#I feel like the fact that ive been playing for over twelve hours and haven’t even entered upper junonnsays a lot about how im playing this

[dark-elf-writes]

I never learned Fort Condor and it is in fact coming back to haunt me

[honeyhan-123]

Say Thank You XIII

Series Summary: Nearly five years have passed since Steve Rogers saves your life without so much as a thank you. When he sees you again by chance, he makes sure that he’ll never let you go and maybe teach you some manners in the process.

Series Warning: This will be a dark!Steve fic with stalking, kidnapping and manipulating as well as non-con and dub-con situations. Please don’t read it if you don’t like that sort of thing.

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of death and hyperventilating. 

Word Count: 3.2k

AN: Just a little reminder that this was set in between Civil War and Infinity War but obviously occurs over the course of a few months....

I. New York ~ II. Madrid ~ III. The Apartment ~ IV. The Trip ~ V. The Basement ~ VI. The First Lesson ~ VII. The Waiting Game ~ VIII. The First Attempt ~ IX. The Darkness ~ X. The Truth ~ XI. The Syndrome ~ XII. The Meeting

Series Masterlist

My Masterlist

XIII. The Mission

Bucky had barely even gotten halfway back to the flat he shared with Sam when he got Steve’s call. The screech of tires rang through the New York City streets as he rushed into a U-turn, immediately heading back the way he had just come. The short, less than a minute long, conversation he had just had with Steve replayed in his mind on a loop. 

How the fuck had they missed this?

Bucky blamed it on the fact he had been at Steve’s, out in the suburbs nearly all day because there was no other logical explanation of how they could have missed a flying doughnut in the middle of New York City. He thumped the wheel in frustration. Maybe if he hadn’t been so lost in playing house Tony would still be here, that kid would still be here. 

As he approached the house, he saw Steve out in the driveway, waiting for him. ‘Wheels up is in twenty, I just need five minutes to go talk to her and then if you could drive me out to the hanger that would be great.’ 

Bucky followed him numbly into the house, lost in a daze. ‘Yeah sure, whatever you want. I just… I just don’t understand why I’m not going.’ 

‘Because, the team needs me and I need you here Buck, I need you here with her. Not only do I need you to look after her but I won’t be able to do my job, not until I’m a hundred percent positive that she’s safe.’

‘She’ll be safe with Banner. You need me on this Steve, we have no idea what we’re going up against.’ Bucky tried to argue despite knowing how futile it was. When Steve made his mind up about something, it stayed that way. 

‘She doesn’t know Banner and Banner doesn’t know her. Plus, I know she’ll be safest with you. Please Buck, I really need this. You know I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important.’ Bucky sighed, running a hand through his tangled locks. 

‘Yeah okay, I’ll babysit her for you. Just get home safe Punk.’ 

‘You know I will Jerk, especially now that I have someone to come home to.’ Bucky’s heart clenched as he watched Steve turn, darting up the stairs to his room, a sinking feeling settling in his chest.

+

You stirred as you felt someone shaking you gently, heard them softly calling your name, ushering you back into the realm of consciousness. 

‘Sweetheart, open your eyes. I don’t have long and we need to talk.’ Your eyelids fluttered open at the worry you detected in Steve’s tone, your head groggy from being awoken so soon after retiring for bed. 

‘Did Bucky go home? I’m sorry I had to come upstairs, I was just so tired. It’s been a big day.’ The words escaped you in a yawn, your mind still half asleep.

‘That’s okay Sweetheart, I know you’re tired and after we talk, I promise you can go back to bed.’ You jolted further awake, whatever was happening had obviously made Steve very stressed. 

‘What’s going on Stevie? Why are you… Why are you packing a bag?’ You hadn’t noticed his frantic movements until this moment as you were transfixed on the small duffle bag that was slowly being filled with his belongings.

‘I have to go out of town for a few days. Three days max but probably only two. Bucky is going to be looking after you while I’m gone okay? And then, when the mission’s complete, I’ll come right back home.’ He momentarily paused his packing, coming back to the bed to cup your cheek in his palm. ‘I’ll miss you so much and I’ll be home as soon as possible but I need you to be a good girl for me. Do you think you can do that? Do you think you can behave for Bucky?’

You shook your head with fervor, ‘No, no, no, no. I don’t… I don’t understand. Why are you going? Where are you going? You can’t leave me Steve, you can’t. I need you. I know that I haven’t been the best behaved but I thought… I thought we were okay. Why are you leaving me?’ Panic heaved through your body as you clutched at him, trying to force him to stay with you. 

‘I’m not leaving you Sweetheart. It’s just for a few days, I need to get in touch with some old friends and after that I’ll be right back here with you. Everything’s going to be okay, I promise.’ You hadn’t noticed the tears spilling from your cheeks until he brushed them away with his lips, kissing you softly, longingly, lovingly. 

‘Everything is going to be okay Sweetheart. Bucky will look after you while I’m gone but you need to behave for him, promise me you will.’

You nodded, still not quite understanding why he was leaving. ‘I promise Stevie.’ His hands clutched yours, his eyes dancing around your face, memorising you before he picked up his bag.

‘I-’ He cut himself off, gazing out the open door. ‘I’ll miss you Sweetheart, behave.’ 

You nodded, clutching the sheets to your chest. ‘I’ll miss you too Stevie.’ He spared you one last longing glance before disappearing out the door, the thunk of the front door swinging shut echoed through the silent house a few moments later. 

+

You watched as the sun rose, the sky slowly lightening turning from midnight blue to a soft and hazy cornflower and then eventually a grey-ish baby blue. The streaks of pink and orange coloured the sky just as the streaks of your tears covered your cheeks, darkening the soft grey sheets. 

Only when you were certain that Bucky was awake did you finally slip from your silken prison, your feet padding over the soft carpet to the bathroom, your hands numbly twisting the cold metal taps. You relished in the warmth the water gave you, and if you tried hard enough, you could almost imagine he was here with you. All night long sleep had been evasive, the bed too cold, too unfamiliar without Steve lying by your side and now you were paying for your dependency. 

You stayed in the shower for far too long but no one was there to bother you or tell you to get out, so you allowed yourself this one reprieve. It was only once you got out of the scalding hot water, your entire body burning from the heat that you realised your mistake. Just as it had been yesterday, your clothes were still downstairs, locked away in the basement and without Steve with you, you had no way of getting to them. You supposed his clothes would just have to do. 

Dressed in a bottle green t-shirt and a pair of soft grey trackies rolled up more times than you could count, you made your way out of the room. You paused at the top of the stairs as you saw a door ajar. It had certainly been closed yesterday when Steve had taken you to your new bedroom. Softly, you crept over to the room, promising yourself and Steve - despite his absence - that you would only poke your head in before going down stairs to Bucky. Yet, as you approached, the promise flew from your mind, replaced with thousands of burning questions. 

The room in question was clearly a guest bedroom, a calming blue motif, echoing your lonely night of staring out the window. However it wasn’t the room itself that made you pause, but the man inside. His back was to you, glistening with water from his own shower, and your eyes widened as you noticed the soft pink scars that stemmed like tree roots from his left shoulder. From his visit yesterday, you knew that he had some form of metal prosthetic yet you hadn’t realised the metal extended up past his wrist to his shoulder. Whatever had happened to him clearly wasn’t a child friendly story. 

You stumbled back from your perch behind the door as he suddenly whipped around, his eyes meeting yours. ‘I- Sorry. I was just… I didn’t know what this room was. I’m sorry.’ Your gaze was locked on your hands, twisting nervously in front of you as you saw him pull a shirt on hastily. 

‘It’s okay, this is just the guest room, I’m going to be staying in there until Steve gets back. Do you want some breakfast?’ You nodded softly and followed him as he led the way downstairs, heading into the kitchen. ‘What would you like Doll?’

You glanced around the room, taking a seat at the island bench. ‘Just some toast please.’ 

He raised his eyebrows. ‘You sure? I can whip you up some eggs, bacon too.’

‘No thanks, just toast is fine… I don’t think I’ll be able to eat anything anyway.’ 

He nodded pensively pausing slightly before speaking again. ‘You miss him already.’ The click of the toaster being pushed down screamed into the silence as you thought on his words. It was true. It had barely been twelve hours yet you did miss Steve, the bags beneath your eyes a clear enough indication. 

‘Yeah I do, but it’s not just that. I’m worried. Why did he have to leave so suddenly? Why did he leave me here with you? Please don’t take that the wrong way, I just don’t understand what’s going on.’ The words poured from you uncontrollably as you let out the questions that had swirled around in your head all night. 

‘It’s okay I get it. Personally I don’t really understand why he left me here with you either but that’s just Steve. He always has to be the hero.’ Bucky seemed lost in his memories, only to be brought back by the toast popping and he moved off, gathering a plate and some spreads for you. 

As you started spreading the raspberry jam, he began speaking again. ‘Apparently yesterday, while we were busy catching up and getting to know one another, a spacecraft came down to Earth. Tony, Bruce, and the kid, Peter, and some wizard or something tried to deal with the situation but these people, they were after the time stone.’ 

‘The time stone?’ 

‘Yeah, I don’t really understand it myself but according to Bruce and the wizard there are six stones, apparently called the Infinity Stones. And there’s this guy, Thanos, who is trying to track down all six stones which will allow him to eliminate half of the human population and he already has two of them, three if we count the fact that he has Strange now - he’s the wizard who holds the time stone.’ You didn’t understand a word of what he was saying but one clear message was coming across in screaming bold letters. The world was in danger. 

‘And so Steve has gone to get the Vision, he’s one of us but… well again I don’t really understand it because I wasn’t there for it, but apparently he somehow has the mind stone embedded in his brain and so we have to make sure he’s safe from Thanos. I’m not sure what the endgame is but- hey, hey, hey, don’t cry. It’s okay, you’re going to be fine. We’ll all protect you.’ He awkwardly patted your shoulder, trying to calm you down as you began to hyperventilate. It was just like the last time you were in New York. 

When your breaths didn’t slow, he pulled you into his chest, wrapping you up in his warm embrace, whispering words of comfort. If you tried hard enough you could convince yourself that his large and incredibly warm body was Steve’s and that it was him soothingly rubbing your back. ‘Shhh… shhh Doll. You’re going to be fine, I promise.’ 

Minutes passed before you could pull yourself together enough to disentangle yourself from his embrace, because while he was comforting you, he wasn’t Steve, the one person you longed to see now more than anything. 

A silence stretched over the kitchen as you poked at your toast that had grown cold but you didn’t mind, your appetite had vanished, not that you had much of one in the first place. ‘Thank you Bucky for comforting me, I just… I just don’t have the best experience with New York and now Steve’s gone and I just don’t know what to do.’

‘I understand Doll, Steve told me about what happened but you’re safe here with me and when Steve gets back from his mission you’ll be safe with him. There’s nowhere in the world where you would be safer, I can promise you that.’ You nodded accepting his words but finding it hard to trust them. ‘Hey, why don’t we play a game or something to take your mind off of things? I know Steve at least has a deck of cards lying around here somewhere.’ You forced yourself to smile, graciously accepting his offer as you followed after him, searching through the house for a deck of cards. 

+

The day has passed slowly despite Bucky trying his best to keep you distracted. Even though he tried to hide it, you caught him nervously glancing at his phone multiple times, checking to see if there was an update. Eventually the sun had started to dip below the horizon, the sky fading from a clear blue to an orange-purple haze and eventually darkening to a gentle twilight. 

Bucky had made dinner, some chilli con carne that made you feel a little homesick for Madrid but you appreciated the thought. He had brought out some wine too that you had gladly helped yourself to. Perhaps a little too much considering how long it had been since your last drink but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. The alcohol alleviated your pain and worry with every glass so it wasn’t surprising that by the end of the meal the bottle was empty. You were tempted to try and persuade Bucky to get another but your slurred words didn’t help your case. Instead he had sent you to bed, making a show of how tired he was himself and mentioning numerous times how Steve would want you to look after yourself. 

Although the alcohol had helped while you were awake, when you finally drifted off to sleep it was another matter entirely. Bucky’s words from earlier in the day haunted you, conjuring up memories that had long since been forgotten of a heavy weight pressing against your body, pinning you down onto the hard tarmac, the screams of unseen civilians, the blood of those that hadn’t been quick enough. And Steve. 

Steve being beaten by numerous aliens, his shield lay discarded, broken in two by your face as he fought defenselessly. You tried to warn him, tried to scream at him as one of the Chitauri crept up behind him, its’ scepter in its hand, ready to deliver a fatal blow. You could only watch in horror as Steve fell, a gaping hole in his chest right over his heart, the life fading from his eyes as the Chitauri cheered in victory. 

+

Bucky heard the sobs first, uncertainty as to what to do crawling through him. Although you had spent the day together, he wasn’t sure where he stood with you, whether or not you would appreciate him coming in and trying to comfort you. He also didn’t want to overstep with Steve, he knew that you were his girl and that a bedroom was a very private place, so he did nothing, merely sat out in the hallway listening to  you cry. 

It was only when he heard the screams that he realised you must have been asleep, suffering from a nightmare. Considering everything that he himself had gone through, he could understand just how terrifying they could be so he didn’t hesitate before standing up and rushing into your room. He watched for a moment as your body writhed on the bed, unsure of how to proceed. Personally for him, he had to be woken up from a distance, the light turned on and someone calling his name otherwise things could turn very bad very quickly, but he doubted that would be an issue for you. 

Instead, he softly padded over to you, gently pressing a hand against your shoulder, shaking you softly as he called your name. He watched as you slowly came out of it, your screams ceasing before your eyes slowly fluttered open. ‘Bucky? What’s going on?’ Your voice was hoarse from the screaming and his heart hurt as he saw you so broken. 

‘Shhh… It’s okay Doll, you were just having a nightmare. It’s okay, Steve’s okay.’ You nodded as he handed you a tissue to wipe your tears with. 

Bucky waited until he thought you had calmed down enough before he made to stand up from the bed, his own calling to him like a siren. When he got to the door he heard you softly call his name. ‘Bucky?’

Turning back around, one hand on the door handle, he waited to hear what you needed. ‘Could you stay? Please?’ A rampage of emotions flowed through him as he processed your question. On one hand there was nothing he wanted more but on the other hand he knew that was the exact reason why he shouldn’t. Yet finally, the memory of Steve making him promise to look after his girl surfaced, making his mind up for him and so he nodded, shedding his shoes and pants, crawling into the silken sheets, his heart racing as you curled into him, pressing your body against his. ‘Thank you.’ He couldn’t respond as he felt your heart rate calm down, your breaths slowing, becoming deeper as you fell into a slumber. 

His heart ached as he stared up at the ceiling, his arms wrapped around you. He tried to convince himself that it wasn’t because he wanted you to be his, just that he wanted someone and the way that your body curled against his, despite seeing just how torn and broken he was, gave him hope that maybe, one day, he would find his someone.

Eventually, his eyes drifting shut as his breathing matched yours, a faceless woman dancing through his dreams. 

+

You were awoken by the shrill of a ringtone, screaming into the silent bedroom, a groan escaping you as the warm body beneath yours moved, leaving the bed in search for the culprit. Through your shut eyes you listened in on the conversation absentmindedly, stretching your body as you tried to wake your mind up. 

‘Steve, hey. What happened, how’s Wanda and the Vision?’ You couldn’t hear Steve’s response, but you could almost feel the tension build in Bucky as a long silence stretched before he responded. ‘Are you sure that’s the best idea?’ You waited again and heard Bucky sigh. ‘Yeah okay, I’ll go wake her up and pack a bag. We’ll meet you at headquarters.’ He hung up and turned to you, poking you gently in the cheek. ‘I know you’re up Doll, we have to go.’ That was enough for you to instantly open your eyes, searching his. 

‘What? Where are we going?’

Bucky’s lips pursed as he answered, his brow furrowed in thought. 

‘Wakanda.’

+

Tags will be added in a reblog

XIV. The Reunion

Series Masterlist

My Masterlist

[hermannsthumb]

90+96?

90. Unexpected Virgin + 96. Scars 

from fanfiction trope mashup here

continuation of me filling ancient, 2 year old prompts in my inbox! sometimes you just gotta return to the basics and write post-movie first time :’) this is the first thing ive written on my new laptop, MOMENTOUS OCCASION. as u might have guessed 18+/NOT SFW BELOW CUT

—————

They’re about an hour into the impromptu We Didn’t Die! party currently ravaging the base when Hermann–stripped out of his sweatervest, and clutching his cane like a lifeline–suddenly grips Newt by the forearm and swings him around to face him. “Newton,” he declares, as the contents of Newt’s plastic cup slosh to the floor, “I would like to invite you back to my quarters.”

It’s probably due to the two shots of vodka Newt downed in quick succession about twenty minutes into the impromptu party that the innuendo flies right over his head, and, instead of accepting enthusiastically, he merely draws his face into a pout. It’s not unusual for Hermann to force him to go to bed, especially after a week of all-nighters in the lab, but now? During this? They’re practically guests of fucking honor. “To sleep? Lame. I’m not tired. Hey, unwind, have a drink!” He pushes his plastic cup into Hermann’s face.

Hermann pushes it away. “I believe you misunderstood me,” he says. “I’m asking you to have sex with me, Newton.”

“Oh,” Newt says.

