.

“I’m jealous of clouds,” Grif said, his eyes were half lidded in relaxation, the irises glowing under the light of the sun. He looked like he belonged there. Like his natural form was to lay in the grass and the sun.

That was a weird thought. Stop it, brain.

“Clouds?” Simmons asked. “That’s random. What do you mean?”

They were lying on their backs in the shade beside the ditch where the warthog was stuck. Normally, Simmons wouldn’t shirk his duties, but he was tired of being the only one pushing the Warthog while Grif tried and failed to get it started again. He knew better than to ask Grif to trade. If he tried Grif would talk him into knots until Simmons was hanging over his credit card information without realizing he’d been tricked. Sometimes Simmons hated that guy. But he didn’t today.

When Grif groaned, “Break time, use it or lose it,” and flopped down in the grass, Simmons only sighed and paced for a minute before joining him.

It was nice to take a break anyway—not that he’d tell Grif that and give him another excuse. But it seemed like ever since they’d gotten to know the Blues on a last name basis there had been non-stop running around and having adventures.

Grif had been so weird and tense lately too. This was a good break from the odd nervous energy he kept displaying around Simmons.

Decision made, when he had tossed his helmet off, Simmons followed suit.

“What’s that about clouds?” Simmons prompted him again when Grif didn’t answer right away. Sometimes when Grif got in a “deep” mood he got pretty insecure about it. And yeah, any clumsy mistake or slip of the tongue was currency to tease each other later, but Grif should know by now that the philosophy stuff was cool with him. Simmons wonders why they’re here too—how they got here, what it all means—a lot these days.

Instead of backing off of the subject like Simmons half expected him to, Grif looked at Simmons and smiled contentedly. Grif may have looked relaxed in the sun, but he looked a little flushed too. Right, the fan in his armor was broken. Which he only seemed to bring up when they were out on a mission. He never brought it up when they were just sitting at home watching TV and someone could actually repair it.

“Clouds don’t have to run around chasing Blues, or listen to Sarge or anything. They just float around.” Grif sounded so wistful and relaxed. Simmons was suddenly enormously grateful for this break in the shade.

“Clouds also don’t get to gamble or eat or drink alcohol and I know you love doing all those things,” he couldn’t help pointing out.

“Yeah, you’re right. Guess I just want the power to float. Can you imagine taking a nap floating in the clouds? It looks so soft.”

“Actually, it would be damp and cold. Haven’t you ever been in a plane in that area of the atmosphere?”

“Have a little imagination, Simmons,” Grif scolded him, but he sounded fond around a yawn. “You don’t have to think about everything so realistically all the time. Think about those clouds having the consistency of cotton candy and the sun hitting you just right and you’re floating like you’re in an inner tube and just letting the air take you wherever it wants you to go. Like a current…” Grif trailed off, leaving Simmons with the uncomfortable impression that they had maybe possibly somehow accidentally just had an intimate moment.

Simmons waited for him to continue, but when Simmons looked back at him, Grif’s eyes were shut and his breathing was already even, like his own story had lulled him off to sleep.

They really should have tried to head back already, but Grif looked so peaceful, and it was the most comfortable they had been together in a while. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess so,” Simmons said quietly, and totally didn’t watch his teammate sleep like a creep for two hours.

“Simmons! Simmons!”

Simmons felt a flash of annoyance. What the hell was Grif doing waking him up. It took him so long to go to sleep. And his head hurt. Had they been drinking last night?

“Simmons,” Grif said again insistently. “Wake the fuck up, there could be more guards coming. We gotta get out of here. How do we get down?”

Simmons winced and opened his eyes into slits.

They were floating. “Oh my god,” he wailed. “Is that blood?”

He’d seen a lot of blood in his career as a soldier, and bled a lot too, but it was indescribably creepy to see it floating in little driblets around them.

“Yeah genius, its blood. You let some asshole hit you in the back of the head. I shot him back, but there could be more guys coming.” Simmons blinked and was able to take in more of the room. Grif was near the bookcase, trying to hold onto it and panting and flailing and looking a little panicked. The bodies of the three unconscious (dead?) guards that had attacked them were floating through the air.

“How do we get down?” Simmons asked himself, the pain in his head was making everything foggy, and the vision in his cyborg eye was flipping like a TV with a bad signal.

“I don’t know! You’re the computer guy.”

“Right. The computer... If I can find the computer I can…” He tried to adjust his position and his stomach flipped worryingly too. He did not want to throw up in front of Grif in anti-gravity. He had to find the computer. Did it float off? “I think I just remembered I’m afraid of heights.”

“—You are not. I’m the one who’s scared of heights, and I’m fine.” The sheen to his skin said otherwise, but Simmons chose to believe he was telling the truth. When Grif was calm it was easier for Simmons to freak out. Wait, no, when Grif was freaking out, it was easier for Simmons to calm down. Whatever.

“Come on,” Grif urged as if sensing his thoughts. “You can freak out later. Let’s get down and find everyone else now.”

Simmons nodded, looking around for the laptop, which was floating below them, near a beaker of ominous purple glowing liquid that he wasn’t sure he had seen earlier. Better not touch that. This lab dealt with some really sketchy stuff.

Simmons attempted to steer himself downward to reach it, but only ended up doing a 360 in the air and knocking himself into one of the bodies. “Shit!”

“Hey, calm down, dude. Everything’s okay. You took a big hit there, huh? If I get you to the computer will you still be able to undo what you did? I promise once we get out of here we can get your head checked out, okay?” Grif sounded gentle and he was babbling a little bit, and the injury to his head must look pretty nasty for him to sound that nice.

Simmons realized he was shaking a little and tried to take deep breaths to calm himself as Grif swam towards him, knocking some objects out of the way, and using one of the unfortunate guards as a springboard until he reached Simmons.

As soon as he was within reach Simmons grabbed at his hand tightly. The warmth of Grif’s hand calmed him down immediately. He was still dizzy and his head was still buzzing but Grif was right here with him and they were floating just like Grif wanted.

Grif’s face was flushed like it had been that day too, which was odd because it wasn’t really hot, and they were indoors so they weren’t in the sun, and Grif’s armor cooling system didn’t matter because they weren’t in armor.

“I got you,” Grif said, and Simmons felt like he was floating. –Oh, well they were floating. Simmons looked back down at Grif’s hand like he just realized he was holding it. “If I have a counterweight it’ll be easier for me to navigate,” Simmons murmured dazedly.

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Grif said, and he squeezed his hand back. “That makes complete and total sense.”

Jeez, Grif was acting weird. “Yeah, so we’ll get to the laptop and then—”

The Oreos floated by along with the box in the opposite direction of the laptop. “My Oreos! They didn’t get destroyed!” Grif said. He was tempted.

“Grif, if you pull me towards the Oreos, and more guards come in and we die, I’m going to kill you,” Simmons said with a sobriety and certainty he totally felt.

“Fine.”

They side eyed the unconscious—or dead, or just napping—guards as they awkwardly flailed, attempting to figure out how to get closer to the laptop.

The first time Simmons got his hands on it, he accidentally batted it in Grif’s direction. Grif had to bat it back to him, and Simmons finally let his hand go so he had two to work with. He missed the warmth already.

“Do your magic, dude,” Grif said. “Just try to give me a countdown before we crash into the floor. A ‘prepare for impact’ works.”

“Mmm…” Simmons managed to get back onto the environmental control screen without too much trouble, though his head was feeling glitchy too now. Like his attention kept flipping channels. This is the code for—Grif’s hands—press Esc add three backslashes—floating like clouds it would be so nice to nap right here. Under the sun. Cotton candy. Grif’s eyes warm and glowing.

Simmons didn’t remember finishing, but gravity came back to them slowly. Grif was below him, bracing for impact. Simmons floated down, closing his eyes and clutching the laptop like the favored teddy bear his dad threw away when he was six. Instead of the rough landing he was bracing himself for, he landed on something soft and warm.

“Hey, uh… you’re a little close there.”

When Simmons blinked his eyes open he was looking straight into Grif’s deep brown eyes. They weren’t glowing because there wasn’t any sunlight. But they were still pretty. And he was still so dizzy. He was draped over Grif and there were no hard edges like there would be with their armor on. “Oh good, it worked.” He dropped the laptop and dropped his head into Grif’s soft chest.

When he lifted his head again, Grif looked distinctly redder in the face.

Grif could say all that sarcastic stuff all he wanted but his face showed… something else Simmons couldn’t really interpret it, but he looked…. Good.

Their faces were closer. Oh, good. Grif’s eyes were wide, but dilated. Probably from all the adrenaline. Yeah…

Grif’s heart—Simmons’ old heart—raced under him, even though time felt like it had slowed down. Gravity really messed with you. Space was like that.

Simmons’ eyes closed again. They were sharing breath. He still felt like he was floating, orbiting Grif, and being pulled closer and closer by some force. Grif inhaled sharply, and Simmons’ realized their lips were just about to brush, and that was like floating too.

“Guys, there you are!” The door slammed open and Simmons groggily pulled away.

Donut was standing in the doorway. Of course it was Donut. Perfect timing. Thanks a lot, Donut. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

“Yeah, the getaway ships been revved up to go for ages! Bow-chicka-wow-wow.” And Tucker. Of course.

“[It looks like we interrupted something],” Lopez said in Spanish. “[They were about to make out. Finally. After years of sexual tension. Maybe we should just leave them here.]”

Simmons was distracted from watching Lopez speak Spanish at them even though literally none of them could understand it, to wonder why Grif was suddenly coughing and scrambling to get up. “We definitely weren’t doing that!”

“What?” Simmons asked. Was he… responding to Lopez?

“What? Nothing!” Grif said. “I don’t know any Spanish, stop accusing me!”

Simmons got up unsteadily. “Okay, whatever, jeez.” Grif wordlessly helped support him as they made their way back to the ship.

Sarge harrumphed and examined him and made the flipping in his eye and his head stop. There were a few stitches and some pain medication too.

Grif made a couple of half-hearted attempts to extricate himself from Simmons once they got to the ship, but oddly enough, most of their friends were leaving Grif and Simmons alone. Grif was so much more secure when they were left alone that he relaxed a little bit, and didn’t make too much of a fuss about Simmons leaning on him and dozing.

Simmons still felt like he was floating. A glow from the sun in his cheeks. Or maybe it was just the blow to the back of the head.

#rvb reverse big bang #grimmons #rbb #rvb fic #rvb #my writing

[clansayeed]

Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 1: The Middle of the Beginning

PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽

Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he's tripped into.

Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Four years after graduation Taylor catches up with his old college roommate, Kristin, and her work friend Vera for Mardi Gras. But a lot changes over time and Taylor isn't the same person he was back then.

[READ IT ON AO3]

The speckled pinks and oranges of rapidly-approaching sunset mirror the tourist’s neon shirts; plastered to their backs with patches of damp sweat.

He can’t imagine what it must be like to lead the pungent masses day in and day out. To mark them as prey with bright triangle flags flying high; leading them along like children with tethers of long camera straps and beaded trinkets from this shop and that stall.

It was hard enough to be an outsider when he first arrived. For his coworkers to see his born-and-bred habits like the traditions of a long dead civilization. To always be the other and to always be othered in a way he wasn’t used to.

Oh he’s used to being the other. Just for things that aren’t where he’s from and why he can’t handle the spice-coated flavors others were just born with.

It’s taken a year and some weeks but he’s finally close enough to being one of the rest that he’d never do something to damage his carefully cultivated reputation with something as tarnishing as a cemetery ghost tour.

So long as he keeps his distance he’s just another onlooker maybe digging for scraps of a heritage long-forgotten. No way is he one of them.

“All right-y y’all, let’s head on back to the carriages. They’ll take ya back to the Square and from there y’all’re free to enjoy the col-a-ful Quarter nightlife on ya own terms!”

The tour guide’s accent is thick and rich with generations of Cajun history. Taylor’s seen her run this route a dozen times in one day — she may not have a theatre to call home but he’d definitely consider her to be as much of a performer as he is.

No one could be that excited to spout out the same facts and deal with the constant barrage of insensitive Civil War-obsessed family dads every day. Not without being a little dizzy in the head.

Lo’ and behold one raises his sunburned arm. “Can we stay if we want?”

The guide almost slips — almost rolls her eyes.

“Ya paid for a ride back but that’s your dollar. You just gotta high-tail it with everyone else when the gates are closin’.”

“Why,” comes the petulant response, “don’t tell me they lock this place up because of the ghosts.”

Taylor watches the perpetrator; a young man wearing the Hartfield University logo like he’s getting a thousand bucks for each separate instance, wiggle his fingers at a woman beside him. She playfully shrieks, swats him away with a “ohmygod stop it Jake!” and no matter the answer the guide is going to give they could care less.

And the guide’s noticed it, too. Squares her chest and brushes her braid over her shoulder with a nonchalant frown.

“Not so much them as the muggers and drunks who take advantage of scrawny lil’ white boys like you who hang around like dumb shit. But by all means — stay if you think you can handle it.”

‘Jake’ must decide he can’t handle it because no one but the guide is left behind when the masses start back to the carriages. Taylor can’t help himself when he laughs.

“You need a ride too, straggler?”

She’s looking right at him. There’s a coy smile on her lips and something about her that seems a bit hazy — Taylor chocks it up to the humidity playing tricks on his tired eyes.

“Yeah, you,” she says without being prompted; throws a look back to her charges before crossing the cobblestone path to the crypt Taylor’s been using as good vantage point. “Don’t think I ain’t seen you creepin’ on my path. Next time you pay; got it?”

“Oh, I wasn’t —”

“Yeah yeah, I’ve heard it all before so save it.”

He didn’t ask for a ride back — would appreciate it but he’s fully capable of using his two feet and turning them in the direction of the Quarter. So he tries not to bristle at her defensive tone; tries to think back to all the things he was pushed into learning growing up.

Being defensive is sometimes the only way to get through the day.

“You got kin in here, cher?”

She has to snap to bring him back to reality.

“Huh?”

But at least she’s smiling now. Even if her smile changes in the shadows that grow and stretch over the evening. He tries not to linger on it too much.

“Just I’s seen you around here a couple times, is all.”

“Oh, no,” —then when he realizes he’s just given the implication that he likes hanging around crypts— “It’s a nice place to think. Away from the crowds.”

As if the world exists to prove him wrong there’s a whoop of laughter behind them. Taylor and the woman look to see a pair of children trying to climb on a stone ledge while their parents argue several feet away.

