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hops-hunny · 3 years

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Hello?

Pairing: Neville Longbottom x Black!Reader

Word Count: 2.9k

Request: N/A

Summary: Neville and (Y/n) get high together often.

Warnings: drugs( weed lmao), swearing, making out

A/N: This was based on the specific lyric below from Hello? by Clairo ft Reji Snow. Pothead confident Neville is my favorite headcanon dfregfefe. I also felt like writing for Neville bc after reading a lot of @lxngbottom‘s fics I was DEEPLY inspired.

“Are you into me, like I'm into you?

Do you wanna do the things I wanna do with you?

You're so close, and yet so far

I wonder how you look when you're in the dark”

The Weasley siblings all found themselves in absolute bliss when their parents told them they were going on a getaway. Apparently Arthur had learned about muggle spas and thought it’d be a lovely idea to take his wife to one for a much needed vacation after many years she had been caring for her children (and sometimes their guess) without barely any breaks. The gaggle of gingers all found it to be quite a wonderful idea too, but for other reasons. Although they had varying reasons of why they were excited for their parents to leave the house, Ron’s being wanting to invite over the other ⅔ members of the Golden Trio, Ginny wanting to wear that skirt that her mum always told her was ‘just a tad too short, dear’, and lastly Fred & George wanting to try out new and exciting inventions there was that one thing that tied them all together: wanting to get blazed out of their fucking minds.

However, as quickly as that mischievous glint formed in all their eyes, their mother said something they all dreaded.

“Oh and by the way, we’re leaving Percy in charge!”

A collective groan was shared as the boy in question held a proud and cocky smirk that once again, he was the most trusted out of his siblings. However as per usual, Fred and George were not giving up that easily.

“What are we going to do?! You know Percy will rat on us!” Ron whispered yelled at the other three through gritted teeth. They all sat around the quaint little living room, distressed at what to do. Ron had already sent a text (is that what they were called? He wasn’t used to the muggle technology (Y/n) had got them all to use) to both Hermione and Harry telling them to pack their bags. He’d never live it down!

“Oh relax dear brother of mine! Me and Freddie here suspected something like this would happen so we came prepared. Right Fred?” George said with a smirk as he looked to his twin to the right of him. George nodded before pulling out an envelope.

“Exhibit A also known as ‘Blackmail dear Percival Into Leaving the House for the Summer.” he grin grew wider as he opened the envelope pulling out the photos. In the photos, Percy was shirtless during a party in the gryffindor common room. He had a half drunk bottle of fire whiskey in one hand and a blunt in his other which was held to his lips. “Wouldn’t it be a shame if dear ol’ mum and pop anonymously got pictures of their golden boy doing such awful acts?” he cooed, feigning a voice of disappointment.

“While you two idiots may not be helpful for jack shit else, leave it up to you to have a plan to get into trouble.” Ginny said rolling her eyes, a small smile forming on her face. “Well I guess that’s settled then. I’ll hit up (Y/n), Ron you hit up Nev and tell him to bring the loud. Lots of it too!”

-------------------------------------

That’s how they all ended up where they are currently. ‘Exhibit A’ was more than enough to get Percy packing his bags and leaving for a friends house after their parents had left. And of course, Hermione, Harry, (Y/n), and Neville had all shown up at the Burrow bright and as happy as ever.

Although many people dealt around Hogwarts, Neville’s weed was always the best. He grew custom strains which were infused with other magical plants that had all sorts of properties. You wanted it to taste and smell like cheesecake? Done. Something odorless that packed a mean punch? Also done. He took good care of his product and went through the precautions to make sure it was not only safe but also that he didn’t get caught. He wasn’t always an avid weed smoker though. Originally, a friend had suggested it to him to help with his anxiety which had increased over the years but eventually it became less of an anxiety reducer and more of a favorite pastime. And hell, it left him with a pretty fucking nice amount of galleons in his pocket. It was also how he had met her.

He looked up at her form as she sat across the shed, looking as radiant as ever. She was laughing at something but he didn't know what over the sound of the music. One of his favorite things about her was how beautiful the whiteness of her smile was in comparison to her rich brown skin. It drove him absolutely nuts. It had only been a few weeks since he last saw her but as usual there was something new about her appearance.

He let his eyes wander over the work of art that was (Y/n). Her hair was different, her usual shoulder length black box braids had been swapped our for a beautiful set of honey blonde faux locs that stopped at her waist. In addition to her septum, she now had a nose ring on the left side of her nose and- was that a smiley piercing? Her skin was glowing vibrantly under the different hues of gold of LED lights that corresponded with the music. His eyes shifted down to her chest. 'Hm, she finally got the other one pierced' he noted due to the fact that her crochet bikini top left only the best bits of her breast to the imagination. And then he got to his favorite part. Her legs. Her supple, plush, smooth as glass legs. This wasn’t the first time he had stared at them longer than needed. He couldn’t help it, they were so fucking thick. And, were those his shorts? She must've stolen them from him last smoke sesh. He didn't mind though, she pulled off those denim shorts well and they hugged her in all the right fucking places.

“Bloody hell Nev, what’s taking you so long to roll the joint? Are you already that gone?” Ron groaned as he threw his head back. Neville looked down at the half rolled blunt in his hands, continuing to lick and roll it skillfully.

“Shut up Ron, just hit the fucking bong and leave Neville alone. Ol’ dramatic ass.” there was that honeysuckle voice he loved. God he could listen to her talk for fucking hours. I mean he had before. Her voice was sweet in the center and rough around the edges, a thick american accent still prominent in her voice. He smiled at that, looking up at her to find her already looking at him. As he continued to roll, he licked a fat strip on the wrap before shooting her a wink.

“Thank you, petal.” he murmured quietly knowing she hadn’t heard as he looked back down at his hands finishing up. He grabbed the same lighter that he carried with him everywhere before lighting the end. As he was about to take a hit, a certain pair of gloss coated lips leaned over his shoulders taking a hit as she wrapped her arms around his upper half.

Ron groaned again in irritation. “I hate it when you get the first hit! You always leave that damn sticky shit all over the blunt.” as he glared at the girl. She giggled before crawling off the wraparound couch taking her place next to brunette ruffling his long shaggy hair. He had been growing it out recently for no particular reason (definitely not the girl to his right).

“Ron you always buggin on something, nigga shut the fuck up! That’s why when you hit the blunt you leave it wet. Ol’ soppy mouth nigga I swear to god. Share with Mione.” she retorted as she leaned into Neville’s side looking up at him. He smiled down at her before wrapping his arm around her bringing her impossibly close. They both loved each other's touch when they were high. Whenever he’d touch her in one spot, (Y/n) always felt it in another- especially between her legs. She leaned up, kissing his freckled cheek with a smile. “Hey sir, how’s my favorite doing today?” she questioned as he bent down, placing a kiss right below her ear.

“You know I’m always content when you’re next to me, flower. You don’t even have to question it.” he whispered in her ear before pulling back. She felt her face heat up as she rolled her eyes shoving him lightly. She crawled in his lap, straddling him as she wrapped her arms around his neck. He instinctively moved one to her waist, stroking the smooth exposed sepia skin that was there for his enjoyment.

“You always talking some mess, Nev. Why don’t you do something bout it?” she said, motioning for him to hold the blunt up to her lips. He ignored her, looking into her eyes as he took a fat rip. He removed his hand from her waist, gripping her cheeks with it, rings digging into her skin. He leaned impossibly close as he shot gunned the smoke into her mouth. His lips hovered impossibly close to hers. ‘Finally’ she found herself thinking as she closed her eyes. However, the feeling of his soft pink lips never hit hers and she opened her eyes to find him smirking at her.

“And ruin this little game we have? Never.” He said, finally passing the blunt to her. If he had to be honest with himself, he was scared shitless. He was afraid if he actually did make that final move, jumped that final obstacle that she would be gone from his life. Sure, they made out all the time. It was normal for the two of them to get quite handsy with each other during smoke sessions but he found not even that being enough. He didn’t just wanna have his hands on her when he was high or wasted out of his fucking mind, he wanted her all the time. He wanted to sneak into each other's dorms and cuddle till wee hours of the morning. To carry her things to class for her. He wanted to live, breathe, and sleep (Y/n). But, is that what she wanted? He never knew.

She sighed softly to herself, contemplating. It was very apparent to her that Neville wanted her just as badly as he wanted her. So, why had he never jumped the gun? Did he not want more? Was he really content with this little cat and mouse game they had? He couldn’t be, she knew who he was at heart which was a romantic just as she was. She was pulled from her thoughts as she heard the familiar beat of Hello? by Clairo ft Reji Snow. She smirked at him, leaning her forehead against his as she began to grind softly on his lap.

“Are you into me? Like I’m into you. Do you wanna do the things I wanna do with you?” she sung to him softly, her (e/c) eyes meeting his hazel ones. He moved his hands up and down her body as she continued to grind her hips down on his. He let his hands travel to her ass, gripping it firmly. She leaned back slightly as she hit the blunt before returning the favor he had earlier. “You’re so close, and yet so far. I wonder how you look when you’re in the dark.” (Y/n) continued singing as kissed up his neck, nibbling at the junction of his jaw and neck. He took one of the hands from her ass, moving some of the locs that had fallen into her face. He quickly tossed the blunt out of her hand into the ashtray in the table in front of them before leaning in and kissing her with such strong intensity.

The honey blonde haired girl moaned softly, already putty in the boy’s hands. Neville always knew exactly what to do with his hands. Where to kiss, where to tug, where to bite. Anything but actually dealing with the problem between her legs. She tangled her hands into the back of his hair, matching his lip movement. As he continued holding her ass with one hand, he used his other to stroke her cheek gently. A stark contrast to the kiss they were in which was wet, rough, and fast. He trailed his tongue over her lip which she gladly accepted. Their tongues danced together lazily as sweat began to build up on both of them. She pulled away partly, a trail of spit connecting them.

“Take this dumb ass jacket off. It’s the middle of July.” She grumbled as she began to unzip it, leaving him in some muggle band shirt she had gotten him one year from the states. She leaned back in, continuing to move her hips to the beat of the song. Neville began to move his hips up to match her movements. “Oh? So you got moves now huh? Who taught you those?”

“Don’t play dumb petal, you know you did.” He responded before gripping at her neck with his ringed hand. She gasped softly, looking into his blood shot blown out eyes. The music, the lighting, his touch? It was all much too much to handle. Her senses were overloaded by pleasure, the jane in her system. He tightened his hand some, leaning in closer. “You’re driving me absolutely mad, darling. Do you know that? I’d do anything you asked me to.” the movement of her hips had stilled but he kept going. She could feel the imprint of his member through his pants. Suddenly it was the only thing (Y/n) could focus on.

“Them Ravenclaw girls weren’t lying then, huh? You packin like that Nev?” she said suddenly. She knew he had asked her something a second ago, but the weed was really starting to hit. Her brain was foggy and hazed, the only thing she could think about now was him. She took one of her manicured hands, trailing it down his shirt till she reached his crotch. She gripped it in her hands, eyes widening slightly. He chuckled softly, catching her attention.

“Don’t act so surprised. You know I used to get around quite a bit.” He said, moving so his tent was resting against her inner thigh.

“Used to?” she questioned, laying her head on his shoulder with her eyes closed. She took in his scent sighing softly. Neville always smelled like a mix of lavenders, cologne, and that loud. She knew it from anywhere, especially when she smelled it in the amortentia they brewed during potions that one time.

“Yeah I don’t really pipe girls like I used to.” He moved his hands up, embracing her close as he kissed the top of her head. “Ever since a certain pesky little American girl started making their way into my life, she’s all I could think about.” she rolled her eyes some, punching him on the arm as he began to laugh.

“Don’t fuck around like that, that shit aint even funny.” she grumbled, pouting as she crossed her arms. “I thought you had an actual answer!”

“On god that was my actual answer, (Y/n)! You asked why and I told you why. Absolutely anyone could tell I’m mad for you.” Neville said as he uncrossed her arms, holding her small delicate hands in his large ones. He intertwined their hands, her sharp acrylic nails digging into his hands slightly. “Did you know when Keaton Willis asked you to Hogsmeade, I was so mad that I wouldn’t sell to him for 3 months?!”

“But I didn’t even go with him! Me and you went together to go get ice cream, remember?”

“So?! He still fucking asked you. I’m getting heated just thinkin’ about it.” He mumbled as he looked away from her. He pulled her closer, resting his head on the top of hers. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you dating such a loser. He’s not even a good guy and he’s always fucking short with his galleons when he buys. I have to practically hound the guy for my money. Yknow what? Fuck it.” he looked up at the brown skinned girl before holding her face in both his hands. He took in her features. Her plump lips, edges laid to perfection, face ‘beat to the gods’ as she would say. “Go out with me. Be my girl, petal. I can’t bear you not being mine for another second.” he said. She pretended to ponder for a bit before she looked back at him.

“Depends, will I get free weed? I expect free weed from dating the weed man, you know.” she said with a giggle. He rolled his eyes shaking his head.

“You already get free weed! Don’t pretend you don’t.” he said loudly, catching the others’ attention.

“What? Nev that’s not fair! You always make me pay and we’re mates! What happened to bros befo-”

“Ron you finish that and you ain’t leavin this shed with an eye, I can promise you that boy.” she whipped her head around quickly, glaring at the boy. Ron quickly shut his mouth knowing first hand that her promises were never empty. He gulped slightly before nodding, turning back to Hermione who handed him the bong muttering something about how he looked like he needed it.

“But to answer your question, Nev baby, I’d love to be your girl. Nothing would bring me greater pleasure than doing so.” (Y/n) leaned forward, leaving a lip gloss print on his cheek.

“Well I’m glad you said yes because it would’ve been very awkward explaining to everyone tomorrow where that hickey on your neck came from.”

“Nev!”

#black reader #black!reader #poc reader #poc!reader #Neville Longbottom #neville x reader #neville longbottom x reader #neville longbottom x you #neville x you #harry potter imagines #harry potter imagine #Harry Potter

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tf2-hellhole · 4 years

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What are the mercs most insecure about, and how would they react to their S/O comforting them about their insecurities?

This is structured a very specific way. The first one or two bullet points describe what the mere is insecure about, and the rest is like a rough-draftish mini story about their S/O comforting them. Some are shorter because I don’t think all the mercs get self-conscious, so I tried to write what I could for them. Also featuring this dumbass headcanon I have about Spy’s appearance :-)

Scout:

Scout has a lot of insecurities about his appearance that culminate in a general anxiety about other people disliking him or not thinking he’s cool. He always wants everyone to think he’s the best, and feels like shit when they don’t. Because of that, a lot of RED and BLU’s insults hit him pretty hard, but he tries to hide this from people.

After noticing this, his S/O sat him down and tried to talk to him about it. They told him about how worried they were about him and his self-esteem. He sat back nonchalantly and denied what they were saying, trying to keep his cool in front of them. But this defensive wall he put up fell apart when his S/O started describing all of his accomplishments and all the things they love about him.

“You really mean all of that?” he asked, his eyes wide.

When his S/O assured him that yes, they do think he’s handsome and athletic and talented and millions of other great things, his eyes quickly welled up with tears and he pulled them into a tight hug, sniffling loudly.

Turns out he’d really been in need of some genuine kind words, and hearing them from one of his most favorite people in the world made him feel a lot better. From then on, his S/O made sure to tell him he did well in a match or his outfit looked great when he looked like he needed it. He started getting them treats and making them little drawings as a thanks for the emotional support.

Soldier:

Soldier doesn’t really have any insecurities. I really do think that he doesn’t give a shit about what others think of him, he just wants to chew bubblegum and kick ass

But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t appreciate encouragement and compliments from his S/O

He always grins and yells “THANKS, HONEY,” after every compliment.

Pyro:

Pyro usually isn’t insecure, but like a small child, they feel really bad when others ignore them. That usually makes them think the person doesn’t like them anymore.

But they bounced back really quickly when their S/O told them they were just being mean, and it’s not personal. Pyro’s never been one to sulk.

They giggled happily and threw their arms around their S/O, grateful for the comfort.

Demo:

Demo, like Scout, is also a man with a lot of insecurities he seems to try to bury. His mother’s constant beratement has convinced him that he’s a burden to her and that he’s not the best at his job. He knows he’s good, but he thinks he’ll never be “DeGroot good”. He knows his family’s standards are too high but he still feels like shit about not living up to his mother’s expectations. He’s also very insecure about his one eye, and wishes he had both even though his mother is angry he hasn’t lost his other one yet. He also seems to be insecure about his race, as seen in Meet the Demoman. He describes himself as a “black Scottish cyclops”, as if being black and Scottish is a bad thing. Maybe he feels like he doesn’t really belong in either culture, or maybe his color has given him horrible experiences back home, I’m not really sure. So yeah, this man has a LOT of problems that he tends to hide under a confident exterior and drown in alcohol.

Demo gets really emotional when he drinks and cries a lot, so his S/O learned quickly to just take him to bed and get him water when they heard his sobs. But when they approached him this time, they saw that he had barely touched the bottle on the table.

They sat down with him and asked him what was wrong, and he proceeded to vent for about five minutes straight. He had just been on the phone with his mother, and she had been particularly rude about what a disappointment he is. He finished with “And the worst part is, she’s right. I’m a bloody failure,” and buried his head in his palms with a shaky sigh.

His S/O frowned and insisted that his mom doesn’t know what he’s talking about. They brought him into a tight hug and said that everything she said was wrong; He is a very talented, intelligent, wonderful person, and he shouldn’t hold himself to his family’s standards. He wrapped his arms around them and continued to cry into their shoulder.

It’s gonna take a lot of work to help Demo get over these thoughts, but those words did make him feel a lot better.

Heavy:

Heavy often feels insecure about his size and weight, even though he honestly isn’t fat, he just has a thick build and is extremely beefy. Despite this, the other team’s insults often make him still feel insecure. He would often find himself standing in front of the mirror in private and frowning at his reflection.

For a while, he had kept quiet about these thoughts. But one day, he realized that keeping them to himself was probably bad for him and decided to address the issue and talk to his S/O about it. He thought that maybe they and Medic could help him lose weight.

His S/O was horrified by the way he talked about his body. They immediately dragged him down into a hug to tell him that he’s not fat at all.

Heavy was very surprised by these compliments and the sincerity of them. But once the shock was gone, all he could do was laugh softly and wrap his arms around his partner.

He still decided to start eating healthier, but would think about what his S/O said often and no longer frowned when he saw his reflection. His S/O noticed that after this, they got more hugs and forehead kisses from their partner.

Engie:

Engie tends to feel a little insecure about his height and weight. The enemy Scout likes to call him all sorts of names. He usually doesn’t react to this with more than a grumble, but it actually really gets under his skin, much more than people would expect. His parents raised him to be polite, and even though he throws around a couple of mild insults here and there, some of the vicious things that are said to him and to the others shock him. He also has a tendency to keep his insecurities to himself because his father, who he idolized, would often tell him that he’s busy when Engie would try to tell him what he thinks and how he’s feeling.

So one day, his S/O noticed he looked a little distressed as he stared down at his blueprints. They asked him why he seemed so upset. He looked up, sighed, and turned to them to tell them how he was feeling.

As soon as he finished, he apologized for telling his S/O all that, he didn’t mean to burden him with his thoughts. His S/O pulled him close and said that he shouldn’t feel like he had to keep his feelings to himself, and that they would always be there for him. They then assured him that he’s not that short and that he’s perfectly healthy.

Engie turned bright red at his S/O’s words and laughed weakly into their shoulder. “What would I do without ya, darlin’?” he whispered.

His partner noticed that for the next few days, he had a little pep in his step and was more helpful to them and the other mercs. He felt a little more confident after realizing that he doesn’t need to hold his problems in anymore, because his S/O would always be there to listen to him when he’s feeling down.

Sniper:

Sniper, like Scout and Demo, has a lot of insecurities. As a child, he was always bullied for being a weakling and being too skinny. So now, he feels self-conscious about his height and lanky limbs and he always thinks that people are looking at him negatively. And due to the rough, tragedy-filled life he’s lived, he has a lot of anxiety about the people he cares about leaving his life. It makes him feel more insecure about how others see him.

These feelings had recently been bothering him more than usual when he found himself cuddling close to his S/O in his camper, his limbs wrapped around them and his face against their neck. He found himself clinging to them more tightly as they ran their fingers through his hair and down his neck and back.

They asked him if he was okay, though he didn’t respond. They could tell he wasn’t going to tell them what was wrong, so they reminded him that they love him and they’ll always be there for him, even if he doesn’t want to say what’s wrong.

He muttered an “Oi love ya,” in response. They smiled and leaned down to press kisses to his forehead.

They noticed in the next few days that he smiled and talked a bit more than usual, and spent more time around them.