They’re out of LOCCENT in a flash, and bursting through the door of Hermann’s cramped quarters in another. Newt has been fucking vibrating with energy all day long–excitement, elation, fear, straight-up terror–and he’s more than ready to unleash all twelve hours’ worth of it, plus twelve years’ worth of pathetic pining, on Hermann in the most awesome, cathartic victory sex the world has ever seen. And now that they’re finally alone–now that they’re finally alone together–

“I am so fucking horny right now,” Newt breathes. He kicks off his boots: one of them flies across the room and knocks over a precariously-balanced stack of books, while the other smacks against Hermann’s dresser and sends a photograph of Newt and Hermann crashing to the floor. “Holy shit, you have no clue. Oh my God.” Truthfully, he’s been sporting a half-boner since he threw his arm around Hermann in LOCCENT, and Hermann gave him that little smile and tucked up against him, but Hermann doesn’t need to know that. 

Hermann’s eyes are dark, and his pupils are wide. He wets his lips as those eyes sweep over Newt. “I. Ah. I am, as well.”

“Fuck yes,” Newt says. He moves his hands to his collar, where he rips off his tie, but he stops at his buttons with a grin. He could at least pretend to play hard to get. “Hey, you want me to take my shirt off?”

“That’s typically what’s done, isn’t it?” Hermann says. “During–” He clears his throat. “During these sorts of things?”

“Right,” Newt says. “Okay, do yours too.”

They take their shirts off. Hermann is sporting a nice set of shoulders and biceps, and an even nicer set of pecs, and Newt thinks that trim waist would be the perfect size to wrap his fingers around, but his too-pale skin hugs his ribs a little too-tightly. There’s not a hint of hair in sight. The exact opposite of Newt, basically, in all his hairy, tattooed, out of shape glory. It’s kind of perfect. Newt bets they’d fit together like a pair of puzzle pieces.

He wolf-whistles before he can help himself. “I should’ve known you’d be even hotter under all those stupid sweaters.”

“Oh,” Hermann says. His mouth twitches up into a coy echo of his earlier smile. “Thank you. I think.”

Newt wants to get all over that hot bod, and so he does, inching up to Hermann until their stomachs brush and their chins bump, and planting his hands on either side of that neat, sexy waist. He’s right about it being the perfect size to grab. Hermann watches him through his dark lower lashes, standing perfectly still; he’s holding his breath. “I’m gonna kiss you now,” Newt says.

Hermann nods.

They kiss. It’s pretty cool, even if Hermann stands as stiff as a board, arms hanging limply at his sides, and even if when he finally decides to use tongue it’s at the moment Newt decides to use teeth and he ends up firmly biting down on it. “Ow,” Hermann hisses, pulling back sharply.

“Sorry,” Newt says. “I haven’t gotten laid in ages. I kinda forget how to, uh...” He tries to kiss Hermann again, but at Hermann’s darkening, skeptical expression, drops it. “Uh, you wanna take this to the bed?”

“Take off your jeans first,” Hermann says.

They stare at each other.

“Not–I mean yes, but–what I mean is they’re filthy,” Hermann snaps. “I’m not having you dirty up my sheets. Grime and blood and who on Earth knows what else.”

“Sure,” Newt says, and grins again. He fumbles with his belt and drops his jeans, and Hermann’s gaze drops too. Never one to pass up putting on a show, Newt tips his crotch forward to make his boner just that bit more prominent, and just that bit more in Hermann’s personal space. “Like what you’re seeing?”

Hermann nods.

Newt takes Hermann’s right hand and places it on his hip, just the waistband of his boxers. “You wanna take these off?” he says. He punctuates the question with a little kiss to Hermann’s throat. It’s so smooth–not at all like the scratchy, stubbly mess across Newt’s. He kisses it again, just ‘cause it’s nice, and feels more than hears the low rumble of a groan that rises in the back of it. Hermann’s shut his eyes.

“Ah–Newton–”

When it becomes clear Hermann won’t be sticking his hands down Newt’s boxers any time soon, Newt backs him up to his bed and pushes him down into it. Hermann sprawls backwards with a small thump. His cane clatters to the floor. “You gotta do some of the work here, dude,” Newt laughs.

To his surprise, Hermann flushes. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I haven’t much. Er. Experience, with this sort of thing. I’m not quite sure what to do.”

This comes as no small surprise to Newt. Hermann’s just…Hermann, y’know? He’s bitchy, and weird, and kind of weird-looking, but he has a sexy way of rolling his r’s and a sexy mouth and, apparently, a sexy bod, and if Newt–the guy’s certifiable rival–has wanted to get into his pants for ages, he’s sure he can’t have been the only one. But hell if the thought of being the first one to do it doesn’t turn him on likes crazy. “Luckily for you, I’m a pro at sex,” he lies. “I’m amazing. Just ask anyone. Wait, uh, not anyone, I don’t mean–”

“I know,” Hermann says. He sits up and plucks at Newt’s waistband. “May I take these off now?” He wets his lips again.

“By my fucking guest, dude,” Newt says.

Hermann tucks two elegant, nimble fingers under the elastic and slips Newt’s underwear down to pool around his ankles, finally letting his erection breathe a little. Newt leers down at him. “What about now?” he says. “Huh? You like this?”

But Hermann isn’t looking at his dick, inches from his nose though it is; Hermann’s looking to the left of it. “You have a scar here,” he says, and pokes at a small expanse of skin on Newt’s thigh between two tattoos.

“Uh,” Newt says. “Yeah, dude. I rammed into a table when I was rollerskating in the house once and had to get stitches.”

Hermann traces his fingers over the scar. “You must have been quite the handful as a child,” he says wryly.

The incident in question happened when Newt was twenty-four, but he decides it’s best to not divulge that particular bit of information to Hermann. “Uh. Yeah.”

Hermann reaches down and unbuckles his own belt, then begins to partially wriggle out of his stupid baggy pants and tighty-whiteys. “We’re matching,” he says. “Look.”

His left hip and thigh is a mess of scar tissue that Newt imagines, at one point, must’ve hurt like a bitch. Way more than Newt’s stupid incident with the roller skates. Way more than could even be compared to Newt’s stupid incident with the roller skates. But he smiles anyway: he likes the idea of it being some giant, flashing sign from the universe of their drift compatibility. “Have you looked in the mirror?” he says, and shuts his non-bloodied eye to make his point. “We’re not just matching there.”

“Hopefully not permanently,” Hermann says. He finally turns his attention on Newt’s dick, scrutinizing it like it’s one of his incomprehensible equations. It gets Newt even hotter. “Would you like to have sex now? I’m eager to put your renowned skills to the test.”

Newt doesn’t miss the sarcasm. It’d be kind of hard to. “Jackass,” he says. “Move over, I’m getting in.”

Hermann divests himself of the rest of his clothing and shuts off the overhead light while Newt makes himself comfortable on Hermann’s bed, though he leaves his small bedside lamp on to cast them both in a cozy yellow glow. All of Hermann’s room is shockingly cozy, in fact: the quilt tucked in neatly to his cushy mattress, the tea kettle on his dresser, the soft rug on the floor, the space heater (shut off) half-hidden in the corner. No wonder Hermann sleeps in so late. If Newt’s setup was like this, he’d never leave his quarters either.

“We could get under this, if you’d like,” Hermann says, pinching a bit of the quilt. “It’ll be warmer. It can get very chilly in here.” He fidgets. “And. Er. It’ll be easier to wash my sheets, rather than…”

“Yeah, that’s cool,” Newt says.

They move under the quilt. Hermann’s breath is warm on Newt’s face, and losing a layer seems to have imbibed Hermann with a newfound sense of confidence; his hands begin wandering across Newt’s body, up his sides, down his back, squeezing and pinching his skin, cupping his ass, and he layers kiss after kiss to Newt’s neck, his throat, his jaw. Newt rocks into each touch and moans helplessly. 

“You’re so beautiful,” Hermann murmurs into his ear. 

Newt laughs weakly. He’s gotten cute once or twice, but he doesn’t think anyone’s ever called him beautiful. It’s nice. He likes it. “Aw, dude.”

“You are,” Hermann says. “I’ve always thought you were. It’s been a terrible distraction in the laboratory.” He leans in and kisses Newt, still as graceless and chaste as before, but his low murmur has returned when he finishes, and it makes heat pool in Newt’s stomach. “Mm, sometimes all I could think about was how badly I wanted you.”

“Sometimes I used to jack off after we argued,” Newt blurts out.

Hermann blinks, surprised, and laughs. “Did you?”

“In the bathroom. Once in the supply closet. Nnh. Ah, fuck, Hermann, fuck–”

Bored of talking, apparently, Hermann’s decided to creep his hand lower and curl it around Newt’s dick. His touch is light, and unsure, and it kinda just makes it all even sexier. “I wish you told me this was your first time,” Newt whines out, pushing into Hermann’s fist. “I would’ve, guh, bought you dinner. Or something. We could’ve waited. Made it–made it meaningful.”

“Darling,” Hermann says, “this is perfect.”

Hermann kisses him; Newt comes, gasping and whining into his mouth. It’s a little embarrassing. He doesn’t think anyone’s ever called him beautiful, but he knows no one’s ever called him darling, and with Hermann the one being so sweet to him--it’s too much.

“Shit,” he pants afterwards, while Hermann examines the sticky mess on his fingers with mild interest. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to--I wanted to last longer.”

“Oh, we’ve got all night,” Hermann says, sounding pleased. He wipes his fingers off with tissues from a box on his bedside, then drags Newt’s hand under the covers to cup his own neglected dick, fluttering his eyelashes coquettishly. Newt swallows down a whimper. It’s not fair that Hermann is doing better at this than Newt. “I would like very much for you to touch me.”

“Okay,” Newt squeaks.

[blizzardfluffykpop]

Our Home (III)

Summary: A tattoo and a surprise, things are coming full circle. We’ll be happier one day and everything will fall into place.

Bambam X Reader

Multi-parted: Part I, Part II, Mini-Part III, and Mini-Part IV.

When we finish renovating our home up with a lot of help from our friends. I called Bambam’s mom as a surprise. Bambam introduced her to me over a video call, she told me a few embarrassing stories and left for work. I’m calling her today because Bambam deserves to see his family in person again. He has come so far, I know how much his family loves him as he loves them. Plus in three days it’s a special holiday, and I’m paying for their tickets. I tell his mom my plan and I could feel her grin through the phone. She told me she’s gonna round up her kids and their significant others. But I’ll have to pick them up from the airport is the deal, I agree, Bambam is going to be surprised.

But before they arrive we’re getting our couple tattoos, and man I’m nervous. It’s one thing having Bambam tattoo me, he’s done it many times, quite a few mini practice ones. That doesn’t make me nervous, it's the fact that I’m tattooing him.

I walk down to his shop, he has a client beforehand so I visit a few shops. Finding that flower shop where Mark’s lover works and buying a red carnation and a red rose. Little did I know that was what we were going to tattoo onto each other. I wait around talking with Yugyeom and Mark before Bambam is finally finished. I hand him the carnation and rose, they pronounce my love. He giggles as he bids his client goodbye. “You’re too cute, how did you know?” I tilt my head to the side, “What do you mean?” He grins, “You’re my rose, and I’m your carnation” I roll my eyes, “I guess I’m getting a rose” He grins, “Yeah! Do you want to see the designs?” I agree, letting him drag me over to his station. He places the flowers into a glass vase filled with water and flowers I have brought before.

He showed me three different ideas of what I might like on me; I chose the geometric rose design. The outside of the octagon is black and white and the inside is full of color. He shows me the carnation he wants tattooed on him. While the design looks easy, my brain nearly overloads knowing that I’ll have to tattoo that onto him. He asks me where I want it placed and I point to my forearm so I can always see it.

As he tattoos it onto me I ask him why I’m his rose. He tells me without hesitation, “Because you’ve been through a lot, but you still find a way to follow the sun. You have a wall but you’re willing to let people see your true colors. That’s your pricker, your wall, but other than that you’re so sweet and kind.” I nod, he always finds a deeper meaning in things. A perspective I’m always warmed to hear. When he finishes, cleaning it off and placing a 2nd Skin bandage over my tattoo. It looks beautiful, I grin at him, wrapping my arms around his waist and hug him. “Thank you, Babe,” I say kissing his cheek. “My turn! My turn!” He exclaims like a little kid as he places the stencil on his hand.  

He shows me how to use the machine, and once I turn it on, I swear my heart is beating out of my chest. I do a few test runs on an orange before Bambam encourages me to tattoo him. I gulp nervously as I start to tattoo him, dipping the needles back into the ink every few minutes. My lines are a little wobbly as I try my best to make it look nice. I ask him why he’s my carnation. Instead of answering he pertains it to me, why I think he is a carnation. I sigh before letting my thoughts out like a floodgate. “You’re a carnation because you glow with a life, nothing about you is rough. Although your past is traumatic, you never let it affect you. You move on and grow another set of leaves then you’re on your way. The light finds you and shines on you no matter the time of the day. The sun wants its favorite flower to grow big and bright.” He grins at me and lets me continue tattooing him. Two hours later and I haven’t let him peak at his tattoo and if I don't say so myself it looks pretty nice for my first tattoo.

Although my lines are wonky I managed to make the diamond outline straight. When I finish I uncover his hand and show him to gauge his reaction as he looks over it. He laughs a little at it as he stands up before pulling me into his side. His laugh isn’t out of pity but joy as he exclaims, “Thank you so much, Babe, I love it!” Yugyeom and Mark come over to check it out, “Not bad for a beginner,... although I have to say if you were gonna work in our shop, you’d need a lot more practice.” I roll my eyes, “Mark, you have like twelve years over me, shush.”

He laughs as Yugyeom tells us, “I think it’s nice and cute maybe I should have my man come down and tattoo me.” I laugh, “Yeah!” with excitement I tell him. Mark smirks, “I got you guys beat, my girl tattooed me years ago--.” He lifts his shirt to reveal the beautiful sun tattoo, “That’s hers--” “Is she a professional?” He shakes his head, “No, but we practiced a lot before she agreed to tattoo me.” I laugh and with a smile, I tell him, “She likes things to be perfect,” he laughs and I continue, “it’s cute though.” Bambam kisses my forehead, “Not as cute as you--.” I roll my eyes, “You’re cuter, almost birthday boy.” He laughs and we bid them goodbye, swinging our hands back and forth as we walk.

I’m going to get him good for his birthday, his family and our friends are gonna be piled into our house. But I got to pick up his family first, I'm so excited to see his reaction. When Bambam and I arrive home I tell him that I need to grab something from the grocery store and that I might be a while. He pouts wondering why he can’t come with me, we always go grocery shopping together. I look at him with a blank look, I decide to play him, “If you don’t want a birthday cake--.” He puts his hands over his ears and starts going, ‘lalalala’ over and over. I roll my eyes, and kiss his nose before heading out, he is gonna be over the moon.

His mom calls me when they land and I tell her where I'm located. When I see her in my line of vision, she starts moving towards me quickly. She throws her arms around me, and four others trail behind me as I hug his mom back. Before I can get out of her hug the other four wrap their arms around me. His mom tells me happily, “Thank you for keeping Bambam safe and loved. He needs someone like you and I’m so happy to have you in our family!” I rub the back off my neck as they let go and their mother starts introducing us. “Well, you all know (Y/n), but (Y/n) I want you to meet everyone. This is Beer and his wife Goodie.” They wave and we politely bow at each other, “This is Baby, my first daughter.” I already know she includes Goodie as her daughter as well. We smile and bow to each other, “And this is Bank” he smiles and bows with me too. “Ahh, it’s a pleasure to meet all of you.” Bank speaks up, “So what’s the plan?”

---

After filling them in on the surprise, that when he leaves to go get his hair done for his special day. That our friends are coming over and are going to help decorate, and bake. They nod, “We’ll help as much as we can, it’s been so long since we’ve seen Bambam” Baby lets outs in a sigh, I nod. I wish I could tell them everything but I never will. What happened back then is history except for our love, that is eternity.

They tell me stories about Bambam as I drive us home, and I tell them that I’m going to make sure he’s presentable. They laugh and Bank goes, “It’s not like we haven’t seen him naked before!” I shake my head and laugh, oh man his whole family is a riot. I open the door and Bambam is sitting in the kitchen eating as I open the door. With my body towards the door, I signal them over. I shut it as I bring a cake in. His eyes brighten up when he sees me, “Sorry it took a little while for them to get it perfect.” He nods, “Thanks Babe, do I get to see it?” I shake my head, “No, you know the rule Bambam. It’s like how couples that are getting married can’t see each other before the ceremony. He pouts at me as I put the cake in the fridge, “Oh, don’t be a big baby.” I tell him with a laugh acting like I’m sorting through the fridge as the doorbell rings.

I ask him to get it and he gets up and as he approaches the door, I shut the fridge door. Making my way over as he opens the door, his jaw drops. His mother wrapping her arms around him, telling him how much she has missed him. The tears falling from their eyes broke my heart but warmed it, to see them together again. I won’t even deny that I had tears falling from my eyes. His family welcomed me into their family just like he said they would. I haven’t had a motherly hug in so long, my heart physically ached. I thought about the whole meeting at the airport, he’s my whole world and he deserves to have his worlds together. When he finishes the hug-fest he looks over at me gesturing me to come towards them as they move out of the doorway. “Did you plan this?” He asks me and I nod, his strong arms wrap around me. The tears streaking down his as he shakes slightly with he lets out his tears, “Thank you so much, (Y/n), babe, I wish I could tell you how much this means to me,... but it’s indescribable.” I rub my tears against his shirt, not wanting his family to see me cry too, “Bambam,... I can only imagine.” He smiles at me as he releases me from his stronghold and wipes my tears with his thumbs. I reciprocate the motion, “I can’t believe my little Bambam has grown up!” His mom wraps her arms around the both of us, “So, when’s the marriage?” She asks looking between the two of us expectantly. We laugh and look at each other in the eyes, it’s like we can read each other’s minds. He grins at her and without hesitation, he tells her, “Soon” my heart skips a beat.

