i deleted everything by accident

I deleted everything by accident, and now I am grieving.

It's not that these things were important, technically. I deleted a tumblr I barely used or looked at; a place where I would start to write a post, get cold feet, and then leave it in the drafts until I no longer wanted to do anything with it. That's all it was, a graveyard to things I was never going to complete, ideas I'd given up on, plans I never followed through with.

But still, the day they rip the memorial down is still sad, and you'll forever walk by that lamp post and remember that, at one point, there were flowers here.

So I guess I just... use this how I used to use the internet: like a diary. I was once a dedicated blogger, back in the days when being a "blogger" had some sort of caché (I think if you said that now, someone would assume you were using some sort of throwback term, like asking aloud if anyone knew of a video store they could check out. Are there any video stores left? I don't know, and I don't feel like googling right now). I wanted to be a writer, a blogger, I wanted to be like all the cool teens I followed who had custom webpages with sections where they'd post about their thoughts and other sections for cool things they did with their friends. I wanted to be their friend and be posted on their cool blog! But this was the early 2000s, where the only way to contact these people was to either stalk a forum they might be on, or email them directly, and both of those always felt unappealing. So instead, I wrote about my life and my friends, read my friends blogs, hoped to be cool enough to be included. Hundreds of posts, stories and essays and quiz results and absolutely atrocious poetry, we wrote so much, I wrote so much. And all of it is gone, now. Blogs long deleted, websites no longer active, everything lost to digital decay. Or, if you're me, you delete your tumblr by accident while massively tired and only realise too late what you've done. More decay, more insignificant pieces of the web burned away. I'm the only one who cares, but that's fine. I can... rebuild. Or just use this space for my own terrible navel gazing.

I write a lot. I have a fair amount of published work, but I also write a lot that never sees the light of day (and probably never should, mostly for quality control issues). I spent a lot of nights writing Parkdale Haunt, a lot of very late evenings hammering out page after page after page until my eyes hurt and my brain was trying to escape my skull, but it felt good. It was a good time. There's several episodes where I wrote the first draft in a complete haze, like when you're running a marathon (NOTE: I have never run a marathon, but like, stick with me here, I'm just extrapolating from my time as a long distance runner) (SECOND NOTE: I hated long distance running and quit to focus on sprinting and hurdling, which I loved, because sprinting is designed for people who want all their endorphins RIGHT NOW and hurdling is designed for masochists, and the 400m hurdles is the perfect race if you just want to punish yourself for any feeling of hubris that you've ever had in your entire curséd life) and you're just zoning out and pushing through any thought you might have that says hey man, what if you just - oh, I don't know - lied down on that patch of grass over there? Yeah, that would be sick as fuck. Writing feels like that for me sometimes, like hey, wouldn't it be nice to just go to bed? Yeah, bed is good. But then I would look down and there'd be 15 pages in front of me, and I'd feel... great. And also exhausted and vaguely headachy, but great. Then I would just spam Emily and/or Ian with screenshots of scenes at random times. Being in my vicinity means you're getting unhinged screenshots at some point.

So I've been writing again. I've got two scripts going for a new show, here's to hoping it works out. And I guess I can write here when I need/want to procrastinate. I don't have much of a footprint left after I threw my fucking shoes in the ocean.

All this has done is made me miss hurdling.

Line tag

Tagged by @the-stray-storyteller because you are procrastinating. Thanks once again

---

Heartbeat (from an alternate draft idea where Leo dies)

Jaxon stared at his shoes. He could feel Dylan's soft breaths as they slept, exhausted, against Jaxon's right shoulder. On his other side, he could feel Kai's heartbeat against his palm, too fast and heavy. He looked calm regardless of what he had seen.

He couldn't see Logan, but he could see white knuckles gripping the steering wheel, his older brother tense with silence, and he couldn't see Lily, but he could see the reflection of her phone screen in the window, scrolling through her camera roll mindlessly. Scrolling back when she ran out of pictures.

Jaxon didn't see it. He didn't see it. He couldn't have done it. He would never have done it. He had been angry, but not angry enough to kill someone. Not like that. Not when they'd just found her again.

Maybe they didn't fight. He gripped Kai's hand harder. Kai returned the gesture.

Convince (from future chapter)

The next part of his job was going to be his least favorite, having to convince everyone of his betrayal. It wouldn't be hard, if Leo was really dead, it wouldn't be hard to figure out that they had been together, on the same rooftop, and that he conveniently disappeared after she fell. He already told Cass a bit of his plan, so if nothing else, he had her on his side. If the others hated him when it was all over, then that would be fine. He was doing this for them.

Fortunately, Cass giving him her phone made it a bit easier to contact the others. He fidgeted with the phone, unsure who to call, or what he could even say. With a small breath, he clicked on Cass's contact list, scrolling until he found Logan's. Logically speaking, Logan would tell the others of Jaxon's fake betrayal much faster than any of the others, and he would probably handle it the best. Dylan or the triplets was out of the question, and Lily would probably scream at him until the phone broke.

Karma: (chapter seven)

"Yeah..." Leo laid on the floor of the back of the van, limbs sprawled out. "We've been having a lot of good luck recently. Wonder when karma is finally going to kick our ass."

Dressing completely opposite from each other seemed to be their theme lately, as Cass wore green sneakers, and Leo had red converse. She had a pink shirt, essentially light red, and Cass had a brown cardigan, arguably dark red. Cass wore a white t-shirt underneath, and Leo a black hoodie. They had really gone overboard with this one, accidental as it may have been.

"Alright, I'm telling Dylan that we're on our way. Be nice, Leo."

Tension (chapter three):

Once the teacher read through the last essay to the class, the tension released itself from her shoulders, allowing her to slump forward and relax, tuning out the teacher's lesson on grammar. Leo was sixteen and quite confident in her grammar skills.

She was also quite confident that she had fallen asleep, as the bell suddenly rang again and jolted her back to consciousness.

Her next class was science. Leo's personal favorite and the only class she bothered paying attention to. Cass was in that class with her, and they sat next to each other. Cass didn't know about Leo's whole scheme she had been running for the past few years.

Now, getting to the classroom faster than her twin was not an easy task, with said twin in both track and soccer, while Leo would never run for enjoyment.

Dead(ly): (chapter two)

She flipped it around, hoping for some description or a date, with no luck. White out had been used, and Leo wasn't even going to try to take it off.

Another question, was how it got there in the first place. Her parents were at work, and no one else had the key. She was much better at hiding the spare key than her cousins. Hers was kept under a loose floorboard on the patio.

Leo flinched as the sound of the front door slamming shut tore through the dead silence of the house.

---

Going to use the same collection of words: Heartbeat, convince(d), tension, deadly, karma

Tagging:

whoever wants to do it because my computer cannot handle another tab open to search for people to tag

Advice Porn, Doomscrolling, and Achieving Greatness

I just read the Paul Graham mega-essay on 'How to Do Great Work'

It was brilliant as always. My key takeaway - follow your curiosity and act earnestly, and everything else will fall into place. It also largely validates my long-held ideas to lean into what makes me weird while being intellectually honest with myself.

My bigger meta takeaway is that I get too hung up on the comfort of advice porn. It feels good to read something that validates my beliefs on how the world works and how to achieve success. Today it's Paul Graham, yesterday it was Kevin Kelly. The other day it was Tim Ferriss. They all say the right things, and they all gel with my world view, and I feel great after hearing them. But how does that translate to what I do?

This brings me to the other gem from the essay that struck me:

"Just as we overestimate what we can do in a day and underestimate what we can do over several years, we overestimate the damage done by procrastinating for a day and underestimate the damage done by procrastinating for several years."

I'm definitely guilty of this. I keep putting off stuff that I wanted to do from years ago. I read my notes from 8, 9, 10 years ago, and my aspirations are still largely the same - establish a writing outlet, do master's, work in a tech company, start a business... I'm lucky to have a good idea of what I want to do, so why not do it? This is especially striking when I see people like the environmental science guy, or the Data Machines lady, or even my artist friend Miggy, who 8 years ago was struggling in the same office as me, and now dominating the art scene as Distort Monsters. These are mostly my peers and they have gone so far and achieved so much. I won't deny that there's a hint of envy for what they have achieved, but it's also inspiring, and it makes me want to get started with my own projects, especially the creative ones.

But this is where discipline has to come in.

The doomscrolling death spiral still torments me as the ultimate productivity leech. I spend hours and hours swiping down the Instagram, Facebook, and Twitter newsfeeds. It makes me feel bad about not accomplishing things, which makes me want to scroll through the feeds again as a temporary salve. I can feel my attention span and focus getting dangerously short. Whenever I steel myself for a focused activity, I keep getting tempted. I've tried to purge these apps from my phone (and that helps quite a lot!) but I keep going back to them. Plus there are other sources of distraction that sap my attention, like Youtube and NFTs. It almost makes playing games and watching shows (who others may consider pure time sucks) as productive because I at least complete something while focusing on an activity. So I have to keep reminding myself - boulders > rocks > pebbles > sand

Having said all these, I believe that I'm getting better with acting on my dreams. I follow an okay cadence of writing once a day, walking over 12K steps everyday, hearing mass once a week, completing one book a month, and publishing one post per month as well. I'm doing alright with my teaching job and relationships. I am eating less, sleeping a bit better, and working out more. My biggest hack to get to these goals is a simple one: listening to audiobooks and podcasts while walking and working out, while taking in the view and the air and the sunlight, while taking occasional notes along the way. It's a four-birds-one-stone activity that relaxes me and enlivens me while also making me feel like I'm cheating time.

Where I have to improve is the follow-through. Another hack that works well for me here is to use good 'ol pen and paper as a way to organize my thoughts and connect the dots. Then I have to do a much better job to convert these raw notes into longer-form writings that I could use, share, and publish. I have to put more of myself out into the world. I need to keep reorienting my focus outward rather than inward. Yes, I should still create for myself, but with the motivation of benefiting others (like having an idea click so I could share them more convincingly) rather than out of vanity. I should keep imbibing the value of consistency, to direct my tendency for inertia in a positive direction - as a way to build momentum rather than a reason to be static.

