#but most of them are good-aligned. Because as I said... my heart is a marshmallow. And I am a jamtart. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mysteira6 · 3 years

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FukaFlower - Visiting You

Summary:

Requested by Lil-flowie (on Wattpad).

Casting aside his fear to visit her… was a lot harder than he thought.

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Prompt: “Flower gets hurt and is in the hospital. Fukase is worried for her.”

Hey there! It’s been a while. I still heckin love these two so don’t think that I’m gonna stop making these for a LONG time~ :3

Special one-shot this time because this was a request from my book on Wattpad! Hope you enjoy. ^^

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“She’s in room 17,”

He quickly nodded once in thanks. “Thanks,” He replied gratefully before turning away from the receptionist and looking back at the hallway. White-clad nurses typing away on wheelie monitors littered the hallway, along with the occasional visitor walking back and forth between visiting their loved ones and chatting with other doctors. The sterile scent in the room conjured images of medicine and machinery in his mind, almost coercing him to shrink into the size of a ball, curled up and shivering on the floor.

Fukase hated hospitals. He didn’t want to have a reason to visit such a place that reminded him too much of what he had been through. By instinct, his left hand swiftly raised to touch his face, his bandaged fingers swiping against the grooves along his cheeks.

Come on, Fukase. Stop thinking about that. You’re here to visit the one you love, not to mull over your… stuff.

After giving himself a solid nod of confidence, the red-haired boy began to make his way down the hall, his crimson eyes looking out for the double-digit label that indicated which room his partner was staying at. It wasn’t too long before he found it, standing before the door as if waiting to be let in.

He held tightly to the bag in his right hand, the antiseptic scent still annoying him. Here goes nothing.

A turn of the doorknob later and the boy walked into a small room with walls of beige, satin blue furniture consisting of a sofa and visitor chairs aligned neatly against each wall while a longer bed sat in the middle of it all. Laying on said bed and tucked behind pearl-coloured sheets was a petite figure with gorgeous violet eyes, her smooth curls of white moving along with a strand of black hair as she turned towards her visitor. It wasn’t long before a small smile adorned her face, and Fukase found it very difficult to turn away from her upon seeing her beautiful smile.

“Fukase!” She murmured gleefully, and though she tried to step out of bed to greet him properly, the girl was reminded of her slight impairment when she felt a sharp twinge from her right arm, the thick plaster cast wrapped around her forearm reminding her not to move too much to agitate her wound. With a heavy sigh to herself, she eventually shifted back to her original position, only watching as the redheaded boy quickly trotted to her side, dragging a visitor’s chair with him as he placed his paper bag on the bedside table.

“Hey Flo,” He started, heart still fluttering at the sight of his partner’s pure expression. “How are you?” He was internally praying that the unease in his head had not leaked out into the tone of his voice.

“Alright, I guess,” The patient in question replied, motioning to her cast. “I just don’t know why my manager made me stay in the hospital for a hairline fracture on my arm. I’m pretty sure Xin Hua and you can take care of me fine,”

Fukase felt his cheeks heat up at the comment. He did like taking care of her when she was sick, after all. “I’m sure they just don’t want their ‘superstar’ singer to get hurt a second time. Besides, they did mention that your treatment would be covered by them,”

“But the food here is so plain,” She protested, a pout forming on her lips. “I’d rather just make my own food at home, even if I’m gonna feel pain throughout the whole thing-”

“Now that’s when I gotta stop ya, Petals,” The redhead’s tone deepened as he continued. “You know what your doctor would say; don’t move that cast around too much or it’s gonna stay there forever,”

She huffed impatiently. “Okay, I guess you got a point, but it’s still pretty boring around here-”

She was cut off by a jovial laugh coming from the boy now sitting next to her, accompanied by the sight of a familiar marshmallow coloured doll popping out of his paper bag, soon stumbling out of the bag and hopping onto her bed, taking a seat next to her lying figure as Fukase’s laugh slowly died out. “Well, I’m here, aren’t I?” He asked cheerfully with a smirk on his face.

The girl’s cheeks turned satin pink. What was she thinking? Here, she was being visited by her loving and kind boyfriend and all she was doing was complaining to him. Some partner she was.

Hoping to ameliorate the situation, she smiled warmly at him. “Thanks for visiting,” She softly spoke, giving another smile to the little doll by her left hand, who had been patiently waiting for her to acknowledge its presence. “I know you’re pretty busy and all,”

Fukase let out a small chuckle. “Hah. If by ‘busy’, you mean that I have to handle being teased all day by the Kagamine twins about ‘my girl’ being in the hospital, then yeah, I guess I have been a little busy,”

Flower narrowed her eyes, speechless. Ever since she started dating Fukase, it seemed that those 14-year-olds’ attacks on them would never stop, not even when they were not seen together in public. Sometimes, the snow-haired teen wondered if they liked it when her defensive boyfriend would come running after those gremlins after they let out a few teasing words to them.

In reality, as his girlfriend chuckled to herself (he assumed that she was chuckling about his comment about the Kagamine twins), Fukase could slowly feel a lump slowly forming in his throat. It was this room, he realised; this room was far too familiar to him. The pale walls closing in on his figure, that damn sterile scent of surgical masks and IV drips wafting through his nose, the chilly air that blew by from the vent on the floor, sweeping across his skin and forming trails of goosebumps all over him-

It was probably a miracle that he hadn’t completely succumbed to his memories, that he hadn’t shriveled into the size of a ball while sitting on the hospital chair, that he had not started shaking while reaching out to hold Flower’s left hand that wasn’t wrapped in a cast-

Left hand.

It was… her left hand.

Left hand…

Left hand.

Left hand. Left hand. Left. Left. Left. Left. Left left left left-

“Fukase?”

Her distinctive, powerful voice sent him straight back to reality, his eyes blinking once, twice, before looking over to the person who had called his name. In his mindscape, those words kept repeating themselves, the noises of his past ringing in his ears despite the fact that she pierced through it all with her own voice. Only when he noticed the expression in her violet-hued irises did he realise why she called him.

She had noticed him. Noticed him experiencing a flashback. The redhead felt ashamed.

“You know, I’d ask if you’re okay,” She said sombrely, breaking the momentary silence between the both of them. “But knowing you, I kinda have an idea of how you’d respond. And if I’m right, it’s not really a good thing…” She added, drooping her head a little.

“Flo, I-”

“I know. You don’t like hospitals, right?” The moment she said that was when the boy on the chair finally gave in to the fear creeping on his back, his arms wrapping themselves around his chest as if shielding himself from an attacking foe. Though he kept his gaze on her, Flower knew that he wasn’t really ‘okay’ with this.

“I figured as much,” She sighed softly, hoping that he wouldn’t hear her. “I’m really sorry that I had to burden you to visit me while I’m here, Fukase,”

“You don’t have to apologise, Flower,” He hastily replied, though the slight falsetto in his voice spoke volumes of what was going through his head. “I mean, it’s not like you made the accident happen,”

“Yeah, but still,” Seeing her lover look at her with fearful eyes so different from his usual gaze made Flower curse at her predicament; all she wanted to do was to step out of bed and hold the boy in her embrace. Just like last time.