The night was full of laughter and talking, they couldn’t believe how far we’ve come, they adored our home. We gave up our rooms and left us with the couch. When everyone got tucked in, Bambam turns the t.v. on and flips through the channels, “Did you mean what you said earlier?” I ask him quietly. He tilts his head to the side, “What did I say earlier?” I lean on his shoulder, “That you want to marry me and I quote ‘soon’”

He gives me a big grin, “I guess you’ll find out.” He rubs his nose against mine, I roll my eyes a huge smile forming on my face. I trace my fingers over his tattoo I gave him. I throw a few blankets over us, knowing it gets cold in this living room at night. Which we should probably fix up, but that’s for another day. The tv plays a Scooby-Doo cartoon the sound drifting us both to sleep.

[dareinfernum2]

･ﾟﾟ･｡ ( ester exposito, cis female, she/her ) — 𝒉𝒐𝒈𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔 𝒊𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒆 ALECTO CARROW, the NINTH year SLYTHERIN student ! i hear that the NINETEEN year old is known to be BEGUILING and AMBITIOUS and also very SADISTIC and DUPLICITOUS. however, if you ask me, the fact that they are a PUREBLOOD and leaning towards the side of the DEATH EATERS is a lot more telling.

disclaimer: names & details may change slightly but the end product remains the same so here we go. also the headcanons are all included from my application.

links.

biography.

statistics.

connections.

pinterest.

recap.

alecto was born and raised with the purpose to continue pure bloodlines. her childhood was filled with the finer things in life; galas, dinners and not to mention the never ending etiquette and dance lessons. she was taught to be attentive and intelligent enough, but not to show off.

it really hasn’t worked out for her parents the way they had planned. not because alecto doesn’t care about bloodlines. but, because she hates playing dumb for the benefit of someone else’s ego.

to top it off she thinks there are other ways, better ways, for her to ensure bloodlines in the wizarding community remain pure that don’t involve becoming a housewife and popping out children for a husband decided for her.

alecto has had a fascination with fire since she was eight years old and accidentally, somewhat on purpose, set her mother’s greenhouse on fire because she was told she was no longer allowed in there.

it extends further, and she wants to work with dragons.

personality wise alecto is pretty cold. she prefers solitude and her cat over rambunctious parties. but at the same time she is also very caring in a more gentle and intimate setting. she cares for a few and when she does her care goes deep.

she is unpredictable and chaotic, keen to set things on fire when distressed or upset about something, throwing things around and breaking whatever she can get her hands on when she falls into her fits of rage.

so while she seems calm and almost apathetic a lot of the time it is preferable to the opposite, because no matter what when alecto shows any feeling it is extreme.

alecto does not have the dark mark, yet, she is intrigued by it though and could very easily be convinced to get it now rather than wait longer.

connections.

just suggestions and highly wanted, all come from the connections page linked earlier in the post.

betrothal ;; her parents tried once before with a poor fellow from france. this time they've looked closer to home in hopes that alecto won't find a way to chase them off; they're betting on their own social circles to be enough to control her. 

best friends ;; a partner in crime, the ying to the yang. the pair or more that are typically attached by the hip, consult each other, and couldn’t live without one another.

childhood friends ;; friends since the diaper days, could be a brother/sister or sister/sister type connection. may or may not still be friends.

frenemies ;; they’re nice to each others faces and act like friends but are constantly talking badly about each other.

friends with benefits ;; friends who hook up and either have or haven’t blurred the lines between the physical and emotional connection.

on again, off again ;; (ariana’s voice) make up, break up, total waste of time. this is basically a couple that you’d get whiplash from on whether or not they are together.

exes with lingering feelings ;; exes that broke up but still have feelings towards each other and can’t help but feel jealous/hurt seeing the other with someone else.

headcanons.

i. theodosia carrow - cat.

at sixteen years of age alecto walked through diagon alley a young woman on a mission. it was no mission most other people would not have found it as important as she did. but alecto carrow was about to buy her first cat, the first pet belonging to only her and not in any way any other family member. this wasn’t the owl bringing their mail she affectionately fed treats at the kitchen table only to get a light nip in return.

walking into the store alecto looked around at the cats, a small bengal kitten perking up at the sight of her, curious eyes staring into her own bringing a smile to her lips. after that there was no question about who was coming home with her, and moments later alecto carried the kitten in her arms as she made her way home.

alecto named the cat theodosia and since she came home with her they have barely been separated. the feline has chosen alecto over anyone else, often climbing up on her shoulders to wrap around her, purring softly in the crook of her neck as alecto reads in the common room. when alecto is distressed theo curls into her, meowing and pawing at the teenager to get her attention, refusing to stop fussing until she can feel alecto calm.

ii. herbology.

ever since she was a little girl life and death has intrigued alecto. she looks at the flowers blooming in spring before slowly decaying as the cold comes during the autumn months. when she was young she spent countless hours in the gardens around the carrow manor, she planted seeds of flowers and made sure they got attention, they got water and sunshine. alecto learned about life and death from plants, she learned how she had the power to keep them alive, but also how some of them had the power to take hers. she found beauty in all of it, and it’s been close to her heart ever since. even when she started school and it became about books and essays rather than lying in the gardens at the manor.

iii. fire.

if you play with fire you’ll get burned. alecto knows this, in part because she has literally played with fire and gotten herself burned more times than she can count on two hands before the age of thirteen. but, she understands it metaphorically as well. alecto understands that when people say fire they are referring to a chaotic event capable of ruining something good happening to people, something of your doing which can turn the world upside down.

alecto has always liked chaos. she has liked turning the world upside down. but more than anything she has liked fire. it’s been made obvious since she was eight and set her mother’s greenhouses on fire after the woman told her she was no longer allowed in them. in a fit of white hot fury alecto lost control of her magic and before she could react the buildings were in flames. instead of screaming alecto had smiled, she stood serenely watching the flames with a calm smile on her lips as if she was just watching a sunrise.

since then that’s the way it’s been, fire calms her. watching the flames dance and the smoke billow, watching how it can transform almost everything to ashes, she loves it.

iv. althea carrow - mother.

like any teenage girl alecto has had her fights with her mother. they have fought since she was a child. they have fought about alecto’s attitude, how she came home with ripped clothes and dirty elbows, how she didn’t speak to her elders with enough respect, how she didn’t speak to her peers with enough respect. then there was the potential fiancé from france, she definitely got in a fight with her mother about how she spoke to him. the fight they had after alecto scared him off is the angriest she has ever seen her mother.

but they love each other all the same. at least alecto knows she loves althea, at times she is unsure whether or not her mother actually returns the sentiment. it was her mother who introduced her to the art of herbology, her mother who taught her which fork to use at the dinner table, who reminded her of her posture, who protected her when she had a bad dream and checked for monsters inside her closet.

so yeah, over the years they have fought and when they do it is explosive. but alecto loves her mother. it is that love which has caused her to rebel so many times because, when alecto got older her mum stopped checking for monsters and stopped reading to her. the one thing that didn’t stop was pointing out her flaws so alecto makes sure her mother sees how flawed she is, that way she doesn’t loose her completely.

v. father - nicolas carrow.

when alecto was a little girl she had a tradition with her dad. while he was reading the newspaper she would sit underneath the table and once he had finished one section he would hand it to her, she would read it and fold it together before her gave her the next. it was their thing. she was his daughter and they read together every morning. until they didn’t.

alecto couldn’t understand when her dad suddenly appeared to stop caring about her. nicolas carrow didn’t look at her the way he once had, when she was six and came home with scraped knees crying he comforted her. when she was twelve he didn’t look her way beyond a disdainful glare. she was a disappointment and alecto could not even tell when it had changed, when she had started to do things all wrong in her father’s eye.

what she knows now is that she isn’t doing anything wrong. she is doing things her own way and her way isn’t compatible with the way her father wants for her. he wants her to marry, to have children, to carry on a pureblood legacy. alecto wants more than that and it’s not something her dad can come to terms with.

vi. amycus carrow - brother.

there is no one else in the world alecto thinks could ever really stand her the way amycus does. she knows she is a lot. she knows her mood swings from serene and smiling to hurricane like destruction is exhausting. she knows that her constant need to be right is annoying. she knows that it is too much when she tries to decide everything about everyone all the time. but those are things which makes alecto who she is and without her brother she knows she would be so much worse.

to alecto her brother is less of a sibling and more of an extension of herself. he knows her secrets and her flaws, he is her strengths and the sides of her that she actually likes. while alecto always wears her heart on her sleeve, she truly is terrible at hiding them, it is her brother who she actually opens her heart up to. amycus knows her and she loves him, throughout her entire life of protecting each other the only thing that has made sense is knowing they’re in it all together.

alecto looks at her brother and sees hope. she sees her ability to love and can be surprised that is even a possibility. she didn’t think she would be able to love someone like that. but, she looks at him and knows she is not a lost cause. she is not all destructive chaos, she is a person capable of opening up her heart if only to the right people and maybe someday that capability will let her fall in love as well. one thing alecto knows is if she ever does fall in love it will be because her brother taught her she is worth it.

vii. thestrals.

when alecto was thirteen years old she walked into the forbidden forest and stumbled upon a clearing. she had been upset. it was the anniversary of her grandmother’s death and she needed to get away from everyone, including her brother. so she ran, ran into the forest and hoped no one had seen her and was off to tell on her to one of the professors. they didn’t find her but she found the clearing and the winged, black, skeletal horse creatures standing there with understanding in their eyes.

her heart was captured the moment she saw them. alecto saw a beauty in their cold and harsh appearance. she saw the softness in how one of the younger ones bumped into her playfully with their head and kept doing so until she was laughing. they cheered her up and then hours later when she got back to the castle she went to the library and found out just what the creatures were - thestrals.

since that day the clearing in the forest is one of her safe spaces. when alecto needs a break she’ll go there, she’ll bring apples for the creatures and she will sit, watching them live their lives and it helps her ground herself in her own life.

viii. the future.

the future quite honestly terrifies alecto more than anything else in the world. her future has been decided for her since the day she was born. she is meant to learn how to dance and play the piano, and speak eloquently and stand up straight, know which fork to use at what point during a dinner, to take care of a home, to have children. she is meant to be the perfect wife. but since she was a little girl alecto has known that what she is meant to be and what she wants to be, have never been the same things.¨

alecto wants to go to mainland europe, or north america, she wants to work with dragons. she has read about the dragon sanctuaries, where they look after the creatures and rehabilitates them when they have been harmed by other witches and wizards. that’s what she wants to do. she wants to help these creatures that have been hurt and care for them.

[lostandwonlove]

In a Lonely Place

Some Rafa ramblings courtesy of the ‘Rona. Hope you like. 

i.

On paper, there was no way she would ever be interested in someone like you. 

You, the mature, meticulous, ADA. She, the prodigious detective recently transferred to Manhattan SVU from some Podunk police department upstate.

Really, Liv? You had asked her as she walked you to her office to discuss the new serial rapist case they’d just caught. There was no one experienced enough in any of the other five boroughs to take this job? Or has Carisi put you off that for life?

Just wait until you meet her, Rafa. She’s done some pretty incredible stuff up there, and I think she’ll be a great addition to the team.

You’d harrumphed. Do they even have juries up there or do is it just a farmer and his 11 sheep?

Just ten actually, you heard a voice say and it made you jump.

I’m sorry?

The owner of the voice, a dark-haired woman in a leather jacket perched on the edge of Liv’s desk, got up and walked towards you. Just ten sheep actually. One of them got caught by the big bad wolf. Real shame. Farmer’s sheepdog makes up the twelve, but honestly, his attention span is poor.

You smirked. So in that sense maybe not all that different from a New York City juror.

Her eyes flicked over you, appraising the candy-cane shirt and tie combo you’d opted for that morning. Well I can see why if you’re wearing that outfit in court.

You’d do well to take a leaf out of my book. Biker-chic doesn’t play well with a jury here.

Play nice, Liv had interjected before taking you through the case they’d built so far.

Your eyes met behind Liv’s head and she smiled at you, mouthed touché, and you felt a sort of uncomfortable lurch in your stomach that you hadn’t really felt since Lauren Sullivan in 11th Grade.

Best to ignore it. No way she would ever be interested in someone like you.  

ii.

- or might she? The way she caught your eye and held it for just a second too long in meetings; the way her eyes flicked over you before she made some comment about the tie you’d taken far too long to choose that morning; the way she always managed to end up sandwiched next to you in the booth at Forlini’s after a big case.

The way she told Amanda ‘all my boyfriends have been older than me’ in response to a drunken conversation about silver foxes, her eyes resting square on you as you felt your heart leap before she burst out laughing and took a sip of her drink.

So what’s your type counsellor, Carisi had asked you, and uncharacteristically relaxed after a big win and two scotches, you’d told him it was girls who wear hoop earrings. You can take the boy out of the Bronx you’d said while the squad hollered around you, so loudly that you almost missed when she leant forward, tucked her hair behind her right ear and pointed at a scar on her earlobe. Learned the hard way that hoop earrings and chasing down perps really don’t mix, she whispered and her warm breath in your ear made your stomach lurch again –

iii.

Alarm goes off at 6.00am. First cup of coffee ten minutes later. You check your emails while you brush your teeth and shave.

Three times a week you jog, just enough to get the doctor off your back about your cholesterol.

Get dressed. Cufflinks, pocket square, tie.

You don’t eat breakfast, never have, even though you can always hear your mother’s voice telling you it’s the most important meal of the day.

Briefcase, packed the night before, by the door. Second cup of coffee on your way to the subway. In the office by 7.30, saying good morning to the night-time security guards who are just about to come off shift.

It’s been that way ever since you can remember.

It’s the same single-mindedness and determination that got you out of Jerome Avenue and to where you are now.

She is no less determined, but where you are all clean lines and black and white, she is hazy, mixed up and all different shades of grey. She always seems to be running late for something, has a messenger bag full of scrunched up old receipts and crumbs and hair ties, leaves the squad car filled with empty soda cans and takeaway boxes.

You find yourself compiling facts about her life. Two brothers, one older one younger, a roommate who works in the mayor’s office, a landlord who was taking forever to fix a dripping faucet in the bathroom. One date that went badly, one date that went realllly well as you overheard her tell Amanda in the break room, and one date that didn’t happen at all.

I need to get off those apps, you heard her tell Fin one day as she fiddled with her phone, waiting outside the court room for a verdict, and you found yourself silently agreeing.

iv.

- all this before you knew that she slept on the right hand side of the bed; hated coffee but drank gallons of diet coke; could do a killer impersonation of Chief Dodds; loved nothing more than classic movie marathons on TCM, your neighbour’s Labrador puppy which reminded her of her childhood dog, Dex, sleeping past noon at the weekend, the crusts of pizza dipped into hot sauce–

v.

Home. Sometimes 9pm, sometimes later.

You pick up dinner along the way. Sushi, salad, noodles. Or leftovers wrapped in foil from Sunday lunch with your mother.

You eat at the dining table, case files spread out in front of you. One scotch, maybe two.

Bed. Sleep, when it comes, is fitful.

More and more you find yourself joining in for squad drinks – ignoring Fin’s raised eyebrows – or taking the slightly longer route past the bar on your way to the subway just in case they’re there – although really you’re doing it for the extra exercise and the fresh air, and it takes you past one of the better bodegas, anyway…

One night in January you run into her on the courthouse steps after a particularly gruesome first trial day and you fall into step.

Is it always like that? She asked, jerking a thumb in the direction of the courthouse.

With Buchanan as defence counsel? Pretty much. You did a great job with your testimony though; you have nothing to worry about.

She gave a half smile. Only because I have a really good ADA.

You reach the bottom of the steps in companionable silence and as you think about the leftover Pad Thai and empty silence waiting for you back at your apartment, you find yourself doing something you haven’t done for a while.

Do you want to grab a drink? You blurt out, and already regret it. I mean, I was going to with Liv but she had to bail to go pick up Noah and it’s been a long day and…

Sloppy seconds, huh? She raises an eyebrow at you.

No, I just mean…

She smiles. Lucky for you, I have no objections to that. But I’m picking.

vi.

- when you told her later, much later, that you hadn’t asked Liv for a drink, never had any intention of doing so, she’d just laughed, told you she’d waited on the steps for half an hour in the hope she’d run into you –

vii.

The place she picks is some dingy, basement dive bar, Dempsey’s, Kelly’s, Dennehy’s, something like that – a place you must have walked past hundreds of times but never really noticed.

This feels like the type of place where my defendants would hang out. You feel out of place in your three-piece suit and cashmere scarf, and can’t ignore the stares of some of the other patrons who were clearly confused as to why you were there, and with her no less. Judging from the bottles behind the bar, you were going to have to find something other than Scotch to drink.

Yeah, your defendants and me. She pulls off her coat and jumps up onto a stool at the bar, where the tattooed bartender places two bottles of generic lager in front of her.  

Thank you Stan, she smiles sweetly. And…? She gestures throwing back a shot and he laughs and nods, pouring tequila into two shot glasses and placing them besides the beer. He gives you a perfunctory nod, clearly puzzled as to why she’s with you.

So this is where you hide then. You take a sip of the beer and try not to wince. You can’t remember the last time you drank beer.