Medic:

Medic doesn’t get self-conscious very often, but sometimes he feels a little down if one of his experiments fails. He’ll usually sulk around the lab with his birds all over him, too upset to heal anyone or do any work.

His S/O came into the lab and picked up Archimedes, who was perched on top of his head, and asked him if he was okay. He proceeded to loudly complain about his experiment not working.

His S/O laughed at the angered ramblings of this man covered in birds and told him that these things take time and lots of trial and error. They knew Medic knew this more than anyone, but maybe hearing someone he loves saying it out loud would help him gain motivation.

Medic only sighed, pulled his partner into his lap, and muttered a “Thank you”. He smiled when he heard them laugh as some of the birds hopped onto their shoulders and arms.

He finally corrected the experiment that night while chatting with his partner.

Spy:

Spy is only insecure about two things, his laugh and his face. His snort is a little embarrassing for him, but he’s learned to brush off the insults his teammates give him. The thing that really bothers him is his scars. He would never admit it, but when he was young, his performance as a spy was sloppy. He ended up in a lot of melee fights that resulted in scars across his nose, left cheek, and neck that he hates. The scars didn’t deform or disfigure his face, as they were all light cuts, but he hates the pale lines criss-crossing his skin. Only Medic knows, when Spy asked if he could fix them with some kind of medigun modification, but they were too old for Medic to fix.

So obviously, Spy was terrified when his S/O asked to see his face. He quickly turned them down, and they asked why. “You won’t like what you see,” he replied.

They tell him that whatever is under the mask, they will still love him more than anything. He looked down at them and only saw sincerity in their eyes.

With shaking hands, he pulled the mask off his face and waited for the gasp, but it never came. “All that fuss for those?” they giggled before pressing kisses to his cheeks and nose.

Tears of surprise and relief sprung in his eyes and he sighed happily. He felt like a weight was lifted off his shoulders as he wrapped his arms around his partner and kissed them passionately, relieved they didn’t mind the scars.

Spy spent the rest of the week pampering his partner and ensuring they would never be unhappy again.

#tf2 #teamfortress2 #tf2 x reader #tf2 headcanon #scout tf2 #soldier tf2 #pyro tf2 #demoman tf2 #heavy tf2 #engineer tf2 #sniper tf2 #medic tf2 #spy tf2

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wondersofdreaming · 4 years

Text

Do you believe in fate?

Characters: Chris Evans x Bianca (OFC)

Word count: 2.598

Warnings: Fluff, fluff, and more fluff. Panic attack. Anxiety. Lack of confidence. Captain America to the rescue.

Author’s note: Anonymous request:

“CE x reader, reader works a office desk job and a 9-5 she’s tall/overweight and wants to lose it for her health. She hates her job and dreams of being an actress, she’s around Chris’ age and she thinks it’s too late to get started, she struggles with confidence. She also has depression and social anxiety. I have a long story idea that I’d like you to add/ change it/ complete it. I’ll number my post so the order won’t confuse you. Hope you’re up for a challenge. 😊 (pt1.)”

Read the rest of the request here.

I do not own any of the characters in this short story besides my OFC (Bianca), who is a figment of my imagination.

MASTERLIST

Tag: @katerka88

Feedback is appreciated.

Another day on the job had come and gone. Bianca stretched her arms over her head, cracking her back. Having to sit down in front of a computer five days a week, was taking its toll on her body. Her mother was the best chef in the city, but her food was made with full-fat milk and lots of butter. It was sticking to her belly, thighs, ass, and face. She was getting chubbier by the minute, and the added weight was concerning her since she knew that her BMI count was way too high. Higher than it should be. And she wasn’t getting any younger either. Her mother had started pestering her about grandchildren the day she had turned 30.

Her phone chimed from the other end of her desk, indicating a text message. Probably her mother that needed her to pick up groceries on her way home.

“B, I need you to get me some garlic and onions. I’m making your favourite stew tonight.”

Bianca replied and tossed her phone back into her purse. She needed to finish editing the article that was supposed to have been done an hour ago. All her colleagues had already left the building. Some had invited her out for a drink, but she had declined. Not a big fan of large crowds, especially not in a bar or a club.

Her boss had already been busting her ass on the deadline. She wanted to finish the damn article before she left the office for the weekend. So, she quickly typed the last thousand words and sent it. Hopefully, it was good enough to be printed, else she was going to get an earful on Monday.

She drove to the supermarket closest to her home. Grabbed a cart and started finding the things her mother needed. The list having become longer since the last message. Onions, garlic, carrots, broccoli, cabbage… soon enough her cart was full of all kinds of vegetables, dried pasta in various sizes and shapes, sauces from all over the world, and the usual, eggs, milk, toilet paper etc.

She filled up her car with the paper bags of groceries and bumped into a man when she turned around with the cart. He wore a dark blue jumper, washed-out jeans, and a baseball cap on top of his head.

“I am so sorry. I didn’t think anyone was behind me. Are you alright? I do apologize. I can’t believe I did that. Are you hurt?” Bianca babbled, she kept apologizing profusely, praying she hadn’t hurt him.

“I’m okay. You should look around more carefully. You never know who you’re going to run into.” He said. His voice deep, low, sexy, panty-melting, and swoon-worthy. Bianca furrowed her brow in concern.

“I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.” She mumbled. Then a light went off in her head. She had heard that voice before. She knew that voice.

Fucking hell, B. This was SO not how I imagined meeting Chris Evans. Oh no, please eyes, don’t cry now!

Tears were threatening to spill from the corners of her eyes. There was a high-pitched tone in both her ears. She saw Chris’ mouth moving, but she couldn’t hear him. Her heart rate went through the roof. Her body was shaking. Her palms sweating. Her breathing was uneven, taking short breaths way too fast.

Chris grabbed her shoulders and guided her to the boot of her car, which was still open. He pushed her gently into sitting down and showed her to take deep breaths. In and out. A few minutes later the ringing quieted down, and she could hear Chris again.

“Are you alright? That was quite the panic attack you had there.” He said and rubbed her back in a soothing motion.

“I am so sorry you had to witness that. I’m okay.” Bianca told him, she tried to move, but Chris held her firmly down.

“You’re staying right there, miss. You nearly passed out. Wait here, don’t move.” He told her and walked into the store. He came back out with a bottle of water and a chocolate bar.

“Thank you. You didn’t need to go through the trouble.” She said nervously as he handed her the water.

“It’s no trouble at all. Panic attacks are horrible to go through alone. Is there someone I can call to come to get you?” He asked. She shook her head. Chris opened the chocolate bar, motioning for her to take a bite of it. She held the bar, noticing it was her favourite, before taking a bite.

“No, I live close by. I’ll manage to get home. Thank you so much for your kindness.” She smiled at him. Chris nodded and moved towards his car. He turned around to see if Bianca had moved. She hadn’t. She hid her head in her hands, her elbows on her knees.

Chris sighed and walked back towards her. He heard her take in deep breaths, mumbling something to herself. He heard a few negative laden words that criticized her. Before he could stop himself or even think, he had wrapped his arms around her trembling body.

Bianca gasped, but she leaned into Chris’ embrace. She could feel his warmth seeping through her thin white jumper. Tears threatened to fall from her eyes, but she kept them at bay, not wanting to look like a weepy woman in front of her idol.

She collected her thoughts and got enough courage to move away from Chris. His eyes were still concerned, but she managed a soft smile.

“I’m really okay. Thank you though.” She said and gathered her purse. She stood from the boot and walked the empty cart to its station. Chris was still waiting for her.

“Are you sure that you can get home?” He asked.

“Absolutely. Thank you again, Mr Evans.”

“Call me Chris. Do you want to go out for coffee? To talk this through?” He asked, fidgeting with the edge of his jumper.

“Ehm. I really need to get back home, to my mum.” Bianca mumbled.

“Alright, how about we exchange phone numbers, then we can set a date for coffee later.”

Bianca fished out her phone from her purse and handed it to him, before a single thought you prevent her. Chris typed a text message to himself and handed the phone back. His own phone chimed in his pocket, signalling that the message had been received.

“You can call me anytime. I’ll see you around… I’m sorry, I never asked for your name.”

“It’s Bianca.”

“Bianca. I like that name. I’ll call you for that coffee, Bianca.”

Her name rolled off his tongue so perfectly. She was ready to pass out, this time not from a panic attack, but by how Chris freaking Evans was saying her name. Chris walked back to his car, while Bianca went to sit behind the steering wheel. She fanned her face, having begun blushing really hard after Chris had said her name, not once but twice. Bianca drove home, feeling a lot better than she had an hour earlier, not even her mother’s nagging about her coming home late could ruin her good mood.

A week later

Chris had sent her a text message, asking if she was free for that coffee he’d promised. She wrote back that she had Saturday off, in which Chris replied that he would love to occupy her time that day.

Saturday came and Bianca was throwing on clothing, nothing seemed to fit her perfectly, neither did they even look good on her. The only thing she felt comfortable in was a pair of old jeans and a loose fit navy blouse. She felt too casual, but the outfit had to do since she was out of time. Her alarm rung initiating that she was supposed to be out the door that instant.

“Bye ma! I’ll see you later,” she yelled across the house and walked towards her car in a fast tempo, so her mother wouldn’t keep her with questions or small-talk.

She drove to a nearby diner, where they had agreed to meet. It was placed outside the city, looked like a hazardous place from the outside, but every local knew that place was golden inside.

Chris was already sitting in a booth furthest away from the front entrance. He smiled when he and Bianca got eye contact. She couldn’t contain herself and gave him the happiest smile back. She hadn’t felt like smiling nor being happy in a long time.

“Bianca, I’m glad you came.” He chuckled nervously and held out his hand. She shook it and sat down opposite him.

“Glad you texted.”

A waitress walked over with her notepad and a pen that had been chewed on at the end.

“Hi Chris, long time no see.” She smiled.

“You know me, Carol, always either travelling or working.” Chris laughed.

“And who is this young lady? Haven’t seen you here before.”

“I’m Bianca. My mum used to be a chef in the city, so she would never let me eat anything else but her food. Me being here is almost sacrilegious.” Bianca answered.

“Huh, I’ll keep my mouth shut if you do. Now, what can I get you, youngsters?”

Chris ordered without looking at the menu, while Bianca chose crepes with chocolate sauce and whipped cream, and a strawberry milkshake. It was a bit awkward, to begin with, but Chris quickly loosened her up by telling her that he was just a man having coffee and waffles with a woman. She had blushed so hard when he commented on how pretty she loved in navy.

“What kind of job do you have?” Chris asked curiously.

“I write articles for a motivational blog.” She answered, blushing again. “Not as exciting as yours, but it’s a job.”

“My job has its ups and downs as well. Don’t you like yours?”

“No really. But it’s better than nothing.”

“What is your dream job then?”

“I would love to write movie manuscripts. I got a foot inside years ago, but then my mum got sick and I had to move back home.”

“You can still write scripts from home.”

“I’ve tried. Nobody wants to hire me, I’m too un-experienced or my writing is just not good enough.”

“You really shouldn’t let yourself down like that. How about I look at some of the things you’ve written? Then you can let me be the judge on the fact if your writing is good or bad.”

Bianca tried putting her work down, again. She didn’t want anyone to ever read her scripts ever again. Someone had already done that and shot them down, brutally was the kindest word she could think of.

Chris was relentless. It took him a few months, but he finally got you to send him a manuscript you had written years ago. He read everything you sent and gave you some positive and negative feedback. A year into your friendship he got you a meeting with a famous scriptwriter, who wanted you to come work for him, so you quit your old boring job and finally started doing what you loved.

It took another year before Bianca could move out of her mother’s house, and it took a lot of convincing before her mother would let her leave, but you succeeded by promising to come home for Sunday dinners.

Life couldn’t be any better, except for the growing feelings you had for Chris. Your support, your friend, your mentor. He had helped you so much over the past two years that you were unsure of how to tell him about your feelings.

“Hey B, earth to B.” Chris chuckled and waved a hand in front of her face. Bianca snapped out of the dream she was having.

“What?” She asked.

“You zoned out pretty hard, went to outer space or something?”

“Or something.” She mumbled and took a gulp of her iced coffee. “I’m sorry, what did you want to ask me?”

“My mom is having a barbecue on Saturday; would you like to come?”

“Of course, what should I bring?”

“You know my mom, there’ll be plenty of food.”

Saturday

Bianca did bring her mother’s amazing potato salad to the barbecue. She was brought up that you didn’t come to a barbecue empty-handed. She laughed and enjoyed herself with Chris’ family, who all had come to love her and treated her as one of their own, which Bianca appreciated.

Chris drove her home that evening, as she had one too many glasses of wine. He helps her into her flat, which was quite hard, as she was giggling and not cooperating at all. It took him 10 minutes to get her inside, another 20 minutes to get her coaxed into bed. He put a glass of water and two aspirin on her nightstand. He looked at her sleeping form. Her lips slightly parted. Her hands resting under her cheek. He brushed a stray hair out of her face, making her face scrunch before relaxing again. He let out a small chuckle before standing to leave. Bianca grabbed his wrist in her sleep.

“Don’t go, stay with me, don’t leave me.” She mumbled. Chris smiled, but he took off his jeans and shirt to lie next to her. He gathered her into his arms, just wanting to hold her and keep her close to him. His protective instincts kicking in.

“I love you, Chris,” Bianca grumbled and moved to her other side. Chris heard her clearly. He kissed her forehead, went to sleep with a lighter heart and a smile on his lips.

The next morning

Bianca awoke with a raging headache. It felt like her head was about to explode; the pounding was excruciating. Then a delicious aroma of bacon and coffee reached her nose. She noticed the water and aspirin on her nightstand. A smile spread on her face. She put on her robe and walked towards the kitchen, where Chris was preparing a batch of scrambled eggs.

“Smells amazing in here,” Bianca said and grabbed a piece of crispy bacon. Chris turned around and smiled widely.

“Anything for the snoring princess.” He teased.

“I don’t snore!”

“You sounded like a tractor. Took me forever to fall asleep.”

“You could hear me from the guest room?”

“No.”

Then it dawned on Bianca that she had asked Chris not to leave her in her drunken sleepy state.

“Oh god. What have I done?” She mumbled into her hands, hiding her blushing face. Chris just chuckled at her. He put down the spatula and moved the eggs from the heat. He wrapped his strong hands around her wrist and pulled her hands away, so he could look into her beautiful eyes.

“I love you too.” He whispered. Her eyes widened in shock. He just kept smiling and bent down so their lips were mere centimetres apart. He was letting her take the last step.

Bianca let out a big sigh, then cupped the back of Chris’ head and crashed her lips to his. It was an amazing first kiss. Heat was spreading through their bodies, the air was electric between them, and not even the thunderous storm that was beginning outside could break them apart.

“Do you believe in fate?” Bianca asked.

“That you were meant to crash into me with a supermarket cart? Definitely yes, I do believe in that specific fateful encounter.” Chris smiled, which earned him a light smack on his chest. He just kissed her senseless. “Be mine?”

“Forever.”

#Chris Evans #Oh man #Chris Evans x OFC #Chris x OFC #Do you believe in fate?#Chris Evans x female OFC #Chris x female OFC #Fanfiction #My story #Mine #Short story #I need a drink #chris evans fanfic

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mamakempf · 5 years

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Man, I am missing my #boothang reeeal hard y’all! ❤️🇺🇸 He’s been gone doing his Army thang for several weeks now. Honestly, he’s been gone so much over the last few years for extended training periods, that the time away is just something we’ve become accustomed to as a family. However, this is the longest we’ve gone w/o any sort of communication whatsoever since he was deployed in ‘08. You may not know that 8 days after we got married he left for Iraq. Back then when they would leave on a mission, all communication would shut down completely for several days or even weeks at a time. So on the bright side, I guess the good news is at least this time around we know he’s not dodging IEDS all day with people shooting to kill him. Either way, I’m over this ish y’all. 😆 It’s a good darn thing we’re in our home stretch!! 😅 We can finally see the light. 💡I miss my man like y’all wouldn’t believe. After 12+ years together you would think I would want a break from him!! Haha 😜 But I can’t even pretend I don’t miss him like crazy every single moment of the day. I started thinking about it this morning and I’m like 🤔 what other profession does your spouse leave for weeks at a time and you have ZERO communication with them? Yeah, lots of family’s have a parent who travels for work, no big deal. It’s the total lack of communication in its entirety that presents the true test. Being a military family presents so many challenges that only those who live it understand. Having your parent or spouse gone for your birthday or anniversary, or your biggest game or performance of the year, is nothing new to a military family. For me, yes, single parenting 4 kids is always a challenging aspect, for sure. Considering I’m not the only one who misses him & can’t talk to him, or who needs to hear his voice & feel his reassurance. Plus, I’m not very good at being vulnerable or asking for help. So I tend to try to stay busy & #superwoman my way through it all, because that’s what I know. So therefore, I carry a much heavier load than I probably need to or have to. The truth is Josh isn’t just a co-parent, the 🧺🧙‍♂️/handy man, or my business partner. He is my absolute best friend, my confidant, and my ROCK in this crazy world!!! Doing life without him sucks. Bad. Sitting in the stands alone watching their games. Taking on every life event like Maddy’s band concert, Lilly’s 1st high school basketball game, sharing the moment when Jalen received his outstanding SAT scores, or being there watching Colton’s Veterans Day program, w/o him. Sucks. Real bad. I’m not going to sit here and pretend it doesn’t. Some days I just want to crawl back into bed, order some delivery with a big ass fat piece of chocolate cake, & just let my overwhelming sense of anxiety & loneliness take over. But I can’t surrender to that, no matter how hard I’ve tried. 😆 I’m incapable. I’ve experienced too many struggles in my life to be a victim now. I’ve gotten through 39 years of this crazy life by getting up every day (or most of them) and putting my pants on, one leg at a time. Stepping out into the world and simply putting one foot in front of the other. I will not allow my sometimes debilitating anxiety, or depression, or my feelings of loneliness and inadequacy, not war, or the any of the shitty aspects of being a #militarywife, not any one person, or group of people, or any of life’s craptastic circumstances in the world around me to derail me!! 💯 Frankly, I’ve overcome too much real shit already to get where I am, and I won’t be defeated by the devil or any of his dirty work, not today, or ever. How do I overcome all of those negative feelings?? With gratitude. Plain and simple. Quickly I remind myself that our situation is temporary. My husband is only gone for a period of time. I’m reminded of the women whose strength I could never match. Women who go to bed every night knowing their husband’s aren’t ever coming home to hold them and whisper ‘I love you’ into their ears. Children who’s mommy or daddy’s can’t call them in a few weeks and remind them how much they’re loved, and who will grow up never hearing the sound of their voice again. Quickly I am humbled that while we’ve made sacrifices as a family, some have paid the ultimate price. So just as quickly as those feelings of self pity and self doubt start to creep in, I try to reflect on my gratitude for all that we have in this life to be thankful for. In these moments are when I am most grateful for my husband’s endless & unconditional love & friendship. I’m so grateful for our family, our 4 incredible children, and for this beautiful life we have worked so hard to build together!! The moral of the story here today kids, is always keep an #attitudeofgratitude. Be grateful for all of the people & things in life, big or small, that make your time here on 🌍 better and fill your heart with genuine joy!! ❤️ Life is not about the cards you were dealt, it’s how you play them. 💯

#milso #blogger #armywife #momlife #keepingitreal #milwife #militaryfamily #military #bloglife #keepingupwiththekempfs

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bladesofyuri · 6 years

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My Excess Weight is Falling Off: How, Why, and What’s Different

This is a different kind of post for this blog, but I think it’s worth sharing.

If you’ve been following me for a few months, you may have seen a post I made asking for fitness/healthy lifestyle/accountability buddies. My weight is something that has always fluctuated and that I’ve always had a hard time with, even when I was dancing all the time and trying all sorts of “diets.” Over the past two years I found myself in a really dark place, and the weight started piling on for a number of reasons. No, I’m not telling you that as an excuse--it isn’t one. I simply wasn’t taking care of myself like I should’ve been. I was eating fairly well but not well enough, skipping meals I just felt too tired to eat (and sometimes, I’d go an entire day without one), and when I’d go to the gym, I wouldn’t do much more than the elliptical for an hour or a half hour plus some resistance training that really wasn’t challenging me. I knew I needed to work differently, but I had no motivation and my heart just wasn’t in it at all. The combination of graduate school and work was, to be frank, kicking my ass. On top of that, my social life had become nonexistent, I had no boyfriend, and didn’t really feel like I had anyone aside from two close friends who no longer even live in the same city to talk to.

I’d even for the first time in my life grown very uncomfortable at the gym, despite knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt from my own experiences on the other side that nobody cares about what you’re doing or is even paying attention to you there. Still, I felt like a big, bloated puff waddling around it in comparison to everyone else and more importantly, compared to how I used to feel in it: strong, confident, and calm.