Failure? Tony Stark x Son!Reader (Part One)

Prompt: During dinner one day, the topic of Y/N’s grades comes up.

Themes: angst, eventual father/son fluff

Pairings: son!reader x father!tony stark (also pepper is reader's mom!)

A/N: I started writing this back in 2019 and just now finished it but this is still my first piece of writing posted here, so any constructive criticism is greatly appreciated. Plus, what's a first post without some angst? I hope you enjoy it :)

Warnings: angst, depression, a representation of my shitty ass eating habits + lots of friggin swearing

Words: 1,028

Part Two

Part Three

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/N’s POV

My body felt slow like quicksand as I moved to the dinner table. I hate this. I know what my Dad is going to say the moment I answer his nightly question of “How were your classes?”, Shit Mr. Stark, absolute Shit, with a capital ‘S’. I despise papers, I hate the classes I write them for and I hate the papers too. Before we know it, maybe my Dad will hate me too?

I sloppily fall into my chair at the dining table, right across from my father, who, at the moment, is staring blankly at a screen. His eyes don’t even gaze my way when my chair makes the most annoying high-pitched sound, he doesn’t even acknowledge me. Well that sounds about right.

Mom yanks the clear, glass, electric screen from Dad’s iron grip, “Come help me bring dinner to the table, will ya?” she chirps and I can almost hear my Father groaning in annoyance. 

Once the food has all been brought to the table and put on everyone’s plate, my Dad finally looks at me. It’s a cold look, stern too, but I still want to search for the ounce of love he may have for me in those brown eyes of his. His mouth opens like he’s going to speak, but recoils, and purses his lips.

He begins to speak again, “So, kiddo, how were your classes today? Anything new happen?” 

“They were fine. Boring and uneventful, but fine.” I spin my fork around in my pasta, procrastinating the thought of having to bring the fork up to my lips. He pauses and drops his own fork, causing a clink sound to erupt, furrowing his eyebrows as hs eyes stare straight at me.

“What grade did you get on that paper?” He raises an eyebrow at me and then gently pushes his plate aside.

“What does it matter?” 

“Well, I would like to know if you worked hard enough on it to get an acceptable grade.” He crosses his arms over his chest and I can almost feel the large amounts of varying emotions boiling up inside me, ready to burst and roll right off my tongue.

“I got a D minus,” I flinch, prepared for the worst possible outcome, but instead of yelling and screaming, I get silence. 

“Go to your room, you’re rewriting that essay and turning it in tomorrow at noon.”

“What? That’s not nearly enough time! You-” I’m cut off by the sound of my Dad’s chair scratching against the tile floor as he moves to stand. He gestures towards the hall, and I take that as my que. I retrain from running and semi-calmly walk towards my room. Accidentally slamming the door behind me. My hand grazes against the doorknob before swiftly locking it. 

My feet bring me to my unmade bed and I plop myself on the side of it. I feel tears pricking at the corner of my eyes, begging to be let go. I seem to give in because before I know it, wet hot tears are pouring down my cheeks as I let out sobs and pull my legs up to my chest.

It’s just a stupid grade, yet, to my Dad, it’s everything. I get good grades, then I’m good for him, otherwise, I'm just something he can throw away when I’m no longer useful to him or the Stark legacy. Its. Just. One. Stupid. Grade. Yet at the same time, it’s my worth as a person and a member in this family. I hate this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tony’s POV

Y/N's door slams shut and I flinch, beginning to regret sending him to his room. Did I overreact again? Was I too harsh? Should I be easier on the kid?

I'm ripped from my thoughts when Pepper chimes in a moment later:

"You shouldn't be so hard on him. He's trying."

I grimace, Pep's right. But I dont want to admit it. "He needs to work harder. He's slacking."

She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Tony, he's a kid, your kid. No, our kid. And he needs your support, not your constant criticism."

I cross my arms, sliding down my chair, my gaze directed down the hall at Y/N's room. I'm not criticizing him, I'm only helping him. Teaching him self discipline. If I don't, he'll turn out like me and have to do it on his own.

"I'm not criticizing him, Pepper. I'm being a father."

"Not the greatest." She mumbles under her breath, I pretend to not have heard her and continue our meal. In silence. Agonizing silence..

As I finish my plate, Pepper gets up, heading to the kitchen to begin the nightly chores. I get up behind her, meeting her at the sink, "I've got it, Pep."

"Thanks." She smiles, a small but genuine smile and heads back to the dining room, retrieving the rest of the dishes. I begin to separate them into dishwash and handwash, starting to load up the dishwasher. My mind running a thousand miles per hour.

Am I becoming my father? Am I hurting my son? Am I doing something wrong? Am I the bad guy?

"He didn't touch his plate, again." Pepper cuts my thoughts short, yet again. I cringe as she scrapes the plate clean, following by her handing me the plate. I smile to myself as I take it from her hand. Y/N's used the same plate since he was 5, the same one he and I made together. He decided he wanted to have his hand print and mine together, his is in blue and mine in red. I remember it like yesterday, his little giggles as I painted his hand a bright blue. I'm sure to gently wash it, to not accidentally wash off the 10 year old hand prints placed on it. I rinse it and put it aside, continuing with the rest of them. Letting my mind run free yet again.

I'm not a bad father. I'm doing what I have to. I'm protecting him and nurturing his potential. My criticism is constructive, not harmful. Did I hurt him?

I couldn't have hurt him. Did I?

Blackmail

pairing: bully!Jungkook x nerdy!fem!Reader

genre: drabble, smut, college au

synopsis: Jimin offers you information on Jungkook, but your friendship is misconstrued by Jungkook who ends it singlehandedly with one video of you professing your love to him between moans.

warnings: dubcon, fingering, degredation, mild squirting, manipulation

word count: 2.8k

a/n: jealous kook doesn't realize he's jealous. this part is a bit extreme, so beware ><

One doesn't come across someone like Jungkook every day. It's fate that you met him in your first year of college, extending to your second where he grows closer to you; fair, it's clear that he only intends to use you for his academic success, but you've deluded yourself into thinking you're in love with each other. Growing up, you only had your dysfunctional family to teach you about how to love, how to think. As long as Jungkook needs you, he will love you, and you’re willing to do anything to be with him, only him. You need him to live.

Birds sing in the background as you lay on your stomach on the grass of the yard across the campus. It’s sunny and breezy, the perfect spring day as you work on Jungkook’s research paper due next month. You compiled multiple credible sources in a separate file to create an outline for his essay the moment he forwarded the assignment to you. You want him to praise you, pet your hair, kiss your cheek for starting so early so he can turn it in before anyone else. He would be proud, flashing you his pearly whites and adoring eyes. The reward motivates you to work harder and you’re relentlessly skimming through articles while counting down the minutes of Jungkook's lecture. He'll be outside with his friends in 7 minutes.

With a bad childhood, you don’t care to befriend many people. You only have a few friends to keep you company and you’re socially awkward outside of that group. You’re content, so you steer clear of boys who try to sabotage your relationship with Jungkook. Jimin, however, doesn’t get the memo.

Typing away on your laptop, a shadow looms over you to give you a break from the sunlight. You glance up and stop swinging your legs absentmindedly when you recognize the shadow; it’s a boy with frames and a tight collar adorning his neck.

Park Jimin is a typical nerd whereas you’re more of a closeted nerd. When you’re in love, you usually put more effort into your appearance to impress the one on your mind, but that doesn’t work with Jungkook. It’s always other men giving you their attention through second glances, and that includes Jimin.

“What do you want?” you rudely greet. Jimin is ruthless with his attempts at pursuing you; he’s the perfect gentleman, and often volunteers to do group tasks with you. He is never mean to anyone, and has a squeaky clean reputation, but his only flaw is that he can’t take a hint. You don't bother being friendly to him because you don't want friends.

"I want to know why you look so happy," he bends over to curiously glance at your screen, "while doing homework?"

You slam the monitor closed to stop his ogling. "You wouldn't get it. And stop watching me," you sternly say.

"What's your secret?" he grins and sits down on the grass next to you with crossed legs. His upper body serves as a shade and you stop squinting.

"There is no secret, I was just in a good mood until you came along." You're not upset, but you don't want to lead Jimin on and he won't leave unless you blow him off.

"Thinking of Jungkook?" he teases with a mischievous smile.

"Are you stalking me?"

"No, you're just too obvious," he chuckles, but the sound is strained. You don't notice his melancholy as he continues, "You were doing his homework again?"

You shift on your propped elbows a little uncomfortably. Jimin doesn't need to know what you do in your free time. "Yes," you answer anyway.

"You know he has daddy issues?"

Your eyes round as your discomfort dissipates instantly; he's piqued your interest. "Really?"

"Yeah, he has a tough exterior but he's actually a real softie."

An involuntary smile carves on your face before it falters as you ask, "How do you know this?"

"We went to high school together. I can tell you some stories if you want," he boasts when he realizes he has your attention. The context makes his heart sink, but when he imagines your lovesick grin is directed at him, it fills him with joy.

"Tell me, tell me! Please."

"Weeell," he draws with a lopsided grin, "don't tell him I told you this, but he used to hate girls. I don't know if he still does, but back then he couldn't even stand talking to a girl."

"Why?" your eyes are wide with interest as you whisper.

He shrugs, "No idea, but he hit a girl once when she wouldn't stop clinging onto him. Not like drop-kick her," he laughs, "he just shoved her on the ground. Be careful with him, okay? He can be very aggres-"

"You guys forming a nerd club now?"

You gasp when you hear Jungkook's voice. When you look up at him, he's almost glaring as his eyes flicker from you to Jimin. You're gleeful at his approach, because he never comes to you unless it's about a new assignment. It flutters your heart to see him without any papers in his hand.