The guide groans. “Will you think less’a me if I’m too tired to deal with that right now?”

“Not in the slightest.”

“Then get that cute butt up in that there carriage. Now I just plain owe ya.”

Taylor shakes his head. “No, you don’t —”

“Hush. Book it.”

He’s flustered and she knows it. Flustered in the heat and with the visible light slowly dimming — that’s what’s tricking his eyes. What’s making her ears look a little too pointy and her eyes a little too bright and wide.

After all — what’s he gonna say? ‘You’re looking a bit Lord of the Rings today, miss?’ Probably not.

“Anyway the gates is closin’ soon — so this ride’s on me.”

They probably exchange words (or in Taylor’s case flustered nods and smiles) but hell if he can remember them. Not when he finds himself in the same carriage as Jake and his friend with the friendly guide — “call me Tilly” — beside him.

He must be awfully flustered the whole ride back to the city.

One thing to know about New Orleans is Mardi Gras isn’t just a party or a festival that comes around once a year. It’s a way of life.

Adopted by the tourists who travel from all across the country in search of a place to forget all but the celebration for the short time they’re here but first birthed by deep blood running in red rivers and streams through the Bayou and down into the sewers on Bourbon Street.

Ask anyone who calls the Big Easy home and they’ll tell you; it’s in the earth and the sea and the sky. It clings to the hull of every boat on the Mississippi and catches on the breeze that carries fallen leaves through the streets. More than just the open booze and cheap plastic beads — it’s the collective time to share the heady atmosphere of do everything but more and bridge the divides that settle in the city’s oldest bricks.

For Taylor it’s an excuse to undo the top button on his shirt and lose himself in the sweet swell of jazz down every block.

For Taylor’s old college roommate Kristin it’s an excuse to take a week off work and invite herself onto his tiny (tiny) couch for a full week nowhere near sober.

Tilly was — is — cute but if Taylor’s being honest with himself he’ll probably forget the ripped brochure panel with her number on it. Only to remember it come laundry day with the regret of the single-but-okay-with-it crowd.

As he shuffles off with elbows pulled in tight to maneuver his way through the crowds he’s given a stark reminder of why he went to the cemetery to clear his head in the first place.

Ping.

[TEXT]: I C U!!!

Taylor’s well within his rights to be terrified of a text like that, especially when the ping that follows it is met with a blurry picture wherein the flash practically whites out his hair.

But this is Kristin and Kristin has absolutely zero boundaries. Even going so far as to send at least three more photos of him looking down at his phone before he can even try to pinpoint the rooftop she’s hanging off of.

Luckily he catches sight of her (hard not to with her bright and glittery costume and long arms flailing like willows in the wind) before he stalls the entire street. Awkwardly shuffles into the bar and gestures at the back staircase to the hostess who literally couldn’t care less.

The rooftop seating isn’t as crowded as the floor below — for that he’s grateful. Less so for the sudden onslaught of glittery, liquor-tinted kisses pressed to every visible inch of his face, though.

“You ma~ade it, you ma~ade it!” Kristin sing-songs; almost spills her half-drunk hurricane but is apparently still sober enough to keep from spilling such a valuable item.

“And you started the party without me, I see.”

She giggles and brushes her hair away from her shoulders with a flourish. Wiggles her half dozen plastic beaded necklaces in his face with triumph. “Indeed I did!”

“Just be glad I managed to get her down to something she needs to sip out of a straw.”

Taylor looks up at the unfamiliar voice — finds himself dragged towards it by Kristin’s eager hand.

When she mentioned a ‘friend from work’ would be coming with her on vacation Taylor hadn’t known what to think or say. After four years their lives had gone in completely different directions — as was expected to happen when a theatre major and an accounting major ended up sharing an apartment on pure chance.

Frankly, though he’d taken the pushover high road and not said a word about it, when he thought Kristin had invited both herself and her coworker to stay with him he hadn’t been pleased in the fucking slightest.

But Vera — “amazing Vera,” “perfect Vera,” “I don’t know what I’d do without her Vera” — hadn’t wanted to impose on a stranger and gotten a hotel room for the week.

How is it that Kristin always attracts the kind of people who take care of her?

The humid breeze rustles Vera’s curls; not out of place but just enough to make her seem like even the wind is staged to highlight her best features. She looks like she came to the roof straight from the airport in a lax business suit with sleeves rolled up and collar button undone.

Not that the sleeves make much of a difference — Taylor chocked up Kristin’s insistence that Vera “always wears long silk gloves — like always” to her penchant for hyperbole but nope, there they were. And judging by the humidity and the way she holds her sweating cocktail glass by the tips of her fingers they aren’t very comfortable.

“Keep sippin’ sugar,” coaxes Vera, her smile fond as she directs Kristin’s neon-green crazy straw back between her lips, “don’t want you to crash and burn just yet.”

She hums in compliance, smacks her lips when she’s done and only then realizes she needs to make introductions.

“Whoops! Tay — this is Vera! Vera — Tay —”

“The infamous Taylor, oh I know.” She extends a gloved hand that he shakes — tries to hide his confusion but apparently not very well.

“I’ve seen enough pictures of you to feel like we went to college together.” Knowing Kristin as well as he does that’s a perfectly valid answer.

“I just wish I could say the same.” He admits almost sheepishly.

But Vera waves it off like it’s nothing. “Nah, you’re good. Baby girl knows how much I value my privacy.”

Before he can answer Kristin’s calling out to one of the waitresses making her rounds and snatching a drink off her tray to head directly for Taylor. With mortification he takes it and hands it back to the now irritated waitress — hands her a solid twenty for her troubles, too.

When Kristin and drinks are involved he knows to always come prepared to placate wait staff.

“Does your friend need to be cut off?” the woman asks with a leer. It’s the second time he’s flustered that evening because there’s no way her eyes go from hazel to yellow. Obviously.

“No no, she’s good. We’ll take good care of her.”

“Oh really?”

“I’m the, uh, D-D.” Thank god his smile works because the last thing he needs is her to get him banned from every bar on Rue Bourbon in a single week.

There’s a reason they don’t go back to their college homecoming week.

“I’ll get you a pop then.”

“Thanks.”

When he turns around Vera already has their girl back in her seat gabbing; a few steps closer and he catches the end of what was undoubtedly a riot of a story about something that happened on her flight over.

Vera flashes him a sympathetic look and a nod. Oh yeah, he likes her already. They’re gonna get along swimmingly.

“Do you have to be so loud?!”

“You���re the one screaming.”

“No ‘m not…”

“Yes you are~”

“Am not!”

“Are too~”

Taylor’s never had the best reflexes; doesn’t have enough of a sixth sense for oncoming violence to duck before his sofa pillow smacks him in the head.

“Your aim’s gotten better.” He drawls. Rounds the kitchen island and throws the pillow right back at the hungover mess squished on the cushions.

Kristin looks at him through a ratty ginger mess. He can feel the hatred from the distance.

“I was aiming for your butt.”

“Oh, then I take it back.”

“Dunno how I missed such a wide load!”

Despite her general anger at the world Taylor continues making her the barest excuse of a hangover breakfast; fried rice and scrambled eggs slathered in the ketchup that might as well run in her veins.

He leaves breakfast in a little display at the island — plated with a side of orange juice and coffee brewing in the pot.

“I gotta head to rehearsal — please get up if only to turn off the coffee maker?”

He scratches her hair like a pet — smiles fondly at the memories it brings back. Memories of them in this exact position four years younger. He missed the company.

Now that her dramatic episode is over Kristin yawns and gives him a pitiful frown. “I don’t need coffee,” she whines, “I need vodka.”

“Well you’re fresh outta luck there.” She knows any space he calls home is a dry one.

She watches him grab his keys and head out. Calls out “love you!” just like they used to.

“Love you back!”

The door closes behind him.

New Orleans wasn’t exactly the place for young, fresh-out-of-college performing hopefuls to go searching for roles. Not unless they were returning to their roots. Truthfully if anyone bothered asking him why he’d chosen the Big Easy he wouldn’t be able to give an immediate answer; he certainly struggled finding a company to latch onto when he first came down. Struggled (and continues to struggle) between temp jobs and deciding whether to pay rent or treat himself to something other than grilled chicken — again.

Most of his struggles he could blame on the glamorous life of an actor; big struggles early in life surely meant big rewards in the future.

Yes; he’s well aware he’d have at least a few less struggles had he picked up his entire life and moved, say, to Los Angeles.

But Taylor’s never been a fan of the easy way out. New Orleans called (probably a wrong number, but who was he to fight fate) and he answered.

There’s a laugh off to his left while he scrubs the sweat from his face. The bottom cotton of his tee itches like hell — but it’s better than not being able to see.

“Trying your hand at stripping, Hunter?”

The thud of a body sitting beside him on the edge of the stage. He drops the thoroughly soaked hem — still has to rub his thumbs into his eyes — before catching a glance at the lead he’s under-studying.

“I mean I thought about it,” admits Taylor—only half-joking, “but I like beignets too much.”

Antoni rolls his eyes and leans back with all the casual freedom of a man who has played five starring roles of the seven productions the company’s put on. Once you have your spot secured like that you can pretty much get away with anything. Especially making fun of the newbie.

The only thing Antoni and Taylor have in common are the lines and blocking they’re leaning. Where Antoni is brunette, Taylor is blond. Where Antoni is lithe and wiry — perfect for dancing though the company refuses to put on any musicals until their tenth year — Taylor is a little broader in the shoulders, a little curvy on the hips in comparison to the almost ethereal way Antoni’s body shoots downward.

Sure, like anyone with a pulse, Taylor had walked into his audition with a slight crush on Antoni’s heartbreaking smile and bright eyes. Then the star opened his mouth and Taylor couldn’t remember one thing he found attractive about the New Orleans-born performer. He didn’t know whether being a pompous jackass was in the man’s contract but he sure carried himself like it was.

Antoni looks Taylor up and down; his lips pursed in an all-too-familiar judgy frown.

“Sure, that’s why you couldn’t pull it off.”

The words send violent little stings all over his body. Make Taylor turn away from the way his coworker suddenly zones in on his chest. Everyone in the scene was sweating their asses off but two layers of spandex compressed on his chest didn’t make it any easier on Taylor. Still, no complaints as he endures the exercise in stifling Louisiana heat.

Fucking Antoni.

The rest of the scene’s performers join them on the edge of the stage. Water bottles are passed around and Taylor takes one gratefully from the girl beside him. Antoni declines his offer like plastic bottles are for peasants and snaps at one of the non-speaking roles to grab his metal water jug from the greenroom. He’s Antoni so… the kid scrambles to do his bidding.

When everyone is gathered the director smacks his palm against his clipboard — every single time, without fail, it makes Taylor feel like he’s back in a class being wrangled by a teacher — until everyone’s focus it on him.

“Alrighty, y’all, that was a real good run! I just have a few things I wanna go over…”

He pays attention like a good little soldier, but even though the director is a seasoned pro and his feedback is good, some people can be way too chatty. Makes Taylor zone out and think about how badly he’d now like to shove his face full of fluffy hot donut to simultaneously prove Antoni right and give him the middle finger. It’s not like he’s going up on stage anyway.

Being the understudy is fun. Being the understudy to a guy with enough ego to fill the bayou and a spotless attendance is less fun. Just means he knows he’ll only ever play the lead if Antoni gets eaten by gators… and even then it’s a little up in the air.

Tangential threads of thought have him thinking of the last time he bought a bottle of Gatorade when there’s motion around him and everyone is getting up and saying their goodbyes for the evening. “Hey, Antoni, stay back a sec,” says the director — Taylor tries not to roll his eyes as he heads to the back to change.

The reason he’d picked this company out of the dozens of amateur theatre gigs in New Orleans was simple — if not a little shameful. He should have wanted to go where the talent was, where the stories were, where the audience was. But Comerlan & Company was the only group that boasted (like, boasted) their inclusivity. Like, made-sure-to-include-their-nonbinary-green-room boasting.

He’d been slightly confused upon entering to find a faulty light switch and storage supplies — but at least it wasn’t being used for the wrong reasons. A couple of the crew members even welcomed him with a personalized sign:

TAYLOR’S GREEN ROOM LEAVE YOUR SHOES & BINARY THOUGHTS AT THE DOOR!!

Antoni may be a stuck-up prick but Taylor has his own green room. If anyone was keeping score that was at least ten, maybe even eleven points in his favor.

He’s bag-slung-over-shoulder and nearly out the back door when one of the crew rounds the tight corner with a stack of boxes obscuring his sight. If Taylor hadn’t been scrolling through Kristin’s five literal million texts about plans for the evening that he has no say in he might’ve stopped just in time to avoid a crash.

Yeah, he doesn’t.

They both go tumbling down with boxes between them. It takes Taylor longer than normal to blink the daze out of his system — judging by the costumes spilling out of the boxes they shouldn’t have been that heavy yet he can’t shake the distinct feeling of running into a brick wall. Or a mountain.

“Oh jeez — not again —” comes a gruff voice off to his side; followed by a hand outstretched in offering.

“— are you okay kid?” —the hand switches to a set of three fingers— “How many fingers am I holding up? Have you ever had a concussion before? You know what — stay there. I’ll call an ambulance.”

The man towers so high over him — really towers even at Taylor’s ground-level view — that a chunk of the overhead lights is obscured by his frantic head. You’d think a man so high in the sky wouldn’t take a fall so seriously but he’s acting like he just tried to stab Taylor on accident or something.

“H-Hey — hey, HEY!”

He shakes off the cartoon canaries flying overhead and rubs the back of his head; sore but there’s no blood on the linoleum; not that he suspected there might be.

Then the lights shine in Taylor’s eyes as the large crewman crouches down; reveals a worried face cut in serious angles. Like a-jawline-made-out-of-stone angles.

And there’s no way a guy that hot should be looking so worried, so… almost innocent.

“Hold still — and if you feel the need to vomit —”

“I’m fine, man, fine,” the more he says it the more he starts to mean it, too, “I’ve taken worse falls than this.”

“Are you sure? I’m… a bit hard to run into.”

“Like a mountain.”

“Er — sure.” A strange look comes over the man’s face before he offers up his hand again. Taylor uses it to pull himself up, hold steady. Could swear the man’s face shifts and grows darker (literally several shades darker) out of the corner of his eye but this time, flustered or not, he’s pinning it down on the unexpected head trauma.

Before he can look around for it the man seems to conjure Taylor’s phone out of thin air — he checks the intact screen with relief.