Needless to say, I wasn’t exactly the epitome of health at the time.

There was something else too that’d been bothering me: more than anything, I wanted to get back into dance, despite having been out of it so long. I just needed that familiarity, that something, even if I wasn’t really in good enough shape in my mind to be doing it. One evening, I saw an advertisement, and I decided to try a class.

That in itself was a little jarring: I suppose in the 7 years I’d been out of dance, I’d forgotten how tiny dancers really were. I’d always been thicker for a dancer, at my fittest usually being mistaken for a cheerleader or gymnast. This was also the time when I was extremely involved with martial arts, which literally shredded my fat in those tougher spots right off. I’d gone from literal fighting shape with a six-pack to fat, and on my kind of build (which is average height and very curvy), even being a little chubby shows.

So here I was, in this dance class for a style I’d never tried before feeling very much like a potato among shorter, more toned versions of Victoria’s Secret models. It was a bit overwhelming to say the least, though it was fun.

That said, there were a ton of concerns going through my head. This class happened to be one where you’re partnered by men the whole time, and I began to wonder what effect my weight may have on them. There were no lifts at least--but moves that involved leaning, dips, etc. were common. Not to mention, I imagined my larger body must be much harder to lead.

So, I worked out a little more, still doing the same types of thing. Elliptical, treadmill, occasional resistance. I tried cutting carbs (more on that later), had a brief and desperate stint of limiting myself to one small meal a day (unhealthy and disastrous--I gained weight), and several other things that were so ineffective they aren’t worth mentioning. I thought that maybe despite my age my metabolism had already begun slowing down rapidly.

Not knowing what else to do, I decided to see a nutritionist.

We started meeting regularly, and she worked to figure out what exactly was going on. On paper, I wasn’t eating particularly badly: I had a few off days here and there, but combined with the amount of exercise I was getting daily (from walking back and forth to work and class, those 3-4x a week gym sessions, plus the new dance class additions), she had a little trouble deciphering what was wrong at first. I was particularly frustrated--I’d lost weight before, dropped my body fat percentage to a staggeringly low but still healthy amount for a female, and yet nothing I was doing now seemed to be working. My weight just fluctuated naturally as it always had. I had my resting metabolic rates checked, and some other tests run too.

Well, I thought when everything checked out to be within normal range, at least I was finally having some fun. I loved my dance classes and each made me feel quite a bit better on a daily basis even if I did still have those occasional nights when depression and anxiety really decided to kick in. Though the styles were different, I was doing something I loved again and meeting new people who were kind, informative, and encouraging, and that was more than I’d had in some time.

It still wasn’t enough for me, though. Not really. I’d dance around my apartment, listening to the kinds of music I used to dance to--hip-hop in particular. It always had been my strongest style, and I decided to try out the studio’s advanced class. I had, after all, done it for many years, and was still pretty confident I could move like I used to if my probably hilarious apartment dancing was any indication.

I took a class.

I realized they filmed everything.

And I watched those videos back. Sure, I still had it and had somehow managed not to lose much of my skill, even if I had been out of it for so long. No doubt this is thanks to the physical activity I’d maintained, even if it wasn’t up to par with what I’d done in my dance and martial arts days. Seeing that first video generated two thoughts in my mind:

1. I was still good. Very good.

2. I was still good, even keeping up with the pros in my class, but the person dancing in that video wasn’t me.

People have different opinions when it comes to being on camera. Some think it’s unhealthy to use it as a motivator, believing that it can develop an obsession. But I’m not that type, and in my mind, using videos to hold myself accountable is no less unhealthy than sitting on Tumblr feeling sorry for myself and eating myself into a blob, which is exactly what I felt I was. Nobody was “shaming” me. It wasn’t society or beauty standards or anything of the sort. I simply wasn’t happy with myself, and this video proved it.

I kicked it into high gear. As much as I may not often admit it I’m a highly competitive person. I see either someone who’s better than me at something and what to get to their level or surpass them, or I see myself and want to overcome that current self and transform it into something better. This, for better or worse, was exactly the blend of both I needed. I could dance like the people around me, and where I was a little rusty I knew I could get back, but I didn’t look as strong as them just because of my body.

I made small changes to my diet. I’ve always had a running joke about having the appetite of a lineman, and to this day that’s true. I like my food, and I like to eat. A lot. But I changed what I ate and when. I eat no breads or rice after lunch, instead loading up on lean meats and veggies. I don’t snack on things like yogurt at night anymore, either. Instead, I whip up some egg beaters (I highly recommend the southwestern flavor, by the way) and throw some lean, deli-cut turkey breast in with it. That’s my current go-to late-night snack. Other snacks are usually hard-boiled eggs or something along the lines of raw vegetables, fruits with a light dusting of Stevia over the top for those sweet tooth days, and carrot fries with a light ranch. I also make good use of frozen fruits that keep forever and that I can throw into a blender with some Greek yogurt. Breakfast is often something like a grilled chicken breast with eggs (my ultimate weaknesses is Chick-fil-A’s egg white grill when I need a speedy breakfast on the go), a poached egg with half an avocado and a slice of wheat toast, or something along those lines. I’ve also tried the toast + peanut butter + banana thing, though it was a bit sweet for my taste. Lunch is a bit broader: I enjoy salads but not enough to have them daily, and lunch admittedly tends to be my least healthy meal of the day. I had a cheeseburger today for example, which I do not recommend, but if you’re going to do something like that, just make sure you’re opting for a side salad or something similar instead of fries. My aim for lunch tends to be a light salad or a something like a burrito bowl with very little to no rice. I focus on lean meats and vegetables for both lunch and dinner, so depending on what I’ve prepped or am planning to make/have, I make the according adjustments to my lunch.

One thing I cut out completely--and a cut that pains me as it will my fellow Southerners--is sweet tea. I love sweet tea. I grew up on sweet tea and it’s quite literally the taste of home. This is something I had to ween myself off of over the course of a couple weeks on the days I ate out, ordering 1/2 sweet, 1/2 unsweet drinks. I’m happy to say I’ve already broken the habit, and it’s already become natural for me to order or make unsweet tea and either drink it as is or add just a pinch of natural sweetener in. Likewise, I cut back on sugary coffee drinks, though that wasn’t as difficult for me. I don’t mind the taste of black coffee, so that’s all well and good.

Once I did all of these things, I started noticing little things. Those leggings that had been too tight suddenly started to fit perfectly. My workout pants that I’d gone a size up on because of my chubbier areas started falling off--literally, to the point where I constantly have started having to pull them back up. My stomach and waist area--which is the one and only area I always have lost weight quickly in--has already gone from being jiggly to flat. My lovely (yes, this is sarcasm) Viking arms I inherited from my dad and my thick cyclist legs I inherited from my mom are already slimming down and toning. I started bodyweight circut classes and free weights again, though I definitely still enjoy my resistance days. It turns out I don’t need any additional cardio now that I’m dancing again, and I really only do short stints of it for stamina purposes.

And suddenly, it’s all been put into perspective.

My biggest block was settling for not enough.

I was eating in a more healthy way than the average person, but it wasn’t enough. I was working out regularly, but not in a way that was enough. I had no real routine or regulation for what I was eating beyond just staying under a certain calorie count, and not a good enough routine in the gym.

I’m not saying don’t go get on that elliptical or treadmill if that’s something that makes you feel good and helps you. Everybody’s different. Some people really can drop weight as long as they’re up and moving, and it really doesn’t matter what they do during that time. Others, like myself, need more specific exercise, and from experience I know mine is a combination of dance or martial arts and weights/bodyweight. Running does nothing. Ellipticals do nothing. Cycling does nothing. I have to do weights, and I have to have workouts that engage my entire body.

I’m happy to say within the past month of really hitting it this hard, not only have I lost weight, but I’m nearly down a size in everything (the latter of which is more over the course of two months). It really was just making the right changes and remembering what works for me, along with figuring out the new things that work for me since I obviously no longer live under my parents’ roof like I’d done the first time I’d really gotten fit. I had to figure out a way to cook for myself and make the right decisions when I do get fast food. I had to really start putting in the right work at the gym.

And you know what? It’s worth it.

I’ve even developed something of a social life through my classes again, and I’m loving every minute of it. It’s worth it to go into those classes and meet people, encourage them while they encourage you, and let them help to make you the best you can be through their sheer dedication and skill.

As for the darker mental side of it all, depression and anxiety don’t go away, but you can train yourself to push through them again, and you might just find those spells starting to dwindle a bit when you do. For me in every way, shape, or form, these changes have all been worth it.

Find what works for you and go for it not halfway, but all out.

#personal #bladesofyuribabbles #health and fitness #fitness #progress #update #unrelated #real-life #truths

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cerastes · 7 years

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how in the bloody hell did you get so much confidence? i'm currently in depression hell and i really need to crawl out of it

Right, I think it’s important to talk about this earnestly, so let’s turn off the Jokes for a second, and let’s have a talk.

How did I get so much confidence? I faked it till I made it. You, too, can pretend until it becomes real. This probably sounds god damn crazy to anyone deep in depression, but trust me, and the thousands of others that have done this: It works. When you start faking it, when you start wearing that mask of confidence, and acting with confidence, things start moving inside of you, and soon that mask becomes real, and you don’t even notice, because you were having so much fun not being the sad, miserable you, having so much fun being the ideal you that cuts through the waves like the mighty battleship you always wanted to be, that you don’t even realize you’ve truly become that person. “Become” isn’t the right word... You always could be that person, but you were holding yourself back all this time. By simply acting like it, you get a taste of that happiness, and there’s no turning back after you taste it, haha.

Now, words are cheap, I guess, and at the end of the day, I am the internet dude that just says things and can’t really intervene directly in your depression. I want to tell you more than “I tried this! It worked”, so if you think the above paragraph is enough, I am glad, but if it’s not fully satisfactory, I want to share with you how it went for me, so you know I am not just talking out of my ass, so you know how ugly my own depression was, and what I did in my own case to get over it, because depressions are ugly, and while they are all different for each one of us, their ugliness is something they have in common.

But you know what else depressions have in common? That you can overcome them. Beating depression is not just knowing a method and thinking, it’s about taking action. This is a story of taking action. Thinking just isn’t enough, you have to DO.

I am putting this under a read more because the beginning is dry (it’s also long), and I’d rather only people that want to read it, read it. No sense in putting a big fat dump of Sad in front of everyone, but keep in mind, there’s light at the end of it, because that’s the fundamental reason for this: That depression can be made your bitch, and that it isn’t invincible by any means. Warning: Suicide mention.

I entered a deep, deep depression in 2009, when I was graduating high school. Until then, I wasn’t particularly sad, and was in fact well liked by my peers, mostly due to (and I swear I am not throwing flowers at myself here) my natural charisma, which helped a lot to cover for my social anxiety. I was insecure about a lot of things, but I also was having fun with my life here and there, as long as I was out of home or locked in my room.

But after I graduated and moved out, a lot of stuff happened, and in 2010, it really just went rampant. I was suicidal, depressive as all hell, with a lot of pent up frustration, and in a very toxic environment. I used to own a revolver, and I sat down with it and considered blowing my brains out, but thankfully I didn’t. I moved out to a place where my friends and my best friend weren’t, so I didn’t have my usual support network, and things with my online friends were very turbulent at that point. All of it came crashing on me, and my usual manners of coping with it all were gone, so now I was left alone with my insecurities and a whole ton of terrible things that kept increasing in number around me.

2011, I had enough, I said fuck you to my family, grabbed my shit, and left. It’s always very complicated to discuss my family because I know my mom and dad love me, and I love them, but they made a lot, a lot of mistakes that their pride would not let them own up to, and everyone else in my family that wasn’t those two, and two other aunts, were basically massively toxic and terrible to me. I straight up left, I didn’t fucking care anymore. This was at the start of 2011, and throughout 2011, I was basically at my lowest, since I cut off contact with practically everyone, disappeared, and was a drunkard. More than once, I woke up under bridges or at benches in the park. I was drinking 2 litters of beer minimum daily, and far more if it was a “get shitfaced to forget the pain” day. My father knew where I lived, and he’d come pretty often, and we’d fight. We’d fight so damn much. My relationship with my girlfriend from this era was also becoming very tense.

2011 was the bottom of it all for me. It was the cusp of my depression. I didn’t shave, I didn’t shower, I didn’t wash my clothes, I didn’t do the dishes, I didn’t take out the trash, I didn’t care. My little apartment was a god damned pigsty, full of fast food and snack bags scattered everywhere, my plates had mold growing on them, and I just really rinsed one plate and used it over and over. I was the bitch in the “damn bitch you live like this?” image. I reeked of alcohol all day, and my apartment, aside from all the trash, consisted of my bed, my computer, my PS3, a TV, and fuck all else. Just a little sad dumpster where I could drink and submerge myself in fiction so I could just forget that my life was out of control and a god damn fucking mess with no coming back. My days consisted of me just waking up, writing, playing games, watching anime, going out, getting piss drunk to forget the pain, and then passing out somewhere. I legitimately wanted to die.

At around the end of 2011, I once again sat down on my bed, aimed my revolver at my head, and was this close to pulling the trigger. I luckily didn’t have the guts to do so again, and this was the point in which I realized that this was wrong, that all of this bullshit was wrong, that this was no fucking way to live. I used to have fun, I wanted that fun back, I used to enjoy things, I wanted to enjoy them again, to feel the thrill, to feel the joy of doing things again, of accomplishing stuff. I started wondering, how come I used to enjoy things so much, and at which point I fucked up so bad that I became like this? And when you are depressive, you think about this a lot.

I realized that was my mistake.

Thinking wasn’t gonna get me anywhere. It didn’t get me anywhere at the end of 2009. It didn’t get me anywhere throughout 2010. It didn’t get me fucking anywhere in 2011. Scratch that, it did get me somewhere in 2011: It got me the brink of blowing my fucking brains out. No, thinking wasn’t the solution. That’s when I said “fuck thinking”, because sometimes, you have to think, but other times? You have to act.

This was the time to act.

I got rid of my revolver, and I cleaned all of my apartment. Did the dishes, sent the clothes to wash, scraped the mold, I went full Captain Hygiene on this bitch. How was I when I wasn’t a sad sack that wanted to die? I was charismatic, funny, did pranks, and I enjoyed using my imagination. But that wasn’t enough, no, because even when I wasn’t this depressive, I still had several things holding me back, and the me from before ended up being depressive, so I might just set myself for a loop in the future. I wasn’t going to just be happy, baby, I was aiming to become better than I ever was, go BIG or go home, and I always go BIG. No, that wasn’t enough, so what is it that I wanted to be, on top of my good aspects as a kid? I wanted to be confident, to be proud of my skills, to be a dependable leader that people KNEW was going to get shit done, to enjoy life even when it wasn’t going the best, to be mature, and to be just what I wanted to be instead of what I was told to be. Fuck expectation, fuck the status quo, fuck everything anyone else wants you to be, YOU be what YOU want to be. That’s who I wanted to be, so I started acting. I put on the tightest mask I had ever put on, and I went out there not being Dreamer, but rather, being Dreamer EX 9000, the better, cooler, happier Dreamer.

My family always treated me like a weirdo. It is true that I am eccentric, I fully acknowledge it, and not in a “wacky lovable kooky dude way!”, I mean in a “I do have weird aspects to myself that I know can weird people out”, but I still resented them very heavily for always trying to make me into someone I wasn’t instead of just accepting me for who I was. The status quo was always something that I was beaten with. “That’s weird, don’t do that/say that”, “why aren’t you like other kids?”, “you have very weird interests for a boy of your age”, “why aren’t you doing this? Everyone else is doing it, you are strange, Dreamer”, “stop playing games so much and come with us to the family meetings every single weekend”, and a lot more, are phrases I grew up with. I was weird for wanting my personal space, I was weird for not liking going to the country every weekend to meet up with cousins that I didn’t like, I was weird for not wanting to go play football with the kids in my class, weird weird weird weird weird weird all was weird and I was some pariah apparently, man, so I said You Know What Fuck You, and that’s why I left home and cut off my family. A man only has so much patience for that shit, and mine was expended a long time ago. It turns out, now that I was living by myself and engaging with more diverse people, people didn’t fucking care about my “weirdness”. As long as you own up to what you are and are a nice person otherwise, people DON’T FUCKING CARE, and that was a huge point of happiness to me. I wasn’t in an oppressive environment anymore. People would accept me for who I was, and that had its weight in gold for me. Years later, when my family did try to make contact with me, I just brushed them off and told them to fuck off. It took months of them bugging me before I said “Yeah ok I will forgive you but under the condition you NEVER fucking hang the status quo over my head again, and if you do, I am out for good, don’t you fucking try me”. Turns out walking out of your family’s life and cutting them off for years does leave a lasting impression, so they accepted, and now we good. Dreamer EX 9000 was comfortable with who he was, and fuck everyone who had anything to say about it.

My childhood environment, family, school, and internet included, was always this kind of excessively... Bitch ass place, to put it mildly. Like, humility is good, PLEASE be humble, but there is such a thing as being humble to a fault, and forcing that onto others. I never was allowed to feel good about my accomplishments. It didn’t matter that I wasn’t a slimy cocky son of a bitch, and that I loved complimenting others, the moment I felt proud about me being good at something or an accomplishment, it was immediately seen badly. Why? Are we supposed to just fucking self flagellate all our god damn lives? Are we never allowed to feel good about ourselves? Fuck that noise. They wanted to paint that as narcissism? Sure, I was gonna fucking give it to them. That was kinda where the whole “narcissist Dreamer” humorous charade was born from. Whereas before I would just shut up and take it, Dreamer EX 9000 would just fucking go to town with it, and run the whole 9 yards, being fully honest when he was good at something, without being cocky, just taking pride in something that deserved being proud of.

It was at this point that I needed to start rebuilding my social network. Around April 2012, that I said good riddance to the mostly very toxic online community and I began looking for something new, something fresh to get into and give it my everything. I needed this new spice of life, and I found it in something called Touhou. I just launched myself blind into it, after a friend suggested I give the games a spin and the fan stuff a try. I had a unpleasant run in with Touhou before, but I just said “eh, bad first impressions happen, let’s try again”, and I ended up getting really, really into it. Like super duper mega into it. That’s when I started this blog! Haha, ok, so, confession, I started this blog literally just to follow a certain Touhou art askblog, and due to certain coincidences, unexpected accidents, and one self imposed challenged I actually have not ever mentioned to anyone before, I ended up in the RP side of Touhou Tumblr. That was honestly a great thing, because mid 2012 was around the time where things with my ex from then were very, very tense, and we broke up, but it wasn’t a HUGE deal to me because I more or less had come to terms that she was a terrible toxic bitch, and also that I wasn’t as mature as I thought I was (and you gotta accept your bad aspects dude). Tumblr, RP side and just regular side, lead to me meeting a ton of people I love to this day and I consider great friends, and at one point, even someone I loved romantically (and later we broke up, as some of you remember), but even with all the good and bad, with the amazingly fun starts and the sadly toxic end stretch of the RP side, I am very glad it happened, since it helped me grow as a person.

On the IRL end of things, I slowly but surely started regaining contact with real people. My best friend in life, F, accepted my apologies and helped me a great deal with not phasing out of real contact again, and on one occasion, even gave me a very stern talking to when I was starting to relapse a little into my toxic old habits (which can very much happen and you have to be strong and not fall into it again). I cannot thank him enough for this. The friends worth sticking to are the ones that are kind enough to raise a hand at you when you stray from the proper path. I started knowing new people IRL and working on how I wanted to be seen. That’s honestly important and I hate the status quo for vilifying this: It’s really important for you to present yourself in the way you want to be seen. You wanna be seen as an attractive person? It’s fully fucking ok for you to want that and for you to do your best so it happens. Don’t let weak ass social constructs oppress you. Be the fucking excellent person you want to be, but put the effort in it, yeah? And don’t forget to stay a nice person.

The years kept going, and before I knew it, Dreamer EX 9000 didn’t exist anymore, because he fused with Dreamer when I was not looking, creating The Cool Dreamer, and it wasn’t an act anymore, it was legit who I was. It was who I wanted to be, who I knew I could be, and then, it was me.

It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t smooth. I had relapses, I had bouts of I Hate Everything in midst of it, and now and then, nowadays, I still have little periods of time in which I just wake up in bad moods and very sad and bitter with no explanation, but then they are gone and I am back to being The Cool Dreamer.

Depression hell is hard to get out of, but it’s not impossible. It won’t happen in one day, one week, one month, one year, but it will happen if you act.

Stop thinking. Start acting. Start doing.

You can either stay where you are and rot for years to come, or you can swallow the bitter pill, go through the painful, difficult first step, and start the progress to recovery, like I did, and like how many people have done.

