#as long as I don't end up on dateline
Note
I read Beautiful Disasters with Travis when I was a teenager. I recently found the book and re-read it and laugh all way XD he is so toxic.
I guess our literary lovers grow up with us too lol.
Oh, he is *very* toxic. I too read it when I was younger - probably somewhere in my early 20s. I'm in my mid-30s now, but I still have a fondness for him.
But in real life, I would run far, far away before I ended up on Dateline.
#cevansbrat0007 asks#book boyfriends#bird's book boyfriends#travis maddox#beautiful disaster#toxic book heroes for the win#as long as I don't end up on dateline
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[ID: Three images; top left, a spray bottle of clear liquid, labeled PRO SPRAY, sits on a gleaming cutting board; top right, Dearborn the tortie glares at the camera from the work desk's copilot basket. Bottom, a white rug with blue patterning in my hallway, surrounded at the edges by dark dustbunny-looking lumps.]
NaClYoHo Day Two! Pardon my grossness.
Yesterday afternoon I did the first of what is usually several trips to the hardware store; I bought spackle, gnat traps, and a PROFESSIONAL spray bottle. PRO SPRAY. It has an adjustable nozzle and measurement marks on the side, so I can dilute the vinegar pretty accurately. Last night I filled it up with vinegar water and laminated the kitchen, and this morning found and killed several weevils it drove out of hiding. It's sitting on the wooden cutting board because I had taken ALL the cleaning supplies out from under the sink and was reminded I should oil my cutting board with some Walrus Oil.
Dearborn is very skeptical about this morning's activity: carpet cleaning.
I threw on an episode of A Date With Dateline, popped in my earbuds, took down my Tineco One X vac and vacuumed for the first time in Slightly Too Long. I didn't get all the way through the house because I was running it on high which drains the battery, but usually vacuuming is a multi-day process. For what I paid for the Tineco I could have a high-end corded vac that does a better job, but I know that I won't use corded vacs because I hate the cord, so I'm okay vacuuming more often with the cordless. In any case, I hit the rugs because the next step was to break out the Hoover Powerdash Pet carpet cleaner and figure out how to use it.
I know I'm dropping a lot of brand names but just because I usually get asked; I don't make money from affiliate links or anything.
Anyway, the Powerdash came to me secondhand from friends who were moving, and for a long time it sat in my hallway in its plastic wrapping because I was intimidated by it. We never had one growing up and I've never really seen one in use. But it turned out that it was super easy to use, you just add water and cleaner to the tank and go; you go over the rug once with the trigger down, to spread water/cleaner, then a second time without the trigger to rinse/dry. I only hit about half of the rugs in my home, just to see how it went, and then stopped because they all seemed to remain very wet after cleaning. (They've since pretty much dried and I'm assured by the internet that's normal.)
The white patterned carpet above is the cats' favorite place to roll around and shed on, and as you can see, those dark dustbunny looking things around the carpet? That's cat hair and other dirt the cleaner pulled up. Gross but visibly effective.
I got a slightly late start so I had myself on a hard time limit; I started at 7, finished up at 8, and still had half an hour left on A Date With Dateline (they sometimes run a bit long). The cleaning solution definitely adds a certain chemical smell to the air, so I'm running the HVAC's fan and I've added "scented candle or incense" to the shopping list. Which I wanted to do anyway; some people always have such nice smelling houses and scent never seems to stick around in mine, but I've never gone hardcore on Making This Place Smell Nice. (Yes, I promise to be careful about what scents I use, I know diffused scents can harm cats.)
Disposable nitrile glove count: Still just 1!
Hardware store trips: 1.....so far.
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authors note: i don't fucking know man. i listened to "becoming the lastnames" and this happened.
content notes: rudy x reader. young, before he joins the military. talks of marriage. valeria and alejandro mention. mainly fluff. mentions of death.
becoming the lastnames
pre-military! rodolfo parra x reader
“Do you ever think we’ll make it?” He whispers, breaking through the shrouded dark, the cool air seeping through your skin.
“I don’t know,” You whisper.
He shifts beside you, the blanket wrinkling under his shifting weight. The night is cool; the stars are out; the city is far enough away to be forgotten but not to far away to become imaginary.
“Why do you say that?” Rodolfo asks, softly, no bite of argument on the back of his tongue.
“I mean, what if I end up just like my parents?”
“I’ll love you.”
That stupid, sweet, sticky, suffocating warmth seeps into your bones to your ribs, filling your throat with a burn.
“We could try to be like my parents,” he jokes, “we could work until we’re 40 then go insane.”
You laugh, breaking the warmth off your ribs, letting yourself melt into the blanket again. Your fingers tingle, cold.
“But what if you die?”
“Baby,” Rudy murmurs, half a scold and half a pity.
“I’m serious,” You whisper, barely making noise, the heat that chokes you catching cold air in your throat, “what then?”
“Then you can come talk to my headstone, I’ll listen.”
“Rudy.”
He laughs. You sound like his mother. His pinky wraps around yours, pulling your hand closer to him; he is warm.
“I don’t plan on dying.”
“But what if you do?”
“I just won’t.”
You sigh, defeated, that stupid boyish reasoning and manly cool. Infuriating.
“I’ll crawl back to you if anything happens.”
“If you die, I’ll kill Alej to keep you company.”
Macabre. He laughs.
“I’ll have to haunt you if you do that,” He smiles into his sigh, “If I don’t die, we’ll grow old together.”
“I’ll get all wrinkly.”
“Yeah, and so will I.”
“Marriage has always scared me,” You admit, his pinky tightening, keeping you close, “But I want to have a last love.”
“We can be just like my parents, then.”
You tighten your grip on him, his fingering wiggling out just to grab your whole hand, paw covering your hand.
“What about forever?” You ask.
“I don’t know anything about forever, but I know I wouldn’t mind spending it with you.”
“How can you be so confident?”
“I want to push Alejandro off a bridge sometimes, but I know I want to be his best friend till I die,” he starts, his voice soft, “and I feel like that with you.”
“You want to push me off a bridge?”
“I feel like the second part of the sentence.”
“I mean, I get it if you do, I can be annoying—”
“I don’t want to push you off a bridge—”
“I wouldn’t blame you if you did—”
He pushes his hand and yours against your mouth, gently, hushing you.
“I am not going to push you off a bridge.”
“That sounds like a Dateline intro,” You joke.
“I am not going to kill you.”
“Sounds like something a killer would say.”
Rodolfo dramatically sighs, pulling the hands back to him.
“I don’t think we have to wait on becoming insane like my parents, I think we’re already there.”
You chuckle, scooting closer to him, your shoulder touching his.
“Love can last a pretty good long while, you sure you want to give that to me?”
“I already did.”
You hum.
“Love doesn’t go away. It either sticks around or it was never there. It changes shape though, and it’s just about keeping shapes that go together.”
“You sure you want to go get shot, you could be a poet.”
“I don’t want to get shot, it’s just a part of the job description.”
“I don’t know, you seem to be a bit of a masochist.”
He squeezes your hand, a light little non-existent warning.
“Being a poet doesn’t pay too well, I don’t think. Unless we have World War III soon, then I can be sad and traumatized and publish 15 books.”
“If you make it.”
“I will,” Rodolfo lowers his voice, pulling you against him, head resting on his shoulder, “I will make it, and I’ll come home to you, and we can go crazy together until Alejandro tries to get us admitted.”
“If we pull him down with us, he can’t admit us.”
“That’s the plan.”
He rests his nose against the crown of your head, kissing your head softly, his arm around your shoulders warm as his fingers rub your skin, your body melting against his.
“Do you think Valeria and him will make it?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Confident.”
“They are oil and water. The flame is whatever they’re feeling. And it’s just whoever gets to the fire first and does something with it.”
“Are you comparing their relationship to a grease fire?”
“Yes.”
You pause, letting the words hang in the air for a moment.
“Have you been in a room with them for longer than 30 minutes?”
“I mean, yeah.”
His thumb rubs you.
“He just wants what he never got to have. And he doesn’t get that what he wants doesn’t have to be painful.”
“Do you think that’ll kill him?”
“It won’t kill either of them. It’ll just tattoo them.”
“Do you think they’ll kill each other?”
“They might try but that’ll just end in them being bickering skeletons.”
“Are they both that hot headed to where death won’t make them stop?”
“Probably. I don’t want to find out though.”
“I don’t either.”
There’s a bug, or something, making noise. The moon is high. The stars have shifted.
“We’ll be just like my parents, and we’ll grow old together, and when all of that is over, we’ll have forever. Does that sound alright?” Rudy asks, his warmth seeping into your skin.