You don't take his subtle insult to heart as you immediately respond, "No, we were just talking. H-Hi."

"Pull down your skirt, you look like a whore. I can see your panties all the way from the gates," he seethes in distaste. You instantly sit up with a blush and tug your skirt down to your knees. He looks back at Jimin who's glaring at him under his lashes, "The fuck's your deal?"

"Nothing," Jimin grits. Although he hates Jungkook's guts, he's too smart to fight a lost cause. He has his own set of muscles, but it isn't enough. It's best to accept defeat now.

"Did you start on the paper?" Jungkook asks you.

"Yes, I-"

"Good," he cuts you off and crouches to peck your lips by pulling the back of your neck. You're stunned when he pulls away and nonchalantly walks off to his friends.

Jimin follows him with his eyes and mutters under his breath, "douche."

Your heart is racing and you clamp a hand over your chest as a lovestruck smile spreads across your face. You know this is your end of the bargain, but it never fails to shrivel you up in delight.

"Are you two dating?" he mumbles as he pulls on the grass with a pout.

"Something like that," you exhale as you caress your lips.

It’s become routine to link up with Jimin where he reminisces his high school memories and you don’t doubt a single word he says unless it sheds a bad light on Jungkook. You’ve learned so much about him in the past few days, and you’re eager to know more. He likes energy drinks to this day, he was athletic in school and often got into fights. He began interacting with girls when he entered college, as Jimin says, “only for a quick fuck.”

Though it hurts Jimin that you only talk to him for information on Jungkook, he can’t bring himself to care when you hang onto every word he says with a glint in your eyes like you’re doing now.

You're sitting in the bustling cafeteria across from Jimin, sipping on a homemade strawberry lemonade from your thermos, and you don't notice Jungkook glancing at your table every now and then. It is the first time he doesn't feel your heavy gaze on him. Jimin does notice however, because he is facing him every time he receives a threatening ferile look.

"He could become a lawyer with how much he blackmailed the teachers to give him a good grade," Jimin tells you as he glances back and forth between you and Jungkook. "He's quite dangerous, you know. He's manipulative, a liar and has no empathy-"

"He's clever," you counter defensively, "he knows how to get around the system."

He makes a disgruntled noise from the back of his throat with a grimace. "I don't think the judge would listen to that."

You laugh at his comparison of the conversation to a court hearing. Jimin can be funny sometimes, and you have to admit that he's not that bad of a friend either. You've come to enjoy his company without the topic of Jungkook the past few days, but talking about him is always appreciated.

"Are you the judge then?" you cheekily ask.

"I might as well be, since I'm not biased like a certain someone," he teases with a grin.

"A lawyer has to see the bright side of things, but if I was the prosecutor, I wouldn't tell you that your lecture is in five minutes."

His smile falters as his eyes widen; you remember his schedule? He ran late for a lecture yesterday, but he’s in disbelief that you reminded him today. "Th-Thanks," he breathes as he packs up his belongings before giving you a curt, shy nod. His heart pounds when he walks away, and he resists the urge to look back at you.

It's a good idea, because that's when Jungkook settles down on his former seat.

"I'm thinking you might be forgetting who you belong to," he starts as he gets comfortable on the stiff chair. You instantly smile at his appearance.

"No, I'm very well aware of it." Your tone is high-pitched in excitement.

"It wasn't a question."

"Oh..."

“You talk more than you work,” he observes with a quirk of his brow. “One would think another nerd would be a better influence on you.”

“I work at night,” you defend worriedly, “I promise I’m not slacking off. Can I get a kiss please?”

You’re so adorable when you’re needy. He hides a smirk with a bite of his lip; he thrives from your loyalty to him, but he knows Jimin is a threat to it. He wants you to stop talking to that freak, and he justifies it as a concern for his grades. “I’ll kiss you when you’re not procrastinating. Do you think you deserve even a pat on the head?”

“I do! I’m halfway done with the research paper, please Jungkook,” you beg pathetically, “I-I’ll show it to you, I have it with me right now.” You start unzipping the case of your laptop until he holds up a hand for you to stop.

“You’re going to read it to me, but not here.”

When he stands up, so do you in a haste. He leaves the cafeteria with you hot on his tail, almost jogging when his strides are much bigger compared to yours. You resemble a clueless lamb following a lion, desperate to hold his claws with your hooves. You don’t know where he’s leading you as you walk down the halls until you stop in front of a door. You’re about to freak out when he swings open the door, but you realize the lecture room is empty.

“You want me to read here?” you inquire meekly. It’s a little intimidating to do it in complete silence, because you have a tendency to stutter when reading out loud and you don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of Jungkook where no one can talk over you. 

“Yup.” He snatches your laptop case from your hand with the handle, and roughly opens it before placing the device on the front row wooden desk. It’s a large hall, and the desks stretch out to the half of the room. You’re feeling stage fright for no particular reason; it feels like reverse claustrophobia. “Open the document and give me your phone.”

You don’t question him and hand in your phone before going through your files on the laptop. Jungkook is looking through your contacts and grins when he finds himself saved as: the love of my life ♡. Jimin is saved by his name, and he finds his WhatsApp through his information below. Once he opens your empty chat with him, he switches to your camera and pushes your back so you’re bent over the desk. You sharply inhale and ask, “Kook?” 

“Don’t get distracted now,” he lightly scolds and starts pulling down your pants. You stopped wearing skirts after the incident a week ago to appease him. You stammer with your back arched, and your ass is on full display for him. It’s humiliating. “Start reading.”

“H-Humans are- Jungkook?” you warily look back at Jungkook when he slides the slit of your panties to the side.

“Are you slacking off?” he condescends. 

You bite your lip anxiously and continue reading, “Humans are social animals that n-need social interaction,” Jungkook spits in his hand, “the extent of our social relationships is the most important predictor of h-happiness.” You squeal when you feel wet fingers graze your folds, but you know better than to stop and ask what he’s doing.

“Continue,” he coaxes softly as he brushes his fingertips over your pussy lips. 

“Um, o-one of the main reasons our brains have developed the way they have is so that we can be social,” you speak between shaky breaths. Your cheeks are tinted crimson with embarrassment from his touches; why is he pleasuring you when he specifically told you, you didn’t deserve any? “Being happy a-all of the time is neither possible nor desirable.”

“Is it now?” He slips a finger in your cunt and you involuntarily let out a cry as you push your body forward. You don’t notice him holding up your phone behind you while slowly sliding his finger in and out of you. His saliva is mixing with your arousal as you answer in a gasp, “Yes.”

“Tell me why.”

“B-Because negative feelings are natural. When it comes to negative feelings, the most important thing to remember is to learn,” you pause to exhale with quivering lips, “to control certain potentially harmful thoughts.” You whine his name when another finger is added to your heat. You’re moving your hips back and forth until he slaps your wet folds as a warning. “Sorry,” you peep and continue in a breath, “Happiness all of the time entails epistemic irrationality.”

It’s difficult to keep your eyes open when you just want to indulge in his thrusts, but you’re encouraged to stop reading when he doesn’t comment on your moans. His pace is quickening and you chase his fingers with your hips, cum dripping down his wrist as you mewl.  

“You enjoying yourself, whore?”

You nod and whimper, “So much.” You’re clutching the edge of the desk as he fingers you with fervor.

“And you're my girl?” 

“Yes, all yours, I love you so much,” you pant, not stopping for a moment to question his words. He has a full view of your sopping wet cunt on the camera, and he lightly blows on you, making you shiver. He’s recording you confess your love for him while getting fingered.

“Only me?” he presses.

“Only you, Jungkook, I love you more than anything,” you slur as you start to feel a knot in your stomach.

“Then pee.”

“Wh-What?”

“Touch your clit and pee.” He removes his fingers from your clenching hole and takes a step back. “Prove your love to me.”

You mourn the loss of his hand while staring wide-eyed at the floor. You’re contemplating his demand as your hand slowly reaches down to your clit. Is he asking you to squirt? Your breathing is shallow as you near your climax, and you still don’t know if you’ll go through with his requirement.

It drips out in tiny drops as you come undone, moaning as clear liquid spills out of you for only a few seconds. 

“Good girl, my good little girl,” Jungkook whispers as he intently watches you humiliate yourself in the name of love. You’re twitching and trembling in shame when he stops recording you and sends it to Jimin without a second’s waste. “Are you okay, baby?”

You hum with a pout as you collect yourself by standing up straight, a sway in your posture. 

“Give me your panties, you’ve made a mess on the floor,” he chastises as he holds out a hand. You slip and step out of them before giving it to him. In return, he passes your phone before feigning a gasp, “Shit, I think I sent Jimin a video of you when I was trying to forward it to my phone.”

Your mouth falls open as heat consumes your entire being. “H-Huh?” Tears brim in your eyes almost instantly; your heart is pounding from anxiety.

“How will you ever look at him now,” he empathizes with a fake frown. “He must think of you as such a slut now.”

“Let me delete it,” you panic as you open your phone. “Wh-Where is it?”

He motions you to give him the phone and opens WhatsApp after. “He’s already seen it.” There are two blue ticks under the message.

“No, no, no,” you pull your hair in agony with a whimper. You quickly put your pants back on and cry as you do so.

“I guess that’s the end of your friendship,” he raises his eyebrows to himself without a hint of sympathy.

“What do I do?!” you wail and fling your hands in stress.

“Avoid him. I’ll make sure he won’t leak it.”

He steps forward to lean in your face intimidatingly. “And don’t talk to him ever again.”

You don’t exactly have a choice now, do you? 