Does that mean you’ve been looking for me then, Mr Barba? She smiles at you over the top of her beer and you feel yourself flush.

Only when I’m trying to track you down and reprimand you for illegal search and seizures. You emphasise illegal, and take another sip of beer. It’s beginning to grow on you.

That was one time, she says, in mock dismay, eyes opening wide. And it cracked that case, so I don’t know what you’re complaining about.

Me? Complain? Never.

She rolls her eyes. Ha. Well I’d rather have you on my side than anyone else.

I’m far too modest to respond to that.

She laughs and rolls her eyes. Modest and Rafael Barba in the same sentence is an oxymoron. It’s the first time you’ve heard her use your first name and you’re embarrassed that it gives you such a jolt of pleasure.

It’s true though, she continues. I’ve worked with some really dismal prosecutors in my time. Guys who turn up, collect a paycheck, go home again. I feel like you live and breathe this. Like you were always supposed to do it.

That’s weird, you quip. When I was younger I always wanted to be Hawkeye Pierce when I grew up.

She looks puzzled.

You groan and take another sip of your beer. No! You cry in mock dismay. You cannot be so young that you don’t know who Hawkeye is. MASH? Alan Alda?  

She shakes her head and wrinkles her nose. When I was younger, I wanted to be Hannah Montana, she offers by way of consolation.

Oh Good God, you say as you rest your head in your hands. How old are you? But when you turn to look at her she’s smiling, her tongue between her teeth, and you can tell she’s messing with you.

Just kidding, she says. For me, it was the Pink Power Ranger.

Thank God. I was worried I was going to have to prosecute you for under-age drinking.

You both laugh at this, and then she stops suddenly. She leans closer to you and you wonder whether this is it, whether she’s going to kiss you. What she does feels much more intimate. She reaches over and grabs your tie, loosening the knot. You’re not in court now, Rafael. She clinks her shot glass to yours, tosses it back before she runs her hand through her hair and smiles at you. You notice, not for the first time, just how pretty she is.

viii.

- when you wake the next morning you realise you’ve slept through your alarm and two missed calls. Your head is pounding and your mouth feels like a cotton wool pad, but you realise, as you frantically splash water on your face that you can’t stop smiling like a maniac –

ix.

Nothing happened that time. Or the time after. Or the time after that.

When it did happen, it wasn’t at all how you imagined. In your head, you were cooler, calmer, way more collected. It was you who initiated it, you who would open up and tell her how you felt at the bar after a couple of drinks. You would ask her out, set a date, pick somewhere nice, dress up.

In reality, the bar rang last call and she signalled for two shots.

No, not again, you laughed. I’m still having to grovel after turning up later after the last time.

Who said one of these was for you? She knocked both of them back herself, one after the other.

Dutch courage she told you and your puzzled expression as she placed one hand on each of your knees, jumping down for the bar stool to stand in between your legs, so that you were eye level. I’ve come to the conclusion that you’re never going to act on anything, so I’ve got to do it myself.

Your heart quickened. What…

But she cut you off as she covered your mouth with hers, her breath warm and sickly sweet from the shot. You felt her mouth curve into a smile as you kissed her back. Good, she murmured. It wasn’t just my imagination.

x.

- God, you were like a horny teenager or something, hands all over her at the bar, continuing outside in the street after you were finally kicked out. You weren’t thinking straight, weren’t thinking anything at all really. Only a bunch of drunk Wall Street bros wolf-whistling broke you out of your reverie, and you stood, staring at each other, panting, lips parted. She pulled at the bottom of your jacket and pressed her body into yours. Well Rafael, I’d invite you back to mine but I have a roommate so –

xi.

In the end, you never really had that date you had planned. She just went from not being in your life to – well, being there.

Now you sleep until 7.30, wake rested, satiated, ready for the day. You drink your coffee in bed, gag in mock horror when she makes you eat breakfast, get dressed while she sings loudly in the shower.

You whistle on your way to the subway, say hi to the morning security team who you don’t recognise, buy coffee for Carmen and the other assistants on the corridor.

She splashes colour right across the black and white of your life.

She leaves coins that she empties out of her pockets on every available surface. She never puts the top back on the toothpaste, leaves the tube snarled and twisted because of her insistence on squeezing from the top and not from the bottom like a normal person. She folds down the corner of pages in books that you’ve kept pristine for years, chews on the end of your pens while she does the crossword, leaves the bed sheets in a crumpled mess, when she wakes up late than you, her damp towel on the bathroom floor.

You leave work on time. She cooks dinner. You work while she stretches out on her stomach on your L-shaped sofa watching black and white movies, while you pretend not to notice the red wine she spills on your cushions.

xii.

- without telling anyone, everyone else seems to know too. Amanda raises her eyebrows knowingly at you when you leave the precinct one night together. I’ve never seen you so relaxed, Liv says, it looks good on you. Most mortifyingly of all you run into Nick at a pharmacy, when he comes up behind you as you’re picking up a box of condoms. Evening counsellor, he says, smirking as he strides past you, turning to wink at you -

xiii.

We’re a bit like them, she had said one night, gesturing to the flickering screen in your apartment where some old black and white movie was playing.

Hmmm, you responded, barely paying attention as your eyes scanned a case file at the dining table behind the sofa where she lounged in shorts and a vest top.

Lauren Bacall and Humphrey Bogart, she said. He was the older, debonair man. She was the sultry younger woman. She paused stretching her legs up in the air seductively, cocking an eyebrow at you.

You laugh half-heartedly. I always thought of myself more as a Gary Cooper.

She looks at you appraisingly. No, definitely a Bogie.

Oh, great, you say. The guy who was so much older than his partner that he died about ten years after they got married.

But he drank and smoked like a sailor.

You raised your glass of scotch to her, tapping it with your index finger. One out of two ain’t bad.

Yeah you need to cut down on those.

And who was it I had to put to bed last week because she drank too much red wine and fell asleep in the taxi home?

She stuck her middle finger up at you. I’m not an old man though.

You grimaced, your exaggerated facial expression only just masking the real pang that shot through you with her words.

She rolled over and jumped off the sofa, stretching and arching her back so that her vest top lifted and you could see the smooth, pale skin of her stomach.

Careful, you’ll give this old man a heart attack.

She turned towards him and grinned. Right on cue, on screen Lauren Bacall turned to Humphrey Bogart.

You know how to whistle, don’t you Rafa? You just put your lips together and blow. She purred as she pushed your papers to one side and straddled you, just before showing you what else her lips could do.

xiv.

- but then all of a sudden it’s sloppy mistakes, uncrossed t’s and undotted i's. It’s McCoy in your office, eyebrows raised in surprise that he’s even having to pull you up on these things. I don’t know what’s got you distracted he says, but I need you to sort it out before we really blunder, the DA’s office can’t afford another mistake –

xv.

On weekends you sleep in, go out for brunch. You walk round the park, laugh as she refuses to accept your help with the crossword. You make plans to try that new French place that’s opened across the street from your apartment, to help her paint her room, to take her skiing.

One weekend you barely even leave the bedroom. After the third time you ask her to slow down, I’m an old man, I’m not like the young studs you’re used to.

She grins and rolls to splay on top of you, her face fitting into the crook of your neck where she says you smell most like you. And where can I find these young studs of which you speak she murmurs, biting your earlobe causing you both to start convulsing with laughter until you’re both on top of each other again and your laughter is replaced by something else entirely.  

xvi.

- you seen Barba’s new piece? You hear a male voice, one you don’t recognise, come into the restroom. Whoever he’s with laughs. Yeah, who would have thought? Must be some real Daddy issues going on there. Then there’s a crude joke about what you’re like in bed. You feel your face burn with anger, but also shame, and you wait until they’re gone before you unlock the cubicle and come out to wash your hands –

xvii.

One Sunday you take her to lunch with your mom. When you pick her up she’s wearing a dress, carrying a bottle of red wine. Is this OK? She asks. Do you think she’ll like it? She fusses with her hair as you knock on the door and wait and you squeeze her hand in reassurance.

You eat your mother’s ropa vieja and hide your embarrassment by drinking your wine while your mother tells the story of how she knew you were going to be a lawyer after you’d argued you, Eddie and Alex out of detention for breaking up a fight on the school bus.

She compliments your mother on her home, asks to see photos of you as a child, clears the table without being asked and gets to work washing up in the kitchen.

Your mother eyes you over the table. You look happy, she says finally.

Why do I feel like that’s not a compliment, you ask.

She takes a sip of her wine. She’s much younger than I was expecting, mijo. Just be careful. I don’t want you to get hurt.  

You make some joke about not being as fit as you once were, but that you weren’t that worried about your cardiac health while she fixed you with a pointed look.

xviii.

- she carries home a Tupperware container filled with leftovers on the subway, asks you how she did, if your mom liked her. She tells you that her big brother is going to be in New York for work next month, that maybe you can all go for dinner at that Thai place you tried last week. You kiss her on the lips and tell her that sounds great, not without noticing the looks you get from the two women sitting across from you who whisper something to one another, the man standing by the door with headphones on who smirks at you –

xix.

You start to doubt yourself.

You notice how the eyes of younger men, better looking men, men with biceps and triceps and god knows what other else-ceps, linger on her when she walks by. The unis in the squad room, the court officers, the barista in the coffee shop by your apartment.

You become ever more aware of the grey hairs creeping into your sideburns, of the way your shirt stretches across your stomach.

You don’t miss the glances her friends exchange with one another when you’re the first to leave drinks to head home.

Jailbait, you hear. Cradle robber. Mid-life crisis. Barba? Thought he was gay. Must be rich, huh.  

It starts to feel wrong, illicit. You lie and tell her you need to stay late at work, that maybe it’s best if she doesn’t come over tonight, you’ll see her at the weekend.

xx.

- you don’t tell her how much it hurts when she sends you a selfie of her and Carisi and Amaro later that night. Her eyes are scrunched up in a smile and she has one arm draped lazily over Nick’s shoulder, while Sonny’s hand grabs her waist. Hope work going ok, she texts with a winky face emoji. You lock your phone and place it face down on the coffee table at home where you’ve been all evening, drinking scotch and watching CSPAN –

xxi.

You’ve never really broken up with someone before. It’s strange for someone who’s normally so assertive, so intentional about their life and their work, but you’ve either just let things fizzle out slowly or pull back long enough for the other person to break up with you.

That doesn’t work this time.

We need to talk, she says as you open your front door to you one night. You’re caught off guard, expecting the delivery driver with your Chinese, and she marches straight past you, arms folded, mouth in a line.

What the hell is going on with you?

Nothing, you say. I’ve just been busy. I keep meaning to call you.

Seriously? She says. That’s what you’re going with?

Unusually, you find yourself lost for words, stunned into silence by her eyes that are shiny with rage. You try to think of something clever to say but find yourself only able to shrug half-heartedly.  

Because from my point of view you’re behaving like a frat boy asshole, and I’m way too old to have to deal with that shit anymore. I don’t understand… She tails off, as if she’s tired herself out. She collapses on the sofa and you realise that her eyes are not shining with rage, but with something else entirely. Hurt.

What did I do, Raf?

You didn’t do anything you want to say. You’re beautiful and perfect and incredible and deserve so much more than me and what everyone else says about us. You’re better off without me and I wish things were different. You don’t say any of that, throat so thick with emotion that you barely trust yourself to speak at all.

I just don’t see this working out, you say instead.

She stares at you wordlessly, apparently waiting for you to continue. When you don’t, she stands, winds the scarf she’s been holding in her hand around her neck and moves to leave. She stops at the door, looks back at you. God, I’ve been such a fucking idiot, haven’t I.

You move towards her, reaching a handout to touch your shoulder. I still really want us to be frie…

She recoils like you just slapped here. Don’t even say it, she had snapped suddenly, pulling away from you, eyes flashing.  Fuck you.

And then she’s gone, door slamming behind her, leaving you stunned into silence until its broken by the door buzzer going again. Your Chinese food has arrived.  

xxii.

- only to have that thrown back in your face months later when you joined the squad for drinks, Amanda asking what had happened to you guys, oh we decided that we’re better off as FRIENDS, she said, but you couldn’t miss the hard edge in her voice, the split second when she made direct eye contact with you –

xxiii.

Your alarm goes off at 6.00am. Coffee, emails, shower and shave.

You get dressed. Cufflinks, pocket square, tie, avoiding the yellow and black striped one she said made you look like a bumblebee.

Briefcase, coffee shop, subway. You ignore the security guards gossiping as they finish their shift, head straight to your office.

It’s always Nick or Amanda who come to collect the warrants or to drop off files now. When you’re forced to go down to the precinct for a line-up or to meet with Liv, she’s conspicuously absent, always out on a job or on a coffee run.

You think you catch a glimpse of her in a packed courtroom one day, but she leaves right as its adjourned, takes the stairs and doesn’t linger out on the courthouse steps.

Excellent job, says McCoy, fantastic work on the Barker case. The folks at City Hall are really taking notice. Rumours of a judicial appointment are circulating.

You go home late, when it’s already dark. It’s quiet. Your bed is perfectly made, the dishwasher stacked exactly how you like it, the towels are hung up. You turn on the lights, unpack your take-out and eat it alone at the dining room table in silence.

You like it better like this, you tell yourself. Everything back to the way it was.

xxiv.

- but sometimes you ran Turner Classic Movies while you worked late at night, until you caught a snippet of Humphrey Bogart speaking to a woman in a car. I was born when she kissed me, I died when she left me, I lived a few weeks while she loved me, he said. You turned it off and worked in silence for the rest of the month –

xxv.

She calls you once. It’s Thursday night, you’re still in the office.

Hey, she says, long and slow and you can tell she’s be drinking, can tell from the background noise that she’s probably still out somewhere. Her voice is warm and syrupy and you feel your stomach tighten.

I miss you, she says.

Please don’t do this, you ask.

Do what, she says. I just wanted to phone to speak to you. Like friends do. Her voice turns sharp and bitter then before she bursts out laughing.

I think you should go home.

There’s nothing on the end of the line then, just shouting and static.

Hello? You say.

Sorry, she slurs. I dropped the phone. What did you say?

I said I think you should hang up this call and go home. I think you’re going to regret this tomorrow morning.

OK Dad. She starts laughing again. Dad, that’s what everyone said to me when we were dating, like I had some sort of Electro complex.

Electra, you correct.

Yeah that’s the one. Which is ridiculous, because I just liked you so much.

She pauses. So so much.

You sigh. I’m going to hang up now, you tell her.

Not if I hang up first, she responds and then the line goes dead. You put your phone on silent and bury it at the bottom of your desk drawer but she doesn’t call back.

xxvi.

- she’s running late the next morning, Liv tells you as you sit in her office. Something about a broken shower. You see her walk in two hours later, sunglasses on, dumping her coat and her bag on the floor beside her desk, avoiding eye contact with anybody. When you leave Liv’s office she bolts from her desk, mutters something about needing some fresh air and she’s gone before you can say anything -

xxvii.

It’s a cold, overcast March Monday the next time you see her.

We need you up at Green Haven, Liv tells you over the phone. A low-level trafficker offering to spill on the rest of the organisation in exchange for a few years off a sentence. I’ll send someone up with you, I seem to remember Uber doesn’t go that far.

You roll your eyes at the joke that you’ve heard too many times for it to be funny. Just send anyone but Carisi, you say. That guy insisted on listening to Journey the whole way there and back.

When you head out to meet the car a couple of hours later, it’s not Carisi in the driver’s seat. It’s her, staring straight ahead, hands clutching the steering wheel, sunglasses on despite the clouds.

Save it, she says. I was all for inflicting Carisi’s one man Journey tribute act on you, but according to Liv I’m the only one who has a rapport with this guy.

xxviii.

- it’s not until you check your phone at a rest stop that you see the message from Liv with just the winky face emoji –

xxix.

The silence is excruciating. She fiddles with the radio as you head of the city but the reception keeps dropping in and out until the only station you can pick up is some call-in show about vegetable gardening that even she can’t stand listening to. She turns it off and you continue in silence.

The visit itself goes smoothly, the trafficker spills without any encouragement. You agree three years off the sentence if the information turns out to be true.

Then you’re back out again, her striding towards the card ahead of you. Hey, you say. Come on. I really don’t want to spend another 2 hours with you in complete silence. Can we talk?

She stops and turns to look at you. You know I’ve always thought Greenhaven Correctional Facility had the perfect ambience for difficult discussions with ex-lovers.

You laugh despite yourself. I didn’t mean here. Look, what was that place we passed on the turn-off on our way here? Ray’s? Jay’s?

As it turns out, it was Sal’s, and that’s where you found yourself sitting next to her on the hood of the car, drinking one of the worst cups of coffee you’ve ever had in your life. You’re both quiet for what seems like an age, the low hum of the cars passing on the highway the only sound.

I feel like I owe you an apology, you finally start.

She snorts derisively.

I treated you like a – what were the words you used again – ah yes, a fratboy asshole. That gets a weak laugh out of her. I’m sorry.

She shrugs in a way that seems defeated. I just don’t understand what happened, Rafa. I thought things were going great, I met your mom – which, you should know, is not something I do with every guy – and then next minute you’re just gone.

She takes off her sunglasses and looks at you dead in the eye for what’s probably the first time that day. I just want to know why.

You take a deep breath. Honestly? You ask.

Honestly, she says.

I got sick of people making comments about us. I’m what, 20 years older than you? And I look it too. It felt like everyone was judging me, making me feel like I was some sort of perv. I started to believe it; maybe it was disgusting, maybe you were better off without me.