Instead, she only muttered. “If I had been more careful…”

“ … Even if you had, there’s no telling what else could have happened,”

Flower didn’t respond to that, only looking down at her arm wrapped in white, silently cursing at it until she heard the sound of a chair shifting closer to her bed. A quick turn presented her with the sight of the scarred-face boy having his face petted by the living doll from before, its chubby hands threading through the plastic barrier of the hospital bed and patting the human boy’s cheeks as if to make a funny face out of it.

Had Flower not known that this little doll, Point, was sort of a parental figure to her boyfriend, she would have been merely amused at this silly sight.

But since Flower did know about Point, she also could tell that Fukase was really trying to get over his trauma just to make her smile. It was a common trait between the two of them; whenever Fukase had the urge to make anyone happy, he’d usually perform humorous antics with that little white doll. Likewise, in the moments when he was the most vulnerable emotionally, Point would be there to remind Fukase that he was not alone in the world anymore. That he now had someone else to talk to when his mind was a mess.

After their mini-episode of making funny faces in front of her (and inciting a little giggle from her), the red-haired boy sported a small smile, the fear from earlier mostly dissipated from his eyes.

“Flower…” He started, leaning his head against the fencing by the hospital bed, the light from the windows reflecting off of his scarlet eyes. “You know you’re really important to me, right?”

“Y-yeah?”

“So… Don’t worry about me being afraid of… this place…” He slowly declared, his voice building up confidence as he went on. “I know I tend to be dramatic about it, but I promise you; I’ll be okay,”

“Are you sure?” The hesitation in her tone convinced Fukase to up his determination in his reply. “Yeah. I’m not trying to trick you this time; I’ll be fine,”

“Besides, seeing you and having you next to me…” As much as he tried to hide it, the red on his cheeks was obvious. “It helps me deal with the memory, so… don’t be too worried about me, alright?”

‘Seeing you and having you next to me’

They were such simple words and yet… Those alone were enough to wash all of the white-haired girl worries away.

“Oh! That reminds me,” The young boy stood up suddenly, turning to the paper bag he brought with him and pulling out a petite white box with a handle by the top. “Here, I got you something. And don’t worry, I asked Xin Hua about what you couldn’t eat, and this doesn’t qualify as any of your prohibited foods,”

As Fukase placed the box in front of her, he steadily undid the box’s paper lock, revealing a single triangular slice of vanilla cake, its three layers stuck together by white icing filled with red slices of fruit while the top layer was completely covered with another layer of white and three white rosettes. The singular conical red item placed on the top of the cake was the last thing Flower needed to identify what kind of treat her boyfriend had bought for her.

“A strawberry cake,” She noted without any traces of astonishment in her voice. “Why am I not surprised?” Though she was shaking her head, there was a pensive smile inscribed on her lips.

“Oh, well if you don’t want it, more for me-”

“What, no! Of course I want it!”

“Oh, really?” A mischievous grin found its way to the cheeky redhead’s lips as he spoke. “Judging by the look on your face, I was starting to think that you didn’t like it. Or am I wrong?”

His girlfriend was about to facepalm herself with her right hand until she felt a tinge of pain that signalled her to use her left one instead. “You’re ridiculous. You wouldn’t buy that for me and bring it here if you thought that I wouldn’t want it, would you?”

“So you’re saying that I’m a good boyfriend?”

The girl paused, though it didn’t take too much pondering before she arrived at a conclusion. Between him mustering his guts to visit a hospital, the hotspot of his trauma, and pushing aside that trauma to admit how much she meant to him, Flower was convinced that this time, Fukase’s passing joke was true.

Knowing that, she heaved a relaxed sigh, reaching out to touch his bandaged hand briefly. The sudden contact cued him to glance at her, taking in the bright smile that adorned her face. “Yeah,” Flower murmured sweetly. “I think you are. A good boyfriend, I mean,”

Her cheeks turned satin pink as she added the last part of her sentence, an unusually bashful smile slowly creeping up her lips. The redhead could only look on at her, frozen and unmoving, only taking in how adorable she looked under the rays of sunlight seeping through the windows of the ward.

There was no way to stop Fukase from chuckling light-heartedly. “Wow,” He muttered, breathless. “I… didn’t think you’d actually say something so sappy,”

The girl shrugged. “Maybe it’s my meds?” She sheepishly teased. “I guess I’m just feeling a little… affectionate today,”

“Hey, I’m not complaining,” Fukase teased back with a smirk. “Seeing you trying to flirt is cute too,” Flower didn’t have any time to respond to that before Fukase turned his whole body to the patient lying on the bed, a white plate containing the vanilla-coloured slice of spongy cake in one hand while his other gripped tightly onto a small fork. “Seriously though, you want this cake?”

She beamed at the prospect of eating something sweet. “Of course,”

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For the rest of the afternoon, the two teens stayed in that hospital room, sharing bites of a dessert that they both loved. Still, the sweetness from the delicious cake was nothing compared to their relationship.

A gentle, tender bond that was supported by their endless love and support for each other.

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They... They be cute... QwQ

#fukaflower #fukase #vocaloid fukase #vocaloid flower #vflower #shipping #oneshot #hospital visit #flokase #fukase x flower #flower x fukase #fanfic #vocaloid fanfic #vocaloid

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whereflowersbloom · 4 years

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Stars Aligned

It was a Christmas evening. They were spending the holidays at the farm, with ‘grandma’ Martha and ‘grandpa ‘Jonathan’. They insisted she should start calling them that. It was her second Christmas with The Kents. Her adoptive family, and they truly welcomed her like a real family from the first day.

The 8 year old girl had her hands around a mug of hot cocoa when an inexplicable feeling of anger hit her. It wasn’t explosive, rather passive. But it was there and self-reproach? This wasn’t coming from anyone around her. No, it was something of a more extraordinary nature. Perhaps her powers evolving? But deep in her heart, she knew it wasn’t it.

The adults were engaged in a conversation, about work, life in Metropolis, she didn’t care to follow. Her energetic brother Jon was too entertained opening presents. She looked at her mug, her marshmallows had melted. Then it struck her, disappointment,loneliness, all at once, not entirely whole and some parts that don’t fit anywhere. These feelings were overwhelming. Her eyes focused on Clark. She was still getting used to the idea of calling him dad. She stood, hesitating over whether or not telling him what was happening. Her dad’s warm, familiar smile gave her courage. She ran to him and threw her arms around his neck.

Immediately the whole family was concerned at her behavior.

-Clark, what’s the matter with little Rachel?

-Is she feeling unwell?

-honey, do you need me to...

Clark rubbed her back affectionately. “It’s alright. I’ll take care of it. Their adoptive daughter tended to repress her emotions, but he believed she was opening up to them, slowly.

“Maybe our little Rae, just wants more marshmallows for her hot coco.” He said, smiling warmly, taking her in his arms, carrying her to the kitchen.

