#do you know how many pans of mac I’ve made so far?? too many

[yrrebulb]

Kei’s cat is annoyed with me 😭 Been looking at me like I’m crazy this whole time. Didn’t even know lil ngga was here 😂

#do you know how many pans of mac I’ve made so far?? too many #this dinner finna end with all us knocked out #🦋socializing #Spotify

[ashyblondwaves]

Just Ask Her (Part 2)

Part 1 can be found here. Also posted to AO3. 

There were ingredients everywhere. Fresh green beans and artichokes, chicken and lemons. All in disarray. It certainly looked much easier on television, when all the ingredients were already prepared and measured. All the host had to do was dump them in a pan. Vision realized he wasn’t so lucky. He didn’t have a behind the scenes team to prepare his ingredients for him. It was all up to him.

“That should be everything,” Tony said, putting the last of the canvas grocery bags in the kitchen drawer. “Before you ask, candles are already in holders in the dining room. Left you some matches too and I told the team the kitchen and dining room were reserved for you tonight. If they want food they can go out and get it. They should leave you alone.”

Vision stared at Tony, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over him. “Mr. Stark, you’ve done far more than I asked and I don’t know how to thank you for that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Tony said, nonchalantly. “Don’t say I’ve never done anything for you. I gotta go, I’m taking Pepper out to dinner tonight. You got it from here?”

“I hope so,” Vision replied, reaching for the bundle of green beans. He looked at the long stems coming from them. “I guess this is what I trim then?”

Tony nodded, looking at Vision almost sympathetically. “Yeah, just get rid of those stems. I used to do that all the time as a kid. It’s actually really cathartic. Try it, just snap off the end.”

Vision plucked a green bean from the bundle and held it between his fingers, using his other hand to bend the stemmed end. With a satisfying crack, the bean was trimmed.

“Magic,” Tony said, waving his hands through the air. “Alright! I have to go.” He moved around the kitchen quickly, yelling over his shoulder as he left. “Good luck, you’ll be fine. I’d tell you not to do anything I wouldn’t but that wouldn’t be very fun!” With a slam of the door, he was gone.

Vision stared down at the ingredients once more, quickly forming a plan to tackle it all. He didn’t hear Wanda pad into the kitchen.

“Vis?” She asked gently. “I hope I’m not underdressed for the occasion.”

When Vision looked up, all he saw was Wanda standing in front of him. She’d changed out of the clothes she went shopping in and was now wearing a soft, gray sweater that hung off her frame in all the right places. Vision couldn’t help but notice the soft skin of her shoulder peeking out from the lush fabric. With it, she wore a pair of black leggings that hugged her legs so perfectly it almost felt wrong to look at them. Her feet were bare. She looked perfect. Truth be told, according to Vision, she could have worn a potato sack and still looked perfect.

“You look stunning,” Vision said, snapping a green bean and dropping it into a bowl. “Dress codes aren’t implemented in my kitchen.”

“I didn’t realize this was your kitchen now,” Wanda laughed, walking closer to the kitchen island. “Is there anything I could help you with?”

With a sigh, Vision gave in.

“Normally, I wouldn’t dream of asking you to help prepare your own meal,” he said, looking down at everything still in disarray. “But would you be willing to finish trimming these beans so I can work on the artichokes? I’m afraid my knife skills leave a lot to be desired. I can chop ingredients easily, but the finesse required for this part may take awhile.”

“Of course,” Wanda said, hopping up onto a stool at the island and sliding the bowl of trimmed beans in her direction. “I know you want to do this on your own, but it’s ok to ask for help. Besides, I’ve always liked the idea of cooking a meal with my…” she trailed off for just a moment before finishing her sentence. “Friend.”

Vision couldn’t explain it, but the slip in words gave him a jolt of confidence that the night wasn’t going to be a complete disaster. She almost said boyfriend, he thought, smiling to himself as he grabbed a knife from the drawer and set the oven to 425. They were on the same page. They had to be.

They worked in silence for the next few minutes as Vision broke down the first artichoke, peeling away leaf after leaf in search of this so-called heart.

“It seems very wasteful to buy all these artichokes just to use one piece of it,” Vision said, pulling another leaf from the vegetable.

Wanda looked at Vision with sympathetic eyes. “I’m pretty sure they sell cans of artichoke hearts you could’ve used.”

“I certainly wish that chef on the show I watched had mentioned that,” Vision said, looking down at the mess of artichoke parts in front of him. “At least I know now.”

“Wait,” Wanda paused, green bean in hand. “You watched cooking shows for this?”

Vision nodded. “I wanted to be a little more prepared for the task than I was last time. But it appears I’ve hit my first obstacle.”

“This’ll be fine, Vis,” Wanda said, pushing the bowl of finished green beans away. “Give me a few of those artichokes.”

They tackled the artichokes together in companionable silence until each one had been stripped down to the heart.

“Thank you,” Vision said gratefully. As he spoke he tossed some thyme onto a baking sheet with the green beans and started with the seasoning. “That went much faster than if I’d done it all myself.”

The rest of the cooking went surprisingly smooth once the artichokes were on the baking sheet with the green beans and in the oven. Vision moved swiftly through the kitchen, grabbing a skillet for the chicken and quietly seasoning it and browning it.

“Okay,” Vision said with a relaxed sigh. “Lemon, please!”

“Here’s your lemon, sir!” Wanda played along, plucking the lemon from the countertop and handing it to Vision, who cut the lemon in half and placed the halves in the skillet with the chicken. To finish it off, he added the rest of the thyme and put the skillet in the oven.

The finishing touches were easy. It was just a matter of combining everything into one dish. Tossing in a little more parmesan, Vision plated Wanda’s meal and stood in front of it proudly.

“Let’s hope it tastes as good as it looks,” Vision said. “Follow me to the dining room?”

The dining room was dimly lit, the candles arranged on the table in such a way that it gave the illusion that the table was smaller; just enough for two people on a date rather than the large and luxurious piece of furniture it really was.

“Here you go,” Vision said, setting the plate down and pulling out a chair for Wanda. “Dinner is served.”

As Wanda settled in with her meal, Vision lit the candles. They flickered, casting a beautiful dusky glow throughout the room. Vision sat quietly across from Wanda, watching nervously as she took her first bite.

“Mmmm,” she hummed, nodding enthusiastically as she finished her bite. “Vis, this is really good. Really good.”

A swell of pride filled Vision’s senses. “Thank you,” he said, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I should be thanking you,” Wanda replied, finishing another bite. “I would have been ok with Mac and Cheese out of the box. But this is absolutely delicious. Thank you, Vision.”

They stared at each other for what seemed like days, smiles wide on both of their faces. Now, Vision thought. It was time to ask her.

“Could I get you something to drink?”

No! Wrong question.

“I’m okay for now,” Wanda said, cutting into her chicken. “But a nice glass of chardonnay after this will hit the spot.”

Vision nodded, taking note of Wanda’s request. But now was not the time to discuss an after dinner wine. If he didn’t ask her now, he was afraid he never would and they’d spend the rest of their time together dancing around the idea of being something more.

“Wanda,” Vision started, steeling himself for what he was about to say. “As you know, I regard our friendship very highly. Getting to know you has helped me learn so many things. Happiness, sadness, laughter but most importantly.. love.”

By now, Wanda had stopped eating her meal. She clutched her fork in her right hand, eyes wide and body at attention as Vision continued.

“Please stop me if you think I’m overstepping any boundaries,” he said. “But I get this feeling that there may be more between us that we’ve yet to talk about, let alone explore. Is that something you feel, too?”

Wanda stayed silent and Vision immediately wondered if he’d said something wrong. Had he made her feel obligated to say yes? Maybe a meal wasn’t the right idea after all.

“You can tell me,” Vision assured her, resisting the urge to reach out for her hand, just in case. “No matter the answer.”

With a shaky breath, Wanda finally answered.

“So much that sometimes it almost hurts,” she admitted. “Just being near you brings me so much comfort. But I’ve been wondering what it could be like between us.. as more than friends.”

“I’d really like to find out,” Vision said, finally reaching across the table and taking Wanda’s hand. “This game we’ve been playing..”

Wanda shook her head. “It’s not working anymore. Maybe it never did.”

“I think we were just fooling ourselves,” Vision agreed. “And wasting time where we could have been together.”

“Soo..” Wanda urged, running her thumb over Vison’s hand. “Are we done wasting time?”

“We are done wasting time.”

They shared a quick smile as Wanda picked her fork back up and dug into the rest of her food and continued on in silence back to the kitchen to clean up the cooking aftermath.

“TV in my room when we’re done?” Wanda asked, scrubbing her plate at the sink. It’d become a nightly routine with them, but she still always made sure to ask him and let him know he was welcome to join her.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Vision said over his shoulder. He tackled the mess of artichokes before joining Wanda at the sink to finish the dishes.

“Hi,” Wanda said coyly, bumping Vision’s side with her shoulder playfully.

There was a sense of relief between them now. One that finally allowed them to do all the little things that they’d been skirting around for months for fear that it would escalate into something they weren’t ready for.

“Oh,” Vision said, pretending he hadn’t seen Wanda next to him. He scooped up some bubbles from the sink and flicked them in Wanda’s direction. “Hello.”

Wanda laughed a genuine, hearty laugh -- one that Vision had never heard before --  and returned the favor, spraying bubbles all over Vision’s sweater before turning the sink’s sprayer on him.

“Unfair advantage!” Vision yelled, trying to shield himself with his arms. “Unfair advantage!”

“Don’t start what you can’t finish,” Wanda teased, releasing the button on the sprayer and setting it back in its place. “You may have to take that sweater off.”

Vision narrowed his eyes at Wanda, a lopsided grin spreading across his face, ready to play along. “You certainly don’t expect me to do that here in the middle of the kitchen, right?”

“Nooo. I wouldn’t dream of it,” Wanda hummed. “You can take it off in my room.”

Wanda grabbed Vision’s hand and pulled him down the hallway with her toward the bedroom. Once inside she closed and locked the door, sending Vision’s thoughts reeling. They always closed the door but never did they lock it. Tonight was going to be different.

“Before I take this off,” Vision said, toying with the hem of the sweater. “Can I kiss you first? I realize I should have kissed you twenty minutes ago in the dining room and I didn’t, which was foolish.”

Wanda took a step forward, nodding her approval.

Vision took Wanda’s hands in his and pulled her close until their bodies were touching. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers, feeling Wanda’s body melt against his. There were no fireworks, no fanfare, but something stirred deep inside Vision that kept him rooted to the spot, lips working against Wanda’s. As far as first kisses go, Vision didn’t think he did half bad.

When they finally parted, Vision pressed his forehead to Wanda’s, whispering his next sentence.

“I’ve wanted to do that for far too long.”

Wanda sighed and closed her eyes, letting her hands wander underneath Vision’s wet sweater. She ran her hands along the unique combination of vibranium and skin, feeling it contract as her hands roamed. Soon, Vision’s hands were at the hem of his sweater again, pulling it up and over his head in one quick motion and without a word, he kissed her again.

They moved toward the bed, movements clunky but effective and climbed in. Vision went to his usual spot at the head of the bed. He sat with his back against the headboard and watched as Wanda hung back just for a moment. In that quick moment, she pulled her own sweater off, leaving her in just a bra and her leggings.

“I wanted to join you,” she said, shrugging at Vision’s surprised look.

Without another word, she crawled across the bed and toward Vision, straddling his hips when she reached him. She took his face in her hands and kissed him, bucking her hips so her middle rubbed against him.

“Can you feel that?” Wanda asked, grinding against him again, lips grazing against his with each word. “Does that do anything for you?”

“Yes,” Vision groaned. “Keep going.”

Wanda didn’t need to be told twice. She continued her movements, smiling against Vision’s lips when she started to feel him even more between her legs. She wasn’t sure if it’d work. If it was something Vision was even capable of, but with each snap of her hips he groaned a little more and grew a little harder underneath her.

They spent their night taking turns on each other. Exploring, teasing, tasting. Learning what combination of hands, fingers and tongues made them come undone the most.

As they lay in bed, naked and sated for the moment Vision remembered something Wanda had said earlier in the night. He propped himself up on his elbow and asked her the question.

“Did you still want that chardonnay?”

#scarletvision #scarletvision fics #wandavision #wandavision fics #wanda maximoff #vision #wanda x vision #fanfiction #i write shit #just ask her #apologies if this is terrible #I cannot be held responsible for what I write at the wee hours of the morning lol

[macgyvermedical]

Let’s Jeff It: A “Kid + Plane + Cable + Truck” Medical Review

First, whoever thought of this episode naming convention did not expect this show to make it past season 3.

Previous MacGyver Medical Reviews:

Awl - X-Ray + Penny - Duct Tape + Jack - CD + Hoagie Foil - Guts + Fuel + Hope - Wilderness + Training + Survival - Father + Bride + Betrayal - Lidar + Rogues + Duty - Nightmares - Seeds + Permafrost + Feather - Friends + Enemies + Border - Mason + Cable + Choices - Bitter Harvest - 

The episode centers around a pilot (Ben) and his son (Asher) flying in a private Cessna aircraft. The pilot has a medical emergency and becomes unconscious, leaving the plane, with 10 year old Asher inside, on autopilot and running out of fuel. Mac and Desi manage to board the plane in mid-air using an improvised zip-line, and while Desi attempts to land the plane before fuel runs out, Mac attempts to save Ben’s life by improvising a defibrillator. It’s found that the pilot had been deliberately poisoned with an unknown substance, and while investigating, Bozer is also exposed. Once the plane is safely on the ground, the episode cuts to the hospital scene where they have apparently found an antidote to the poison, and all is well.

Honestly this review will almost entirely be about the heart stuff.

Heart Stuff:

So let’s start with Ben. Our first encounter with his medical situation is when Desi asks Asher if Ben is breathing. Beyond questions about Asher’s safety (which they essentially already know), this is a great first question to ask. Breathing is fairly easy to determine, even for a 10 year old, and gives a substantial amount of information. From that one “yes” they know:

Airway: Even though he is sitting up with his head lolling forward, Ben’s airway is open- thus eliminating the immediate need for Asher to pull his father out of the chair.

Breathing: Ben is moving air between the outside and his lungs. Eliminating the need for Asher to help him with that.

Circulation: We can assume if Ben is breathing, his heart is still beating, which eliminates the need to start CPR immediately.

We don’t know the quality or anything else about his breathing or pulse, but we know they are currently at least minimally sustaining Ben’s life, which gives them some time.

Mac then asks Asher to check Ben’s pulse, instructing him “put your pointer finger and middle finger on the inside of your dad’s wrist, just below his thumb. If you don’t feel anything right away, try moving your fingers around a little bit.” This is exactly how to feel the radial pulse, and especially if Asher had ever learned how to feel a pulse before I think it would be reasonable that he could be able to do it.

At the point when Asher responds “I feel it... kinda”, he has his fingers on the other side of Ben’s wrist. And he may have, indeed, felt a pulse there. The inside of the wrist on the side of the pinky finger also has a feel-able pulse called the ulnar pulse. The ulnar pulse is more difficult to find and a little fainter, but it does exist.

The fact that Asher was able to find a radial or ulnar pulse means that Ben’s circulation is working pretty well- if blood is getting all the way to his wrist, we can assume it’s also getting to his heart, lungs, and brain. I’m not sure I would go so far as to use a 10-year-old’s assessment of “kinda” as an indication of a weak pulse, but for the purposes of the story, we’ll take it.

We also have a small amount of history from Asher that Ben was dizzy before passing out. Probably the most well known reason for a “weak pulse and dizziness”, as Russ concludes, is heart attack, but for a medical professional of any kind, that doesn’t narrow things down- heart attack, stroke, hypoglycemia, dehydration, severe allergic reaction, a hidden injury causing severe internal bleeding, a drug or poison, and many others possibilities could also present that way.

They could have gone a little more in depth with the history, asking Asher for information like whether his father had allergies, was on any medications, whether he had any medical problems like diabetes, and when they had last eaten/used the restroom, as well as any other symptoms his father had mentioned prior to passing out. All of these would have helped narrow down a diagnosis. But for a lay group of rescuers who need to stop a plane from falling out of the sky, all they really need to know is that Ben is unconscious but with ABC’s intact.

Also, shout out to Bozer for doing an AWESOME job at distracting Asher while Mac and Co put together the zipline. He didn’t promise anything he couldn’t deliver, saying “we’re gonna do everything we can” instead of “everything will be okay” when Asher asked. And he just kept the conversation going about things Asher liked that didn’t have to do with the situation. There are very few people who would be that comfortable talking to a kid under stress, and Bozer was really exceptional at it.

Once Mac and Desi get to the plane, Mac brings Ben to the back and is presumably assessing him while Desi, Bozer, Matty, and Russ discuss how and where to land. I wish we could have seen the assessment to have more to talk about, but once the story pans back to him, Mac explains that Ben’s pulse is “low, too low.” I’m not sure if he means low as in his heart rate (number of beats per minute) is low, or low as in weak, but the former makes more sense. Even though we know Ben is moving blood forcefully enough with each beat to get it to his brain, not having enough new blood per minute could still result in his unconsciousness.

Slow heart rate is called bradycardia, and there are a few “ways” to be bradycardic. One is called sinus bradycardia, and is essentially a totally normal, but less frequent, heart beat. Bradycardia can also result from atrial fibrillation, where the top section of the heart has a sort of disorganized, random pattern of beats that don’t all transmit to the lower part of the heart, resulting in only some of the beats going through and a pulse that is both slow and irregular. It can also happen when the part of the heart that determines heart rate, called the sinoatrial node, or SA node, isn’t working correctly.

The only one of these that could possibly be treated by defibrillation is the atrial fibrillation. SA node dysfunction would require a pacemaker or external pacer, and sinus bradycardia would require either atropine (of nerve agent antidote fame) or some form of pacing. Sinus brady is probably the only one that would really come from a poisoning situation (unless anyone else has a poison I’m not thinking of).

Here’s a video of atrial fibrillation getting shocked:

Because of the whole poisoning storyline, I think we have to assume that Ben has sinus bradycardia, which, if you will remember from the paragraph above, is one of the ones we can’t shock.

The way Mac explains defibrillation is as follows: “Human muscles contract and expand based on electrical signals from the nervous system. When those don’t work, we can trick a muscle, like the heart, into getting back into rhythm. That’s exactly what happens with a defibrillator.” And I’m not saying anyone couldn’t build a defibrillator with enough time and experience. But if that’s your understanding of how they work, any defibrillator you make is not one I want to try out.

See, the first sentence of that is almost correct. It’s, like, a 6th grade level of correct, but it’s technically correct. I’m just not at all sure where they got the second sentence, because that is not how anything works at all.

In reality, in order for the heart to beat, each individual heart muscle cell needs to contract in a specific sequence. This is coordinated by an electrical impulse that travels through the heart muscle tissue. When you see an EKG, this is a graphical representation of the path that impulse is taking through the heart.

If the “path” gets messed up, it results in a heart rhythm that may not be able to generate beats that support life.

Defibrillation essentially is passing a massive electrical current through the heart tissue, which overwhelms all electrical activity and causes it to stop momentarily. The hope is that the interruption will break or “convert” the ineffective impulses/paths, and the heart will resume in a normal rhythm. Since sinus brady is technically a correct rhythm (just with too long between beats), the best case scenario for defibrillation is that Ben comes back in exactly the same rhythm... which doesn’t do much for him and wastes time.

I would have been much happier and more impressed with the writers if Mac had instead brought over a Phoenix first aid kit, which would almost certainly have an atropine auto-injector for nerve agent poisonings. It’s still a MacGyverism because the drug would be meant to be used for nerve agent exposure, and it would have stood a much better chance of saving (while also not killing) Ben. 

Since they never name the weird poison that has bradycardia, rash, and partial, temporary paralysis as effects, that works through transdermal exposure, and has a functioning antidote, I’m going to assume they made it up (they... didn’t have to. They could literally have done a beta blocker or calcium channel blocker overdose, they would have just had to change a few easy things omg...).

The Hospital Room:

I do kind of want to talk about that hospital room, because it’s certainly one of the best I’ve seen in MacGyver. The bed is a real hospital bed, the furniture looks like real hospital furniture, that’s a real IV pump and the tubing is set up correctly (though since the tubing is running through it and it’s on but not programmed (screen is blank) yet, it was probably beeping like heck the whole time they were trying to film), the lights are real and there are both red (generator backup) and white (grid power) electrical outlets in the room, there’s even a computer for charting immediately behind Mac and the sheets don’t fit the bed. Like, that’s a surprisingly real (though very uncluttered) hospital room. I’m actually pretty impressed by that.

A few notes on Season 4 so far:

I’ll say it- I personally disliked the fact that they put Mac and Desi together, then ended their relationship badly off screen. I love Desi as a character, and that move felt like it was designed to designate her as a source of trouble for the team instead of as an asset. I also disliked initially that they added Russ as a source of conflict, and deeply worried the writers were going to use him to push Matty out of the show (or at least, have her constantly fighting against him). I also worried that having the Phoenix taken over by a shady private entity who wants an amount of control over their operations would be shown in a positive, instead of conflicted light.