“Yeah, I think that sounds alright.”
#cod#rodolfo rudy parra#call of duty#rodolfo rudy parra x reader#rudy x reader#rudy parra x reader#rodolfo parra x reader#fluff#call of duty modern warfare 2#cod mw2#rudy#rudy cod#rudy parra#rodolfo#rodolfo parra#rodolfo x reader#rodolfo cod
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I know other fans like to talk about how aro-coded lovejoy songs are and all that, but I am a firm believer that "It's All Futile! It's All Pointless" is the most aro-coded song of their entire discography.
This is one of my favorites of their songs, and I have analyzed it and am now deciding to share this analysis with tumblr.
This is gonna get long, so everything will be under the cut:
Let's start with Verse One:
To start with, university is seen as this place where you learn more about yourself and find your people and overall discover yourself as an individual. However, despite the idea of finding your own path at university, there are still societal norms that people just expect you to experience.
In our society, romance and sex are two of the most fundamental milestones in a person's life. At university, people expect you to forge romantic relationships and sometimes sexual relationships, and the only (in society's eyes, acceptable) reason to not be doing so is because of focusing on studies. I, for one, expected that I'd inevitably experience some romantic interests at university, before I realized I was aromantic, like, a month before going.
Point is, it's expected, and it's often just treated like a given.
Now, I've seen other people talk about this, but there's very particular word choice with "datelines" and "sextant." Taking a geography course to learn the datelines and maybe use a sextant can also be read as going to university with the expectations of going on dates and maybe having sex (because, for all that sex is considered a societal norm, there's also a lot of stigma around it with purity culture, but that's an entire other discussion).
But sometimes that just doesn't happen. And, this isn't a unique aroace experience (and some aroace people do date or have sex at uni), but the point is that, sometimes, aromantic people go into uni with the same expectations that society tells them to have, and then that doesn't happen. Or it does happen, but it goes badly. Because sometimes self discovery leads to realizing you don't experience these feelings that are so often attributed to being human.
Continuing on, later in this same verse societal expectations are brought up again.
This is essentially just a list of what society tells you adulthood is. This is the future in store for you. There's references to the Nuclear Family dynamic as well—where there are two parents in a romantic relationship and their kids. In the line previous to the one above, the romantic partner is mentioned, so it's safe to picture this as the Nuclear Family model.
But, you'll notice that the line very specifically talks about having to do these things. You have to reproduce. You have to get married and have kids and be in a romantic relationship and maybe have sex, but not too much because, again, society often views sex as something dirty.
But no where is there any indication of wanting this future.
(It should be noted that some aromantic people do want this type of future, and some do not. Aromanticism is defined by little to no romantic attraction, and it is experienced in vastly different ways by different people. There is no one way to aro).
Onto the Pre-Chorus!
Now, this line can be interpreted in different ways, but this post is about looking at this song through the lens of aromanticism, so that's what we're focusing on.
This line is talking about not actually missing the person with whom you've had romantic relations, but, rather, the thought of that romantic relationship.
The thing is, society practically promises kids a happy ending in the form of romance. Romance is the happy ending, and, without it, it's a sad ending. Because of this, there are a lot of aromantic people who feel almost robbed of something that was promised to them. This can lead them to pursuing romantic relationships anyway, even when that's not something that will actually make them happy. So, they're missing the thought of the relationship rather than the person it was with. It's them missing the thought of this promised happy ending.
(Again, there's no one way to be aro, and this is far from everyone's experiences).
Let's quickly jump to the second verse (we'll get to the chorus last—that's my favorite part and the part that you may find most interesting).
These lines very much read to me as specifically an aroallo experience. It's showing preference of the sexual aspect of the relationship rather than the romantic relationship.
But the partner wants that romantic aspect. The partner feels the romantic attraction that an aroallo person might not. So, he's picking a lock he doesn't go into, because this person isn't going to reciprocate those romantic feelings and are more interested in sexual relations. (But it can be difficult to have a no strings attached sexual relationship, especially with alloro people who might fall in love).
Anyway, this line is pretty straight forward to me as an aroallo experience, but feel free to ask for clarification.
The bridge:
This again goes back to society essentially telling people that they'll be unhappy and alone without a romantic relationship.
Being aromantic can be an incredibly isolating experience. Especially when you're at university and you're in a period of such great change within yourself and in those around you. This isn't true for everyone, but being aromantic and seeing everyone around you get into romantic relationships can be scary and can bring forth so many negative emotions.
Because of this, sometimes aro people decide to pursue romantic relationships even if they don't necessarily want to because they feel like they'll be left behind and end up unhappy if they don't.
But it's okay as long as it makes them feel less numb and alone.
Finally, the chorus, which is the most fascinating part imo.
This is the chorus as it appears in Lovejoy's version of "It's All Futile! It's All Pointless!" However, what some people don't know is that there's a slight variation in the original version of the song which was released in 2020 in Wilbur's "Maybe I Was Boring" EP (essentially the songs that didn't make it onto ycgma).
Whilst the chorus is the same the first time it is sung, the second time the chorus is played, there's a change.
Now, on it's own, it may not seem like much.
"Stella! How are you connecting this to aromanticism?" Patience, dear reader.
For the life of me, I cannot find this reddit post where this was originally commented, but Wilbur said that the line was originally supposed to be "it's a strategy to ensure I remain (in love)," but that last bit was never recorded.
However, it is so interesting to me because, yes, it can be interpreted in an allo way, but it can also so easily be interpreted in a number of different aro ways.
Option A) This aromantic person has fallen in love. It's under specific circumstances, it's the exception, whatever, but they want to stay in love. Why? Well, admittedly, sometimes I think it'd be easier to be alloro. Because, as previously mentioned, being aromantic can be such an isolating experience.
Option B) This aromantic person wants to stay under the illusion that they're in love, even if they're not. Why? For the reasons above, or because that way they can feel less broken.
There's a plethora of different reasons why some aro people sometimes want to be in love. And a lot of the time it ties back to society hyping up romance for basically all our lives, and then suddenly being confronted with not getting that. Not to mention the whole relationship hierarchy thing where romance is placed at the very top of the pyramid, and, well, sometimes people just want to be someone's first priority like a romantic partner would be.
Bonus:
There was a stream at one point where some chatter said something along the lines of "us aromantics are going to steal your songs" (I saw this clip in an edit earlier today which inspired me to make this post, but I cannot find the clip on it's own so I haven't included it </3).
Wilbur then goes onto say "you aromantics need to read my lyrics. you should read It's All Futile! It's All Pointless! Figure out what it's about." He of course then went on to briefly mention Perfume and said something about most of his music, but he said iaf!iap! first.
And, honestly, combined with everything in the song itself going all the way back to the original version of the song, I just think it goes to show that this song is the aromantic-coded lovejoy song of them all.
Why do Wilbur's songs have various levels of aro-coding? Idk. Tbh it's probably none of my business. I just think it's neat.
Anyway, thank you for coming to my TEDTalk. Please go listen to both Lovejoy's version and the original version of "It's All Futile! It's All Pointless!" and remember to stream wu&io!
(All four songs of Maybe I Was Boring is in one track of the same name on Wilbur Soot's spotify account if you want to listen to the original version of the song).
#lovejoy#wilbur soot#it's all futile it's all pointless#iafiap#aromantic#<— I love how the tags are the colors of the flag <3#lyric analysis#I guess#pebble brain#miwb
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Fantasy High Characters and the song I think they'd listen to the most off the new Taylor Swift album
Kristen: okay early Trackerbees Kristen would listen to But Daddy I Love Him SO much and probably post lyrics on instagram. Judgemental small town with religious overtones opposed to a relationship? Just like her fr. Post-breakup Kristen blasts So Long London SO LOUD that the rest of Mordred Manor starts to have weird pavlovian responses to any song with the same chords.
Sandra Lynn: Sandra Lynn would not make it past Fortnight on the album I fear she would hear one song about an affair and turn off her phone. Sorry Sandra Lynn I love you queen but she would not have a good emotional time with this ablum
Jawbone: Jawbone WOULD love Fortnight but he doesn't pay attention to anything but the chorus and sort of assumes it's about the game. Occupational hazard of working with youths.
Riz: I truly beleive Riz was a Dateline kid and he'd like a cool song about going to Florida because you murdered someone. It's got burying bodies in swamps and stuff! Florence + The Machine is there! Great song for murder-obsessed teens.
Fig: I Can Do It With a Broken Heart because, she claims, "it's got a great beat!" (she misses Ayda)
Sklonda: Just pick whatever song you think people would listen to during sex and put it here. We know next to nothing about Sklonda/Gorthalax but I assume the sex is good so fill in the blank.