This is gonna hurt to read, but being a victim is comfortable. Because anything that happens, you can just blame life sucking and then you do nothing about it, as if nothing can be done about it. I know I did before I started acting. It’s bullshit. Something can be done about it. It just isn’t easy, but it’s necessary.

This is my story and my invitation: Do you want to stay sad and rotting where you are right now? Or do you want to take the painful first step now so you can smile later, and see that life has a lot of fucking awesome things, and that the pain was worth it every bit?

Pain is temporary, but glory is eternal.

Take the first step. All of us that already did will wait for you at the finish line with arms wide open.

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healingslowlymessily · 6 years

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It’s 3 AM & I had a meltdown over my weight gain lmao.

Made the mistake of checking my weight when I felt an anxiety attack coming on and saw that I let myself reach 151 pounds. Now I’m crying in my room because I feel disgusted and ashamed of myself. Last year at this time I was 137 pounds & then I broke my fucking foot over the summer and couldn’t walk for 3 months so I couldn’t work out so I gained so much weight. And ever since then I’ve been eating so unhealthy and I’ve been lazy.

Weight has always been an issue for me growing up as the “fat kid” then developing an eating disorder at 14 which ruled my mind for years. And I started fighting my eating disorder when I was 16 by forcing myself to eat again and not throw it back up or abuse laxatives. And even though I say I fully recovered when I was 17 there is no such thing as full recovery. You get back to a healthy weight, you no longer follow rigid rules and you learn to shut the voice of the eating disorder in your mind but it won’t go away. I would be lying if I said I haven’t forced myself to throw up in the past year because the eating disorder in my head told me to. But in my defense, I only did so a handful of times within a year whereas when my ED was at an all time high I used to do it daily, at one point 3 times in one day when i was at the height of my ED in high school. And even then I wasn’t technically underweight, I would fluctuate from 115-125. I’m 5’4.

I just want to be at 130-140. That’s a healthy and manageable weight for me.

The heaviest I have EVER been was 165 pounds when I was 18/19.

Then I went through a terrible time in my life last October and let myself relapse eating only 800-1200 calories a day. Which to me at the time wasn’t “too low” a lie I told myself because at the height of my ED when I was 15 I would only eat 500-900 calories a day. I told myself it was only temporary.

Then I went down to 137 and realized I was spiraling down a dark hole again so I made myself eat a healthy number of calories for weight loss being 1500-2000 calories depending on how much I exersiced. So I managed to keep my weight at 137-140. And for once I was confident in my body. For the first time in my life that ED voice was GONE & I was at peace with how I looked.

Then I broke my foot.

And my confidence slowly died as soon as I saw the weight come back on and the voice returned.

And now I keep going through fits of binging but without the purging like I used to so I’ve been gaining like crazy lately. Because food was always my crutch growing up when I was upset or stressed. And now I just want healthy coping mechanisms. I just want to be able to eat and KNOW when I’m full so I can just stop like a normal fucking person. I just want to eat and not think about food for once. I want to be able to look at food and not see calories and how many calories are in each part of my plate. The only break I get from counting calories is when I let myself binge which is just as unhealthy as starving or purging.

And I just hate myself for being 20. almost 21 and still be fighting the same battle with food I have for nearly all my life.

I wish I could just have a high metabolism and not worry. But also I need to just grow the fuck up and stop fucking whining. I need to take accountability for myself for once and just fix something for myself. I need to just stop binging, eat right and excercise which should not be hard because ITS NOT. But no, my mentally ill ass makes it into a bigger deal than it needs to be. It’s 3 AM & I’m arguing with myself over the same fight.

I just hate being me sometimes.

I wish I wasn’t mentally ill.

I wish I didn’t need to take antidepressants to function like a normal human.

I wish I wasn’t insecure.

I wish I didn’t have anxiety.

I wish my self “confidence” and self “love” could last and wasn’t just a front to hide my crippling insecurity and self hate.

I wish I was mentally stable because I lost a couple of my closest friends this year because they couldn’t handle who my mental illness made me become.

I had to become selfish to save myself from my demons and unfortunately I lost loved ones because of it.

And I keep going back and forth with well if they truly cared they would’ve tried to talk it out instead of dropping you like your friendship didn’t mean anything to them and then also thinking well no they left you because they needed to put them self first and you can’t hold that against them plus they’re probably better off without you and happier because you’re a fucking hot mess and a burden.

And I just want to not be a hot mess for once. I use humor to hide the fact that I don’t want to be a hot mess. I don’t want to be the friend people worry about. I want to be the person with everything in order for once in my life but then I go and fuck things up. And eventually my mental illness will make me isolate myself so much or make me become so ridiculously clingy/annoying that everyone in my life will get sick of my shit and leave me and I’ll be all alone.

#cats personal shit #this is the longest thing i've ever written #if you wctually read the whole thing im so sorry #3 am thoughts

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cashtonsangel · 7 years

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7/17/17

i just need to vent

there are so many different factors that have contributed to my stress and anxiety. and even though its summer i hasnt really gotten much better. i am legit on the edge of insanity and i am fucking tired of all the shit

first and foremost my dad has been an absolute asswipe and has been riding on my ass ever since last summer and its been really pissing me off. he is consistently telling me that i dont put enough effort into studying for the SAT and ACT. he also says shit like how he is putting in more effort reminding me to study and prepare than i am putting into actually studying the material.that pisses me off so much that he would say something like that. i dont understand why he cant realize that i try so fucking hard but there is only so much i can do before i break. and he is constantly reminding me to go study and wont let me live a typical teenage life. i have barely gone out for fun my entire high school career so far because whenever i do go out and have fun, he lectures me whenever i come home saying that i never do anything with my life and how i value my social life over the academic life.clearly this isnt true since i can count the number of times i go out with my friends on one hand. it pisses me off that he is constantly attacking me and condescendingly talking down to me as if i am 10. all of my friends around slowly get more freedom from their parents and they go out and are treated with the respect that they deserve for being teenagers. but for me my dad yells at me for talking to a boy or yells at me for watching the show big brother because its not ‘appropriate’ he doesnt let me watch anything that is rated over pg-13 which in my opinion is a bunch of bullshit because all it is making me want to do is rebel and do things all out of spite. because of this im afraid of asking him to go hangout with my friends without an adult present or ask to go to a concert without adult supervision. i rather isolate myself completely than be on the receiving end of one of his lecture. but when i do go out and end up listening to one of these lecture is always comes back to me and my academics. im just so fucking stressed and anxious all the time now. i mean it clearly isnt healthy and my body is clearly breaking down for all the stress and anxiety. i didnt have my period for a whole year because of everything that i was going through for fucks sake. and on the topic of my body my parents, especially my dad, constantly is attacking my physical appearances saying things like ‘im too fat’ and ‘my legs are really ugly because of my stretch marks’ and honestly im so fucking sick and tired of it. he says shit like how i looked so much prettier 3 years ago than i am now. also this one time i was talking about how my friends like to spend their money to buy quality makeup products and then it somehow turned into a lecture about how ugly i look with makeup on. that really pissed me off. i wear makeup to feel more confident in my appearance not to appease his views. even when i do put on makeup i barely put any on... mainly eyeliner, mascara and lipstick. i am just sick and tired of him bashing my physical appearance because my self esteem and self worth have been at an all time low and its not getting any better every time he opens his fucking mouth. and since everything that i tell him ultimately turns into some type of lecture i dont ever tell him anything anymore. then my dad has the fucking audacity to ask me why i never talk anymore and constantly tells me to talk more. every time my dad opens his fucking mouth i want to bang my head on a wall.

another thing that has been pissing me off is my uncle. he acts like he knows everything about everything and constantly trying to butt his head in everyone’s business. he is staying at my house until he can find a job or wants to go back to vietnam but i feel like he has overstayed his welcome. whenever my dad tells me to go study for the ACT/SAT my uncle is always butting in saying how my scores suck compared to the students in vietnam who take the test. he also does this thing where is bashed all of american culture and such and says some really offensive thing and always puts his unwarranted opinion for everything. also i listen to music a lot whenever i home (which is always because it is summer) and this one time he legit told me to shut up and didnt want to hear me sing. i dont listen to him because music and one of the only thing that bring me some type of happiness but i can tell every time i play music he get annoyed. and then he does this thing where he touches my fucking thermostat and adjusts the temperature inside the house. now i live in texas where air condition is the best thing ever since the summers melt the skin off my back. so i set it so that the ac runs about every 30 min to an hour to kept the air circulating. but then he gets ‘too cold’ and turns on the fucking heater. like bitch im hot and your cold and only one of us can do something about it so stop touching my fucking thermostat and put more clothes on. obviously those shorts and tshirt arent enough to keep you warm and im not goona take any clothes of to deal with the heater since im already in a tank and shorts. god he royally pisses me off.

there are so many other things that have been bothering me but not to the extent of these two. i am just so fucking down with everything and just need everything to stop so i can take a break and breathe

#im pretty sure none of the is coherent #but i needed to put it out there somewhere #i just want everything to stop #my life

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mindofvox · 7 years

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jan 30 thoughts 2017

i gave marlene her truth is the other day and she said she’d reply to everything. she hasn’t, but today she told me the truth is was gone. she cared enough to tell me and I sent her it thru email.

i think i said half truths on that thing. lol hong kong was great.

i had a lot of talks about relationshits today. im still scared about distance. but im more worried about the other end. i feel fine. im too grown to fuck up. idk.

all my friends are girls. i got like 1 guy friend.

i forgot how to write. i read house on mango street today and wow, i cried like a fat bitch on acid.

im not politically correct on this shit.

sometimes when im mad I say nigga. in my head tho, cos I try not to speak in general. But i wonder why i say it... i think its because all that rage is associated to what i used to live in. the environment was different. it was okay to be out here talking about fuck you nigga. i guess it was linked to being rage. embodying it.

why tf do ol girl keep liking my shit like we friends. lol

why tf do ol girl keep acting like she interested. YOU SNOOOZED GIRL WTF. IM HAPPY.

im pretty okay, maryam asked if i needed help and i laughed. its cute, friends are there but i felt so alone before.

alondra said i act cocky and that really bothered me. i say shit just kidding. i say it and exaggerate it because i dont feel confident at all. i hate people who bring you down. thats so uncalled for. i hurt no one. i care for everyone who is nice to me. me saying i think i look good one day is not fucking cocky. me saying i think this one girl has a thing for me is not fucking cocky. cocky would be being manipulative, being sick. treating people like shit because i think im better than them. yeah, im cocky when im making a fucking joke but don’t actually call me that. wtf.

people used to manipulate me. im trying to recover from that. leave me the fuck alone.

i want to make a post about toxic relationships.

sara bobek i still hate your ass but you helped me see what a toxic relationshit is like. i hope you never make your bf/husband/professor whatever he is go thru the shit you put me thru. i hope hes exactly what you want, because if he’s not, i know youll try to change him. and then blame your past for it. lol. one can only stay understanding to a certain point. shit was so toxic. i still feel like shit. i still feel like i have trust issues, i still feel like everyone will leave me no matter how much they “love” me

fuck you too, ken. who knows wtf happened with you.

and fuck you for sure, melina. you’ll never admit to anything. you had the audacity to bring up shit from high school to try and make me feel guilty. was i always so attracted to manipulative people?

back to ken, i remember i was on the phone with yo ass when you wanted to kill yourself. i wish you would have just told me wtf the reason for cutting me off was.

i miss paloma :( i always think about her when i write on tumblr. where u at homie

im mad as hell

“i should be asleep i shouldnt be upset”

ive been having weird dreams lately.

im in a constant state of anxiety because of donald trump

i fucking hate white people

except shauna, i guess. lol.

who is reading. who cares

who stares

what am i doing

i wish i was drunk..

i want a new hip hop album to come out. something by immortal technique.

i just want to be free.

ahuacatl better come into fruition......

i hate it when girls flirt with me knowing im not single anymore. like tf are you doing? -_-

thighs.

steve is kinda an asshole.

i should fry his ass.

im itchy.

im done.

#thoughts #verses

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ecotone99 · 4 years

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(MF) Riding the Wave

They lied in the bed motionless, sweaty, and exhausted. Air was the only blanket he couldn’t remove, and even that was weighing him down with a heavy layer of heat. The entire world was an oven that could not be escaped. The fires raged on. She had turned on a miniature metaphorical air conditioning unit on by opening the bedroom window as he had requested. But in the moment, there would be no relief.

It was a happy suffering, though, for both parties Theo presumed. The climax of sexual intercourse had subsided, but the aroma of satisfaction had lingered. There was a smell wafting through the room.

“It smells like sex in here.” Theo announced, not sure of what to say.

“What the fuck else would it smell like.”, retorted Fae, sarcastically as she rose from the mattress and threw on a sweater she grabbed from the floor too short to cover her lower half. Theo noticed the thick layer of snow that weeks worth of dirty clothes had formed on what he understood was a hardwood floor. He didn’t mind, it was a nice change from what he was used to seeing in a lover’s bedroom.

Once returning to the bed, she removed the sweater. Theo found the application and subsequent removal of the sweater odd, yet remained silent . She hopped under the covers, seemingly unphased. How is she not dying, thought Theo, as he melted into the sheets. Fae was cool, in temperature as well as temperament. This seemed almost normal to her. As if it were any other night. The ever-analysing Theo noticed she wasn’t very cuddly as this moment, which may mean she was sexually satisfied as he had read online previously. Another side of Theo told him that she didn’t want to because she was unattracted to him, as he was heavier-set than the typical young adult. They had cuddled extensively the past three occasions, so he reassured himself that his initial thought must be true. Who doesn’t love cuddling a fat guy? Theo thought. For once he thought in his own favour. They sat in silence as their heavy breathing had gradually subsided.

“How was that for you?”, Theo inquired as he always does.

“It was good”. Fae replied.

Theo didn’t know why he would always ask. It was just a given. It was not as though she would say anything unpleasant anyway as post-sex was not the optimal time for confrontation. He dived deep into his mind, realizing he may have an unresolved need for reassurance. It was most likely true. Where it came from though, he did not know. Hopefully he would reflect on that later. For now he was focused on his ‘partner’ beside him.

She was the most attractive person he’d ever been with, bar none. She looked similar to Ary in that she was short, a shade over five feet. That was where the comparison ended, though. She had long dirty blond hair that would always get caught between them. He had never checked, but he could’ve sworn it had to have gone down to the lower half of her back, if not the peak of her cheeks. Her cheeks where amazing, the ones on her face as well as those on her posterior. He wasn’t sure which he enjoyed more, her smile or her thick ass. Probably her ass. He also acknowledged her breasts. Which were fairly large for her size. Theo knew they were larger than Ary’s had been, definitively. Her most arousing feature, though, were her eyes. They were the brightest possible shade of blue. Lighter than the clearest lake and just as moist. Whenever they would converse, he had to avoid looking into them because he would get lost. He would lose track of what she was talking about. They were dangerous, and he would do anything to feed that addiction. She wore glasses occasionally, which he found attractive even if she despised them. Funnily enough she couldn’t really see. Wearing the glasses was a win-win for both. He couldn’t believe he had managed to de-clothe a woman so attractive, so out of his league, and so soon after his previous relationship.

“Want a hit of that?”, she said seemingly out of the blue, staring at the half smoked joint at the side of the bed in a mason jar. Theo stumbled a bit on his words before replying,

“Uh, no I think ill be fine”. In his own head he wondered whether she would think it was cool that he decided when he wanted to get high or not, or if he was being a pussy. This is where Theo’s mind went naturally, and typically. He would tell himself ironically that his greatest talent was overthinking.

Eventually, when their bodies cooled off, Fae shuffled on closer to Theo and wrapped herself in him, to his satisfaction. His face was pressed in her bosom, while his left leg was intertwined between hers. He thought his leg was probably too close to her slit, so he retracted it ever so slightly unbeknownst to her. He felt relief. It was nice to be cuddled again. It had only been a couple of months, but at one point he thought he would never feel it again. For ten years he had taken cuddling for granted. She ran her hands across his back, back and forth as she was wont to do. It tickled him slightly uncomfortably, but he decided he enjoyed it and let her continue. It was peaceful. It was quiet. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, but a silence he thought both parties were enjoying. Silence, however, was Theo’s bane. He was always anxious of silence, presuming it was of the awkward fashion. He decided that this moment was of the acceptable kind, so he let it slide just this once.

It had been his fourth time at her apartment in two weeks. He had gone there the first two times drunk, and the last two times he went sober. The third time he went sober and they ended up getting drunk. The fourth, he was essentially sober throughout the duration with a couple glasses of wine mixed in. All four times he spent the night. He thought she must’ve enjoyed his company if she keeps letting him stay until the next morning. The first night he left at the break of dawn. Partly because of nerves and anxiety, and partly because of having to attend class. They had been up until roughly 5:30am. To say he was well rested was a flat out lie. The second time he stayed until the next afternoon. That night they had been awake at 6:00am, the last time he had checked his phone. They woke up in the late morning, relaxed, then she drove him home. The third and fourth time Theo had gone during the daytime hours, sober. They would talk, watch Netflix, cook for each other, and fuck until the sun began to sprout. They had yet to sleep before 1:00am. Though the clock would tick less each time they hung out. He wasn’t sure how he did It. But he was essentially staying at her place twice a week.

Theo had no intention of being in this position. Hell, less than 2 months ago he had never envisioned sleeping next to someone with blonde hair. He distinctly remembered thinking, before Ary had left, that Fae was incredibly attractive, but a forbidden fruit. He was spoken for. Now, he had free speech. His own free speech. Theo had thought very little of himself and figured it would take years for something like this to happen. One night at the local club they regularly attended, Theo, feeling confident after many drinks, had asked her to dance. That ended up as their first night together. He remembered laughing to himself as his classmate, Ron, picked him up in the morning. Ron had told Theo he was glowing. Theo knew exactly what he was talking about as that was how he felt too.

This all was new and exciting to Theo. He had never done anything resembling this in his 25 years of life. Drinking, going back to someone’s house, and sleeping with them. This seemed standard for other humans. He was just excited to be apart of it. What he wasn’t sure was normal were the two sober nights. It seemed odd that they continued this sexual escapade. He figured he must be doing something right. It was the two additional appointments that also confused him. Again, this was new to him, especially this part. Was this the beginning of a new relationship? Was she only interested in the sex? What’s the next move? Theo, as always, was unsure. He was over Ary but was frequently told not to jump into something too quickly. That was not his intention whatsoever. Theo was extremely fond of Fae, this is true, but he wouldn’t admit that he was actively chasing her. He was, however, just trying to live in the moment and not worry about it now. He knew eventually, if this kept up, that they would have to have that conversation.

It became apparent to Theo that he was addicted. He was hooked on the uncertainty, the risk. For 10 years he had been complacent when it came to women. He had no need to care what they thought, or even visualize them as sexual partners for anything more than his spank bank. Now though, anything could happen with anyone at anytime, it seemed. It was addicting. When Fae and Theo were apart they would barely communicate. Theo would ride the ups and downs of the wave that was virtual communication. Occasionally, she would initiate conversation. This would always get Theo high. However, a few messages later she would leave him on read, as the kids say. As often as this happened to Theo, he would do the same. It was a cycle. It was stressful for him. The lows were Hades and the highs were Mount Olympus. This new found chase and run was a new feeling, and he liked it.

Every time he left her place, he would leave happy, satisfied. As soon as he left he would feel despair and regret for things unsaid and unspoken, then he would feel towards the sense he would never return. Always, in the middle of the week, communication would ramp up and he’d find himself back there. Albeit a small sample size, there was a pattern. At this moment Theo had not noticed.

Now they both lie in the bed, finally relaxed and cooled.

“If we were quarantined for an indefinite period of time, and we weren’t in school right now, what would you be doing?” Questioned Theo. This was Theo’s favorite part of sex: pillow talk. He enjoyed it especially now because she also seemed to enjoy it. It was nice to have a partner who appreciated long, deep conversations as much as him.

“Oh wow, uh…”. She paused momentarily, then snickered, “that question makes me feel like I don’t do anything or have any hobbies.” Theo laughed before replying.

“Well if you couldn’t go outside for weeks, you could only watch so many movies, right? Eventually you would get bored. After lounging around and doing fuck all for a few days, what would be the next best thing you would do so you wouldn’t lose your mind? Or like what would be the first thing you would like to catch up on or spend more time doing?

“Uhh ok, I know, I would be painting. I love to paint. I like to use acrylic paint mostly. I haven’t been able to do much recently and I’d love to get back into that. If you’ve looked closely you would’ve seen that I painted that fridge magnet. That’s all I have here of examples of my painting.” Theo proceeded to get out of bed, still naked, appendage swinging about. He returned momentarily.

“That’s nice, I’d love to see more of your work sometime. I love when people get excited about things they do, no matter how dorky or how much I don’t understand.” He explained.