I’m honestly pretty glad this episode straightened some of those worries out. By the end, Mac and Desi were back on good terms, and Matty had asserted her control over the team in tactical decision making. I’m borderline confident that when public-private conflict is addressed from here on, it will be shown in a way the puts the correct weight on “should we worry about continuing to exist, or should we do what’s right?” and show genuine consequences to whatever choice they make. Like, I hope the writers know what they’re getting in to...

R E F E R E N C E S

#MacGyver #kid + plane + cable + truck #medical review #whump #heart #poison

[mrswanggae]

Hi! This post is really for no one in particular I just really want to put this in writing and get it out there because this is how I want to cope. Read this, don't read this, love it, hate it, say what you want, I don't care. I have come to term with my feelings, and I don't think anyone's words can invalidate them.

Enjoy.

My parents are divorced, always kind of have been, I dont remember them ever being married. I have a brother who is 7 years older than me and my mom has primary custody. My dad left when I was 10, and although I loved him and I was surprised, I wasn't all that upset. He wasn't the best dad, he had a shitty on/off relationship with this bitch named Kim that outwardly hated children. He was toxic, he always had a headache and was always in a mood, you the regular shit.

Thats not too important, just a little back ground.

I always hated my mom and I still do. She never beat me, never starved me, never out right did anything technically, but just everything she did was to hurt me emotionally. At least that's what it feels like.

I always struggled with keeping my room clean and cleaning up and staying organized and paying attention and I lied a lot and I didn't really know why at the time. I was a bad kid, I will give her that much, but its her fault, I feel, that I was like that.

Every single day, my mom made comments about how poor we were. Looking back, we weren't. Don't get me wrong, we weren't rich, but we definitely weren't struggling to eat and pay pills per se. I internalized that a lot and it still affects my spending habits as an adult. (I'm 18 but you get my point). My mom would whine and bitch that we were so poor but would turn around and go spend 300 dollars on a leg massager. She would buy a lawn chair and shit we didn't need and I took that to mean that I couldn't ask for anything. A lot of times I didnt eat at school bc I thought it was too expensive. I didnt ask my mom for lunch money or toys or food or anything. Instead, occasionally, I would steal money from her. I don't know why. Genuinely. I think that's how my 7-9 year old self decided to deal with the stress and impending doom I always felt about money. Say what you want about that, but I've grown and learned from that trauma and there's nothing I can do about that now.

Another thing is that I always lied. Even when i didnt need to lie, I did. I wouldn't turn in school work, and lie about it. I would eat the last pack of pop tarts, and lie about it. I would lie all the time about everything and tbh I don't know what caused that specifically but I do know what contributed to it.

I was always in trouble growing up. I know, I lied and stole and shit, but before and after that I was always in trouble. I would get grounded for eating the last pack of crackers, for eating candy, for not cleaning up, for going out when I'm 'not supposed to', etc. I did lie, but that should've been a warning sign to my mom that smth was going on, and not that I need punished, bc that obviously didn't work. I did steal, but that self corrected. The bad shit I did do, I deserved to be punished for, but I didn't do that much bad shit!

I would be grounded for eating the rest of the marshmallows, but I didnt eat them. My brother did. My mom looked at me and said "just admit it. I asked Connor and he said he didn't do it so it must be you. You're a liar, you're bad. Admit it!" It was always like. She believed Connor so easily and not me bc he was 'perfect'. This went on before the lying too, so don't say that its bc I was, in fact, a liar. Hes always been her favorite. My brother would watch as my mom screamed in my face, called me horrible thing, threatened to burn everything i owned except a pair of clothes, threatened to take everything from me, all over some marshmallows. That I didnt even eat!

It was like this every day.

My mom used to make me clean as a punishment. You know what that means!! Rebelling through my nasty room and unclean habits. She would yell and scream that I was disgusting. That I was gross and nasty like a pig. That no one would ever be my friend because I'm a disgusting pig. I was forced to clean up after everyone. My mom would cook and bake sometimes and somehow I was still the one that made the mess. So I would scrub cupcake pans and clean frosting off the counter. I would clean my brothers Mac n cheese pots bc he never did. I would sweep and mop the floors after everyone refused to do it. I would scrub base boards bc somehow that was also my fault. I did dishes, unloaded and reloaded the dish washer, cleaned kitchen counters, the dining room, swept and mopped the house, cleaned base boards, picked up dog shit that somehow no one noticed until I got home from school. I would clean bathroom counters, toilets, bath tubs, the laundry room, hallways, hell I even had to mow and edge the yard (starting when I was like 9) bc Connor didn't want to and he got whatever he wanted. I did everything.

My room was horrendous. It was cluttered and cramped bc of my moms hoarder tendencies. She bought everything she came in contact with and filled the house with crap. It wasn't until after she started to really bully me that my room became gross. I was always in trouble anyways, right? I was already a pig? Already had no friends? So what's there to lose? So I just did what I wanted. I kept bowls and cups in my room. I didn't clean at all, I ignored my mom, I did what lever I felt like because I was too far gone anyways.

I'm older now. I know that im fine and im not this shit little kid anymore and my mom can't do the same shit she did back then. But I just get so angry about it. I guess this is part 1? Idk when or if ill update at all. I have so many more stories. I just- ugh.

I always had a hard time dealing with things my mom did to me, because I didn't know it was truly that bad. I thought I was over reacting, that I had no place to complain. She wasn't hitting me, so its okay right? Wrong. I am valid for feeling the way I do. I am valid for being angry. I have to tell myself that because what she did was wrong.

#abuse #mom #brother #emotional #sad #angry

[thebarefootking]

Food

As with many autistic people, my childhood was rife with battles at the dinner table over what I would and would not eat. (Or, in my case, the bar. Our trailer didn't have a dinner table, per se, and I ate on a tall chair in the kitchen, facing across the bar toward the living room TV, while my parents sat on the couch.) Some foods were fan favorites, some I wouldn't touch with a ten-foot fork. Tomatoes, I hated (and still hate!) One of my earliest memories is of a preschool teacher, so much bigger than me, coming up behind while I picked at my food.

"Don't you like tomatoes?"

"No. They're gross."

"Have you ever tried a tomato?"

"No. They smell bad and they're mushy."

"Well how do you know you don't like it, if you haven't tasted it?" she asked, ignoring the fact I'd just told her. "Try it. For me?"

"I don't wanna."

"Just one bite?"

"I don't. wanna."

"You need to try the tomato."

Of course, when I finally gave in to her badgering, I 'learned' what had already been apparent to me: tomatoes were gross.

Some foods, more interestingly, were one-day delights, preferred a couple times and then hated thereafter. Eggs, for example, were always a trial. A nice scramble was always accepted, at least for my youngest years, until I learned more about where eggs came from. After that, I swore I could taste the chicken embryos, and I didn't eat eggs for a good, long while. When I repented of my folly, fried eggs were the dish of the day, but only one way: cooked hard, with the yolk unbroken. That way, I could peel the egg white away and eat it, and leave the whole yolk on my plate to be disposed of or, more frequently, eaten by one of my parents.

For those of you who cook, you may know that this is a particularly difficult way to prepare eggs. Either the yolks stay runny and burst on the plate (bad), or they burst in the pan from heat and overhandling, and mingle inextricably with the white (worse). Dad claims it took him months of practice to figure out how to do it, and years to get really good… by which time I'd gone off eggs again, preferring a sweeter breakfast (probably for the energy boost it gave me. By the time 4th-6th grades rolled around, school was causing me to work up an intense appetite.)

Although I didn't have a very broad spectrum of preferred tastes, that didn't stop me wanting to experiment in the kitchen. Indeed, it was one of my favorite things to do! Unfortunately, I could rarely get an adult to allow it (partly because we, in our poverty, could not afford to waste ingredients. Partly because, again, due to poverty, everyone was just too damn exhausted to supervise something that potentially dangerous.) Instead, I usually ended up sneaking and doing it on my own, which invariably led to trauma of one kind or another.

One incident occurred one of the very first times my parents dubbed me old enough to stay home on my own while they went out to run errands. Having recently seen a news spot on dyed salt for those seeking to reduce their salt intake, I sought to replicate the stuff in my own kitchen. How hard could it be? I thought. Just add food coloring to salt.

Only, food coloring has water in it.

All the salt (and I do mean all the salt in the house) was now a dark blue-green color, and the texture of wet sand. I needed to dry it out! But I wasn't allowed to use the oven or stove unsupervised. What could I do?

I decided the best option was to microwave the salt. I spread it out on a large plate, and nuked it in batches until all the salt was dry. Unfortunately, for the first batch, I failed to realise how VERY FUCKING HOT the plate would be after several minutes spinning away in the microwave. I pulled it out barehanded, screeched in pain, and tossed the Perry-the-Platypus-colored salt all over the kitchen floor and microwave cabinet.

Not good. I was already beginning to worry about what my parents would think about all this business with the salt. Now I had a mess on my hands to boot. I tended to my (thankfully minor) burns, and then began swabbing the floor and cabinet with damp paper towels...

… which spread the food dye EVERYWHERE. Now the salt was teal, the floor was teal, the cabinet was teal, and I was teal.

And I had no idea when my parents would return!

I cleaned frantically, microwaving salt on the side the entire time. And somehow (perhaps Lot's wife was smiling upon me?) I got it all managed. My parents came home to a nice, clean kitchen (if you didn't see the small blue spots in the crevices at the very edge of one cabinet), and a calm, collected child (also slightly spotted, but only on the palms, easily hidden). Nothing of note occurred until dinner time.

"LAUREN!!"

Apparently, Dad did not like that all of his salt was turned 'blue'. My reasoning appeased his anger, but he was still pretty displeased. I was temporarily banned from using the microwave without permission. And they were far more cautious about leaving me alone, after that.

(These days, Dad frequently apologises for this. He says it was a creative and thoughtful act, and he shouldn't have gotten mad. I agree, but I'm also not mad anymore. The whole thing is rather funny in retrospect.)

A much more traumatic food event, much later, but still involving the microwave, was the first time I tried making microwave mac 'n cheese. It was around the inception of Easy Mac, so the idea was quite novel; it wasn't as if I had a backlog of knowledge on what not to do…

I followed the instructions exactly, with the single differing point of adding some dried parsley before cooking.

AND LET ME TELL YOU.

If you are going to add parsley to your Easy Mac, do it after cooking! Cooking amplifies and alters the flavor so that it tastes like you added some sort of cooked leafy vegetable, like spinach, except somewhat more like an inedible plant. The flavor permeates every nook and noodle, and even the cheese sauce can't mask it.

It was inedible. Beyond inedible; it was sensory overload of the worst kind.

And my parents, who had watched the whole thing, and warned me of putting anything in my food that I didn't 100% know would taste good, made me eat it.

At first, there was a screaming match, until I wore myself out with tears and begging. Then, I just sat there, defeated, thinking of ways I could get out of eating it. Maybe if I intentionally get choked on the food? Maybe if I shatter the glass of the coffee table, and then hurt myself with it? Something to make them care about something other than me eating this food. Anything to make them see how much eating the food was bad and wrong and how much it hurt me.

I was never, in my entire childhood, a willfully disobedient child. Well, small things, here or there, a child's innocent inability to self-regulate their impulses or understand the rules. Never did I knowingly and intentionally go against my parents' commands when I now feel like I had another real choice. But there were times, like these, when I didn't have a choice.

I ate three bites before my body rebelled and I threw up. Mom didn't follow through on her threat to make me eat the vomit and finish the food.

Instead, I got grounded for two weeks.

Incidentally, I've never gotten an apology for this little incident, despite it being the one I'm still angry over.

None of this is to say I was too picky to be fed, or that I ever went without (excepting that one night with the poison mac). If anything, I ate more than plenty in an attempt to offset the lacks in nutrition my pickiness inevitably led to. I'm sure that I was malnourished at times, despite eating more than my necessary share of calories.

And boy, was I aware of what that share was! My parents were and are avid yo-yo dieters, always on one plan or another to lose the weight they gained off a diet of poverty foods. All the while, frustrated by my pickiness, they fed me on breakfasts of whole packages of off-brand cinnamon rolls or apple turnovers. My lunch was usually whatever snack-foods I could convince the lunch ladies to sell me for the same price as a school lunch I wouldn't eat. With both parents either busy or exhausted, dinner was Taco Bell nearly every damn weekday.

It was inevitable that I would gain weight, with the genes, environment, and diet all inclined toward it. I was ten or eleven the first time my parents mentioned including me in one of their diet plans.

Not likely, I thought. I had long since decided that healthy food was gross, like school lunches and boiled vegetables and limp salads. And I wouldn't, couldn't cut my portions; not when I had to stay alert and concentrating while hauling all my books all around the school without a bookbag (which, after the Columbine shooting, had been banned at my school, lest we ten-year-olds have a place to conceal a weapon). I was already battling undiagnosed ADHD. I didn't need low blood sugar on top of it.

Still, if it gave them an incentive to buy more fresh fruit, I wasn't going to complain.

(And I didn't complain at all about any of their diets, until the one that consisted almost exclusively of boiled cabbage soup that stank the house to high heaven. I didn't even entertain joining them on that one.)

What it all added up to, though, was someone who, by the age of eleven, already had enormous issues with food and body image. And diet, for that matter, for we still hadn't found a healthy variety of foods that I would eat. By the time I was in high school, I was eating Cheetos and Little Debbies with Mountain Dew for lunch every weekday except Wednesday (chicken nuggets and mashed potatoes day in the cafeteria! Hell yeah!) I was also being (mildly) bullied for my weight.

Adulthood came after, with blessings and curses. When I moved out on my own, I had more opportunity (and income!) to explore what I liked culinarily. I got to employ the whole backlog of tips and tricks from cooking shows that I had watched for years. (At one point, during high school, I had wanted to become a chef. I gave up the idea when I realised how ill-suited I was to the job, but the education of the time stuck with me.)

I got to learn my favorite ways to cook food (pan fried, not baked. Baking unseasoned meat is not 'cooking', Dad.) I got to play with spices and flavors.

Or, I did for a while.

Very soon, my work at McDonald's caught up with me, and I found myself too tired to do much cooking. (Sorry, Dad! I understand, now!) More and more, my meals were eaten at work, from work. Over the next year, my stress increased, and my eating habits faltered along. And then, I began passing out at work.

Now, I needn't tell you this is a very dangerous situation, what with all the hot oil and ovens and lamps and such in a kitchen. I was sent home more than once, and it was becoming a danger not only to me, but to the state of my employment. I got in with a doctor as soon as I possibly could, and they determined that I had iron deficiency anemia.

No one was particularly surprised. I have a family history of the affliction, and I had basically been living off yogurt cups, Sausage Egg McMuffins, and chicken biscuits with cheese for months. My doctor suggested diet changes and high-dose iron supplements.

(One of these two turned my poop to black sin slime from a hell portal in my bowels. It was not the diet.)

Immediately, I switched over to a high-iron, high-protein, low-carb diet. And you know what? I felt fucking fantastic. I had energy for days, my mental acuity was improved, and my mood was better. I fell asleep faster and slept more soundly.

For three months, I kept it up. But then the financial burden became too much. Turns out, it's damn expensive to eat home-cooked meat every day when you're picky as hell. I was easily spending at least two to three times as much as I was when I was eating only fast food (on employee discount, admittedly). And soon, between the stress, the financial concerns, and my health problems, I had to move back in with my parents.

Honestly, I still haven't found peace with food and its place in my life. Coming to accept what my sensory needs mean for me has been difficult, and working around those needs in a productive way has been nearly impossible, especially with my other disabilities in tow. I feel that I'm learning to be kinder to my body emotionally speaking, but I could still be much kinder to it physically. 

If only I could figure out how.

I wish I could be that little kid who loved experimenting in the kitchen, again. But I'm not, and I can't. So I'll have to find another way to take care of me.

#a year of writing #01062020 #self harm #school shooting mention #diet talk #child abuse #vomit tw #medical stuff #actuallyautistic #actuallyadhd #long post #this one's kind of long and disjointed #sorry for that lol #and lots of warnings on this one!

[lovemesomesurveys]

Have you ever had FOMO (fear of missing out)? Yeah.  If so, what’s caused it? I’ve missed out on a lot these past few years alone because of my physical and mental (that more than anything). I’ve just been a hermit crab, wasting my life away, distant and withdrawn from everyone. Are you happy with your social life? I don’t have one. If not, what would you have to do to change that? The sad thing is I don’t want one? At least that’s what my brain tells me. Like, part of me wants to want one, but. I don’t know, man. I’m a mess. Have you ever hosted a party? If so, what kind of party was it? Yeah, just a couple times. I don’t like hosting, it’s too stressful.

What’s the best thing you can cook yourself? The only thing I cook is ramen. Are there a lot of graffiti around your neighbourhood? Not around my neighborhood, but in my city. What kind of a phone do you have? iPhone XR. What kinds of stuff do you have on your keychain? One key and a shitload of keychains haha. I have several on the ring with the one key, but I have so many that I had to start putting them other places like on every purse/mini backpack I own. Have you ever made something with your own hands that you’re proud of? Probably when I was a kid. If so, what is it? What is your favourite Jack Lemmon film? I don’t have one. What is your favourite David Hyde Pierce film? A Bug’s Life and Adam’s Family Values are the only films of his I’ve seen. Have you ever made your own soda? (Soda Stream doesn’t count!) Nope. Do you have a hobby that forces you out of the house? If so, what is it? No. My hobbies are all done at home and can be done in the comfort of my bed. Have you ever been part of a theater group? No. If so, did you get any lead roles or mostly supporting roles? Which IM app do you use the most? I don’t use any. I mean, I have Facebook Messenger, but I haven’t used it in a long time. What’s the most ecological thing you do? Recycling plastic bottles and cans. What’s your favourite board game? Why do you like it best? Hmm. That’s tough. I love board games. Besides English, what other languages can you speak? Just some Spanish. Besides English, what other languages can you read? Some Spanish. Do you think you could make it as a chef? Uh, no. What’s your favourite kind of tea? I rarely drink tea, but I do like Chamomile and peppermint tea. How do you like your tea? With a packet of sweetener. Girls, do you ever just say “Fuck it!” and go without a bra? Yeah. I have small breasts and wear oversized shirts, so. I didn’t used to do that (ever), but the past few years I stopped caring about a lot of things. What’s the most freeing thing you’ve ever done? Hmm. Have you ever had a restaurant dish that was made with bugs? Noooo. If not, would you even want to try one? Noooo. Do you think today’s kids are really impatient? A lot of people are. I am. Although, I bet kids today probably are worse because they’re used to being able to access things quickly and have a lot of things at their disposal. Have you ever tasted birch sap? No.

How about the young buds/shoots of spruce trees? No. Which edible flowers have you tasted? None. I’m not an adventurous eater AT ALL.  What has been your worst restaurant experience? I really haven’t had a horrible restaurant experience.

Have you ever had a life threatening condition? If so, what was it? I’ve been in a couple life threatening situations. Do you ever compare your life to somebody else’s? If so, why? Eh, it’s something we can’t help but do sometimes. <<< Yeah, I definitely find myself doing that. Like with people my age who are further along in life it seems and doing more with it. Even people younger than me who seem to have way more together than I do or ever did.  What is a food item or a dish you absolutely cannot stand? I don’t do seafood. Have you ever had a custom print done on a shirt? If so, what was it? I’ve decorated my own shirts for concerts before. What does your favourite mug look like? It’s a Peter Pan one that’s blue on the outside and yellow on the inside.

Do you ever copy surveys to Facebook Notes and share your answers? I did that sometimes years ago. I set the privacy settings so only certain people could see them, though. To be honest, I usually did ones with answers I wanted Joseph to see. :X Yeah, I was that girl who posted quotes and lyrics for certain people to see. What’s the best thing about today? It’s only 5 in the morning, not much has happened. Do you ever read other people’s survey answers? Yes, always. Everyone I follow on here writes very well and it’s always interesting to read their answers :) <<< Awww, yes same. We have a pretty cool survey community. (: Do you like daytime or night time better? Why? Nighttime, I guess. It’s when I like to do surveys, listen to ASMR, and read. What’s your highest level of education so far? I have my BA in psych believe it or not. If you could have any job in the whole world, which would you like? I don’t know. :/ Describe your ordinary day. Wake up between 2-3PM, have coffee, do my Bible study, check social medias, perhaps watch some YouTube, watch TV, eat at some point, lounge and mess around on my phone, play Animal Crossing, have dinner, watch some TV, eat ramen and watch more YouTube, scroll through Tumblr, do some surveys, listen to ASMR, read, play some more Animal Crossing, go to sleep. A lot of just lounging around, honestly. I also spend time with my family. Would you ever have a UV tattoo? Nah. What is the brand and colour name of your favourite lipstick? It’s been a long time I’ve since I’ve even worn any, but I really liked NYX. What do you like on your tortilla? Beans, Spanish rice, cheese, guac, and sour cream. Or a breakfast burrito. How about inside your pita bread? I don’t eat pita bread. What do you like in your burger? Not a big burger person, but if I have one just mayo, ketchup, mustard, pickles, and cheese. Signature sauce when available like on a Big Mac (which I know is just Thousand Island). How about on your pizza? White sauce, feta and ricotta cheese, garlic, spinach, crumbled meatballs, and pesto drizzled on top. Would you ever take part in a games club? A games club? If so, what would be your ideal club? How about a survey club, ha. We kinda have that going on here. Would you be able to give a speech on your favourite subject right now? Noooo thank you. I do not miss having to do speeches and presentations. Ugh, those were awful. It never got any easier for me. Do you work better alone or in a group? Alone. Group projects just made me stress out more, honestly. 