“Thanks.”

The crewman is already bent down, though; putting costumes back in boxes haphazardly. “It’s my fault. I should have been watching where I was going.”

“Dunno how you could have,” Taylor chuckles as he begins to help, “those things were stacked taller than you are. And that’s pretty impressive, no offense.”

The man’s face goes a slight pink — Taylor’s glad for once he’s not the embarrassed one.

“None taken.”

When everything is cleaned up and the boxes are re-stacked (which, doesn’t that just ask for trouble, but Taylor doesn’t say it) he turns to leave without a word. Only stops when the other clears his throat at Taylor’s back.

“I’m Krum, by the way. I’ve seen you around… you’re the King Oberon understudy aren’t you?”

The understudy. Yeah… that’s all he’s known for — all he’ll ever be known for. But still he tries to take it as the compliment it is; forces on a smile and turns back on his heel.

God, he wishes he hadn’t. Because maybe he hit his head harder than he thought. Maybe he did need an ambulance. Judging by the sudden garish, almost monstrous appearance of Krum the Crewman’s face.

He compared the man to a mountain before but not like this. Not with his jaw suddenly cut from what looks like granite and the veins in his literally rocky muscles now black and glittering with sediment.

With the air whisked from his lungs Taylor squeezes his eyes shut. Grits his teeth so hard his jaw begins to ache and the fading headache from his fall comes back full-force.

It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s. not. real.

“Hey… you okay?”

The way ‘Krum’ asks isn’t like before. It’s startled — unsure. But why wouldn’t he be? It’s all in Taylor’s head — he’s just flustered again.

He snaps his eyes open; steals back what little oxygen is left in the suddenly too-crowded empty hallway, and nods.

“Yeah. Gotta go. Bye.”

Not that the jarring switch from air-conditioning to the muggy humidity of the New Orleans sunset does him any good. But he’ll take anything over hallucinating again. Anything.

Kristin accepts that Taylor won’t join her in her pregame, but she’s not a fan of him trying to delay the start of her very-good night.

“Tay, hon, I’ve accepted that you’re not gonna pregame with me but I don’t see why that means I have to start late because you wanna talk.”

And at first he’s okay with it — knows she can be a little self-centered at times but when it counts she’s always there for him — until she’s too busy texting Vera about the secret club she’s been raving about ever since he got back from rehearsal to notice that this would be those times where it counts.

“If you’d stop trying to relive your college glory days for one fucking second, Kristin, I could use a friend and not a human vodka bottle.”

It’s gets her attention because it’s not Taylor — not the passive, takes-everything-silently Taylor she knew.

But he needs her right now. Not just because he doesn’t really have anyone else.

Only when they’re sitting on the couch together with newly-brewed mugs of tea in hand, though, does the silence break.

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

Kristin sips her tea for something to do. “I shouldn’t have been, uh…”

“College-Kristin?”

“Yeah.”

Their hands meet where the cushions do and they squeeze. Things really have changed.

Only now he has the space to talk and in classic Taylor-fashion he’s unsure of what to say.

“Whenever you’re ready, okay?” While some might not consider Kristin taking her phone and turning it screen-down as a big deal, he knows better. Knows it means she’s living in the moment with him.

It takes him a whole twenty minutes to be ready — and she doesn’t look at her phone once.

“I never told you why I stopped drinking just before senior year.”

“No, you didn’t.” Not for my lack of asking she doesn’t say; doesn’t have to.

“I know it’s a bit late, but…”

“But better now than never.”

Better now than never. The same words Taylor said to her seconds before his first injection. Her hand gripping his shoulder tightly the whole time. It’s the only throwback so far that hasn’t made his stomach queasy.

“Right,” he nods, “better now than never.”

No one meeting them now would believe that it was Taylor with the drinking problem and Kristin worrying one step behind. As it was only a few people in their shared and close-knit social circle of queer outcasts and image-reinventors knew there was a time when sobriety was a fickle joke to him. He made sure it stayed that way, too.

Even back then he’d been good at hiding; hiding his drinking, hiding his therapy, hiding his doubts about who he really was. And maybe no one would have ever known had their group plans to visit Europe for their last summer not fallen through.

Because going back home to stay with his mother — not that he blamed her; he could never blame her — had been the tipping point. All those old familiar faces who kept calling him the wrong name, kept using the wrong words. The whispers behind cupped hands that would stop the moment he walked into a space. The once-friends who were suddenly ‘too busy’ to get to know the man he’d become instead of the woman they thought he was.

Each drink made the whispers and rumors easier to suffer. He could laugh them off and, on really bad days, joke around with them — turn himself into a joke at his own expense. But it was a double-edged sword and he knew it.

“Remember that trip my mom and I took to the city to see Wicked?”

Kristin nods. She’s been silent the whole time — through every admission of guilt, every notable time they had fallen out or he’d been caught up in something stupid that had only happened because of the drink — and Taylor wouldn’t be surprised if she decided to stay with Vera for the rest of her vacation.

Taylor exhales; this isn’t something he’s ever admitted beyond the safety of a private office, beyond a patient confidentiality clause. “She was never much of a drinker, you remember. So she didn’t know what I was ordering was way stronger than hers. And when we were done she went out to call a cab to the theatre and… and I remembered I hadn’t taken my meds that morning.”

“Shit, Tay…”

He shakes his head to stop her. If that’s what’s got her worried she won’t be able to handle the rest of the story. “Yeah, it was dumb. But to be fair I was pretty dumb back then.”

Kristin just shrugs. Brushes her thumb over his knuckles.

“That’s when I, uhm, you know I was a week late moving back to the apartment?”

“Yeah, you said…” No matter what he’d said it wasn’t the truth so she doesn’t finish.

But Taylor remembers. Remembers laying in the hospital bed trying not to panic himself into a heart attack. Remembers his mother crying over his bedside some nights and trying her best not to shout at him during others. Please don’t tell anyone, he begged her with bleary eyes and a fresh IV in his arm, I’ll get help, I’ll get help. Just don’t tell anyone.

“Well what really happened was… it was bad,” even with all his extensive vocabulary it’s the only word he can think of, “it was really bad. The doctors said it was the combo — that I probably took more of my meds than I needed on accident.

“I was looking at people but — but I wasn’t seeing them. They looked strange or inhuman or… or both. I’d hallucinated like that before but never… never that bad.”

Her nose scrunches up — she’s holding her thoughts back but right now that’s okay.

“You’d hallucinated before? And did the same shit knowing what would happen?”

There’s an accusation in her voice that makes him look away in shame. “It’s hard to explain.”

“Too bad — try.”

So he tries — doesn’t know how well he succeeds. Explains in broken sentences and half-started half-finished examples of when the hallucinations first started and how happy he’d been when drinking made them go away. Well… until that last time.

“So lemme get this straight;” Kristin pinches the bridge of her nose, “you were seeing shit, and started drinking to not see shit, but you still kept seeing shit so you kept drinking until you didn’t see shit anymore?”

“Pretty much.”

“Taylor that’s the stupidest fucking logic I’ve ever heard.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Like, it doesn’t even make sense.”

“It did at the time.”

“Bullshit — but continue.”

Only by that point there isn’t much left to say. He got help — missed the first week of senior year because it overlapped with his rehab. “Explains why you never answered my calls,” she mutters. “Mom passed along every single message, though,” he offers as consolation.

“Rehab was the easiest month of my life. I didn’t want to drink again — especially if it meant seeing… seeing stuff. And I wasn’t even tempted when I went back to school. I had my meds, and I had that terrifying last time to scare me straight.”

He tries not to let Kristin’s silence get to him — tries not to shift under the weight of imagined scrutiny. It’s not like this thing ruined their friendship and only now, four years after the fact, is he coming clean about it. It’s more like he’s… filling in the blanks. Giving the story more context.

So very meta of him.

“So why are you telling me this now?”

Man, he hoped she wouldn’t ask that. But why else would he bring it up if he wasn’t prepared for it?

“Because,” he says on a shaky inhale, “I know you’ll believe me when I say I haven’t had a drink in years. You’ve seen my place, you’ve seen how I am out on the town; I’m not even tempted. My mom… she loves me — and that’s why she’d probably think I’m lying if I told her.”

“‘Told her’ what?”

“That I think… I think I’m starting to see things again. And I’m scared, Krissy, I’m really really scared.”

He falls into her open arms without hesitation. Knows when things are less serious that she’ll get on his case for leaving wet spots in one of her favorite shirts later but she knows when to put the persona aside and just be there for him.

Others may not get the full story between them — and, really, now she knows the full story too — but god is he glad to have someone like her in his life.

Every time the full and unopened bottles clink in the bag between them, Kristin looks over his way. He gets it, really he does, but it’s starting to get annoying.

“No way are we going out tonight.”

“Seriously — it’s okay.”

“Dude you just had a full-on mental breakdown in my lap.”

“And that’s new?”

“I can’t enjoy myself knowing you’re miserable!”

“I’m not miserable, Krissy. I’ve been looking forward to seeing you for legit ever.”

“Ugh, well… you’ve got me there. But we’re gonna change things up a bit, okay?”

So she called Vera while Taylor showered the tears from his conscience. Gathered up all the bottles she bought while he was gone that day into one eco-friendly tote bag and made a second call to a rideshare with the destination set at Vera’s hotel in the Business District.

“I don’t want you guys to change your plans because of me.”

“Shuuuuut up, Tay. My liver will probably thank you in the long run.”

“But what about your friend?”

“Vee — oh she’s fine with it. Apparently she found a club or two we can get to instead!”

Not that there’s much difference between a bar and a club in any other town but here in the Big Easy (and especially during Mardi Gras) near-every bar is a club on certain avenues, but that doesn’t mean every club has a bar.

Kristin beckons him close and cups her hand over her mouth to whisper in his ear. “And if you start to, well, you know, then we’ll leave and go check out the sights. Cool?”

The driver probably gets the wrong impression of them when Taylor kisses her temple lovingly. That’s okay though. He wouldn’t be the first.

“Cool.”

#nightbound #nik ryder x mc #nik ryder #choices nb #playchoices #vera reimonenq #nightbound mc #mc: taylor hunter #oblv: bound by circumstance #oblv: new chapter #; my fics #tw: hallucinations

[switchjeon]

It was only a kiss; taegi

Pairing: Kim Taehyung & Min Yoongi; Taegi

Genre: fluff, college/university AU, friends to lovers

Summary: Yoongi is confused why his friend Tae won’t stop kissing his face, but he isn’t about to stop him

Yoongi knows everyone has their own strange quirks. He knows not everyone is the same, and that in itself is one of the beautiful things about the world. He knows people work differently, prefer different things and have different ambitions. He knows and he understands. One thing Yoongi will never understand, however, are those types of people, who enjoy being awake in the morning.

Seven am is for sleeping. It’s for being tucked up in big blankets on cold days. It’s for resting. Seven am is not for hastily getting dressed in your room for your eight o clock lecture. In Yoongi’s mind, no lecture should start earlier than midday. In fact, no social event should start earlier than midday. 

Taehyung is one of these morning people Yoongi fails to understand. Well, he knows without Taehyung he wouldn’t even attend half his morning lectures, but he really doesn’t understand why his flatmate is awake at seven, when his first class is at eleven.

“Why are you awake,” Yoongi grumbles when he sits down at the kitchen, his question comes out more accusing than in need of answer. Taehyung places a mug of coffee in front of him, before grinning and answering anyway.

“I have some stuff to work on, might as well work on it in the morning.”

Yoongi rolls his eyes, muttering something about students who hand in work early and how it should give them a zero for being annoying.

Taehyung only laughs, used to the slander that comes with a morning Min Yoongi.

“Aren’t you going to have breakfast?” Yoongi asks, when Taehyung continues to sit there and watch him drink his coffee,

“I told Jungkook I’d grab breakfast with him, which…” He pauses, eyes trailing towards the clock on the wall “…I should be leaving for,”

Yoongi ignores the twist in his stomach, and watches as Taehyung stands from his chair to grab his jacket and bag from the counter,

“I’ll see you after class?” Tae asks, turning back to Yoongi. Yoongi nods, drowning the last bit of his coffee before standing up too,

“Yeah,” he pauses, watches as Taehyung pulls his earplugs out and plugs them into his phone,

“Lower your music when you cross the roads,” he adds softly.

Taehyung stops fiddling with his phone and looks at Yoongi, a small smile on his face,

“Okay,” He replies. He walks over to Yoongi, coming closer, before he’s completely up in all of his personal space,

“See you later, Yoongi” He says, and walks out the door. It takes Yoongi a moment to register the kiss that Tae had planted on his cheek before leaving, and by the time he’s registered that yes, Kim Taehyung had kissed his cheek, he’s already late for his lecture.

—-

It’s late, when it happens again.

Yoongi is tired can feel his eyes slipping shut every few seconds, the weight of sleep pulling him under, but he really needs to finish revising his study notes before he allows it.

Yoongi is lying on the couch, his head in Taehyung’s lap and his notes held out in front of him, shifting between them every few seconds.

Taehyung has one hand in Yoongi’s hair, but it’s no longer scratching his scalp, just lying between the strands. Tae sits on his phone, thumb scrolling through some article that is easily interesting at two in the morning, his assignment long since stranded on the floor after having a mental debate of just dropping out.

“Get some rest,” Taehyung says when Yoongi yawns for the fifth time in a row. His eyes are red and watery due to his constant yawning, and Taehyung is concerned he won’t even make it to the exam he’s so worried for.

“Last three, then I’ll go,” Yoongi says,

“Have you even learnt anything?”

“Of course I have!” Yoongi snaps, but there’s no bite to it- never is, when Taehyung’s around.

“Shall I test you?”

“No.”

Tae laughs, dropping his phone onto the couch and using both his hands to massage Yoongi’s head. Yoongi groans, eyes slipping shut,

“Tae,” He says softly, “Let me concentrate.”

“I’m helping you concentrate.”

“You’re distracting me.”

Taehyung sighs, running his fingers through Yoongi’s hair once more, before pulling away.

“You’ll sleep soon right?”

Yoongi nods, and Tae- satisfied- stands up after gently leaving Yoongi’s head on a pillow.

Taehyung leans over him once he stands, and gently presses his lips against Yoongi’s forehead, eyes slipping closed for a second, before standing upright again, “Goodnight, Yoongi” He says softly, before padding out the room.

It takes Yoongi fifteen minutes to understand the six simple words on the next flashcard.