“Ya, maybe sometime. For now, you’ll just have to stare at the mountains and trees on the magnet. Don’t ask for my inspiration, because I didn’t have any. Just drew cute shit.” They both chuckled. He put his head in her bosom again, where he felt comforted and safe. Only for a moment though, as he followed up the question.

“Have you ever been to the mountains?’

“Ya, only one time.” She paused. “I haven’t really been away from home or out of the country. Even three years ago the farthest I had been was Edmonton and I have family there so that why. I went to Jasper a couple years ago with my family. It was so beautiful, Theo. I want to go back so bad sometime. I mean I don’t have the time right now, but sometime, maybe this summer I would like to go again, or at least somewhere like it.” She drew a large breath as she often forgot to breathe. Theo thought it was so cute and funny that she would do that. Hearing his name on another woman’s lips was also something Theo appreciated.

Theo felt bad for her that she hadn’t been many places. Theo himself had been across the world. Not so much as a student of the world, or an individual trying to find their self, but a respectable amount. He had been to Italy, Greece, Mexico, across Canada, and Cuba to name a few. He knew that it was a bad time to mention that as she had been deprived of it. He also thought about saying that he would take her to the mountains again. Cooler heads prevailed though as he stopped himself in his tracks. That would’ve been a little presumptuous and goofy, Theo thought.

He smiled and replied, “I really do hope you get to go back someday, and I hope you can travel like you seem to want to.” She smirked in response. This is what Theo loved about pillow talking, how it could start at one place and end in another. In the end, both parties would learn about each other too. He loved getting to know people. After sex with someone is the best opportunity for that as there is no longer the professional or social mask that people wear. During sex you see the ugliest parts of people; their ridiculous O-faces, or their nastiest desires. In the end, there is nothing left to hide as the mask that would conceal all your dark wants and desires is lifted. This leaves a perfect opportunity to get down to the person, Theo would tell himself. After sex, Fae’s nasty wants and desires were apparent. Even during sex they could be seen, too. Some would call her a freak. Theo just thought it was awesome that she knew what she liked. She liked it rough. Occasionally Theo would choke her, slap her ass, and squeeze her nipples. She liked the pain. Theo was always worried that he was being too aggressive. After some contemplation he understood that she would tell him if it was, as she always would tell it as it was. He enjoyed being with someone who was comfortable with their own sexuality, no matter how odd. After being with Ary for years, who wasn’t sure what she liked sexually, let alone masturbated, it was refreshing.

They continued on the subject, fucked again, then slowly faded into sleep. It was 01:45 am.

Morning came all too quickly. The large, clothe-ridden floor of her apartment bedroom was pierced with rays of early morning sunlight. The room was lit, almost completely it seemed. For the second consecutive time, she had forgotten to lower the shades before fading into sleep. There were two large and slender, 6’ - 0” x 3’- 0” windows. The glazing unit furthest from the bed was the same she had opened for ventilation the night prior. Theo was unsure if the window behind the bed was operable. No matter the operation, the windows were allowing in sunlight to the best of their potential. It appeared the sun’s rays were penetrating on all sides of the apartment complex. Sleeping was no longer an option. Theo did not rest well in the daylight he remembered.

When he was younger, he would spend most of his free time at his friend Larry’s place. They were close when they were children now estranged. He would stay the night consistently through Elementary and High School. It was a home away from home. The windows were much larger in his house, however. The window spanned nearly the entire wall. Theo would lie in bed, awake. He would be the only one conscious, left alone to his thoughts. He would wait hours before the house was awoke. In those days he didn’t have a phone accessible within arms reach, so he would never know the time. He now found himself in a similar situation, albeit with a device to check the time.

He started at the ceiling momentarily. Processing the night before, smiling, he thought of their conversations, the great sex. She had let him finish inside her. She said she had a device that prevented pregnancy. He didn’t know the complexity or details of the device, but he believed her. She had told him that the second time they fucked, even though the first occasion they didn’t use protection. He could almost hear his mother’s furious tone, instructing him to be safe. He had been safe every other sexual encounter in the past 10 years. Fuck it, Theo would think. It felt too good not to, even though he rarely would finish. He perceived that to be unusual as he is usually premature. These were new times, new experiences, and new sex. He continued grinning. He couldn’t believe he was here, so soon.

He turned his body to her. Her back turned to him, he couldn’t help but compare. She’s small, and long haired. She almost looks like her hair is dark in the shade of the suns arms. Those curves are similar, I mean for Christ’s sake they have the same birthmark in their ‘V’. He reached his arm to her hips, elbow half extended. He laid his arm there. It was soft, yet rough on her scaley portion. He would often ponder that her skin reflected her personality. The typical skin was moist and plump. The odd section of skin would expose her Psoriasis. Said aloud, ‘her skin is soft and rigid’, it presented her body as an oxymoron. The comparison to her personality was that she was rigid, tough, aggressive, and sassy. At the same time, she was extremely soft and empathetic to others and their feelings. She was two things that were opposite to each other. He loved the feeling of her skin, though. Theo could tell she was a little conservative and anxious about her skin and her ailment. He did not care, he enjoyed the poetry it depicted. The rough skin almost felt nice, the way a cat’s tongue feels as it licks. After holding his hand on her hip momentarily, he determined she was not yet awake. Once again he was left alone to his thoughts.

Initially, his thought were positive, euphoric in a sense. Over the course of an hour, his mind descended, as it does. It started at thoughts such as, ‘I wonder if she had a good time.’, to, ’She probably didn’t want him here anymore, or at all. She got what she needed. Your just an annoyance.’ He hadn’t thought these thoughts about anyone since Ary, two months ago. It could be assumed that was because there wasn’t another occasion where it could be possibly before today, and after the dumping. He noticed the dark pattern and tried to shake himself out of it. He told himself he had, but unconsciously continued the pattern.

She rolled over, caressed his arm, indicating she was awake and melting his anxieties away. Her normally large, moist, lake-blue eyes were dry, squinty, slits. She looked tired and barely awake.

“Morning.”, she mumbled out while dipping her head into the crevice between his chest and arm pit.

“Morning,” Theo said while giggling at her tiredness, “How was your sleep?”.

“I need more”.

Theo caressed her momentarily. She reciprocated. He then removed his body from hers, and proceeded to apply undergarments and explained that he had to attend an online class.

“Ugh, I should get up to.” She managed while remaining motionless. She was lazy and unmotivated. It was like her and his ex were polar opposites.

Once half-clothed in underwear and kahkies, he waddled over to the couch, where he left his laptop. He opened it, attended his class, shirtless, belly exposed. He was thankful the class required no student video or he would have been laughed at extensively. The class lasted 20 minutes in what Theo had perceived to be pointless. He regretted leaving the bed, while closing his laptop. He was fully awake now. He trotted carefully back to her room.

“You want breakfast?”

“mmmm, yeah I would.”

Theo shuffled back to her small kitchen, which still appeared as though a herd of bulls had rammed through from the night before. The night before they cooked shrimp fettucine alfredo, which required a lot of cookware. She also only had one sink, and limited counterspace, hence the mess. Theo grabbed the leftover mushrooms from the fridge along with eggs. He built fried eggs and sautéed mushrooms. He called her out to eat.

While Theo had a pep in his step, Fae was sluggish. Tired, she staggered to the couch, where she usually ate. She was a slow eater, he noticed. He didn’t spite that. It was a reminder, though. He didn’t need any reminders right now. Those were negative and detrimental he thought. He ignored the thought, grabbed his food and ate beside her on the couch.

They talked for a while, in between online classes. They conversed about the night before. Theo apologized for the undercooked fettucine, while she argued that they were fine. They talked about her classes. They made fun of the teachers. They laughed. It was a good morning. Though, Theo detected an increase of awkward silences as time passed. With it being now close to noon, and the fact that she had to work on a presentation, Theo determined it was time to leave.

“I better get going, I have work to do, and I don’t want to bother you with your work. I hope you enjoyed me cooking for you, twice. I like feeding you. Even if my noodles are a bit on the al dante side.” He joked while putting on his coat and edging towards the door. She acknowledged he should leave. He couldn’t tell if that was what she wanted or if she was okay with him leaving. He figured she would have told him to leave if that’s what she wanted. She followed him to the door as he was installing his shoes to his feet.

“I have fun when I’m here. You’re really easy to talk to. It’s great. Let’s do this again sometime. “, he said, not sure of what else to say. Then, he wasn’t sure what the next move was. Does he go for a kiss? Does he walk out the door? Hug? He was unsure.

“Ya me too, I have a good time with you”. She replied with a smile.

In that moment he decided: A kiss it is. He leaned in, anxiously smiling. She grabbed his head in closer and tangled their lips, occasionally their tongues. He figured the kiss lasted about 40 seconds. It was 40 seconds of aggressive kissing, groping, and lip biting. She lightly pressed her hand against his chest, indicating wanted separation.

“You’d better go.” Fae some how said sternly while maintaining a loose smirk. Theo now regretted his decision to leave, but not the decision to lean in. He said goodbye and walked out the apartment complex down two flights of stairs. He opened the glass door leading to the exterior. He unlocked and opened the driver door of his two-door Volvo, started it and drove away. He made a point of not looking back to her second floor window which was centered over the front entrance of the building. As soon as he was out of viewing range from the apartment, he smiled ear to ear.

The silence of the road with cut with a sharp, “WOOOOOOOO!”, emitting from Theo’s throat. He felt alive.

Now that they were apart, the roller coaster began. Positivity was in abundance Friday, the day he went home, Saturday and Sunday. With each passing day, doubt crept into his mind. ‘Why hasn’t she texted me yet.’ Theo remembered thinking Monday morning before class. All day during various lectures Theo wondered and received no answer or text. He remembered them lying in bed, with his right leg between her two. It was a great moment, so he thought. ‘Does Fae not feel the same about that? Am I just a means to an end for her?’ Even though they had spent so much time together over the past two weeks, his mind trembled with fear. He told himself he didn’t care about her, that this was just a fling. Deep down though, he knew he could not get hurt again.

Ary had done damage to him. After 10 years, 10 years, she had called him to tell him that it was over. No forecast could have predicting the downfall. He received no closure, no reassurance, nothing. She had told him the classic, it’s not you it’s me line that would be seen in 9/10 romantic comedies. Although, prior to saying this she had brought to light some character flaws of his. It was most definitely a mixed message. She left him high and dry. She left him alone. She left him shattered. He was over her, only two months later.

Anxiety had taken him. The mind inside Theo had convinced him that he was nothing to her, to both of them. That he was nothing to anybody. Theo descended, self-confidence at an all time low. He spoke to no one unless out of necessity for all of Wednesday. He was shattered again, left thinking of the women who left him. Ary had never liked him, just used him for personal need, he told himself. Now Fae, too. At rock bottom, he was all alone.

It was Thursday afternoon that he received a message from Fae. It was a meaningless snapchat. Theo didn’t even look at the words. He just stared at the eyes on the screen. How could eyes possibly be that fucking moist, Theo thought, bewildered. He left the picture open for 10 minutes, staring, before he let the picture disintegrate into virtual thin air. He didn’t even reply. He sat on his couch wondering how he got so lucky. Was it right time, right place? He would never know. He knew now that he was in the right place at the present. Now he was on top of the wave. He was euphoric.

Despite not answering then, conversation had commenced, as the pattern would typically follow. They had arranged another meeting at her apartment for Saturday afternoon. They planned nothing but to spend time together.

Saturday, as he left to her place as to arrive fashionably late, he began to worry. The worries stretched from, ‘what do I say?’ to, ’am I replacing Ary? Am I doing what I was told by so many not to do?’. He didn’t care, he was over her. If that was were the wave was headed, then follow it. He continued, feeling light, feeling free.

His phone rang in his right-side pocket. While driving he pulled it out. The smile on his face diffused as the word ‘Aryanne:)’ displayed on the center of the screen with an option in red, and an option in green below. While waiting to decide his path he arrived at the apartment. The Volvo was now parked directly across from the window centered above the entry. Fae stared at him through the window, smiling, as he tapped on the green option on his phone.

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krkrandstuff · 5 years

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Kristin ponders about Kristin

still trying to figure myself out..

It’s hard to talk about struggling when there is nothing outwardly wrong and there has never been. Am I even struggling or am I just whining? Why can’t I move forward? Why am I stuck?

Lemme summarize and hopefully not ramble too much but this post is for me mainly, soooo, you know. My homelife has been idyllic, happy, I guess. No struggle, nothing traumatic. I’d call it vanilla. Everything was fine. Emotionally, maybe not so much, but growing up is a time of change, right?

I had some body image issues start up in intermediate school, but who doesn’t, honestly? Being a tall and fat female surrounded by petite and cute girls - I felt stupid wanting to be what they were. I shouldn’t be wearing makeup, shopping for skirts and dresses, liking ‘girly’ things, or revealing any bit of my figure. I felt I looked manly. I felt I would be an impostor. I felt that I hated them for having that whatever it was (it’s called confidence, Kristin). It was just better to avoid attention by wearing over-sized shirts and unintentionally ill-fitting jeans. How I ‘felt’ was a lie. Therapy in my early 20s helped with this and I realize now I’m heckin’ cute regardless of what I’m wearing. Oh, and I realized pink is an awesome color. Therapy.. it does help sometimes.

I’ve had some slumps of depression along with a steady stream of ‘eh’-veryday depression. I remember sitting on the playground in 4th grade tracing cracks in the asphalt with a woodchip for ‘fun’ because I had no friends in my class or in my school wing and my teacher wouldn’t let me stay inside to read. It wasn’t fun. That scenario repeated itself in sophomore year high school as none of my friends had a schedule that lined up with mine - not even lunch. We had been together constantly in junior high; to go from that to barely a glimpse of them my first year in a new building was awful (grades 10-12 were at the h.s.). While they ate together, had stories to tell from class, and did group projects together, I was alone. No amount of hanging out on the weekends made me feel like I wasn’t missing out. The following year, I was reunited with them until we graduated, and then all was reasonably well until we went our separate ways yet again.

University started. I tried being a typical college student. I joined some clubs. I did regularly go to my classes. I tried to meet people. I tried to have fun. My hometown friends were doing all these things and more at their schools, why couldn’t I? Eventually, I felt like my being there did not matter one way or the other. Miserable for a variety of reasons, I ended up transferring from one small university to another closer to home. The few people who reached out to me were surprised I was gone - I hadn’t told them as I hadn’t expected them to notice.

I tried again at my new university - joining a bible study, the anime club, and an Asian culture club. I slowly stopped trying. Again, I felt like my presence was negligible and unnecessary, so I withdrew into myself. I whittled my routine down to class, eat, screw around until everyone was asleep, study/work on projects, sleep. I would avoid the school building when I knew my classmates would be there outside of classtime. I even avoided the dining halls and c-stores if I couldn’t be there right when they opened (and were emptiest). I couldn’t focus unless the world was asleep, so working until dawn and beyond became a regular occurrence. I did all I could to avoid others while slowly drudging toward graduation.

Looking back, I can see the depression and anxiety eating at me. They still nip at my heels and make ugly reappearances, but I can mostly deal with them now thanks to therapy my parents forced me into attending due to a post-uni depression slump. The Buproprion I’m on helps some too. I just feel like there is still something more to be dealt with. Something that is still interfering with my life today.

All my life, I’ve been the worst procrastinator. Annoying assignments, enjoyable assignments, I would put them all to the last moment. In Viscom II, we got to design a CD case for our favorite band and I still could not work on it until the night before it was due. I would escape the guilt telling me to work by working on ‘beneficial’ hobbies. Reading is good for my education, so read more instead of working quite yet. Personal artwork was much the same. Why wouldn’t I work on my assignments ahead of time? Maybe it was that I couldn’t. In high school. I vividly recall cleaning the fridge at home top to bottom to prolong working on an essay. I used to blame laziness, but now I think it’s an inability to focus. Self-diagnosing oneself is frowned upon, but I do wonder if I have ADD. Eight paragraphs and I finally get to what I actually wanted to reflect on and ponder! Sorry self and any determined reader for the tangents.

Current me, post-college, working a salaried 7:30-4:30 job, has been having struggles lately. My struggles stem from a worsening ability to focus at work and complete failure to do anything but ‘potato’ at home. I cannot procrastinate my work, certain tasks must be completed within certain time frames or our company faces consequences due to my inaction. However my brain still prefers to focus on every conversation and phone call around me so I can interject with information or a comment (sorry if I’m that annoying person, coworkers). My brain wants to think and talk about different cheesy dishes I desire to try and oh, where to buy Greek cheese to make saganaki. Let’s google that for 10 minutes at 8 in the morning for some reason (that train of thought was this past Thursday). Sometimes my brain gets overloaded listening to all these conversations while the printer is going, the phone is ringing, and someone is trying to get my attention. Sometimes I’m hopping between so many little projects that one more request pushes me to tears.

There are times I want to scream, cry, and run away. None of those are office-appropriate behavior. I feel so wound up by pushing myself through my day that coming down from that at home takes all evening. That is what I call ‘potato-ing’. I zone out to Youtube and Reddit until it’s time to sleep and do it all over. I don’t know how people accomplish anything with their evenings. All I have as far as daily commitments are my job, a loving boyfriend, and two cats and still I do not have the mental energy for a fulfilling evening.

I used to define myself as a reader. I was an artist. I was a gamer. Except for the odd occasion, I don’t do these things anymore. I have a list of books I’ve been meaning to read, but I can’t find the energy to pick them up. I used to have a vivid imagination - much of it stemming from things I’ve read or watched. The source stopped, so I stopped having ideas for what I wanted to draw. I also can’t procrastinate at work, so drawing as a procrastination method is a no-go. I used to have a large list of fandoms I enjoyed, now I couldn’t name any. Some I did outgrow, but mostly, I haven’t been consuming new media because I can’t commit the energy to do so. When I do manage to start a drawing or a new book, I cannot stop. If I stop, I will never finish or go back to it. It is all or nothing.

The only time I feel clear-headed is after everyone has gone to sleep/away and I have had hours to unwind and I am left with perfect solitude. Only then do the inklings of my old pastimes try to make themselves known. Right now, I still don’t usually have the energy to act on them. I’m only able to write this long-ass mess as Joshua has gone to the game shop for the evening. It’s just me, the cats and, the rain outside.

I did do some reading on ADD in women online. The checklist on ADDitude’s site resonates with me a lot and so do posts from redditors on the ADHD subreddit. I feel choked by how much ‘stuff’ I have. Not even close to being a hoarder, but I feel like I can’t keep up or keep these things organized. I shutdown sometimes at work when I feel overloaded. I shutdown sometimes at the grocery store because of the number of bodies and the noise and chaos. I feel like I can’t keep up with what people demand of me, socially and at work. I do start the day wanting to accomplish so much and when I fail because I can’t get the ball rolling, my depression just eats that up.

Writing this all out makes it clearer to me that this is not normal. It is not normal to feel hollow like this. There are things I want to accomplish, but I can never get to them. I can’t get moving. I feel frustrated. I feel sad. I feel stuck.

I, and medical professionals (probably), never considered ADD might be the culprit as, despite being a procrastinator, I always finished my assignments. I can count on one hand the few that I didn’t. I was primarily a straight A student (until college). I didn’t have any obvious focus issues in class. I don’t live in total chaos (probably because my anxiety goes berserk when there is too much clutter). I’m not all over the place, at least on the outside. I look at my sister who does have ADHD and I can very obviously tell when she’s taken her meds or not. These classic symptoms don’t fit me, but the others do.

I’ve addressed the depression and the anxiety and avoidant behaviors (that I didn’t touch on here). This last beast remains to be conquered. If it’s not ADD, it’s something. Something that I can’t handle on my own. I’m going to talk to my primary care when I go in this month. She’ll probably tell me I need to see a psychiatrist again, but this time I think I will take that advice. I’m tired of feeling like this.

Fingers crossed for an answer and hopefully a solution.

Thanks for coming to to my TedRamble. :P

#depression #anxiety #add #maybe?#mental health #personal #reflection #krkrblather

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hellosunglow · 6 years

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# 7

College Roommate

2/25/17

My roommate turned out to have a secret vendetta against me and seemed to want to ruin not only my college experience, but my entire fucking life.

First semester, she and the rest of the high school girls decided they were done with hanging out with me, and stopped inviting me places and just didn’t hang out with me anymore. So I started hanging out with this group of guys that CJ (the bonfire guy) hung out with, and we became quick friends. The guys were your typical jocks that came off as douchey, but they were real sweet. My roommate warned me that they probably had other motives for the friendship, but I didn’t really want to listen to her because 1) fuck you, what do you know about them? and 2) you stopped talking to me??? Why are you suddenly interested in my life again???