Pink Lace - Chapter 5

Characters: Baekhyun x Reader

Genre: College AU, stripper AU, fluff, smut, slow burn

Summary: Baekhyun, a philosophy professor with mysterious wealth, got himself completely fucked over a girl who can’t let him into her life.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: sex work, mentions of sexual assault, adult themes/situations, eventual smut

Tag list: @smolbeanmika @leave-me-in-the-summertime @totallynerdstuff @bbhmystar @nana-banana @kimyhappy @thegreatandi @geniusloey @deligxt @baekswifey @bbhyun506 @lovebuginlove @bellamendoza @baekyeonoreo @bobohumyonlyboo

Masterlist

After your conversation with Baekhyun Monday evening Tuesday was spent desperately trying to get Baekhyun off your mind, with little success. He’d asked you if you liked him like that, and you couldn’t tell him no. Hell, you knew in the back of your mind that the answer was definitely yes, you just couldn’t bring yourself to say it to his face. 

As much as you did like him, the prospect of starting something with a customer who was also your professor was still terrifying. What if you two got together and people found out? Or what if things started to go south and you were still stuck with him as your teacher? 

Despite your other schoolwork, and cleaning basically everything you possibly could, your mind just kept racing with every different possible scenario for if you did tell Baekhyun how you felt. And most of them were quite unpleasant. He could lose his job, you could make class absolute hell for yourself if things didn’t go well, and so on. Different possibilities played themselves out in your mind over and over, and there was little you could do to stop it. 

However the thoughts that stuck with you the most were the ones where things didn’t end badly. Thoughts of his arms around you, his comforting words whispered in your ear, and the gentle touches of his pretty hands on your skin. As much as you fought it, the attraction was there. 

The way your mind bounced between thoughts was stressful to no end. Every time you tried reasoning with yourself, you just thought about how good he made you feel when you were alone together. 

Baekhyun was always so willing to be vulnerable with you, it made you feel appreciated. He was so open about his feelings, and honest with his intentions towards you that it made it difficult to push him away. You wanted to be able to show him the same kind of vulnerability as well, but the possibilities if you did still frightened you too much. 

You knew you wouldn’t be able to go on like this forever, sooner or later you had to figure out what to say to him. 

Your essay was plaguing you as well. You’d tried to start it on several occasions, but Plato’s writing was so old timey and incomprehensible you didn’t even know where to start. It also didn’t help that every time you tried to start writing, all you could think about was what Baekhyun would think. The idea of turning a shitty paper in for him to read and grade made you feel sick. You knew you were shooting yourself in the foot putting it off but you just couldn’t bring yourself to start it either. 

“You’ve cleaned everything in the apartment. Twice. What’s with you today y/n?” Mia asked as she walked out of her bedroom and into the common area, finding you once again wiping down all the surfaces in the kitchen. 

“I’m trying to distract myself, was that not obvious?” You knew what was coming next. 

“Baekhyun still on your mind?” 

Yes. He was. In every possible way, good and bad, and you couldn’t stop it. 

“I think I do like him.” 

“See! I knew it!” You rolled your eyes at her. “Anything exciting happen yesterday? Did you decide to keep the money?” She asked, sitting down at the dining room table, you sitting down across from her. 

 “I’m keeping it, I tried giving it back but he told me some stuff and turns out he doesn’t need it after all.” 

“So he IS rich?!” 

“Yeah... although not from anything cool or fun. His rich parents died recently.” 

“Oh shit, that sucks. That must’ve been an awkward conversation.” 

“Not really. I don’t know why but talking to him is getting easier and easier. I even stayed after he told me I could go.”

“You really must like him then, damn. Can’t blame you though, he is hot.” You shot her an angry look but you both knew she was right. “So what are you gonna do about it?” 

“Do about what?” 

“You liking him. He obviously likes you a lot too, so what happens next?” 

“Nothing. He’s my professor.” 

The look she shot you next said something reminiscent of ‘are you fucking serious’.

 “Oh come on y/n this guy is hot, and rich, and super into you. Even if he is your professor you can’t pass up a fling at least.” 

“And when it ends? What then? Or if someone finds out he’s fucking a student? He’d lose his job and it would be my fault.” 

“No, it would be his fault, and he’s rich anyway so it wouldn’t even matter.” 

You thought back to your last conversation with Baekhyun, and what he said about his parents. Even if he did choose to risk it for you, the thought of him losing a job that meant so much to him still didn’t sit right with you. 

“It would matter to me. Either way I don’t want other students shit talking me either. If my classmates found out there was something between us it would be hell.” 

“All I'm hearing right now, is that you just need to not get caught. The semester is only 16 weeks, as long as nothing gets out while you’re in his class nothing too bad can happen. You just have to be careful.”  

You thought about it, and she wasn’t exactly wrong. As long as nothing got out while you were his student, nothing too bad could happen. 

“He won’t lose his job if people find out we’re together later on when I’m not his student anymore, right?” 

Mia shrugged. “He doesn’t hold any power over you anymore then so I don’t see why he’d get in any trouble. People might just think it’s weird since he’s older. How old is he anyway? He looks young.” 

“I’m not exactly sure... Somewhere around 30? Late 20s maybe? I should ask him.” 

“Yeah you should. I still have homework I need to do, I should get back to that.” She said before getting herself a glass of water and retreating back to her bedroom. 

~

The next morning you were exhausted. You hadn’t gotten much sleep because of everything that was going through your head. You wanted Baekhyun, and he wanted you, but there was still too much risk involved. But part of you kept thinking about what Mia had said as well. Could a fling really be that bad? 

You were nervous to see him too. You still hadn’t given him an answer to his question, and you knew you wouldn’t be able to dodge it forever. Lying seemed like a decent option, but you knew with how honest and vulnerable Baekhyun always was with you, you wouldn’t be able to bring yourself to lie to him. Especially when you did want something more with him, you were just scared. 

As philosophy class drew closer and closer you felt uneasy. You felt bad seeing Baekhyun again without giving him an answer, but you didn’t know how or what to say. You only hoped he wouldn’t press you for it. 

Class went by and you didn’t speak to him. He didn’t keep you after either, which was a relief. You had been hoping he’d at least go over some stuff that would help you on your essay, but you had no such luck, and you needed it done by midnight if you wanted any credit. 

When you got home you cursed yourself for procrastinating so much, but you had other homework too and you knew you’d be able to focus on that better, so you started it first. 

Eventually your mind got sucked into your physics assignment, and you forgot about Baekhyun and the essay, too focused on the task at hand. 

By the time you were done with your other assignments it was 8pm. Four hours until you had to submit your essay. One hour went by just reading and rereading the text you were supposed to write about. Another was wasted on an intro paragraph you kept deleting, because you still couldn’t understand the text. When 10pm hit, and you started to panic.  

You realized that you weren’t going to be able to do it. Your mind was now in freak out mode and you couldn’t concentrate anyway. Either the paper wasn’t getting turned in at all, or you needed to do something fast. In any other class you would’ve BS-ed  your way through it to turn at least something in, but you just couldn’t do that knowing Baekhyun was going to read it. You weren’t going to be able to submit it that night, but you needed to at least contact him and explain so he wouldn’t think you were stupid. 

By 10:30 you found yourself scrolling through your contacts, staring at his name. You’d thought about emailing him, but he probably wouldn’t see until morning and you didn’t have that much time. 

In hindsight you probably would’ve been fine to just send an email and try to get an extension, but the combination of anxiety over your grade and wanting to talk to him had his name in your phone looking better and better. 

So you called. 

Your nerves were on fire as you waited for him to hopefully pick up. Was this stupid? Would he even answer? Worst of all, what if he was disappointed in you for not being able to do the assignment?

After a few rings, he picked up. “Hello?” 

“Hi Baekhyun, it’s y/n.” 

“Y/n? Are you alright what’s going on?” You could hear the concern in his voice even over the phone, and you remembered why he gave you his number in the first place. 

“I- I can’t do the essay.” You felt your voice shake, before unloading all your grievances in one breath “I read the thing a million times and I still have no idea what it’s about and I put it off until tonight cause it was making me so anxious but I still can’t focus and now it’s too late and I don’t know what to do and I’m freaking out.” 

You heard him sigh. “Slow down, It’s okay, I know it’s a difficult assignment. Have you at least started?” 

“No..” You felt tears swelling in your eyes, threatening to spill and you’re sure he can hear it in your voice even over the phone. “Can I just skip this one? I tried to start it so many times but I don’t know how to analyze something I can’t even understand.” You choked out. 

“Y/n...” You could tell he was thinking of what to do. He probably shouldn’t give you special treatment, and you knew that but right now you hoped he would just give in. Unfortunately you had no such luck. “I’m sorry but I can’t let you just not do it. It would make it too obvious that I’m treating you differently than other students.”

“Then can you at least help me? Or give me more time? Please?” You begged.

“I’m still in my office. I can help you if you meet me here.” 

You felt your palms get sweaty and your heart beat faster at the idea of going to his office again after what had happened last time, especially this late at night and in such a fragile state. 

“O-okay. I’ll be there in 10. Bye.” You said, hanging up before he could respond.

Quickly you got on some shoes and drove yourself to the building his office was located in. Last time you’d been in there he’d asked you about your feelings for him, and now you had to go back. You told yourself to just focus on getting the essay done, but the thought still hung around in the back of your mind as you walked down the hall towards Baekhyun’s office. You felt jittery and embarrassed, but you needed to do this for your grade.

After taking a few deep breaths to ready yourself, you knocked on the door, and heard a muffled “Come in” from the other side, so you let yourself in. Baekhyun was sitting at his desk, which was covered in papers you assumed he’d been grading. Instead of the nicer clothes he would usually wear during lecture, he was just wearing a black t shirt and sweats now. 

“You know you scared the shit out of me when you called. I thought you were in danger or something.” He said to you as you sat down in front of him. “I really didn’t think you’d call me over school work.” 

“I’m sorry..” 

“It’s okay! I’m not mad or anything, just surprised. What part of the text are you having trouble with?” 

“All of it...” You felt your lip starting to quiver. “I’m sorry I know this sounds so stupid and you probably think I’m just trying to take advantage of how you like me but I promise it’s not like that.” You said, looking down and fidgeting with your hands, trying to hide the frustration on your face.