—

Yoongi has gotten used to this habit of Taehyung’s. He gets kisses before Tae leaves the apartment, before they go to bed, when he’s stressed over an exam or a paper is taking longer than he wanted to complete.

The kisses spread over his face, ranging from his cheek, to forehead to nose. When Taehyung can’t reach, he leaves fluttering kisses on the back of Yoongi’s neck, or the top of his head. They make Yoongi feel safe, protected against the lips of his friend, and ignoring the quivering butterflies that set in the pit of his stomach once Taehyung moves away.

Yoongi is glad he keeps Taehyung by his side. Tae knows Yoongi is uncomfortable with strangers, so he keeps him close, makes sure not to wander too far when hitting up a conversation with someone else.

Yoongi watches him talk to Jimin, a boy from one of his lectures, who is practically fluff on legs. Jimin is a boy of wide gestures but muffled giggles, big words and a soft voice. Taehyung towers over Jimin, but Yoongi knows the security isn’t the same.

“You like him,” The voice of Namjoon comes from next to him, and Yoongi is surprised he manages to hear, considering the loud bass and chatter that swallows up everything in the club,

“Who, Jimin?” Yoongi shrugs, “He’s cute, I guess,”

“No-” Namjoon rolls his eyes, but before he can continue, Taehyung’s walking over with Jimin in tow.

“Hyung!” Tae grins, leaning down and planting a kiss against Yoongi’s cheek. Yoongi responds by reaching out, his fingers brushing against Tae’s for a second, before he lets the contact finish, “Me and Jimin are going to grab some drinks,”

Yoongi nods, watches him leave, and doesn’t hear Namjoon the first time he clears his throat,

“You guys are dating but you called Jimin cute?”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow, “Dating? Who?”

“Tae! He just kissed you!”

Yoongi raises his other eyebrow, amusement evident,

“You’ve never kissed your friend on the cheek before, Joon?”

Namjoon splutters, and Yoongi is extremely satisfied with the concept of a speechless Namjoon,

“Not like that!” Namjoon says finally,

Yoongi clicks his tongue, standing to fully face him. He’s shorter than Namjoon, but he can get his point across even with his lack of height,

“Like what?”

The younger boy rolls his eyes, obviously finding something really ridiculous here. Yoongi misses it.

“So casually! All fond eyes and small touches, why didn’t you tell us you’re dating?”

“Because we’re not!”

Namjoon rolls his eyes again, crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow. He’s really starting to pick up on some of Yoongi’s habits.

“Okay, hyung, whatever you say.”

—

Yoongi likes Sundays, for the sole reason he can wake up late with no worries. He refuses to work on Sundays, which motivates him to finish all his assignments on Friday and Saturday, leaving his Sunday free from any responsibilities- just the way he likes it.

When he finally slips out of the cocoon he’d been living in for the past two hours, he hears two voices in the kitchen. One, definitely belongs to Tae, and the other he vaguely registers as Jungkook’s.

They’re laughing, and as Yoongi edges closer to the kitchen he sees that it is Jungkook. Taehyung stands with his back to Yoongi, and Jungkook stands a little away from him, his side facing Yoongi. Neither of them notice him, and he’s about to make his presence clear when Tae suddenly talks,

“I can’t believe you did that, my boyfriend would hate you.”

Yoongi reels, caught off guard, but manages to steady himself. The two boys are laughing again, yet to notice Yoongi’s presence, and Yoongi silently slips away, the word boyfriend ringing in his ears.

—

It doesn’t strike Taehyung as weird when Yoongi resists his kiss once. He figures Yoongi didn’t realise he was going to be kissed, or maybe he wasn’t in the mood for skin contact at that moment. Either way, Taehyung’s okay with it.

He’s not okay when Yoongi resists a third and a fourth time, obviously avoiding his lips whenever he can.

When Tae doesn’t try kissing him again, afraid of rejection, Yoongi ignores him. He leaves for class early in the morning and only comes home late at night. Tae would be worried if he didn’t know Yoongi was spending his spare hours in the library- studying and working on papers. What does worry Taehyung is the fact that Yoongi has always complained about working in the library, said their apartment is such a better work space, especially with Taehyung checking up on him, making sure he isn’t overworking, and bringing him meals when he forgets to eat.

So Taehyung stays up. It’s half twelve when Yoongi wanders in the apartment. His movements are slow, cautious, and Taehyung is fondly aware that Yoongi is trying not to wake him- thinking he’s asleep.

Taehyung flicks on the living room light, and Yoongi is a scared deer caught in headlights. His eyes are wide, and he stands frozen, his shoes half toed off as his bag clutters to floor.

“Jesus, Tae” He squints at the bright light “You scared the shit out of me.”

Yoongi turns his back towards Taehyung to take his shoes off and pick up his bag.

Tae walks over to where Yoongi stands, and slowly wraps him in his arms, pressing small kisses to the back of Yoongi’s neck before nuzzling into his shoulder.

Yoongi stands frozen the whole time.

“I missed you,” Tae says softly, “I’m glad you’re home.”

Yoongi finds himself slowly relaxing into the younger boy’s arms, a week of a hectic schedule finally catching up to him- but then the word boyfriend revisits his mind, and he’s untangling himself, making a clear distance and diminishing all contact. He avoids Taehyung’s eyes, but doesn’t miss the small whimper that leaves his mouth.

“Why do you keep pushing me away, hyung? You don’t let me touch you anymore, won’t let me kiss you-”

“Don’t you have a boyfriend to kiss?” Yoongi cuts him off sharply. Taehyung is suddenly really confused,

“What?”

“You don’t have to tell me everything about your private life, Taehyung,” Yoongi starts “But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t lead me on when you’re already dating someone.” He pauses “I don’t think your boyfriend would be very happy to learn you’ve been kissing me behind his back.”

Taehyung is still startled, so Yoongi continues,

“I heard you talking about your boyfriend to Jungkook the other day-”

And that’s all it takes for a wide grin to split across Taehyung’s face, his eyes scrunched up as a loud laugh falls from his lips.

“Am I missing something, I really don’t see what’s funny-”

“I was talking about you, hyung.” He pauses, laughter died out, and he suddenly looks nervous, “I know we never made anything official- but you were letting me hold you and kiss you and I just thought-” Taehyung sighs, “If you don’t want me, it’s okay, but you don’t have to ignore me for two weeks.”

Yoongi’s eyes are wide. He feels awful.

“Tae I- it’s not like that. I do want you, god, I’ve been struggling since you moved in- but,” Yoongi gives up on words, and pulls Taehyung towards him with his hand. Tae is startled, but allows himself to be pulled forward anyway, and when Yoongi’s hands wrap around his neck, his own finding Yoongi’s hips, he realises that kissing Yoongi’s cheeks, face and nose is nice- but kissing his mouth is a whole other world.

—

Yoongi doesn’t understand many things. Doesn’t understand why the planets are in that particular order, why jam tastes good on bread but not on toast, why the stars shine brighter on certain nights or why mixing all the colours together would make brown. He doesn’t understand why Hoseok doesn’t like coffee, why Seokjin can’t sleep with the window open or why Namjoon can’t sleep with it closed.

But he does understand that the planets never stop spinning because of their order, that some people like jam on toast, that the stars are always shining whether we look or not and that the lack of one colour wouldn’t create the right shade. He understands that Hoseok doesn’t like coffee but drinks it to keep him on his feet, and that Namjoon and Jin don’t particularly care about the window, when they’re cuddled close together.

He understands that the reasons why things work isn’t always important, as long as they are working. He understands that kissing Taehyung, waking up next to him and loving him unconditionally will one day become a routine, something he does without a second thought.

And as long as the planets keep spinning, the stars keep shining and his friends keep squabbling, Yoongi knows he won’t stop loving.

#taegi #taegi fic #min yoongi/kim taehyung #taegi fics

[douchebagbrainwaves]

IT'S CHARISMA, 372

Certainly it can be launched. That's what you're addicted to.1 Spam is mostly sales pitches, spam becomes less effective as a marketing vehicle, and fewer businesses want to use it themselves, at least to you.2 The problem is the receptor it binds to: dressing up is inevitably a substitute for good ideas.3 I'll start by telling you something you don't have to explain why. But you know the ideas are out there.4 The person who needs something may not know exactly what to build because you'll have muscle memory from doing it yourself.5 But Dropbox was a much better idea, both in the absolute sense and also as a match for his skills. For coming up with startup ideas on demand. So you have two choices about the shape of hole you start with. The third big lesson we can learn from open source, I don't mean any specific business can. Actually, the fad is the word blog, at least not right now, but they especially don't work as a way to simulate the rewards of a startup they have neglected the one thing that's actually essential: making something people want, and the greater part of a good idea because it started with a small market easily by expending an effort that wouldn't be justified by that market alone.

He only took it up because he was a programmer that Facebook seemed a good idea to have a mind that's prepared in the right direction rather than the wrong one. I've described is near zero. Aggregators show how much better you can do anything if you forgo starting a startup—indeed, almost its raison d'etre—is that it would be so much less work if you could get users merely by broadcasting your existence, rather than carry a single unnecessary ounce. Was there some kind of salesperson. Some arrive feeling sure they will ace Y Combinator as they've aced every one of these words has a spam probability, in my current database, the word to describe the situation would be to accumulate a giant corpus of spam and one of your side projects takes off like Facebook did, you'll face a choice of running with it or not.6 Stripe is one of the keys to retaining their monopoly.7 We were saying: if you depend on an oligopoly, you sink into bad habits that are hard to overcome when you suddenly get competition.

I do before x? Maybe it's not a good idea to stop thinking of startup ideas, you have more ideas. The best plan may be just as well if you do it consciously you'll do it best if you introduce the ulterior motive toward the end of the process. Starting a successful startup, the thought of our startups keeps me up at night. There is a whole class of dubious business propositions involving less developed countries, and these are just the first fifteen seen.8 He didn't stay long, but he wouldn't have returned at all if he'd realized Microsoft was going to have a huge effect. And they know the same about spam, including the headers.9 That's what was killing them. As we got close to publication, I found immediately that it was better if merchants processed orders like phone orders.

Well, math will give you more options to choose your life's work from.10 Fouls happen. If you know a lot about things that matter, I wrote become good at some technology. 84421706 same 0. 19212411 Most of the legal restrictions on employers are intended to protect employees. But when they start paying you specifically for that attentiveness—when they start paying you by the hour—they expect you to get a really big bubble: you need to go running.11 It discovered, of course, the probabilities should be calculated individually for each user. And you end up with special offers and valuable offers having probabilities of. 06080265 prices 0. I often have to encourage founders who don't see the full potential of what they're building is so great that people recommend it to their friends. I think, is to step onto an orthogonal vector.12 A startup just starting out can't expect to excavate that much volume.13

And yet have you ever seen a Google ad? 9889 and. Think about what you have to do is give them a share of it. Imagine a graph whose x axis represents all the people who write software are particularly harmed by checks. Six months later they're all saying the same things about Arc that they said at first about Viaweb, and Y Combinator, and most people reading this will be over that threshold.14 If a filter has never seen the token xxxporn before it will have an individual spam probability of. As day jobs go, it's pretty sweet.15

If the present range of productivity is 0 to 100, introducing a multiple of 10 increases the range from 0 to 1000. We assumed his logo would deter any actual customers, but it did not. Even colocating servers seemed too risky, considering how often things went wrong with them. You build something, make it available, and if you can make it happen. You're done at 3 o'clock, and you can solve it manually, go ahead and do that for as long as you can, and then ask: what should I do now to get there? When one looks over these trends, is there any overall theme?16 Good ones, anyway. The more spam a user gets, the less likely it is to be learned from whatever book on it happens to be closest. I showed up in Silicon Valley in 1998, I felt like an immigrant from Eastern Europe arriving in America in 1900. It's demoralizing to be on the path to some goal you're supposed to be companies at first.

Yes and no. The malaise you feel is the same. Looking for waves is essentially a way to make existing users super happy, they'll one day have too many to do so is probably denial, though that seems a bit too narrow. The search engines that preceded them shied away from the most radical implications of what was said to them.17 The fifteen most interesting words in this spam are: qvp0045 indira mx-05 intimail $7500 freeyankeedom cdo bluefoxmedia jpg unsecured platinum 3d0 qves 7c5 7c266675 The words are a mix of stuff from the headers and from the message body.18 Do something hard enough to sell to is not that you'll make them unproductive, but that good programmers won't even want to work for them. Batch after batch, the YC partners warn founders about mistakes they're about to make, and the problem you're solving for them.19

Notes

I realize I'm going to kill. Even college textbooks is unpleasant work, like architecture and filmmaking, but there has to be spread out geographically. Most explicitly benevolent projects don't hold themselves sufficiently accountable. And that will replace TV, music, phone, and that you can't or don't want to avoid companies that can't reasonably expect to make the hiring point more strongly.

Many will consent to b rather than trying to focus on users, not competitors. Do College English 28 1966-67, pp. Giant tax loopholes defended by two of the movie, but the nature of an audience of investors started offering investment automatically to every startup founder or investor I don't know which name will stick.

If you try to go behind the rapacious one. Put rice in rice cooker.

Something similar happens with suburbs. Perhaps the most important factor in the mid 20th century.

The point of failure would be very hard and doesn't get paid to work not just the raw gaps and anomalies you'd noticed that day. In practice their usefulness is greatly enhanced by other Lisp dialects: Here's an example of computer security, and are often compared to what used to say that I'm skeptical whether economic inequality.

Thanks to judgmentalist for this point for me, I use the word content and tried for a small set of plausible sounding startup ideas is to carry a beeper? If Congress passes the founder visa in a time. The word suggests an undifferentiated slurry, but essentially a startup was a test of investor behavior. It's a strange feeling of being interrupted deters hackers from starting hard projects.

Which is not so good. If you're doing something that doesn't seem an impossible hope.

Perhaps realizing this will make grad students' mouths water, but as a technology center is the true kind. Not in New York the center of gravity of the 1929 crash.

They shut down a few months later Google paid 1. We're sometimes disappointed when a startup at a large organization that often creates a rationalization for doing it with a faulty knowledge of human nature, might come from. That can be done at a time.

E-Mail. But we invest in a domain is for sale. University Bloomington 1868-1970. In 1800 an empty plastic drink bottle with a screw top would have met 30 people he knew.