Kipperlilly: Kipperlilly was actually listening to Who's Afraid of Little Old Me on airpods when she stabbed Buddy Dawn and Brennan just didn't mention it. She's like 'oh an angry song for a short person that people don't want at parties? that's me.' Yes good question she WOULD sing the asylum lyric without any irony
Rueben: Rueben HATES Taylor Swift he DETESTS her no one can bring her up around him or he will go on a RANT but catch him crying to loml and thinking about Wanda Childa
Tracker: Nara walks on in her listening to How Did It End? and is like "oh why are you crying???" and Tracker has to lie REAL FAST and say she's thinking about Gallicea (sorry Nara)
Gorgug: All of the Bad Kids band together to keep him from hearing a single song off this album so that he doesn't think about Zelda and start crying.
Aelwyn: imgonnagetyouback because she loves to sing about violence
Adaine: Adaine listens to the first eight seconds of The Prophecy over and over against her will because Aelwyn keeps sending it to her under various guises being like "did this happen? did you see this? is this what the old elven people want?" it's like Elven Oracle rickrolling. To be clear - Adaine hates this song.
Fabian: I think Fabian would hear ONE sad song, think about the immense loneliness he feels every day, and throw his special edition vinyl out the window like a frisbee.
Gilear: Gilear accidentally downloaded an Enya album
Arthur Aguefort: this one is hard to explain but I think Aguefort would choose Clara Bow as a karaoke song despite it being one of the worst potential karaoke songs on the album. This is deliberate on his part. Also I think he'd be a real Stevie Nicks girlie.
Feel free to comment/argue/tell me your thoughts!
#important it's not the song they like the most it's the one they listen to the most#sandra lynn faeth#jawbone o'shaughnessey#Kipperlilly Copperkettle#fabian seacaster#kristen apple#tracker o'shaughnessey#aelwyn abernant#fantasy high#fhjy#fantasy high junior year#taylor swift#for anyone who has it blocked
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Vash decides a few hours in that professional mixers are not his thing.
Or maybe it's this particular group that's a bust. He loves Nai, but the people he hangs out with are... something else; one blue-haired guy cornered him about "changing the world" and "showing the way" with his pupils just a bit too wide and his presence far too close. Another guy with a tuba tried to fight him over his senior thesis on UN peacekeeping tactics, and when he'd tried to hide in the bathroom, he'd received a loud "FUCK OFF" from someone smoking in the only closed stall.
Nai is thriving in the competitive, cutthroat future CEOs environment, and Vash just has a stomachache from eating twelve quiches and almost all the dessert charcuterie board.
He texts Nai heading out, meet back home before beating his retreat out the back door, pulling out his phone. Nai drove them here, so he's going to either have to Uber or find a viable bus route, but between the peak prices soaring with every second and the "forty minutes of walking" on the shortest routes home, neither really appeal to him. He saw some hipster doughnut shop nearby, so maybe he can at least make the way back more bearable—
"Hey, blondie."
Vash whips his head up, hand moving instinctively to the small, unused canister of pepper spray Meryl had given him after freshman orientation ("Trust me, you'll need it."), but pauses when he sees him.
He's under a streetlight, back against the brick wall, playing with a lighter. It's not a cheap BIC one, either; it looks like real silver, and the way it flashes through the twiddling fingers makes Vash pause like a moth to the flame.
The guy's handsome, too, even if he's wearing sunglasses at night—and Vash, although he's seen many Dateline episodes that begin like this, emits a "Hey."
"Hey yourself," the guy says, "escaping the party?"
Vash laughs. "Yeah. I came with my brother for moral support, but he seems to be doing okay on his own. You?"
"Same here—though mine wanted to try to walk around on his own for a bit. I'm here in case he needs to be bailed out."
Vash smiles. "That's nice of you."
"Hey, he's my little brother; I'd do anything for him. Except maybe stand in the same room as some guy talking about the pros of nuclear and biochemical weapons. "
Vash laughs awkwardly. "That might have been my brother. But I swear he's sane. I think."
The guy chuckles. "I'll take your word for it. By the way, do you have...?" He gestures to his lighter.
"Oh, no, I don't," Vash apologizes. "I don't smoke."
"Damn. Well, worth a shot." The guy grimaces, but sticks his hand out. "Sorry, usually I ask someone's name before I start shaking them down. I'm Wolfwood."
"Vash."
"Vash," Wolfwood repeats, drawing out the syllable. "Looking good."
"Have we met before?"
"I would have remembered someone as beautiful like you."
Oh, a real charmer. Vash isn't opposed to it, though. "Same here—" he begins, lowering his voice.
Then it hits him. "You're the asshole from the bathroom! You told me to fuck off!"
Wolfwood bursts out laughing. "Did I? Well, I'm sorry about that; I was avoiding that blue-haired guy who was clutching my arm and asking me what faith meant to me."
"Oh. I get it now. Do you think he's a Scientologist? He had that energy."
"Has to be. Definitely something evangelical. I'm familiar with that." Wolfwood plucks something underneath his shirt, frowning.
"Oh?" Vash doesn't know if he should pry further, but Wolfwood shrugs.
"Grew up in a cult, actually."
"I'm sorry?"
"It was a long time ago," Wolfwood mutters, then flicks off the lighter with a sharp click. "But we got out in the end."
Vash moves to lean against the wall, feeling the bricks dig into his back. Wolfwood is a comforting presence, somehow, next to him. "It must have been tough, especially with your brother, too."
"Like I said, I'd do anything for him." Wolfwood shakes his head. "But this isn't the conversation I want to be having with you."
Vash takes the opening: "And just what do you want to discuss? Politics? Etiquette? Global—" His eyes veer to the curb, where an undoubtedly fine motorcycle is parked. "Or that?"
Wolfwood grins, excitement dancing in his eyes. "Angelina? She was rescued from the scrap heap and restored. You know about bikes?"
"No," Vash confesses. "I haven't even ridden one."
"No?" Wolfwood straightens up and slips his lighter into his pocket. Vash mentally sighs; no cigarettes, no bikes, that's as good as three strikes, he's out. At least doughnuts haven't let him down...
But Wolfwood surprises him.
He turns his head and crooks his finger at Vash. "That settles it. Let's go."
"Weren't you supposed to wait for your brother?" Vash asks, heart jumping.
"We can just take a few laps around the parking lot. Coming?"
Yes!
But Vash puts his hands on his hips. "Do you have a helmet?" Some things Rem instilled in him still remain.
Wolfwood snorts. "Yeah. Look in the basket."
Vash opens it and sees exactly one. "What, nothing for you? Don't you care about your head?"
Wolfwood sighs. "You're sounding a lot like Livio. Do you want a ride, or are you going to quote danger statistics, too?"
Normally, Vash would, but... He's a simple man in the end. "Just be gentle, " he warns, with a mischievous smile as he buckles the helmet, "It's my first time."
Smirking, Wolfwood swings one leg over the seat and pats behind him. "Certainly. Arms around me tight, sweetheart."
The engine roars to life, seat purring and vibrating underneath his thighs, and Vash grins, nestling his chest tight against Wolfwood's back. "Like you had to ask."
#vashwood#trigun#my fic#totally based off a few of my mixer/party experiences#unfortunately the dude did not have a helmet at all so i did not take that offer but vash gets to have fun
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this thing between us.
dialogue prompts from this thing between us: a novel by gus moreno.
you dared me.
no heaven. no hell. do not collect 200 dollars.
i was trying to think like you.
the longest relationship i had before meeting you was with a leather jacket.
people want to believe their experience is universal.
what they say: 'call me'. what they mean: 'it's your responsibility to let me know when to actually care'.
what dead person didn't have a great smile? a great laugh?
you have to listen to this song. it'll help.
tragedy brings people together.
we both know i'm not alone here.
if you feel like you're going to be alone, you won't be.
i love you. you're stuck with me.
i'm too sleepy to be scared.
i still pull your hair out of my shirts.
people can be good, if you're patient with them.
come with me if you want to live and let live.
we have to at least try.
can you pull over?
my life's become the second act of a dateline special.
i come from a long line of natural-born fuckups.
you're the only person i'd choose to sit in a car with in heavy traffic.
i wasn't there, and i should have been.
i don't want to get over anything. i want to sink as far as it will take me.
i'm gonna miss you, kid.
you've got the address. come visit.
i need proof this is really you and not something else.
let go. you can't hold on so tight.
you've got so many boundaries around you.
the earth is not a good place. you live on the edge of a blade.
not everything has to mean something.
age before beauty.
would you believe me if i said i missed you?
you're grown enough to live with your mistakes.
i'm not telling you to believe me. i'm just telling you what's happening.
i'm done with knowing things and figuring things out.
i'd kill you for killing yourself.
i'm more tired than i've ever been. it's in my bones.
you've never had any problems with evil spirits, have you?
i'm sorry. for the things that still need to be written out.
it looks like it hurts when you smile.
i'm afraid that when we die, we end up where we always thought we'd end up.
all i want is to sit in that darkness with you.
when the world ends, this would be a pretty cool place to hole up.
take a stress pill.
you left me behind the first chance you got.
only in the darkness are we ever made whole.