Baekhyun crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, smiling. “I never said I thought that. I told you it’s not an easy assignment, it’s ok if you’re having trouble. Plato can be difficult especially for people who aren’t used to reading things that old.” 

“I should’ve at least started earlier...” 

“Probably, but it’s too late to dwell on that now. Let’s just try to go over the reading together, yeah?” You nodded. 

He moved his chair to your side of the desk before opening your textbook to the reading for the essay. 

“So the first thing that makes The Ring of Gyges so confusing is that you don’t really know who’s talking. Basically it’s a conversation between Plato and his brother Glaucon where they’re discussing justice, and it’s actually Glaucon speaking for most of it, not Plato.” 

You were listening to what he was saying of course, but you were still distracted by the proximity. Baekhyun was sitting right next to you now, arms almost touching. The only other time the two of you got that close was at the club. And you did not need to be thinking about that while he was explaining your assignment to you. 

“Are you following me so far?” 

Your eyes immediately shot up from the book to meet his, and you quickly nodded. Having him look you in the eyes again like that made your face feel hot.

“Glaucon argues that people only peruse justice for the benefits of it, and not because they actually want to be good people. He uses the example of a ring that grants it’s user invisibility, therefore allowing them to do unjust things like steal without being caught. He tells Plato a story about a man who finds such a ring and uses it do overthrow the king.”

You groaned. “It still doesn’t make sense though, what does some story about a stupid ring have to do with justice?” 

“Well, if you were given the ability to steal and deceive people for your own benefit, without ever having to worry about getting caught, wouldn’t you do it too?” You stayed silent. “Basically, what you need to understand is what Glaucon is arguing. He’s saying that doing good deeds isn’t a part of human nature, and everyone would behave unjustly if they knew they would never get caught. Therefore, justice is something people pursue not out of want, but out of fear of the consequences if they don’t.”  

All you could do was stare at him. It was infuriating how attractive he sounded while explaining it to you. 

“Do you have a bit of a better idea what to write about now? Remember it’s only two pages, so don’t stress too much.” 

You snapped yourself out of your thoughts. “Yeah, it makes a bit more sense now... do I still need to finish it tonight or?” 

“Friday. Just email it to me by midnight on Friday and I won’t count it late.” He said, smiling again. 

“Thank you for doing this, I’m sorry it was so late and everything.”

Baekhyun just chucked, “You know if it’s you I don’t mind. You could keep me here all night with questions and I wouldn’t stop you. But you understand now, right?” 

The way he was smiling at you now along with the closeness was making you slightly dizzy. 

“I think so, Glaucon is basically saying that injustice is better than justice then right? Because everyone would do unjust things if they’d always get away with it.” 

Baekhyun nodded. 

“So according to him the best way to live life would be to do things you know are wrong, but without being caught.” 

“Exactly. See, I knew you were smart, y/n.” A smirk had made its way onto his face as he spoke. 

You couldn’t help connecting what he was saying to what you were feeling inside towards him. You wanted him, and you knew it was wrong, but how could you deny it to yourself when it felt so right? 

“Baekhyun...” You asked, hesitantly. “D-do you think it’s okay to do things you know are wrong, as long as no one finds out?”

“I think it depends what you’re talking about.” He answered, now looking you in the eyes again with intensity. “I would never kill anyone, for any reason, even if I knew I could get away with it. But, if I really wanted something, I think I would take it.” 

You were hyperaware of how his eyes were now scanning your face, lingering on your lips. “Take what?”

A hand made contact with your thigh, slowly moving up until he stopped, right below the hem of your shorts. His thumb drew soft circles on the sensitive inner flesh, giving you goosebumps. 

“I know you feel it too, you want this, don’t you?” Baekhyun asked, now moving a stand of hair out of your face. He let his hand rest on the back of your neck, keeping you facing towards him. 

Your heart felt like it was about to short circuit from how fast it was beating. Your palms were sweaty and you could feel yourself shaking slightly. The way his thumb stroked your neck beneath your ear made you shiver, and you knew he saw. All you could do was stare back at him, dumbfounded. Any words you tried to get out stuck in your throat. He was right, you did want it. Now more than ever. 

“Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me you don’t want me to kiss you right now. I dare you.” He said, running his thumb over your bottom lip, eyes fixed on how it trembled beneath his touch. He was slowly moving your face closer his, but you didn’t stop him. 

Your silence told Baekhyun all he needed to know, and his lips quickly found yours. Immediately you let yourself melt into the kiss. You felt your whole body buzzing, finally getting what it had wanted for so long. His lips felt unbelievably soft against yours, moving in a slow rhythm as his other hand came up from your thigh to cup your face as well. You wrapped your arms around his neck and deepened the kiss, letting it become messier and more desperate. 

“I like you” you pulled away just enough to whisper “so fucking much.” You felt him grin into the kiss as your lips met again. 

He tasted like strawberries, and you felt high as your lips kept crashing together with more and more need. Your whole body felt like it was set on fire and simultaneously dunked in an ice bath, every nerve vibrating with want.    

When Baekhyun pulled your bottom lip gently between his teeth you let out a soft moan, and he started to lose it. He broke the kiss, standing up and pulling with him, before backing you up against the wall, a hand on either side of your head. 

“Sweetheart, don’t push me” He breathed, and started peppering kisses along the side of your neck, from under your ear down to your collarbone, sucking and biting on the way. 

Trapped between him and the wall, you felt weak and breathless. Your brain was in overdrive and you gasped at his ministrations, hands burying themselves in his soft hair.  His hands had traveled down to your waist, holding you against him tightly.

“Baekhyun” You breathed out, rubbing your thighs together as he sucked on a particularly sensitive spot. 

“Fuck, y/n. Don’t say that.” He forced the words out through gritted teeth.

His body pressed you into the wall, and your arms wrapped around him pulling him into you even tighter. He was completely consuming your senses and your knees felt wobbly from the intensity of it all. He was already smothering your entire front, but you tried to pull him even closer regardless.

You felt something hard press into your hip as his mouth covered yours again, and this time you shamelessly moaned his name into his open mouth. 

Much to your disappointment, Baekhyun immediately detatched himself from you, backing up until his back hit the opposite wall of the office. You could see how turned on he was by the outline of his dick through his pants and the pained look in his face. 

“Fucking christ...” He said, leaning his head back against the wall and closing his eyes. You just watched from the other side of the room. He kept his eyes closed and you observed as his jaw clenched and unclenched before you heard him continue. “You have to go. If you don’t I’m gonna fuck you on my desk and I won’t be gentle.” 

Your throat went dry at his crude words, but you couldn’t deny your own arousal. You walked back towards him, reaching out to touch his chest which was now rising and falling rapidly, but he grabbed you before you could make contact. His grip on your wrist was so tight it was almost painful. His knuckles were white, and you could see a drop of sweat trickle down the side of his face. 

His eyes bore into your own with a stare that warned you not to try anything more. 

“I’m sorry y/n but you have to leave. Not tonight. Not like this.” With his free hand he grabbed your belongings off his desk, shoving them into your arms. 

Still speechless, he opened the door and pulled you outside before going back in and closing the door behind him. You stood and stared at his office door for a minute, recollecting yourself and processing what the hell had just happened. 

Eventually your shaky legs began making their way down the hallway, back towards your car. You were pretty sure a janitor saw you as you turned the corner just down the hall from Baekhyun’s office. You kept your head down, trying to hide your face best you could while hurrying past. 

Once you were sitting in your car, you slumped into the seat, mind still in a daze after what happened in Baekhyun’s office. You waited for your breathing and heartrate to slow down before you drove away. 

Baekhyun left shorty after you as well, unable to concentrate on anything but the sound of you moaning his name. He felt terrible for throwing you out of his office but he’d meant what he said. He didn’t want his first time to have you to be in his office, purely fueled by pent up lust. He wanted to give you more than that. 

More than anything, he just couldn’t believe he’d gotten what he’d wanted for the entire summer. It didn’t seem possible, but now it had happened. And you actually kissed him back. It felt too good to be true. He felt himself once again struggling to sleep, but this time because he was too excited. This time, he didn’t have to keep himself up wondering, he knew he had you. He just couldn’t wait to see what would happed now.

You on the other hand couldn’t stop worrying about that exact thing as you stared at the ceiling above your bed. What would happen now? The thoughts weren’t fearful anymore, there was just too many of them to shut your mind down enough to sleep. 

You’d finally allowed yourself to give into him, and there was no more turning back. 