Which one of your friends have you known the longest? For how long? What is your favourite song right now at this very moment? I’ve been listening to the Savage remix a lot lately by Megan the Stallion ft. Beyonce.

#personal #text #survey #surveys

[atomicstrawbrys]

To Love and to Lose, and to Love Again

After a breakup, Arthur gets some sound advice an forms and unlikely bond over some homemade chili. Usuk. //

Arthur had often heard it said that it was better to have loved and lost to have never loved at all. Fresh out of the worst breakup of his life, he was certain that the expression was horseshit. As he microwaved a box dinner for the first time in months, he regretted ever having loved at all. His kitchen was close to barren, now. His ex had brought most the cooking utensils with him and whisked them away again when he moved out. Arthur supposed he would have to run to the store soon to at least get some pots and pans- he’d had them before his ex had moved in, but they’d gone missing once he left and Arthur decided to just let it go.

It would be just like Francis, Arthur thought, to take all the cooking supplies as a final act of revenge. Francis, the fancy restaurant owner who insisted on making dinner each night when he was home and would make meals in advance when he wasn’t. Why, he was probably laughing it up in his new apartment, knowing that Arthur would be forced to resort to little more than Lunchables for at least a few days. Arthur just hoped his cooking wouldn’t be too rusty- he never claimed to be a great cook, but he just prayed that his own homemade meals wouldn’t be abysmal.

As his Kid Cuisine rotated in the microwave, the happy penguin mascot on the discarded box seeming to mock him, Arthur thought back to his breakup. He supposed it had been bubbling up for some time- still, it was hard to believe it was really over. They’d been together since they were fourteen, they moved to the States together, they even talked about getting married. However, over the past few months, Francis had been drifting further away, and Arthur hadn’t noticed until it was too late. Perhaps America itself had caused the change. Many aspects of life here moved so quickly, but only for Francis. Arthur’s own dreams were slow going, and the final straw had been when Francis suggested giving up on his writing. “Arthur would likely never write more than a mediocre success at best, so why bother when Francis could take care of him?”  What, would Arthur be forced to live in his boyfriend’s shadow if they stayed together? Everything finally bubbled over then, and now Francis was gone. Arthur couldn’t even bring himself to be sad- he was sure he would be later, but for now, he was just angry.

His microwave beeped, and Arthur removed the little plastic lunch tray. Chicken nuggets with tiny sides of corn and mac and cheese. Delightful. As he picked up his plastic fork -yes, Francis had taken the cutlery as well, the silver was a housewarming gift from HIS parents, after all- he heard a faint knock on the door. Raising a brow, he walked over. Was it Francis, here to reconcile? He opened it.

Outside was a stranger. Tan skin and caramel brown hair, with bright blue eyes hidden behind red frames. The man was nearly a head taller than Arthur, and he gave him an awkward smile, holding out a large copper pot. “Uh, hey?”

“What do you want?” Arthur frowned, narrowing his eyes at him. He reached for the chain lock, unsure of whether he should just go ahead and shut the door.

“I um, uh, I live below you? My name’s Alfred! And I sorta heard your whole breakup, um, most people did? I’m sorry it didn’t work out. Your ex came by earlier and said something about taking all the kitchen stuff, I guess he was with someone- I just didn’t want you to go hungry!” The man- Arthur’s downstairs neighbor Alfred, he reminded himself- smiled again. “It’s chili! Lots of it, so you can have leftovers. My granddad’s recipe, too. You can just bring the pot back when it’s empty, no worries, okay?”

Arthur looked away, eyeing the pathetic box meal. Chili was far from his favorite, but, it was a hundred times better than his original plan. He looked back at Alfred, noticing his earnest, sincere smile. He truly did want to help.

“Do you…want to come in? And eat?” He asked, opening the door a bit wider. “I still have bowls and some plastic spoons that I think I got from a Wendy’s.”

Alfred smiled at that, nodding as he followed Arthur into the apartment. “Yeah, um, thanks!” He grinned, setting the pot down on the stove. He turned the burner on low, just to warm it up a little. “You know, I’ve always wanted to meet you. I wish it was on better terms.” He admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Oh? And why is that?” Arthur asked, turning away from him as he got the bowls down out of the cabinet.

“I’ve read your books. I know that they haven’t like, taken off yet, but I loved them and I hate reading.” Alfred chuckled. “I guess I also felt kinda bad because you were always Francis’s boyfriend first, Arthur second, you know? Francis is like, famous around here because of his restaurant and that was all anyone ever talked about. I saw you guys on the local news, I felt bad that everyone kept asking you what it was like to be Francis’s boyfriend, like, hello? You’re a superstar author in the making and they’re asking you if Francis has ever named a dish after you? That’s dumb...” Alfred rambled, trailing off only once he’d noticed Arthur was still not looking at him. “Everything okay?”

Arthur set the bowls on the counter and rubbed his eyes. “Yes, everything is fine. You just happened to say the right thing at the right time. Thank you, Alfred.”

Alfred shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m..glad I could help.” After Alfred filled the bowls, Arthur led him over to his dining room table, sitting down across from him. He thanked him for the meal.

The chili wasn’t like anything Francis had ever made. It wasn’t fancy and it didn’t have some kind of gimmick to make it ‘high-end’ or anything like that. It was simple, good comfort food, and Arthur couldn’t have been happier with it. Alfred was pleasant company too, and wonderfully interesting. He was an archaeologist, and his ramblings about his discoveries and his theories on human history were something Arthur thought he could never get tired of. He answered every question Arthur had, no matter how stupid-sounding. Francis had never given him such a luxury- how dare Arthur not know what “sous vide” was- as the boyfriend of a restaurant owner, it was his duty to know everything about the culinary arts as to not embarrass Francis. Not that Francis knew anything about writing and publishing a book. Alfred, though- he seemed to love questions and answered each to the best of his ability.

The night passed quickly, and soon it was well past midnight. Alfred finally happened to look at a clock, and jolted up, apologizing for taking up so much of Arthur’s time.

“It was my pleasure,” Arthur replied, smiling as he opened the door for Alfred. “You are a very interesting person, Alfred, and it was wonderful to talk to you. I feel loads better.”

“Ha, um, I’m glad!” Alfred smiled, rubbing his neck. “It was really nice to finally meet you- you’re a really cool guy Arthur, so don’t let this get you down too much. Hey, when your books do take off, now you get to say “I told you so.” Alfred chuckled. “Don’t give up just ‘cause he said so. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” He stepped outside.

As Alfred began to walk away, Arthur called after him. “I uh, have to do quite a bit of shopping tomorrow- to replace all my cooking utensils, ha... I’d like some company, if you’re free?”

Alfred beamed. “Sure thing, Art! See you tomorrow!”

And with that, Alfred disappeared around the corner to take the stairs. Arthur leaned in his doorway and smiled a bit. Perhaps it was indeed better to love and lose, because that meant that, perhaps, he could love again.

#hetalia #aph #APH England #APH America #usuk #ukus #francis is an asshole in this im sorry #aph uk #aph us #alfred f jones #arthur kirkland

[jennygirl2014]

“Red Is Your Color”- requested fic Part 2

Warnings: language

First part here.

              A week crept by slowly, painfully slowly.  I wanted the days to fly by, to have as many days between the next moment and that painful moment at that stupid party as possible.  But no matter how many days went by, that image was still burnt into my memory.  Seeing Steve standing in that bathroom with that new pretty little piece, both of them caught in the act.  I was cringing imagining what was happening before I knocked on that door.  Where they kissing? Was he kissing her neck?  If he had been, it would have been no wonder her skirt was hiked up.

Of all of the things I remembered about him, about us, I remembered his lips.  His mouth was magic, it could cast a spell on me with all those sweet little words he loved to fill my ears with.  And when his mouth made contact with my skin, I was cursed. Cursed with heat coursing through my veins, a deep heat that only he could cure.  His mouth made me smile, it made me laugh, swear, salivate, sing, scream. And the bastard knew it.  It wasn’t that his hands or his dick couldn’t work magic, I just always had a small obsession with that mouth of his.  It commanded armies just as easily as his smile could sweep women off their feet.  I guess I couldn’t blame that new girl too much for falling victim to his charm.

I wondered if he remembered anything about me.  If any part of me haunted him at all, the way he was haunting me. I didn’t see how it was possible, he was somewhere else, I was the one who kicked him out, meanwhile I was staying in this apartment by myself.  Sleeping in the same bed, making food for one instead of two, not fighting over the remote, doing dishes by myself.  It was what most newly single women would appreciate, but it was like I was tiptoeing around a ghost.  Every activity we had done, we had done together.  So many of those things leading to him using that damn mouth on me.

              I now had a king-sized bed that I could stretch out in, I could spread myself out like a starfish and sleep in any position I wanted.  And yet, I still curled up on my side, like I was still his little spoon.  The bed was cool now, the heat source that laid next to me was gone.  The sheets were always neat, there was no such thing as being musked by the scent of two people who could not get enough of each other.  I used to complain about the bed being too hot, always having to kick the blankets off, but not anymore.  Now I needed all of the blankets, that bed would never be warm again, at least not warm enough to compare to the warmth I had become accustomed to.

              Cooking was so much easier, I could cook for one, eat the food myself, and that was the end of it.  Steve’s metabolism usually had me cooking in much larger quantities, he could eat enough for two or three men, and not gain an ounce.  A casserole would last us two days at the most.  He didn’t cook much, but that was a decision made on both of our parts.  He simply didn’t belong in the kitchen, the one time he made us dinner we both ended up gagging.  Although, perhaps the cutest thing I had ever witnessed was him bumbling around the kitchen to make me a cake for my birthday.  It was a simple box cake, funfetti with chocolate icing and cheap sprinkles on top, and yet it was the best cake I had ever had.  His face was like sunshine as he presented the poorly done cake to me. That humble cake was his toughest mission, but it made me the happiest girl in the world.

              His lack of presence was everywhere, mocking me, taunting me, making me feel guilty and alone.  I couldn’t sit on the couch without thinking about how we used to cuddle on it, or making out instead of watching a movie.  I made him sleep out on that couch a couple times in the days leading up to our split.  I had the bathroom all to myself, no longer taking turns getting ready, or taking turns in the shower, or just skipping taking turns and showering together.  Showering together usually led to other things.  A lot of things usually led to other things with us, until things went downhill.  

              The cost of that apartment was harder to manage on my own, but my pride wasn’t going to let me walk away from it. That would have meant that throwing the world’s hottest man out of my place, and out of my life, was like shooting myself in the foot.  In all actuality it was, but I wasn’t going to admit that to anyone.  I found ways to save money, eating more peanut butter sandwiches, not renting movies, no more daily lattes, walking to work instead of taking the bus.  I put on my best face, showing everyone that I was a strong woman and it was me against the world, this break up was nothing.  But everything felt like a punishment.  

              Walking home in the rain definitely felt like a punishment, but I had done that to myself.  I felt pathetic, volunteering to stay a little later at work to earn a little extra cash, then missing my bus and having to hoof it without my umbrella. Oh yeah, I was winning at life. And what did I have to look forward to when I got home?  Mac and cheese out of a box and collapsing on the couch to waste the night away, alone. I was speed walking to get out of the rain, not out of excitement to have a lonely boring evening.  However, when I finally got to my apartment building and climbed the stairs to my door, my evening turned into anything but boring when I realized my door was unlocked.  

              I distinctly remembered locking it, because you really have to pull on the handle to make sure it locked.  A cold chill immediately ran through my body, I had a good idea who was in my apartment.  And if I was wrong, and it wasn’t my ex, then catching some robbers off guard would have been just as emotionally distressing. But still, I pushed the door open and stepped in anyway.  The sound of someone rummaging through things in the kitchen instantly hit my ears, and it sounded like someone was putting stuff in a cardboard box.  Robbers usually don’t steal pots and pans, so I knew who it was.  As if my heart wasn’t beating out of my chest, I took large steps towards the kitchen and stopped in the doorway.

“What the hell are you doing here?” I demanded.  There was Steve, with his back to me, going through my cabinets and shoving things into a box that was sitting on the stove.  He didn’t even bother turning to look at me.

“I came to get the rest of my stuff.” He replied so nonchalantly.

“Oh really?”

“Yes, really, I’ve waited almost a month for you to contact me about me getting my stuff, but since you don’t feel like being an adult…” he trailed off as he kept working.  I could feel the angst in the air, I could have cut it with a knife if he wasn’t going to take those too.

“I don’t remember giving you permission—” he cut me off.

“Permission?” he scoffed as he finally turned to look at me, “I don’t need permission to take what I bought. And like I said, I texted you, but you never replied.”

“I got no such text.”

“Then you probably blocked me, which was stupid, especially because I pay for your phone.” He paused and thought, “Which by the way, I’m giving you notice, I’ll be shutting that off.”

“What?!” my skin started boiling.  

“You don’t expect me to pay for my ex-girlfriend’s phone, do you?  I mean, I’m a nice guy, but I’m not stupid.” He explained, and I felt like kicking myself for not thinking of that sooner. “Oh, and those monthly subscriptions you get on your TV, those are going too.”

“What am I supposed to do without a phone?!” I barked.

“You’re a smart girl, you’ll figure out how to get another one.  Or you’ll find some other guy to get you one.”

“So you break into my apartment to take all of my stuff and attack me?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he stopped and held up a hand in caution, “First of all, I didn’t break in, I have a key.  I used to live here too you know.”

“And make sure you leave that key here!” I fired back the only thing I could think of.

“Don’t worry I will! Second, how am I attacking you?!” we were arguing and I didn’t even think about the neighbors and whether they could hear us or not.  I was far too upset to care anyway.  

“I feel attacked!  You come in here while I’m at work and start taking stuff and telling me—!” I stopped yelling when I didn’t know what else to say.  What could I say that didn’t make me sound pathetic?

“Telling you what?” he leaned his elbow on the box and lifted a brow, “That I won’t be taking care of you anymore?  Funny how you hated me working so much but loved living off of my wages.” He dug the knife in further.  “I told you, over and over again, but you didn’t want to listen.  It wasn’t me trying to avoid you, or start a fight, or ignore you, it wasn’t anything personal, it was work.” He shifted and looked around the kitchen.  “But now, it’s over, you made that very clear when you tossed my clothes off of the balcony.” He pointed at something and raised a brow again, inquisitively.  “Did you buy that coffee maker?”

“N…no.” I had to struggle to find words.

“Ah, that’s right.” He walked over to it briskly, cocky and full of confidence.  He unplugged the machine and brought it next to the large box. “I better take it back before it ends up going over the balcony railing too.” He just kept hammering away at what was left of my heart.  I had never seen this side of him.  It was awful.  I hated it.

I had to fight back with something and not just stand there like an idiot.  “Who is she?” I croaked out.  

“Who?” he didn’t bother looking at me again as he went through the cabinet with all of our cups and mugs.

“You know damn well, who.” My voice was so low I wondered if he could hear me, “The woman I saw you with at the party.”

“Oh.  You mean when you interrupted us in the bathroom?” he took another jab.  So I was interrupting something, I thought so.

“Yes, that woman.  Who is she?” I wanted to know so badly.  He pointed a sharp finger at me.

“You don’t get to ask me about who I’m with.  We aren’t together.  And since we aren’t together, it’s okay for me to meet other women.  I’m sure you’ve had someone else in here since I left.” He added the last part just to insult me.

“She was cute.” A sinister, evil, nasty side of me started to creep up. I should have swallowed it down but I couldn’t.  “Did you flex your muscles?  Did you save her kitty from a tree?  Any girl would gladly throw themselves at Captain America.” I crossed my arms as he stopped shuffling, “Did you?” I rolled my jaw and sucked my teeth with seething anger. “Did she call you Captain while you pet her kitty?” I threw that little inuendo in there just to watch him turn red.

“Don’t be disgusting.” He challenged me.

“What?  Her skirt was pulled up a bit, her face was all red.” I took a step towards him, “Like maybe she was…clawing at that shirt I gave you last year…” I raised my tone to make my point, “While you were trying to work your way to that honey pot.”

“Shut up!” he suddenly turned and shouted at me, “You don’t get to question me about my life and what I’ve been up to!  Not anymore.”

“You wanted me because I was the only girl who wasn’t throwing herself at you.  You told me you like to be the chaser.” I held my arms out, “Well I guess it’s raining pussy now isn’t it?  Who wouldn’t take advantage of it?” he ignored me as he placed more mugs in the box.  “Is she a girlfriend?  Or a girlfriend for the night?”

“God, when did you become so nasty?” he shook his head at me with disgust.  “What did I do to make you so bitter?  You kicked me out, remember?”

“Well for starters, you’re taking my coffee machine.” I nodded at it next to his pile of belongings.  He huffed and looked at me, dead in the eye.  

“I bought it, and I need one for my new place.” He explained to me.  

“With her?  Did you get a place with that pretty little piece of ass?” I taunted him.  He sighed and reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys.  Without another word, he removed his key from his key ring and held it up for me to see, making sure I watched him place it on the counter. Then he picked up the box in one arm and the coffee machine in the other.  

“Have a nice life.” He bid me goodbye, for what seemed like the last time.  With a large stride he made his way to the door, past where I stood with a dumb look on my face, and out he went, not even bothering to close the door behind him.  

He was gone. 

Final part here.

#chris evans fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #captain america fan fic #requested fic

[sehun-smut-blog]

Youngblood - Nine

what a deadly feeling it must be, to fall headfirst into a space next to someone incapable of loving you the way you deserve

one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven | twelve |

Nine

The subtle beeping of deleted emails was the only thing keeping you awake, especially when you were nuzzled between Sehun’s legs on his couch. His warmth was swallowing you whole, threatening to pull you under completely into a blissful slumber.

When you fought to suppress another yawn, he shifted slightly, fingers stilling from where they had been tangling in your hair absent-mindedly. “Why don't you take a nap?” He grumbled, his own eyes cracking open to give you a wry smirk. “It’s more fun than it looks.”

You scoffed, blinking the drowsiness out of your eyes harshly with a shake of your head. “No, I need to clean out my inbox before I start studying again, I’ve only got one more exam to go before winter break.” You hummed, trying to focus on your textbook once again.

Winter break had been the one thing to keep you going. Since it was too far to go home, and you didn’t want to waste a month’s rent on an apartment that would be sitting vacant half the time, this year you had decided to stay in the city. It wasn’t a hard decision anyway, knowing that if you did decide to stay behind, you could stay with Sehun. 

He had been standoffish when you asked about his holiday plans, simply shrugging and explaining he didn’t want to go home this year. It was a load of horse shit, surely. Who wouldn’t want to see their family? Sehun apparently, and once again, he refused to divulge into details. 

You had hoped that after you told him you loved him, he would be more inclined to talk to you. About anything, everything. He was still such a mystery to you, and the expression of affection had done little to change that. Now, you were walking on eggshells, never sure quite what to do or say to show him your feelings, especially when he wouldn’t - or couldn’t - say anything back. He showed it, in his actions, rubbing your back playfully until you slept and getting the water in the shower running hot before you even got out of bed whenever you stayed over. You were sure he had to feel the same - but his reluctance to say it had you having second thoughts.

“Fuck.” You growled when another email came in. These internships you had applied for abroad were now reminding you of the status of your applications nearly every damn day, not that you cared anymore. You had applied when you wanted to be anywhere but here - now, it was the exact opposite. 

“What fucking free trials did you sign up for to get so many emails?” Sehun teased, leaning up to press a quick kiss to the top of your head. “I’m making lunch, want some?”

You hummed with a soft smile at the gesture, giving a slight nod. “Yes, please.” You said, turning to give him a grin while he maneuvered his long legs around you.

Returning your smile, he nodded. “Okay.” He grinned, shuffling off the couch to head towards the kitchen. “But I’m making Kraft Dinner, and you know damn well I’m putting cut up hot dogs in it.”

Rolling your eyes, you scoffed. “You’re nasty.”

“You love it.”

His words as he spun around the corner made you freeze slightly, sighing into the empty air.

Yeah, you did love it, and he knew it. You had told him that much.

You wished he could say it back, really prove to you all the thoughts spinning in your head weren't a figment of your imagination. You wished he confirmed it, that he could love you too, and make any doubt fall away like grains of sand. But how could you expect him to? He had never done something like this, had never committed himself to one person before. He said himself, he apparently didn’t know what love was. 

That had to be a lie, certainly. His family, his friends, he had to have experienced it before. Maybe he just didn’t feel that towards you.

Shaking your head, you closed your laptop with a dull thud, instead shoving it off your lap with a grunt. You couldn’t let these thoughts draw you in again. They’d done it enough in the silence after your confession, in his simple response. You didn’t want to let them win.

So instead, you flopped back onto the couch, curled in the residual warmth where Sehun had laid and letting your eyes drift shut. The twinkling lights on the Christmas tree were enough to prevent you from actually sleeping, alongside the running of water and clanking of silverware in the kitchen. You’d caught up on all the sleep you had once lacked - but now, your own self doubt has been playing with it again.