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Ken's surgery went well. Recovery has been tough. He hasn't been in very much pain, but it's just difficult for both of us to deal with him not being able to do anything. He had a follow-up this morning where they took the sutures out, and we got to see photos of inside his hip from the surgery. He's still on crutches for another week, and then two more weeks with the brace after that.
His appointment this morning was at 9:30 and I had a meeting at 11 so I was hoping I'd have time to take him home, then get to the office for the meeting (he can't drive for probably another week), but the appointment took too long and it was clear I'd have to just take the meeting from home and then go to the office after lunch. So I swung by this drive-thru coffee place on the way home because I was getting all pissy because I was tired and stressed and didn't have time to make coffee before the appointment. The man on the other end of the speaker was so nice! I said, "I'd like an iced latte. A big one." And then I asked if they had flavors because the menu didn't say, and he was like, "Yeah, we have tons." Which, like... that does not help because I still don't know what they are. But then the idea of a marshmallow latte came to me, and I was like, "What's your favorite?" and then he said toasted marshmallow and it was perfect because it was what I was hoping for! When we pulled up to the window to get the coffee I cackled because they didn't list the sizes so when I said "a big one" I was still thinking, like, something reasonable? I don't know. But it's a mother fuckin big gulp of coffee. Absolutely enormous. It is now over two hours later and I'm halfway through it. And then the woman taking my card was so so sweet and she asked to see my nails and then complimented them, and her nails were gorgeous too, and I just want to be friends with her!
Speaking of nails. Friday I made an appointment for a manicure for the first time in ages. I tried a new place and I really liked it! But I did not realize ahead of time that it's a Russian speaking salon and I was the only person there who didn't speak Russian. But they were very nice! And they had Dateline on in the background, lol. So I've learned how to say hello, goodbye, and thank you in Russian for next time.
#personal#k and k#general update#i was like oh i have nothing to say#and then BOOM i could write pages about just my experience getting coffee this morning
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Adverse effects (ch 2: Where to we send the complaint letter? City works?)
A chasing ghosts story
It's... kind of a lot of talk and not much action, but it's waaay introspective and kind of deep and maybe a tad toward the, uh, disturbing? If you like true crime podcasts and that kind of thing, you'll be fine. But, it's a little heavy on the blood and guts. Wartime memories and stuff along the lines of Criminal Minds/CSI, just described with visual imagery.
Warnings: the usual, including illness and injury, bad childhood/foster system/VA system, references to traumatic events/graphic injuries/references to disturbing image in war context, migraines, emeto, relationship drama, references to drug use, college drinking, school-based stereotyping (including mention of rape culture)
I think that's it. Hold onto your hat. (I have a picture of my cool steampunk hat from a few nights ago-- Remind me to post a pic.)
_______________________
The club's lit like a beacon, but the sidewalk on either side is still in shadow.
James's recent onset of night blindness isn't the problem. It probably wouldn't be any better if he'd managed to hold onto his night-vision goggles and stow them in the trunk for missions like this one. But there are serial numbers to consider. The Army does like taking stuff back.
The sample of arabian sand suspended between two sheets of transparent mepilex, which, despite its golden orange glow and perfect uselessness as a display trinket, lives in a lace-up dress shoe in James's closet. The nice hijabi MA who always knocked before bothering him for his blood pressure had given it to him as a gift when they sent him back stateside. To be hospitalized and operated on and poked and prodded and all of that, all over again, by doctors and nurses who didn't wear ranking on the shoulders of their scrubs and coats.
Something about being full-government makes people real jerks to their underlings, even if status is equal and under is interpreted as horizontal. So does being private-practice. Civilian contractors, though. And sub-contractors. They can move invisibly, even when uniform-of-the-day is a Michael Jackson concert tee over scrubs and a headscarf tucked perfectly and unmoving against a hairline and under a chin. They can ask "Which arm?" with a sly grin and have only James and some button pusher of an online supervisor in a dank DC office to answer to. They can re tuck the flat sheet when the Nurse's Aid put it on upside-down. And gifts can be given. As far as James knows. Not that anyone would want anything a broken soldier with no belongings would have to give. So James had given her his most sincere salute after the little sandbag was tucked into the pocket of the XXL pajama shorts he'd been shoved into an hour earlier. She smiled. Said, "Goodbye, James." Then fixed his drawstring so all ends were pointing in the proper direction.
What's blatantly clear about the directions here is that the local businesses cater to different crowds, determined by the long-set stereotypes of student schedules. Bars and clubs with weekend specials sit adjacent to the used video game dealer and ice cream parlor that close before sunset. Kids who spend their time playing X-Box and sharing banana splits are the "good" ones. Time-wasters by anyone else's eye, perhaps, but admissions officers' pet favorites. Those who come in knowing how to study smarter, not harder; those who think they're little geniuses because they've learned to use double colons and quotation marks on a Google site search. They got in on test scores and essays. Or illegal bribes and Dockers paired with argyle socks. The exemplary education that came with them already includes the rules of college and beyond, placed before them by overcautious parents and unlimited streaming of Dateline -- Avoid dark parking lots. Don't linger with a smoke under the stairs. A drink unattended is as good as poisoned. Don't take anything from anyone you don't know. Don't do drugs. Why even smoke? That's decidedly bad, right? And drinking? Going to clubs? What about the statistics? Reputations? Over half of most traditional college student populations are underage...
Tasha's not a smart kid, necessarily. But she knows all this shit. A refresher course wouldn't be the worst idea. Maybe a reminder to skim the course material. And the syllabus. But everyone gets tripped up. And even the dumb kids know the instinctual basics. The stranger in the shadows is the saber tooth tiger, and all that shit?
The point is that there's nothing wrong with Tasha's intelligence. Throw a math test on the table when she's rested and sober and a little caffeinated, and she'll produce at least a B. She finished high school, and she has the bank of knowledge to prove it. It's catching the opportunity, though, that's problematic. And when the little cloud of angel dust in jogging shorts and crop tops is not only in college, but indeed a legal adult, with no higher power to answer to...
James knows way too much about the way that tower comes crashing down. There's always a superior officer, someone to look up to, to ask, to obey. Then you learn stuff, grow, up, get promoted, and in a flash, you're the highest rank present, and the outcome of the next shootout or troop movement or whatever is all on you. One a thin, stretched string of arterial tissue, pulled directly from the human heart, running medal of honor to instant death. A single breath could make the difference. An extra second of thought. Anything less than absolute confidence.
An IED? The fiery explosion happens prior to the sound of the detonation, and it hangs like a mirage in the air, blasting away everyone's mind-body connection and placement in space-time with the force of a nuclear event. What they were doing? Gone. What to do next? Nothing could've prepared them. Who to ask? Not a clue. Death and dismemberment and molten polyester generally break away any standards of hierarchy. Ranks get blown off people's uniforms, and James has never met a PJ who cared about anything but distributing life-saving efforts. And figuring out which legs belonged to which smoldering corpse.
James's toe catches on a dip in the sidewalk, then the sole of his shoe skids over the surface of a manhole cover. The awkward sensation of his hip shooting up to support the now taller leg sends a tingle up his spine, while the lower sitting hip seems frozen, the ball yet to reestablish contact with the socket.
"What the everloving fuck--" James mutters through gritted teeth.
His headache isn't affording him great balance to begin with, and now the damn road is out to get him. James knows, somewhere, that he's being irrational, pessimistic, some sort of nebulous 'bad' that's always tied up in a squinty-eyed grown-up's accusation. That's completely inaccessible, though, behind a raging wall of blind pain and anger. James tenses his body, fully prepared to hit something. Or stand and take it, if something, someone hit him.
He affords the would-be attack three seconds or so before it's necessary to move, even minutely, to take a breath. James parts his lips to exhale, and his face begins to tremble. His shoulders. Arm. He drags his foot out of the pothole before his pelvis becomes permanently damaged and requires multiple back and forth phone calls to the VA and the insurance in order to schedule a visit with the chiropractor.
"Are you ok?"