Next Chapter

heyy sumayyah! firstly: i'm so sorry you got hate asks >:( some people really can't be nice... that sucks. i'm back with my hc to (maybe, hopefully) distract you/cheer you up!! just saying, it's LONG and it's kind of angsty in the beginning lmao sorry oops, but it gets a little better towards the end!! i promise!!

tw mentions of (bad) eating habits, very briefly implied abuse/domestic violence and alcoholism, brief mention of almost-fainting!!

so my own horrible eating habits got me thinking of Hotch who already doesn’t eat that much because of how he was raised (on his father’s bad days, his mother wouldn’t even be able to get up to make food and his father would be batshit drunk anyway, so no one made food and there’s nothing at home, and Hotch is too young and doesn’t know how to cook for himself, and that just carried its way into adulthood even after he learnt to cook (for Sean, because Sean is a growing boy and still has to eat and he would do anything to make sure Sean grows up happy) and even after he gets together with Haley, who always has to check in on him to make sure he's eating properly)

like, man would throw himself into his work, sometimes not on purpose but because he just was so intent on finishing just one more document, and time just slipped by and when he looks up again it’s 8pm, the bullpen’s almost empty, and then he realises that he actually hasn’t ate anything since he had his morning coffee. and after especially bad cases (Vincent Perrotta, Carl Buford, Tobias Hankel, that case on the pig farm, Foyet, etc.) he just, avoids food on purpose, distracting himself by finishing all the paperwork he has, even if they’re not urgent, sometimes even completing the team’s paperwork (as much as he can) just because he feels like he’s failed them. the team doesn't deserve to be bogged down by all these bureaucratic issues but he does, because what good is his role as their unit chief if he can’t even shield them from the evil out there, if he has to send his team into the abyss every single time and every time someone else gets more injured/fractured, and the least he could do is to help out the team with what he’s best with, right? all those behind-the-scenes, messy, cutthroat politics, because it’s okay if he takes the brunt of the scrutiny of the brass and if he could he would not even let the team relive what they’ve been through because they don’t deserve that, they don’t deserve having to recount their traumatic experience in a bloody report that will eventually just be filed and chucked aside but will leave emotional and mental scars on his agents that will never be erased.

or sometimes he’s just stressed out and anxious and food just really doesn’t go well with his stomach, and he opts to skip meals entirely - he drinks coffee only because he still needs to keep awake, to make sure he’s paying full attention on all these cases and victims and his team who deserve his 120%, and because his stomach’s been conditioned to accept coffee no matter what (over 10 years of being in the BAU after over another 5? years as a prosecutor, where he drank coffee like his life depended on it). and sure, he’s lost weight, his ribs slightly showing when he raises his hands to reach for things/take off his sweaters, sure he’s looked a little more gaunt and tired as the years go by, sure he’s had some almost fainting spells in his office after a long day without food, where his vision just blacks out for 5 seconds after he stands up and he has to clutch onto the edge of his desk to stabilize himself, but it's okay to him, because he must be the strong, stoic, reliable leader for his team and he can’t faint in his office, not when the blinds are open and the team can look in and when he knows that Derek, Emily and Spencer are all looking in concerned because he hasn’t left his office all day

and i’m just also thinking about how the team would just, do their best to feed him??? like, when they stop for gas on long road trips to/back from cases, he always doesn’t buy anything besides a coffee (black, as usual, with just a dash of sugar and cream on good days) for himself, but then JJ passes him an unopened nutri bar which she claimed she bought earlier for herself but now 'doesn’t feel like eating anymore', Dave silently hands over a cookie (chocolate chip, his favourite) and stares at him with his eyebrows raised until Aaron accepts the cookie and actually eats it, Derek slips a wrap into his hands somehow and offers to drive because 'Hotch, you gotta finish your wrap', Spencer casually asks Hotch if he can help him finish off this sandwich which he bought but cannot finish, and Hotch looks down and sees a perfectly fine egg and ham sandwich which hasn’t even been bitten into, but Spencer’s looking at him with those eyes (he thinks of Jack and how strikingly alike his sons they are) so he takes the sandwich and eats it, Emily openly challenges him and says ‘here’s the bag of chips i owe you, you better finish it all because i took the trouble of actually getting them or else’ and he goes along with it because he’s learnt that arguing with her is sometimes equivalent to arguing with Penelope, and that mostly ends up with him going along with both their ‘suggestions’ in the end anyway, and on the rare cases where Penelope goes with the team out into the field, she always packs homemade cookies and cupcakes that are so wonderfully bright and colourful, like everything about her, and when she gets to him with those sparkling hopeful eyes and says ‘I made these myself, come on, have a taste and let me know what you think?’, Hotch can’t help but accept it because he doesn’t ever want to disappoint Penelope and make her sad, because her bubbly and innocent demeanour reminds him of Jack and he would never do anything to kill that bright light that is Penelope

aND I’m getting some big emotions. imagine all the subtle (& not so subtle) things the team does just to make sure he eats (regularly) which may include and are not limited to: inviting themselves over to Hotch’s house for homecooked meals (Spencer, Derek), inviting him & Jack out on outings or playdates which most often than not end with them at restaurants where Hotch eats because Jack needs a good role model on healthy eating behaviours and he’s got to be that for Jack (Derek, Emily, JJ), or just showing up at his house/office to leave him baked goods/cooked meals that were always somehow ‘extras’ or ‘leftovers’ (JJ, Penelope, Rossi, Spencer) i'm sorry this got so long!! it was written a little over a month ago when i was procrastinating on my literature essay in the middle of the night, so i got a little angsty LOL. i hope this distracts you somewhat from the horrible ask you got! take care of yourself! sending love and hugs <33

🌙

Putting my answer below the keep reading for scrolling x

Aww thank you for sending it!! When I saw I had an ask, I really thought it was you, and then it was that stupid anon and I was like: Oh okay then... I have to go eat dinner so....

Ohh... his childhood... the poor kid would've been so much smaller, but so determined to do everything for Sean because that's his little brother and he loves him more than anything... I love Haley though <3

He would so do that though. He would tell himself he could eat once he's done something- which is really unhealthy, if you're reading this do not ever withhold food, if you're feeling hungry just eat something it doesn't matter what it is because something will always, always be healthier than nothing- and then he would pick something else up and the cycle would repeat...

He would convince himself the coffee is enough, that there's nothing wrong with his habits because he's never done anything different, but he would know deep down that it's not right. But he still wouldn't eat anything because he knows it'll make him naesous either way.

The worst part is what are the team meant to do in that situation? They can't force him to eat... as much as they may want to, they can't...

YES! The team would have a tally chart of who last had to make Hotch eat, so they would have a rota, and occasionally (all the time actually) they would deviate from said rota and then they would all look at each other and then laugh because eh, it's fine!

That ending was so cute, I love them <3

Noo!! Don't be sorry it go so long, I love it so much!! I might have to work it into a fic... wait... one of them may have referenced JJ giving him in a sandwich, unless that was only in my head lol

relax-taeyong x reader

college au || fluff || warnings: very slight mention of smut (memory)

note: there is a moment where the reader is getring their hair brushed. i tried to make it as hair-type inclusive as possible, so excuse the lack of detail

1.16k words

10:47 p.m

you were never one to procrastinate. this isn't to say you were always at the top of your game when it came to academics, but you usually weren't this bad. your best friend, yuta, liked to teasingly blame this new unorganized side of you on your boyfriend, taeyong.

at first, you figured this couldn't be farther from the truth, but when you thought about it, spending time with him had ended up an accidental priority over school work, and now you were sitting in your desk chair, slumped over your slowly dimming laptop in exhaustion, having just turned in your essay, along with multiple other important projects you didn't realize were due so soon.

"and an hour to spare," you heaved, "look at that," you slowly lifted your head from the keyboard of the laptop to shut it, painfully slowly, might i add. if you were being honest, if you weren't a coffee person, you probably wouldn't be able to make it to class tomorrow.

leaning your head back in your chair, your eyes began to slowly flutter shut, before you were interrupted by none other than the culprit behind your scram to finish bursting into your dorm room. before you even recognized who the loud figure was, you began groaning in protest, the loudness of their questioning voice doing no favors for the already pounding headache you'd developed half-way through your rushed essay writing.

you could hear taeyong slowly silence himself as he noticed your obvious discomfort. you mimicked this, slowing your groaning into silent, slightly parted lips. "baby? you okay?" you heard him ask, and you couldn't help but find the remark humorous in your state of despair.

"yeah, i haven't slept in over twenty hours, i'm not proud of any of the work i just turned in, and i have a god-awful headache. i'm absolutely peachy," you spit out quickly. you didn't realize how rude the words sounded until they'd already come out of your mouth, but taeyong payed no mind.

you heard nothing but silence, and assuming you'd upset him, you un-bent your neck to look at him, and as you opened your mouth to apologize, you could feel taeyong pulling your rolly-chair backwards towards your bed. you heard him sit down on your sheets behind you before feeling his hands find their place in your scalp.

surprised at the sudden relaxing feeling, you let out somewhat of a moan, gripping the arms of your chair ever so slightly as your boyfriend ran his fingers through your hair. he laughed at your enthusiastic response, asking you "feel good, babe?" teasingly. normally, you'd tease back, but if getting this treatment meant having him make fun of you, he could say what he liked for all you cared.

you thought for a moment that you could stay like this forever, however unrealistic the notion may have been. his strong yet gentle hands doing their magic on the top of your tired head made the whole rush to finish your work worth it, and if this was your reward, you'd happily procrastinate again and again.

suddenly, the massaging warmth of his fingers left your scalp. "what gives?" you pouted, watching him make his way to your drawers and pulling out one of his sweatshirts you'd stolen at some point along with a matching pair of stolen sweatpants. setting the outfit on your bed, he lifted you skillfuly from your chair before sitting you down next to the clothes. "go take a hot shower," he told you "i'll wait here. i'm gonna take care of you for tonight, angel, okay? you've worked so hard today," the honey smoothness to his words made you want to melt, so you couldn't help but comply as you stood with the clothes before making your way to the dorm showers.

the hot water running down your back soothed your previously tensed muscles, a product of being practically hunched over your computer all day. you ran your hands over your chest absent-mindedly, wondering what taeyong could possibly do to take care of you, when you felt a slight ache as a finger pressed just barely too hard into your chest. looking down in curiosity, you noticed your breasts littered in purple and red marks. the night before came back to mind, and you sighed, shaking your head. one of the many reasons you had procrastinated so badly.

before you could get caught up in your memory too far, you noticed the water cooling down. had you really been in the shower that long? you decided before someone came to complain to you, that you might as well get out, dry yourself off and head back to your room, where taeyong was apparently waiting for you. on your way back, you couldn't help but wonder how he'd be 'taking care of you'.