So fast forward about a week, I’m hanging in their dorm, and one of the guys asks if I would be interested in a FWB type of things. Now, keep in mind, all these guys are in relationships, one of them is engaged. They know I’m in a relationship, but I guess men are forever trash and they didn’t care. I reject the idea and then later head back to my dorm. My roommate was getting out of the shower so I say “Hey, you were right about the guys btw.” and she looks at me then goes to her room, nothing said.

Fast forward about another three days, I’m hanging with the guys again, and my mom sends me a message, panicking because she thinks I’m in danger. I’m obviously confused and scared, because what is she talking about? She sends me screenshots of some account on Facebook telling her that they think I’ve been raped. My blood ran so cold. I notice that I’ve got a school email from the counselor, which is weird considering I hadn’t gone to the counselors. I open it and it read something like “we got an anonymous tip that something might have happened to you, please come talk to us.” At this point, I can feel my heart starting to pound against my chest. My mom calls me, she’s crying, begging me to tell her the truth, to confide in her and to tell her if I've been hurt, and i kept denying it, because that didn’t fucking happen! How do I convince my mom that I’m okay and that whoever this person on Facebook is is lying? I somehow manage, and she says “You better be telling the truth, and I want you transferred back home.” There’s no arguing with her, so I just say yes.

The next morning I go to the counselors and talk to the lady who sent the email (and since the school is so small it turned out to be my psychology teacher :^) how great) and she asks to know the truth. But no matter how hard I tried telling her the truth, she thought I was denying what had happened because I was actually a victim. She tells me I’ve got mandatory sessions every other day for three weeks. GREAT. Oh, and not only did I have mandatory counseling sessions, I also had mandatory meeting with UDPS, the sergeant to be exact. The meeting with him actually helped. I told him that nothing had happened, that I wasn’t a victim in denial, and that I thought the anonymous tip was a misunderstanding from my roommate. So he calls her in. Immediately, she’s crying. She says she was just trying to help. BULLSHIT. BULLSHIT BULLSHIT BULLSHIT. is what I wanted to scream. I tell the sergeant that not a single time did she ever talk to me privately to ask if I was okay, not once did she ask me if it had actually happened, not a single time did she ever approach me at all before blowing it all out of proportion and putting me in such a difficult situation. Not. A. Single. Fucking. Time. He thinks it best if we move rooms, but housing wouldn’t do it because they still had too many kids to fit them all into their correct dorms, so I can’t get away from this girl until next semester, when they might have extra space.

She avoided me at all costs after that, locked herself in her room, and hardly ever came into the dorm, which I thought was great because I didn’t have to have her all up in my business for a while. She did however, tell my boyfriend, at the time, that I was hanging with other guys because when he broke up with me he mentioned that I always got back to my dorm late, and how would he know that 1) I was hanging with these guys and 2) What time I got home if he lived three hours away?? So her fucking nosy ass wasn’t quite done ruining my life, especially not after the next stunt she pulled.

Fast forward to next semester, it’s early February and I’ve got a new boyfriend (That’s journal #8 if you’re interested) and I decide that you know what, new year, I’m gonna put the past behind us, and give her another chance. It’s around Valentine’s Day and my boyfriend got me a gift: a puppy. It’s the most adorable Italian Greyhound I’ve ever seen and he’s only two weeks old. I immediately fall in love with this tiny dog, but the only problem was that to have a dog on campus it needs to be a service dog, and this puppy isn’t. So for about two weeks, while his papers came in, we had to hide him in my boyfriend’s dorm. I was living with him at the time because fuck my roommate. I only ever took the dog to my dorm when my boyfriend was in class and when I had to shower and get dressed, so the dog wouldn’t be alone in the dorm. So I kept him in a giant box from Amazon in my dorm, just for about 15 minutes while I got ready.

The dog was eating solid food when we got him since his mom abandoned him, but they never told us what food they fed him, so the change of diet made him sick, and for about a week he was shitting like crazy. Not to mention the fact that he’s a puppy so he shits a lot anyway. The box he was in eventually started smelling bad, so I threw it out and one day I had to go to work while my boyfriend was at band practice, so I asked my roommate if I could leave the dog in the bathtub while I went shopping for food (because her fat ass never bought food, since she didn’t have a job, but that didn’t stop her from eating like she bought it all.) She said sure. I come back and the pup has shit like crazy and rolled around in it. The tub is a poopy mess, but I’ve gotta get to work. I tell her I’d clean it when I come back, which was about three hours. When I came back she had cleaned it and I apologized again and thanked her for cleaning, since she didn’t have to. She said it wasn’t a problem and locked herself in her room again. Cool.

Well one day, my boyfriend suggest the three of us should go to lunch. So we have to leave the dog alone in the dorm. My roommate decided she doesn’t want to go, and she says she’ll take care of the dog while we’re gone. We leave him in the bathroom, and head out. About 20 minutes later, I get a call. “This is [whatever] from Animal Services, we confiscated the puppy you had in your dorm.” FUCK. We leave the restaurant and go get the dog, which was a fucking hassle since the lady didn’t want to give him back because we were students. We eventually got him and went back to the dorms. We go inside and my roommate is asleep in her room, but there is no note that anyone had been in our room. If no one is in the room, they have to leave a note explaining why they were in there, and there was no note. My boyfriend suggests going to the housing office and asking what happened, so we do.

We tell the office that a friend was visiting town and left her dog in the dorm while caught up over lunch, they buy the lie and explain that the dog was called in. Are you fucking kidding me... We go back to my dorm and wake her dumb ass up.

“Where is the dog?”

“Oh, I came back to the dorm and he was gone.”

“Really? So where’s the note?”

“I threw it away. Shredded it”

Of course she fucking did, sure you did....

“Right, well the office told us we were here when they came.”

“Oh they told you that? Well, yeah I was here.”

“How did they know about the dog? They never check the bathroom, why did they check it this time?”

“They told me it was a scheduled room check, had to check everything.”

“Cut the shit, you called it in.”

“They told you that too? Well yeah. I was mad that he shit everywhere and that he ruined the shower curtain.”

ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS!!!!!!!!! She was mad that her $1 plastic curtain got ruined... I told her I would clean it once I got back from work. I can’t not go to work. Especially not at the rate she was eating in the dorm. She was eating everything in the fucking pantry, because her “anxiety” wouldn’t let her go eat if it was too crowded... okay so go when it isn’t crowded???? ANYWAY. She reported my dog and then shut down and just kept saying “okay” for anything we said. Well that was the last fucking straw. I reported her ass to the sergeant, told him I didn’t feel safe with her in my dorm because she reported me AGAIN and obviously can’t mind her own fucking business.

Next day, she was gone. And I was so fucking glad that she was gone. Goodbye to the petty reports and bye to her nosy ass. I cannot even begin to describe how much I fucking hated her for doing that to me. I never did anything to her. I was such a good friend to her, and she just decided she was gonna report everything I did over the smallest things. Good fucking riddance, good luck to her next roommates.

#personal

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wellplacedrocket · 6 years

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First Half GIFvalanche: Nick...Foles...?

Right up until game time, I was unsure what I would do to watch. Pete and I were invited to a friend’s Super Bowl party. I could have found a bar downtown full of my fellow Eagles fans who couldn’t score tickets, or found a slightly quieter one closer to home. But as game time grew closer, I started to feel sicker and sicker with anxiety. An hour before kickoff, I didn’t want to be with anybody, even my favorite people. I knew I wanted solitude, and quiet. I didn’t want any chatter or cheers or boos or people asking me what I think or how I feel. Pete left for the party, and I was relieved when he was gone. I stayed home.

I watched my favorite team play in the Super Bowl from our couch, with a glass of water and a single light on. I didn’t even feel like drinking beer.

I did less in-game texting for the Super Bowl than I did for the NFCCG, I think my family, friends, and relatives know how I get when I’m watching sports that are super important to me. I’m not really a boisterous fan in the moment, even when my favorite teams are kicking ass. I’m not a dry, joyless tape eater either, I just concentrate hard on understanding the game, and one can get lost in considering all the machinery in football.

I was still emotionally rollercoastering on the inside. If you don’t care about sports or being a fan of competitions, I can forgive you for being baffled as to why I could care so much about the outcome of this football game that I was having physiological manifestations of anxiety - dry mouth, zero appetite, agitation, thumping heart. I would counter that competitiveness is as human nature as art, love, and politics; sports are just the version that use physics in real space and require athleticism; and the core of being a fan of watching other people compete is empathy as much as it is tribalism. To say “who cares, it’s just a game” is like saying about the Mona Lisa “who cares, it’s just swirls of paint.”

Of course it doesn’t really matter. Of course it still means the world.

And I had watched it all go south before, back in 2005.

The Eagles got the ball first, and Nick Foles - starter turned journeyman turned backup turned guy-in-the-spotlight - took the field. Normally, I’d be giggling at the story everyone was imagining would play out. That shit doesn’t happen in real life, and certainly not with the Eagles. I was prepared for the worst of cynical reality, but emotionally I didn’t have a choice but to silently tell the guy, well...go blow the doors off history, my dude.

I remember nodding my Football Approval at the very first playcall they had, a 5 yard stop to Nelson Agholor, he of the incredible career turnaround. Yes, yes, I thought to myself, as a Wise Football Knower. A simple, easy play to get both Foles and a receiver in the game, get some confidence. Make it routine.

That was about it for my calm, routine football consumption for the day. On the following 3rd & 4, Foles was “flushed,” which is not what Eagles fans want to see since he is about as mobile as an anvil, but the replay showed he wasn’t really in much pass rush danger. He just shuffled to his left to improve the angle from which to throw to an Alshon Jeffery whip route. This is a veteran sort of move, a subtle little thing that turned out to be a good indicator that Foles was going to be no joke that day.

A few plays later, 3rd & 12 on the 45 for your offense on their first drive isn’t great. Jesus fuck, it’s the Super Bowl. Is this the beginning of 3 hours of bed-shitting until they’re finished, and I have the rest of my life to cry about it? I’m not old enough, I can’t expect the sweet embrace of death to sweep it away soon.

I think the mark of your football team’s competence is how confident you feel in these uphill do or die situations when you know they gotta throw it. I’m bringing this up because the story of this game for me was things that I had zero confidence would ever happen...happened. The O-line held up long enough with a nice chip from Jay Ajayi for Torrey Smith to get open right in the middle of the field, and Foles hit him for 14 yards.

Every time the Eagles fucked something up, I was ready to take the big, fat L with a side of ugly crying. They pushed it down to the two yard line on the opening drive, then a false start and two incompletes later, they’re kicking. Points, right? Nah, this was the beginning of the great unraveling that must happen for the Eagles to lose the championship game and order to be restored to the universe.

The Eagles defense...my god. I had been used to them being the strength of the team. They stuffed the first play, a screen, and then just gave up chunk yardage after chunk yardage from there. Much was made about how their pass rush vanished the whole game, but a couple things on that. First, the Patriots were having extra blockers on almost every play. And the pass rush was closer to giving Tom Brady tickles than you might think. Commentators often show a little segment in-game about his throwing mechanics and how quick it is. He might be a fancy dog, but the man is football smart. He knew he had to get that thing outta there.

Secondly, I have a hunch that the secondary was being coached to, at all costs, not get burned deep. I’m not enough of a football nerd to look this up, but were the Patriots even a top-tier bomb threat like the Texans? I think their offense is more about 8, 10, 15 yard route combos that dice up the coverage and let the best QB to ever play put the ball where the holes open up. So a lot of the Patriots offense looked like this:

Look at how soft that coverage is. Jesus! What happens here is a play action pass - two Eagles LBs end up going after the FB, who was just trying to block somebody, and then walked-up safety Malcolm Jenkins attacks the RB. An 8 yard dig for Gronkowski goes over top of them. To be fair, that’s mostly on the LBs and Jenkins - three guys - for getting fooled by two guys in the backfield. But rarely did they press the coverage, even just to mix things up. That drive ended up with a FG attempt, but the Eagles’ CBs were at least 6 yards off even in 2nd and 3rd & short from near the damn goal line.

The Eagles had the best O-line in the league all year, even without future hall of famer LT and team Mufasa Jason Peters, and their subsequent drive is when it showed. Beleaguered backup LT Halapoulivaati Vaitai, who had been the only serious hole in the line after Peters was hurt, and who also now had a much less escapable QB to protect, had quietly ceased to be a liability in the NFCCG. A well-blocked, big hole for Blount for a big gain on the ground,

then decent protection for Foles to chuck a 30 yard TD to Alshon Jeffery.

This is the kind of miracle play that suddenly no longer seemed like a miracle for Foles and the offense. It was just well executed football, and furthermore, it was a play they had made before. Then Jake Elliott shanked the PAT, and that also was a thing they had done before. And I could just see the Wise Football Knowers all sagely nodding their heads after the Eagles lose by a point.

…and then on the Patriot's drive, the defense’s soft or completely broken coverage gave up the entire field. What actually had me just as concerned was how the run defense, a core strength of the team, was getting schooled by the Patriots’ O-line on this drive. However, despite the comprehensive defensive collapse, this drive ended with one of the coolest tackles of the season to bring it to a halt,

and then the Eagles caught a break with the botched FG. Weird...

Normally, the Eagles’ next drive would have utterly convinced me that the wheels were about to come off them. This was the game’s only punt, and nothing sucks the wind out of your sails like a turnover (on downs, in this case) that results in a god damn punt. However, I did notice something that shot my eyebrows up.

Look at Foles go! This is not a guy known for his escapability, but that was a nice move to evade the pass rush. It looked like Carson Wentz had ahold of a joystick controlling Foles and was sweatily workin’ that thing for all it was worth. The pass was incomplete, but Jesus, is this Nick Foles out there? What is going on with that man?

I considered putting a gif in of the game’s only punt, and then decided to get ahold of myself.

The very next play sums up a few of the points I’m making about this game.

Look at the coverage! It’s 10 yards deep! And what happens is Brady is again dancing on a razor’s edge to get the ball out, but then he does to a guy who is wide open, waaay downfield. In fact, he is so open and the coverage was so soft that he turns around, 30 yards deep, and there’s three defenders still deeper than him. This is an awkward position to be in, as a receiver - usually when you’re that deep and you get the ball, you got to worry about putting a move on just one guy who’s already right next to you, and then getting chased from behind. Here, Eagles CB Ronald Darby is playing very soft and then when Cooks makes his break, Darby is content to just make sure he doesn’t get any further upfield, rather than try to get in the way of the ball (it looks like he was pretty badly burned anyway, so this might not have been a bad idea).

Cooks comes out of his catch with Darby 5 yards deeper than him, and another defender in man-to-man off to his right, and I'm assuming a single high safety who must have been standing on the damn moon. He tries to make moves in all this space, looking at the two guys in his way, and he ends up getting hammered by Malcolm Jenkins coming from behind on a hit that probably should have been penalized. Ugh. Cooks motionless on the field is why I hate myself for loving football.

Then came this gem. My god...it’s beautiful.

The ball was just a little long, and I tend to defend football receivers who take shit for drops from fans who never played football - the shit is harder than it looks, man. Especially catching over your shoulder. But it really looked like Tom Brady should have been able to get that one. That man is the best QB to ever play the game, the most accomplished player, embarrassingly rich, good looking, with a literal supermodel for a wife. It’s nice to see him fail once in a while, because it LOOKS LIKE HE’S HOGGING ALL THE FUCKING SUCCESS. Especially on a catch I’m confident I could have made. Actually, I’m full of shit, the fear of the Super Bowl spotlight and the freaks of nature flying around me would have had me shriveled into a mound of weeping goo. But I’d have caught it in practice!

On 4th and 5, the Patriots went for it, and the Eagles actually played tighter coverage. The ball went to Gronkowski down the sideline and while he had a little space and could have maybe made the play, it would have been very tough even for him.

Now here’s a case where I understand why football nerds love the all 22 video, because it’s hard to tell how Zach Ertz gets so open. It’s 3rd and 7, and the Patriots are playing much tighter coverage than the Eagles have in this game, and it looks like Ertz’s defender is on him pretty well as they pass out of view to the left. When the throw comes and the camera pans, the defender has moved several yards to the sideline - Ertz must have put a hell of a move on him.

Now, a couple plays later, what is this. WHAT IS THIS.

The difficulty level here is batshit blithering bananabonkers. That is a tough, tough throw and catch, people. This is not the kind of play I’m accustomed to seeing the Eagles make, especially not with NICK FOLES. I never thought he was a bad QB, maybe streaky, and QBs tend to get too much credit and blame for team results - but I certainly never thought he had this kind of stuff in him, in the Super Bowl.

Now I gotta highlight the this next play not for LaGarrette Blount, who made a great run, but instead my spirit animal, Brent Celek, the longest tenured Eagle, who many assumed would be gone after this game. He is a TE who saw more action in the passing game in his younger years, but especially ever since Zach Ertz showed up, he had been shifted to being a larger blocking TE, who occasionally gets a ball his way. That was my whole football career, minus the “larger.”

Eagles come out with a heavy Ace wing formation, so Celek is on the left wing, next to Isaac Seumalo, a backup lineman who gets thrown in at TE positions for extra beefy offensive sets. Ertz isn’t even on the field here.

Look at that textbook chip-to-backer that blows open the play for Blount to take it to the house.

I don’t want to get all sportswitery with the “lunchpail”, and “scrappy”, and “working class” stuff for another white role player in pro sports, but this is great work by the old man. Celek didn’t have a catch in this game, but this is an impact play from a guy who’s been around forever, and so a part of Super Bowl 52 is rightly his. Let’s see that again.

Just so tasty. Technically perfect TE blocking there.

The Patriots busted a screen into the red zone on their ensuing drive, but then Eagles the actually got pretty good backfield pressure and rushed some of Brady’s throws. They had to settle for a field goal.

The Eagles got the ball back, and found themselves in 3rd and 4 and did a slightly unusual thing that I always kinda want to see more in football - they ran it. Four yards in a 3rd and mid situation isn’t a huge ask, especially with defenses going to sink zones more than they otherwise would. It's even more attractive on the opponents’ side of the field when if you don't quite make it, you’re gonna go for it on 4th and very short anyway.

LG Stefen Wisniewski pulls through the hole and actually has a tough time finding anyone to block at first. This is more excellent blocking, RG Brandon Brooks chips the NT and gets second level, C Jason Kelce takes that chip and turns the NT away from the hole, and RT Lane Johnson has to actually shift a bit to his left to get the DT and then fool him into the action going right. This is high level stuff, and Ajayi made the most of it. Walked-up S Devin McCourty was the only guy unblocked here, and he had a tough diving tackle to make through traffic. Even if he made it, it would have likely been a first down. As it happened, some shitty tackling by the Patriots' secondary gifted the Eagles quite a bit more.

Then...

Some folks were bitching about Jeffery here - this is just a tough break. Clement had a nice step-up block, but Foles shorted it a bit. It just took a super lucky bounce for the Patriots, it happens. Of course, with the gravity of the moment, as I sat there in silence, I knew the sky was falling, the sun was exploding, and without a doubt I was going to die. And the Eagles were never gonna win the Super Bowl.

Despite a defensive holding reversing a pretty decent defensive stop on 3rd and 6, what concerned me the most about the Patriot’s drive here was again the ease of their run game. It didn’t look like they were blowing the Eagles front 7 off the ball or anything. It just looked like there were always guys in the way of tacklers, and each run was going for at least 4 yards. Then the Patriots hit on this.

The pass protection is pretty good here, but again Brady just barely gets it away. What has got me flummoxed is how CB Jalen Mills can just cough it up after giving Hogan a 10 yard cushion. Again, you can’t see what (if any) moves Hogan busted out there to sucker Mills, but whatever he did completely pantsed him. The single high safety was caught between two routes, and the Eagles D was looking like Swiss god damn cheese.

Man, this is just such a shitting of all the beds. I think the biggest improvement the defense made this year over last year was tackling - but not on this play. Shudder. All season long, the strength of the defense had been its front 7 (and the depth there) handling the opposing run game and wrecking backfields in order to limit pass options against a mediocre-at-best secondary. Now we’re seeing the opposite of what happened to the Vikings - if the front 7 struggles, the Eagles defense is a house of cards.

The Patriots’ ensuing missed PAT wasn’t much comfort, rather it was continuing my bafflement. What a weird game.

When sportswriters talk about a guy “feelin’ it” or “feelin’ himself” (I’ve always thought the latter was funny phrasing), they’re talking about the zone Foles is in here. However, it’s the line that’s truly in hypermode. Look at how far pass rush must be from Foles’s mind on this drive.

Even that incomplete was on the money. Then came a kiss-the-fingers wheel route.

That kind of route is a way harder throw to make than you think. Clement’s defender got burned, and Foles’s throw was absolutely perfect with very friendly, catchable touch - the kind that makes love to your hands as the ball nestles into them, the kind that Aaron Rodgers makes look so easy but is in fact impossible. I’ve never been a QB, but I don’t understand how they don’t howitzer bricks at everyone, with their nerves going nuts in huge moments. And this was the hugest moment for Foles.