Half of you wanted to drift off to sleep, but the other half had you still listening to the pattering of Sehun’s feet against the cool tile in the kitchen, sounds of him boiling water and probably frying those god-awful sticks of unknown “meat” he liked so much - ugh, hot dogs. Eventually, the smell of them frying in butter filled your nostrils.

God, even the stench made you wrinkle your nose slightly. How he ate them, you would never know. 

Sleep seemed miles away, try as hard as you might. Eventually, with a sigh, you clambered up, headed to where you could her him speaking lowly just a room over. 

Sure enough, when you rounded the corner, you saw him, phone wedged between his ear and his shoulder as his free hand shuffled the pan back and forth on the burner.

“You can’t do that!” He growled under his breath, making your brow furrow. His tone was deep and laced with an edge, almost quiet enough for the sizzling of the food to mask it completely. He was oblivious to your presence, back facing you as he grabbed a spoon to stir the boiling pasta.

The person on the other end of the line seemed to say something to make Sehun sigh, shaking his head slightly. Dropping the spoon, he grabbed his cell, switching it to his other ear.

“That isn’t an option.” He grumbled, rubbing his eyes slightly. “I don’t have time for that.”

Stepping closer slightly, you could barley hear the person he was talking to mumble something back. It was quick, and low, but enough that you could discern just a few words.

“You don’t have a choice.” The guy on the line grumbled, making the one in front of you tighten his grip on the phone. His shoulders were wound, motions becoming more erratic as he spun, dark gaze immediately landing on you.

Upon seeing your frame, he froze up, stammering slightly. The anger in his gaze defrosted slightly, but his free hand was still wound into a fist. He was visibly upset, chest rising and falling in harsh breaths, as his gaze immediately flicked to the floor.

“You go, I’ll finish.” You said quickly, giving him a wave with the back of your hand towards the door. You reached out to shuffle the pan of slowly-frying meat, leaving enough room for Sehun to give you a quick nod and stalk out the doorway.

Even after he left, your ears were straining to listen to his conversation, stomach twisting. Who the hell was on the other line? And what exactly were they asking Sehun to do? Now that you thought about it, utmost have been someone he knew - his tone talking to them explained that enough. The voice was unfamiliar to you, however. It couldn’t have been one of your friends, or you would have been able to discern who. The simple fact he was clearly upset with someone, someone you couldn't even name, had your mind running amuck. Could it be something really bad, something you didn’t know about? Who knows, it could be a drug dealer chasing credit with the amount you knew about Sehun’s personal life. 

Giving the boiling noodles a quick stir, you rolled your eyes at your own irrational thinking. It couldn’t be that bad, or else he would have told you... right?

You weren't sure if it was a red flag that you couldn’t answer your own question.

You tried to ignore the fierce whispering from the hallway, tried to stop yourself from trying to decipher the words leaving Sehun’s mouth. You weren’t above eavesdropping, per se, but somehow, you knew this conversation wasn’t meant for your ears. You wish you could just know who he was talking to, but somehow also knew that he didn’t want you to listen.

But why? Why the hell didn’t he want you to listen, anyway? He practically froze to a damn ice cube when he saw that you had entered, basically made it clear that the conversation was intended to be had in private. Just what was he talking about that he was so desperate for you to not hear? 

Mixing in the packet of powdered cheese mix with far too much force, you felt yourself gritting your teeth against your will. You couldn’t help it! He was being shady and you had every right to be upset, as his... girlfriend, or whatever.

Finally, just as you gave yourself the honorary label, you heard a padding of footsteps behind you, his large hands quick to wrap around your hips.

He ducked his head into your neck with a growl of a sigh, the warm air smattering across your collarbones and giving you goosebumps. “Sorry about that.” He hummed, giving you a quick kiss before stepping back to ladle some of the - now finished - mac and cheese into his bowl.

“Who was it?” You asked nonchalantly, even though your stomach was twisting slightly. Grabbing the pan of hot dogs he just insisted on having, you twisted it to sprinkle some onto his bowl.

If the question made him uncomfortable, he was impeccable at hiding it. “Nothing, just some telemarketer.” He hummed, turning to take a seat at the table and avoiding your gaze.

“Really? Didn’t sound like a telemarketer.” You hummed, heading to sit across from him and quickly scooping some mac and cheese onto your fork, shooting him a look. 

“Well, it was.” Sehun quipped quickly, stirring the hot dogs further into his own bowl and avoiding your gaze. You noticed his calculated movements, the way he cleverly avoided your eyes. 

“Come on Sehun, I’m not stupid.” You scoffed, rolling your eyes at him. “Who was it?”

At that, Sehun grunted, dropping his fork and rubbing at his eyes, as though your words were exhausting. “Just drop it.”

“Drop it?” You said, stunned and eyes wide. After being shady as hell with the call itself, now he wasn’t even letting you talk about it? “You want me to drop it, just like that?”

“Does it concern you?” Sehun hummed, his eyes finally meeting yours, although you almost wished they hadn't. They were set low, his jaw ticking slightly as he gave you a light glare. The sight made you want to shrink in your seat, but the pounding of your heart prevented you from doing that.

He couldn’t keep doing this to you. He couldn’t force you out of his life again and again, keep you firmly in the dark in regards to his actual business, what happened behind the scenes. You didn’t want to live this life in private, sneaking around your friends and only being able to touch his arm behind closed doors. 

“Well you seem upset, I can help you know.” You scoffed with an eye roll, shovelling a scoop of your food into your mouth.

Sehun rubbed his eyes harshly at that with a sigh, his spoon clattering to the table. “It’s nothing you can fix.” He hummed under his breath, making you shake your head slightly.

“Try me.” You quipped, cocking your head at him slightly. 

When he glanced up at you again, his eyes were tired-looking, as though you were actually sucking the soul from his being with every push of his buttons. You could see him bristling, see the way he was gritting his teeth and the shiftiness in his gaze. He was just as uncomfortable as you were in the frozen air, neither of you wanting to break the newfound silence.

Until finally, he scoffed, rolling his eyes. Seeming to break first, he mumbled under his breath. “It was my father, okay?” 

Finally! Your heart was almost racing with his small break, making you fight a smile from flatten g across your face. “Y-Your dad?” You hummed through half-chewed food, tilting your head at him slightly.

“Yeah.” Sehun said, ignoring your gaze as he continued eating as well. His movements were stiff, voice bleak as he instead gauged your reaction in his silence, eyes flickering u to your face for only a moment before glancing back down at his bowl.

“What did he want?” You hummed, feigning nonchalance as you speared the last few nibbles of mac and cheese onto your fork carefully.

The question made Sehun scoff, grumbling harshly under his breath, incoherent words you could even begin deciphering. His eyes furrowed, harshly picking at a lonely hot dog in his bowl. “What doesn’t he want, more like. He only calls to make stupid suggestions for how I should run my life.” Sehun growled, talking more to himself then he was to you.

Still, it didn’t make you stop. “So what’s he suggesting this time?”

His eyes flashed up to you quickly, taking in your passive face as he chewed thoughtfully. You tried your best to give him a warm gaze, trying not to make him cut you out quickly gain, even if you still hadn’t figured out how to detonate the bomb that was Oh Sehun.

“He wants me to get a job.” Sehun hummed quickly, as though he would regret telling you the smile request later. “He pays for the house and amenities and shit, but he wants me to pitch in.” 

You listened to his words carefully, every syllable and sound, gauging it carefully. Because he was... angry, when he was on the hone. All that, for his dad simply asking him to start making money? Hell you had had a job when you were in high school, and had even considered getting one here just to help out. The money you had saved would only go so far, right? Unless Sehun had saved up every penny from his past work experience, there was no way he had enough to contribute at all, especially for a place as nice as this!

“So... you don’t want to?” You said carefully, setting down your fork and instead leaning onto your palm. “I’m sure you could find something on weekends, it wouldn’t be hard.”

“But I don’t want to.” Sehun hummed, the sound of his fork scraping his bowl piercing through the still air, fingers twisting lazily on the utensil.

Furrowing your brow, your gaze flickered to his face, which was twisted into a scowl. “Well, nobody wants to get a job, Sehun, it’s a necessity.” You sighed, giving him a lopsided smile alongside the morsel of bitter truth you tried to slip past his lips.

“It’s not for me! My dad has more than enough money to pay for the damn house anyway.” Sehun scoffed, standing abruptly from the table and heading to drop his bowl onto the sink with a clatter. Something in your words seemed to irritate him, shown especially when he began scrubbing at the cheesy residue with his arms bent at harsh, angry angles. It was weird how secluded he could be, but his emotions were like a siren, oozing from his skin and protruding in his limbs.

Still, you stood softly, steeping alongside him to lay a hand on his arm. “I know babe, but he just wants a little help, is all.” You hummed, using the term of affection carefully, in an attempt to wind I'm down. “I’m sure he’ll be happy even if you hand out a few resumes. If you don’t hear back, whatever, but at least make an effort.”

“You don’t know my father.” Sehun scoffed, tossing the now clean utensils he had washed onto the countertop and still refusing to glance at you.

Rolling your eyes slightly at his childish behaviour, you swiped a kitchen towel from where it was draped on the stove and began wiping down the forks casually, as though Sehun hadn’t totally just attempted to shut down the conversation, yet again. 

“I don't need to to understand that he probably just wants you to be... on your own two feet. Trust me, it feels better than relying on your parents anyway.” You hummed, thinking about the countless hours you had spent grinding away at your stupid waitressing job. Hell felt like the inside of that stuffy restaurant, but now that you had your savings to rely on, you were unbelievably happy you had slaved away. “He probably just wants whats best for you, to get some experience. Hell, he’s your dad, he loves you!”

“Stop it, stop it!” Sehun’s voice grew in volume until it was just under a shout, the bowl in his hand clattering back onto the sink. The sound made your eyes flicker back over to him, his hands now gripping the countertop harshly until his knuckles were burning white.

“Just... stop talking about him.” Sehun growled, his head remaining firmly facing down, hiding his expression from you. From the tone of his voice though - it made your skin burn with it’s grittiness.

“Sehun...” You said lowly, frozen beside him, too afraid to say anything, as his invisible triggers could turn his flames not a full-on inferno in seconds.

“No, stop!” He grunted, finally turning to shoot you a glare. His eye were icy, lips twisted into a growl to reflect his words. “Stop fucking talking about him like you know him, you don’t! You have no clue what he wants for me!”

You flinched at his words, feeling your ears immediately growing a violent shade of red. Fingers idly twisting in the tea bowl to prevent yourself from forming fists, you quietly hummed, “I don’t know him, but I know you, babe. The two of you must be similar, I mean, he is your fa-”

“I said, stop it. I am nothing like my father, got it? Nothing like him.” Sehun snapped, turning to face you fully before you could even finish your sentence. Hs burning eyes were quick to flicker towards the door exiting the kitchen, even though his hands didn’t point. You could almost hear his thoughts before he spoke them aloud. “I think you should go.”

Blinking harshly, your brows furrowed, scrambling to catch up to wherever Sehun had landed in the conversation. It was crazy how the two of you could be so in sync only to suddenly not be, two arrows shot from the same bow but landing on separate targets. You wished you knew why the hell he always wound up burning up, pushing away, exploding outwards.

But instead of ask him, you just gulped. “O-Okay.” You said softly, fighting to not let your throat seize up with the word.

His eyes stayed on you as you set the dishrag onto the counter, softening slightly when he saw how your movements were slow and calculated, careful to not egg him into another unprovoked snap. They followed you through the kitchen, until you disappeared around the door with light footsteps and cautious trepidation. 

But you had to be careful! He was impulsive, and that impulsivity put you on the edge of a blade when he would shove you away like this. He wouldn't think before speaking, wouldn’t ponder his actions before he would do them, and too often, they left you a shell. You didn’t want to repeat that again - the emptiness after he had seen Chanyeol’s hickeys on your neck, the aching when he had single-handedly stripped you of both himself and Chanyeol. It was easier for you to just leave anyway, let him fume behind closed doors.

But still, the way you carefully slipped from his presence felt like you were tearing yourself away from where you needed to be - by his side, helping him with whatever had him so angry. You wanted to be there for him, support him.

But he didn't want you there with him.

How could you do that? You thought, as you slipped on your jacket and sniffled your nose to prevent it from leaking. His simple words already had your chest bubbling, eyes watering, but you refused to let them fall. Because this time, you promised yourself, was the last time. No use spilling tears over what would never repeat, right?

Now, you carefully tugged your phone out of your pocket, closing his front door behind you and heading into the frigid, snowy air. Dialling quickly, you held the device up to your ear, breath puffing out in large, steamy clouds floating over your head.

“Yixing? Hey, it’s me. Do you have time to grab a coffee, I want to talk to you about something.”

“So, what did you want to talk about?” Yixing hummed once his coffee had been placed before him, a hot chocolate within your own frigid fingers.

Somehow, Merlots had become the go-to spot for your confrontational conversations. The conversation between yourself and Chanyeol seemed to blossom it. It had gone over quite well, after all. Maybe these worn leather booths were a good luck charm?

At least, that’s what you hoped, with the way you were going to try to direct this conversation.

“Well, it’s going to sound kind of... weird.” You said, slightly embarrassed. Hell, you couldn't even imagine how the hell it would sound for poor Yixing, to hear that you and Sehun were, in fact, together... kind of. Not to mention the fact you were blatantly trying to snoop.

“That’s fine with me.” Yixing hummed, shooting you a crooked grin as he sipped his coffee black. “Trust me, I’m no stranger to weird conversations - should I remind you that we’re friends with Chanyeol?”

You scoffed slightly at that, rolling your eyes slightly. “Trust me, no reminder necessary.” You laughed, knowing just the strange topics the tall guy could worm himself into. “But it’s not about Yeol. It’s actually about Sehun.”

“Sehun?” Yixing asked, his dark eyes flickering up to yours questioningly.

As soon as they met yours, they seemed to melt slightly, his head tilting back slightly with a soft sigh. It only took a second, and surely the embarrassed blush flickering across your cheeks for him to piece it together. His furrowed brows and shaking head immediately made your gut churn. “Oh, you and Sehun are still...” He began, but you cut him off with a wave of your hand.

“I know what you're thinking, but it’s different this time, okay? It’s still new and whatever, but we’re happy, okay? We’ve been really happy so far.” You protested, pleading slightly with him to reserve his judgment, even if only for a few more minutes. “It’s been really good.”

Yixing pursed his lips, furrowing his brow slightly at you. “How new? How long have you guys been together? I thought after all that drama between you and Chanyeol...”

“He apologized.” you sighed, shaking your head. “He just... is bad, with this kind of stuff. Relationship stuff. Actually, that’s kind of why I wanted talk to you.”

“Hm? Why me?”

“You’ve known him longest.” You said with a shrug. “You’re his friend, and you’ve known each other since you were basically kids, right?”

Yixing nodded slowly, watching you carefully with his intense gaze. “Yes.” He said with a hint of trepidation, sipping his coffee slowly and waiting for you to fill the silence.

“Well, I just wanted to ask you about... his family, I guess.” You sighed, scratching the back of your neck awkwardly. “Earlier today, his dad called him -”

“His father.” Yixing said in a corrective tone, giving you a slight sympathetic smirk as he cocked his head.

“Y-Yeah, his father. He was just talking to him about some stuff, but when I tried to ask about it, he got... really upset.” You hummed, eyes flickering to the tabletop, your worn white mug still filled to the brim with rich hot chocolate. “I just want to help with whatever’s going on, but he won't even let me ask anything.”

Yixing nodded slowly, licking his lips from the remainder of coffee still gracing his skin. “Yeah, I get it.” He hummed, cracking his neck quickly. “But if you’re wanting me to enlighten you, sorry to disappoint, but I really don’t know much.”

You grumbled slightly, taking a quick sip from your mug so you wouldn't begin whining to him. Hell, it was probably wrong for you to be going to you and Sehun’s mutual friends for information on his personal affairs, but god damnit, this was the only way you could think of getting to understand just why he was so closed off! “Please, Xing? You have to know something,  more than I do at least.”

“Have you thought about why he might not tell you these things?” Yixing questioned slowly, careful to not jab you too harshly. “I mean, no offence, but made he’s just waiting until he wants to tell you.”

You scoffed, twisting the mug until it was spinning slow circles guided by your fingertips. Because yes, you had thought about it. Hundreds of times, in fact! Maybe he just didn’t want to tell you, sure... but somehow you knew there had to be something more. From the way he refused to look at you after the phone call this morning, you know it wasn’t you that was making him uncomfortable - it was something to do with him. Why else would he be so damn defensive about it, anyway? 

At this point, the only way you could figure out how to get him to fall headfirst into you the way you did him would be to know whats holding him back. The thing is, that’s the one bit of information he’s desperate not to share.

“He doesn’t trust me. I don’t know why, but I can't figure out how to fix that unless he tells me what the hell happened that made him so...”

“Cold?” Yixing hummed, giving you a crooked smile. “Hell, you might like him, but he’s definitely not the most... welcoming guy until you get to know him.”

You hummed slightly at that, knowing that even once you got to know him, his ice shards could always flare up. Hell, anytime you had seen another girl on his waist he was practically built of iron, simple unaffectionate glances and little careless words thrown your way. Somehow though, that was worlds apart from what you had become; his smile was now one of your closest friends, the spaces between his fingers reserved for your own. He had melted in your palms willingly.

“You’re right, he can be cold, but I don't think he actually is.” You tried, cocking your head at Yixing slightly. “I don't think he actually is at all.”

“And what do you mean by that?” Yixing asked, sipping from his mug heavily, but his eyes never left yours.

You hummed. Because what did you mean, really? This feeling was just that - a feeling. There was no evidence to prove that his frigid exterior was just a defence mechanism against the world. Your heart told you it was, but your head battled back, knowing that it’s just as possible that that’s who Sehun is - someone who attacks whatever gets too close.

Except one piece of paper that had changed the thoughts for you, too.

“He has this list. A list of random things that I like, so he doesn't forget them. That doesn't sound like some unfeeling asshole, right? There has to be a reason he doesn't show his true colours.” You hummed, half to yourself and half to a still attentive Yixing. 

Yixing hummed at that, cocking his head slightly back at you. “A list? Cute.”

“Shut up.” You scoffed back, giving him a slight kick under the table and fighting the flush in your skin. 

The way Yixing was looking at you made you think you were stupid. Hell, maybe you were, you were interrogating him for Sehun’s personal details, after all. He was listening, sure, but somehow you couldn't help but think your message was lost - that the years of Sehun being a playboy had engraved that persona into Yixings head. He was incapable of seeing him as anything different. Maybe he thought you had fallen under that arrogant, smirking face too.

“He sings in the shower.” You blurted quickly, glancing up at Yixing. “Well, raps, mostly. And he puts hot dogs in his mac and cheese, he just did earlier even though it’s disgusting. And he loves his motorcycle more than his own kids, probably, even after he broke his ankle.” You added with a scoff. Yixing watched you closely, lips twisted up into a slight smile.

“He’s kind of a klutz and always forgets his keys, and never dresses properly for the weather. His bed is so uncomfortable but he likes it that way, and if he skips a meal he gets so hangry sometimes I carry a granola bar in my coat pocket, just in case. And he brings me hot chocolate every morning because he knows I don’t like coffee.” You hummed, glancing down at the hot chocolate in your hands with a slight smile. 

“I know you probably think I’m stupid, Baekhyun did when I told him everything after the whole Chanyeol situation too. I don’t blame you for that, even I thought I was stupid. But I know now that I’m not.” Your eyes flickered up to Yixing again, the coffee he still clasped in his hands and the way his smile had faded off his lips. “I-I love Sehun a lot, and I want him to be able to talk to me, but he won't. I’m trying to figure out why.”

Yixing was silent for a moment, watching you carefully as you took a sip of your hot chocolate, slowly turning lukewarm in your palms. His gaze was heavy but didn’t make you uncomfortable, just working through your words as he took a heavy sip from his mug.

“I mean, I’m surprised.” Yixing hummed finally, breaking the silence between the two of you. “I have to admit, I didn’t think Sehun would be the relationship type.”

“I didn’t think so either, but we’re doing it.” You hummed with a slight shrug and a grin. “He’s trying for me.”

“That’s saying a lot, coming from him.” Yixing hummed, returning your grin. “I will say, you know him really well. Better than I expected, at least.”

You furrowed your brow slightly, sliding your mug away so you could lean onto your elbows on the table. “What do you mean?”

Yixing mimicked your motion, instead folding his arms across his chest as he leaned back, thinking slightly. You could see it in the crease between his eyebrows, his unfocused eyes just left of your face. “Well, you’re right. Sehun wasn’t always the way he is now, especially not when we were young.”

Your expression slowly grew to match his. “So when did he turn into such an ass?”

Yixing laughed slightly at your question, shaking his head. “I thought you just explained a hundred reasons he isn't an ass.”

“Well, he’s not to me, but to anyone who doesn't know him... Yeah, he’s definitely ass-like.” You hummed with a slight teasing smirk.