She laughs outright at that. Seriously? Don’t you think I get to have a say in whether I’m better off without you? She says. Because I don’t think I am. People can say whatever they want to, I only care about what me and you say.

She pauses. Also, you are a bit of a perv.

That makes you laugh softly too. You know, I wish I’d had a girlfriend as mature as you when I was your age. I’d probably be in a lot better shape than I am now.

She purses her lips and moves her head from side to side as if she’s considering something. Yeah well, maybe you’d be married to them and you wouldn’t even have noticed me. And I’d probably be dating some fratboy asshole who could never make me nearly as happy as I was when I was with you.

You sit in silence briefly. Then you slide your hand over to cover hers laying on the hood. Was, you ask? Past tense.

She just takes a sip of energy drink from some luminescent can and makes a face. Ugh, she says. If I’m going to date you, maybe it’s finally time I learn to like coffee.

xxx.

When you open your eyes the next morning, its light and for the first time in a long time, you don’t remember having wakened in the night.

You can see a pile of change and scrunched up receipts on your bedside table. A pair of jeans thrown on the chair in the corner. You can hear the shower running and her voice as she sings along to the radio.

You smile.

[mangodrama]

30 day thinspo challenge

Day One- Your stats

SW - 135//CW - 122//UGW - 108-112

Day Two- How tall are you? Do you like your height?

I’m 5’4’’. I do like my height. I think it makes lots of things easier! Airplane travel, dating (if dating someone taller is a preference), finding short skits that aren’t to short to wear, wearing heels, etc.

Day Three- A picture of your thinspiration. What features do you like about this person?

Ariana grande is my thinspiration of the moment. I really love her arms and also how narrow her hips are. She reminds me of what I looked like at my LW and what will look when I reach my UGW 🙌🏼🤞🏼💪🏼

Day Four- Your greatest fears about weight loss.

Not making enough progress in time 😞

Day Five- Why do you really want to lose this weight? Are you doing it for you?

Definitely for me. It’s all about living at my full potential. I honestly was happier when I was at my lowest weight. I really really want to get back to that ASAP.

Day Six- Do you binge? If so, explain why you think you do.

Yes I do 😣 I’ve struggled with bulimia on and off since I was about 12. While I had the tendency to overeat since a very young age, I haven’t really practiced a more stereotypical type of binge purge activity until the past year. I really really hate it but so much of it is addicting and reinforcing—the act of binging (huge dopamine hits from eating ‘forbidden’ foods especially after a period of extreme restriction), getting on the scale the next morning and not seeing it go up after a night of hedonistic eating (not usually the case, and typically it will go up even more the following day after rehydrating or giving in to extreme urges after putting my body through the trauma of purging).

I’ve also noticed that now I’m in my 20s the after effects of a b/p session are much worse. I wake up feeling terrible (I b/p at night, never AM yet and I’m normally I’m a morning person), my face is swollen, my mouth burns and tastes bad for the next 2 days, my stomach cramps when I exercise, etc. etc. etc...

I think I’ve identified a few things that either trigger or increase my chances of b/p’ing: stress at work, anticipating an event, not regularly exercising, restrictive eating, drinking, going over my calorie budget.

Day Seven- Do your parents know you’re trying to lose weight? Do they care?

I love alone, 3,000 miles alway for my parents so not really pertinent but my mom knows I’m trying to get down to my “normal weight” (I don’t think she knows what that number means to me). I’ve never been scary thin so they have no reason to worry other than my past know/diagnosed issues with bulimia.

Day Eight- Your workout routine.

I looooove to exercise. It puts me in such a good mood so I try to eat a large portion of my calories 2 hours before my workouts so I’ll perform better even when I’m restricting.

At the moment I’ve been aiming for 4 workouts a week—3 cardio hip hop classes and 1 cardio/body weight/yoga fusion class. I’ll typically burn 400 active calories in each of these classes (based on Apple Watch). I also aim for 400 calories of active calories/day (but will usually only hit 350 on non-workout days. I walk to and from work (1/2 mile each way) and always carry my groceries home each week.

I want to add in daily abs in November (maybe just 1 min plank x 3) since I’ll be in a bikini in December ✈️🌴🌊

Day Nine- Did people ever make comments about your weight in a negative way?

No I’ve been lucky enough to never experience this. I think it’s because I’ve always been a healthy weight (never too heavy or too light) and my life has been really sheltered. There was one time in 8th grade when my friend and i were fighting and she said something kind of mean but i won’t even repeat it because it was so dumb/silly 😂. Although it did really bother me.

I think if someone made a negative comment about me being too heavy it would really really upset me. Like trigger a mental break down kind of upset. If someone were to comment on me being too skinny on the other hand...well I don’t see this happening but you know what they say: you can never be too rich or too thin.

Day Ten- What was the hardest thing you gave up during this “weight loss.”

Probably studying for my grad school admission test. I just don’t have the energy anymore. Oh well...once I reach my goal weight I’ll start, right? Lol.

Day Eleven- Your favorite thinspo blog and why!

Don’t have one yet I’m still new to all this...

Day Twelve- What do you normally eat?

6:45 AM - ACV with cinnamon and hot water first thing every morning

7 AM Big breakfast (350-450 cals)

10 AM coffee with a little oat milk (30 cals)

Noon Big lunch (400-500 cals)

Then I fast until the next morning, which usually comes out to be 18 hours of fasting (18:6 intermittent fasting).

Ive been aiming for 950 cals per day. This past week was hard with Halloween and I didn’t do too well 😞.

Day Thirteen- Are you losing weight in a healthy or unhealthy way?

Unhealthy. I’ve lost weight before in a healthy way, which was much more sustainable and ultimately successful (and faster too, at least overall). Oh well.

Day fourteen- What’s your UGW? When you expect to reach it?

UGW is 108. I don’t expect to get there this year with travel and holiday plans but I’m hoping by March ‘20.

Day Fifteen- Are you vegan or vegetarian? If so, has this helped you lose weight? If not, would you ever consider turning vegan or vegetarian?

I am not. I was briefly a (bad) vegetarian who only ate carbs and gained a lot of weight. I would consider giving it another go for environmental reasons but not to lose weight.

Day Sixteen- When did you first decide to lose weight?

Day Seventeen- Do you have an eating disorder?

Day Eighteen- What food is your weakness?

Day Nineteen- When is the last time you ate fast food?

Day Twenty- Favorite diet?

Day Twenty-One- What are your clothing sizes?

Day Twenty-Two- What was your lowest weight? How and why did you gain?

Day Twenty-Three- Did the media play a role in your wanting to lose weight?

Day Twenty-Four- How do you feel about the terms pro-ana/pro-mia

Day Twenty-Five- Have you ever purged? If you have, describe your first experience.

Day Twenty-Six- What excites you most about reaching your ugw?

Day Twenty-Seven- How do you deal with being around food?

Day Twenty-Eight- Do you want that “gap” between your legs? Why?

Day Twenty-Nine- Your definition of beauty.

Day Thirty-10 facts about you! And now, what are your stats?

[breeeliss]

short chlodrien wip

(this started off as a headcanon list, but now it’s a WIP i might keep and try to make longer in the future <3)

i. 

they’re four when they attend their first christmas party. 

it’s too loud, too bright, filled with too many drunk adults and not enough children. so adrien packs up a plate full of desserts, crawls underneath one of the dinner tables, and pulls chloe along with him. it’s dusty, and sometimes people accidentally kick their feet under the table when they pass, but it’s the only place chloe and adrien feel like they can breathe. they lick chocolate from their fingers, play thumb wars, and talk about their parents. 

adrien’s parents fought during the whole car ride to the party. chloe’s parents haven’t spoken in two months. it’s easier to keep eating and playing than to convince each other that it isn’t their faults. 

ii. 

they’re eight when chloe runs away from home for the first time. 

she patiently sits through all the court proceedings and watches her mother admit to the lawyer that she never really wanted a child in the first place. that she couldn’t stand to look at chloe right after she’d been born. that it hurt to hold her. her butler dries her tears on the car ride home and calmly tries to explain why she was never going to see her mother again. 

chloe waits until her father is asleep, sneaks downstairs with a bag filled with clothes, takes the bus to adrien’s house all by herself, and asks him if she can spend the night. adrien sneaks her past his parents’ room, locks his bedroom door, and lets her sleep in his bed while she cries into his pillows. 

she asks him what “divorce” and “full custody” mean. adrien says he isn’t sure.

iii. 

they’re twelve when they drunk for the first time. 

chloe misses her mother, adrien’s parents are sleeping in separate rooms, and agreste christmas parties have always been so boring. so they steal a bottle of champagne, run upstairs, and hide themselves in his mother’s drawing room. it takes them twenty minutes to get the cork off, but eventually they’re finishing half the bottle by themselves, rolling around the floor, and feeling happy and lightheaded for reasons they don’t quite understand. 

it’s too hard for them to stand so they stay collapsed against one of the couches. chloe’s legs are thrown over adrien’s lap and her head is resting on his shoulder when she tells him, “i get why adults drink now.” 

adrien thinks about the liquor cabinet in his own father’s office and asks her why. 

“because it makes them happy. it makes them feel silly and wobbly and they can sit on the floor like us and let everything get all fuzzy.”

chloe laughs into his neck and says fuzzy over and over again because she likes the sound of the word. but adrien is too busy thinking about the liquor cabinet in his father’s office and the fact that his mother has suddenly acquired a taste for wine. 

iv. 

they’re thirteen when adrien’s mother disappears. 

adrien says “disappear” because his father won’t tell him where she went. one day adrien wakes up, his mother isn’t sleeping in her room, and his father is locked in his office and won’t even open the door to see his son. nathalie tells him to focus on eating, focus on his lessons, focus on the modeling shoot he has that afternoon. but adrien can’t focus without answers and suddenly his house feels too empty, too exact, too clinical, too disgusting. 

when chloe finally comes over, he doesn’t say anything when he takes her to the dining room and pulls her underneath the table with him. 

they play thumb wars for an hour until adrien finally tells chloe what happened. chloe loves to talk a lot, but this time she’s quiet because she doesn’t know what to tell him. her mother disappeared too and she still doesn’t know why. 

“i think it’s my fault,” he tells her. “maman didn’t like papa but she still stayed. maybe she left because she stopped loving me too.”

chloe brushes his tears off his cheek and licks them off her thumb. “your mother loved you. you didn’t do anything wrong. she was silly to leave you.” 

“she was silly to leave you too.”

v. 

they’re fourteen when they decide to spend mother’s days together since their fathers both stopped celebrating. 

chloe doesn’t do it for her mother. she doesn’t do it for adrien’s mother. she does it for adrien. because she hates when he’s alone in his father’s house. she hates that there isn’t someone around to love him on this day. so chloe orders the chocolates, buys lots of flowers, and cuddles with him on her couch while they eat too many sweets and watch all of adrien’s favorite movies. adrien isn’t interested in talking and chloe decides not to force him. 

he trudges his feet so much when he mentions having to go home that chloe decides to let him stay over. they crawl into bed with each other like they used to when they were kids and adrien doesn’t think before he wraps his arms around chloe and buries his face in her chest. chloe wonders if his mother used to hold him like this, so she starts petting his hair and humming songs in his ears and hopes it makes him feel better. she feels his body slump and hears his breathing deepen, and she’s glad that it helps. 

it’s late at night and chloe thinks that adrien is about to fall asleep before he mutters against her skin. “i’ll love you better than your mother did.” 

he stares at her with red eyes and flushed cheeks when he says it again. “i’m sorry your mother didn’t love you enough. but i’ll love you better than she did. okay?”

chloe isn’t sure where this comes from, but she nods and takes his promise to heart. “i’m sorry your mother left. but i’ll love you twice as hard until she comes back.” 

adrien laughs and nods, and they seal it with the pink promise they used when they promised they’d be friends forever. but adrien doesn’t let go of her finger right away. instead he squeezes and stares at her for a long time as if he’s waiting for his mouth to help him say something. chloe watches his face get closer, and she doesn’t believe the kiss is real until he’s sighing out through his nose and following her lips when she opens her mouth and pushes against him. 

it’s slow, it’s careful, and it lasts until adrien dozes off with his lips still pressed against chloe’s. she tucks his head underneath her chin and guiltily hopes that their mothers never ever come back. 

[thepeanutbutterwizard]

Precipice Chapter 5: The Saddest Song

Here we go!  The angst train is leaving the station!

Chapter 4       Chapter 6

Warnings for blood, violence, and some...freaky-deaky eerie magical implications.

This one guys, this one got painful.  Enjoy!

Ford was paralyzed.  No, no, nonono.  This can’t be happening.  This can’t be real.  His breath hitched in his lungs, and it felt like ice was forming in his chest, squeezing his heart.  He was caught like a deer in the headlights under the yellow glare coming from his brothers eyes.

”IN THE FLESH FORDSY!” Bill cackled through Stan. “WELL, NOT MY FLESH YET, BUT THIS IS BETTER THAN NOTHING.  ESPECIALLY SINCE YOU DECIDED TO BLOCK ALL MY CALLS.”  Bill awkwardly moved Stan’s broken arm and knocked the plaster cast against his head, hard. “TALK ABOUT RUDE.”

Blood stated to seep through the bandages around Stan’s head where Bill had banged the cast against it.  The sight of the crimson stain growing on the white bandages snapped Ford out of his stupor. “BILL!”  Ford yelled, his voice thick with fear and rage “Get out of my brother!”

”AWW LOOK AT YOU FORDSY, PRETENDING TO BE A CARING BROTHER AFTER FORTY YEARS OF HATING OL’ STANLEY’S GUTS!  IT’S ADORABLE WATCHING YOU MEAT SACKS AND YOUR DELUSIONS OF LOVE AND ALL THAT JUNK!”  Bills grin impossibly got wider, stretching Stanley’s face to the point that it made Ford’s cheeks hurt just looking at him.  “BUT HEY, IF YOU INSIST ON PRETENDING TO LOVE YOUR DUMB BROTHER, I’LL PLAY ALONG!”  Bill twisted, swinging Stanley’s broken arm over to the one that was tied to the bed.  Before Ford could even process what Bill was doing, he grabbed Stan’s thumb and gave it a hard wrench.  A sickening ‘pop’ echoed through the hospital room, and Bill slid Stan’s hand through the restraint with a loud, pleased laugh.  “OHH MAN!  I FORGOT HOW AMAZING IT FEELS TO DISLOCATE FINGERS!  I MEAN, A DISLOCATED ARM IS FUN AND ALL, BUT THERE’S JUST SOMETHING SO INTENSE ABOUT DISLOCATING SOMETHING SO SMALL!”  Bill reached down and undid the restraints around Stan’s ankles, before throwing the thin hospital sheet and Mabel’s beautiful gift to the floor.  He swung around, hanging Stan’s legs off the side of the bed, and threw his arms out as best he could, tugging the IV lines taught.  “COME GIVE YOUR BROTHER A HUG SIXER!  WE BOTH KNOW YOU WANT TO!”

Ford took a step back, mind racing.  “This is a trick!  Enough of your games Cipher!  Leave me in peace!”  This was all a dream.  That was the only situation that made sense.  Ford must have fallen asleep in that chair, and left himself open, vulnerable to Cipher and his power over the Mindscape. That had to be what was happening.  Ford knew that Stan would never fall for Bill’s tricks and flattery.

“OH HO HO, YOU WISH THIS WAS A TRICK SIXER!”  Bill cackled  “YOU WISH THAT THIS WAS JUST ONE OF YOUR NIGHTMARES!  BUT, NOPE, THIS IS 100 PERCENT, CERTIFIABLY REAL!”  Bill waved Stan’s arms around, doing his best to aggravate Stan’s broken arm by banging it against his chest repeatedly.  “Y’SEE, EVEN THOUGH HE ISN’T QUITE PRESENT, STANNY BOY’S MINDSCAPE IS VERY MUCH ACTIVE!  WELL,  IT’S AS ACTIVE AS AN IDIOT LIKE YOUR BROTHER’S CAN BE!”

“Don’t you dare!”  Ford roared, pointing a finger at Bill and taking a step forward.  Hot rage and icy fear were both swirling in Fords chest, making it difficult to decide what to do.  Part of him wanted to flee, and part of him wanted to fight.  But Ford was certain of one thing: whatever he did, he wasn’t going to leave Stanley.  “Don’t you dare insult my brother!”

Bill waved Stanley’s right hand dismissively, making the dislocated thumb stick out at an awkward angle.  A small trickle of blood started to flow out from under Stanley’s bandages. “OH PUH-LEASE SMART GUY!  DON’T PRETEND THAT I’M NOT SAYING ANYTHING THAT YOU HAVEN’T THOUGHT!  I’VE SEEN EVERY INCH OF YOUR MIND STANFORD!  WE BOTH AGREE THAT STANLEY IS JUST A GOOD-FOR-NOTHING LYING BUM!”

“Shut up Bill!  Shut up and leave him alone, he’s hurt!”  Ford took another step towards Bill, hands held out in a placating gesture.  Over Stan’s shoulder, Ford caught sight of a small metal tray next to the bed, with a single needle filled with a clear drug, resting on it.  One of the doctors must have left it, in case Stanley had woken up violently again.  A vague plan, more like a snippet of one, started to form in Ford’s mind.  Perhaps I could use that to expel Bill from Stanley’s body.  I just need to get around him with out Bill figuring out what I’m trying to do, or else who knows what he could try to do to Stanley. Let’s see if I can get him rambling.  Bill loves to talk about himself.  “Leave, before one of the doctors comes to see why his breathing tube disconnected.”  Ford knew it was a clumsy change in topic, but he had to try.