Note: An earlier version of this desirable company, you won't be able to claim retroactively I said that a startup to duplicate our software, we actively sought out people who'd failed out of business, A P supermarket chain because it doesn't cost anything.

Ironically, one variant of compound bug where one bug, the mean annual wage in the fall of 2008 but no doubt often are, so the best new startups.

Success here is that parties shouldn't be that surprising that colleges can't teach them how to value valuable things. An investor who's seriously interested will already be programming in college is much smaller commitment than a Web terminal. Yahoo was their customer. That way most reach the stage where they're sufficiently convincing well before Demo Day by encouraging people to claim that they'll only invest contingently on other investors doing so.

I swapped them to act. I have about thirty friends whose opinions I care about.

We consciously optimize for this type of mail, I asked some founders who'd taken series A from a book from a VC who got buyer's remorse, then over the Internet worm of 1988 infected 6000 computers.

Mueller, Friedrich M. So whatever market you're in, but viewed from the VCs' point of a single VC investment that began with an online service. 2%. If this happens it will tend to be limits on the young care so much about unimportant things.

Some introductions to other knowledge. You should probably be multiple blacklists. A great programmer is infinitely more valuable, because users' needs often change in response to the principles they discovered in the Greek classics. Which helps explain why there are some good proposals too.

Ed. We didn't swing for the reader: rephrase that thought to please the same in the sense of the economy. Fortunately policies are software; Apple probably wouldn't be irrational.

I was insane—they could bring no assets with them. By Paleolithic standards, technology evolved at a party school will inevitably arise. In fact, if you did.

Thanks to Trevor Blackwell, Robert Morris, Sam Altman, Eric Raymond, Pete Koomen, and Maria Daniels for their feedback on these thoughts.

#automatically generated text #Markov chains #Paul Graham #Python #Patrick Mooney #VC #mistakes #Do #habits #axis #startup #stuff #music #point #projects #market #jobs #Lisp #deters #spam #way #example #policies #America #customer #word #day #Fouls

[bibbykins]

A Convoluted Code

A/N: This is hours late, but here it is!

Pairing: College au! TA! Taehyung (based off of 707 of Mystic Messenger

Genre: Fluff (Soon), Comedy

Word Count: 3.2k

Summary: Technological Special Agent, Kim Taehyung, never made mistakes... until he did, and that led him to you, a mistake he couldn’t live down

It started out as just another petty job so that he could buy another computer. As if the multiple screens that surrounded him in his office plus the five laptops lying around weren’t enough for him. However, he was the best, and he required the best equipment.

The job was simple enough, hack into this guy’s phone and see if he’s cheating, but even the best make tiny mistakes.

Usually all he needed to hack into a person’s phone, laptop, and any other accounts was just a phone number, this was thanks to how connected everyone’s accounts were.

Then Taehyung could sift through what he wanted to, report back, get the money, and call it day. The customers he worked with were usually fairly prestigious, so he figured that they would be intelligent enough to write down a stupid number correctly.

And with that foolish assumption concerning the snooty, the best had made a mistake.

It was somewhere between his third caffeinated soda and second bag of chips he realized he hadn’t hacked into Seung Chanwoo’s laptop, it was yours. However, he realized this only after hacking into your laptop camera, it was then the texts he had just read from you and a Soha had finally made sense.

You: Oh btw, I can’t close it anymore

Soha: What? Why not?

You: It’ll snap right in half, and I need it until I can find the money to get a new one… or a sugar daddy that’s around my age, whichever comes first tbh

Soha: Yeah right, have fun writing your little heart out

Maybe a man and his mistress wouldn’t be talking about getting sugar daddies.

This clicked when he was met with you sleeping on your bed, only wearing a tshirt and underwear, he immediately diverted his eyes. You were beautiful, and he wasn’t prepared for that. He was now looking at your wall with several rewards on it and your high school diploma on your wall reading Y/N L/N. With crimson cheeks, he exited out of your laptop’s view from your desk and decided to do research on you, because your number was off by only one digit, and he was thorough in his investigations, and he could swear your name was familiar.

After just a few hours, he knew just about everything about your past and current job. You went to a high school he’s never come in contact with, got decent grades, and you only joined journalism-related extracurriculars, a real recluse. Currently, you worked from home serving as a third-party editor for several magazines and newspapers both online and on paper, but nevertheless keeping up with reclusivity.

It was on his fourth bag of chips and seventh caffeinated drink he realized he was nearly late for his cover job.

Taehyung’s line of work was high-profile and unbeknownst to many of his friends, he often took care of government work. Plain and simple, he was special agent Kim Taehyung, basically a spy. With such a job, the government had suggested he take a cover job to keep him in plain sight, relieving suspicions other hackers may have, since hiding is the easiest way to be found in his world.

He chose to be a paid virtual Teaching Assistant at an average college for a variety of classes from Computer Science 101 to Economics 305, he just did all the electronic grading as instructed by professors he had more credentials than. Only time to time would he have to physically be present when a student requested tutoring and the professor wasn’t there or just didn’t feel like it, or the professor was out sick and he had to lecture.

Today, he had to lecture for Computer Science 101, which he dreaded the most. The students’ work was like grading kindergarteners on coding, just ridiculous. The class only had one lecture a week, but teaching beginner’s computer science is about as mind-numbing as reciting the ABC’s for two hours, especially since most of the students only took the class to avoid a proper math class.

He hated this class.

You hated this class.

Tech-savy was nowhere on your resume. Electronically proficient, maybe, but the 0s and 1s turned your brain to mush, it made an ironic sum of zero sense, but you would crumble in Calculus, so this was the only sensible choice you had. You almost regretted it. You didn’t know a soul in the class, nor wanted to, not to mention your laptop was five years old and beginning to quite literally come off its hinges, but luckily your professor was a slightly creepy yet understanding middle aged man who didn’t make you close it during a written test,like one you had today.

You weren’t worried until you walked in to see the fine piece of man that was Kim Taehyung, dreamy TA, and most likely unbeknownst to him, distractingly hot neighbor in your nice apartment complex. He was beautiful, made his own money, and a lot considering of the quality of the apartment building you only reside in due to the connections you have with very wealthy editors who offer discounts. Nevertheless Taehyung was amazing, smart, sort of kind, and completely ignorant to your presence. Not that you could blame him, you never really left your apartment safe for class or if Soha forces you to, and even in class you don’t make a peep and make average grades, so no real reason to cross paths.

But your worry didn’t come from the adonis’s looks, it came from the fact you had to formulate a sentence to him when he tried to make you close your janky laptop.

Okay, just let him know before class starts. Go to the desk and- or just keep walking like an idiot and wait to be called out- or spend a solid minute turning forward and backward repeatedly, that works too, idiot.

Finally,you mustered up the courage to utter a sentence to him, “Uh, my laptop won’t close,” You mumbled, cursing yourself that you didn’t offer any explanation. Taehyung typed away on his own laptop, not looking at you when he responded.

“Just pull the top screen down, it’s simple,” His response was snarky at best and you flinched.

Your face scrunched in annoyance, “No, it’ll snap in half if I do.” Your voice had gotten smaller.

Taehyung rolled his eyes, not caring to talk to any of these students longer than required, “Fine just put something over it and make sure it’s on sleep mode.” He said, never looking up at you. You nodded meekly and went to your seat in the very back of the lecture hall.

After a few minutes of everyone making sure their laptops aren’t accessible, Taehyung skipped roll call as he counted and everyone was here, so he administered the test to each student, and when he got to you, he was met with a terrifying view as a pseudo official.

You were in the middle of taking off your sweater to reveal only a black tanktop that brought attention to your cleavage, “What on Earth are you doing?” Taehyung deadpanned, making you jump, since you didn’t see him near you.

With heated cheeks, you quickly stripped off your sweater and put it on your laptop and as you placed it there you spoke, “Sorry, I got a bit trapped in there,” You explained as he just put a test in front of you. It was then you made eye contact and his whole word stopped, “Thank you,” You smiled as he walked off.

It was official, Kim Taehyung had made a mistake. What kind of hacker doesn’t check what university she goes to? Or what classes she’s taking? No wonder her name seened familiar. As if he hadn’t done so enough, he stared at her, wondering how it is he never seen her here before. He was usually very good at recognizing faces and being observant, but then you come out of the blue. Goodness, he feels creepy, but there’s something suspicious about you. Maybe it’s his pride trying to avoid the fact that he made a mistake, or maybe you are a fellow hacker trying to play him.

And with these grades, his pride diminishes. He started down at your test probably the same way you had. Your grade wasn’t horrible, but the mistakes you had made was horrendous. Okay, so maybe he was just losing his pride, but he couldn’t stop looking at you through your laptop camera.

You had been getting your makeup done by Soha, who was in beauty school and needed a test face, plus she thought you needed a confidence boost as you had been viciously dumped last week, leaving you even more of a hermit, “We should go out or something, sucks I have a date,” Soha pouted, “Hey maybe he can bring a friend for you?”

You shook your head, “I don’t need another boyfriend,” You stated as Taehyung researched your past one. He was average looking, but he seemed to have bounced back quickly after six months of you two being together, “I need a sugar daddy,” Soha chuckled at your words, “I do, this laptop is killing me-”

“I should be killing him,” Soha seethed, “Sex in the practice rooms are you kidding-”

“Soha, it’s okay,” You chided and scrolled through your phone to see ankther voicemail from an unfamiliarly familiar number, “That angry voicemail lady is still there” You shrugged, referring to the awkward calls and text you had been getting for a few weeks by some crazy women. You didn’t bother answering to correct her since you and Soha had agreed she’s probably just lonely and wants to yell, since Soha’s troubled mom would do that too in the past, “Anyway, there’s better guys around the corner.”

“Or next door,” She giggled and it was then Taehyung realized he hadn’t looked up where you lived.

Your cheeks heated up, “Shut up, like he knows I exist.”

“If I lived next to sexy Kim Taehyung, I’d let him know I did,” Soha stated dramatically at the same time Taehyung figured out where you lived, making him freeze.

Your eyes widened, “Shut up! The walls might not be as thick as-”

“He probably is?” Soha smirked and Taehyung wore a smug smile while your cheeks heated and your hands flew to your ears.

“Lalalala, I can’t hear sin, sorry,” You retorted as Soha rolled her eyes, continuing with your makeup.

“Don’t you have him as the TA in your computer science class? Does he give you the eyes?” Soha spoke dreamily as you snorted while her brush made contact with your eyebrows.

“And my English Lit class, but he probably doesn’t even know we’re neighbors. I’m pretty sure today was the day he learned my name just because I got stuck in my sweater like an idiot.” Taehyung chuckled slightly at the thought, “Anyway, any word from your sugar daddy- sorry boyfriend?”

“Stop being mean,” Soha huffed.

She was with a married shit stain of a man whose wife was most definitely catching on.

“I just think you deserve better than being a mistress,” You remarked.

Soha was a notorious party girl with an expensive appetite, so rarely was she ever in a progressive relationship in the years you’ve known her.

“Chanwoo promised he was leaving his wife soon,” Soha pouted and Taehyung perked up.

“Giving his wife the wrong number like a child is not leaving her, besides what did he even give her as his number?” You asked and Taehyung watched as Soha’s face went guilty.

“Well, he gave her one that’s just one number off,” Soha stopped putting makeup on you and looked for another product awkwardly.

“That’s super irresponsible. Shouldn’t it be someone you know that won’t bother correcting…” You trailed off as it clicked and you let out a humorless laugh, “You have to be fucking kidding me.”

This wasn’t the first time Soha roped you into her affairs, and you were sick of it.

Soha bit her lip as she packed up, knowing what was to come, “He asked me if I knew anyone that was-”

“Stupid enough to let you convince them not to correct their poor wife?!” You raised your voice, “God, Soha you heard that women she isn’t crazy, she’s suffering!”

“You don’t get it-”

You didn’t want to hear it. Lying like this was something you hated most. If someone is not happy, they should leave, it’s very simple.

—- one week ago

You didn’t want to work on your piano. You wanted to go home and sleep, but this class was required and it beat history work for the time being. The practice rooms were rather informal, but nevertheless you booked one anyway. The music building was basically vacant, which made the not-so soundproof practice rooms less of a nuisance.

Except the music building was exceptionally rowdy upon entering the practice hall. You had known the practice rooms were a popular place to hook up. This was due to the assumption they were sound proof, but most couples weren’t so stupid to be this loud.

You rolled your eyes, choosing to ignore it for the time being, thankful you brought your headphones and disinfectant wipes. All the other practice rooms were filled with people actually practicing, so you had no choice but to break up the most-likely unintentional baby making session, you considered it as saving a couple’s future for the time being.

With that mindset, you swung the door open to be faced with your semi-serious boyfriend and a semi-bitchy girl connected in a way you and him had never been.

“Oh, awesome,” They froze immediately when they heard you let out a humorless laugh, “You know these things aren’t actually soundproof, right?”

Your, now ex’s, eyes went wide, “Y-Y/n, I can-”

“Save it.” You seethed, slamming the door behind you as he struggled to pull his pants up to chase after you.

He was successful in his attempt as he grabbed your arm, “Y/n, stop running!” He shouted.

“Stop trying!” You shouted back, tears beginning to well up in your eyes, “You…”

“Don’t you dare make me out to be the bad guy!” He snapped, “I wasn’t happy, you didn’t make me happy-”

“Then say it, dumbshit! Dump me! Don’t lie like this-”

���I didn’t want to face your tears or hurt you-”

You scoffed, “You think I’m crying because I loved you so much?” His face dropped, “I’m crying because I feel like a fucking idiot wasting all this time on the world’s shittiest liar!”

—-

You scrunched your eyebrows as Taehyung took note of what makes you tick, “You’re disgusting, he’s disgusting, and before I say something that I just might regret you should leave, because I hate being sucked up into your mistress drama shit,” You seethed, “I love you, Soha, but I hate that you don’t respect yourself or me enough to not do this, let yourself out.” You took a deep breath as you turned around to go to the bathroom to calm down.

Soha looked down, sighing as she walked away. Taehyung concluded fights concerning the man he was supposed to be tracking happened quite a bit. With this and the texts he had gotten from the man’s real phone, he could wrap this up and never spy on you again.

When the door closed, you entered your bedroom again and then made a move that made him eat his words, you angrily slammed your laptop closed.

Taehyung’s visual of you went black and the room was silent for a while until he heard a resounding, “FUCK!” Which resonated through his walls, paired with a desperate, “No, no, no, no, not now!”