“True. He started acting different when we were like, fifteen? That’s the only time I can really pinpoint.” Yixing said, cocking his head slightly. “Maybe around fourteen? I can’t remember.”

“What happened to make you think around then?” You asked slightly, imaging a little fifteen year old Sehun, all gangly lips and oversized brown eyes. Cute.

But imagining him with his newfound resting asshole aura? Significantly less cute.

“Honestly, I can’t really remember. We were both on the basketball team, and I remember once I walked into the dressing room after school and he was... He was upset.” Yixing hummed, eyes flickering over yours quickly. “He never told me why, though. He just wiped his tears up and stormed off.”

You hummed slightly at that, sucking your bottom lip between your teeth slightly. “And you don’t remember what happened around that time to make him so mad?”

Yixing scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “Hell, it was middle school, you know how dramatic everyone is at that age. I didn’t really think much of it at the time.” He said, his eyes drifting slightly as he appeared to get hooked onto another train of thought. “Maybe that was around the divorce?”

“The divorce?” You questioned.

Yixing nodded. “Yeah, his parents are divorced, I know that much. I think his father got full custody though, he only ever stayed at his house.”

“Oh.” You hummed, eyes falling onto the tabletop in front of you. It appeared you were at another dead end. Middle school drama, divorcing parents, it would e enough to cause a young Sehun to be so upset at school that day. But did it explain his persona now?

“That’s honestly all I would be able to know.” Yixing said, shaking his head slightly. “After that, he just started being a flirty little asshole, but everyone does around that age, don't they? He just never grew out of it.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” You hummed, remembering how suddenly all the guys in your middle school seemed to only be interested in flirting rather than anything else. It was gross, really. “Thanks Yixing, I know you’re probably -”

“Hey, don’t mention it.” Yixing hummed with a grin, before downing his coffee in one last gulp. “If you need anything else, just let me know, okay?”

“Yeah, likewise Xing.” You said with a grin, watching him shuffle out of the booth quickly. 

He gave you a final nod in parting before he headed off, his steps taking his form beyond your sight from where you were sitting. 

But, his hand was quick to lay on your shoulder.

“Thank you, for wanting the best for him.” Yixing added slightly, an embarrassed flush in his cheeks when you glanced up to look at him. “I know, with his past with girls and his attitude, it can’t be easy, so... thank you.”

You just smiled slightly, giving his hand a quick pat. “No problem, Yixing. I won’t  give him any more reasons to be a dickhead, I promise.”

youngblood masterlist

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[magmasliveblogs]

1.06

ok the irl stuff is finally dealt with! that took longer than i expected. to recap, in the last chapter erin still has a horrible infected hand, discovered and then accidentally broke some magic keeping some food fresh, discovers the skeleton in her attic/second floor is gone, and killed a goblin thus scaring off a war party.  

Erin woke up with her back against the inn’s front door. Her neck was aching and her hand was burning. It was morning.

“Ow.”

She held her hand. It was hurting—

“Feels like it’s worse than yesterday. Which is probably my imagination.”

She sat cradling her hand for a full minute. Then she remembered why she was sitting there and shot to her feet.

“Skeleton? Goblins.”

Where was it? Erin stood up and hobbled over to a table. There. Two daggers on the tabletop.

“At this rate I’m going to start a collection.”

Erin mumbled to herself as she poked one of the hilts with a finger. But it proved she hadn’t been dreaming.

“No skeleton? No problem. I hope.”

i swear i did not know this first part of the chapter would make my whole recap useless 

“What’s that smell?”

Something smelled really bad. And it was coming from the kitchen. The instant Erin opened the door she groaned aloud.

The fish lay on the cutting board, covered in dry blood and reeking in the sunlight. It stank. Actually, it smelled worse than a stink.

“This. This is disgusting.”

Erin stared at the fish for a few more seconds. She had absolutely no desire to touch it. On the other hand…

A few black things crawled out of the fish’s mouth. Erin stared at the small things, gagged, and then ran outside before she hurled. That was the start of her day.

knowing this world those probably arent your average scavenger bugs 

How do you get rid of a fish? Erin put it outside on the ground and stared at it.

“I could bury it. If I had a shovel. And I could burn it. If I had a way to make fire. Or…I could leave it over there.”

She walked for about fifteen minutes before she was sure she was far enough away from the inn. Then Erin unceremoniously dumped the rotting fish off the cutting board.  That was a mistake.

As the fish hit the ground it exploded. Something inside of it broke or squished, and suddenly a host of little black and green insects exited the fish’s body from every orifice. Erin took one look, screamed, and ran. She was getting good at it.

well this got exponentially worse 

It took her a long time before she found the courage to return. And even then, it was just to run in, grab the cutting board and leg it to the stream.

“Ew, ew, ew.”

Erin thrust the plank of wood in the water and watched fish guts and insects sweep away into the current.  It wasn’t the dead fish she objected to. Well, not as much as the live bugs that clung stubbornly to the wood.

“You. Get off.”

The tenacious fly seemed to have the strength of ten bugs because it refused to let the current drag if off. It was black with a green butt—abdomen, and looked like nothing Erin had ever seen before.

“Another weird creature. Wonderful.”

Reluctantly she looked closer. Know thy enemy, right? She supposed she should also know her bug.

“That’s definitely a bug. And it’s really ugly.”

Swish. Swish. The bug clung to the wet wood despite Erin’s best attempts to shake it off.

“…Why’s it got four legs? I thought bugs had six.”

Annoyed, Erin finally pulled the cutting board out of the water. The insect fanned its wings as she stared at it. It was really mostly like a beetle, except that its backside was glowing green. A cross between a freaky firefly and a beetle. Better than a cockroach, but there was only one way to deal with bugs like that.

Erin curled her finger and gave the bug a damn good flick. It exploded.

The insect’s green abdomen burst into a splatter of green liquid as the rest of it flew off into the stream. Erin blinked as the green liquid covered the cutting board and splashed into the water.

Some of it landed on Erin’s arm.

“Ahh! Owowowowowow!”

Her arm plunged into the water. It was an instinctive reaction but it made the pain vanish. Still, Erin frantically scrubbed at the spot until all of the burning pain had gone.

“Acid flies. Okay, that’s completely wrong.”

knew it! those things are disgusting and i would never want to encounter them. also as i said, things keep getting worse! 

Her skin was red and sore from the brief contact with acid, but she was fine. Nevertheless, she washed both her body and the cutting board until she felt completely clean. This was less fun  because Erin was also watching out for strange shadows in the water.

“Great. My hand hurts, and now my arm hurts.”

Erin stared at the dead fish as she walked back to the inn. The fish’s body was swarming with those little acid flies. They were probably laying eggs in it or something equally fun.

Briefly, Erin considered dragging the fish into the stream and letting all the buggers drown. Then she considered what would happen if all the flies landed on her and exploded.

“Right. Well, there’s only one thing to do in a situation like this.”

Erin raised first one, then both her middle fingers. Her injured right hand hurt like fire, but it still made her feel better.

“That’s for all of you.”

Then she went back to the inn.

its the little things that count 

“I really should have brought a bucket.”

Erin stared at the ingredients lined up on the kitchen counter. Her stomach was rumbling, and she was in the mood for food. But she didn’t really want another breakfast, lunch, and dinner of blue fruit. Today she was in the mood for bread. Freshly baked bread.

Unfortunately that required water. And Erin really didn’t want to walk to the stream and back with a heavy bucket. But she needed water. She knew that. Somehow.

Was it instinct? Erin frowned and knocked on her skull. She had never made food, not really. Well, she’d made Mac and Cheese and instant ramen but that didn’t count. And that went for microwaves and ovens too. So why did she know that to make bread she needed flour, oil, salt, sugar, yeast, and some water? It had to be magic.

Or a skill.

“[Basic Cooking], huh?”

if [basic cleaning] made it so you can clear a full floor of an inn of dust in an afternoon, i assume [basic cooking] contains the cooking knowledge you could find in your basic cookbook? 

“Let’s see. Frying pan? No. Tongs? No. A saw? Why does a kitchen need a saw?”

Erin set the small handsaw aside and squinted. Behind that was something she hadn’t quite figured out. Well, two things. It was a rock and something else. Something weird.

“Is that…a horseshoe?”

No. It was way too small to be a horseshoe, and the wrong shape. Unless this world had really weird, small horses that was. But even then, why have horseshoes in a kitchen?

“Unless they ate horses.”

Erin stared at the horseshoe-thing. She stared at the rock. Slowly she slid the rock along the fire striker and watched sparks fly.

“Huh. So that’s what flint and steel looks like. It actually does look like Minecraft!”

Erin paused. She sighed and slapped herself gently.

“I’m an idiot.”

fire achieved! 

In the end, Erin let the fire burn while she went to get water. The fireplace was stone, and the kitchen was stone. The odds of a stray spark walking all the way to the common room was remote. Still, she felt uneasy.

“This is how it starts, right? You leave the fireplace on while you go on a vacation for a few days and the next thing you know, your inn’s burned down. A classic cautionary tale.”

its happened before and it will happen again! where there is fire and inattention there will be a worse fire soon! 

Erin sighed as she walked along. She wondered again how much trouble she was really in. After all, she had just started a fire, true, but that was pretty basic even for primeval humans. What could—

A patch of green moved in the grass ahead of her. Erin stared at it. Was it part of the grass? It raised its head and stared back. It wasn’t the grass it all. It was—

Something exploded out of the grass. Erin screamed, flailed wildly with her bucket and fell over. The gigantic bird with leather wings and a beak longer than her arm took off into the sky with an ear-piercing screech.

“Oh. Oh wow.”

Erin sat on the ground and stared.

“Is that a…pterodactyl? No way.”

It looked like it. And while Erin was only really seeing it’s rapidly disappearing backside, the bird had a certain…non-feathery quality to it. However, where the ancient dinosaur-birds Erin had seen in museum pictures were brown and plain, this bird had been a light green with red markings.

“Camouflaged dinosaurs. Now I’ve really seen everything.”

everything so far is either out to kill her or a plant 

Erin shook her head and got back up. She brushed off her dirty t-shirt and jeans.

“Gotta wash these sometime. But that means I’ll be walking around naked. Is that an issue? And what’s that smell?”

Something smelled truly terrible. Erin covered her nose and frowned. She cast around for the source of the smell. It was on the ground somewhere. She walked ten steps and found a nest.

“Huh. I guess without many trees birds get lazy. But what a big nest. And what’s that inside—”

Erin took one look inside the nest and covered her mouth. She gagged and took a few deep breaths.

“Okay. At least I know where all the normal birds go. Inside the dinosaur-birds.”

Averting her eyes from the grisly remains, Erin turned to go. She took two steps and tripped.

“Ow.”

She got up, cradled her injured hand a bit and wished for the world to explode. Or just her. Then she squatted down to look at what she’d tripped over.

“Eggs?”

and so we are on our way to other foods! we now have a sustainable supply of blue fruit and eggs! 

“People used to do this every day? This is why plumbing was invented, you know. Who puts a stream so far from an inn? What happened to a good well?”

She kept grumbling until she reached the inn. Once there, Erin had to lean against the door and pant like a dog for a while before she felt better. She noticed a sign hanging next to her nose and squinted at the faded lettering.

“Huh. ‘Closed?’ Is that English?”

It wasn’t English. The lettering was distinctly not-English. But Erin understood in nonetheless.

“Freaky. But convenient. Who needs Google Translate when you’ve got magic-weirdness?”

And at least it confirmed Erin’s suspicions.

“This was an inn once. But someone abandoned it.”

She tapped her lips thoughtfully and narrowed her eyes at the hanging sign. The rope was frayed and worn, but it was still in pretty good shape.

“…Well, finders keepers.”

not like theres anyone around to challenge you on that. well the goblins might but they could have taken over the inn a while back 

Bread took a while to bake. Bread needed to rise and do all kinds of complicated yeasty-stuff according to her [Basic Cooking] skill. And to be fair, that was about all she could make with the ingredients at hand. Not much you could do with a bit of flour, right? But eggs? Eggs changed everything.

Erin’s stared at the flour. She stared at the butter and salt. Then she stared at the eggs. Her eyes narrowed.

“Forget bread. It’s pasta time.”

im tempted to make a mario joke, italian mafia lead by goblins joke, or something else, but i cant think of a punch line 

“Oh. Oh god. Why are there red lines—?”

Erin covered her mouth.

“It was alive. There was a baby inside.”

Her stomach lurched. But there was nothing to throw up. Erin took a few deep breaths and tried to think.

“Right. Normal eggs actually hatch. Right. This isn’t a store so of course they’ve be living—but they must be new eggs. Not full of half-born chickens, right?”

She stared at the rest of the eggs. Right?

modern ideas about not killing things to survive. your ancestors would point and laugh 

To her credit, Erin barely hesitated when she grabbed the sharp knife again. But she did take the time to wash the blood off before she began slicing. And though it took her a bit longer to cut everything since she worked with one hand and tried to keep all her digits out of the knife’s path, she eventually had a pile of long stringy noodles ready to be boiled.

Erin held the first batch of raw noodles over the boiling water in the pot.

“Double double, boil and trouble…into the pot you go.”

The noodles fell in with a large splash. Erin yelped and jumped away.

“Hot!”

When she was finished calling herself an idiot, Erin sat back and waited. The noodles wouldn’t take that long. Then she could add some more butter, a little more salt, and feast. It was a good plan.

“Too bad I don’t have something refreshing to drink as well. A nice glass of juice would go down great. But y’know, it’s not like I…can…”

Erin stood up. She walked back into the common room and looked around.

The pile of blue fruits was right where she had left them. Erin’s eyes narrowed as she looked at them. She stroked her chin in thought.

“Blue juice?”

She shook her head.

“Nah. Bluefruit juice? That’s more like it.”

safety first! also this meal sounds good 

“Who knew carrying stuff with one hand was so much of a pain? I mean, everything’s a pain.”

The pasta was nice and hot. Erin felt her stomach rumbling. But something still felt off. And pain was still present.

“But it’s a better day, right? A bit of a better day.”

Erin stared at the plate. Pasta, check. Fork, check. Juice, check.

She sighed. A smile tried to climb onto her face. Her hand throbbed, but Erin kept the smile up and raised her fork. She was going to eat until she puked. Okay, maybe until she was just full. She raised the first glistening noodle to her lips.

Knock, knock.

Without thinking Erin stood up and went to the door.

“Hi, can I help you?”

A giant insect stood in the doorway. It raised one feeler in greetings and opened its mandibles.

“Greetings. May we come in?”

well we have a.. person? bug? seemingly civilized being?  

either way thats the end of the chapter! will erin survive this encounter? will she get to eat her pasta? is this bug related to the settlement erin forgot about? will erin freak out? will these endings ever become less cheesy? find out tomorrow! 

if i havent posted within 24 hours assume i have been attacked by goblins riding giant talking bugs and am seeking shelter in an abandoned castle

[garden-ghoul]

listen to and share my podcast where I talk about being a baby witch and having to learn to manipulate the fabric of society! it doesn’t get more autistic than this! 

transcript below the cut.

Before reading: THIS IS THE BEST TIFFANY ACHING BOOK! Because it’s about navigating new peer groups and feeling like an idiot and being weird even among the weirdos who should be your people! Tiffany is SO multiple and so relateable and I kind of want to have kids just so I can read them this book and tell them “See, if you feel this, you’re in good company.”

Also I should introduce Tiffany, since this is the second Tiffany book. In this one she’s 11 years old. She’s a witch who grew up on chalk instead of hard stone and sometimes people look down on her for that. She’s a little pretentious about how perceptive and thoughtful she is and how she knows a bunch of big words she can’t pronounce. I believe she whacked the queen of the fairies on the head with a frying pan, or something similar. And she briefly met Granny Weatherwax at the end of her first book, and Granny gave her the eponymous hat full of sky, which is a pointed witch hat that nobody can see. I’m not exactly clear on why. The point is she’s the perfect picture of a good half of all autistic children and she’s very dear to my heart.

SO the book starts by presenting a bodiless, frightened thing that has lost the brain it used to live in, drifting slowly over the hills. And then Tiffany does a spell that allows her to step out of her body and look at it from outside and it notices her. Perfect! A strong mind! Filled with lots of little nested minds! There’s the setup of the plot, this creature called a Hiver. Now to the action.

Tiffany is going to the mountains, and on the way we get a flashback about that time Tiffany was briefly the ruler of a colony of pictsies—the Nac Mac Feegle. I mention this because there’s a bit with the new ruler, the new kelda she’s called, who gives Tiffany a get out of here this is my turf now look—and this territoriality theme was a very strong in the last book. We also get a lovely bit of editorial from the author on the new kelda, Jeannie: he says that because she’s new, because she’s moved here from far away and is frightened and unsure and alone, she makes a mistake. And that mistake is telling her clan not to protect Tiffany from the Hiver that is following her.

I want to read some excerpts from the later part where we see Jeannie’s husband, Rob Anybody, having some existential dread about it. Because it’s some great comedy and some great pathos, all in one. Jeannie comes out to try and stop him brooding about how he’s not allowed to keep Tiffany safe—offers him a drink of extra strong liquor that may or may not be made from turpentine and when he refuses it she starts yelling that he’s died. A couple of his brothers come out and start crying, it’s a great bit. But then Jeannie, as his wife, asks him not to go save Tiffany. Heavy-hearted, Rob agrees… and the next moment, as his kelda, she tells him he does have to save Tiffany, because Tiffany is the hag of the hills and she tells the land what it is. But be careful, won’t you?

“You've got something to come back safe to me for, Rob Anybody,” said Jeannie. “An' I beg ye to use your heid for somethin' other than nuttin' folk.”

“I thank ye, Kelda,” said Rob Anybody. “I'll do as ye bid. I'll tak' some lads and find the big wee hag, for the good o' the hills. It cannae be a good life for the puir wee big wee thing, all alone and far fra' home, among strangers.”

“Aye,” said Jeannie, turning her face away. “I ken that, too.”

I just love this growing sympathy between Tiffany and Jeannie, as women who have to make their own way to power and self-confidence.

There’s a bit of intrigue for Tiffany on the way to the mountains, with her escort making these divination devices cum curse nets called shambles and having them explode with some kind of oppressive power, but she does make it. We meet her new mentor Miss Level, who has two bodies and used to work in a circus because it seemed like she was reading her own mind. She’s desperate for a bit of company because the last three girls who came to apprentice with her found her too unsettling and left.

She takes Tiffany out to the nearby villages that are on Miss Level’s beat, as it were, collecting gossip and free food and tending to the sick. The witch’s life is presented as this sort of a web of implication and subtlety, manipulating the social fabric so as to do good and get paid without causing any resentment. Although Miss Level says it’s VERY important that a witch never expects to get paid.

“Pretty soon people will be killing their pigs for the winter,” said Miss Level, “and I'll get more brawn, ham, bacon and sausages turning up than a family could eat in a year.”

“You do? What do you do with all that food?”

“Store it,” said Miss Level. 

“But you-“

“I store it in other people. It's amazing what you can store in other people.” Miss Level laughed at Tiffany's expression. “I mean, I take what I don't need round to those who don't have a pig, or who're going through a bad patch, or who don't have anyone to remember them.”

Witches are agents of communism! From each according to ability, to each according to need. I think it’s cool that they’re here to sort of smooth out economic inequality.

Miss Level also asks Tiffany about her Granny Aching, and the way she used her influence. I really like this bit.

“Did she help people?” Miss Level asked.

“She made them help one another,” Tiffany said. “She made them help themselves.”

Miss Level sighed. “Not many of us are that good.”

So a witch’s job is to subtly manipulate everyone around her into being a better person.

So Tiffany is doing a lot of boring taking care of people. She doesn’t like it, it’s not very glamorous. Another apprentice witch named Petulia Gristle, who has an inconvenient amount of occult jewelry, stops by to invite her to the ‘sabbat’ the other apprentices have. But Petulia keeps asking Tiffany whether she doesn’t want to dress to fit in, and using strange jargon. Petulia is VERY good at fitting in, in the kind of quickly-back-up-your-opinions-and-turn-them-in-a-different-direction kind of way. We’re also introduced to Annagramma, who is the leader of the apprentices in the same way Granny Weatherwax is leader of the witches: which is to say, everyone cares a lot about her opinion but of course witches don’t have leaders. Annagramma says.

Annagramma is the type of insufferable teen who insists on being the only clever person in the room. This is a tall order because most witches are a bit like that, and Tiffany certainly is. But Tiffany is younger and doesn’t have as much experience manipulating the social fabric, and Annagramma uses her inexperience to humiliate her. Oh sure of course you kicked the fairy queen out of your village. Uh huh. And Tiffany does a little analysis of how Annagramma manages her underlings: she’s like a dog worrying the sheep so much that they don’t have time to do what she says, so nothing gets done. She’s getting in her own way because she, too, is a teen and doesn’t know anything. Aww. I almost like her. I have a soft spot for teens.

Tiffany tells the other apprentices that she’s met Granny Weatherwax (to general disbelief) and that Granny gave her this hat. Everyone asks, What hat? And what follows is maybe my favorite scene from the book.