"baby c'mere," taeyong said to you the moment you opened the door. he embraced you in a warm, much needed hug, before you remarked, "i could've been anybody, yongie," to which he just shrugged. he pulled you into his lap as he sat on your bed. "what do you use on your hair? i'm gonna brush it for you,"

you laughed lightly, reaching for the product sitring on your night stand. you poured the cold liquid into the out stretched hand of your loving boyfriend, and nearly melted at the feeling of his fingers back on your scalp mixed with the coolness of your hair product. his hands were soon replaced with your brush, causing you to shudder each time the bristles would make contact with your cranium.

once again, you considered staying in this spot forever, though the more you considered it, the more you realized how unkind that would be to taeyongs arms. his arms. they were so toned and strong, never once having squeezed you the wrong amount. however lovely his arms were, though,your thoughts were interupted by the lack of your hair being touched, taeyongs arms instead wrapping around your mid-section.

he nuzzled his nose into the crook of your neck. you giggled, the sensation tickling you as the boy mumbled something into your soft skin. "what was that, babe?" you asked, grabbing his hands and rubbing the backs of them with your thumbs gently. "are you relaxed, princess?" he repeated, and you couldn't help but smile. "yes i am. thank you," you told him. "you should get back to your dorm, angel, it's getting really late,"

you felt him shake his head against you from behind. "i'm gonna sleep with you tonight," he said, and you sighed, relaxing your whole body into his. this was so perfect. you turned your head to the side to face him, pressing a soft kiss to his soft lips. "thank you," you mumbled into the kiss. he only hummed before slowly laying you down on your bed, still kissing your tired frame.

"anytime, baby girl," he adjusts himself to lay next to you. "i love helping you relax,"

Weird question, and it's perfectly okay if "I don't know" is your answer: How did you manage to do grad school AND finish writing so many good fics? I'm writing the lit review for my dissertation right now, and I want to finish several WIPs I have (if nothing else, just to prove to myself that I can), but it just feels like I can barely do either, much less both. Any advice at all?

Ah, no worries! It’s not that odd a question. Actually, someone’s asked me before ^^;  My reply to them at the time was here. No need to read it, but it’s some context? 

My reply now that my head is in a healthier place is... long and winding and not actually full of that much advice but eh, I rambled as I do. If you just want the advice, scroll all the way down and it’s there. 

For starters, I’m not a normal comparison point. This isn’t to pat myself on the back, but for a variety of reasons, writing is something that comes really naturally to me. I’ll detail those reasons, but before I get into that, the point I’m illustrating here is that... sometimes I think people compare themselves to how much I wrote and what else I accomplished in that time and think “hey cool - that is a function human! Why can’t I do that?” And the answer is short answer is that my brain is programmed for pretty much one thing, and that thing is writing writing, and holy crap I was the opposite of a functional human when writing that much and that quickly.

The long answer is - 

I’ve been making up stories literally as long as I can remember. I spent my childhood consuming stories. I taught myself to read and was during school I was consistently reading about 8 grade levels above my reading level, and loved learning about narrative structure. I annoyed the shit out of my older brother by reading the same book series as he read, but guessing plot points that were going to happen either in that book or else 2-3 books out. he didn’t get how I would just know and I’d be like “it’s obvious - that’s where the story has to go!” Because I was imagining it in my head - what i would do with it, where it would go, where it had to go. Closing the page mid0chapter and imagining the next-scene, and then picking back up to see how right or wrong I was.

And I had a best friend for most of my childhood through to early adulthood with whom I made stories. Every weekend, creating narratives together, not writing them down but basically roleplaying them by talking them out (voices and all, it was a heck of a lot of fun, as much as it made me pretty much the nerdiest teen in existence). We tried to write a novel when we were 12, got about 7 chapters in. We had a lot of starts and stops on other stories too.

Which isn’t said to stroke my own ego, it’s said to highlight that I have a metric fuckton of explicit and implicit practice at storytelling. It was and sort of is my “whole life”. I also had teachers that helped me develop storytelling skills, and was really freaking lucky to go to a school with an AP program for English that seriously stretched my ability to write fast. We had to write an essay every single class, during class, and have it finished by the end of class (or in less time if we had lecture stuff to go over too) in my last year of high school. The essays could be creative response (i.e., short stories). I wrote a short story almost every week in the space of an hour when I was 17. By the time I got to the end of year final and actually got to use a computer and type that shit instead of hand-cramping halfway through, I somehow managed to write the two-essay final in the allotted 3 hours and, i shit you not, had a wordcount of 6000 words. 

That’s still my record. It was probably a dumpster fire but I got 100% probably for sheer volume.

Anyway that was over a decade ago, but the whole reason this life story is pertinent is because - 

I have practice. The only way to improve at anything, to get faster at it, for it to ease, is to practice. Practice at storytelling, practice at having to set a scene using just words sitting in my BFF’s room and trying to describe the image I had in my head for how I wanted her to see the scene as it was playing out. Practice at writing fast and getting feedback on how to write. Practice implicitly at trying to imagine what routes stories can take. Practice taking stories apart and piecing them back together, in my head, all the time.

So that’s part of it. 

The other part, and this is what I said in my previous post, was depression. I was seriously fucking burnt out and depressed when I started writing coldflash fic, and grad school took a huge toll on my mental health. It’s easier to write when you’re doing it to procrastinate working on your dissertation, and easier to keep writing when you get positive feedback and it feeds those lovely dopamine gremlins in your brain who aren’t getting any positive validation from grad school because holy damn that shit is hard.

I had no balance in my life for a long time. It wasn’t good. I went to counselling. I got more balance. Fic slowed down. Still finished, but not 120k words in 3 months (that was the pace when I started fic writing...jfc I don’t know how I managed.) Life got harder. Fic was now harder to write. I got more counselling. Fic was easier to write. I moved around the world. Fic got harder to write. I started anti-depressants. Narratives now seem to be flowing again. 

Regardless of the state of my mental health though, I’ve never written as much as quickly as I did during the middle of grad school. And I think that’s because I was very narratively pent up when I started writing fic. I had been so busy and pushing myself so damn hard in grad school that I didn’t make almost any time for stories, for fic, for imagining my own stories. I was suppressing that side of myself in the service of Focus. So when I burnt out, my narrative side rebounded and said “fuck that noise, I still exist, and we’re making space for me”. It took over. I came literally a hair’s breadth from quitting my PhD post candidacy. Idk what type of program you’re in, but business schools in North America? It’s a 5 year PhD typically, and I was at the end of year 3 and eyeing the door.

Anyway - I say all that because - 

I am not a good example and you should not do what I did. Finishing that many long WIPs that quickly wasn’t healthy, and was only possible because I didn’t do much else at the time, and had a lifetime of practice and a narrative rebound to make it even possible. 

But - 

My actual advice?

1) Practice. Practice. Practice. 

Not all at once, but everything counts. Daydreaming counts. Watching shows and thinking of how they could be improved counts. Talking out story ideas with friends counts. Just make it fun. Practice is something we think of as arduous and annoying. Learning new words is practice. Meeting new people and considering their traits is practice. Everything can be practice for writing. All the research you do can be practice for writing. (Random note: a childhood coping mechanism for anxiety that I had was to narrate what I was doing to myself in my head in the 3rd person. Like telling a story of myself walking to gym class in my own head. That was also practice.)

2) Have fun with it! 

Don’t making writing an obligation. Then it’s another thing on the list of things you avoid. Finishing stories often feels like an obligation. I’m going through this right now with Needs Must. It can be hard to complete a WIP because you start to have internal anxieties about disappointing readers, not living up to expectations, exhaustion from that narrative, distraction / temporary loss of interest (which is normal! and not actually a bad thing!). All of that then makes you feel guilty, which makes it impossible to get into a creative space to write. You can’t work on the thing you’re avoiding.

3) It’s okay to give your WIPs breathing space. 

When you hit a wall, you may need to set it aside and read it again in a month with fresh eyes. You may need to treat your story like someone else’s story. That’s, again, literally where I’m at right now with Needs Must. I just reread a bunch of it and hadn’t really forgotten the details but once they’re on the page they’re out of my head, and so taking some time before going back to reread it made it easier for me to think of like I think of every other story: “what would I do next with this? Oh that’s a twist, that needs to come back later. There’s a theme here, we’ve seen that three times. What’s the best ending I, as a reader now, can imagine for this?”

If avoidance, guilt, and/or writer’s block aren’t your issue, and it’s literally just down to time management - 

4) Your graduate degree is more important than your WIPs. 

Your WIPs aren’t going anywhere, they don’t have a deadline, and your readers will wait for you, and new ones will find you. Time management is an essential, awful, part of being an academic. 

I get more done, both at work and creatively on fic, when I’m just a bit too busy, but that’s me. Figure out what is optimal for you, and do it. When do you get the most writing done? When you’re relieved? When you’re anxious? Late at night? First thing in the morning? When does it flow? When won’t it ruin your graduate career?

(Seriously I was writing fic at work last week and was kicking myself. I don’t have time for that shit! Set boundaries on your time!)

But full serious here, graduate school is exhausting, and almost inherently de-motivating, and even the best damn students eye the door a lot of the time, even if they do finish. It’s stressful and you feel constantly powerless. It’s a lot to need to cope with. I found writing to be a way to cope. That lit review you’re working on? Yeah, it’s zapping your time and energy. That’s normal (unfortunately). And it’s good to give yourself breaks from that to write. Don’t feel guilty for taking time here and there for yourself - to write, or to not write. To relax, unplug, unwind. To close your eyes and daydream (if you’re me) or have a bubble bath (if you’re my sister), or do whatever helps you honestly, genuinely destress. The best thing you can do for both writing and for graduate school is to take breaks and take time for yourself. There is actual science on the importance of breaks, and academics are fucking notorious for putting too much pressure on themselves to actually relax.

5) If you’re burnt out and/or depressed - seek help! 

Most universities have resources for mental health! Talk to a doctor! Don’t put too much stress and pressure on yourself! Almost half of grad students are mentally ill at some point!

6) Talk out your stories with friends! 

I know I already said this under “practice” but having a fandom friend to bounce ideas with and cheer you on is amazing and essentially. I was in constant contact with Bealeciphers when I started writing, and now I have a different friend who’s helped me the past couple years with writing and developing my stories. Mostly they cheer me on, and when I’m stuck, I tell them where the story is going and what I need help with. But honestly, writing doesn’t need to happen in a vacuum and doesn’t need to be you hunched over a laptop in the dark all alone and staring blankly at a screen (I’m definitely not projecting here, no siree). It’s amazing how motivating it is and how much it can help you stay on track to check in regularly with other writing friends!