“Hey, dad, that’s not fair!” Claimed Jon before they disappeared.

Raven calmed down eventually, and explained the best way she could this new experience to her adoptive father. Of course, Clark knew the nature of her empathic powers, however she was convinced this was completely different. She had found her place, was settled and happy with the Kents. The last thing she wanted was to cause trouble. Her kryptonian dad taught her not to fear her powers, but to take control of them.

“I don’t think it’s my powers growing or changing. This is different. I can feel it. Something or someone is connected to me now. It’s like he’s sharing his emotions with me.” She explained. There seemed to be no other reason for the emotions she felt. Not even her own. Clark recognized the worried expression on her face.

“Honey, I believe you. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” Clark smiled warmly and squeezed her small hand reassuringly. “ I have an idea of what’s happening. I think you’re experiencing your soulmate’s emotions.”

“A soulmate?” Violet eyes went wide as she questioned astonished. She was extremely lucky to have the Kents in her life. Now her adoptive father was telling her she had a soulmate. A fated partner. She was the devil’s spawn, only half human. Who could possibly accept her. Was life fooling her by giving her false hope?

“It’s extraordinarily uncommon, but I heard the number of cases have increased. You’ll feel the bond when they are experiencing intense feelings. It can be very difficult to handle at your age, but you have us.” Clark spoke calmly and quietly.

She was silent for while, lost in thoughts. “Dad, are you and mom Lois soulmates?” The girl asked out of curiosity.

Her father smiled brightly, his mind going back to old memories. “Yes, we are. Though the first time I was so alarmed and agitated, I shut it down for a while. It took us a few years to reconnect and accept it. Lois, nothing can stop her. Well, she’s always been Lois.” Dark shrugged smiling and ruffled his hair.

“An army brat. And you were a nerdy, brooding, farm-boy, Smallville. It’s good to hear you don’t forget there’s only one Lois Lane.” Lois was leaning against the door, smiling proudly at the scene. “Kent.” She added.

“Is this what I think?” The older woman asked her hands on her waist.

“I believe so. Our little Rae has a soulmate. She’s young , and the bond seems to be entirely emotional for now. But it will grow stronger certainly. “ Clark explained, thinking of the possible development.

“That’s great news, sweetie.” She approached Raven and rubbed her back affectionately. “There’s nothing to worry about. You can handle this. You’re a strong girl.” Lois poked her nose playfully.

“Well now, Martha is reading Jon a book story. Would you like to join them? I can get you more hot coco and marshmallows.” Her mom offered. Raven smiled happily and nodded enthusiastically. Feeling more hopeful, but a bit uneasy about her soulmates feelings.