It was very kind of the Patriots to return the Eagles' bad-tackling favor. The first missed tackle from behind had Clement feeling like he had a Super Mario invincible star going, and sometimes when you feel like that, you’re going to just run through people, like he did. He then plowed forward another 7 yards on the subsequent 1st and goal.

I don’t have any gripes with Doug Pederson’s playcalling on 2nd and 3rd and goal here. Fullback dive with some fake sweep action, and kind of a cross fade thing. I get triggered when teams do three in a row of 4 x 1 sets with a lobbed fade to the 1. In my college football days, our QB was a 6’5” 250 lb tank machine with a giant man-child’s body. But he was athletic and also played basketball. In goal line situations, we’d put the backup QB in, split the starter out wide, and run the Denny Fade. It would work embarrassingly well, against DIII defenses. In the pros, you’re not gonna be able to get physical matchups that mismatched, like ever.

Here’s something I think won’t age well: the idea that going for it on 4th and goal at the 1 with 38 seconds left is a super controversial decision. But that doesn’t mean that it wasn’t an emblematic moment for this coach and this team. Anyone who’d watched the Eagles all year knew the balls on Big Balls Doug - the man is fresh out of fucks to give. However, the play they went with…

That deserves its own wing in the football hall of fame. Let’s add some context here! This is 4th and goal in the SUPER BOWL with TAWM FACKIN’ BRADY waiting to take over on the other side, and the defense was shitting the bed. And Nick Foles goes over to the sideline and asks Pederson for this play, and then asks the world to hold his beer and watch this.

If you watch that video of the Philly Special, you see Foles trot over to the sideline during the time out and ask Pederson “you want Philly Philly?” Pederson stares at him for a beat and I’d like to think there’s a few explanations for that. One is that he grasps the gravity of the situation. It’s 4th and goal in the Super Bowl, and the guy who was his backup the whole year - but over the last two weeks has super soldier serumed into a football juggernaut - is asking for a gadget play. The wheels turn a few moments for Pederson before he’s like “fuck it, why not?”

The other possible explanation is that Foles garbled his request. Perhaps a combination of (admirably held-in-check) nerves and the god damn Bud Light ad campaign seeping into everyone’s brain caused him to mix his words in the moment, and Pederson stared at him a long moment wondering what the hell he was saying before it clicked that he wanted Philly Special.

Every time my college team would ever run a trick play, I always had a hard time containing my excitement in the huddle. There’s just nothing else in sports like cheeky football shenanigans. I’d hear the play call and giggle and fidget, and I couldn’t wait to see the defense after we pantsed them in front of God and their fans, and the QB ended up with the ball by himself hustling up the sideline while everyone else was chasing highly manufactured decoys. It always felt like an Ocean’s 11 caper.

A few seconds after Foles trotted back out onto the field, Pederson was approached by Blount, who asked, “What we got, Dougie?” Pederson showed him on the play card and Blount responds with a satisfied smile: “Philly Special.” Then after the play, Malcolm Jenkins, who had probably seen it enough times in practice to get fooled by it himself, pumped a fist on the sideline saying “They brought it out in the Super Bowl.”

Ruses are a big part of the routine action of football, and trick plays turn it up to 11. They’re risky because you’re usually asking people to do a quirky thing they’re not accustomed to doing and rarely practice, but a good trick play can be a huge practical and moral victory for your team. And the Patriots had just botched a similar one a few minutes ago! Not only were the Eagles styling on them and snatching a touchdown at the end of the half, Nick Foles was showing up Tom Brady (HAHA, oh my god, typing that sentence). “We can run this shit, and you can’t.”

There’s a bit of nuance going on with this play. On the sideline a minute later, Eagles TE Trey Burton, who made the throw, asks “Hey, Foles! Why were you so open?”

Foles says, “I sold it! I did some acting. I had a wide 9, I was like ooohhhhhh…”

“Wide 9” refers to “9-technique,” a down lineman (I think in this case it was actually an OLB) split way out to the side of the offensive tackle to give himself a lot of space to work with to try to get past the blocking and get into the backfield. In this case, with Foles ending up on the right wing, a wide 9 guy out there would have a lot of time to see him sneaking out on his route. Foles had to really pretend like he wasn’t doing anything of note on the play and let that wide 9 guy ignore and get past him before hustling out to the flat. When the ball is snapped, Foles straightens up and watches the action that’s all heading left for a beat, letting the wide 9 guy crash inside and get picked up by Ertz’s wham block coming back right.

Ertz has the most important block of the play here, because he’s gonna be one on one with the guy who can muck up all the slow developing stuff going on in the backfield. He has taken a lot of shit for his blocking, but he was much, much better in 2017 and 2018, and blocking one guy with that much space can be tough. In my day, we had a double reverse flea flicker called “Wappy Duck,” which required a very, very long block on an edge rusher who would be reacting to the different directions the ball was going. I had to block him, then pretend to kind of lose him as the play went to one side (I liked to embellish this with a “sssshhhhiiiiit”), then show up with a vengeance again on him when he reacted to the play coming back the other way. It’s tough to do, and was probably the trick play thing I got the most practice at. So props to Ertz for a crucial job well done out of the spotlight there.

And shout out to former QB Trey Burton for the throw. Perfect touch on the ball, made it an easy toss and catch. He even kept his gloves on, so as not to tip the Patriots that something was up. I never got to throw the ball in anything, not even scout team. We didn’t have any trick plays for me :(.

This was a lot of babble about this one play, but it might have been the best thing I’ve ever seen in football. Gun to my head, if I had to get a tattoo, I’d get this:

The Patriots had 34 seconds to try to steal some points before halftime, and given the defense’s struggles against any sort of pass action, the ensuing 45 yard attempt by Brady clenched me up. They would for sure have had a good shot at getting a FG if they’d hit, and so the Eagles’ DBs’ midair collision causing the ball to bounce harmlessly away was certainly good enough for me.

In these few quasi-desperate plays for the Patriots’ offense, you can see rumblings of something that would come back around later - what might happen if the Patriots absolutely had to throw it deep downfield. Suddenly hands were closer to untouchable Brady, and he even had to tuck it and run before being caught inbounds by Brandon Graham around midfield.

The screen to run out the clock was scary in the moment, but ultimately harmless.

So the Eagles went into halftime with a lead. In the Super Bowl. For the first time ever. The offense was at the height of its powers, the line was plowing holes, Pederson was cooking, and Nick Foles (Nick Foles!) was in Hyper Mode. And the defense was generally trash. They’d had a spectacular season, the most awful, stressful, exasperating, fun one I’d ever had watching football. I knew as NBC went to commercial that this was it - this was as good as I’d ever feel as a football fan, because when the game came back, the inevitable Patriots comeback would begin and the Eagles would just be one more footnote in Tom Brady’s legend.

And yet there was an entirely irrational part of my brain that popped up, cleared its throat, and asked quietly “Yeah, but what if they win?”

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datingadviceonreddit · 6 years

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IT’S NOT ABOUT YOUR LOOKSI work with a lot of guys who are self conscious about their looks, so I thought I’d throw this in here to reiterate what has already been disproven over and over again. Looks do not matter. Can they help? Absolutely! But if you’re good looking and you’re still insecure, you can bet your pretty little face you won’t be getting lucky tonight. I guarantee it. Some of my clients are above average in looks, yet still have difficulty attracting girls they want and desire.Women experience attraction differently than we do. Their attraction dials go up and down depending on how you act. Yours, as a man, remains static. She’s either hot, or she isn’t.Guys. I’ve seen some of the HOTTEST women with the sleeziest, turdy-looking, head-turning-cause-he’s-so-puny, sons of bitches. It’s amazing what confidence can do, and I feel unbelievably blessed to have been born a man.You should be glad, too.Point taken: Looks don’t matter for shit.EMOTIONAL ARMORIf feeling safe is one of the strongest precursors to confidently entering a world of complete muck, then get ready to put a fat, smirky smile on your face.Anxiety is a bitch. This is not a new concept. A pretty and perky woman can can tear apart even the strongest, most masculine-looking mother*cker, and anxiety is all to blame.If you put on some armor and a sword and shield…you’d be able dive in head first into the world knowing you’d be just fine. Instead of providing a physical analogy for you, understand it is necessary to equip yourself with emotional armor.At first, you do this by diving in without any of that.Don’t worry. A little kick in the ass won’t hurt, right? Wrong! It’s might hurt a little...at first. It’s the emotional equivalent of going into military bootcamp, and the endurance of pain is in a man’s prerogative, meaning it is a masculine thing to do. Women practically melt at the thought of a man being able to endure endless amounts of searing, white-hot pain.Once you finish with this stage (it’s always the hardest, but here comes the good part), the second stage is more of a realization. All of that pain you just went through? Look at your body now. Your face. The metal in your hand. You’re completely covered in armor now, and you’re holding a sword and shield in your hands. You feel powerful. Hardened. The most important thing you’re protecting, however, isn’t your body.It’s your heart.If you know you’ll do anything to protect your integrity and emotions, you won’t be worrying about anything. You will no longer be afraid of hurting others. Why? Because self defense is justifiable. Your physical and emotional wellbeing is always a priority unless you’re protecting someone you deeply care about (girlfriend/wife, family, kids, etc). This means you won’t be going out and actively hurting others. Growing a set of teeth that you’re willing to use exudes your capacity to hurt others. But choosing not to use them is extremely honorable. It’s the equivalent of a military flexing its prowess in front of another country. It communicates, “We come in peace, but if you screw with us, get ready to get your head blown off.” The response you receive is respect, admiration, and in the context of women…attraction.Ever hear of the phrase: “You learn to fight so you don’t have to” ?It’s self explanatory. You learn to fight in order NOT to fight. Your unwavering confidence alone will be enough to deter your enemies. This is why overly aggressive males aren’t seen as attractive (and sometimes scary) to women; they’re clearly hiding their own insecurities. By contrast, however, truly confident males capable of steering away enemies will be highly, highly confident and relaxed.Point taken: Go into the world knowing your heart will always be protected by you when threatened, then paradoxically, you won’t have to. Women will find the underlying confidence attractive as hell.TRUSTHave you ever gone about your day and asked someone for the time? What about asking someone to pass you the ketchup? Or asking someone to do a favor for you?Anything that requires skill (socializing) requires a set amount of trust. The only way to build trust that you’re not going to get burned (rejected) is by doing something small, then working your way up to something bigger (getting laid).As stated before, ask the time to an elderly person. They can’t hurt you. They’re weak and frail, have fake teeth, and probably walk around in a diaper. They’re harmless. Ask them for the time. There. That wasn’t so hard now, was it?Now go up to the cute cashier and ask her for the time. It’s okay. She’s there because she has to be. It’s her job. No issues there. She told you the time yet? Excellent! You had a quick exchange, and it didn’t hurt you. So far, so good. Now keep going.Go and say hello to the cute girl standing in line at Starbucks. Just a “hello, how are you?”. No conversation. Just hello as you stand next to her in line. See? That wasn’t hard at all.Now go say hello to the good looking cougar across from you at the gym. No worries. This time you can say “Hey. Good workout?” with a smile. No conversation. Just let her talk and answer the question.Before you know it, she’ll be babbling away about how great or bad her day was, and your natural replies to the conversation will start flowing. Beautiful. Excellent. 10/10. Great job.But hold on a second. Where’s the pain? No pain this time. And all we did was start off by asking that cute little old lady what the time was.Point taken: Start off small. Build your way up.FEELING GOOD ALL THE TIMEWhether you know it or not, whether you believe it or not, your positive emotions are heavily affected by the food you eat. How can you expect to get out of the house when your brain has all of its neurotransmitters crapped out? I’m not going to get into all of the complicated science behind depression, but I guarantee your life is being ruined by all the crap you might be eating. Bad, addictive foods are literally drugs. Sugar is a drug similar to cocaine (That’s no joke. Look it up). Gluten severely spikes up inflammation in the body. And both substances cause long term, severe depression and anxiety in otherwise healthy individuals, both of which affect socializing DIRECTLY. Though slower in their negative effects toward your health, they are no different than doing actual drugs such as meth, cocain, or heroine (users report high anxiety and depression after using…not a coincidence in relation to food).I can’t emphasize this portion enough. It’s about the neurochemicals that directly affect your behavior on a daily basis. Individuals overlook what they put into their bodies, yet expect some kind of magic pill (or article) to fix all their problems. In my opinion, diet alone can fix all these problems, like anxiety, and even approach anxiety. Big changes in your neurochemical activity take place. Women are attracted to men for their brains and not their looks, so why would a woman, from a biological standpoint, want to reproduce with a guy with an unhealthy brain? She wouldn’t, just as a female lion wouldn’t reproduce with a weaker male who can’t protect her children. On men, instead of muscles, their greatest weapon is right inside their skull.Do some research on the ketogenic diet. It completely changed my life with women, and it can change yours, too. Increases dopamine sensitivity so you'll want to socialize with people. No more feeling like its a chore. Serotonin and GABA, both responsible for feelings of confidence and calmness, are also increased/regulated. All thanks to ketones.Point taken: The shit you eat, matters.FAITH – WHAT IT REALLY IS, AND HOW TO GET ITThis is the most important point I will make in this post. Get ready to have your brain probed a little.Faith does not require religion. I repeat – faith does not require religion. You don’t have to believe in religion at all. In fact, if you think of doubt as a negative version of faith, then you more clearly understand what it is you’re doing in your head on a minute-by-minute basis. Approach anxiety, for example, is doubt. You might be imagining going up to a hot, sexy, beautiful girl in a purple dress and heels. You might imagine the girl throwing acid in your face in order to brush you off, or you think you’re as ugly as Steve Buschemi after getting run over in the face. Regardless of the matter, the scenario is negative. There is an imaginative, creative mind at work. Unfortunately, this mind is working against you, and you’re doing it unconsciously.The good news, however, is you can flip it through the power of conscious choice until it becomes ingrained in your mind. The following is a process I outlined on how we create our reality.Thought -> Faith -> Belief -> RealityAs you can see, faith is the bridge between thought and belief. Once a belief kicks in through REPETITION (this is the key, because you’re starting to create neuronal connections that exhibit confident behavior), you’ll begin to notice the world around you changing. Instead of conforming to the world and all its whims, the world will eventually conform to you through your unconscious behavior.Pay close attention:The most important thing in this world, regardless of all the content out there, is our human need for unconditional love. You cannot, under any circumstances, function at your best emotionally if you feel you do not matter. Sure, you can imagine an approach scenario going well (such as the girl in the purple dress), but if the root of all your issues with socializing/flirting stem from this one need, then we can focus on creating a reality where you feel unconditionally loved, not necessarily from one person or thing, but just to feel it. Some people may consider this madness.But if we as humans are nothing but our beliefs, then we are mad from the moment we are born?Thought, faith, belief, and reality are the keys to extreme and unwavering confidence.How to: Close your eyes. Get very relaxed, drowsy. Imagine yourself being loved by everyone and everything around you. Repeat voraciously for desired results.And that’s all there is to it, gentlemen. via /r/dating_advice

#dating #dating advice #reddit

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mysteryshelf · 7 years

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BLOG TOUR - The Grand

Welcome to

THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF!

DISCLAIMER: This content has been provided to THE PULP AND MYSTERY SHELF by Partners in Crime Book Tours. No compensation was received. This information required by the Federal Trade Commission.

The Grand

by Dennis D. Wilson

on Tour October 1-31, 2017

Synopsis:

Chicago cop Dean Wister takes a forced vacation when he is on the brink of a breakdown after the death of his wife. During his summer solstice in Jackson Hole, where he met her years before, he is called in to consult by local police when a notorious Chicago mobster is found dead in the Snake River. Dean’s investigation threatens to uncover the secrets of a group of memorable suspects, ranging from rich tycoons to modern day cowboys, and threatens to derail the Presidential prospects of the Senator from Wyoming. As Dean follows the leads from Wyoming to Chicago to Washington D.C., he also struggles to cope with the personal loss that threatens his mental stability, as the nocturnal visits from his deceased wife suppress his will to let her go and make him question his purpose in life. The climactic scenes contain reveals the reader will never see coming. A funny, romantic, sexy, roller coaster thriller.

Book Details:

Genre: Crime Thriller Published by: Water Street Press Publication Date: December 2016 Number of Pages: 304 ISBN: 978-1-62134-330-1 (ASIN: B01N682LXW) Purchase Links: Amazon 🔗 | Kindle 🔗 | Barnes & Noble 🔗 | Goodreads 🔗

Read an excerpt:

SENATOR THOMAS MCGRAW sat back in the hand-distressed, buffalo-hide easy chair and contemplated the room around him. This was his first visit to the brand new, custom-designed mountain home of his lover. When their affair started a little over a year ago, what a sweet and savory surprise it had been to both of them. A business relationship grew into friendship, and then suddenly and unexpectedly exploded into something else— a red-hot, cross-country, obsessive romance fueled by shared erotic tastes. The senator felt sexually liberated under the spell of his exotic lover, and he was pretty sure those feelings were mutual. True, they needed to be discreet for a variety of reasons— indiscretion had nearly cost them everything— but they had worked it out. Although hectic schedules limited their rendezvous to only a couple of weekends a month, the deprivation and anxiety of anticipation made these weekends that much more satisfying. He was generally in a frenzy by the time he could get to her.

The room was the den of a typical ten-thousand-square-foot vacation home of the rich and powerful in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Decked out in nouveau western, its reclaimed timbers, Wyoming sandstone, and river rock were either complemented by— or detracted from, depending on your esthetic point of view— the original modern paintings depicting bold and most definitely non-earth-toned western landscapes and various forms of neon-colored wildlife. As Tom sipped his twenty-three-year-old Pappy Van Winkle, he studied the visage of a purple and orange moose head sculpted from California mahogany hanging dispiritedly over the fireplace. Damn, any self-respecting Wyoming moose would be embarrassed to know that this is some guy’s idea of what a trophy moose should look like. His personal style was more traditional Western— big wooden beams and a glut of real dead animal heads on the walls. But, the sex was still new and novel, unlike anything he had felt before, and he was willing to overlook these stylistic differences for the time being or, who knew, maybe for a long time. As his mentor had told him a long time ago: “Pussy is a powerful motivator.”

“I am soooo happy we were able to start our weekend a day early,” his lover called from the other room. “I’ve been so horny this week that I’ve been bouncing off the walls. I brought back something special for you from Chicago. Just give me another minute, sweetie.” Charlotte Kidwell dressed, and undressed, to accentuate her best features: her big green eyes, her long, toned legs, and her perfect bubble butt. Her regular head-to-toe salon appointments, personal trainer, and strict dietary regimen were essentials to the healthy, put-together appearance that women of her age and social status often have, if they have the money and motivation to work at it. In her younger days, her insecure attempts to add sex appeal fell short, and she’d ended up with an oddly unfeminine look with her clumsy and unsuccessful experiments with cosmetics. But middle age had actually softened her features, and as she became more adept at the finer points of female grooming, she began to realize how much she resembled her sister. During what she referred to as “The Sexual Awakening,” she had finally developed the confidence in her sexuality to consciously emulate her sister’s makeup and dress. Her older sibling had always exuded effortless sexuality, and throughout high school and college had gone through more boys in most years than Charlotte had dated for her entire youth.

The senator had certainly surprised her. Although his belly professed his lust for food and drink and a disinclination for exercise, his face was the opposite, exuding an irresistible cowboy masculinity. At middle age, most people have to choose between a wrinkle-free face and a toned and youthful body. What was it her friend in Chicago called fat? “Nature’s botox.” He had chosen his beautiful face at the expense of his body, but that was fine with her, because he was a sexual artiste. Certainly no one who knew him could possibly conceive of the hot spring of sexuality that was percolating beneath his surface. In spite of their distinctly different personalities, she considered him her soul mate. The first man in her forty-four years who had ever laid claim to that title. The thought made her giggle.

“Hurry up, baby, and get your pretty little ass out here.”

Appearing in the doorway, she framed herself with the hand-on-the-hip pose so popular with women much younger than herself. “You like? I know this little specialty boutique in Chicago, and it ain’t Macy’s Intimate Apparel.”

He liked the look very much. The red lace push-up bra, matching thong panties, silk kimono, and six-inch stilettos appealed to the man who’d had a weakness for strippers in his younger days. Though the untied robe looked more like a cape than boudoir attire, and the entire outfit reminded him of a porn movie he once saw— Superslut, a parody of Superwoman, he had to give her an “A” for effort. “Wow, you look like a very sexy Little Red Riding Hood. And where in the world did you find a bra that makes those pretty little A cups of yours look like Cs? Now turn around and let me admire your world-class bootie.”