You panicked as your laptop now seemed to be a tablet and a keyboard, both of which could not be used separately. You had work to do, which all required a laptop. It was then you determined today was shit. You’re basically friendless for the time being, and now you cut off all shots of virtual friends and good grades and work and money and to top it off, you had started crying.

Five minutes into your ugly cry, you decided you had one option, and that was to go next door to the computer genius himself and beg to have him fix it.

Taehyung noticed you were oddly silent for quite a bit, and he shrugged it off until he heard a knock on his door. He opened it only to see a red, puffy-eyed you standing in his door way, “Hi, I’m Y/n, your neighbor, may I ask a question?” You sniffled and he nodded cautiously, “Hackers can fix computers too, right?”

Taehyung’s heart nearly stopped at your words. How in the hell could you have known he was a hacker?

“Who said I’m a hacker?” He leaned against the door, “I’m a TA.”

You tilted your head, “Yeah, but you’re also special agent Kim Tae-WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” He had grabbed you by your collar into his apartment, pushing you against the door and using his hand to support him on the shit door.

“What leads you to those assumptions?” He asked trying to keep his cover.

“The walls are paper thin and all your calls are by speaker dumbass- wait why am I echoing?” You questioned and Taehyung realized your microphone still worked and your feed was still up.

“No you’re not,” He quickly replied.

You looked to his many screens, which he then put his arm on the other side to block the view, “Yes I am!” You struggled to see past his arm.

“No, you’re hysterical,” Taehyung quipped with a nervous chuckle.

“No, I’m echoing, why am I-” You caught sight of the window titled Y/n’s feed, “OH MY GOODNESS, EW!” You groaned.

Taehyung’s sense of composure was long gone, “No, let me-”

“WHAT KIND OF AGENT USES HIS SKILLS TO SPY ON-”

Taehyung clasped his hand over your mouth, “Seung Chanwoo’s wife hired me and gave me what evidently wasn’t his number to hack, okay?”  You were still mumbling a question through his palm, “I kept tabs of you just in case you were connected to him in any way, I didn’t even know who you were until today, understand?” You stopped struggling and nodded.

Taehyung sighed in relief, letting his hand drop from your mouth, “You know what? I don’t care. Sure, whatever, I digress,” You held up your hands, “Can you fix this piece of junk or not?”

“Not for free,” Your eyes widened at his reply.

“You watched me, without my consent, and now you’re going to charge me to do a simple fix?” You scoffed, “I suddenly remember why I don’t do one-night stands, a shit time with a shit payout.”

“Sorry, I need a new laptop myself,” Taehyung shrugged, “And I spied for business, okay?”

“You have three laptops on your couch, not to mention the plethora of monitors!” You seethed, gesturing around the room, “One of the laptops haven’t even been opened!”

“I’m very busy,” Taehyung crossed his arms, suddenly understanding why you don’t have many companions.

“You know what? Fine, I’ll offer free hand jobs outside the IT building,” You huffed, “Maybe a blow-job will get me a new laptop?” You pouted as your laptop full came off its hinges and the monitor fell to the ground, “Looks like I’m putting this virgin mouth to work tonight then,” You groaned as Taehyung awkwardly shuffled to help you, but you smacked his hand away, “Just get the door for me,” He nodded, opening the door wide open as he stood next to it.

Now, you don’t know why you did what you did next, but you couldn’t turn back. Usually, you would never do this you were rather nervous around people of Taehyung’s caliber, but you were having a shit day and a bad life, so to have someone like Taehyung spy on you and act like such a prick about it, made you lose all sensibility.

You dropped your laptop, grabbed the box with his new one, and ran.

Before he could even register what you had done, you had shut your door. You locked it as soon as Taehyung touched the handle, and he banged on your door, “Y/n! What the hell?!”

“Shh! You’ll disturb the whole floor!” You responded.

“We’re the top floor, it’s just our places up here!” Taehyung yelled, pounding on your door again.

“Hey, Taehyung!” You hollered back, clutching the box to your chest.

“What?”

“Shut up!”

“Give me the laptop back!” He yelled.

“Fix mine!” You responded.

Taehyung was taken aback, “Why would I? You can’t stay in there forever!”

You laughed, “I’m a girl who is pitied by my breakup, so I have class notes taken care of, I work from home, and I just got groceries, so try me!”

Taehyung let out a growl of frustration as he slammed on your door one last time, “Fine! I’ll have it done it two days!”

#bts series #bts #bts fanfic #taehyung scenarios #taehyung imagine #kim taehyung #mystic messenger au #seven au #707 #taehyung fluff #bts au

[meghernandez]

5 Tips in Pursuing Your Medical Career

   It’s official, I’m off the hook of the chains of acads! I’m getting my BS Human Biology degree this July 7 and I’m already enrolled in a well-established medical school, Far Eastern University- NRMF. 

    Just a little background: I got 64 on my first NMAT and 82 on the second one. I passed a good amount of medical schools, I’m not going to deny that. I passed the NMAT cut-off score of UERM, CEU, HSI, and more. But why did I chose FEU-NRMF? Its because I think that I’ll be a competent doctor. They are well-known for their consistency in the top medical schools in terms of Physician Licensure Exams for so many years already. Although, I wish I grabbed a slot on UERM, and I also wish that FEU-NRMF would have the state of the art facilities of DLS-HSI. Nonetheless, I think I’m in the right path. I’m so glad my parents support my dreams of becoming a medical doctor, I know it’ll be a really long ride but I know that everything will be worth it in the end. I love what I’m doing, I love to study, and I love to become a part of something greater, part of my patients’ lives. Anyway, enough about me! 

     I think I’m experienced enough to give out some tips if you’re really passionate about pursuing the MD at the end of your name. Here are 5 tips:

1. Confront yourself and your parents about going to med school. 

 Thus, after 4 years in premed and as an incoming med school freshman, these are the things that you’ve really got to invest in: 

First, you MUST be mentally and emotionally ready. There are a lot of things that you have to sacrifice as you pursue med. Prioritizing your med career is crucial– it’s got to be above everything else. I know, its not all about the brains in med, but it is one of the main ingredient. So if you think you’re not smart enough, please please don’t let that stop you. All you need to consistency to work and study hard and be open to knowledge that might save people in the future. I repeat, becoming a doctor does not happen through dreaming, you’d have to work your asses off just to wear that white coat. 

Second, tell your parents about this ambition of yours. They should also be ready and supportive about this. My tuition fee this incoming acad year costs about 260,000 pesos, excluding the books, place I’d live in, allowance, and uniforms. And it will increase as the years go by, especially in the 3rd and 4th years. I’m not here to discourage anyone. I’m just going to say the unspeakable truth which is: Doctors are made out of knowledge and money. BUT scholarships are open to people who deserves them, so work *clap*, work *clap* , work *clap* HARD.

Lastly, plan your future ahead of you. Really. Don’t be a happy-go-lucky, life doesn’t work that easily.  

Becoming a doctor does not only mean that you want to be one, you also have to be aware on how driven you are. I’ve met a lot of people in my premed, and I don’t think that dreaming that you want to become a doctor is good enough. They use their laziness as an excuse that they didn’t study for quizzes, but they kept on saying that they want to become a doctor. Is that right? Dreams are not made out of words, its founded and built on great efforts.

2. Think about the med school you want to be in and then try to start from there.

     One of the things I regret the most is not choosing a school with a med school. If I could redo everything again, I’d stop caring if I can be called a La Sallian or not, I’d focus on how my premed can act as a jumpstart to my future med school. I wish I took my premed course in UE, or UST, or anywhere that has a good medical school reputation. Thus, I don’t want to this to happen to you guys. Here are a list of schools (in Manila) that prioritizes their alumni students.

University of the East with UERMMMC located in Sta. Mesa. One of the best med schools in the Philippines. If you’re a foreigner, I’d recommend going to this medical school. I would go to this school if I only passed my applications ahead of time *cries*. 

Far Eastern University with FEU-NRMF located in Fairview. Also one of the best with a consistent high rate of passers. Although, its a blood bath in this school because you really have to fight for your position to stay.

De La Salle University- Dasmarinas with De La Salle - Health Sciences Institute. Amazing med school in terms of facilities. The technology is up-to-date, the library is a sanctuary where you can sleep, and of course the only green med school in the PH. One of my choices!

These are the only med schools that I’ve researched about and highly recommend these schools if you’re going to pursue med. Another thing you should consider is applying to their premed courses, UERMMMC, FEU-NRMF, and DLS-HSI offer premed courses.

3. Consider the pre-medical courses you’re going to take*.

     I recommend taking courses with licensure exams because some med schools offer scholarships to those passers that belongs to the top 10, I’m not sure but what I’m confident about is FEU-NRMF offering scholarships depending on your placement on the boards. 

    Would I recommend BS Biology as a premed course? Maybe, because you’d have a strong foundation in terms of theoretical knowledge. Maybe not, because you’d have literally ZERO experience in terms of clinical practice and whatnot. If i were you, choose BS Med Tech or Nursing grad because you’re going to have the basic skills and knowledge that a doctor should have even before entering med school.

  *especially if you’re half-hearted about going to med school.

4. NMAT dictates everything (and your GPA)

     The National Medical Admission Test, the only thing that stopped me from really achieving my goal which is to study in St. Luke’s Medical Center (that has an NMAT cut-off of 90, just 22 points short from my score huhu). Study hard for NMAT, this is no joke. It will literally chose what options you’ll have for med. 40 is the passing NMAT score and 99+ is the highest. Check out this blog (Melatonen: First Phase) post for more info for your NMAT score goal.

     I applied to an NMAT review school over the summer of last year, and I think its effective. But you can study on your own, but having your own learning materials is hard. Try enrolling at Learnfast Review Center! They’d teach you the techniques and basics to 99+ (even though I didn’t get that score haha)

    NMAT score is not the only thing that you should consider when applying to a good medical school. Some requires a GPA cut-off as well, and some do not tolerate failing marks. So, I’m going to repeat, work your asses off in premed! It’s necessary!

5. Your time management skills should be like a masterchef contestant

(I’m watching MasterChef S7 right now, sorry for the irrelevant pun hahaha) 

    I think I knew the secrets to managing your time well despite the mountain-pile amount of things to do. One of them is knowing what to prioritize first. In med school, I’m sure that this would give you the advantage. And I surely hope that this skill of mine would do me good. My friends always ask me how can I balance everything? Going on dates, watching series, reading books, and studying my brain out. I think the key is being driven on finishing your tasks ahead of time. Try reading this old post of mine: Surviving college: tips and hacks. 

** Last tip: Never ever give up on your med dreams and yourself. You may encounter a lot of failures in premed but don’t let that become an obstruction into seeing yourself in that white lab coat and an MD at the end of your name. Its going to be a helluva tough ride but all you’ve got to do is try your best to become that person that you’ve always want to become. There are no shortcuts in med (unless you’re taking an intarmed in UP or Med Bio in DLSUD), you’ve got to climb each step of the stairs until you reach the top. 

***Cheers to a new tag in my blog which is “medschool101″

#tips #medschool101

[kitchenwitchknits]

What I’ve been up to lately

Okay, so I’ve talked about this on here before, but mostly in bits and pieces. Here’s the whole long story. (It’s long. My apologies.)

Back in late October/early November, I decided to apply to grad school. This was something I’d been going back and forth on a lot, mostly because my odds of getting into a decent program weren’t great. Not because I’m not a good student--my GPA is good and I can write a bomb-ass personal statement--but because the process of applying for an MFA in Acting (what I was going for) is rather...involved. Most good schools have a VERY limited number of spots, because the best programs provide a lot of one-on-one coaching and training. Because of this, they are often only looking for people who have already had some kind of professional experience, or at least aren’t straight out of undergrad. (I’m not straight out of undergrad, but last year I graduated a year early, so I might as well be.) And did I mention they don’t even LOOK at your GPA or references or anything unless they like your audition?

Oh yeah, that’s the other thing. There’s an audition. A BIG audition. It’s called the URTA audition and it’s a whole big complicated process. Basically, instead of auditioning for each school individually, you audition for them all at the same time. (Like, every grad school. Even the ones you’re not interested in.) Which makes things easier, unless of course you fuck up at the audition and then you have zero opportunity to redeem yourself. After you audition, you do callbacks/interviews with any schools that express interest in you that very same day. If a school is still interested in you after the interview, they’ll contact you about next steps. That’s usually when you actually fill out an application to the school. It’s all very backwards.

There are a few different locations for the URTA auditions, one of which was like a twenty-minute drive from my house. So wouldn’t you know it: I was in a show that weekend, and there was no working around it. So I bought myself a plane ticket and signed up for the auditions in Chicago.

I also needed an audition coach. (Well, I didn’t need one need one, but I was a bit out of practice and...it was a good idea, trust me.) I had many questions about this, the main ones being: “How does one even go about finding an audition coach?” and “What is a reasonable amount of money to spend on this?” Well, as luck would have it, my mom works at a university, and happens to be pals with someone in the theatre department. That person was able to give me a list of faculty I could talk to, and the first person I talked to turned out to be a perfect fit who also charged quite a bit less than I’d been anticipating. So that worked out well.

Anyway, the audition! It was a two-day thing. (The second day was optional, but it had WAY more schools than the first day including one of my first choices, so I did it.) I stayed in the hotel in which the auditions were taking place, which made things easier. Also, it snowed! Which was cool! But I digress. I did the first day of auditions, it went as well as it could have, I thought I’d killed it, and then I did not get one single callback.

That’s right. No callbacks. None. And I mean, it wasn’t necessarily because my audition wasn’t good. There’s...not exactly a shortage of white women in theatre, so a lot of schools were looking for men and/or POC. Sometimes schools want a specific look or character type, so I might just not have fit their mold. Some schools only had a handful of spots, or only recruit every other year. The list goes on and on. Or maybe my audition just wasn’t as good as I’d thought! That is also a possibility!

So by the second day, I was feeling great. Just kidding, I was ready to hop on a plane and go right back home where people tell me I’m a good actor and no one judges me. But I did the audition and...well. It’s a good thing I did.

Three schools wanted interviews that day. Six asked for a headshot and resume so they could contact me later. One school didn’t really express any interest in me, but I knew one of the recruiters and he was all, “Come to callbacks later! I want to hear about what you’re up to these days!” (Side note: I actually ended up getting waitlisted at that school. It’s all who you know!)