“PFFT, AS IF SIXER!”  Bill didn’t seem to notice or care about Fords desperate conversation switch.  “I’VE BEEN TRYING TO GET AHOLD OF THIS BODY SINCE STANLEY BROKE HIS SKULL OPEN!  EVEN WHEN HE’S HALUCINATING ABOUT YOU TWO BEING ON THAT STUPID BOAT, STANLEY’S PRETTY CRAFTY!  A CONMAN AFTER MY OWN NONEXISTANT HEART, HE IS!”  Bill’s voice was filled with mock pride as he spoke.  It made Ford sick to hear him talking about Stanley, his Stanley, his brother, his twin, like he was some sort of prized protégée.  “I’M INSULTED THAT YOU THINK I WOULD WASTE ALL OF THAT EFFORT TO GET HERE WITHOUT MAKING SURE THE MEAT SACKS THAT FIX BROKEN MEAT SACKS WERE OUT OF THE WAY!  NO ONE IS GOING TO BOTHER COMING AROUND HERE FOR AT LEAST AN HOUR AND A HALF.”   Bill’s grin shifted into something more taunting.  A spike of fear stabbed Ford in the heart.  Oh no, what now?  “IN FACT I’M SO INSULTED, I THINK I MIGHT DO...THIS!!”  In one swift movement, Bill dislocated another one of Stan’s fingers, letting out another insane peal of laughter.

“STOP!”  Ford’s voice cracked as he screamed at Bill.  “Bill, please, please I’m begging you!”  He reached out to Stanley, taking another step forward.  Ford’s outstretched hand’s were mere inches away from Stanley’s wrists.  Maybe if I go now, I could get to the sedative, and end this now!

“REALLY?  THE HIGH AND MIGHTY DR. STANFORD FILBRICK PINES PhD TIMES TWELVE, BROUGHT SO LOW THAT HE’S BEGGING SOMEONE FOR SOMETHING?  I NEVER THOUGHT I’D SEE THE DAY!”  Bill taunted  “AND I NEVER THOUGHT YOUR DUMB BROTHER WOULD BE THE THING YOU’RE BEGGING FOR!”  Bill laughed, smacking Stanley’s thigh with his broken arm as he did so.  The cast clunked as it hit the brace on Stanley’s leg, and Bill laughed harder at the pain  "THAT IS RICH I TELL YA FORDSY!  BUT HEY, SINCE YOU’RE BEGGING AND ALL, YOU MIGHT AS WELL DO IT PROPERLY!”  Bill placed one of Stanley’s injured fingers on Fords forehead and gave a weak push.  Ford had no choice but to step back, further away from the demon wearing his brother’s skin and the syringe that could end the living hell Ford had to rescue Stan from.  “WHY DON’T YOU TAKE A COUPLE OF STEPS BACK FORDSY?  GIVE US SOME SPACE, AND KNEEL FOR US SIXER!”  Bill cackled.

Ford hesitated.  He couldn’t kneel to Cipher!  He needed to stay on his feet, needed to get to that sedative, before Bill tried to throw Stanley’s body down the stairs across the hall, or something even worse.  And even though he wouldn’t admit it to himself, a small part of Ford felt repulsed at the idea of showing any sort of subservience to the triangular demon, for any reason.  Ford was long past the days he thought Bill was worth any sort of praise.

Bills smile twisted sinisterly.  “WELL, THAT’S A SHAME THAT IS.  YOU CAN’T EVEN BEG FOR YOUR OWN BROTHER’S LIFE PROPERLY!  BUT HEY, WE BOTH KNOW YOU DON’T REALLY LOVE THIS GUY SIXER! YOU JUST WANNA PLAY THE HERO LIKE ALWAYS, DON’T YOU?  BE THE BETTER BROTHER AGAIN, RIGHT?”  Bill scoffed.  “BUT REALLY, THIS GUY ISN’T WORTH YOUR PITY.  YOU CAN DROP THE ACT FORDSY, IT’S JUST US TWO OLD FRIENDS HERE!”  Bill rolled his eyes in disdain and absently waved Stanley’s hand around, gesturing vaguely towards the ceiling with Stanley’s dislocated fingers. “WELL, STAN IS FLOATING AROUND HERE TOO, BUT HE’S A LITTLE, ‘OUT OF ORDER’ AT THE MOMENT, IF YOU CATCH MY DRIFT.” Bill laughed, lower and more sinisterly than normal.  The demons words alarmed Ford.  What could he mean by that?  Bill reached over and grabbed another one of Stanley’s fingers.

Ford’s heart leapt straight into his throat, almost choking him as he desperately cried out to the demon “WAIT!”  Ford held his hands up and dropped to his knees, looking up at Bill.  “Wait.  Please, I’m kneeling Bill. I am kneeling and I am begging you to leave Stanley alone.”  Ford watched in trepidation as Bill eyed him with an unreadable look on Stanley’s face.  A familiar feeling of unease settled in Ford’s stomach.  He could remember the days when Stanley and him had been able to read each others faces like open books.  Ever since Ford had been brought home, that bond had been achingly absent despite Ford’s attempts to ignore that feeling of loss, but it was the times when he would look at Stanley and not be able to read anything off of him that Ford felt the absence of that connection the most.  This time was a thousand times worse than all the other times though.  “Please, just give me my brother back, Bill.”

Bill laughed. “THIS IS PATHETIC SIXER!  YOU SOUND JUST LIKE STANLEY HERE DID WHEN WE MADE OUR DEAL LAST NIGHT.” 

Ford blinked in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Bill groaned  “STAN’S MINDSCAPE HAS BEEN STUCK ON ONE PARTICULAR MEMORY SINCE HIS HILARIOUS LITTLE ACCIDENT.  SOME DUMB THING WITH THE TWO OF YOU ON THAT BEAT UP OLD BOAT.  HE KEPT IGNORING ME WHEN HE THOUGHT THE TWO OF YOU WERE STILL BUDDY-BUDDY, AND HIS MINDSCAPE IS SO MUDDLED THAT IT TOOK ME AWHILE TO DREDGE UP A DIFFERENT MEMORY TO STICK HIM IN.  BUT BOY, WAS IT WORTH IT!  IT TOOK BARELY A MINUTE BEFORE STANLEY WAS BEGGING ME ‘I WANT MY BROTHER BACK, PLEASE, JUST GIVE ME MY BROTHER BACK.” Bill mocked. “AND, AS A BONUS, THAT MADE HIM START FREAKING OUT OUT HERE.  NOW THAT WAS A GREAT SHOW!”

Ford gaped up at Bill.  “What memory did you-did you put Stanley in?”  Ford knew Stan had gone to jail before, and a vague memory having to do with the trunk of a car poked the corners of his brain.  He had no idea what could have been so bad, so terrible, to make Stanley react the way he did.

Bill smirked at Ford, leered at him down on the ground.  The blood running down Stanley’s face had increased, and had started to drip off of his chin.  The crimson droplets fell all the way down to the floor, landing on the blanket Mabel had knit.  The grey wool of the sailboat absorbed the blood, turning a murky, ugly color.  “I JUST TOOK HIM BACK TO THE WORST NIGHT OF HIS LIFE FORDSY.”  Bill said in a manner-of-fact tone.  “THE NIGHT HE GOT KICKED OUT AND STARTED LIVING IN HIS CAR.”  Bill held Fords gaze for a moment, yellow against brown, before he wrenched Stanley’s finger backward.  There was a sickening ‘snap’ along with the horrible ‘pop’, and Bill laughed hysterically as Ford cried out in desperation “STOP IT!”

“OH MAN OH MAN OH MAN, I THINK I BROKE THAT FINGER AND DISLOCATED IT AT THE SAME TIME!  I’VE NEVER DONE THAT BEFORE SIXER, NOT EVEN WITH YOU!”  Bill wiped a mirthful tear off of Stanley’s face, smearing the blood from Stanley’s head wound.  He grabbed another one of Stanley’s fingers, smiling with cruel glee.

“PLEASE BILL, PLEASE!”  Ford screamed at the demon, tears filling his eyes again. His hands smacked the ground, fingers spread wide.  “LEAVE HIM ALONE!!”  Ford couldn’t look up at the demon anymore, couldn’t bare to see those yellow eyes in his brothers face.  He bowed his head, screwed his eyes shut, and tried to look as submissive as possible.  Ford clenched his teeth, holding back a sob.  He felt so useless!  The only reason Stanley was in this mess in the first place was because of Ford and his research and his stubborn pride.  Ford had to play along with Bill’s sick game until he could get the sedative, and hopefully that would work.  If he had to kneel and beg, he would kneel and he would beg.  For Stanley.

“HMM, YOU KNOW, THAT’S A REALLY CONVINCING ARGUMENT STANFORD.”  Bills voice dripped with sarcasm.  “I THINK I’M ACTUALLY GONNA LISTEN TO YOU AND LEAVE THIS WORTHLESS WASTE OF SPACE YOU CALL A BROTHER.”  Ford’s hands clenched into fists on the ground as Bill insulted Stanley again, but he forced himself not to react.  There was a tense pause.  “HAHA, JUST KIDDING!  WE BOTH KNOW I’M NOT GOING ANYWHERE UNTILL I GET WHAT I WANT FORDSY!”  Bill said in a sing-song tone, swinging Stanley’s good leg back and forth to beat out a solemn rhythm on the side of the hospital bed.

“The Rift.”  Ford breathed out, eyes snapping open to stare at the hospital floor.  Of course that was what this was all about.  Bill was holding Stanley hostage in order to get the Rift.  Ford’s stomach dropped in despair.

“DING DING DING, YOU GOT IT IN ONE TRY!”  Bill mockingly cheered, clapping Stanley’s injured hands together.  Ford felt nauseous when he saw the angles Stanley’s finger were bent at.  “NOW, HERE’S WHAT WE’LL DO.  I’LL PLAY COMATOSE FOR A BIT WHILE YOU RUN HOME AND GET THE RIFT!  WE TRADE OFF, ONE TEAR IN THE VERY FABRIC OF SPACE FOR ONE USELESS BROKEN OLD MEAT-SACK, AND THEN WE’LL CALL IT A DAY!  HOW’S THAT SOUND FORDSY, DO WE HAVE A DEAL?”  Bill offered Ford a handshake with Stanley’s mangled hand, a smug, self-confident grin on his stolen face.

“No.”  The word barely made it out of Ford’s mouth, but it still stung and burned his throat as he forced himself to say it.  “You can’t have the Rift.”  Ford knew he was condemning his brother to further torture, and every molecule he was comprised of protested.  But if Bill got the Rift, Stanley, as well as everyone else in Fords home dimension, would be as good as dead.  Ford knew he could force Bill out of his brother’s body, he knew that this was the right decision, the only decision that could be made.  But that didn’t stop him from hating himself for it.

“HMM.”  Bill hummed contemplatively, and Ford felt his heart stop and his blood run cold.  He had been expecting Bill to rage, and more than likely make Stanley suffer more.  Ford had been hoping that Bill would get so angry he could make a dash for the sedative.  Now, he froze to the ground, terrified of what Bill had planned for Stanley.  “WELL THEN,” Bill pulled Stanley’s hand back and leaned closer to Ford.  Ford sat up higher, leaning back on his heels, his face less than a foot away from where Bill’s eyes shone out of Stanley’s face.  “WHAT IF I SWEETEN THE DEAL?”

“What?”  Ford’s voice cracked as he spoke.  The knowing smile Bill had twisted onto his brothers face was unnerving, and his yellow eyes were far too close.

“Y’SEE FORDSY, THE PHSICAL WORLD THAT YOU’RE PART OF TIES DIRECTLY INTO THE MINDSCAPE.  IT HAS A LOT MORE INFLUENCE ON MY DOMAIN THAN I’VE LET ON BEFORE.”  Bill voice took on a tone that Ford remembered him using back when they were working on the Portal together.  It was candid, with a touch of condescension that had always slightly irked Ford back then, but he had ignored it in favor of learning from what he had considered a muse at the time.  Now, it sent unpleasant chills down Fords spine.  “STANLEY TOOK A HUGE HIT TO THE HEAD, AND ALL THE TRAUMA TO HIS BRAIN HAS REALLY DONE A NUMBER ON HIS MINDSCAPE.  THAT, PLUS ALL THE DRUGS THAT ARE PUMPING INTO HIS FLESHY MEAT-SACK BODY,”  Bill waved Stan’s arm, straining the IV lines further and causing blood to bubble up on Stanley’s arm where they were inserted.  “LEAVES STANNY HERE A PRIME CANDIDATE FOR SOME MUCH NEEDED...REWIRING, YOU COULD CALL IT.”  Bill gave Ford a sly grin.

Confusion swirled through Ford for a moment, before the full implications of what Bill was saying crashed down on Ford with the force of an asteroid careening through Earth’ s atmosphere and landing on him.  A small, choked gasp wheezed out of Ford.  Pure panic clouded his thoughts, turning them into a jumble of not possible, can’t be true, need to save Stanley, what has he done, and leaving him frozen in place.  “You didn’t...” Ford coughed out, horrified at what he might hear.

“DON’T WORRY, I HAVEN’T DONE ANYTHING YET!”  Bill said  “I WOULD NEED TO MAKE A DEAL WITH SOMEONE TO HAVE ENOUGH POWER TO RESHAPE A HUMAN’S MIND AND PERSONALITY.”   He smacked Stanley in the head with the cast again.  “EVEN WHEN IT’S AS SCREWED UP AS THIS ONE IS.  SO!”  Bill clapped Stanley’s hands together in excitement.  “YOU HAND ME THE RIFT, I GIVE YOU A NEW-AND-IMPROVED TWIN!” 

“...new-and-improved...”  Ford murmured numbly.  This was worse than he could have imagined.  Bill was in Stanley’s head, and worse than that, Bill could...he could...alter Stanley’s mind and personality.  Bill could rewrite the core of his brothers being, his very soul.

All he needed was someone to make a deal with him.

And Bill thought Ford would want-would be the one to-his own brother-

“SOUNDS PRETTY GREAT, DOESN’T IT?”  Bill said eagerly, leaning closer to Ford with a conspiratorial look on his face.  “WHAT DO YOU WANT DONE?  YOU TWO ARE ALWAYS FIGHTING, SO I BET YOU’D LIKE HIM TO BE MORE SUBMISSIVE.  I CAN FIX HIS SENSE OF HUMOR TOO, MAKE IT MORE YOUR STYLE.  I CAN MAKE HIM LIKE THAT NERDY GAME YOU THINK IS SO GREAT.  AND I KNOW YOU HATE THE MYSTERY SHACK, SO WE CAN HAVE STANNY HERE SHUT THAT DOWN EASY-PEASY.  OH!  I CAN EVEN MAKE HIM SMARTER, BELIEVE IT OR NOT!”  Bill leaned back, throwing Stanley’s arms wide and finally managing to rip the IV lines out of Stanley’s arm.  Blood spurted, landing all over the knit blanket on the floor.  Bill didn’t notice.  “THE SKY IS THE LIMIT FORDSY!  YOU CAN MAKE THE TWIN BROTHER YOU ALWAYS WANTED!  WHADDAYA SAY?  DO WE HAVE A DEAL?”  Bill held Stanley’s hand out to Ford again.

Stanley’s mangled hand hung in front of Ford’s face.  He looked at it, and his eyes trace up Stanley’s arm, past the fingers that were sticking out at odd angles, the blood that was dribbling down his arm and dripping onto the blanket, and Ford focused on Stanley’s face.  Not the lurid yellow eye’s with slit-like pupils, not the too wide, unnerving grin, but the ghost of a six-knuckled bruise on his jaw.  The bruise Stanley had gotten because he was stubborn, and unwilling to listen to reason, and loyal to a fault, and for some reason he though that Ford was worth more than an entire dimension.  The horror Ford had felt at Bill’s talk of remaking Stanley ignited into rage.  Ford pushed himself off of his knees.

“No.”  This time he said it firmly, his voice stronger than it had been during the whole cursed conversation with Bill.

Bill looked affronted “NO?  YOU’RE TURNING DOWN AN OFFER LIKE THIS?  YOU GIVE ME ONE MEASLY TEAR IN THE FABRIC OF REALITY, AND I GIVE YOU THE PERFECT TWIN BROTHER, A ONCE IN A LIFETIME OPPORTUNITY, AND YOU’RE TELLING ME NO!?”  Bill growled out the last word.

“I would never agree to doing something like that to anybody, no matter the circumstances!”  Ford growled back, fists clenched at his sides.  “I’ll never hand the Rift over to you, and I’ll never take your deal for the ‘perfect twin’” He spat the words out like they were venom.  “All I want is to have my brother back!”

Bill was silent for a moment, then he let out a derisive snort and forced Stanley’s body to stand.  He swayed for a moment, distressing Ford, before he found his balance, standing with most of his weight on Stanley’s left leg.  Ford saw his chance to grab the sedative. “WRONG CHOICE SIXER.”  Bill snarled.

Ford dove around Stanley’s right side, aiming to vault the bed, but Bill lifted Stanley’s broken arm, and Ford’s face collided with the hard plaster cast.  Ford reeled back, stunned, and Bill staggered, but managed to keep Stanley’s body upright.  Ford recovered first, diving onto the bed and reaching for the sedative.

“WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU’RE GOING?”  Stanley’s cast clipped the side of Ford’s head, spinning him around.  His fingertips clipped the edge of the tray holding the sedative, tipping it over onto the bed.  A bony knee pressed down onto Ford’s stomach, and Ford instinctively curled his hand into a fist, pulled it back, and-

-he dropped the fist as quickly as he had made it.  Don’t hurt Stanley!  Ford put his hands again Stanley’s chest and started to push-

-until he felt the broken ribs.  He couldn’t do anything to defend himself without hurting Stanley!

“WHAT’S THE MATTER FORDSY? AFRAID OF HURTING YOUR IDIOT BROTHER?”  Bill laughed over Ford, and reached for his throat with Stanley’s right hand.   “HEY! THIS’LL MAKE A GREAT STORY FOR THE NEWS! ‘STAN PINES WAKES FROM COMA JUST TO MURDER HIS BROTHER AND JUMP OFF THE ROOF’!”  The dislocated and broken fingers meant Bill had to press the heel of Stanley’s hand against his wind pipe, forcing Ford’s head down and back, the top of it pressing into the mattress.

Ford struggled to breath, and already darkness started to encroach upon his vision.  Upside-down, Ford was able to see the syringe. Clumsily, with his sight dimming and everything starting to go fuzzy, Ford wrapped one hand around Stanley’s forearm, and with the other he snagged the syringe, miraculously without stabbing himself with the needle.  With a strangled gasp, Ford plunged the needle into Stanley’s forearm.

For a moment, nothing happened.  Everything around Ford faded to a murky blur, with the bright yellow of Bill’s eyes staying vibrant.  The word’s I’m sorry, Stanley echoed through Ford’s head.

Then, Stanley’s arm buckled.  Ford gasped, sucking in a desperate breath of air.  Above him, Bill was resting Stanley’s forearm on Ford’s chest, the syringe sticking out of it.  Ford could feel blood soak into his sweater.  “WHAAT WAS THA SHTUFF?”  Bill slurred, blinking and shaking Stanley’s head back and forth.  His yellow eyes got hazy and half-lidded, and Bill struggled to keep Stanley’s body upright.  “YOU THINK THISH IS OVER SSHIXER? WON’ BELON’ FOR I’M BACK STANFERD.  GONNA MAKE ‘NOTHER DEEL SHOON, ‘NTHEN I’LL GET TH’ RIFT.  YER GONNA SLIP UP, N’ WHEN YA DO...”  Bill struggled to say more, but Stanley’s body finally gave out, succumbing to the drug, collapsing on top of Ford.  “UUUGHHHnnn...”  Bill gave a final groan, his voice fading out and Stanley’s deeper, more gravely voice filled Ford’s ears.  The yellow faded from Stanley’s eyes as they slid shut.

Ford lay on the bed for a moment, stunned and trying to catch his breath.  Stanley rested on top of him, unmoving.  With a sudden jolt, Ford remembered all of Stanley’s injuries, and his IV’s needed to be reinserted, and his breathing tube was- Stanley’s breathing tube was out!

As quickly as he could without being too rough on his brother’s battered body, Ford wormed out from underneath him.  Ford checked Stanley’s breathing quickly, and was relieved to find a trickle of air passing through his brother’s lips, though it was weak and irregular.  Ford felt bile rise in his throat as he redid the restraints around Stanley’s wrist and ankles, but he couldn’t let the hospital staff know what had really happened.  At best Ford could see them removing him from Stanley’s room, and at worst they would retain him on suspicions of mental instability.  Neither was a viable option.

Ford carefully relocated and set Stanley’s injured fingers, which were swelling and turning lurid shades of blue and purple and green.  Stanley’s arm was still bleeding, so Ford peeled his new sweater off and wadded it around Stanley’s arm.  Before leaving he retrieved the button-down from the bathroom and threw it on, only doing up a few buttons as he sped out of the hospital room.  Stanley was the only patient in the ICU, and there wasn’t a doctor or nurse in sight.

Ford skidded out of the ICU, swinging his trench coat on.  He made it down two more hallways before almost literally running into a pair of doctors.

After some shouting and overly excited arm waving, Ford was able to rush the doctors into Stanley’s room.  Luckily for Ford, his frantic behavior discouraged the doctors from asking too many questions.  While one doctor tended to Stanley, the other insisted on looking at Ford’s bruising face.  Not for the first time, Ford’s nose had been broken, although this was the first time Ford had been injured by Stanley’s hand.

At a request from Ford, the blanket and sweater Mabel had knit were taken and washed quickly.  He couldn’t bare to think of Mabel seeing that the gifts she had made for Stanley and him were missing.  One of the doctors, with the help of a nurse he had brought in, jury-rigged a restraint for Stanley’s broken arm.

After Ford was left alone with Stanley again, he collapsed into his chair.  Ford couldn’t take his eyes off of his brothers face, which was slack and relaxed now, a contrast to the manic grin Bill had forced onto his face.

Ford sighed, hanging his head.  Bill had possessed Stanley.  It was something Ford hadn’t considered a possibility before, and now because of his short-sightedness, Bill had manipulated his brother, tormented him both physically and mentally. 

And then, there was the...rewiring Bill had talked about.  Simply thinking about what Bill was suggesting made Ford feel terrified.  More than that, it made Ford feel completely helpless.  Ford could protect Stanley physically- though he had already failed at that-but there was nothing Ford could do to protect Stanley in his own mind!

All Bill needed was a deal.

It didn't matter who he made it with.

And Ford would lose his brother again, but this time, there would be no possible way to get him back.

“Oh Stanley, what are we going to do?”  Ford sighed.  Unsurprisingly, Stanley didn’t answer.

Ford stood and paced, trying to think of a plan, a course of action, anything!  But the only thoughts that filled his head were of Bill, poking around in Stanley’s mind, scrambling it, reshaping it, remaking his brother into someone he wasn’t, and the knowledge that Bill could be doing so at that very moment.  If there was any food in Ford’s stomach, it would have come up again.  He couldn’t think, there were too many thoughts swirling through his head.  Ford longed for one of his Journals, just so he could have some way to organize his thoughts!  At the thought of his Journals, a small plan started to form.  He would have to work fast, and he needed to look through his Journals first, but maybe, just maybe, he might have a chance to fix things.  But first he needed to get his Journals, and he couldn’t wait till morning.

The door clicked open, and Ford whirled to face it.  A young nurse walked in, holding Stanley’s blanket and Ford’s sweater, freshly cleaned.  She started at Ford’s behavior, but she quickly relaxed and gave Ford a kind smile.  

“Here you go sir.”  She held the knit items out to Ford, and he snatched them out of her hands with a murmur of thanks.  Ford gently draped the blanket over Stanley, feeling a twinge of painful nostalgia when he saw the sailboat again.  He quickly turned back to the young nurse, catching her attention before she left.

“Excuse me, miss?  I need to use a phone.  And a phone book.”

The nurse lead Ford to the desk just outside of Stanley’s room.  Ford felt immediate unease leaving Stanley alone, but it was necessary.  

It took Ford far too long to find the number for the Ramirez household, and even longer for him to get the exhausted Soos on the other end of the line to give him the number of Wendy’s cellular phone.  Then it took him two tries before Wendy responded.

“Whotheflipisthisit’soneinthemorningIhopeyouhavelifeinsurancecauseI’mgonnashankyouwhenI’mconsciousyouflamingpieceof-” 

“Wendy, it’s Dr. Pines.”  Ford cut off her slurred, half-awake tirade.

“It’s one in the morning.”  Wendy said flatly.

“Yes, I am aware of that-”

“Why’re you calling me at one in the morning old man?”  Wendy growled into the phone, before giving a small gasp.  “Did something else happen to Stan?”

Ford hesitated briefly before answering “No, Stan is fine.  I need you to do me a favor.  It’s urgent.”

On the other end of the line, Ford heard Wendy shifting around.  “Okay.  What do you need me to do at this ungodly hour Stan Two?”

Ford blinked, mildly surprised at her quick cooperation.  He was about to request that she collect his Journals and bring them to him at the hospital, but he saw two looming flaws in that plan.  One, the time it would take for the Journals to get to him, and two, he would have to leave Stanley alone if he were to put his plan into action.  

“Hey, Stan Two, are you still there?”  Wendy’s voice brought Ford out of his reverie.

“Yes.  Wendy, I need you to listen to me, very carefully.  This could help Stanley’s recovery, but speed is of the essence.”  Ford carefully listed off everything he needed Wendy to do.  Occasionally, Wendy would have him repeat something, and Ford could hear the sound of something scratching against paper on the end of the phone. 

“Is that everything Doc?”  Wendy asked.

“Yes.  That should be all.”  Ford said, running through everything in his head.

“Okay.  I’ll get started on all of this...weird junk you need me to do.  See you in a bit.”

“Wendy?”  Ford stopped her from hanging up on him just yet.  “Thank you.  For helping me and my family with all of this.”

“Yeah.  No prob, dude.”  Wendy’s voice had a touch of concern to it.  “Just hang in there.”  She ended the call.

Ford returned to Stanley’s room, finally changing back into the sweater from Mabel.  It was still warm from the wash.  Then, he waited.

An hour passed.

Then two.

As the third hour passed, Ford was ready to tear the hospital room apart.

A knock came from the window, making Ford jump.  He stalked over to it, cautiously peeking through the curtains.  Wendy was perched outside of the hospital window.  The fourth floor hospital window.  Ford pulled the window open and Wendy slid inside.  Instead of her typical Corduroy family flannel, she had on a dark tank top with a wolf on it and shorts, and she had a backpack slung over her shoulders.

“What were you doing out there?”  Ford scolded her.  “You could have fallen to your death!”

Wendy swung the backpack off and started rummaging through it.  “Relax old man.  I’ve been climbing trees higher than that since I was eight.”

“I don’t doubt your skill Wendy.”  Ford said.  “I would just prefer that no one else ends up in the hospital anytime soon.”

“Oh.”  Wendy gave Ford an unreadable look.  “Sorry, Dr. Pines.  Visiting hours are closed right now.  That was the only way I could get in.”  She started to hand things to Ford; a small cloth sack with contents that clinked softly, several old mercury thermometers stolen from the Gravity Falls museum, photocopies of Journal 3 that Ford had found in his basement lab, a bottle of glue, a few tools Ford had picked up from other dimensions and, to Ford’s complete surprise, a small sandwich bag full of rainbow toned unicorn hair.

“How in the multiverse did you manage to get this?”  Ford stared at the unicorn hair in wonder.

“Fairy Dust.”  Wendy said shortly.  “I’ll give you the whole story tomorrow.  Or, y’know, when today feels like daytime.”

Ford winced apologetically.  “I’m sorry that I had to wake you at this hour.”

Wendy shrugged her backpack on. “Eh, it’s cool dude.  You’re just trying to help your brother.  I know the feeling.”  She gave him a small smile before slipping back out the window.  Ford watched her make it safely to the ground before setting to work.

It took him around twenty minutes to bury the moonstones and mercury in the linoleum floor with the tools he had gotten from Dimension Z#’m, and another fifteen to glue the unicorn hair around the whole room, going up and around the door frame.  It was far too much time.

Ford didn’t finish the barrier completely.  Right next to Stanley’s bed, down near the floor, there was a tiny gap.  Ford didn’t know if Bill was in Stanley’s mind or not, and he had to make sure that Stanley’s mind was free of the demon before he sealed the room.  Ford moved his chair close to the head of Stanley’s bed and rifled through the copies of his Journal.  With a satisfied hum, Ford found the page he was looking for.  The incantation that would allow him to enter his brothers mind.

Ford reached out to place his hand on Stanley’s forehead, but he hesitated.  What would he see in his brothers mind?  If Bill was to be believed, Stanley’s mind was currently in a state of disarray.  There was a chance that Ford could cause more damage in there than good.  And, if he was being honest, Ford dreaded finding out just what his brother thought of him.  Stanley must hate him by now.  But if Ford did nothing, than Bill could-he could-

‘...MAKE ANOTHER DEAL SOON...YOU’LL SLIP UP AND WHEN YOU DO...NEW-AND-IMPROVED TWIN...MUCH NEEDED REWIRING...’  Bills sinister words came back to Ford.  It didn’t matter if Stanley hated Ford, and Ford wouldn’t blame his brother at all if he never wanted to see him again after this.  Stanley needed Ford’s help, not for him to turn away again!

Ford took a deep breath and placed his hand on Stanley’s forehead, carefully minding the fresh bandages and stitches, and read the incantation.

“Videntus omnium. Magister mentium.

Magnesium ad hominem. Magnum opus.

Habeas corpus! Inceptus Nolanus overratus!

Magister mentium! Magister mentium! MAGISTER MENTIUM!”

Everything faded to white.

[lukeysgirl]

The Note Tree ❋ L.H. Pt.8

Part E I G H T 

Summary: A cherry blossom tree, residing at the farthest part of the schools courtyard. Nobody dwelled there, and you didn’t care much for it. Until you kept hearing one song played over and over, with lyrics changed to touch at your curiosity. They knew you were listening, and one day you gave in and made your way to the pink tree. Waiting for you, a series of notes tied to a single strand of string.

Word Count: 3.5k

AN: im so so so so so so fucking sorry for my absence. like seriously, i want to apologize. ive been so demotivated and my recent family loss has made me crash quite a bit. and for that im so incredibly sorry. thank you all who love it and support it so much. im going to try my very best to keep producing parts to make you happy, bc that’s all i want right now aha. so 100 notes please and ill be seeing you :) 

Parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.

I M A G I N E 

Monday

“You were at a diner with Luke yesterday?” Savannah blasted into your ear, having you already dread this Monday morning. 

“Savannah, I haven’t even gotten the chance to eat a single bite of this here granola bar,” you began quietly, already vexed as you held onto your still-wrapped food. “It’s too early for this.” 

You walked down the corridor with the girls, still as exhausted and hungry as you are every day when you’re forced out of bed to attend institution. The girls were dreading it just as much, but once you told them of your small hang out with Luke, they declared it as a date. The squeals, the fangirling, the asking for ‘deats.’ It made you hesitate to tell them what happened between you and Nathan the night of the party. 

“But you were with Luke Hemmings at a diner,” Des began, grabbing your shoulder to halt you. The girls halted as well, guarding both sides of you as Des’ brown eyes gashed into yours. “‘Mr. Popular’ that you claim to dread ever so much. You wouldn’t do that with him if you despised him as much as you say you do.” 

“He was around and I was hungry,” you muttered, the easiest excuse you could think of. “He also had a car, so like, yeah.” 

“Wait.” Alexis grabbed your shoulder and tilted you to face her. “Does that mean he knows?” 

“No,” you responded. “I made him drop me off at a nearby super market and stayed there for a good 2 hours. In that time, I read the nutrition facts of every bread produce they had to offer. And I tell ya, all we eat are straight up chemicals.” 

“Subject changer.” Savannah, took your older shoulder and spun you to face her. You had unutterable words for this very situation. “The real question is how did you go home? You left a long while before we did.” 

“Hemmings didn’t tell you?” You began quietly, having Des quickly spin you. She stared at you, wistfully, her brown eyes attempting to burn into yours. But she’s too busy using fire with ice that cannot melt. You let out a shaky sigh before emitting words. “Holland took me home.” 

“Nathan?” All 3 exclaimed, having you wince from their reactions. It was awful peculiar how those 3 could react so in sync. If they looked similar to one another, you’d assume them to be triplets. 

“The one and only!” 

As if on cue, the blue-eyed stranger chimed behind you. You turned around to look into those eyes, seeing hints of gray playing in the weak blue. His chestnut hair had been messy, but somewhat contained, with a few flowers stuck in it. His salmon lips were lathered in Blistex (you guessed) and the bottom was unfortunately stuck between his perfect pearly whites. Nathan shot you a wink, and you were positive you were going to vomit. 

“This is proving to be a really shitty and cliche sitcom,” you groaned, your words right on time before the bell traumatized the corridors. Students began sprawling around, and that unfortunately meant bidding farewell to the girls. “See you guys later.” 

As Savannah and Alexis said bye and began rushing away, Des looked into Nathan’s eyes. She was glaring at him, which made you snicker. You hadn’t known why she was being silently aggressive, but it was amusing to see such a short entity attempt to be threatening to a tower tall man. But she skipped away, having you adjust your bag before sauntering down the corridor. 

“You’re not gonna tell me why my name was in that conversation just now?” Nathan hummed, walking beside you with curiosity evident in his eyes. You didn’t bother to glance, knowing that if you did, he’ll try to lock eyes and probably further to vex you. 

“If I tell you, will you keep shut about what happened that night?” You asked simply, not really in dire need to keep it a secret. You’d just rather not have people knowing so you didn’t receive obnoxious reactions. 

“Oh-- I don’t intend on telling anyone even before you asked this of me,” Nathan began, having you raise an eyebrow as he placed his hands behind his head. The two of you struggled to get through the crowd, but Nathan just kept spewing words. “It’s something I know and no one else does, so I want to keep this all to myself.” 

“Well, aren’t you a bit--” 

“Selfish? Yes,” Nathan continued and answered for you, having you roll your eyes. You were glad he’d be keeping shut, but now you had to suffer his presence more and more due to this fact. At least, that’s what you guessed. “I was also sorta hoping that we could talk about it.” 

“What the fuck is there to talk about?” You muttered, passing through the sea of students before you. “Anyways, you’re not the only one who knows. My best friends know, too.” 

“Does Luke count?” 

“No.” 