Long afterwards, and long after all sorts of things had happened, she'd go 'la la la!' to blot out the memory whenever something reminded her of that evening. Miss Level tried to talk to her as she ran upstairs, but she bolted her door, kicked off her boots and lay down on the bed with the pillow over her head to drown out the laughter echoing inside…

Tiffany's First Thoughts were running around in circles. Her Second Thoughts were caught up in the storm. Only her Third Thoughts, which were very weak, came up with: Even though your world is completely and utterly ruined and can never be made better, no matter what, and you 're completely inconsolable, it would be nice if you heard someone bringing some soup upstairs . . . The Third Thoughts got Tiffany off the bed and over to the door, where they guided her hand to slide the bolt back. Then they let her fling herself on the bed again. A few minutes later there was a creak of footsteps on the landing. It's nice to be right. Miss Level knocked, then came in after a decent pause. Tiffany heard the tray go down on the table, then felt the bed move as a body sat down on it.

Just this very sweet and relateable baby teen moment where Miss Level tries to comfort her. The other thing I really love about it is the Third Thoughts being the part of you that makes sure that even when you’re low you still take care of yourself. Because I’ve named that part of myself too and it makes me feel close to Tiffany.

Tiffany is feeling so miserable and insecure and homesick that she really just wants to see the invisible hat. So she uses her “See Me” spell to step outside herself and sees the hat right there on her head… but when she tries to reverse it the Tiffany she’s looking at says, “We see you. Now we are you.” Then: Lightning struck somewhere nearby. The window blew in. The candle flame flew out in a streamer of fire, and died. And then there was only darkness, and the hiss of the rain. Damn, that’s a good end for a chapter.

The next morning Tiffany seems to be back in her body, and feeling just great. But discontented with boring nonmagical chores. She wants to climb mountains! BUT she’s losing tiny bits of time, during which she seems to be trying to leave messages, asking for help. Once again, a multiple witch is able to resist not just mind control, but total annihilation of the mind. It seems like her Third Thoughts are somewhat able to curb the nasty temper of the new Tiffany because they’re already used to regulating her. Which is how it is, right, when you’re going through puberty? But she’s seeing things that were seen by minds the Hiver already consumed, and speaking in their voices. She can read minds and she’s telekinetic. She just wants to ACTUALLY USE SOME MAGIC. She leaves the cottage, and Rob, who’s been worriedly tracking her, talks to Miss Level about her.

Miss Level is bewildered at the idea of Tiffany being a powerful witch because she can’t do everyday magic on command—Rob says no, it’s a deep magic tied to the land, not to be used for party tricks. It kind of reminds me of a recent discussion on ADHD, and how it makes ‘simple’ tasks like doing the laundry or making lunch very difficult, but complex tasks like spontaneously producing a podcast much easier. Tiffany is very much in the mold of a hyperlexic child who doesn’t fit in anywhere and is bad at what people expect her to be good at, while being good at things no-one expects her to be able to do at all. Makes me wonder some things about Sir Terry.

So she goes to Annagramma’s to threaten her and try to recruit her as a crony, because the Hiver likes to amass power. Wherever she goes, shambles and curse nets disintegrate, presumably because her very existence is a curse—the type of magic she uses doesn’t play nice with anything else. She goes to a magical paraphernalia shop and turns someone into a frog to get a good discount. Comes home and kills Miss Level. In the ensuing struggle within Tiffany’s mind, she passes out and the Feegles have to go inside her mind.

Inside the part of Tiffany’s mind where Tiffany still is, it looks like the Chalk, and there are the hills and Granny Aching’s shepherd hut. On the door in chalk is written a list of smells that belong to the hut, and if the Hiver smells them it will be brought there—this is important because as long as Tiffany is on her own turf she’s pretty well unstoppable since her power comes from the land. So Rob sends a raiding party to steal the smells, and meanwhile he’s got to fight a bunch of trees that are trying to steal the sunlight from the hills. When the Hiver appears on Tiffany’s turf the Feegles all start fighting it, because of course they do! The earth shakes; the trees start to fall over; and the hills grow taller and start to move, because they’re the shape of a sleeping girl. Yes! That’s right! Tiffany IS the land, and she is SO much bigger than the Hiver, which she picks up between her two fingers. The Feegle bard begins to weep because he’s not good enough to write a song that will do justice to their hag of the land.

And Tiffany wakes up under a green quilt that looks like the chalk hills. She’s really dissociated but someone tells her to milk the goats, so she does. When she comes back to herself Granny Weatherwax is there and explains that one of the previous hosts, a wizard who studied Hivers, explained everything in Tiffany’s sleep. Hivers collect people, and Tiffany now has a head full of ghosts. That’s right she’s DOUBLE MULTIPLE.

We also have a very good bit with Miss Level, who you will recall lost one of her bodies in a Hiver accident, still going about her business as if she still had four hands without realizing it. And because she’s a witch, she can just do that! To me it reads as a parallel for the hat full of sky Granny gave Tiffany, something you can’t see but that nevertheless exists and does its job. I mean, I’m also a sucker for magical workarounds for disabilities, especially if the disability is something strange like ‘only having one body.’ Granny does a little speech on how magic is the easy part of witching, and dealing with people is both the hard part and the more important part.

Now this is something very important to me! Pratchett’s witches, the good ones, are ALL about tikkun olam. They don’t ask ‘who will repair the world?’ They say, ‘I will do it.’ When I was young this made a huge impression on me, that Pratchett presented these witches as the people to admire. I still find it very comforting, this permission to be able to be nasty and self-confident and know I can’t expect thanks for my good work. This is not necessarily to say that I approve of anyone telling children that selflessness is The Right Way To Be—just that for many reasons I have chosen to try to be generous and hardworking, and Pratchett tells us this is difficult and irritating and uncool. I love him.  I’m probably going to witter about this during every single witch book but whatever, Granny Weatherwax is my own mean grandmother who raised me.

So now Tiffany has to repair the world. She’s got to do the medicine for everyone and she’s got to visit old Mr Weavall whose money she stole while she was possessed. But when she checks in the box, lo and behold, it’s filled with gold from the barrow where the Feegles live! Mr Weavall is delighted, gives Tiffany a gold coin, and decides on the spur of the moment to get married.

Which is a very cute way to show that sometimes you’ll get rewarded when you don’t think you deserve a reward, but you’ve got to be humble about it even so. “It’s an unfair world,” Granny tells Tiffany. “Be glad you have friends.” And that’s it, isn’t it?

Granny and Tiffany spend the night up in the mountains stalking the Hiver (unsuccessfully) and then go down the Witch Trials, which is a bit like a fair where all the witches show a cool thing they can do. The Hiver finally starts to move in.

Tiffany builds a shamble, an inconsequential piece of witchery she hasn’t been able to do for the whole book. She can do it now because the stakes are high enough. Yep! That old familiar ADHD feeling, where you can’t make anything happen unless you’re panicking and half mad with guilt! Like us, her power comes from being stressed the fuck out, and it’s correspondingly huge: when she creates her shamble, a curse net to catch the Hiver, the carved horse on the hillside down in the Chalk gets up and leaps away toward the mountains. I’m sorry I haven’t communicated all the great imagery that Pratchett brings back for the climax; he’s excellent at weaving together the details of place in a way that make them important and real. Any book about Tiffany Aching is also a book about her whole country, because in many ways she is the avatar of the Chalk.

And she talks to the Hiver. It’s afraid of endlessly continuing to experience the world, which is a real mood. It wants Tiffany to teach it to die, but it feels that because it isn’t a single person it can’t possibly die. Tiffany tells it a lovely story:

'I'm made up of the memories of my parents and grandparents, all my ancestors. They're in the way I look, in the colour of my hair. And I'm made up of everyone I've ever met who's changed the way I think. So who is “me”?'

She tells the Hiver it might as well just construct an identity and inhabit it, in the same way humans do. And now that your name is Arthur (she names it) you just have to cross this endless desert behind this creepy door that I’ve just invented. So the Hiver goes off to learn how to die! But Tiffany is trapped here forever because her door has vanished. She has a few minutes to sink into despair before Granny Weatherwax opens the door from the other side and goes “Come on now, I’m an experienced psychopomp and so will you be, but we haven’t got all day.” And, importantly, Granny says witches never talk about the psychopomp thing. One of those open secrets.

Tiffany wakes up surrounded by the other apprentice witches. She tries to tell them what she’s seen but Annagramma is pretty set on making it seem like Tiffany must have been imagining things. But she takes off her boots and they’re full of black sand that moves weird, and Petulia has heard the rumors about the dark desert, and they believe her.

“Petulia, we're not supposed to talk about this,” said Harrieta, gently. 

“No!” said Petulia, her face red. “It is a time to talk about it, just here, just us!”

This feels very important to me, that there’s a space for girls to have secrets and to explore taboo topics together. The camera cuts away for the actual conversation, but I’m glad they got to have it.

Gossip travels fast among the witches. All of them want to see Tiffany and Granny Weatherwax pitted against each other in the Trials—everyone seems to want one or the other taken down a peg. But neither of them enters. They just stare at each other through all the performances, and Tiffany feels that she’s already won because Granny, the only witch who matters, gave her approval already. It seems a bit shortsighted when I put it like that, but it’s such an important an buoyant feeling to have a mentor figure you admire and trust  tell you that you’ve done well. Tiffany doesn’t care what Annagramma thinks any more, and in Pratchett’s universe this takes away her sway over everyone. Not quite how it works, but certainly how it feels in your heart.

Later she goes to visit Granny and gets another lecture on how the trappings of station aren’t as important as what you do with them, and she thinks about how Granny feels a lot of pressure to keep being The Best and would secretly like someone clever to beat her at her own game. It’s a very sweet moment. The books ends with Tiffany going home for a couple weeks to help with the lambing down in the Chalk, and throwing away her fancy witch hat with the stars on it. She replaces it with the hat made out of the sky, which, as night falls, fills up with stars.

 It’s a special kind of fun to dissect young adult novels because by reading them we can understand what the author wants children, here especially young girls, to know and believe. In this one we have:

People can’t make you feel small and stupid if you don’t play along with them

Understanding people is more important than any technical skill, and more difficult to learn too

It’s extremely embarrassing to be a weird mentally ill kid but you can do great things if you see your strangeness as an asset instead of trying to destroy it

Regulating your own worst thoughts and impulses is a power that takes careful honing but can become a superpower

Capable friends are the best thing in the world to have.

This, and the very last bit where Tiffany turns up for Jeannie’s first kids to be born, also lead us to an important message: that women should support each other even when circumstances or other people seek to pit them against each other. We see this too during the Trials when the other witches want to see Granny and Tiffany compete. Allying yourself with other women is better all around, and additionally it might surprise other people in a very satisfying way. I’m not a woman and I don’t believe I’ve ever thought I was, but I’m VERY interested in women learning to love themselves and each other. And of course, witches have also got to love themselves and each other, and I am a witch.

 Thanks, A’tune in next week, theme song by et c et c.

#rips off shirt to reveal TIFFANY ACHING FANCLUB PRESIDENT shirt underneath #discworld #audio #it's yelling all the way down

[antonverloc]

i made verloc a playlist because listen it’s my day off and this is definitely the most productive use of my time. many of the songs refer to different aspects of him (or at least my portrayal) as well as his relationships, and those details and the most prominent lyrics in each are under the cut. 

GERM CELL TUMOR / SHOWBREAD (HIM). ❝ i’m often misplacing the conviction that i sell; i put it on display so arrogantly. sometimes being right is important to me; i need the vindication, but it doesn’t make me happy. i’m horrified by the prospect of defeat; so many demons want to make a home in me. ❞ + ❝ i think that when i started, there was hope in the tank. somewhere along the line, i replaced all of it. running on the arrogant fumes of self-satisfaction, got me reeking of the odor of my own pestilence. ❞ + ❝ so petrified, and i’m tangled in conceit. ❞

SHE BLINDED ME WITH SCIENCE / THOMAS DOLBY (SALLY).  ❝ i don’t believe it! there she goes again. she’s tidied up, and i can’t find anything. all my tubes and wires, and careful notes, and antiquated notions. but it’s poetry in motion, and when she turned her eyes to me, as deep as any ocean, as sweet as any harmony, she blinded me with science. ❞

DEAD IN THIS HOUSE / IAMX (CHILDHOOD/FAMILY). ❝ you’re in the dark, just you and anger; your oldest friend, your closest lover. show them your art, show them your alchemy - your addictive, viral, euphoric, raging need. ❞ + ❝ kick down the door, kick through the pain. you’ve been talking to the wall, ‘cause everybody is dead in this house. ❞

SMOKE AND MIRRORS / GOTYE (HIM). ❝ you’re a fraud, and you know it; but it’s too good to throw away. anyone would do the same. you’ve got ‘em going, and you’re careful not to show it. sometimes you even fool yourself a bit - it’s like magic - but it’s always been a smoke and mirrors game. anyone would do the same. ❞ + ❝ such highs and lows, you put on quite a show. all these highs and lows, and you’re never really sure what you do it for. ❞

ANIMALS / MUSE (HIM). ❝ out of control - you’re out of control. strike those in distress. analyze, advertise, expand, bend more rules - buy yourself an island. ❞ + ❝ out of control - we’re out of control. crush those who beg at your feet. analyze, franchise, spread out, kill the competition - and buy yourself an ocean. amortize, downsize, lay off, kill yourself - come on and do us all a favour. ❞ 

NUMB / MARINA AND THE DIAMONDS (HIM). ❝ one track mind like a gold fish, stuck inside my petri dish. i can’t breathe and i can’t smile - this better be worth my while. i feel numb most of the time; the lower i get, the higher i’ll climb. and i will wonder why i got dark only to shine; looking for the golden light, oh, it’s a reasonable sacrifice. ❞ + ❝ forego family, forego friends. that’s how it started, how it ends. i can’t open up and cry, ‘cause i’ve been silent all my life. ❞ + ❝ oh, i get dark - and oh, i’m in hell. i need a friend - oh, but i can’t yell. yeah, i’m no good, no good to anyone, ‘cause all i care about is being number one. ❞

SOLITAIRE / MARINA AND THE DIAMONDS (HIM). ❝ don’t wanna talk with anyone, i’m obsessed with silence. i go home and i lock my door, i can hear the sirens. i see buildings and bars from the window, and i listen to the wind blow. i see people and cars covered in gold, and i’m happy to be on my own. ❞ + ❝ hard like a rock, cold like a stone. white like a diamond, black like coal. cut like a jewel, yeah, i repair myself when you’re not there. solitaire, something you consider rare. i don’t wanna be compared with that cheap shimmer and glitter. ❞ + ❝ i’m in love with the ice-blue skies of england. i’ll admit, all i wanna do is get drunk and silent. ❞

HURT / JOHNNY CASH (HIM/SALLY). ❝ i hurt myself today to see if i still feel. i focus on the pain, the only thing that’s real. ❞ + ❝ everyone i know goes away in the end. and you could have it all - my empire of dirt. i will let you down; i will make you hurt. ❞ + ❝ i wear this crown of thorns, upon my liar’s chair; full of broken thoughts i cannot repair. beneath the stains of time, the feelings disappear; you are someone else, and i am still right here. ❞

WHITE SUBURB IMPRESSIONISM / IAMX (HIM). ❝ you might keep me alive, but i can let you down any time that i like. ❞ + ❝ break my neck or my fall, and burn all the bridges, and breach every wall. the sweetest of touches, the violent caress - the time of your life for the marks that you left on me. ❞ + ❝ never argue with these idiots, they drag you down to their level and beat you with ignorance. ❞

FLAWED DESIGN / STABILO (HIM). ❝ when i got older, i began to lie to get exactly what i wanted when i wanted it, and i wanted it. now i’m having trouble differentiating between what i want and what i need to make me happy. ❞ + ❝ and i will turn off, and i will shut down; burying the voices of my conscience hitting ground. the chemicals are restless in my head. ❞ + ❝ never take advice from someone who just admitted to being devious, who just confessed to treason.❞

COLD COLD COLD / CAGE THE ELEPHANT (HIM). ❝ doctor, look into my eyes. i’ve been breathing air, but there’s no sign of life. doctor, the problem’s in my chest; my heart feels cold as ice, but it’s anybody’s guess. ❞ + ❝ it’s cold, cold, cold, cold inside. darker in the day than in the dead of night. ❞

NOTHING PERSONAL / NIGHT RIOTS (HIM/DOWNERS). ❝ the center of the world is lonely me. ❞ + ❝ i’ll be the king, you’ll be the filth i wash away. it’s nothing personal. ❞

WHO ARE YOU, REALLY? / MIKKY EKKO (HIM). ❝ so, you feel entitled to a sense of control, and make decisions that you think are your own. ❞ + ❝ now you’re moving idle, and you say you’re alone. ❞ 

DON’T MESS WITH ME / TEMPOSHARK (HIM). ❝ how it all began, if truth be told: i had a master plan, now i rule the world. took ‘em by surprise, worked my way uphill. they looked into my eyes; i became invincible. no one can stop me, for only i am in control. if you want me, you’d better contact my people. ❞ + ❝ won’t you please disappear? something tells me you can’t further my career. ❞

CALL MY NAME / THE UNLIKELY CANDIDATES (SALLY). ❝ i keep my heart under the floorboards, deep in the dark, far away from yours. a panic starts in a little box when you’re at my door, and it’s fine. no, i lied - i feel it screaming. it knows what you’ve come for. ❞ + ❝ heart! what is it i hear? i’m moving past the real, and it wants to feel you call my name.  ❞ + ❝ i pass the time in cool paranoia, detail each crime that killed me before you. but your pale blue eyes trigger innocence and bind to euphoria, then it throbs, and i’m about to hear it laughing. my heart will destroy us. ❞

WIRES / THE NEIGHBORHOOD (HIM). ❝ mr. know-it-all had his reign and fall, at least that’s what his brain is telling all. ❞ + ❝ you knew the game and played it, it kills to know that you have been defeated. ❞ + ❝ the wires got the best of him - all that he’d invested in goes straight to hell. ❞

I DON’T EVEN CARE ABOUT YOU / MISSIO (HIM/SALLY). ❝ depressed again; morning comes too fast, and i’m tired of the routine. depressed again, let me sit alone in the tone of tranquility. angry again; no, i don’t want to have a conversation with you. angry again; let me sit alone with the kerosene. ❞ + ❝ i don’t even care about you, i don’t even care about you - depressed again - angry again - let me sit alone with the kerosene. ❞

EVERYBODY WANTS TO RULE THE WORLDS / LORDE (HIM/WELLINGTON WELLS). ❝ welcome to your life, there’s no turning back. even while we sleep, we will find you acting on your best behaviour, turn your back on mother nature. everybody wants to rule the world. ❞ + ❝ it’s my own design, it’s my own remorse. ❞ 

STORMS / FLEETWOOD MAC (SALLY). ❝ every night that goes between, i feel a little less. as you slowly go away from me, this is only another test. every night you do not come, your softness fades away. did i ever really care that much? is there anything left to say? every hour of fear i spend, my body tries to cry. living through another empty night, a deadly calm inside. ❞ + ❝ i haven’t felt this way i feel since many a year ago, but in those years and the lifetimes past, i did not deal with the road. and i did not deal with you, i know, though the love has always been. ❞

EARTH / SLEEPING AT LAST (CHILDHOOD/FAMILY). ❝ fault lines tremble underneath my glass house, but i put it out of my mind. long enough to call it courage, to live without a lifeline. i bend the definition of faith to exonerate my blind eye; ‘til the sirens sound, i’m safe. ❞ + ❝ meanwhile, my family’s taking shelter; the sparks send the fire down the wire. the countdown begins, until the dynamite gives in. ❞

BURN / AURAM (SALLY). ❝ if i burn, you burn with me. you got me so fucked up, feels like you’re watching me. thought you’d be haunting, but it’s her that’s haunting me. is this what you want? setting me on fire. i thought i loved you right, but this is what you inspire. and you were right when you told me “you’ve got a lot to prove”; may not be watching close, but i’m watching you. now i’ve got ammunition, baby - you don’t even wanna think about what i could do. ❞

WEIRD SCIENCE / OINGO BOINGO (HIM). ❝ from my heart and from my hand - why don’t people understand my intentions? plastic tubes and pots and pans, bits and pieces, magic from the hand, we’re making weird science. ❞ + ❝ pictures from a magazine, diagrams and charts, mending broken hearts. ❞ + ❝ things i’ve never seen before behind bolted doors; talent and imagination. ❞

THE SCIENTIST / COLDPLAY (SALLY).  ❝ running in circles, coming up tails, heads on a science apart. nobody said it was easy; it’s such a shame for us to part. nobody said it was easy; no one ever said it would be this hard. oh, take me back to the start. ❞ + ❝ i was just guessing at numbers and figures, pulling the puzzles apart. questions of science - science and progress - don’t speak as loud as my heart. tell me you love me, come back to haunt me - oh, and i rush to the start. ❞

PIPES / TOM MILSOM (HIM/SALLY). ❝ the world is strange; it’s all a game, a shooting range. for apathy and empathy, psychology and therapy; and even if i’m eloquent, this all defies my sentiment. ❞ + ❝ hovering intangibly is everything you mean to me; i’d cut open your humming heart if only i knew where to start. these microscopes replace my eyes, and everything it magnifies is something new, but everywhere you cast a shadow on the atoms in the air. ❞ + ❝ let me cut it open and explore the information, in the pipes that make it mazes of logistical holisticism. ❞ + ❝ there’s no emotion in my eyes, i’m just a robot in disguise. the passion, when it came to me, was more than sonic fallacy. ❞

OH NO! / MARINA AND THE DIAMONDS (HIM). ❝ don’t do love, don’t do friends. i’m only after success. don’t need a relationship, i’ll never soften my grip. ❞ + ❝ i know exactly what i want and who i want to be. i know exactly why i walk and talk like a machine. i’m now becoming my own self-fulfilled prophecy - oh, oh no. ❞ + ❝ one track mind, one track heart. if i fail, i’ll fall apart. maybe it is all a test, ‘cause i feel like i’m the worst, so i always act like i’m the best. ❞

DANGEROUSLY / CHARLIE PUTH (SALLY). ❝ i ignored the truth, drunk off that love. it fucked my head up; there’s no forgetting you. ❞ + ❝ you’ve awoken me, but you’re choking me. i was so obsessed, gave you all of me - and now, honestly, i’ve got nothing left. ❞ + ❝ knew we would crash at the speed we were going, didn’t care if the explosion ruined me. baby, i loved you dangerously. ❞ + ❝ usually, i hold the power with both my hands tied behind my back. look at how things have changed. ❞

#OOC ╱ TAKE OFF MY MASK AND LEAVE THE LIES TO THE LIARS. #HEADCANONS ╱ IN THE DARK JUST YOU AND ANGER.