James has to blink and infer what's behind the shimmering aura before he sees Steve's arms outstretched, ready to support him if need be. Then, as if backtracking to the main menu to put on the subtitles, James locates the question still hanging in the air.
"I--" James's heart and lungs and diaphragm clunk back into action, and, without his permission, break the tender strings of webbing that've been holding the delicate position of his stomach.
It's a conscious action to try not to vomit. Immediately, at least. The distinct skill that adults seem to possess and young children distinctly lack, and everyone in third grade or so unexpectedly gains the ability to perceive, if not precisely the ability to use. The dry swallow, wet swallow that makes the obtaining of the nurse's pass urgent, lest the whole class witness the inevitable. Better hone the skill before taking on high school football practice. And Basic. The crazy one-armed man having a mental breakdown and a seizure simultaneously in the space between the bakery and the produce department? Not so much.
James is past that. Right? Past all of it. But he isn't sure where his mind has gone, flashing feelings and snapshots in semi-related progression. It's intrusive. It's fucking annoying.
James hardly remembers being a little kid, and that's the way he likes it. Something about the passage of time and sustaining a traumatic brain injury does that to people, James has heard. But somehow, instead of steadily fading, distant to current, the way he's always assumed it ought to be, his past has split into a series of deaths and rebirths, each starting abruptly, and leaving him with just a wisp of the one before.
Birth to early childhood. The system. Tasha. High school. The counselor handing him the card for the enlistment center whilst holding even the public state university's pamphlet under her elbow. Basic. Deployment. Rank. Sand...
The order's mixed up at the end. Or maybe it isn't. James isn't quite sure. He never thought he was stupid, but there's always the possibility he's wrong. Troop movement is considered the simplest, safest, most boring, and most detested maneuver to do with an armored tank and a few guys. Someone would do something dumb and just a little off limits, like tape their iPod to the metal ceiling and use an crank-up extension cord and a tiny adapter cable to plug crappy personal speaker to a power source, blare unintelligible music, and call it tin-can acoustics. The guys with another bar on their shoulders would play deaf, stiffly un-humoring themselves in another, oh, ten minutes or so when everything eardrum inward would take more damage than the average soldier over an entire career.
James knows what they did all the goddamn time. He just doesn't know what it was that moment until it came down to life or death. 50-50. Considering the time he spent in hospital, though... Maybe 70-30? He'll give death the upper hand. James admits he was neither hopeful nore helpful. And with the continuous, agonizing slow-moving frustration fed depression and intrusive thoughts and things he couldn't do and couldn't figure out... He let everything slip. The odds against him, and he knew it. And he couldn't do anything about it.
James wasn't prepared when they let him back out into the world, weak and befuddled in a way he couldn't put into words. He couldn't work it out with a doctor or a shrink, so it stayed inside, as heavy and yet undefinable as a mountain fog. The VA was like the system, well-intended, but spotty, and slow to return calls and schedule appointments. James's clumsy body and headaches and occasional downright inabilities put him far, far back. Not even to childhood, but to being a toddler, a baby, pushing himself to tears because he couldn't get the lid off a bottle of water. No one was supposed to see him like this. His birth parents neglected to oversee his development. He struggled to grow up with no one watching. Tasha was still far in the future. He'd meet her when he'd grown big and smart and protective.
"I-- yeah--" James manages to say. He might've been honest with Steve and admit that he isn't feeling well. That the mission is compromised. Steve can probably already tell, though. James knows he can, actually, but doesn't have the reserve energy to study Steve's face to confirm.
James focuses on breathing. It always seems to come back to that. People in the ER like to put him on oxygen, for whatever reason. There isn't anything wrong with James's lungs, as far as he knows. And he hasn't been intubated for surgery under anesthesia since... Fuck this timehopping game. After flying over the Atlantic on a goddamn gurney, though the drawstring of his shorts, thankfully, wasn't draped halfway up his abdomen so as to shift and tickle every time he moved with the turbulence. And before he started college. A few months? Years? Who cares.
The gas exchange necessary to sustaining life, and James's brain function, also has the ability to stir up his compartmentalized memories again. The air near the club lighting up this street of the University district carries essences of car tires and the burning of paper and raw hemp. He finds it neutral, if not pleasant in a weird, nostalgic sort of way. Like the gravel toepaths traversed en masse at outdoor rock concerts. And the high school parking lot, where he'd dash to get the chain off his bike, if protection was needed in that gap after last bell and before football practice. For Tasha. Obviously. Some things never change.
It makes James want to shrug. Laugh. Shake his head and say, "Oh well. It's fine," even though it clearly isn't. It's just his little sister, acting out in a way that stable grown-ups who receive regular paychecks will never understand. Like how they think "don't do that" is a deterrent, not a challenge? Or not realizing that the girl in their care looks like a 7-year-old stripper because she doesn't actually own properly fitted clothing? Or, James's favorite, remaining suspicious after turning out every pocket and fold of a leather jacket and finding exactly one tape player, one cassette, and one set of headphones? Listening to music is meant to help people, right? They do it for babies! To make them smarter! Well, the ones who were on track to be smart to begin with.
The secret truth, James thinks, is that it's not about smarts. More like strategy. Practice. And casting fate. You don't get to choose the moment. Maybe you're not on your game, but you still have to play. They're headed to an establishment for alcohol. Dancing. Music. Meet-ups. Maybe darts? That's something James knows how to play, even if he's as turned off to that part of clubbing as he is to the rest. Study the target. Aim. Make the shot. If the stupid amoeba of migraine won't absent itself from his eyeball, he'll make Steve do it. No, ask him politely. He hasn't lost all his faculties yet. Even the dumb kids know the basics. The instincts.
James knows what's important. He's going to fix it. He's going to keep her safe. Tonight and always. He's going to make sure Tasha's not a statistic, a missing persons case, another casualty of the risk factor that just comes with being kids like them. He's not going to let her fail out of school, or become a full-time streetwalker, or end up serving a life sentence in prison, or bleeding out in a hotel lobby or an old folks' neighborhood because they were too scared to answer her pleading screams.
As long as he lives, James is going to make sure Tasha doesn't end up as a pile of body parts in a gasoline fire. That must never happen. James knows he won't survive the experience either.
#fanfiction#fanfic#marvel#mcu#captain america#chasing ghosts#bucky barnes#steve rogers#natasha romanov#natasha romanoff#college AU#illness and injury#sickfic#migraine#graphic imagery#graphic violence#blood#emeto#emetophilia#alcohol#college drinking#drug use#relationship drama#foster system#bad childhood#operation iraqi freedom#rape culture#safety#starbucks sunday
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6-16-2022
I have therapy this morning at 10:00, then I'm touring Genesis Health Club and then I'm going to Walmart to pick up my new glasses and get my second COVID-19 booster shot. I have a prescription to pick up from the pharmacy there as well. My insurance now covers a gym membership, so that's why I'm going to Genesis. They are the only fitness center in St. Joe that has a pool, and that's why I chose them. I love to do water aerobics, so I know I'll actually use the membership. I only wish I had someone to go with me, but maybe I will make a friend or two in class to help keep me motivated in the long run. I have a free 3-month membership certificate to Genesis that I won on an online auction for the Noyes Home, so maybe Jeremy can join me until I get settled in a routine. I haven't even told him that I jAnoined yet. I need to talk to him about it today. My goal for the next twelve months is to lose about 75 to 80 pounds. I weigh about 225 right now, and I think this is a realistic goal. I look fine most everywhere except this stubborn stomach fat. So besides water aerobics, I'm going to work on my abs several times a week. I should probably do my arms as well since they feel so weak sometimes. They look okay, but I have hardly any muscle in them. Anyway, going to the gym will help me feel better both physically and mentally, so I'm really glad my insurance has this complimentary program.
My birthday is in five days, and I'm dreading turning 47. Where the fuck has my life gone? Jeremy let me open a couple of presents yesterday that came in the mail. He got me a silver bracelet that says, "I love you to the moon and back," and a pair of socks that read "Sorry I can't" on one sock and then the other reads "My murder shows are on." Does he know me well or what? I'm so obsessed with true crime stories! I'm always watching Dateline, 48 Hours, Forensic Files, etc, or watching documentaries on Netflix about serial killers and other true crime. A few months ago, Allison introduced me to the podcast "My Favorite Murder," and I fucking LOVE it! I had never even listened to a podcast before because I thought they were all just wastes of time, but I was wrong. The hostesses of "My Favorite Murder" are named Georgia and Karen. I identify with both of them because they both have anxiety disorders and are obsessed with true crime. The way they talk on their podcast makes me think that if I knew them in real life, we would be great friends. I've discovered that characteristic is key to making and continuing a podcast. At the end of every show, they always say, "stay sexy, don't get murdered." I ordered and received a SSDGM bumper sticker for my car. It has been too fucking hot to put it on my car yet, but I will soon.