“No sharing with Jon. That boy had enough sugar.” Lois warned before the girl left the kitchen. Wearing out an hyperactive half kryptonian wasn’t easy at all.

~~~

It wasn’t long before she started to feel her soulmate’s emotions almost daily.

She liked it but a part of her remained worried.

She remembered Grandma Martha’s words.

“Your fits of emotions aren’t your own. They come from your soulmate. He seems to have trouble dealing with anger and loneliness. When it’s too powerful, you feel it, too. Because you’re bonded. It will grow stronger with time, you may even hear his thoughts in your head one day.”

The girl sighed anxious. Raven was sitting on her bed, reading a book Lois got her for Christmas. One of dozens. As much as she loved hearing Martha read fairy tales before bedtime, she enjoyed having a book in her hands, on her own. She was grateful both, Lois and Clark encouraged her reading habit. However the calm only lasted a few minutes.

She heard the sound of quick footsteps. Oh here comes the hurricane. A young boy around the age of six, black haired and crystal blue eyes barged into her room at super speed. After turning five years old Jon’s superpowers emerged first was heat vision one time he was throwing a tantrum refusing to go to bed, second super-speed he was still trying to adjust it, they try to avoid superhuman strength after Jon destroyed several coffee tables and tableware, almost demolished the barn once but that was an unfortunate accident, flight has yet to make an appearance so naturally Jon asked his father or Raven to take him flying.

“Racheeeeeel. I want to go flying with you. Dad doesn’t want to. Please. Take me with you. Please Rae.” Jon, her brother pleaded incessantly with a mischievous smile. Speaking too fast and loud. Sweet Jon was overly enthusiastic, loud and talkative, caring and the most adorable boy. She had a hard time saying no to him.

She considered wisely the options for a minute. The farm is miles long, but she was concerned about the frosty winter air. She glanced at the window, snowflakes falling so much like stars, adorning the dark trees, Jon would love it, no doubt. But it seemed the wind was blowing too strong, perhaps a fearsome blizzard coming, she didn’t want Jon getting sick. Was it even possible for Half-Kryptonians to get sick? She wouldn’t risk his health. There’s no one else, not for miles. Jon loves it here, exploring the unlimited and fertile land. He’s been practicing each new gift that develops. Maybe she could persuade him to wait a few days. Jon looked at her with a little sparkle in his blue eyes and it was incredible how innocent and adorable Jon could be and melt away her resolve.

“It’s snowing heavily. What about we stay inside today and tomorrow we build a snowman and I give you my owes to build a snow castle together, as well?” Raven proposed, speaking softly as she tousled his unruly dark hair, a genuine smile broke over her face, warmth spreading through her at the thought that she had a family now. A real one.

“You pinky promise?” He asked with a new gleam in his eyes, smiling brightly and offering her his pinky finger to seal the deal.

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swimmingnewsie · 4 years

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Of Coffee and Cookies (Chapter 2)

I’m glad to see everyone enjoyed the first chapter! I’m having a lot of fun writing this AU, getting to explore these characters in a new way. I hope you all continue to enjoy reading as much as I enjoy writing it.

Enjoy!

Link to Chapter 1 Link to AO3

—

When Elsa was working, she could ignore many things. She had missed many a visitor because she was focused so intently on a research article. Many phone calls and texts went unanswered in the swarm of working on her dissertation. Anna had always told her she was jealous of her focus, but in reality it was easy to get swept up in it all. If she was working, she wasn’t worrying, and that worked well enough for her. But there was one breach in that focus.

Well, three breaches actually: Olaf, Marshmallow, and Bruni.

Like she could everything else, Elsa could ignore her cats whines and meows as they played with one another, desperate to distract their owner. Anna kept them occupied during the daytime before she went to work, but nighttime was all her responsibility. But there was only so much she could take, before she could give into their pleas. So, Elsa usually went to Anna’s work for her lunch break, dropping off food often forgotten in their fridge and set up shop in the cafe for a bit to work, leaving her small friends to do their own thing until she came back from working. Then it was playtime, much to the delight of her small friends.

Today, however, the stars had aligned in Anna remembering to bring her lunchbox and Elsa having a breakthrough idea for her latest project, leaving her to work uninterrupted for five hours after her lecture. Well uninterrupted until Olaf decided he had enough and that it was supper time, pawing at Elsa’s legs meowing for attention.

“All right, all right,” she murmured, her annoyance gone when the white cat crawled up into her lap. “I guess it is dinner time, huh,” she said looking up at the clock, stroking his fur. 7:28. Certainly a productive evening for sure.

“Come on. Go find your brothers. “ Elsa dropped Olaf and sent him off while she went to the kitchen. She was surprised that they hadn’t whined earlier for food. Unless, she had ignored it. And now her cats were actually starving and it was all her fault and-

“Breathe,” she told herself, catching the thought pattern. “They’re fine. They aren’t going to starve because I fed them an hour late.” Elsa shook her head and got back to the task at hand, opening the bag of dry food. All three of her cats ran at the sound of their food, Bruni and Marshmallow swatting at her legs. It gave her a good laugh. “Settle, you two. I can only pour so fast.”

All three cats content in eating, Elsa wandered to her pantry to figure out what she needed to do for her own food. She ended up settling on a simple pasta meal for her and Anna, a bit too frayed to get into cooking like she normally would. Then it occurred to her to check her phone, see if Anna was doing okay at work.

Three new messages. That was odd.

Two were from Anna telling her about her day and reminding her to eat at some point and give their cats a snuggle for her. “Already taken care of that,” Elsa laughed to herself. She was grateful for her sisters messages.

But the third message was odd.

Hi, thank you for getting my coffee today! I had a really rough one and needed it. Maybe we can talk again sometime?

It was an unknown number, and she hadn’t stepped foot in the cafe today. Maybe it was a wrong number?

I’m sorry I think you might have the wrong number? I didn’t buy anyone coffee today? Sorry.

She responded and was ready to move on until her phone vibrated once more.

Is this not Elsa? I’m sorry, I’m reading the phone number off a coffee cup it’s hard to read.

She was ready to kill Anna when she got home. She dialed the familiar number on her phone, ready to demand an explanation.

“Mermaid’s Siren on 5th and Oak, this is Kristoff. How can I help you?”

“Hey Kristoff, it’s Elsa,” she said trying to keep her composure. “How long until Anna’s last ten?”

“I’d guess about thirty minutes? What’s up? Is everything okay?”

Elsa subconsciously nodded. “We’re fine. It seems my sister is quite the trickster and I’m going to kill her.”

“So she texted you?”

Elsa huffed. “So you knew about this?”

“I didn’t see the phone number until after I handed it out. Sorry, Els.” She could hear him sigh over the phone, just as exasperated as she was. “So are you going to text her back?”

“What am I going to say? ‘Sorry my sister is playing matchmaker and even though you’re really pretty this is not the way to go about it.’?”

“So you do think she’s pretty.” Elsa could almost hear the smirk in his voice. “Look, maybe you should talk to her. You’ve certainly got your foot in the door. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Elsa sighed. “You’re no help. Get back to work, I’ll bug Anna in 30.”

“Alright, talk at you soon, Elsa.”

I am. It appears my sister Anna has been meddling again. Sorry about that. She thinks I don’t socialize enough. But I hope your coffee was good!

Friendly, but not too serious. Secretly, Elsa hoped the woman texted her back as she turned back to her stove. And sure enough, a small buzz went off, making her heart flutter.

Well it’s nice to meet you regardless. I’m Honeymaren, but my friends call me Maren. It was actually tea and it was delicious! Well even if your sister is a trickster maybe we could get together and talk some time? Always nice to have more friends.

Elsa felt the blood rushing to her face, infinitely glad she was home alone at the moment. Honeymaren- no Maren- wanted to be friends? This was not how she was expecting this night to go. She was still certainly irritated that Anna had given her phone number out without telling her. But maybe this was worth pursuing.

I teach MWF until 3:00 but after that one day? Or TR my schedule is a bit more flexible.

She sent out the message before she could chicken out. Why was she even nervous? It was just an offer to hang out. “Because you’ve had an anxiety disorder since you were 12, stupid,” she mumbled. She called herself a name, she noted. “Not stupid. Reframe the thought. You’re just feeling bashful. It’s okay to have nerves.” Recovery was annoying to remember sometimes.