[demon-snacks]

Family Secrets Ch 4

Summary: Left alone in the bunker for a few days, the reader tries to keep busy. Once the boys are back from their hunting trip, Sam corners you to have a conversation about things that happened before he left. Left with a choice to make, you end up having a heart to heart with someone unexpected.

Word Count: 2,400

Characters: Sam x Plus size reader, Dean, mention of moms.

Warnings: Angst, flirting, mention of deaths, alcohol, fluff? kind of?

A/N: I wanna thank everyone who has been giving this series some love. Y’all drive me to write more, and your likes and comments just add fuel. Am I trying to make a car analogy here? What has this turned into. This is sort of the last chapter before I try to switch things up. Will the reader leave? Will they stay? Will Dean always be a dick? Not even I know! Just kidding, I do know. As usual, any italics that aren’t in quotes are internal thoughts. The lyrics in the first part of the fic are from Dreams by Fleetwood Mac. Enjoy! Unbeta’d, all mistakes are my own.

Catch up: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

Masterlist

The wind whipped around the inside of the car as you drove down the road. The boys had gone off on a case and would be gone for a few days, so you had the bunker all to yourself. This had been nice for the first few days, until your thoughts started getting the better of you. Today you woke up on a mission to keep yourself busy, and decided to give the kitchen a good clean. As incentive to finish what you started you decided to head to the store and get baking supplies first.

Tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, you crank the volume up on the radio. The song coming through the speakers was one of your favorites, and you quickly lost yourself in it. When moments like these came along you grasped them, allowing them to take over for however brief a time, almost mourning them when they passed. Moments when you felt joy, or even just like you were able to exist right then and there without feeling like the world was closing in on you. Moments like these. A smile grew across your face as you belted out the lyrics, drumming on the steering wheel. “But listen carefully to the sound of your loneliness, like a heartbeat drives you mad, in the stillness of remembering what you had. And what you lost. And what you haaad. And what you lost.”

You returned from the grocery store, dropping the cumbersome bags on the kitchen counter with a groan. Once you were inside the grocery store you wandered the isles looking for anything that caught your eye. In the end you had decided to get ingredients to bake brownies, as well as something to make for dinner. You also went a little overboard on the snacks, but that was never a bad thing. Before emptying the contents of the bags you paused to put some music on. You settled on a good 80s/90s playlist. As the music began to fill the room you got right to work.

The kitchen really had been a mess. It took an hour just to clean out and wipe down the fridge. Do these boys even know how to put food away? If i have to clean up one more open plate of food I’m gonna snap. Oh look, another half eaten cheeseburger. Everything was clean and in its proper place now though. Leaning against the counter you take a long look around, admiring your hard work. A couple minutes had passed when your phone buzzed on the counter beside you. It was a text from Sam.

Sam>> Everything went fine. No major injuries, just a few stitches. We’re headed back now, should be home by 9 tonight.

(Y/N)>> Glad the hunt went well. I’m making pasta for dinner, plenty for everyone. See you when you get here.

Sam>> Oh man, now I’m even more excited to get back.

(Y/N)>> Just wait until you see what’s for dessert 😉

Sam>> Let’s do dessert first.

(Y/N)>> Patience, Winchester. Good things come to those who practice it.

Sam>> I can’t wait to see you..

On that note you set your phone down with a smirk. It was the day after Sam had come to your room looking for company when they had gotten the call. One of their hunter friends needed help with a case, which meant they left immediately. The way they just went to help without questioning it surprised you, not many people would do that. However, it also meant that you and Sam hadn’t had the chance to talk about what had happened between the two of you. Not that there was a whole lot to talk about, it was just fooling around. Still, you weren’t sure how he felt about it.

Pushing yourself off the counter with a sigh, you decide to take a shower and get changed before baking the brownies you had decided to make for dessert.

You were stirring the sauce on the stove top when you heard the door to the bunker shut. It sounded as if the brothers were racing to try and get to the bottom of the stairs first. The first face you saw belonged to Sam, who was closely followed by Dean.

“Wow, it smells amazing in here, (Y/N)!” Sam announced.

“Yeah, it really does.” Dean agreed, walking over to check out what you were cooking for dinner. Their timing was great, you were just about to drain the pasta.

“Home just in time for me to plate dinner. It’s almost as if you boys have an extra spidey sense just for food.” you say, pouring the pasta into the strainer. While you were occupied Dean stuck his finger in the sauce to get a taste. His eyes grew wide and he frantically pointed at the contents of the pan, mouthing how good it was to Sam. He stopped abruptly when you turned to grab an empty plate.

Dean took the first plate, sitting himself at the table and not wasting any time before digging in. You were piling food on the second plate when Sam stepped up to your side and wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you in. As he bent down to bring his lips to your ear your eyes darted over to Dean. He was far too lost in his dinner to notice anything around him.

“I really do appreciate this.” Sam whispered. His lips pressed against your temple before he pulled away. The moment was brief, but you still found your heart fluttering at the way he touched you. What are you doing? Calm down, it’s just a measly little kiss. You offer him the plate of food along with a small smile, before turning to dish out your own.

Dean was moaning as he shoveled another bite into his mouth when you took your seat across from him at the table.

“This is amazing, (Y/N). What is it?” He asked with a noodle hanging out of his mouth.

“Just some linguine with a garlic sage cream sauce.” you shrugged, twirling a bite onto your fork.

“JUST some linguine.. give yourself some credit, (Y/N). This is seriously good.” Sam managed to say between bites.

“Better than anything Sammy ever made.” said Dean, before receiving a kick from under the table.

“I may have worked in a kitchen or two over the years.” you remarked slyly, taking a bite yourself.

The conversation was light throughout dinner, led mostly by Sam. You talked about the hunt, Sam explained that their friend Donna needed help taking down a local nest of vamps. Dean didn’t really say much, focused on devouring his second helping. When you had finished eating you placed your plate in the sink and started heading for your room.

You were halfway down the hall when you heard footfalls behind you. Turning, you saw Sam jogging up to you, a smile spread across his face.

“Hey,” he said, coming to a halt in front of you, “can we talk?”

“Sure.”

Pulling you around the corner so Dean wouldn’t see you two if he came down the hall, he began talking. “How are you?”

“I’m fine. Why? should I not be?” you responded, raising an eyebrow.

“No, no, I was just wondering. We kinda rushed off before you and I had the chance to talk. I was so busy with everything I didn’t have time to text you or anything, and you were stuck in this place for days without company. I know how your mind wanders, and I was just worried that maybe you thought that I was avoiding you or something.” his eyes never left yours, even after he finished speaking. He was trying to gauge your response, your feelings. You heaved a sigh before responding.

“Sam, I’m fine. I’ve survived a lot worse than a few days alone in a bunker. Besides, the whole place is warded.” his face fell a bit. It wasn’t demons he was worried about. “And don’t worry about the other night,” you waved your hand in the air, “we were just fooling around, having a little fun. Besides, I’ll be out of your hair soon anyway. I found two towns that look promising. I’ll be heading out in a couple days once I pick one and pack up.”

Closing the space between you in one stride, he reached his hand up and ran his fingertips along your jaw. “(Y/N), I like you. I like being around you, I like making you laugh, I like the way you smell, and the way you don’t take any shit from anyone. When I was away these past few days.. it made me realize just how much I care about you. I’m falling for you, (Y/N),” his words made the breath catch in your throat, “and that scares the hell out of me.” He paused then to take a shaky breath. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way, it really is, but please stay. This place, it’s a fortress against what you’re running from. I just want you to be safe, (Y/N). Please stay..” His voice trailed off, but his words hung in the air. This was too much. You didn’t know how to react. Your mind was screaming at you to run, to just leave tonight while they were sleeping. Your body wouldn’t move though, as if his mere presence was keeping you in place. You suddenly realized that you had stopped breathing. Head swimming, you took a deep breath.

“I can’t risk getting involved with anyone,” your voice nearly a whisper, “it always ends badly.” you say, trying to convince yourself as much as him.

He bent down then and placed a soft, deep kiss on your lips. You couldn’t help but lean into it. After a moment he pulled away, resting his forehead against yours. “Just think about it. Please.” he said, his hot breath splaying across your face in the close proximity. Pulling away, he turned and walked down the hall and into his room.

This can’t be happening. The thoughts would not stop whirling around your mind. You wanted to leave, knowing that it would be the right thing to do, but the possibility of what could happen if you stay was strong. You glanced over at the clock and sighed heavily. It read 2:17am. Clearly you weren’t going to be getting any sleep tonight, so you decide to haul yourself out of bed. You grabbed the old, weathered journal that was on your desk before leaving the room.

Walking into the kitchen you grabbed a bottle of whiskey and sat down on the cold floor, leaning back against the cabinets. This was all so much to process. You opened the journal in front of you before taking a swig from the bottle in your hand. Whenever things got real bad, or whenever you needed a reminder that happiness can exist if only for a short time, you turned to this journal. It was one of the two things you had kept from your childhood, the second being the cloak you were wrapped in so long ago under those floor boards. You don’t allow yourself to dwell on that memory though, and instead became lost in the words that had been written.

You sat there for some time, alone with your thoughts. Well, not really alone, you had the journal. The more you drank, the more you found your fingers ghosting along the handwriting that covered the pages. Some entries were short, only a few sentences. Others were pages long, depicting family outings and fond memories. You were pulled from your thoughts by the sound of the fridge door opening. Not bothering to see who it was that was up this late you lift the bottle to your lips before placing it on the floor. The clink of the glass against the tile caused Dean to look over.

“What are you doing up?” he inquired.

“Drinking.” You responded. He took in the sight of you for a moment, sitting there, journal on the floor between your legs, clearly struggling with something.

“Mind if I join you? That’s some good whiskey.”

“Whatever floats your boat.” you slur, not caring. He sat himself on the floor next to you, grabbing the bottle and taking a swig. The moments passed in silence, the two of you passing the bottle back and forth. Finally he decided to speak.

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the journal. The bottle was in your hand now, the writing on the pages before you starting to blur together.

“It was my mothers.” you tell him, touching the pages softly. A few more moments of silence passed before you took another gulp of whiskey.

“Sam told me what happened when you were little. Probably didn’t tell me everything, but he told me enough.” He paused, resting his elbows on his knees and looking down at the floor. “I lost my mom too ya know.” His response was quiet, almost as if he were talking to himself. It wasn’t often that he spoke to you like this, without poking fun or being a smart ass. In fact, aside from his comments about dinner earlier, this was the first real conversation the two of you had ever had. You held the bottle out to him, a silent acknowledgement of his pain, from one broken person to another. He took it.

After a long sip, he sighed. “I sat on the front lawn holding little Sammy as he cried, watching my house burn to the ground. Knowing that my mother was burning too.” he confessed. “That stuff, it never leaves you.”

“I know.” you whispered.

Placing the bottle down between you, Dean placed his hand on your knee. “I’m sorry about what happened to your mom, (Y/N).” he gave your knee a gentle squeeze before bringing it back to settle on his thigh.

Your instinct would normally have been to respond with something cold, pushing him away emotionally. Instead, you found an entirely different response falling out of your mouth. “I’m sorry about your mom too, Dean. We deserved better.”

“Yeah.. yeah we did..”

Sitting there on the cold tile, body numb from the whiskey, emotions raw, you found your thoughts shifting. Maybe you really didn’t have to leave. Maybe you don’t have to be alone forever.

Tag list is open, send an ask if you want in (:

Tags

@kdfrqqg @lucifer-in-leather @pisces-cutie

#sam x plus size reader #dean winchester #sam winchester #reader insert #supernatural fanfiction #spn fandom #spn fanfic #fanfic writer #family secrets #ch 4

[megarahmoon]

About Me

Thought I’d update my “about me” for my blog because I haven’t updated it in years Lol.

My name’s Meg and I’m 22. Northern California born- residing in Michigan. I consider myself a Celtic pagan. I have a very strong bond with a lot of Celtic deities- especially Cernunnos, Anu, Flidias, Druantia, and Epona/Rhiannon (depending on if you believe if they’re the same Goddess or not). I do love and worship many other Gods and Goddesses (some not even Celtic). I worship nature just as much as I worship deities. Nature has always given me love and life. When I’m in a green, mossy forest, or by the stormy dark sea, I feel so alive. I think in my past life I was a selkie or a dryad. Or just a redwood tree in general!!!

I love tattoos! I plan on getting covered. I have 10 at the moment.

I am bisexual but I’ve always been far more attracted to women! I have been diagnosed with severe anxiety, depression, and bipolar disorder. This really does make life hard for me- I can’t work a normal job- especially around people. My dream is to become a primatologist like my idols (Jane Goodall, Dian Fossey, and Birute Galdikas). More specifically I wanted to work with gorillas or orangutans. But another dream of mine is working as a wildlife rehabilitator! If you know me, you will know animals are my LIFE. I’m so drawn to them and they also seem to be drawn to me! Everywhere I go I find an animal! My favorite animals include, horses, gorillas, orangutans, praying mantises, deer, seals, barn owls, beluga whales, spiders, and really I absolutely love ALL animals! It’s pretty hard to choose specifics but the animals I mentioned are the ones I’ve always loved an admired. My own animals include a german shepherd, a hairless chinese crested/pomeranion, a russian tortoise, a ball python, two cockatiels, four tarantulas, a forest scorpion, and a tailless whip scorpion! Oh I want so many more animals! When I have my own place one day, I’ll definitely add to my mini zoo. Animals really are almost the only thing in my life that makes me truly happy. I just want to be around animals and dedicate my life to them.

My favorite weather has to be rainy and stormy and misty weather! I love the eerie feelings and vibes. Sure, sunny days can be lovely but I’ve always preferred rain. This is probably why I’m so drawn to Northern California's redwood coast! When I lived in Cali, we lived in a boring, dead, and dry valley. So maybe twice a year we would be able to make a trip to the coast! I’ve never felt so much magic and beauty than I have being in the redwood forest! Foggy seas, mossy forests, tiny waterfalls, lots of animal life, little streams, the sound of the sea...it’s all just too beautiful to handle. That is my true home and one day I definitely plan on living there, that’s for sure! Eureka, Fort Bragg, and Mendocino are the places I always visit and fell in love with. I also plan on someone scattering my ashes in the redwoods and the sea.

Photography is one of my passions in my life. I don’t know what I would do without my lens! My camera is the love of my life! Riding horses is also a passion. I do have a horse, and even though I’m a thousand miles away from her and she no longer lives with my godmother, I still consider her mine. I have been with her since I was around 12 and a couple years back, when she lived with my godmother, I got to move in with my godmother which made me so happy because then I could ride my horse all I wanted!! We bonded so greatly with my time being there. At first she was the most stubborn quarter horse ever! She would not listen one bit when we rode and ran off when I pulled out her bridle! Luckily with some patience, we rode everyday and soon she began to listen to me. We even had a routine where she would stand very still while I climbed onto a table to hop on her back! (I NEVER used a saddle- always bareback) then we would ride away into the orchards! My godmother even told me I could take her with me if my grandmother found us a house. But of course that didn’t happen but I still have so many memories with my little mare! She’s forever in my heart! I do hope to see her again when I take my yearly visits to California.

Brian Froud is my most favorite artist! Ever since I was little, I was so intrigued by his faeries! I absolutely loved how he made them. Very earthly and natural- some not even human like. That’s exactly what I believe faeries look like. Annie Stegg is also one of my favorite artists! Her art is absolutely beautiful! Some of my favorite music artist include, Stevie Nicks, Fleetwood Mac, Led Zeppelin, Meg Myers, The Pretty Reckless, Dorothy, Deftones, Agnes Obel, Greta Van Fleet, The Beatles, Celtic Women, FAUN, Elvis Presley, System of A Down, Serj Tankian, Lynyrd Skynyrd, The Pierces, America, Rob Zombie, The Civil Wars, Haley Kiyoko, The Vespers, Mariee Sioux, Cecile Corbel, Pink Floyd, Karen Elson, and I just really love classic rock/rock/indie/traditional chinese/celtic/kpop/blue grass music genres! I also love anime and video gaming! The Legend of Zelda (precisely twilight princess) will forever be my favorite gaming series. As well as Fable, Harvest Moon, Skyrim, World of Warcraft, and Pokemon. I’m a huge ass nerd. Favorite movies include: Legend (1985), Pan’s Labyrinth, ALL the Alien movies (including Prometheus and Alien Covenant), Apocalypto, The Last Unicorn, The Birdcage, Jurassic Park 3, Jeepers Creepers (1&2- FUCK 3), The Black Stallion, The Secret of Roan Inish, Harry Potter (precisely the prisoner of Askaban), The Rocky Horror Picture Show, Poltergeist (ORIGINAL NOT THE SHITTY REMAKE), The Lion King, Gorillas in The Mist, Princess Mononoke, Spirited Away, and this is all I can think of right now!

I could tell you so much more about me but I’ve told the most basics about myself. Please, feel free to ask anything you want to know! Here’s a list of what I am in love with: the moon, forests, the sea, animals, abalone shells, fossils, porcelain dolls, feathers, stevie nicks, faeries, selkies, thunderstroms, foggy and misty weather, riding horses, photography, green tea, tattoos, pretty women, soft streams, moonstones, galloping horses, fresh fruit, the colors of autumn, celtic, native american, and traditional chinese music, foggy sea breezes, goddess deities, mossy woodlands, driving through the California coast, ferns, crystals, long skirts and dresses, red lipstick, eerie mermaids, snapdragons, lilacs, redwood trees, the scent of horses, the scent of rain, long hair, fresh snow, and feeling content with myself even for a moment. 

#about me #probably will add more if I missed anything! #thanks for reading!

[freewheelen]

Harley-Davidson vs. Millennials (from the POV of a Millennial)

As of late, there's been a lot of talk about the scourge of Millennials and how they're ruining everything from bars of soap to lotto scratchers.

"Millennials aren't buying diamonds." 

"They don't eat Big Macs."

"No of them watch cable."

And my favorite: "Millennials are killing Harley-Davidson."

As a Harley rider born between the years of 1981 and 1997, I feel obligated, no entitled, to lavish the internet with my opinion on the topic. Oh, coveted opinion, the most valid of all arguments.

I'm a new rider and when my bike search began, the choice was clear from the beginning: Harley-Davidson. I don't know if that decision is attributed to my obsession with Orange County Cycles when I was 13 or if I watched Terminator 2: Judgement Day one too many times as a kid, but nothing said motorcycle to me like a chopper. Long, relaxed, powerful. You had the perfect DNA for a mile-eater. A highway hauler. You had an American classic. 

It was that image - that mysticism of the open road, that promise of freedom - that pushed me toward my nearest Harley-Davidson dealership. And that's when reality sunk in. For those that don't know, Harley-Davidson is the antithesis of cheap. Don't get me wrong, they're amazing, reliable machines, but when an Ultra Limited costs more than a new Camaro, you need a large quantity of disposable income to justify the purchase. Definitely not a comfort I can claim, so I relegated my options to the smaller models and stayed away from the more 'luxury' cruisers.

And when you come to think of it, every item listed at the beginning of the post is considered just that, a luxury. Diamonds, Big Macs, shit, even cable isn't really considered a necessity for survival - and motorcycles are no exception. 

As a Millennial, I'm a big proponent of minimalism. Belonging to the generation that popularized tiny houses, it's probably no surprise that I live in a 300 sq ft studio apartment with my girlfriend and our dog. For context, that's like fitting your kitchen, closet, bath, living room and bed into a master suite. Far from palatial. Along those same lines, I only own a small selection of consumer goods. You can't own much when you don't have a place to put it. Due to the fact that I'm limited on quantity, I emphasize quality in the things I choose to buy, which are predominately American-made (Wolverine Boots, Gustin Denim, etc.).  