I counted the steps at my therapist's office Tuesday. There are 21 -- five and then a landing, seven and then a landing and the front door, and then nine inside the building. I guess I should be happy the elevator is broken so I can occupy my stupid brain by counting stupid steps. So dumb. I fucking count everything, and I'm not one who enjoys math at all. I take that back, I like doing math when clothes are on sale for 75% (or more) off. Ha. What can I say? I have inherited my mother's shopping skills.
I'm in a relatively good mood today. I hope it lasts awhile. Having bipolar disorder is so unpredictive. I am rapid cycling, so my moods can change on a dime. I cannot wait until I get a new doctor here in town and get on some new medication, even though I dread med changes. I'm just so ready to be off of Zyprexa. It really fucks with my blood sugar, and it is one of the medications that "helped" me gain all of this weight.
Anyway, I have therapy in an hour and a half, so I need to go take a bath and get ready. I'm in the mood to write more, but alas, life is waiting for me.
Until then...
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Alexa's Playhouse
pairing: alexa bliss x reader
prompt: 15. "you just love the feeling of my hand wrapped around your throat, don't you?" + 40. "so wet and needy like a good slut should be."
warnings: smut, choking
If you hadn't recognized the handwriting on the piece of paper you found taped to your backpack in the locker room, you definitely wouldn't have come to this address. Warehouses weren't your normal hangout spot, but even this one was giving you the creeps. It didn't help that you were in an unfamiliar city at 1 in the morning by yourself. However, Alexa had requested that you come alone and well, you had been waiting for an explanation as to what was going on with her. Hopefully you wouldn't end up as some tragic dateline special, not that even the most deranged version of Alexa Bliss would have harmed a head on your head like that.
"Lexi?" you called out as you pushed open the door. Inside of the warehouse, it was dimly lit, not that you expected any different. You were probably lucky that the light source wasn't some sort of fire in the middle of the seemingly vast and empty space. This was creepy and every fiber of your being told you to turn around, but you ventured further in.
"Shut that door behind you. I wouldn't want anyone to see us." Alexa popped out from around a pillar, effectively scaring the absolute piss out of you.
"Jesus fucking Christ!" you swore loudly. Alexa smirked to herself as she watched you try to calm down. You shut the door like she asked, even doing the padlock up for her so she didn't have to. "Alright, why am I here?"
"Because I've missed you." Alexa reached forward and caressed your cheek. As unsettled as this entire experience was, you had to admit that you felt the same way. Things before whatever this was were good for both of you, but good things never seemed to last long in your life. "And I've been watching you on TV, I've been seeing all the things you're doing out there."
"Here to give me a piece of your mind then?" you asked her. Alexa tilted her head as she stared at you. Whatever her initial response was going to be got scrapped. Instead, what would have been a verbal answer was instead her pushing you down onto your knees in front of her.
"Is being a champion really worth aligning yourself with someone like Charlotte Flair? She's not going to let you have it Y/n, she'll destroy everything that you love to prove a point. Stay here with me, we can get gold together," Alexa offered. You liked the idea of teaming up with Alexa, but you didn't like the thought of staying wherever the fuck you currently were. "I know you want to. I know you miss me."
"I know I do too, but I can't do this. I can't live like you do, not anymore," you told her. Alexa's eyes darkened angrily at your rejection, but as soon as it had started, it stopped.
"You could at least spend a night here first. It's cozier than you'd think, my little playhouse," Alexa said as she tilted your chin up a little. Her thumb ran along your bottom lip, successfully baiting you into opening yourself up to her. "I can make it nice for you."
"Please," you breathed out. Alexa leaned forward, just enough to brush her lips against yours. You would have surged forward, but Alexa kept a strong hold on you. She knew that you wanted her, but she also knew how much more fun you tended to be whenever she let you get desperate.
"My fingers are just itching to touch you," Alexa said as she let her hand fall down to your neck. You swallowed as her fingers adjusted to wrap loosely around your throat. This time when Alexa bent down, she captured your lips in a heated and passionate kiss. She remained perfectly reserved as she kissed you. Beneath her, you were quickly devolving into an absolute mess. Alexa's hand tightened briefly as she shifted, eliciting a squeak from you. "Do you like that?"
"Yes," you breathed out. Alexa tightened her grip once more, this time earning herself a gasp. She looked proud of herself, and for the first time that night, it was obvious that you were affecting her like she was affecting you. "Please, more.'
"You love the feeling of my hand around your throat, don't you?" Alexa cooed. You nodded as you stared up at her, awaiting her next move. "Do you want me to touch you now? I bet you're already so wet for me."
"Please?" you asked her. Alexa briefly dropped the hand around your throat to kneel down in front of you. She didn't bother removing your clothing, instead just unbuttoning your jeans enough to stick her hand in. It felt rushed and dirty, and the feeling of it sent a blaze of heat straight to your core.
"So wet and ready like a good slut should be." Alexa sank two fingers inside of you, moaning quietly to herself as she did. You head dropped back as she curled her fingers inside of you. The hilt of her hand rubbed against your clit with each thrust of her fingers in and out of you. You moved your hips to match with the thrusts of her fingers, desperately chasing after your own release.
"Alexa, please," you whined as she began to slow down. Alexa looked at you, questioning what it was that you were begging for. "Faster. Go faster, I need to cum."
"I want you to stay with me for a little while longer," Alexa told you. "Promise me you won't just leave when we're finished."
"I won't run away," you promised. Alexa happily sped her fingers up after that, throwing you over the edge and sending you tumbling through your orgasm. Alexa helped you onto your feet afterwards and led you over towards a bed, where you could lay down and recuperate a little. You closed your eyes for a few moments, ignoring the feeling of Alexa watching you as closely as she was. "I meant it, Alexa, I'm not just going to run away."
"Eventually, you'll leave. The playhouse isn't for everyone," Alexa warned you. "No matter how nice I make it for you."
#alexa bliss imagines#alexa bliss imagine#alexa bliss x reader#alexa bliss#wwe#wwe x reader#wwe imagine#wwe imagines
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Hello Annie. I'm the Polin fan, I'm also perplexed that some people didn't enjoy 460? I loved it! It was the first fic of yours that I read and what lead me to keep an eye out for your name in ao3. I'm sorry people are being rude and that some have the nerve to think they're entitled to tell you you didn't meet their standards or whatever. You don't own us anything, not the plot of your stories, not a date to publish them, not explanations of why you took certain decisions. Literally not a single thing. I hope you know there's plenty of people who enjoy what you're doing and relish every time you post something 💕
As for tips, I only have one and that is: write and rewrite. Let me elaborate:
Get out of your head and write. It could be bad and you could absolutely hate it. That's not a measurement of your talent, it won't mean you're a bad writer, just that it isn't completely fleshed out yet. And that's fine. Don't diminish your work just because it doesn't look how you want to yet.
Work over that. The idea is already there, you'll know it because is yours and you wrote it. If you don't like your first try, then change it. Add things or take them out. Edit them, look up pretty words that you can use, quote somebody else's work if they've already said it in a way that fits your story. Keep at it until you're satisfied.
Work with several documents and don't delete anything. It could be useful later on, you might not know it just yet.
Have writing buddies. Not just people how make sure that all the orthography is on point, but ask them if they have any ideas about the story on itself. It's yours and nobody is taking it away from you, but sometimes we can become to wrapped up on our own writing to see it with clear eyes, having a fresh perspective could be useful.
Be your own critic but also your own fan. Everyone else also has doubts of their work, and im sure that doesn't stop you from hyping them up, why wouldn't you cheer your own? The highest standards for your work are the ones that you set up.
This is something that you're doing for fun. Nobody is grading you, you don't have a dateline, you're won't be a failure, you don't have to write if you don't want to.
Taking a step back is completely valid. Going back to my previous point: don't make yourself miserable by forcing something that's not working right now. It could be because you're burned out or because life is going on and you don't have the time. You can take time off.
Writing is a process. It doesn't have to, and it likely won't be, picture perfect on the first try. So don't expect it to be. It'll take time, work on it for as long as it takes.
It's your hobby and that means you're supposed to enjoy it. I hope you do.
I don't know if these will be useful, and I probably should have prefaced that list by saying that I've never written fiction, only academic things, but it's all i can offer. They've worked for me, i hope they do for you. Im sending you all my love and best wishes 💕
Hello!!