The buzz took her attention again.

I teach everyday haha. How is Tuesday at 4:00? Maybe we could grab a coffee and take a walk?

It made her smile. Anna would probably tease the poor girl relentlessly, but they wouldn’t be in the shop long even if she did.

That sounds perfect.

Elsa was still going to yell at her sister later. But maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

—

“Mare, you’re going to get coffee and go for a walk. It’s not that big of a deal.”

Maren sighed as she drove them. She had decided to drive Ryder to the gym so that she had an out if need be. “It just feels this way. I don’t know, something just feels different.”

Ryder rolled his eyes, situating himself. “You’re a math teacher, not an English teacher. Stop reading too much into this and enjoy yourself.”

Maren stuck her tongue out at her brother. “You only say that because you haven’t been on a date since we were 16.”

“Low blow.” He dramatically turned away from her, staring out the window.

“Doesn’t make it any less true,” she teased affectionately as she pulled into the gym’s parking lot. “Get going, you bum. Your boys are waiting. See you around 6:00?”

He gave her a light shove with his backpack. “Yeah. Let me know if you all need a little longer. Or a hotel room.”

Maren shoved her brother right back. “Now who’s reading too much in things?”

“Always be prepared and remember a condom!” Ryder laughed as he left the car. He blew her a kiss, and she flipped him off. Traditional parting words.

Maren knew she was overthinking. Like her brother had said, it really was just a cup of coffee and a walk. Even if she hoped that perhaps this could become something more. She barely knew anything about Elsa. She was her favorite barista’s sister. She spent an inordinate amount of time reading about microbiology and glaciers. She was the most gorgeous woman Maren had ever met in her life. That wasn’t much if anything to build a relationship on. And yet, she still felt that desire to know more.

Before she knew it, she had pulled into the parking lot of Mermaid’s Siren. It was packed as always for the time of day. Perhaps it really was better that they were going out instead of enjoying a cup in the cafe. They’d have more privacy to say the least.

Entering the cafe, she couldn’t see the girl’s signature platinum blonde hair anywhere. It had always fascinated her, she had never seen someone with hair like that that seemed natural. Perhaps it was natural, it just seemed odd in contrast to her sister’s vibrant red hair. Taking a deep breath, she headed to the register and gave her order to the barista- it was one of the younger kids today. She thanked the young girl, paid, and went to a table to wait.

Thankfully, she didn’t have to wait long. Elsa ran into the cafe a few minutes later obviously a bit panicked over her lateness. “Elsa?” she asked cautiously.

“Hi- um- Hi, Maren,” Elsa said, clearly out of breath. “I’m- I’m sorry I’m late. Were you waiting long?”

“No, not long at all,” Maren gave a small laugh. Elsa was cute when she was flustered like this. The few stray strands falling out of her braid only exaggerated the feeling. “Go ahead and order. There’s no rush.” Elsa hurried off with a silent thanks. Maren couldn’t wait to see where this would go.

—

“So you’re a teacher too?”

“Sort of. Graduate student, teaching assistant, researcher, somewhat a professor? It’s a big mess when you get to the doctoral level as far as what your actual job is. But it pays enough for the apartment and the cats, so who am I to complain?”

Elsa could feel herself truly relaxed as they walked, something she hadn’t felt with a stranger in quite some time. Maren had suggested that they went to walk over to a nearby park and there couldn’t have been a better idea. The leaves were just starting to change color as the early autumn breeze brushed by them. It was quiet but not silent and everything just felt right.

Elsa’s thoughts on her employment made Maren laugh. It was such a beautiful sound, something she wished would never vanish. “Well, at least they pay you better than me. Teaching 150 eleven-year-olds does not pay as much as I put in. But like they say, you don’t get into education for the money.”

“Isn’t that the truth,” Elsa agreed. “If you take out the tuition remission, I’d say it’s a lot closer than you think.” The worries started to creep in the back of her head. You weren’t supposed to talk about things like wages and pay on a first date. No no, that establishes some power dynamic. Wait was this even a date? It felt like a date. But she didn’t even know-

Maren nodded oblivious to Elsa’s worries. “I’m sure I’ll know soon enough. I wanna go back and get my masters soon. I just- I love it so much and want to know even more, be that about math or about teaching. Did you have to take the GRE?”

Elsa sighed, happy the topic had changed to a more neutral topic. “Unfortunately yes. I’m a biologist! I shouldn’t have to go and take a vocabulary test there is no list to study from!”

Maren laughed again making Elsa’s heart warm. “Precisely! I’m just having so much trouble studying for it because of that. It’s stupid. They should just keep the argument and math sections. Those are the important ones. Or at least weight them differently based on your programs.”

A lightbulb went off in Elsa’s mind. “Well, I could help you study if you want? I did pretty well, 165.” Shit. Power dynamics again. She needed to stop this before she came off as some arrogant-

“Seriously? I would love that!”

Thank goodness. The anxieties melted as Elsa smiled and nodded at her. “Absolutely. Maybe this weekend? We could meet up at the cafe again, get some things started? I’m sure I’ve got my notes still.”

“Perfect. The only thing I have going is brunch with my parents and Ryder- shit!” Maren’s eyes widened. “Sorry, I just, what time is it?”

Elsa waved her hand. “No no, don’t worry. I’ve said far worse before. 6:05. Got somewhere to be?”

“I was supposed to pick up my brother at 6:00. I’m sorry to cut this short,” Maren said, embarrassment evident. “But yes, let’s plan on this weekend. I’ll text you tonight.”

“Don’t worry about it, I understand,” Elsa said, calmness in her voice. “We’ll talk tonight.”

Honeymaren smiled and reached for Elsa’s hands. She grabbed them, bringing them close to her face before pressing a light kiss on her knuckles. “I can’t wait. Until then, m’lady.”

“Good- good night then,” she sputtered, stunned by what just happened.

Elsa stood in awe watching as Maren walked back to her car, her mind playing the afternoon over and over again. She analyzed every interaction from how Maren had grabbed her hand running to look at the lake to the way she listened to her talk about microbiology. She was too anxious for this kind of thing. Or too gay. Or both.

Her phone buzzed bringing her attention back to the present.

Mermaid’s Siren 1PM Saturday? I’ll buy your coffee

She smiled.

Perfect.

#frozen #elsamaren #frohana #snow sisters #ice bros #christ i wrote 2300 words #i love these nerds #my fic

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voltronramblings · 4 years

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um this got like really really long lmao (feel free to just post like a cut off version so it doesn’t clog up ppls dash lol) kind of super embarrassed about how long it is but…. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i got a lot to say, i hope that’s okay

Haha, you’re completely fine, sweetheart! I am gonna put it under the cut so that it doesn’t end up taking a lot of space on someone’s dash ❤️

Can i pls get a matchup? :3 I’m a bi girl, 5’6 with longish wavy red hair, blue eyes and lots of freckles cuz i always forget to reapply sunscreen lol pretty much always have a sunburn during the summer. I’m a INFP, and a libra. I’ve got a major case of ADHD, lots of energy and horrible at focusing, lots of fidgeting all the time (mostly the leg bounceTM and tapping things) (also got that anxiety/depression thing goin on).

I’m not super social, I hate big parties, I don’t have a Lot of friends, but the friends I do have I’m really close to and would trust with my life (I’m kind of really selective with who i befriend). If i don’t like a person, they will be able to Tell, I don’t go out of my way to be mean to them but,, it’s a bit obvious. I’m the fun friend, always getting people to laugh and smile and be happy, and I’m super loyal to my friends, ride-or-die kind of gal. I also tend to be the one that people lean on, or turn to if the need any advice or comfort. I’m also really close with my family, love them with all my heart and would do anything for them.

I love to play the piano and sing (pretty good at the first one, not so much the second lol) and i tend to do that when I’m feeling stressed out or sad and it helps a lot. I’m currently in college studying geography and cartography and I’m like a super nerd about it lol. I love to go hiking in the mountains where i live and go swimming in the rivers, and when I’m staying at my family home I go to the beach all the time, my fave summer tradition is having bonfire parties on the beach with my friends where we just swim and build sand castles all day and then roast hot dogs and marshmallows (some of my fave memories of high school were on the beach super late at night around the campfire). I am pretty active, i used to be super into sports in high school but now i’m not really, I used to swim competitively for like 8 years, and I also was part of a rowing team for a couple years, and I really loved it, trying to get back into it but i’m way too out of shape rn lmao. I also love baseball, watching it and playing it (but mostly i just watch) (go giants). I love music, fave genres being rock/alt rock/punk/pop, and I loooove going to concerts, i’ve been to at least 30 by now lol I’m pretty much always got music playing, my fave band is fall out boy (i’m basic i know lol).