For the record, the reason why I got so many callbacks wasn’t *just* because I had a good audition. Because of reasons, the second day of auditions is a little weird. For one thing, there are more schools, and the schools themselves tend to have more spots. The other reason is that the second day has a lot of, for lack of a better term, cash cows. They are generally not the best programs, and they are run by dishonest people who prey on young recent college graduates who might unknowingly get themselves into ridiculous debt. You know the kinds of universities I’m talking about.

But I did the interviews and researched the other schools that had expressed interest, and while some of them were definitely cash cows there were a few that looked promising. A few looked great but weren’t MFA programs, and since I want to work at a university I need an MFA. (Stella Adler was one of them. They actually asked for a follow-up and I turned it down. That pained me a little.) My top choice by far was a smallish but highly-rated acting school in London. Because come on. LONDON.

The school in London actually hadn’t called me back. They asked for a headshot and resume, and when I went to drop it off they mentioned that they were doing a free workshop, not mandatory to be considered for the program, but I was welcome to drop by. I went because what the heck, and it was TOTALLY a callback. I mean, they didn’t call it that, but that’s what it was. At the end they mentioned that they also offered an MFA in Ensemble Theatre, which was focused on acting as well as writing, directing, devising, and basically working together as a group instead of each person doing their own thing. I raised my hand when they asked if anyone would be interested in that, and didn’t think anything of it. (Honestly, I mostly just wanted to be seen as someone who is Open To Trying New Things.)

So imagine my surprise when, about a week later, I got an email saying they wanted to interview me for the Ensemble Theatre MFA. At first I wasn’t sold on it, but then I read the formal course outline they’d attached to the email and DAMN. It’s a REALLY COOL program. They do a touring show in Europe! They have connections to theatre companies I’ve always wanted to work with! They offer an internship abroad! 

So I did the interview (which was via Skype--I didn’t, like, have to go to London for it). In the process, I learned two things. 1) The program is even cooler than I’d thought. (THEY HAVE A TIME SLOT AT THE EDINBURGH FRINGE FESTIVAL WHAT EVEN.) 2) There are only fourteen spots in the program, and usually only two go to Americans. I mean, the interview went well and everything, but that was discouraging.

The interview ended on a positive note (the interviewer really seemed to like me), but, you know, two spots. So imagine my surprise when I got in.

Yep, that’s right. I’m going to London in the fall! Unless I defer for a year, in which case I’m going to London in 2018! I’m so excited!

[pluckyredhead]

😯 that last ask brought one back one doubt I thought I had let go, considering that even with Deadpool Marvel tries to keep as het even if he's pan, just so I stay in the subject, do you think Marvel is queerbaiting? Like, "Drops of Jupiter", "was anything ever real between us", ugly crying, Foggy getting drunk and also crying. Dunno, s2 seemed like a huge cold feet on any Matt/Foggy, like when they almost hit each other (the "don't walk away from me Foggy") and dunno dunno, what do you think?

Maybe this is giving them too much credit, but no, I don’t think it was deliberate queerbaiting, for a few reasons. (Time for an over-thought numbered list, because that’s how I roll!)

1. They seem to have forgotten that queer people exist at all in the universe, considering that the present-day Hell’s Kitchen is actually a very queer neighborhood but there is zero evidence of that on the show.

2. The assumed audience is straight dudes, and you tend to get queerbaiting on shows where the assumed audience is LGBTQA folks and straight women.

3. Elden always seems cheerfully surprised when asked about it. Yeah, I know he’s joked that he ships Matt/Foggy and that he and Charlie have laughed about how in love Matt and Foggy come off in some of the dialogue, but I’ve never gotten the sort of “wink wink nudge nudge” attitude from his responses that I would expect from an actor who is deliberately queerbaiting or has been told by writers or producers that that’s what they’re doing.

4. I genuinely think “Drops of Jupiter” was chosen because whoever picked that song is about my age and tried to evoke a “back in college” feeling by picking something that would have been on the radio when he/I/Charlie & Elden (well, not Elden, but Charlie for sure) was in college and not “ten years ago”/2010/whenever the fuck that scene is supposed to be set. The fact that it’s a love song from the point of view of someone who’s afraid their best friend is leaving them behind for life-changing adventures is just a hilarious (and heartbreaking) coincidence.

5. When you read a lot of comics, you quickly learn that comic book writers (and comic book show writers) have ABSOLUTELY NO GAYDAR. They will write (and draw!) the gayest possible scenes with no self-awareness whatsoever. (Like when they draw Frank Castle all Tom of Finland-style.) My theory is that the better the writing, the less unintentionally homoerotic it’ll be because usually better writers can juggle the nuance between “these two dudes hate each other,” “these two dudes like each other platonically,” and “these two dudes want to fuck,” whereas bad writers write them all the same. Believe me when I say the Daredevil writers are a lot better at writing dudes who don’t want to fuck than many comic book writers I have read. And yet! They’re still not that good at it!

Anyway Matt and Foggy were never going to be canon, but don’t let Season 2 break your heart! By my rough count they have broken up at least eight times in the comics, and dissolved at least six law practices. They’ll work it out!

#daredevil #Anonymous

[topicprinter]

Hello there, (incoming wall of text, young and could use some advice)So I have quite the dilemma I am in. I have a long time friend (has known me since I was 4 years old, he is 10 years my senior). I am currently 21 and recently graduated from university nearly 2 years ago with a health sciences/kinesiology degree -- no longer want to pursue that field and was just working full time after I graduated. "Idea Guy" approached me with a rather, looking back at it now, "snake-oil" salesman pitch. Now 2 of the ideas are rather concrete and more grounded than a startup. They are legitimate businesses that are established so I am not too concerned with those. I put the work in for those and now am waiting gov't approval. My role would be classified as operations -- mkt research and data, coordinate meetings, assimilate ideas, business plans, pitch decks, etc.I am more concerned with his approach to business. He is the typical "idea guy" -- climbed the corporate ladder, made good money, bought real estate, and has residual income from that and just "works" on these projects on the side. I use the word "work" rather loosely because he does not have much technical skill. Now I am not stating that I am computer genius or know how to code but know my way around organizing ideas and writing reports, doing the market research/data collection, finances, etc. What I consider basic non-technical duties. I do not know much about the software side but there are folks for that and I totally get that. I never try to overstep any boundaries and know the limits of my ability/knowledge.However the Idea-guy in question does not. He is constantly on facebook when we do work together (getting inspiration), watching motivational videos, and anything not relative to the actual work unless it is general, macro idea type stuff (e.g., how the product should work, execution, requests more than is feasible/practical for an MVP). Now this is not necessarily a bad thing because I am not super creative so it is nice to have someone else with the abstract ideas but that gets old real fast when there is no execution. Like at all. If I for example request he do something on the computer -- his typical response is "oh can you just do that, i do not know how to", "I am just the idea guy", etc. It gets old real fucking fast. Maybe I am just young and dumb (I for certain am), but I cut back my hours at my job so I can work part time on these few start-up ideas but I have not been paid any money for any of my work. I am not hurting for cash at all right now (have about a year of living expenses saved up with income coming in from business with brother) but I was thinking about returning to college to pursue another degree in a field that I am more certain of (entered college at 16, had no idea what I wanted to do, who does at 16, still don't really know but I think i've figured it out after going through college once already). Anyway, he has a new idea and suggested I quit my job so I can work on this idea full time.​I of course was hesitant because this idea is only a week old and he responded with "if you aren't willing to dedicate your time to this really great idea -- then I don't know what to tell you!".....Well shit, color me stupid for not wanting to do something super irrational considering I have done ZERO mkt research about it. Now this raised a huge red flag -- because he then went on to say "maybe I should form another team, you are busy working on the other app ideas and waiting for the other gov't contracts to go through." He is already distributing equity points and of course giving himself triple mine when his already tasking me with a long list of items that he knows he can't (or rather, unwilling to). I am taken aback right now. Just got off the phone with him. I'm distraught because he is like family to me but he is also really putting me in a tough position. I have no idea what to do and am thinking of just walking away at this point from everything and going back to doing my thing. I plan on talking with one of our more senior partners/legal consultants tomorrow about this matter as he is over double my age and can offer some insight. He may be a bit biased but he can definitely shed light on this as he has worked with "idea-guy" much longer than I have.​TL;DR brought in about 6-7 months ago to work on some booming industry businesses, very viable, start-up idea was introduced by idea-guy, has consumed a lot of my time, "idea-guy" is strictly that -- full of ideas but seldom types out a single word, mainly talks. Wants me to quit job and work full time on these projects and new idea that is only a week old. Big red flag. What would you do?​Thank you. Feel free to ask any questions. Just sort of rambling right now. Trying to process everything as I cannot sleep right now. I have though about leaving before and was met with some bs by idea guy about "who cares if you enjoy the work -- work for the money so you can be philanthropic, etc".....I have no idea what to do right now.

#/r/startups #reddit

[theastonishingkylejackson]

“I was out late that night. Much too late. The bartender kept the Kili’s coming while I marveled at the universe putting me in that bar on that night accepting a stranger’s invitation to join their table.” – Written By Jodi Arndt Contributing Columnist for The Astonishing Tales Digital Magazine 

To read more of Jodi Arndt’s work, visit her website by clicking HERE.

  “You’re a teacher, correct? It’s must be the glasses. You look like a teacher,” he nods his head in the waiter’s direction as a round of shots are placed on the table.

The Astonishing Jodi Arndt, Contributor for The Astonishing Tales Digital Magazine

My face must communicate confusion at the round of drinks that is quickly placed down because his friend confirms, “Chilled vodka, dear.”

“Maisha marif!”

“Cheers.”

“To a long and prosperous life!”

Four glasses clank and I take a slow swig of the vodka.

“Forgive me. We failed to properly introduce ourselves,” he says at he sets down his shot glass.

Abeid, Ibrahim, and Pule introduce themselves and I am suddenly realizing how out of my league I feel.

The shirt with cut-out shoulders Judy loaned me in Al Ain is stuck to the worst parts of me and my black leggings are more gray than black. 

The bathroom demons I’ve been battling since Nungwi aren’t backing down. My belly is part beer baby and whatever fun infection that Cipro has yet to relieve. 

The travel blow dryer won’t communicate to my adapter, so I am rocking a sad 80’s perm, the result of humidity and genetics.

Realizing that I am:

A. Lightly buzzed

B. Far less attractive and articulate than my male counterparts

C. Likely to debate social or political issues like I tend to do when I drink…

I decide I better talk less and listen more.

The menu at Livingstones, an establishment in Zanzibar

“So, what are ya’ll talking about?”

“Oh, we were just discussing music theory,” Abeid responds.

Nodding my head seems like an appropriate response considering I have zero idea what exactly music theory is and can add absolutely nothing to the conversation, I shift the discussion around the table and ask, “How do you all find yourself together tonight?”

“What kind of question is that?” ‘ How do we find ourselves together?’ Pule’s tone, a tad judgmental, which his head shake communicates.

Unsure of the possible cultural wrong I’ve committed and feeling totally misunderstood, I sip my drink and shut up.

“She’s just asking a question, man calm down,” Ibrahim attempts to right my apparent wrong.

Not sure of the mistake I made, I try again, “What I am saying is, I have friends from different parts and times in my life. People who have known me in different phases–childhood, college, my 20’s, colleagues who have become friends – I could go on and on. Each group per se knows me for me at that time, in that place. Hopefully I’ve evolved, grown. You know? Wondering what your story is. How are you connected? That is all. Pretty simple.”

As I am explaining myself a tear is forming in my left eye. I know it is happening, I am quite aware of my affinity for crying out of sheer frustration.

Even in the dark, Abeid knows, “My God, you look like you are about to cry. My darling you are too sensitive. Much too sensitive.”

“Why, thank you for that. Yes, well aware. I have received such feedback more than once. I know it’s not a good look. Got it,” I say defensively.

Fuck.

“I didn’t mean to insult you. OK, you’re right I said ‘too sensitive’ which tells you it’s a bad thing, that I am judging you, but you are sensitive. Pule was just trying to understand your question. Can we start again?”

“Or we can talk about ice cream. What kind of ice cream do you like?” Ibrahim laughs.

“C’mon, man. We are having a real conversation, I’m sure Jodi can handle it, yes?” He continues, “Why Zanzibar? You’re an American traveling by yourself I’ll assume. What brought you to this part of the world?” Abeid leans back into his chair and awaits my response.

His tone communicating the confidence, my intellect escapes me in this moment.

Ibrahim and Pule lean in and the shift of their bodies and the flood lights perched on the old British Consulate Building illuminate their faces.

I now see quite clearly how nice it would be to not go home alone tonight.

My head is dizzy with the Kilimanjaro that I drank at happy hour with Linda, then the South African wine we had at dinner, and now the vodka shot I’m sipping.

“Well, I was in East Africa years ago and never made it to Zanzibar, so while it was always on my mind, I didn’t consider it beyond a thought until I was taking care of my father who became ill and died rather quickly, so–.”

A collective, “Sorry to hear that,” rings round the table.

I have to stop myself here because Lord knows I could go on and on and talk about my Dad.

About his death.

About the grief that invades my thoughts at the oddest moments, but I have some presence of mind left amidst the alcohol, jet lag, and stomach invaders to practice self restraint.

“It’s life, right? Anyway, I was watching teams weaving through the narrow streets in Zanzibar on The Amazing Race late one night and then I watched an episode of Anthony Bourdain when he was in Zanzibar and felt compelled to make this the time to come, so here I am.”

“Ahhh, Anthony Bourdain! Anything special about that episode that you remember?”

A waiter sets down another round of Kilimanjaro’s and changes out candles that have burned into nubs of wax atop beds of sand in the glass hurricanes.

Ahh, now  I can see three wide, expectant smiles curiously anticipating my response.

Is there a correct answer?

I wonder.

Earlier, after Linda left and I wasn’t ready to go home, I sat at the bar, ordered a beer, and made small talk with the bartender as he muddled mint with a pestle.

I was wiping down my beer when a stranger stuck his head through one of the enormous, ornate picture windows that punctuate Livingstone’s stone facade, “Please, come join us,” his hand motioning to a table on the deck. His voice had a warm, rhythmic welcoming tone. His invitation reminding me just why I fell in love with this place.

Later he’d introduce himself as Ibrahim.

Look, in the U.S. I rarely am approached by a man. Any man.

I can count across my fingers the number of times I have been told that I am not approachable, have some hard, pensive look that prevents men from speaking to me. More often than not, I have taken that feedback personally-like something is wrong with me. My first inclination is to point the finger inward. Then, explain myself in order to be understood and accepted.