I grew up in a blue-collar family. My grandfather was a baker, my uncles moved furniture, and my grandmother delivered party supplies for a living. While I've only held white collar jobs (film industry), I want to do my part to support that dwindling workforce in this country, to support the communities I came from. I guess my allegiance to the MoCo [1] is based less on nationalism and more on classism. All that to say, when I saw H-D's prices, I figured, "you’re paying for quality labor," but that type of purchasing pattern and reasoning isn't shared among my cost-driven, globally-minded peers. Couple that fact with the influx of urban dwelling in the past decade and you have a perfect storm for Harley sales.

Due to the elevated level of congestion in major cities, Millennials have taken to more nimble, handling-oriented motorcycles that can slither through stagnant streets. In LA traffic, it's practically impossible to squeeze a big bike between lanes. The other day, I knocked a lady's side mirror off with my Sportster, and my bars measure 24 inches in width! If I had a Softail, I would have been the meat in a vehicle sandwich. Because of these close quarters, this environment makes perfect sense for an FZ-09 or KTM Duke 690. They're perfectly suited to the urban landscape with their sleek design, technological controls, and standard ABS, which explains the recent shift toward that streetfighter style.

In the time of the Boomers, the motorcycle field in America was much more limited. Not only were the options minimal, but America was the land of highways, stretching over 2,600 miles, coast-to-coast. With hundreds of miles between cities, choppers were the perfect tool for the job, not to mention the ultimate self-expression on two wheels. 

Nowadays, there are hundreds of brands to choose from and even more classes of motorcycles: Sport, Touring, Electric, Adventure, Scrambler, Literbike, Naked...GROM (just kidding). Back in the day, more people could also afford to live in the suburbs, allowing you to safely store your bike in a covered garage. But in the city, you have to worry about parallel parkers, drunk drivers, and thieves (I've seen 3 Softail theft ads in the past month in LA). You almost don't want to buy anything "too nice", including large $15,000 motorcycles. 

At the end of the day, it all comes down to price. That's something on which Millennials, Boomers, and even Gen-Xers can agree. With the death of the Dyna (RIP), Harley has essentially erased the only Big Twin [2] attainable by blue-collared folk, while the new Softail pricing only appeals to those with six-figure jobs without six-figure student loan debt. 

2018 Softail Fat Bob, courtesy of Harley-Davidson

On top of that, I have numerous friends that are entering the most terrifying and financially taxing stage of lives: parenthood. When all is said and done, motorcycles aren't even the main mode of transport for most people, especially if you have a kid on the way (that’d be something). I know a lot of buddies/peers that expressed wanting a motorcycle after I purchased my Sporty, but unlike me, they don't lead a careless, Peter Pan-esque lifestyles. Some things in life you just don't get to plan, certain stages have to take priority over others, and if that means waiting until your midlife crisis to buy that new Road King Special, then the MoCo will have to wait.

All this to say, Harley-Davidson bikes are luxury items. They are, as Blockhead [3] recently referred to them, the Apple of motorcycles. They utilize classic design, adopt technologies later than most, deliver less capable specs than competitors, and upcharge the consumer. They're a luxury brand selling a lifestyle, a culture, an image. They cram nostalgia into new packages and sell it by the thousands. They charge $40 bucks for a t-shirt, $400 for a quarter fairing, and $600 for a 10K service. They're as boujee as they come, they just happen to dress up in a greasy mechanic's shirt.

But with all that off my chest - and damn, it felt good - as long as Harley's providing blue-collared American jobs, I'm buying. If my peers understood that it's not just the bike you're purchasing, it's the intangibles that come with it, would they do the same? If they realized that there's an entire community that comes with the motorcycle, would they want one? If they could comprehend the fact that every time I've pulled to the side of the road another Harley rider has made sure I don't need any help with repairing the bike, would they throw a leg over?

I guess, only time will tell, and over the next 10 years, H-D plans to release 100 new models. That means a drastic overhaul of their entire lineup, and if the new Softails are any indication of what's to come, they're headed in the right direction. For evidence of that, we need to look no further than the American auto market. In the early 2000s, Chevy, Ford, and Dodge delivered muscle car essence in a modernized package. The fervor around those heritage pieces helped the auto companies recover from the recession and stabilize. 

If the MoCo can cater to the tastes of new riders while developing new technologies, there should be a healthy forecast for their future. With a new electric bike arriving in 2019 and models like the Bronx and Pan-America on the horizon, it feels as if Harley is listening to their fan-base and diversifying their portfolio. 

Project LiveWire, courtesy of the Los Angeles Times

America is a large land full of people that buy diamonds or sapphires, that eat Big Macs or arugula, that watch cable or Netflix, and the more Harley branches out, the more people will be able to enjoy it.

[1] Nickname for the Harley-Davidson Motor Company

[2] Nickname for the larger engine bikes in the Harley-Davidson catalog

[3] Motovlogger that owns numerous Harley-Davidsons

#harley #harleydavidson #harley davidson #vs #millennials #millennial #gen y #babyboomers #genx #gen xers #sportster #dyna #bigtwin #softail #livewire #electricmotorcycle #ktmduke #fz09 #rubs #realbikers #blue collar #american #america #panhead #knucklehead #flathead #evo #twincam #shovelhead #theriderwriter

[yumi-michiyo]

[The Shortest Distance] - extended author’s notes and meta

Watch this space! Instead of making a whole new post for each chapter, I'll be compiling everything here as I post the chapters. [Updated 27th January 2019]

Rating: M for language and explicit sexual content. TW for mentions of eating disorders and anxiety

Genre: Slice of Life/Angst/Friendship/Humour/Hurt/Comfort/Fluff/Romance/Friends to Lovers

Couples: Marley Rose/Quinn Fabray (main), side Santana Lopez/Rachel Berry, side Finn Hudson/Brittany Pierce, side Wade "Unique" Adams/OMC

Pairings: Marley Rose/Quinn Fabray, mentioned Marley Rose/Jake Puckerman, Rachel Berry/Quinn Fabray friendship, Quinn Fabray/Santana Lopez friendship, Marley Rose/Wade "Unique" Adams friendship, all the friendships okay

Summary: It starts with a friendship composed of books, lazy summer afternoons, and understanding; and blossoms into more. Slowburn Fabrose. Season 4 canon divergence!AU.

Links: FF.net | AO3

On the origins:

This. Work. Took. Too. Long.

Seriously, the plot got written, scrapped, revived and revised, scrapped, etc. far too many times to count. From being a slight supernatural!AU like For You I'd Burn the Length and Breadth of Sky, to a fic running parallel to canon, to a canon fix-it fic... I'd all but thrown in the towel on this. Most of it only existed in a scraps folder in my Google Drive, and I'd go add more unconnected scraps whenever I needed a break from other WIPs.

Eventually, the scraps accumulated such that there was some semblance of plot, and I got very fond of some long scenes; enough that there was motivation to turn it into a fic on its own.

On the writing process:

A few scraps and loose ends from my other Fabrose fic found their way inside, but quickly grew into their own thing. I think the reason why I've struggled so much with this fic is because I don't have a good handle of Marley's character. I'll be the first to admit that I don't even like many of the canon main characters, and that my headcanons are mostly derived from other fanfic, but there isn't much Marley in the first place, meaning I had to work hard lol.

Most of the actual writing took place in transit, on my weeny iPhone 6s screen, with my overworked thumbs. Not something I recommend to casual writers. I upgraded my phone! Now I have a much larger screen for on-the-go writing, and a new mechanical keyboard for editing/more stream-of-consciousness ramblings.

On the chapter titles:

A special mention! I don't think I've written much about how I choose my fic titles; I think it's because half the time it's a slapdash process, and the other half comes with a lot of thinking.

I love music, and it shows when I use plenty of song lyrics in fics and titles. My taste in music is pretty eclectic, but I can assure you that I actually like all the songs I pick for my writing, and I'm not just picking random profound-sounding lyrics off the Interwebs lol.

I do have a few criteria for picking song lyrics. One, it has to be relevant to the subject lol. Two, it has to have some depth which alludes to whatever hidden message is in the fic. Three, of course it's something I actually enjoy, as mentioned earlier. I think this is really important because I do pick up music recommendations from fanfic, and treasure them for the positive assocations brought from fic I've enjoyed. I think it's important to do the same.

Instead of linking endlessly, I've created a YouTube playlist collecting all the music used in this fic. Find it here.

Prologue: Title is from Marina and the Diamonds. I loved her first album Electra Heart and not because she was covered on Glee; Marina has this punchy, catchy style with awesome lyrics. She later released Froot, another genius work that needs a lot more attention than it's gotten.

Part One: Another Marina and the Diamonds lyric. Can I just take this opportunity to plug her album?

Part Two: Sam Smith, my love. His music always makes me want to write the angstiest, most heartbreaking things. He's one of the few artists out there now who writes the most obscure and complicated feelings into music.

Part Three: This was supposed to be the title of the entire fic, but I forgot lol. I like the Charles Bukowski quote better, but at the very least this wonderful song from Leonard Cohen gets a mention.

Part Four: Very different in tone from all the previous songs mentioned. I found the Arctic Monkeys' lyrics to be deep and intriguing, which is interesting compared to their melodies and catchy beat.

Part Five: This was a struggle! There are so many good songs out there with really great lyrics that could fit into the chapter and the themes I was going for, but in the end, I went back to Lea (as I tend to do for my fics). I wanted that aimless feeling Marley has for most of the chapter.

Part Six: I love Yellowcard. I've been a fan for more than a decade, for their excellent lyrics and wonderful melodies, their instrumentation and their creativity. Most of their songs deal with heartbreak, so it's rare that I come across a song of theirs that encapsulates so well what I wanted to convey in their early relationship.

Part Seven: One of my best buddies, IRL and in fandom, loves K-pop. She's been trying to brainwash me for years, and so far she's been having quite a lot of success; I've written a few things that are inspired by K-pop lyrics. The inspiration for this fic came from a new song from Mamamoo, which is made up of four very talented ladies.

Part Eight: I haven't been discovering music for a while, but Paramore's latest album was a pretty refreshing find. I was looking for something light that described the mood of this chapter.

Part Nine: Apparently, Vienna Teng's work has been something of a mainstay in fandom; which makes sense, with her poignant lyrics and soulful piano ballads. I discovered her through the Studio Ghibli fanfics written by Saddletank, who makes extensive use of her music with great effect.

Part Ten: I discovered the genius of Fleetwood Mac through Glee. It was the perfect time, now that I was going through things IRL that made the music relatable and meaningful. While not one of my favourite songs, the lyrics resonate best with the chapter.

Part Eleven: William Ryan Key (better known as the frontman of the pop-punk band Yellowcard) recently launched a solo career. He writes the gentlest, most profound acoustic ballads I have ever heard. Most of what I envision Marley's music to be is his work (with elements of Kina Grannis' artistry and Sara Bareilles' lyrics), and I would pay good money to hear Melissa actually perform his songs.

Part Twelve: Those who read my fics can definitely tell that I'm a massive Sara Bareilles fan. The woman is a delightful human being, and an immensely talented singer-songwriter (is it obvious I have a thing for talented people?). Again, the reasons for picking songs is really to set the mood and atmosphere for the chapter; the lyrics may or may not be directly relevant to the story.

Part Thirteen: Kina Grannis recently rose to fame performing a cover of Elvis' Can't Help Fallin' in Love With You in the movie Crazy Rich Asians. I love her style and interpretation of songs.

Part Fourteen: It's rare when canon and fanon intersect, and I'm always very happy to make a big production out of it. I loved Melissa's performance of this song, and I was actively looking for some way I could give it a nod. And so when I was writing this chapter, I listened to it on repeat.

Part Fifteen: It's always nice when things work out :) earlier I had a Marley song, and now it's Quinn's turn (conveniently ignoring Puck's part lol). While Marley's part was about taking the plunge, Quinn's was about getting over past hurts and building a stronger relationship.

Epilogue: I've used Sara Bareilles' music plenty of times in my work. Normally, I hate reusing music, but it was impossible to pass up the opportunity to use this beautiful song to wrap up a giant labour of love.

General Meta:

Prologue-Part One: These two chapters were intended to set the tone of the early relationship between canon!Marley and canon!Quinn, which then contrasts their new/old relationship when they meet again a few years later. They establish a friendship out of common interests (and a lack of anything better to do) which I think also gets them to understand each other a little better. I hope.

I took this opportunity to also set the friendship between Marley and Unique. Strong female (?) friendships are something always lacking in Glee, and I wanted to pay homage to these two awesome ladies. Also, Unique and Marley's friendship acts as a foil to the one Quinn and Marley start to forge here - because, clearly, the latter two are gonna end up together lol.

Part Two: Rachel gets introduced! Again, more comparing and contrasting: Quinn and Rachel's friendship vs Marley and Unique's, Quinn and Marley's friendship vs Quinn and Rachel's. Our girls also start to open up to each other. Recently, I've been following Chuck Palahniuk's writing advice (which I have printed out and stuck on my wall): Instead of characters knowing anything, you must now present the details that allow the reader to know them. Instead of a character wanting something, you must now describe the thing so that the reader wants it.

Part Three: A bit more background, a bit more development. In the previous chapter Marley opened up to Quinn about her eating disorder, in this one Quinn starts to open up about some of her past. It was hard writing this one mostly because Marley, unlike Rachel, wasn't privy to a lot of the things Quinn went through (this plays a big part in their relationship after they get together later down the line).

Rachel and Santana are together in this one! I would say more stuff about foils, comparing and constrasting, but by now you should've noticed it's something I do a lot. It's crucial that they're together in this fic because the girls do help our clueless pair move things along.

Also, I think y'all are pleased that I finally had Quinn dump her (off-screen) boyfriend lol.

Part Four: I loved writing this chapter. Now that we've established the friendship between our girls, I panned out a bit to cover more of the world they live in, and the people and events that shape their lives. It was a bit of a challenge since Quinn is now working, and Marley still a college student, but I hope I've done a decent job.

I get the feeling y'all hate me for putting Marley with some random man, but I think it's important. Marley is still very underdeveloped as a character herself, with loads of confused feelings. She needs to mature a little more emotionally, make decisions for herself, experience a little heartbreak, before she can be ready for an emotional minefield like Quinn Fabray.

It's not a coincidence that Quinn's ex is named Blake, and Marley's (soon to be ex?) is named Alex, by the way... Also, speaking of names, it will likely never be mentioned in the fic but Stan's full first name is Æthelstan (poor dude). Valentino is an arowana because of that fantastic expression. I headcanon that he's always judging the goings-on in that apartment.

Part Five: THEY FINALLY KISSED ALKSFHO

In which the girls take a step forward after nearly 60k+ words of slowburn - trust me, it was killing me almost as much as it was killing you guys. But I was trying to make it was organic as possible, and as y'all know Marley doesn't have much of a stable romantic background to draw from, and her closest role models are all certifiably insane.

There are a lot of challenges upcoming for them, which I will have to spend a good deal of time delineating. I am really invested in these two at this point.

Part Six: After all that slowburn, my brain kinda went into overdrive. The draft I had for this fic originally ended here, but I couldn't do that to you guys aren't you glad I didn't. So the first half came into being, with its gratituous fluff and their friends' reactions.

The second half came while I was developing Millie's reaction; I wanted to make a comparison between Millie and Judy as single moms. But to be a foil to how open Millie is, Judy had to be the bad mom. I hadn't intended her to come off as so cruel, but she's not truly evil. Quinn has to get her sharp tongue from somewhere LOL.

Also! Finn and Brittany! I gave them a brief moment in my other fic For You I'd Burn the Length and Breadth of Sky but killed Finn off uwu. I've been fond of this rarepair for a long time now, and it seemed fitting to put another rarepair into this fic. Additionally, I am such a sucker for couple angst, like the Rachel/Santana/Finn/Brittany dynamic. They really deserve a fic of their own, the poor things, but we'll see how it goes. This fic is primarily a Marley/Quinn, and will remain that way because I lack the mental capacity and patience to write a fic with two main couples without wanting to gouge my eyes out.

Some of you active and astute readers might notice a lot of mentions of stuff foreshadowed earlier in the fic, with extremely tiny throwaway moments being revisited in this chapter. I assure you this wasn't intentional, and I'm in no way the awesome and masterful writer all this makes me out to be.

Part Seven: Dear god, I was so busy with life I totally forgot to write the author's notes for this chapter... Anyway, the entire thing is about tying up loose ends. They're dealing with their problems while the shadow of Marley leaving hangs over them, and making the best of their time together.

And yes! I heard a lot of happy squeals when this fic finally earned its M rating. For those of you who are wondering about the sudden sexytimes in the middle of bigger issues, well... let's just say that it has consequences.

On a side note, I hope none of you out there were rooting for Marley to stay in NY. Don't worry, this is a romance fic, and there will be a happy ending.

Part Eight: When you don't have time to update the author's notes when you update the story... This was a pretty interesting chapter to write. Mostly because I was figuring out how they build up after the loose ends in the previous chapter have been taken care of.

Not really knowing Marley's canon character has been an obstacle in writing this fic, right from the beginning. She's also not a popular fanfic character but I do like a challenge.

Can you tell I watched La La Land as research for life in LA for this chapter? The music has been pretty stuck in my head too but none of it really fit the mood for this chapter, so I was forced to omit it. But yes, some of the bits and locales in the movie sneak into this fic.

Part Nine: Quinn's trip to LA, and the various things they get up to. Lots of indulgent fluff and smut, and a dash of plot at the end...

Part Ten: I love the friendship Marley and Santana have in this story. My headcanon for Santana is that she's the tough, worldly big sister type, and she's taken Marley under her wing. This is my attempt at advancing the plot by exploring the conflict in the long-distance relationship, with plenty of Marley-Santana-Rachel interaction (and throwing in loads of foreshadowing). Since there's so much heavy content, there's plenty of fluff to go around, padding the spaces between character development and plot. The Skype cooking idea was taken directly from my real life :)

Part Eleven: Mostly fallout from the drama in the previous chapter, and more advancement of the plot. It's intentional that there's so much drama, because it's something they both have (thanks canon) and I believe it's important for a healthy long-term relationship that they are able to resolve it. Also, Shelby is a convenient villain here, though I loved putting Beth into the mix, and having the characters react to the non-canon pairings in this fic. Doctor C makes a reappearance, as does Millie. Their growing absence from the main story is also intentional; Marley is growing into a character of her own, and she becomes less reliant on them.

Part Twelve: Initially I thought this chapter was going to be filler ahead of the big decision, but I was wrong. There was so much plot in this one ugh. I wanted Finn and Brittany to get their turn in the spotlight, but it had to be relevant to the plot as well. I wanted Marley to show us how much she'd grown over the course of the story, and from her canon self.

Part Thirteen: A lot of people thought they'd broken up in the previous chapter. I made them properly break up in this one >:) I wasn't going for a big dramatic shake-up or anything; the point was that people have relationship troubles. A lot of people have difficulty being an us, and this was supposed to be the result of the major cracks hinted at earlier, and the final part of their development as individuals before they can be in a relationship with each other. There's a lot of fluff and recovery; they have to break up to figure out how to be together, if that makes sense (but they do get their happy ending!)

Part Fourteen: The timeskip is important. It shows how far they've come, and the difference in how they now interact. While I can't show you how much Quinn's grown since this fic is from Marley's POV, I put as much of it into the story as humanly possible, and without making Marley into some mind-reading alien. Things are different now. The first break-up was necessary to put their past behind, and by getting together again, they're both prepared to work hard to grow from that. I do believe that it was absolutely necessary for them to break up to know exactly what they've lost.

Part Fifteen: The idea for this chapter came when watching Bones, and when talking to some friends. I needed to have them overcome what happened in the past, and symbolically walk forward together. Then I remembered a throwaway line about Rachel workshopping Jesse St James' musical, and the chapter pretty much wrote itself from there.

Epilogue: Not much in this one, honestly. I wanted to tie up loose ends, represent them moving forward without hesitation, and bring the story to a conclusion worthy of such a long journey. The smut was a bonus treat for everyone that's been following this.

On Marley Rose:

Confession: I don't watch Supergirl. There's only so much my poor heart can take from shipping non-canon lesbian couples who have a ton of onscreen chemistry, but who are paired off with guys. Bitter? Not I

So I take canon!Marley, pad her personality with a lot of extrapolation, add a hearty dose of logical explanation for inexplicable quirks from canon, and toss her into this fic to do a lot of growing up. If this sounds like a recipe, I think I'm too hungry.

Melissa's current turn on Broadway is inspiring a lot of the fic's direction.

On Quinn Fabray:

If it isn't already obvious that I'm in love with Quinn Fabray (and Dianna Agron for giving her so much depth), this fic should just help you reach that conclusion lol. no thanks to R*** M*****

The other Fabrose I wrote is from Quinn's POV, who basically spends the whole time sorting out her issues and stumbling into something she had never imagined could happen to her. This one is from Marley's POV, and also features her sorting out a ton of personal issues.

A lot of Quinn's character and experiences with her mother is taken from real life LOL.

#fabrose #quinn fabray/marley rose #quinn fabray #marley rose #fanfic #my writing #yumi_michiyo #the shortest distance #glee #fanfiction #music