Thank you so so much for the message! You know how much they mean to me!
I have some short scene ideas that don't have a place in ROTB (mainly because they are too far into the future), so I'm thinking about publishing those. I used to get a lot of requests for that kind of stuff a few months back, like HC for 460 Kathony version or the Gregory with muscles ask I got some time ago, and I think that could be a fun exercise that gets my mojo back. I stopped doing them because some inspired their own fics, and I thought I wasn't being fair if I didn't treat every ask in the box the same (I know it sounds ridiculous, but my mind does those things to me)
The rest turned into a rant, so more under the break, but I really wanted to thank you again if you don't end up reading the rest. This means the world to me.
About 460, it's not that people didn't enjoy it; it's that people didn't like how it ended. I stand by that ending but, I have to be honest, the hate I get for it does stop me from publishing any more Polin. The comments on AO3 are pretty tame; mostly, people were annoyed that (spoiler!) Portia didn't find out that Colin was Penelope's soulmate. I got a comment saying that they were annoyed they couldn't see Portia's reaction when they saw that Penelope was always worthy or Colin, which was never the point of the fic for me. 460 was about them finding each other. Penelope doesn't gain value as a person because of who her soulmate might be, so I didn't include that, and I ended the fic where I thought it should end. Not going to lie, I did keep the ending open because I was planning on adding an epilogue at some point, but the asks got quite bad at some point, so I decided not to. 460 is what it is, and I'm happy with what I published (my only regret is making Colin so poetic in his mind because that was a pain to write, lol).
Okay, little note about me that my therapist has helped me realise: I'm a chaotic perfectionist who overcompensates in some areas of my life when others are kind of falling apart (the joys of being an overachieving child). And I absolutely do that with fic. The thought of someone being disappointed because I haven't updated in months makes me ridiculously sad and anxious. It's not the thought of no one reading it; it's the thought of the few people who do being disappointed with it (that's a me problem, and I'm working on it, not trying to make anyone feel bad).
Enough with the sadness! THESE TIPS! These are actually SO useful!! It makes so much sense now that I've seen them written like this! So thank you, thank you, thank you, a thousand times! I'm going to try and apply every single one of them! I really want a writing buddy!
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Melons and Murders
We didn't do anything special on the 4th of July. Because only 30-something percent of Tennesseans are vaccinated and the Delta variant is unpredictable, we're still avoiding crowds. It sucks because I really want to enjoy a ballgame or a concert. Downtown Nashville broke a previous record by hosting an estimated 400,000 drunken idiots for an Independence Day celebration. What could possibly go wrong there, right? So we stayed home, grilled some brats, and watched tv while our neighborhood lit up like a combat zone. It was insane.
After all of that grumpy complaining, I'm actually here to pay tribute to summer food. As far as I'm concerned, the absolute QUEEN of the summer is the Sugar Kiss melon.
This melon will change your life. I've never tasted anything so good. Don't be deceived into thinking this is just a cantaloupe. This is magic in your mouth. This melon tastes like it's been injected with vanilla and sugar. They're only in season for a brief part of the summer and we eat about three a week. Not even kidding. We get ours at Publix, even though I've seen and purchased them elsewhere, the Publix melons seem to be at peak freshness. I don't know if Kroger warehouses theirs before they're in stores or what, but the Publix melons are superior. You'll spot Sugar Kiss melons right away, wrapped in their distinctive blue mesh and set apart from the other cantaloupe. Get one (no, seriously, get two) and you can thank me later.
It wouldn't be summer without watermelon. I buy one every Saturday, chunk it up and keep it in a big, lidded tub in the frig. When I come in from working in the yard, hot and sweaty, a couple of pieces of chilled watermelon cools me down faster than anything I could drink. Mickey says the same thing. It's always sad toward the end of summer when watermelon becomes scarce. I have some heirloom seeds from my Grandma Ethel's watermelon patch that I treasure, and I haven't had the courage to plant them. How silly is that? I'd hate to get my hopes up and have some stupid pest ruin everything. Anyyywhooo...back to watermelon. Aside from just eating it straight, I'm addicted to this combo.
Day after day, I drop chunks of watermelon into a bowl, sprinkle some feta and a bit of chopped, fresh mint leaves, then top it with a quick squeeze of lime, just a little. Holy moley, I hear angels sing when I eat this. The super sweet melon, the salty feta, the zing from the mint and the lime - it's everything a summer dish should be. It doesn't hurt my feelings that it's really pretty to look at too.
Know what else I'm addicted to? Breakfast salads. I love breakfast, it's my favorite meal of the day. I would be content to eat a hearty breakfast and then just nibble for the rest of the day. Normally I'll dice up tomato and onion and get it sizzling in a skillet, then I'll throw in some riced broccoli.
Once that's cooked through, I season and scramble two eggs and pour that in - a few stirs with a spatula and I've got a bowlful of veggie eggs and a yummy breakfast. If you're so inclined and can spare the calories, add cheese or bacon or whatever floats your boat. It's delicious, low in calories and fat, offers plenty of protein and fiber, and will keep you full all day. Winner.
Lately I've been throwing together a flavorful salad...spring greens, a quarter of an avocado, a tablespoon of feta, and a tablespoon of crumbled bacon. Super simple.
Then I spritz a pan with a little olive oil and fry an egg. I season it like crazy and plop it right on top of the salad.
When I cut through the egg it releases the warm, yummy yolk as a dressing and coats everything. It's a delicious, healthy breakfast.
The mister and I are still working the Weight Watchers thing. It's so stinkin' easy and NOTHING is off limits. I'm on the Purple Plan because I don't like to log things, so I have a bazillion "free" foods but only 16 points a day. The items that cost me are fatty things like mayo and butter. As long as I eat clean and whole foods (even whole grain pasta is zero points for me!) I can finish every day with points to spare. A grilled chicken breast with roasted broccoli and sweet potato is a zero point meal. How simple is that? Of course, that doesn't mean I don't have treats. It didn't take me long to figure out that a macaron is just two points and totally worth it. I'm down 21 pounds and it's been embarrassingly easy to do. It's been a slow drip, pretty much a pound a week, but it's the easiest diet I've ever been on and I think I've tried them all.
Sorry, I rambled. I promised melons and murder. The murder part is really more of a question for you. It's no secret that I'm a true crime junkie. My DVR history is frightening- Snapped, Cold Justice, etc. My reading list looks like I'm either planning or solving a murder. But I'm new to true crime podcasts. When I'm at my desk I like to listen to a murder or two, usually tuning into a Dateline series (the Mommy Doomsday episodes will blow your mind). I'm in the market for other podcasts though, so I'm asking for your favorites. You don't have to answer here, you can always send suggestions to [email protected] - no need to create a Tumblr profile or any of that. Hit me with your favorites, My Favorite Murder? Anatomy of a Murder? Crime Junkie? Sword & Scale? Do tell!
Gotta' go. It's time for me to trot out to the garden and pick more cucumbers and have a chat with the birds and squirrels. Summer is in full swing and I intend to enjoy these days. Besides, if I don't go out and get sweaty, I can't justify eating more melon. I have an agenda.
I hope you're having some fun with your day. Stir up some giggles, even if you're just laughing at yourself. I used to write jokes on Post-It notes and leave them on the doors of bathroom stalls at work. I wonder how many pantsless people chuckled ? Go spread some sunshine and make sure you get some on yourself.
Stay safe, stay well, stay sunny.
XOXO - Nanccy
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Till Dusk
This is a wip that's finally been finished. I remember asking @hoodoo12 what kind of fic she'd like with Cop Rick. And honestly, I can't remember if it's this one or the other one that's still a wip, but here it is. I hope you like it dear. I can hardly do him justice as I see your portrayal of Cop Rick as the best, but I tried. @rickssugarplum I'm tagging you cause I know you like cop Rick too. @porkchop-ao3 I made a tiny reference to an OC of yours, so of course you must be tagged. For my other fics, check out my Masterpost.
A Cop Rick x Reader fic
In this fic, you two walk through the park and delight in one another.
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Burnt amber, violet streaks, and patches of scarlet painted the early evening with a sense of melancholia, although you didn't feel as such. Rather, you were warm and invigorated by the inviting atmosphere as well as by your handsome companion. Walking together; interwoven fingers and his and your shoulders brushing against one another if you happened to glance at him longer then you should was both soothing and exciting in its own right. Not needing to speak, it simply took the slightest change in body language and already there was a conversation; although a little flirting never hurt. His smile…that smile which made you melt inside and wonder while those disciplined steps kept you vigilant; there was no way you could understand him, but you dared to try.