my grades have always been…. Super average. Not because I don’t understand what I’m being taught but because I never really did my homework, i would always procrastinate and especially with big projects, if it wasn’t absolutely perfect I hated it and would be constantly stressed about it and then just not do it so :/ (this is still true a little in college but i’m getting much better and just getting things done, and i like to have friends with me while i’m working so they can yell at me if i get distracted).

This got really really long so i’m just gonna stop now lmao (i like to talk about myself lol is it obvious??) (ive never done a matchup request before but i like yours because you put so much thought into them i couldnt resist thank you love you)

hi, love! Before I start, the fact that you let me know about that ^^ literally makes me so happy and is one of the only reasons I still accept match-ups. I know what I was like sending my first match-up request in and I was a nervous wreck. Which is why I sincerely mean it when I say that I am deeply sorry for how long this took to get back to you. Thank you for sending this in and I love you too 💕

SO, it may seem kind of weird but I actually ship you with Pidge (adjusted to your age, of course, bc we don’t do support pedophilia in this Christian household, no thank you)! However, if the fact that Pidge is (canonically) still a teen bothers you, I can and will match you with someone else!

Appearance reason: most people do the whole “your freckles make constellations” thing, but Pidge said “nah, they’re compounds and mixtures lol” what a nerd. She’ll look for one that matches the formula for sugar just to say “hey, you’re pretty sweet”. Also, she feels the sunburn comment on a personal level bc she too is pretty much always burnt somewhere, it’s not fair.

Mentality reason: Pidge is no stranger to mental health disorders such as ADHD, anxiety, and depression. Whatever she can do for you, she’ll do, no questions asked. While she is more knowledgeable about the physical sciences, she can quickly pick up the psychological (and biological, but I think that’s a physical science) aspect of mental health disorders, and, if there’s something that she can make to help you, she will. One of those is definitely creating a portable mini-piano so you can tap away at that, using some energy and even creating a little music.

Introvert reason: Pidge is 100% definitely an introvert, and, while with the right company she might enjoy a party, she’ll tend to spend the night in. So, you two are pretty much aligned when it comes to those kinds of nights, you know? You just keep each other company, often in silence, and that’s more than enough.

Personality reason: Pidge is someone who has trouble relying on others. She’s so much of a “I can do this myself so watch me do it better than you” kind of attitude, and, while she’s amazing, even she needs someone whom she can rely on. Your personality tends to naturally bring that out of her. Before anything else, you two are best friends, and you’d do anything for each other. Because of that bond, Pidge feels able to come and talk to you about things that she really can’t with anyone else.

Hobby reason: Pidge is totally just in awe of your musical abilities even if you’re not as confident in them yourself. She loves listening to you playing the piano or even singing along quietly to whatever song is playing. With other people, Pidge prefers to work in the quiet (unless she’s discussing something or explaining something), but she loves to just hear you faintly in the background like a distant record player. ALSO, as the Guardian of Nature, she’s exploring new ways to connect with nature, so she’ll often accompany you whenever you’re going out to the mountains. She will most definitely be complaining for part of it because it’s too hot and there’re so many bugs, but she’ll always go because she loves spending time with you even if she can’t always keep up. Rivers and beaches aren’t necessarily her domain, but she still enjoys being in water (especially if she’s sweaty as frick from all of that walking). While you may be actually swimming, she’ll probably just be in the water, floating along somewhere… she does like the bonfire idea as it’s much less strenuous, and it’s fun to be with everyone whether that’s just you or the whole Voltron crew.

Education reason: lol, I had no idea what to call this so here ya go. Basically, Pidge adores your brilliance when it comes to anything that you’re interested in (in this case, geography and cartography). Especially if you’re drawing maps of the places that y’all visit through space, she’ll be there with papers and pencils and any drawing tools you might need. She just loves seeing how it all turns out in the end, especially since it’s like a mix of science and art and WOW you can do BOTH so well !! And she’s definitely a huge (?) help when it comes to procrastination. A little bit of a hypocrite sometimes because she tends to get distracted herself if it’s not something she’s genuinely interested in. But, she will definitely be there to help keep you on track if you’re losing focus or motivation, and she will also offer to help in any way, shape, or form that she can. She wants you to do your best but also not stress so much about it because, sometimes, imperfections are better than any perfect thing out there. Y’all also have a deal where you can switch off rambling about what you’re passionate about, it’s cute and wholesome 💕 you guys are literal best friends which is so nice to be with your significant other.

#THIS IS 10000 YEARS OLD I'M SORRY #also honestly #for any of the match ups #they're automatically adjusted to whatever age you are #i mean #they're cartoons y'all #shipping them together is one thing #but it's easy to adjust to your age imo #i mean i was 15 when the show came out #and 18 when it finished #i literally was pidge's age and then lance's by the end of the show #our ages change naturally but theirs don't unless we make them #anyway that's enough out of this old bat #match up #submission

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brishu · 5 years

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Everybody’s Heart’s in the Same Fucking Place

My shift at the Park Slope Food Coop is usually the first Saturday of the month (A Week). I am the squad leader for the 8:30 PM Food Processing shift and, for the past 9 years, I have amassed a spotless record of showing up drunk. Sometimes I wonder if a non-shift encounter with any of my squadmates would make them think, “There’s something different about you right now.” Under my drunken helm, nobody’s cut themselves on a cheese slicer or box cutter or tape roll blade. And for the most part nobody’s emerged from the coop’s basement after two and a half hours getting bossed around by a booze-soaked contrarian nursing any grievous emotional injuries. Actually, more often than not, somebody doing a make-up or holding up their end of a shift swap enjoys their time so much that they try to join our squad.

But this is the Park Slope Food Coop and the self-righteousness is as abundant as the kale. I am not the first grump to notice that some people base their most cherished beliefs on whose approval they gain. Why would you want to brutalize the planet to access natural gas when you can oppose it and feel like you’re marching right alongside Mark Ruffalo? Would you rather your foreign policy views align with the sneering, bomb-happy conservatism of Norman Podhoretz or the serene brilliance of Noam Chomsky? These are obtuse dichotomies, to be sure. So here’s a specific one: I am skeptical of the gun control movement. Less than 10 minutes of research can tell anybody who wants to know that more than 1 million AR-15s get sold each year. For those who might stagger in horror at a number that high, I’d ask you to take a moment and consider some other information that sales figure connotes. Personally, I’m extremely reluctant to demonize that many people I don’t know. Setting aside the implicit interpersonal dynamics lecture and moving from cursory research to wonkier statistics, we can learn that mass shootings account for less than 1% of gun deaths in a given year. In 2017, 39,773 people were killed by guns in America. 23,854 or 60% were suicides, and of the 14,542 or 37% that were homicides, 117 fatalities fit the legal definition of “mass shooting.” If this sounds like I’m trying to minimize the horror inspired by mass shootings in America, it’s because I am. Does this mean I side with gun owners over victims of these atrocities? No, it does not. It means I reject the notion that those are the two sides pitted against each other. And I will assert that fear of losing a loved one in a mass shooting is about as mathematically sound as treating a lottery ticket like a reliable path to wealth. But there’s actual likelihood, and then there’s media-spurred terror. So I’m not exactly raring to see a penstroke turn several million law-abiding citizens into criminals just because an incident I heard about in the news upset me.