She did a little twirl for him, grinned, and pushed together her bra cups to emphasize her cleavage. “It’s called a miracle bra, and see, it does work miracles. Now you just sit there and sip your whiskey. I have another surprise for you.” She strutted over to the bookcase, flipped a switch, and AC/ DC’s “Shook Me All Night Long” filled the room. And she began to dance.

“Oh my.” Tom took a big swallow and relished the burn. “You are just full of surprises tonight.”

“Just sit back and enjoy, Senator. I’ve got a few more surprises coming your way.”

Watching her rehearsed moves, the familiar hunger began to stir below his opulent belly. And then, in a maneuver that would have been impressive for a woman of any age, she turned away from him, spread her legs, touched her toes, looked straight up at him from her bare inverted V, and twerked. She had been practicing all afternoon, and when she saw the image of her quivering butt in the mirror she couldn’t wait to see his reaction.

“Oh, my god, where did you learn that?” The stirring rising now to a different level. And he was also wondering… her dance routine looked really professional.

“I have a very good friend in Chicago who does this for a living, and she’s been giving me some lessons.”

“Judging from that pose, sweetie, your friend must be an instructor in ‘stripper yoga’.” The senator, feeling the fire down there, leaned forward and reached for that perfect ass. “Get over here and let me take you the way I like, the way I know you like.” Putting his hands on her bare cheeks and grabbing two hands full, he left his chubby fingerprints as indentations on her flesh. Crazed now, pulling off his pants and underwear but not bothering with his shirt and tie, he pulled her thong aside, mounted her, grunting, sighing. Both of them grunting, sighing, grunting some more. And now just the sounds of flesh slapping flesh. And AC/ DC, urging them on…

Hayden Smith was running late. He was always running late. It was common knowledge in town that you had to book every appointment with Hayden an hour early to get him to show up on time. Attorney, county commissioner, real estate broker and developer, owner of a property management company— all that, plus trying to live up to the moniker of Teton County’s most eligible bachelor as determined by Mountain Woman magazine, well, that could take a toll on a man, even a man as fit and athletic as Hayden. And it was taking its toll on Hayden today. Sometimes he thought there was little point in taking any time off because you had to work twice as hard just to clear your schedule.

The last item of the day on his long list was to make sure all was in order in the home of his newest property management client before their arrival the next morning. But what he really was thinking about, as he put the key in the door, was that he was already an hour late for a dinner date at the home of one of Teton County’s richest and most beautiful socialites. And so if he hadn’t been fantasizing about the evening’s upcoming sensual activities, and if he hadn’t assumed that it was his cleaning crew that had left that open bourbon bottle on the counter, and if he hadn’t been formulating the words he was going to use to chew Pablo’s ass about getting control of his maintenance team, and if he had checked his voicemail after his last two meetings instead of engaging in licentious banter on the phone with the young socialite, then he might have reacted differently to the pounding bass of one of the most iconic rock anthems of the 1980s. He might not have followed the mesmerizing sound of Brian Johnson’s sandpaper voice into the den, assuming that he would find some of his employees having an unauthorized party; and he might not have witnessed the sight in front of him that would not only drastically change his life but would also set in motion a chain of events that had the potential to change the course of American history.

If he had looked directly at the man’s face, he almost certainly would have recognized one of the most well-known faces in Wyoming, soon to be equally famous throughout America. However, Hayden looked everywhere but into his face. The man, still dressed for business on top but naked from the waist down, was humping a pretty redhead doggie style, and Hayden was fascinated that with each thrust, her red stilettos would come off the ground about twelve inches, and then at the end of the thrust, the tips of her heels would bang down on the pine floor. Thrust, bang, thrust, bang, thrust, bang. Later when he played that video clip back in his mind, he captioned it “porn star tap dancing.”

He looked all around the room, but his eyes kept coming back to those red shoes, maybe because he didn’t really want to look at the man’s jiggling ass, or maybe because when his eyes followed those shoes north he was treated to a pair of the finest legs and most delicious bootie that he had ever seen. If he had been thinking clearly, he would have just turned around and walked right out of the house and he would have been able to go back to his great life as Teton County’s busiest and most eligible bachelor. But for whatever reason— the shock of the scene, or his own perverse voyeurism— he did not turn back around. He knocked on the door jamb with his clipboard and stammered loudly enough to be heard over AC/ DC. “Ah, ah, ah, I thought you weren’t coming in until tomorrow. I just came to check on the house. Is everything OK? I mean, just call me if anything isn’t OK. Sorry to interrupt. I’ll just let myself out…” And then he backed out of the room and nearly sprinted out the door.

Tom jumped up with impressive agility considering his exertion and girth, partly hopping, definitely bobbing. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.”

Charlotte rolled over onto her side. “What the fuck, I left him a message that I was coming in today. What was he thinking?”

And the senator just kept repeating, “Oh, shit, oh, shit, oh, shit.” Then, catching his breath, added to his mantra, “I’m sure he saw me, I’m sure he saw me, I’m sure he saw me.”

His lover, handing him the rest of his twenty-three-year-old Pappy, said, “Here, drink this,” trying not to let the panic sound in her voice. She thought for a moment. “We’ll call Mario. He’ll know what to do. If that asshole tells anyone it’ll hurt Mario as much as us. Well, maybe not quite as much as us, but you know what I mean.”

Tom sat down for a minute, his white dress shirt soaked through, wheezing from the exertion, from the excitement, from the fear, his heart a thumping kettle drum in his chest. Neither of them said a word for a minute, then two. Finally realizing the heart attack wasn’t coming, he took a huge breath and said, “OK, call him.”

Charlotte punched the number into her mobile phone. “Mario? Sorry to bother you, but we have a problem. Some asshole just walked in on the two of us. Walked in on us… you know. What do you think we were doing? How could he not recognize him? Yeah, he’s my property manager. Hold on. Honey, would you hand me that business card on the table?”

THE FIRST TIME Dean Wister had visited the Tetons was twelve years ago, the summer before his senior year in college. Although he said it was adventure he was looking for, it was escape that he was really seeking when he answered an ad to guide for one of the rafting companies that run whitewater trips down the Snake River, just south of Teton National Park. It was a grueling twenty-four-hour drive from his home in Chicago to Jackson Hole, the mountain town at the foot of the spectacular Teton Range, and the route that he was taking, I-90 across Illinois, Wisconsin, and South Dakota, was one of the most monotonous and boring stretches of highway across America. Hour after hour he would stare at the road between truck stops, trying to keep alert for the highway patrol and the erratic driving of drowsy long-distance truckers. He tried listening to music and audio books, but his mind wouldn’t let him focus. Lately, he had a lot of trouble focusing. He’d once tried meditation, taking a Transcendental Meditation workshop with his wife, Sara, but meditation wasn’t for him. His mind would inevitably wander from the rhythm of his breathing to some problem from work that he was trying to solve. Dean had always been more of a ruminator than a meditator. And so he ruminated for hour after hour. He ruminated about all that had happened over the last twelve years. He ruminated about the horror of the last year. And he ruminated about what the future might, or more importantly, might not, hold.

That first trip had also been a time of transition for him. His mother died after his freshman year in high school, and his dad was killed in a work accident at the lumber yard just before Dean started college. As an only child he had led a solitary existence growing up, but by the time he left for college he was officially an orphan, no parents to cheer him as the starting safety on the University of Illinois football team, and no siblings to share the empty and confused feelings of losing the only responsible adults he had ever known. His hometown of Summersville, West Virginia, was near the banks of the Gauley River, one of the most famous whitewater-rafting rivers in the East, and the gray, small-minded, and cruel little town resembled what Mayberry may have looked like if Andy hadn’t been born. Until he was seventeen, Dean had never met a college graduate outside of a classroom, and growing up with his nose stuck in a book most of the time, his peers, and even most of the adults he knew, looked down on his habit as a sign of either homosexuality, laziness, or both. Maybe it was resentment for not living the fantastic and interesting life of the characters in the books that he read, or maybe it was the bullying that he experienced from his literature-averse peers, or maybe it was his sense of insecurity and inferiority from his hillbilly background, or maybe it was just his nature— for whatever reason, there was a well of anger deep inside of Dean.

The bullying stopped the first time he stepped on a football field. He loved to play defense, and putting the hammer to the ball carrier or receiver was equally pleasurable to him, whether in practice or during an actual game. He loved the rush of power he felt when a body crushed beneath him as he delivered the blow. As he would take aim at his target coming across the field, he imagined his body as a sledge hammer and he would launch himself, helmet first, at his opponents, relishing the pain he received nearly as much as the pain he delivered. As his scrawny adolescent body matured into a six-foot, one-hundred-ninety-pound defensive back, his football hits became ever more fearsome, and attracted the attention of a recruiter for the University of Illinois. Football would end for him upon college graduation for, as a pro scout told him, “Son, you sure have the meanness for pro football, but not the speed.” But that was all right; football had served its purpose.

The first time his dad had taken him along to run the rapids of the Gauley he was only nine years old, but after that he was addicted to the river. Working as a gofer for one of the rafting companies, imagining himself as one of the cocky swaggering guides, he would do anything to be near the river. The owner of the company took a liking to him, and broke the rules to put him on as a guide at sixteen. He worked on the Gauley through high school and college. But, with the death of his father, West Virginia held too many painful memories; he needed to get away. He heard from some fellow guides that the Snake River in Wyoming, south of Jackson, could be fun. Sure, its mostly Class 2 and 3 rapids were nothing compared to the Gauley, but he had always wanted to see the Rockies, and it was about as far away from West Virginia as he could imagine. That summer on the Snake, in the Tetons, revealed another side that he didn’t know he had. He learned how to cap that well of anger, to regulate the flow, to use it instead of letting it use him, and for the next decade was able to let it out only when his job demanded it. He discovered that there was another well, an untapped well, within him. A well of love and sweetness, of kindness and generosity. And the auger that tapped that well was Sara.

He’d just sent some food back at the Pioneer Grill, the coffee shop in Jackson Lake Lodge in Teton National Park. His order of sautéed Rocky Mountain rainbow trout appeared on his plate as buffalo meatloaf. His anger rising at this inexcusable display of disrespect and incompetence, he called over the pretty blonde server and pointed at the food in front of him. “Miss, do you think you would recognize a Rocky Mountain rainbow trout if you saw one?” She’d looked first at the gravy-smothered brown glob, and then directly into his twisted angry face, and behind her best smile said, “Apparently not, but I can recognize an asshole when I see one.”

Dean was overmatched by the spunky girl with eyes of a deeper blue than the summer skies over the Grand Tetons, and he fell in love on the spot. They laughed at the story forever, and she still called him “meatloaf asshole” on occasion, either when she was feeling especially fond or, more often, particularly annoyed with him. She loved to tease him and ridicule his quirks, calling him “schizo” for the many paradoxical elements in his personality: jock/ intellectual, hot head/ sentimentalist, loner/ showoff. But when she would call him “schizo” and flash him her irresistible smile, it would always soften his mood, and he was able to laugh at himself.

As a trust-fund baby of a power couple in Chicago’s legal community, Sara’s suburban childhood was exactly the opposite of Dean’s. Her bookworm ways were admired by her parents, friends, and her community. The vivacious blond with the sharp wit and the ability to fit in with every social group was a psych major at the University of Chicago, less than a two-hour drive up the interstate from Champaign if you are a hormone-crazed college boy, more like three hours for everyone else. Her well of anger was only a fraction of Dean’s and reserved exclusively for bullies and people who abused children, animals, and the less fortunate. But if you happened to occupy that territory, her fierceness could make even Dean flinch.

When he thought of their first summer, it played back in his head like some film made from a Nicolas Sparks novel. As he watched the movie, alone in the theater seat of his Jeep Cherokee, he smiled at the “meet cute” first scene in the coffee shop, marveled at the on-location, awe-inspiring backdrops of the Snake and the Tetons, was moved to tears by the scene where he makes love to Sara for the first time. And he couldn’t criticize the filmmaker’s decision to leave every sex scene of the summer in the movie. There they are making love on the window seat in the tiny apartment shared by Dean and his four other river rat roommates. There they are making love after a picnic at Schwabacher’s landing, the Tetons reflected like a painting in the beaver pond. And there they are on their last day of the summer, on a picnic in the alpine meadow they had discovered on their long hike into the mountains. The meadow they had named “Sara’s Meadow.” The meadow where Dean proposed. The meadow they pledged to return to each year on their anniversary. They talked of it often, and relived the moment every year on that special day. But they never came back. Life, and careers, and bullshit got in the way.

Careers included the single-minded ambition they shared. Dean’s resulted in a meteoric rise to detective in the Chicago Police Department and, after being handpicked to join the Midwest Organized Crime Task Force as the only local police detective among FBI and ATF agents, his days and weeks became an unending blur of clues, criminals, and cases. Sara’s graduate degree at Northwestern led to a tenure track appointment at Loyola University. But tenure track meant running never-ending, back-to-back-to-back marathons of teaching, research, and publishing. Their career ambitions allowed no room for children, or travel, or a return to Sara’s Meadow.

And then, over the last year, came the bullshit. Dean was working eighty-hour weeks on a high-profile case involving government and police corruption, and many of the Chicago cops whom he considered friends turned away from him. And then, just when they thought they were getting close to breaking the case, the investigation was shut down and he was reassigned. He was exhausted, disappointed, stressed, and his friends treated him like a traitor.

And then there was Sara. She had been diagnosed with cancer just as Dean began the investigation from hell. After her initial treatment, she received a clean report, and he was too preoccupied to notice when she continued to lose weight. A check-up a few months later showed that the cancer had returned. The rebound was aggressive, additional treatment failed to stop the spread, and she continued to get weaker and weaker in spite of what she would call “frequent invitations for happy hour cancer cocktails with my oncologist.” She even made up names for the cocktails based on the side effects she would experience afterward. There was the Diarrhea Daiquiri, the Migraine Martini, and the Vomit-rita. No subject was out of bounds for her wicked and irreverent sense of humor. Once, when she was bedridden near the end, Dean asked her how she was feeling, and in her best Sally Field Mama Gump imitation, she said “Well, Forrest, I’ve got the cancer.”

Dean wanted to take a leave to stay at Sara’s bedside, but she made up her mind that that was not an option. And when Sara made up her mind about something, he had learned to let her have her way. So Dean was relegated to spending every hour that he wasn’t working by her side, holding her close, imagining how they would live their lives differently when she was well. The night she died, she asked him to describe that day in Sara’s Meadow. And when he finished, she said, “Promise we can go there when I get well. Will you take me there next summer?” He nodded, unable to speak. She slept peacefully that night for the first time in quite a while, and in the morning she was gone.

Strangely, although she was the center of his universe, the only person that he could say he ever truly loved, he showed little emotion when she died. He didn’t cry. He felt almost as if he were an outside observer of these terrible events. He experienced only numbness. An unrelenting, withering numbness. A numbness interrupted only by random bursts of anger that disturbed even the hardened cops he worked with. Dean was not unaware of his problem, and tried to channel the anger by hooking up with Manny Cohen, a mixed martial arts coach and self-proclaimed king of “Jew-Jitsu”. He loved the physicality of the MMA bouts, and that the jiu-jitsu moves he learned permitted him to disable much bigger and stronger fighters, even if he was on the ground being pummeled. He justified the training as part of his law-enforcement skills, but he knew what it was really about— the ability to inflict some of the horrible hurt he was feeling on others.

The changes in Dean since Sara’s death were most troubling to his boss, Carlos Alvarez. Carlos had been crushed when, on the verge of busting a Chicago mob guy who had both political and police connections, which evidently reached all the way to Washington, the whole operation had been shut down. In his heart, he knew it was those same connections he was investigating that had defeated him. He looked at Dean and watched one of the most competitive spirits he had ever known flicker out, starved for the oxygen that Sara could no longer supply. The case they had put their hearts and souls into for the last year was ripped out of their hands and Dean, who normally would be just as pissed off as he was, seemed to be only going through the motions.

But the most disturbing problem, as far as he was concerned, was Dean’s refusal to mourn Sara. Carlos watched as Dean’s isolation became extreme, and he refused all offers to talk or socialize. Dean’s robotic demeanor and increasingly unpredictable violent outbursts were scaring him. When Carlos sent him to meet with the psychologist assigned to their department, he refused to cooperate. He insisted that he was fine. But Carlos knew he wasn’t fine. He saw a man on the brink of a breakdown and finally decided that drastic action was needed to rescue the man from himself. One morning he walked into Dean’s office and handed him a letter worded as an authorization, which was actually an order, to take a three-month leave of absence.

“But where will I go? What will I do?” Dean said, seemingly incapable of entertaining any change to his barely functional routine. Carlos looked toward the picture on his desk, the one taken twelve years earlier. It showed Dean standing on a whitewater raft. Sara was sitting in the boat looking up at him with a combination of love and lust in her eyes. In the background, the grandeur of the Tetons loomed. “You have to get out of town. You have to get away from here, from all this. And I know where I would go if I had no obligations and three months off. I’ve been envying that picture since the day you moved in here.”

What his boss didn’t know, and what Dean couldn’t tell him, or anyone else for that matter, was the real reason that he wouldn’t see the psychologist— something that would make him seem crazy to outsiders. Hell, he often had that thought about himself. Not every evening, but maybe two or three nights a week, he would spend the night with Sara. He would wake up a couple of hours after he went to sleep, and she would be there, sitting in the chair next to his bed. He would get up, and they would talk just like they used to, about everything, what was happening in his life and in his job, or what was going on in the news. They would make love, and it was every bit as passionate and real as before she was sick. When he would wake up in the morning, she would be gone. At first, he tried to convince himself that it was all a dream, until one night he washed the sheets before he went to bed, and the next morning her perfume lingered on the bedding. She was really there, and she was as real as anything he had ever experienced.

He had nothing against psychologists. He had seen a therapist in college after a particularly hard break-up and had found it very helpful. In fact, he visited that same therapist when Carlos was pushing him to see the department shrink— he wasn’t about to have his craziness officially certified to his employer. And his own therapist confirmed what he instinctively knew himself. “Your hallucinations of your dead wife will go away when you allow yourself to fully mourn her.” But that was exactly the problem. Her very real apparition was the only tangible thing he had left of her. Her visits were the only thing that let him get through the day, that kept him from becoming totally out of control, and he wasn’t going to let anyone take that away from him. He was determined to hold on to whatever was left of her, for as long as he could.

Sara was the one that convinced him to take the trip. She told him during one of their nocturnal visits that he could use the time off; that she knew he was stressed out. He agreed on one condition. That she would come with him. She gave him her mischievous smile, the one that had captured him that first day in the coffee shop, and said, “That’s not a problem. I’m not going without sex for three months. And the ghosts here are too creepy to sleep with.”

That first summer twelve years ago, he had come into town from the south, getting off I-80 west of Rock Springs, approaching Jackson via Alpine and driving up through the Snake River canyon so that he could view the whitewater section he would be working. Wyoming is mostly high plains except for the northwestern part, which is an endless vista of scrub grass, prickly pear, sage brush, with occasional red-rock battleships and gargoyles. On that first trip he was able to view the Wind River Range in the distance outside his window, but he didn’t really get a good view of the Teton Range until he reached the outskirts of the town of Jackson. This time he had decided to take the Northern route via I-90, because he wanted to see the Black Hills, one of the few topographic areas of interest that is easily accessible from the interstate. So he was not really prepared for what happened when his Jeep rounded the bend on Route 26, east of Teton National Park, and he looked west. The fragrance hit him first. He had the windows in his Jeep rolled down and, as the road increased in elevation, the air turned cooler and became infused with snow runoff blended into mountain streams and the bouquet of lodgepole pine forests to form the unique perfume that his unconscious associated with his first summer there. He was looking down for a station on the radio when he felt the jolt, as if a switch was flipped in his brain, and when he turned his face back to the road, the windshield was suddenly and magically filled with the panorama of the majestic purple, snow-tipped peaks of the mountain range that symbolized all that had been true and pure in his life. All that was lost and would never ever return. The image struck him like a bullet in his chest, sucking all the air from his body. The next thing he knew, he was out of his car, on the side of the road, on his knees, gasping for air, heaving, sobbing. “Oh, Sara. My sweet, sweet, Sara.”

***

Author Bio:

After a career working in an international consulting firm and as a financial executive with two public companies, Dennis D. Wilson returns to the roots he established as a high school literature and writing teacher at the beginning of his career. For his debut novel, he draws upon his experiences from his hometown of Chicago, his years living, working, hiking and climbing in Jackson Hole, and secrets gleaned from time spent in corporate boardrooms to craft a political crime thriller straight from today’s headlines. Dennis lives in suburban Chicago with his wife Paula and Black Lab Jenny, but spends as much time as he can looking for adventure in the mountains and riding his motorcycle.

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