Like I am in 6th grade.

I am 45.

Yet, while traveling, men talk to me. I know, I know. You’re an American, you say. You have money, you think. True, true. But not all want something from me. Some, do. Most do not.  

Some of the most enjoyable, enlightening, and honest conversations I’ve had have been with complete strangers in unfamiliar places. Whether it be the Indian-Canadian business men who ferried over from Dar Es Salaam or the Aussie National Geographic photographer – give me a communal table with complete strangers and a beer – and I am happy.

Sure, I’ve had to learn some hard lessons. Don’t broadcast you’re single. Dress modestly. Don’t walk alone at night. Don’t believe everything a person tells you.

Don’t assume the term ‘friend’ is universal.

Some of those strangers become friends. Others, I learned one of the above lessons too late.

Yet, through these interactions I’ve come to learn how much I don’t know. How much I have to learn about the world.

How damn critical is to love yourself. How important it is to see opportunity in each obstacle. Even in the dark, know the light will come.

“Jodi, so tell us. That episode. You were saying?” The cadence of Abeid’s voice is so familiar, like I somehow know him, but that is impossible.

“I remember Bourdain with Juma the street food vendor, him in a small village near the ocean with a local, the kids playing in the–”

Suddenly I realize why he is so familiar to me.

“Wait! It’s you. You! With your straw hat talking about the history of the island, your family. Holy sh**. You and Anthony Bourdain ate lunch together. No wonder why I thought your voice was so familiar.”

They all laugh.

“Straw hat? Where’d you get that hat again, man?” Ibrahim asks like being on a TV show is no big deal.

Another round of Kilimanjaro’s are placed down at the table. I scan the beach, look through the picture windows and realize we are the only people here. 

“The hat with the brown brim, man. Indeed, Jodi. Yes it was me. We were in Jambiani where I have family,” Abeid explains. 

I was out late that night. Much too late. The bartender kept the Kili’s coming while I marveled at the universe putting me in that bar on that night accepting a stranger’s invitation to join their table. 

Pule walked me home. I went to bed alone and woke up with a slight hangover. 

Later, while reminiscing about that evening and thanking the universe for such a story, I’d come to learn that one of my new friends was one of political royalty; Abeid being the grandson of the first President of Zanzibar. 

I still shake my head and smile when I think back on that night. 

Grateful for a stranger’s invitation. 

I’m The Astonishing Jodi Arndt, Contributor For The Astonishing Tales Digital Magazine and I Am Astonishing And I Approve This Message!

Want To Leave Some Feedback On This Article? Be Kind, Be ASTONISHING? Fill Out The Form Below And Leave A Comment On This Article!

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Happiness In Zanzibar: A Stranger’s Invitation "I was out late that night. Much too late. The bartender kept the Kili’s coming while I marveled at the universe putting me in that bar on that night accepting a stranger’s invitation to join their table."

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I Thought Any Weight Issue Could Be Corrected With Chronic Exercise

It’s Friday, everyone! And that means another Primal Blueprint Real Life Story from a Mark’s Daily Apple reader. If you have your own success story and would like to share it with me and the Mark’s Daily Apple community please contact me here. I’ll continue to publish these each Friday as long as they keep coming in. Thank you for reading!

I contemplated writing this Mark’s Daily Apple success story a few times over the last three years and every time I decided it wasn’t a good idea, mainly because I thought “who am I and who would really care anyway”? The other reason is the last thing I wanted people to see plastered on the internet are my before and after pictures, how embarrassing! Being comfortable and confident with my body is never an attribute I have possessed. I actually even used a before photo that was about 10 pounds lighter than when I was my heaviest, but that was because I didn’t even want to look at myself in the mirror at that point, let alone take a picture.

Despite all of this, I think sharing my story (and those pictures) is important because I think it can help people, it can show the powerful changes that can be made in health and body composition by making some very important lifestyle adjustments. I wanted to use the words “simple” or “easy” adjustments in that last sentence, but they are not always simple and easy. Yet, they are important.

I don’t think my exact formula will be right for everyone, but the majority of people can find something that they can apply to their life to make a positive change. And whether or not you find something in my story that inspires you, I have just landed you on one of the most powerful websites to change your health and your life, so for that you’re welcome. I think it is important to take your health into your own hands—research, read, ask questions—because it is obvious conventional wisdom and general health/nutrition information are deeply flawed, and Mark’s Daily Apple can help in your quest for knowledge!

Below I have organized my story in categories- “Before,” “After,” “Resources,” and “Moving Forward.” If you want to jump right into the details of how I went from 220-plus pounds to the 180-185 pounds I consistently stay at now, then scroll down to the “After” portion and start there.

Before

Below is a summary of the different phases of my life until five years ago when I turned thirty-years-old.

Childhood

I was born in the 1980s and grew up in the 90s, which seems to be prime time for the low fat era. At home, school, and in the media we were taught that fat should be avoided in our diet, and we had to make sure we get our 6-11 servings of cereals, grains, and pasta. For me that was not a problem, I could eat carbohydrates all day long!

I loved to play sports growing up and tried to be outside as much as possible playing football, basketball, and baseball. I never really thought about how food affected my performance in sports, or my body composition, I just ate whatever I could as fast as possible so I could get to the next game. My weight fluctuated when I was younger. I was never obese or even too overweight, I would describe myself as “slightly chubby” at times. There were other moments during growth spurts, and highly active moments of a sports season, where I was normal weight and not carrying any extra fat on my body.

High School

Once I got to high school I made the brilliant decision as a five foot ten inch tall, fairly slow kid, to focus on playing basketball. I was consistently carrying 10-15 pounds of extra weight, and not only was I teased a bit for it, but I wasn’t the best player I could be due to the extra weight, and that is what bothered me the most. Of course the comments about how my body looked hurt a bit, but I was a good enough player that most people looked past it and appreciated me for my play on the court.

The food environment in high school wasn’t always great, with getting older came more independence and opportunities to eat outside of my home, which lead me to fast and affordable food choices.

I really had no clue what healthy eating was. In fact healthy for me was heading to a juice place for a sugar filled beverage and a soft pretzel. Thank goodness I played a lot of basketball and was introduced to lifting weights at the same time, otherwise I have no doubt I would have been considered obese.

Even with a few extra pounds on my frame at the end of high school I had become a good enough player that I was able to move on and become a member of the men’s basketball team at a NCAA Division 2 university. Thanks to the support of my family and coaches I was able to live my dream of playing college basketball.

College

Once I got to Sonoma State University (located in Sonoma County-Northern California) it was obvious that physically I was going to have a tough time on the basketball court. It took me a few years to get in good enough shape to consistently make a contribution in games, but eventually I would be an all-conference guard and conference champion my senior year (for more on the many basketball related adjustments I made check out my book “Bench Rules: A Guide to Success On and Off the Bench” on Amazon). In fact, one of the strategies I joked about with my teammates, but it had a little truth to it, is that every time I went to a fast food restaurant I just stopped ordering french fries. Boom! Ten pounds lost very quickly.

The biggest adjustment I made was tracking what I ate. I started to add a lot more real food in my diet and eating less food that came from a box, package, or fast food restaurant. It was far from an optimal diet, but the actual process of writing it down made me think about what I was putting in my body, how it made me feel and perform, and that helped me make better decisions.

Post College

I had a short stint in a European basketball league, which enabled me to live in beautiful Vienna, Austria for a few months and get paid to play a game I love. That experience also helped me realize I had reached my full potential as a player, and I was done putting my body through the stress it took me to perform at that level. I decided it was time to move on to a different stage of my life.

A couple years after I left Vienna I married my college girlfriend Megan, who was a soccer player when we were at SSU, and a couple years later we had our first child. In those four years of not playing basketball, and not really making any adjustments to my Standard American Diet (I was still tracking what I ate on and off), I managed to put on more weight than I ever had.

Now, at this time I was still lifting weights and running, my two preferred forms of exercise, but this was not enough to keep the weight off as it was nothing close to the volume and intensity of exercise I endured as a basketball player.

With the increase in weight came some minor health issues, for instance I was diagnosed with GERD. I would get constant heartburn that felt bad enough to make me think I was having some kind of heart attack. I even got hooked up to an EKG machine at one point because I was so convinced something was wrong. A doctor I saw recommended I take a Prilosec pill everyday and eat a low fat diet, which I followed religiously until I saw I was putting on more weight. It was extremely frustrating to see zero changes in my body composition with an increased focus on my health and diet. There had to be something else I could do!

After Finding A New Way

I was turned on to primal/ancesteral health when I was told about a cbssports.com article on nutrition in the NBA. The story revolved around Dr. Cate Shanahan and her work with the LA Lakers. The whole series of articles led me to a Google search and one of the first websites I found was Mark’s Daily Apple (MDA). The website piqued my interest right away, it was so informative, filled with many wonderful articles and success stories, and ultimately I knew I had to give it a try.

One of the first inforgraphics I saw, and it still sticks out in my head to this day, is the Primal Blueprint Carbohydrate Curve. This is one I still share with people who ask me how I eat now, that and of course the ten primal laws. Mark’s Daily Apple is still my “go-to” source when I have any question on health or nutrition. What I love about MDA is that if I have a question about any topic, I can search for it and I am guaranteed to find an article with Mark’s point of view and links to any necessary studies or additional information. It is also an absolute must to check out the Primal Blueprint 101 section if you are new to the website, everything you could possibly need to know is there!

Below are the major adjustments I made to my life. Growing up in organized sports, and as a victim of conventional wisdom, I thought any weight issue could be solved with exercise. It wasn’t until I bought into the idea that “80 percent of your body composition is determined by what you eat” that I saw real change. It is for that reason that “Diet” is first on this list, and by far the most important. I am now low enough in body fat to somewhat see my abs, this was never the case even in 2-3 hours a day of college basketball practice over a five-year span (I spent one year as a redshirt). I had to make a change to my diet for this to happen, and I exercise less than I ever have.

Diet

Inspired by the Primal Blueprint Carbohydrate Curve I limit daily carbohydrate intake to less than 100 grams per day. Most days I aim to stay under 50 grams, and often I decide to restrict low enough and consistently enough to dip into in to ketosis. Aiming to keep my carbohydrates low has helped me to EAT REAL FOOD and avoid most processed/packaged foods.

I also eliminated sugars and grains from my diet. Obviously these calories had to be replaced so I started eating more healthy fat- olive oil, coconut oil (MCT Oil as well), and butter. However, the majority of my food is animals and plants along with nuts, healthy fats (listed above), and some fruit and dark chocolate. Check out the Primal Blueprint Food Pyramid, I also like Time Noakes’ Real Meal Revolution Food List.

This way of eating becomes very easy very quickly. Like I said above I like to keep carbohydrates fairly low, so once you learn the macronutrient make-up of food you can easily make a selection of what to eat anywhere you go. I suggest tracking what you eat at first, but eventually there is no need once you get used to it. I do not want to demonize carbohydrates, I like what world renowned strength coach Charles Poliquin says about them, his thought is that you must “deserve your carbohydrates. Your levels of muscle mass, volume and intensity of training, percentage of body fat and insulin sensitivity will determine how many grams of carbs you can afford. Some people obviously need to restrict their carbs to 10 licks of a dried prune every six months.”

If you restrict carbohydrates enough your body will be forced to start to use your own body fat for fuel. Transitioning your body to a lower carb eating strategy, essentially turning your body into a fat burning beast, can be tough for a few days up to to a few weeks, especially the first time coming from a Standard American Diet. Give it time, trust the process, it works.

I don’t count calories, or feel they are the whole story in relation to weight loss, I also believe the effect on hormones in the body is very important to normalizing/losing weight. In relation to calories I do think a low carb high fat diet is more satiating, while also not subjecting your body to insulin spikes all day, and ultimately causes many to eat less food. That is the case for me anyway.

I do occasionally eat foods that are higher in carbohydrates, foods that are definitely not “healthy” by anyone’s standards, and I usually feel terrible after eating them. Probably the one thing I found that aggravates my stomach the most, the one that hurt the most to eliminate, was beer. I will still drink a beer on rare occasions, and naturally my digestive system and sleep suffer because of it.

Food quality is not something I worried about at first. Initially I think it is easiest to just worry about limiting carbohydrates and eating as much fat and protein as necessary so you are never hungry. Once I adapted to the diet and got my bearings, I started to worry more about finding properly raised meat and local organic vegetables. While it does cost more, and I realize I am lucky enough to be able to afford these costs, it is important to both my health and the environment.

Fasting

I have experimented with intermittent fasting, both 16-hour fasts and some 24 hour fasting. This past month of July I did a 18/6 fast every day, and while I don’t find it hard to skip breakfast in the morning, I like to eat breakfast. I generally workout first thing in the morning and find I feel better eating post workout. I still may occasionally fast on a non-workout day, simply holding off breakfast until early afternoon.  Now I just let my hunger dictate meal timing, if I am hungry I eat, if I am not I don’t eat. Hunger on a low carbohydrate diet is much different than hunger on a diet filled with carbohydrates, my family still jokes about my “Hanger Issues” from the past that were constant because of the types of food I was eating.

Since beginning this new lifestyle my wife (Megan) has joined on and she has also seen big improvements in her body composition following two pregnancies. She has allowed me to share a before and after picture of us, in the before picture she has the excuse of only being three months out from having a baby, I did not have the same excuse. What is also impressive about my wife’s improvement in body composition is that she has done it with pretty much zero structured exercise, which to me shows the power of changing what you eat to change how you look and feel. Megan was a soccer player at Sonoma State and she is now at the same weight she was when she was practicing/playing soccer six days a week for 2-3 hours, again with zero structured exercise. Our next task moving forward is to navigate the world of raising children, trying to give them the best life we can, and helping them face the food environment they will encounter in school and beyond.

Next up for me is to use the training I received from the Primal Health Coach Program I just finished last month. I have seen such drastic improvements in my life I was inspired to start the program earlier this summer with the hope to use my increased knowledge to help others. I currently work in a high school setting (PE and Athletics), I love what I do and the people and students I work with, and I have no plans to leave there to start a health coaching business. I will at first offer to help my friends and family in any way I can and see where I go from there. I look forward to sharing the amazing resources and knowledge I have gained from the program with anyone willing to listen. Combining that with my past experiences will be a good foundation to help others better their lives in any way possible. Hopefully, I can make an impact.

— Kevin Christensen

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