While you were safe in his capable hands, crickets chirped along in the shadows while the ducks waddled away, and the squirrels fought over leftover sandwich crumbs; Rick's quiet amusement over the faces you made when you smelled rotting fish guts never missing a beat. Walking through the park had started as your way of trying to become more active, especially since you were so fond of binge-watching entire seasons of shows on Netflix; only getting up to use the bathroom and to get food. Yet, over time you begin to enjoy this diversion, taking pleasure in the little things, connecting back to the world around you, and of course with him. You told Rick that you could take care of yourself and that you'd be back before dark, but the cop in him thought otherwise, was cautious, and always accompanied you; motivated by duty as well as affection for you; ready to guard and protect. Though, what had started as your way to incorporate more exercise, had become quality time with your man.
Out here, you two could run, or roll around in the grass, watch the ducks, or simply walk hand in hand; like any ol’ couple would. Though, you two weren't like any ol’ couple; for the obvious reasons, as well as the hidden ones. And while you honestly thought there were many other things he'd rather do, and could do, he didn't really care as long as it was with you. Perhaps that's what made it all the more endearing.
Sometimes, you'd wrap an arm around him, he'd kiss your cheek, you'd bump his hip, and speak to him in this silent way; his amused but all the more direct eyes alerting you of his admiration; of his sincerest affections. If a bicyclist came too close, he'd pull you flush against his side, or if your shoulders brushed, then he'd apologize, and you'd kiss that cute mouth of his for being so polite. And if it got chilly, he'd take off his jacket and placed it about your shoulders, and you'd pause, and stare up at him to read his calm expressions. You never knew when you should stop, or if you ever should, but like all things, it did and you wished you could go on. Why this quality time together should end? Well, you knew, though if you asked as to when he'd most likely say, "Until a-about dusk."
Which was pretty soon. Darn it. There never seemed to be enough hours in the day, let alone enough to be satisfied. To lighten your mood, you'd tease. "Why so soon? Afraid of the dark?"
"N-not at all baby," he'd softened, catching on easily. "but I'd prefer to avoid the consequence of it. You um - you never know what might pop up in th-the night."
Of course, he'd know best; having to deal with criminals among his kind all the time would make one careful, but it never stopped you from trying to protest. "Can't we just stay out a little longer?"
"W-we can, but just not here." he answered with a hint of authority.
"But Rick, it's so lovely tonight."
Though you thought every evening was lovely with him, and it seemed like there could never be a danger or care in the world when he was around, but that was wishful thinking. For his part, Rick hated to disagree and would ponder for a few moments as to what should be said. However, he'd remind you gently of a few facts. "Baby, 24% of all violent crime committed by adult offenders occur between 8 pm and midnight. That isn't t-t-to say I can't protect you," you knew full well he could, though he'd never abuse his power. "but I - it's not exactly legal in this dimension to use a ray gun. Yet."
You'd seen enough dateline and true crime to know it was true, but you always hoped that statistics could change, and you two wouldn't have to think too hard about the possibility of danger. Maybe a few self-defense classes would help, or any training in general which would make you a force to be reckoned with. It wasn't that bad of an idea, but for now, it was still wishful thinking. "Fine," you pouted, "we can go home."
You turned around to head back towards the car, but having sensed your displeasure, he gave your hand a squeeze; stopping you in your tracks. "I'm s-sorry baby. I know the truth hurts, but we can go off-world if you'd like. I know um - I know a place where we can be alone. It's completely safe too."
"Yeah?" you brightened.
"You bet, but you'll see for yourself. I've actually been looking for a reason t-to take you there, but you were usually too tired to go."
You couldn't think of anything more pleasant than being with him, except for a little ice cream that is. Flashing him a smile, you nodded. "Sure, sounds like a plan. Though, do you mind if we get some ice cream first?"
With a chuckle, he answered. "I don't see why not. Though, I gotta see where IC is located first."
Fin
#not doofus rick related#Cop Rick x Reader#Rick sanchez x reader#Cop Rick#Rick x Reader#rnm fanfic#rick and morty fanfiction#my writing#My works#For Hoodoo12#Rick and morty#Rick sanchez#Rnm
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Broods
Broods has a strange correlation with my relationships.
I think it was during Evergreen that I first started having serious feelings for Laura, but didn't act on them at all. I think her song was Superstar, "I've been waiting for the sun to rise where you are, so I can tell you you're a superstar"
Conscious is consumed by Susanna. It took me a really, really long time to be able to listen to that album again after we broke up.
Heartlines will always be hers.
We could fool the datelines
We could jump the statelines
I don't wanna always play nice
But I wanna feel your heartlines
I wanna feel your heart
Have you been let down by the ones before?
Do you leave too soon to know?
Never fell in love 'cause I just cut loose
But not when it comes to you
Dressing in black, you're around for the weekend
Dancing at night, you're the light that I won't let go
And I want you close
We could fool the datelines
We could jump the statelines
I don't wanna always play nice
But I wanna feel your heartlines
I'll pick you up at midnight
We'll run to beat the sunlight
We only get the one life
And I wanna feel your heartlines
I wanna feel your heart
Now we're far apart, in and out of touch
And the words don't mean as much
So I sit across from someone new
But they don't compare to you
Lying in bed wide awake, I remember
Dancing at night, you're the light that I won't let go
And I want you close
I remember in the heat of things, I guess before I had moved to Sydney, that I went to that Broods concert with my sisters.
It was a Broods concert that I first asked Faye to go out on a date with me. She didn't end up coming with, but I remember texting her from Taronga as she attended her CG.
I guess thats a weird thing hey. It was her CG that got in the way of our first date, and now it is her CG that got in the way of us getting married.
And its a weird thing that I bought us tickets to go see Broods, but ultimately that date was just not destined to happen. And to round off this chapter, I'm going back home to Melbs in April to go to the Broods concert with my sisters again. Full circle.
Faye really likes (or at least liked) Bedroom Door. I like that song too, I haven't decided if I need to fully reclaim it from her or not. I guess it is hers since its on her CD too.
Make it easy
You give in to everything
I know you, I know you
It's what you do, what you do
There's no need to disappear
I've got room for you in here
To unite, to unite
Tell you why, tell you why
I've been longing after you
Longing after you since the start
Oh and all you have to do
All you have to do is your part
So shut up the bedroom door
And shut out the world some more
I know your head gets sore when you're not near me
And drop your clothes on the floor
You've had a hard day I know
I've had a hard day too I can't forget with you
Take it easy, just as long as you are here
You'll be fine, you'll be fine
You know why, you know why
Forget the work you need to do
Forget about how hard it is too lose
Forget about the things you need to say
I see it in your eyes, I feel the same
Remember all the times I used to hurt
Remember all the things you helped me learn
I'm tryin', I am here to help you too
I'm here to help you
Writing this, I almost gave it to Faye, but actually, I will take Heartbreak to be my own song, the mantra that I need during this new season. What are the odds that Georgia would write an album about her divorce at this time of my failed engagement.
Always find myself
Same predicament
These boys girls kick me out of shape
I forget about
What I tell myself
All the time I say I'll take
Let your heart break
Give an opportunity to
Get your feelings straight
Oh, heartbreak
Gives an opportunity to
Get your feelings straight
Feeling better now
Think I've found myself
Think I'm over feeling bad
But it never lasts long
Now, I think I need space
To change pace
An island of my own
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That (fine ass) cop turned truck driver I let follow me for a while told me I was "hard on the brothers".
Yeah, cause y'all grown, but you're like li'l bad ass kids, doing dumb shit you know you ain't got no business doing cause you want power like white men,
But don't wanna admit you'll NEVER have it.
I finally found his government name, googled it, and read in the AJC the fuckshit he did TO A BLACK MAN that got him fired from DeKalb County PD,
And nah, you got to get from round me even virtually.
It was a DeKalb County SD deputy my naive ass went on that post divorce date with and ended up assaulted, so thuggery is a thing over there in DeKalb.
Like, I truly thought that a cop being Black meant he wouldn't be As Bad,
But that also tells you how long ago this was, like, I've known better than that for so long, it's hard to imagine there was a time I thought I could date a Black cop, bless my heart.
Now I know that even if they not a cop anymore, the fact that they once were a class traitor means they gotta fuckin go, can't be around me, period.
But my stint on Match last year showed me that cops are ALL that's left, like,
My profile views were FULL of retired cops, former cops, retired feds,
And nah, I'm NOT interested in being your THIRD wife, Darrell,
And you not fenna beat MY ass
Have your homeboys cover it up
And have ME on Dateline, PERIOD, like,
I said on my profile I'm NOT a match for police, current or former.
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