Anyway, I only mention this because one time a young guy doing a make-up on my Food Processing shift started lecturing me about the correlation between Scandinavian rights to bear arms (according to him, they have none) and the number of gun-related deaths they suffer there. And yes alcohol was a factor but I got really pissed off at this guy. In retrospect, I should have been patient and respectful as he regurgitated his boilerplate arguments. But I guess I was too busy getting rankled by his presumption that only cretins unworthy of respect could harbor views as indifferent to human suffering as mine, instead of thinking, “Hmm, this guy seems pretty smart and he’s rocking a terrific playlist and everyone on his squad seems to like him a lot so maybe there’s more to his viewpoint than my kneejerk assumptions have led me to believe.” So I unleashed a bunch of other data and upbraided him for being so obtuse that he presumed my suspicions about anti-gun rhetoric amounted to my being a MAGA-head. The basement got tense and I apologized for making things awkward for everyone and changed subjects to talk about movies (whereupon our anti-gun crusading dried mango bagger announced that he was boycotting Miramax’s ouevre. Good for him.).

For years, our shift occurred the night before the Superbowl and the night before the Oscars and we worked hard to stock the shelves upstairs with enough cheeses, olives, nuts, dried fruits, teas and spices to sate the frenzied consumption that is de rigueur on these particular Sundays. Eventually, A-Week Saturday rotated away and it was up to some other squad to work like Santa’s unpaid elves to meet the demands on Pepper Jack and Brie. But somehow our shift remains on the one Saturday night when I refuse to exert myself (or get shitfaced): Marathon Eve.

So last year I swapped shifts with someone who liked our squad so much that she joined. My policy is that as long as you show up with some regularity, you’re welcomed warmly on our shift. We care about each other’s families and careers, opinions on matters political and artistic, and general well-being. This is less some sort of management strategy enacted to optimize productivity than a simple extension of the good will I feel toward nearly all people and certainly all Food Processors (even the Pulp Fiction boycotter who pronounces Weinstein incorrectly). Now. At our shift in August, the subject of the coop’s long, tortured debate on carrying Israeli products came up. I love this subject, even though I disagree with almost every other view anybody has on it. I don’t agree with ardent supporters of Boycott, Divestments and Sanctions, and I certainly don’t agree with the ultra-orthodox Jews who consider all criticism of Israel tantamount to Naziism.

My first exposure to this debate was at a General Meeting in the summer of 2012. The meeting was held in the ballroom of Congregation Beth Elohim, of which we are members. People I expected to shoot down anything anti-Israel (because they looked like elderly Jews) stood up passionately decrying coop complicity in Israeli policies they already unwillingly supported by paying taxes. And then some younger people with tattoos and gender fluidity vibes stood up in defense of selling Israeli products. The debate was passionate but civil. I found all arguments convincing and simply loved being in a room among people who cared so deeply about doing the right thing. Ultimately the boycotters advanced their initiative one more rung along the coop’s bureaucracy, and the next General Meeting would include a vote on whether to have a coop-wide referendum to BDS or not to BDS.

This meeting got so much publicity that the coop needed to rent a larger space, so 1,600 or 10% of all Park Slope Food Coop members filed into the auditorium at Brooklyn Tech. BDS advocates who were not coop members stood outside leafleting attendees, while school buses ferried several minyanim of ultra-orthodox Jews. Unlike this meeting’s predecessor, the tone was not civil and the arguments were not convincing. They were hystrionic pleas that transparently appealed to each speaker’s own moral vanity. Lost in the debate was any consideration for practical details like how much it would cost to stage a coop-wide referendum, or have the BDSers found alternative, morally acceptable sources for vegan marshmallows? And meanwhile, it became very clear, very quickly that the measure to hold a referendum was going to get voted down. So the series of speakers dabbling in petty-demagoguery was a depressing waste of time.

Two months later, at a meeting I did not attend, the issue came up again, and aroused such anger that a physical altercation occurred. After that, the subject was banned from future General Meetings. While appreciating the moral passion on all sides, my personal view was that people who wanted to boycott should, but they had to acknowledge that other coop members wanted to buy these supposedly blood-soaked products and depriving them of that right felt like some kind of tyranny too.

Anyway, the tortured history of the debate comes up every now and then and I always love hearing what other people think, and also amplifying my own view that the passions that made the debate inflammatory are part of what makes the coop so special to me. So during our August shift, the woman who had swapped with me on the first Saturday of November, 2018, said with no compunction whatsoever that Israel was guilty of genocide. And despite my inebriation (that night I had done most of my drinking at a dear friend’s surprise 60th birthday party), I was able to express disagreement with this term, and assurance that, whereas many people would hear that and go through a series of internal reactions that would result in antipathy toward the issuer of such a serious charge, I understood that her beliefs were motivated by a desire to do the right thing, whatever that may be. Now she may have thought that I was just another Jew defending the indefensible. And I may have thought she was just another self-righteous ignoramus who prizes wokeness over common sense. But speaking for myself, nobody’s just another anything. In my consumption of online commentary, I see a lot of “[that] tells you all you need to know about her.” And it amazes me that this is an acceptable way to rest your personal case against a person who is always more complex, and usually well-meaning, than you presume when you decide that one view, or one errant phrase is a full representation of another person’s soul. That the practice of basing a holistic view of another person on one political position is so blithely unexamined suggests to me that anxieties underlying our need to close our minds are the real problem.

I got annoyed with my fellow squad member. In truth I’m still kind of annoyed, both with her, and with the consortium of opinion that sent her forth believing that accusing Israel of genocide is the right thing to do. And it would be more comfortable for me to let my annoyance snowball into full-blown contempt (spurred at some level by the same anxieties which lead to over-eager mind-closing), to tie her incorrect view of my people’s national homeland to the neuroses her parenting has visited on her daughter, even to her insufficient appreciation of my marathon running, all of which are trumped up charges to be sure. Plenty of people would do exactly this, with no real consequence. They’d condemn this person because her version of doing the right thing is in opposition to theirs. Where is the conscience that holds condemnation at bay?

Either way, while I feel alright about being able to see the light in this person despite my ethyl-clouded mindframe augmenting the shadows cast by her risible political views, I still struggle to find the balance between advancing views I know to be correct with being more of a conduit than a catalyst. And it also feels unfair that I agonize over this stuff only to see significantly less introspective people exert greater influence. But none of that will stop me from getting rip-roaring drunk before my next coop shift.

#Park Slope #Park Slope Food Coop #Coop #Woke #Cancel Culture #Israel #Palestine #Cheese #Food Processing #Alcohol

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theliterateape · 6 years

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It Must Be Dorito’s Fault I’m a Bag of Suet in a Pair of Overstuffed Skinny Jeans

By Don Hall

I smoked cigarettes for just over 20 years. I now smoke pipe tobacco instead. In addition to it smelling better and encouraging the nostalgic grins of perfect strangers, the tobacco is far better. As much as I often argued that I wasn’t addicted, rather I just liked to smoke, the effects on my lungs are exactly the same.

So, in the debate over whether we are addicted to our smartphones or social media, it makes no difference if we are addicted, manipulated, or just weak-willed, the results are still exactly the same: a compromised democracy, the highest teen suicide rate in recorded history, a dwindling attention span and a slow disconnect from humanity in favor of the humanity as represented on a glass screen.