7) Pick your battles.

You say you have a... couple(?) of WIPs? How many are you juggling? Is it too many? Do you need to set one (or two??) aside? When my steam was slowly and AATJS and Tumbling Together started to feel like a chore, I set TT aside and took a month break from AATJS then dived right back into AATJS (with the help of the friend mentioned above, cheering me on) because I knew it would be the harder one to finish, and the one that I feared I’d never finish if I put it aside too long. I tackled the biggest hurdle first. If that’s the type of thing for you, I recommend it. Pick the story that’s either the most or least likely to get finished, and focus your energy there.

Another battle-picking thing here? It’s okay to outsource. I’m terrible for not using a proofreader beta. It’s a weird control thing, despite the fact that I love people pointing out typos in my works so I can freaking fix them. The point here is: don’t be like me. If you suck at finding your own typos, use a beta or proofreader. My writer friend who helps me helps when I get stuck. I help them when they need feedback on specific scenes and tones, and I’ve recently discovered they hate editing (I love editing) so this entertains me to no end. Just - you don’t have to do it all yourself. If you feel like you do, see points 5 and 6 again.

Aaaannnddd that’s that. Whew. I just spent... wow, too long on this. I spent as much time on this as I did on my own grad student’s lit review I was providing feedback on today ^^; #whoops 

Gabby and Hodie: You're Number One     You may recall that, in a past article, I laid out what are my all-time favorite literary creations. You my also recall that I said that the books that I picked as my all-time etc. are those once and for all categorically and for all time. Well, what's happened is, upon further reflection--and upon my dear, warm, sweet,loving cousin Emily's words to me (surely I don't have to tell you what they were) further coming to fruition--I've come to realize my real and true all-time favorite literary offering. And it's a tie between the women's-beach-volleyball sex boat Gabrielle Reece's ("with" Karen Karbo) life-lessons guide My Foot Is Too Big For The Glass Slipper: A Guide to the Less-Than-Perfect Life and the Today-show's-Fourth-Hour gal Hoda Kotb's ("with" Jane Lorenzini) personal/professional memoir Hoda: How I Survived War Zones, Bad Hair, Cancer, and Kathie Lee.               Allow me to say here that in coming to said realization, I had to dump quite a lot of weight. At first I thought that the former television-morning-show host Rene Syler's ("with" Karen Moline) parenting guide Good-Enough Mother: The Perfectly Imperfect Book of Parenting deserved to make the aforementioned list. However, further pondering has caused me to realize that, as humorous and as charming as Syler's tome is, in the final analysis it has to do with the doings of children and with the raising of children--and as much as I love kids and love reading/seeing what it is kids have to say, an entire book centering on them is simply not my aesthetic. For a while I sincerely believed that How to Lose Everything In Politics (Except Massachusetts), the then-journalist Kristi Witker's inside-the-1972-McGovern-presidential-try memoir, merited making the cut. Yet in time I remembered that, ever since 1976, when Carter won the White House and kicked Ford and all those other Nixon-era Republican third-raters out on their asses, my consistent interest in politics has majorly decreased--indeed, in the main I've come to sympathize with what the master TV interviewer Dick Cavett once told the 1960s/1970s far-left activist Jerry Rubin: "Politics bores the ass off me." Thus I've arrived at the conclusion that Witker's book, while it's chock-full of lively wit and penetrating insight, when all is said and done involves an area, namely politics, that on the whole has long stopped being my thing.                       OK. Now I'll go into why Reece's and Kotb's tomes have seized my heart.             .The front and back covers of both books are damned enticing. Both the front and the back covers of Reece's tome picture her with her intensely attractive offspring, both times sporting an insanely appealing bathing suit and both times showing off an insanely appealing pair of bare feet (The back cover of Reece's book clearly shows that she has an equally alluring stepdaughter). The front cover of Kotb's tome displays her dressed in a quite stylish blue pullover blouse and adorned in the kind of slacks that fully exhibit what her Today cohort Kathie Lee called her "long Egyptian legs and toes." (The fact that Kotb is wearing red toenail polish slightly takes away from her dazzling visual appeal, but only slightly) And on both the front and back covers there are the sort of endorsements that easily pull you in. On the back cover of Reece's tome the former television Friend Courteney Cox is quoted as asserting: "I read My Foot Is Too Big For The Glass Slipper in one sitting...Everyone who is married--or thinking about getting married--should read this." On the front cover of Kotb's book there are words from People Magazine ("Bubbly and engaging, just like its author") and from the greatly-lauded novelist Adriana Trigiani ("This book is a manual for overcoming obstacles and living life with passion and purpose...Hoda is the working girl's Cleopatra. She rules!").               .The prose of both tomes is colorful and lively. Both Reece's and Kotb's books feature the kind of writing that, upon seeing it, immediately rivet your eyes to the page. Upon seeing any page, its wording has you absolutely hooked, positively pleased to be in the company of such charming, sprightly gals, gals who obviously love life and do not hesitate to embrace it entirely. And, again, that feeling comes no matter what page of theirs you're on (Kathie Lee in her super-bestselling compilation of essays Just When I Thought I'd Dropped My Last Egg at one point said: "I love my new co-host Hoda Kotb. She is an absolute doll and so much fun to work with." The writing style of Hoda causes you to fervently agree with KLG's every syllable).               .Both women in their tomes have greatly witty and greatly incisive things to say. In both Glass Slipper and Hoda there's sparkling humor and eye-opening observations, whether Reece in her book is discoursing on how cathartic it can be for a parent to swear ("[A] little bit of cussing does wonders. The later in the day it is, or the earlier in the morning, the more important this is for your sanity, and to help you feel less like an underpaid servant and more like the sassy teenager that is still lurking somewhere inside your bill-paying, car seat-purchasing, sleep-deprived self") or her regular almost-all-women's exercise class ("Sometimes someone comes up to me after class and wants to pay me, or otherwise do something lavish to show her gratitude. I tell her, she's already doing it, by inspiring me with her commitment...When my women show up, day in, day out, with their great attitudes and their great energy, they don't realize that that's their gift to me") or her parenting style ("[Excessively spending time with electronic pleasures] messes with your head, and I don't want it for my kids...So I say no. A lot. And tell me I don't feel like a shit mom when little Brody, who's been cooperative all day, has a meltdown in the afternoon and sobs miserably, 'I. Just. Want. My. Electronics'") or whether it's Kotb in her tome telling of her lifelong struggle to establish her own identity (I will always be asked [as this one "older black woman" did while Kotb was in a phone booth making a call during her early days as a television journalist, taking Kotb's face in both hands and looking into her eyes] 'What is you?' And while I'll proudly explain I'm Egyptian...again, the answer in my head will always be: I'm just me") or acknowledging her refreshingly non-high-minded, purely self-serving motivation for going into and staying in TV news ("Procrastinating to me is simply a way to create a time crunch...After I phone in a takeout food order, I'll stay at work as long as possible, then race home to my apartment to meet up with the delivery guy...[T]elevision news is the perfect career for me. I need to know that my work day has a start and a fight to the finish. I'm competitive, persistent, and not afraid to risk being the hero or the goat when airtime hits") or the near-overwhelming thrill she felt when the Today show's Fourth Hour hosted the always-and-forever-bootylicious Queen Bey ("When Beyonce walked into the room, [Kathie Lee and I] were blown away by her beauty and her presence. She's about 5 feet 7, but her red heels added several inches. She wore a gorgeous short dress, designed in her favorite color, red. She was a knockout. Her frame is sexy and solid and she carries herself with confidence around every curve...Her words were laced with a touch of Texas twang (Beyonce was born and raised in Houston). As her people began touching up her hair and makeup, all I could think was, There's absolutely nothing wrong with her! Bring that stuff over here!"). After reading these books, you effortlessly feel invigorated because you spent quality time with two insightful, funny, considerably observant ladies who have, to quote a line from the classic 1960s song, "looked at life from both sides now" and are bright enough and centered enough to retain the lessons such observing has taught them.             Also: Both Reece and Kotb conclude their tomes in grand style. The former closes by assuring her readers that should they choose to assume the role of "queens" of their household, "[y]ou will live interestingly ever after." And she ends her "Acknowledgements" section by lauding her hubby, the professional surfer Laird Hamilton: "I cherish the gift of knowing you, your love, and your partnership. Oh, and when our girls [their daughters] are difficult, I do blame you for those traits." The latter, for her part, ends her book with a forward that itself finishes with her naming her "special wooden box" inside of which is the "letter that lists the three most important traits in my man" and assures us readers that "there's a chance it will end up accidentally buried by books, an over-sized tote bag, a plaque, or other random crap." Kotb's own "Acknowledgements" portion winds up with a fond shout-out to her "co-author," Jane Lorenzini, "the most brilliant writer I have ever known...Your dad was right. It has been an adventure...Your name should be bigger on the [front] cover. Oh, well...next book."           During the 1980s, it was Barbra Streisand who famously crooned, concerning creativity:                                                     "The art of making art                                                     is putting it together, bit by bit,                                                      Beat by beat, part by part,                                                        Sheet by sheet, chart by chart,                                                              Track by track, bit by bit,                                                          Reel by reel, pout by pout,                                                      Stack by stack, snit by snit,                                                          Meal by meal, shout by shout,                                                              Deal by deal, spat by spat,                                                          Spiel by spiel, doubt by doubt.                                                      And that is the state of the art."           To read the books of Gabrielle Reece and Hoda Kotb is to bring about enormous gratitude that said authors--and their ghostwriters--took the time and the trouble to put them together, employing every "bit," "beat," "part," "sheet," "chart," "track," "bit," "reel," "pout," "stack," "snit," "meal," "shout," "deal," "spat," "spiel," and "doubt" so that "the state of their art" would make them such eminently satisfying reading experiences.