I notice this compulsion. I know that, for the most part, social media raises my stress level (I grant you, I have significantly lower stress than most because I am not a terribly anxious person to begin with, I keep myself busy, and I have so few fucks left to give I’m almost laconic), and yet I keep coming back to Faceborg and Twitter at least three times every hour. You know, just to see if the world ended or if Trump birthed an alien out of his piggy chest.

While I might argue that I’m certainly not addicted to my iPhone/iPad/iMac, the fact that I spend a huge amount of my waking world time engaging them should at least merit some serious interrogation.

But first, a parallel.

From The Extraordinary Science of Addictive Junk Food NYT, February 20, 2013

"More than half of American adults were now considered overweight, with nearly one-quarter of the adult population — 40 million people — clinically defined as obese. Among children, the rates had more than doubled since 1980, and the number of kids considered obese had shot past 12 million. (This was still only 1999; the nation’s obesity rates would climb much higher.) Food manufacturers were now being blamed for the problem from all sides — academia, the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, the American Heart Association and the American Cancer Society. The secretary of agriculture, over whom the industry had long held sway, had recently called obesity a 'national epidemic.'"

And from The Great Awakening

"And part of what is keeping us from full realization about the impact of technology on our humanity is that we’re too busy with our heads down using that technology. The numbers are staggering:

• By June, Facebook had 2 billion users. And Americans alone spent 56 billion minutes on the site each month.

• YouTube’s 1.5 billion logged-in users average more than an hour a day on YouTube on mobile alone.

• Every minute 300 million hours of video are uploaded and each day 5 billion videos are watched.

• By September, Instagram had 800 million users, up 100 million since April.

• There are now 2.6 billion smartphone users worldwide — a number expected to climb to 6.1 billion by 2020.

• The top ten users of smartphones touch their phones an average of 5,427 times each day. The rest of us clock in at 2,617 touches per day.

• Between midnight and 5 a.m. 87 percent of participants in a study checked their phones at least once.

• Over 70 percent of Americans sleep next to or with their phone.

And all that time spent in the presence of such powerful devices is having a profound effect on us. Our phones are with us almost all the time, and in most of our social interactions, yet we know there’s something wrong with that. In a Pew study, 89 percent of phone owners said they’d used their phones in their last social gathering, but 82 percent felt that when they did this it damaged the interaction.

And it’s also affecting our relationships. In a study of people in romantic relationships, 70 percent said that cell phones interfered with their interactions with their partners.

The parallel between snack foods and high tech in the mobile computing era is creepy. Both are technologies designed to be convenient as well as rewarding in the most superficial way. We also can’t seem to stop ourselves from constantly snacking — both for a food-like thing and an information/social-like thing.

I substitute a couple of days a week for charter schools. From 6th grade through the end of high school, every single one of them have strict rules (laxly enforced) against two things: smartphones and snack foods in class. An average day consists of 15 percent instruction, 15 percent class management, and 60 percent taking away smartphones and bags of Cheetos. The sight of so many kids immersed in chowing down on nutritionless junk and texting, Snapchatting and taking selfies makes me wonder what universe I’m living in. These alien creatures living the scholastic life are so different from my own experience.

None of this is by accident.

Again, from The Extraordinary Science of Addictive Junk Food

"General Mills had overtaken not just the cereal aisle but other sections of the grocery store. The company’s Yoplait brand had transformed traditional unsweetened breakfast yogurt into a veritable dessert. It now had twice as much sugar per serving as General Mills’ marshmallow cereal Lucky Charms. And yet, because of yogurt’s well-tended image as a wholesome snack, sales of Yoplait were soaring, with annual revenue topping $500 million. Emboldened by the success, the company’s development wing pushed even harder, inventing a Yoplait variation that came in a squeezable tube — perfect for kids. They called it Go-Gurt and rolled it out nationally in the weeks before the C.E.O. meeting. (By year’s end, it would hit $100 million in sales.)"

From The Great Awakening

"Tristan Harris is a former Google design ethicist who founded the group Time Well Spent to raise awareness about how, as the site puts it, 'our society is being hijacked by technology.' As Harris points out, our addiction to our devices is by design. In the attention economy behind those friendly, inviting icons we love so much is an incredible amount of increasingly sophisticated science. 'The best way to get people’s attention is to know how someone’s mind works,' says Harris. The behavioral scientists, neuroscientists and computer scientists on the other side of our screens know we like the feeling of control. But they also want us to cede control of our attention. And so we’re given the illusion of control. 'By shaping the menus we pick from, technology hijacks the way we perceive our choices and replaces them with new ones,' writes Harris. 'But the closer we pay attention to the options we’re given, the more we’ll notice when they don’t actually align with our true needs.'"

The feeling one gets from likes and retweets is subtle but insidious. It feels good. It feels like people are paying attention to you, that they may care what you think. It feels so good that, as all things motivated by reward, your behavior begins to shift. It’s human nature.

If you write a tweet that all of sudden has 50 responses, you will naturally start to find ways to repeat that as that attention equals success online. More eyeballs means more importance. Given that some asshole with a YouTube channel can make genuine money from videos of pranking his kids, the rewards for getting that attention can become tangible.

I catch myself, as Co-editor of Literate Ape, behaving this way. We always want good, solid, interesting writing from our contributors but the intangible reward goes to those pieces that get more reads in the analytics. Does that mean these pieces have more merit than others? No. Not in the least.

In fact, it is often the poetry and fiction that gets left behind in the analytics scales of shares and comments that I start to bristle at the more popular pieces. Even my own.

It is, however, a digital magazine, so relying on the computing devices people carry in their back pockets is sort of the baked in business model.

The pervasiveness of digital devices and the ensuing onslaught of online media that promises a social experience but is, in fact, the polar opposite of meaningful social interaction, is riddled with the salt, sugar and fat that our psyches crave.

We want to believe that our fixation on hot dog memorabilia is shared by others. We want to believe that behind every police shooting or mass murder there is a conspiracy afoot. We want our existing bias’s to be confirmed no matter how asinine they are.

We want to be able to get six pack abs in seven minutes a day, a pill that will eliminate our sadness, and be told that we aren’t responsible for our choices or the consequences of those choices.

We also expect those companies that make massive profits feeding us this diet of empty information to be responsible for curtailing our intact while still providing it.

After all, whose fault is it that we are chronically obese but the companies that make the fake food we eat?

The Extraordinary Science of Addictive Junk Food:

"The prevailing attitude among the company’s food managers — through the 1990s, at least, before obesity became a more pressing concern — was one of supply and demand. “People could point to these things and say, 'They’ve got too much sugar, they’ve got too much salt,'Bible said. 'Well, that’s what the consumer wants, and we’re not putting a gun to their head to eat it. That’s what they want. If we give them less, they’ll buy less, and the competitor will get our market. So you’re sort of trapped.'"

“Well, that’s what the consumer wants.”

It is what we want. We also want no culpability in the consequences of getting what we want.

So we blame McDonald's for making us fat and Faceborg for making us stupid. We blame tobacco companies for our smoking habits and Russian hackers for our gelatinous monstrosity who sits in the Oval Office. We are a fat, stupid nation and we finally have the perfect avatar representing us to the world:

But instead of deleting those social media apps from our phone or choosing to eat a fucking apple rather than a bag of corn chips, we expect those who profit most from our obsessions to own the consequences and be better global citizens. Like hoping the oil companies will invest in green energy or that those McDonald's salads won't have as many calories as a Big Mac (they do).

Don’t hold your breath, fatty.

#smartphones #social media #snack foods #Doritos #NYT #Trumpkin

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