“Then I’m sated,” Nathan hummed, having you groan as you rushed over to find your locker. You fumbled to open the lock, struggling from the intense stare that Nathan had been giving you. But you managed it open and revealed several textbooks as well as photos all over the door. That’s when you noticed a small, folded index card on top of the stack of books. “Is that from the secret admirer?” 

“Stalker,” you corrected as you took the small note in your hands. “Also, why the fuck are you looking into my locker? D’you have any respect?” You slammed the shut and attempted to keep walking, but Nathan was just proving himself to be more of a bother than expected. 

He slammed his forearms against the lockers between yours, having you trapped between them. You had your back leaned on the locker, as that’s how cliche shows and movies do it. He attempted to get you flustered, pushing out his neck more to highlight his jawline more. His blue eyes locked on yours, dimming a bit in intensity. His black, V-collar shirt hung loosely as he had to bend a bit to meet head-to-head. 

“I have no respect,” Nathan growled, having you roll your eyes as you watched students shoot you with stares. You merely shrugged, looking discontent at Nathan as he tried boring his eyes into yours. “None for personal space, especially.” 

“You could be a fuckboy if you aimed for it,” you suggested, crinkling your nose a bit from a sudden itch. “Well, you probably already are if you’re so good at doing this. You must get all the girls and have them write petty songs about you.” 

“They’re good songs, too,” Nathan joked, having you snort quietly before letting out a sigh. Okay, Taylor Swift’s ex. He stared at you, seeming amused and almost satisfied. “What’re you doing for lunch today?” 

“Eating,” you replied simply. Nathan smirked at your respond, giving yourself kudos for your cleverness. 

“No, I mean are you gonna be in the lunch room or at the tree?” Nathan pondered, having you shrug. You played with the note on your right hand, feeling the corners jag into your palm. “Will it be determined by that note?” 

“I don’t know, I’d have to read it,” you huffed, finally reaching your irritated point. “Look, I don’t have math this period, so I’d really like it if you went away so I can use my study hall productively.” 

“But I also have study hall right now,” Nathan hummed, smirking as he bent his fingers a bit against the cool, metallic lockers. “We can spend it together. I think it’d be a good bonding experience.” 

“She said no, Nathan.” 

As predicted, you turned to your left to find the Luke Hemmings stood there. Of course, the lanky boy was in his typical all-black attire. This time, his shirt was a more ivory black with an Arctic Monkeys logo splattered there in a teal blue. But as you lowered your gaze, you saw his fists clench, seeming like he’s more than prepared to lunge at Nathan and break his nose. 

“Of course you came right on time, Hemmings,” you began, laughing to yourself as Nathan diverted his attention to the blonde a few feet away. Nathan stands up straight again, your small little prison cell broken. “Are you guys going to fight now or can I go?” 

“No,” Nathan began, smirking at Luke as he tightened his jaw in anger. “Lucas here is going to say a bunch of mushy gushy words and walk away with you because his insane jealousy cannot be contained for any reason whatsoever.” 

“And you’re going to walk away with that disgusting smirk on your face that I’d like to punch off someday,” Luke hissed. “Also: stop fucking calling me Lucas.” 

With that, Luke quickly shoved him while walking passed him to make his way to you. You watched as Luke stood in front of you, his arms to his sides as his blue eyes looked into yours. He was studying you, his rouge lips pursed together to keep from distraction. And this bothered you because every time Luke caught you in a moment like this, your cheeks feel much hotter than moments prior. So you took his chin and turned his head to look at Nathan. 

“Look at that dude, m’kay?” You hummed, having the two glare at one another. You took the opportunity then to open up the note. You noticed the intriguing H on the outside of one of the folds before opening in completely. 

Come to the tree at lunch. I have an I’m Sorry gift for you. 

You didn’t know what the apology gift was for, but if you had to guess, it would be for the drinks at the party. It was really creepy to think how observant he is on you. He truly is a stalker. Especially when you don’t feel any eyes on you and you have yet to see someone around that looks immensely suspicious. But you agreed to this, and hopefully it’ll be worth it. 

“You know, it’s good that you got rid of that lip piercing,” Nathan began, having you turn to notice the two still glaring at one another. “It looked like a thin piece of shit hung on it.” 

“You’re just mad that you can’t because your mommy and daddy said no,” Luke cooed, having you snort a bit at their immaturity. “If we’re gonna be acting like dickheads, how about don’t steal Ashton’s hairstyle? At least try to be original.” 

You giggled quietly at the connection, and Nathan gritted his teeth a bit. 

“Alright well.” Nathan let out a deep sigh, rubbing his eyes before stuffing his hands into his pockets. He winked at you, revealing a smirk to agitate Luke beside you. “Thanks for confiding with me, Y/N. See you later?” 

“What?” Luke asked, pure confusion evident in his words and face as he turned to you. You sighed, wanting to punch Nathan just as much as Luke did. But you gave Luke a small wink before looking back at Nathan. 

“Oh I didn’t tell you, Nathan!” You said a little loud. “I’m actually gonna eat lunch with Lucas here, but after school. He’s probably gonna take me to the diner we went to yesterday, so yeah.” 

Nathan glared at you a bit, obviously pissed that you sided with Luke this time. Luke chuckled, pointing at Nathan to taunt him a bit. But you were already wasting precious study time and you desperately yearned for at least a page to read. So, you grabbed Luke’s wrist with your free hand and began dragging him down the corridor and away from Nathan. But Luke didn’t fail to have his final word. 

“It sounds good when she says it,” Luke hollered, having you roll your eyes as you turned the corner to another hallway and dragged him away from Nathan’s view. As you managed to get Luke far away, you slowed down a bit but still kept your eyes forward. “So are you actually letting me take you out?” Luke asked quietly, having you look back at him with a glare. 

“Of course not,” you huffed as you let Luke go and walked over to a vacant classroom. The lights were on, and the door was wide open. These were one of the rooms allowed to be used to study, as a lot of students have study hall and need as much silence as they can get. Desks organized into rows, just like in a grid. Fern-green chalkboards, and written, yet brief, summaries of lectures and info. You could see papers left behind of homework or due assignments, having you pity those who left or forget them. 

You then realized this was one of the history classes for the sophomores. You noticed the paper ships hanging from the ceiling, voyages from important people sailing the seas to come on top. There were clay structures made, practically statues, ornate by the front. Models of Abraham Lincoln and John Locke, all with dignified faces but immensely large noses. Maps of the world, those of the past and the modern ones to exhibit change. Immensely dire changes, those that fascinated you very much about the worlds development as a whole. 

“You make me wonder a lot about you, Y/N,” Luke began, having you turn around to see him leaned on the doorway. A soft smile played at his rouge lips as those ocean eyes studied you. “Maybe because you’re so you that you’re wonderful.” 

“What’re you on about, Hemmings?” You began dully, unsure as to where he was getting this random sentiment from. Why was he creating a moment? 

“The way you look at all this stuff,” Luke hummed, walking inside to saunter over at the old, ripped up books-- artifacts from the past. “Your eyes glow, more brilliant than it ever is when you see these things. Your lips part, not a lot, but enough to show how trapped you are in a trance. You drown yourself in what you love, and I drown myself in you.” 

“You can’t be saying stuff like that!” You exclaimed, looking distantly down to the ground by his feet. It bothered you, these random jolts of flutters or heat that crawled into your cheeks. “You don’t make any sense.” 

“Love isn’t supposed to make sense,” Luke replied simply. 

“Luke, you don’t love me,” you dismissed, looking back at the chalkboard to see doodles done by the students. There were probably a few of them a bit prior to their arrival. “You just think you do because you supposedly like me.” 

“Whatever you wanna believe, Y/N,” Luke gave in, having you look up to see a smirk now crawled on his lips. He then started walking up to you, having you remain still. He didn’t scare you, and you weren’t prepared to let him back you into a desk or a wall. “As long as I know and feel it, it’s okay if you don’t believe me. Not yet, anyways.” 

“Once again, I have no clue as to what you’re on about,” you replied, watching as Luke was finally just a few inches from you. His tall, lanky being hovered over you, producing a shadow on you as he did. This was the sudden closeness that you couldn’t seem to ignore like Nathan’s. There was something about this peculiar idiot that makes your body react so strangely. 

“Again, you don’t have to,” Luke teased, bringing his hand up to your face. Suddenly, he poked your nose with the tip of his index finger, feeling a brief swipe of coldness before he flicked the tip of your nose up. “Are you going to the tree today? Do I have to cut myself again?” 

“That’s sounds incredibly fucked, Luke,” you muttered, shoving his chest to get him away. He erupted in laughter from this and you couldn’t help but wonder just as much about him. “What did I ever do to deserve this?” 

With that, you took yourself a seat at the cleanest desk you could find. You dropped your bag carelessly on the floor beside you. Rummaging through it, you revealed a notebook and a pen. You flipped the pages until you found the essay you had left off and went right in to continue it. As you did, you noticed Luke in your periphery and seeing him hop on top of the teachers desk. 

“August,” Luke muttered, having you flinch at the word. No matter what you did, he’ll never let up on that one day in August summers ago. “I don’t mind if you don’t care as much, but that is my favorite month, day, and year of all time. I’m at this point I always dreamed of being at, and I have you to thank for that. So that’s what you did to steal my heart and my annoying being.” 

Lunch time rolled in, and you found yourself sauntering over to the tree. 

You felt extremely disconnected from your stalker in this tree, even though it’s only been a few days with this mystery and only 2 days was the last time you got a note. But you weren’t too in a rush this time, not really wanting to go to your science class immediately. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to learn, but Luke was being too much for you today. 

He was such a bother. For an attractive boy such as himself, it surprised you to see the boy single. And yes, you were well aware of his proclaimed love to you in front of not only his friends, but yours, too. But it’s too difficult to believe, even with 2 years stacking on him bothering you and you allowing him to float around like small moons to your planet. 

Luke always made you wonder about him. He could have any girl he pleases, seeing as so many would like to throw themselves at him. Nadia is as desperate as a man stuck in the desert for water. It made you want to know what is it that Luke sees. It would seem he is basing the entirety of his feelings on the one instance that was August so very long ago. And yet it is fresh in his mind and, so long as he keeps speaking about it, it’s fresh in your head, too. 

As you slowly approached the tree, you noticed that the shadow as expanded a bit and you were quick to be swallowed up by its shadow. You looked around at the beautiful pink petals dancing to the wind and its lovely music. It made you ponder how this tree was surviving in such an ugly place like this schools courtyard. How is a lovely thing to thrive around hormonal teenagers and crabby teachers who for some reason hate kids though their degree was all about education. You had always guessed teachers were always pissy at teenagers because they were annoyed at themselves when they were young idiots. 

At least, it’s your own solid guess. 

Suddenly, your eyes finally diverted down to stare at a small, white box right in front of the bark. You slowly approached the cardboard thing, noticing how it looked more of an over-sized, cardboard shoe box that was spray painted white. But nonetheless, the container remained there, with yet another note sat on it lovingly. Once more, with the H initial on top. 

Looking around, you look back down at the box and bend down to take the note in your hand. Opening it slowly, you read the words with ease. 

I’m so sorry for buying you the drinks. I know you’ll try to blame yourself as you chose the drinks, but I gave you permission to and I’m ever so sorry. Here’s just a little something for you x 

Putting the note in your pocket, you bring your hands to the edges of the top, horizontal-wise, and lifted the box with ease. You quickly lifted and tossed away the wrapping paper that covered the gift and softened your eyes to see your well-crafted gift. 

The first thing you saw was a Blue-Ray DVD version of the Jonas Brothers: The 3D Concert Experience. You were in disbelief, truth be told. You couldn’t be bothered to admit it, but you fancied those boys when you were young. Though, you always pointed out how much of a tool Joe Jonas was, since at the time, he only played the tambourine. But then again, you couldn’t say shit: you’ve never even touched a tambourine. 

The next item you touched was some Adventure Time socks. One sock held human hero, Finn. And the other, infamous, orange, organ-stretching dog, Jake. They had looked so cute, seeing as their faces resided by the toes of your feet. It made you giggle a bit. 

Then, in a small box beside the pair of socks was transparent, and held a series of small pins in them. Opening them eagerly, you giggled at how many there were and the cute sayings on them. You saw a pin that said ‘Bernie Sanders 2020′ with the old man printed on it. Another had a small, purple container of fries that said ‘Fries Before Guys.’ You admitted that these pins were amusing and you were a little too excited to leave school to use them on your bag. 

You finally reached the bottom, where you noticed a black entity filling (practically) the entirety of the box. Carefully allowing the smaller items to fall down on the box, you lifted the entity into your hands and unfolded it. It finally revealed itself to you and you allowed a curt smile to play at your lips. 

It had been a black Linkin Park sweatshirt, the logo and the words white and fairly huge at the front of the sweatshirt. It felt so nice and smooth in your hands, having you bite your bottom lip. You had been eager to get band sweatshirts, and this had been one of the many you wanted. You hugged it tightly, allowing the scent of cologne and softener to intoxicate your nose. 

“You’re so sweet, stalker,” you whispered to yourself, looking up at the tree to see the lovely pink petals begin to fall all around you. “Thank you.” 

please tell me what you think right here, if you’d like. thank you for reading and i really hope you enjoy it. xx

[crimsonheart01]

Wake Up [Part IV] (Sam Winchester x Female!Reader)

A/N: And I’m done. Here’s to my first branch out into another fandom. I really, really, really hope I haven’t royally messed this up <3 

Playlist: Closer (feat. Halsey) - The Chainsmokers

Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV

I startled awake, inhaling and coughing at the abrupt intake of oxygen. I blinked half a dozen times, trying to clear the drowsiness from my eyes. The street lights along the highway were still on but I could see the sun peaking over the horizon. I licked my lips, sniffling. It took me another minute to figure out that I was in a car. Panic rose in my chest while I tried to place myself. The radio was playing, but quiet enough that I could still make out the chug of the engine. That familiar sound rang true in my mind and I immediately calmed down. I remembered whose car I was in.

“Morning.” Dean spoke into the quiet.

I rolled my head in his direction, “What time is it?”

“Almost 6.”

I blinked once more, exaggerating the motion in order to process everything. I counted backwards, realizing that we’d been on the road for a good twelve hours now.

I rubbed the palm of my hands over my eyes, “Where’re we going?”

Dean didn’t answer. Instead he smiled. I sighed. Of course, he was going to be difficult.  It was in his nature. Be as annoying as possible. I leaned back in my seat, letting my head loll back onto the head rest. I stared out the window, watching the greenery race by. I felt the excited flip in my stomach. I didn’t know where Dean was taking me, but I knew he’d bring me back to Sam. He always had his brother’s best interest in mind. I lifted my hand to brush a stray hair out of my face and stopped, zeroing in on the white lace still covering my arm. I snickered to myself. Dean had been in such a rush to get on the road that he didn’t even give me the chance to change. I glanced over at him and saw that he was still wearing the suit, so I didn’t feel all that bad. He’d kept himself as uncomfortable as I was.

I reminisced on the last 24 hours. How drastically everything had changed. There was no doubt in my mind that Derek had found my note and his ring. There wasn’t much to say. I wished him all the best and told him that he deserved to marry a woman who loved him unrequitedly. I was certain that he’d have learned that my family wasn’t dead. Only because as I was racing down the front steps with a duffel bag wrapped in my grip our neighbour was exiting their house at the same time. I had to lie, tell them I’d forgotten something of Derek’s and that Dean was being the helpful big brother. Dean being my brother wasn’t much of a lie. We still had the repertoire. No matter how much lost time lay between us.

My eyes began to droop so I snuggled in closer to the window, letting my head rest against it. Dean reached over, laying his hand on my shoulder, and squeezing lightly. I gazed over at him, a small smile on my face. He gave a quick nod and then his hand fell away. Dean was never a man of many words. He didn’t need to tell me. I knew he was proud. Proud of my decision to do the right thing. I flicked my gaze back out the window and let myself fall into a daze. The trees whizzed past the windows and my mind settled into a blank space. Sooner than I expected, I’d fallen back asleep.

~(SPN)~

Around an hour later I was being shaken awake.

“We’re here.” Dean told me.

I sat up, rubbing my eyes and glancing around at the dead-end road. Surrounding the car were a few hills but nothing distinctly pointing to a destination. I shook my head, confused at what was going on.

I furrowed my brows and stared at Dean, “Where’s here?”

He laughed and opened the door. I followed him with my gaze and that’s when I spotted the random door protruding from the side of one of the hills. It had a shoddy metal fence up and around it, and the concrete looked to be at least a hundred years old. Another wall of concrete caught my eye and I realized that there was an entire fortress coming out of the hill. Where the hell had Dean brought me?

For a spilt second I panicked before clamping down on it. This wasn’t a time to freak out. My inner hunter surfaced and I was concerned that maybe I’d been too trusting. Was this really Dean? Or had he been possessed. All my red flags began popping up. Dean shot a look at me over his shoulder and noticed I was still sitting in the car, clutching my duffel bag. I frowned, and reached over to punch the lock down on the door. Dean sighed, knowing exactly why I was freaking out.

“Glove box.” He shouted, pointing to my side of the car, “Holy water, and salt.”

Without taking my gaze off him, I peeked out of the corner of my eyed and opened the glove box. I grabbed the flask in there, and the bottle of salt. I shook the flask to make sure there was liquid in there. I couldn’t trust that it was holy water but if the other container was salt, he wouldn’t be able to fool me. I flicked the cap off the salt container and dipped my finger it. I tasted the substance and nodded. It was salt. I poured the entire contents into the flask and shook it up. I rolled down the window enough to fit the flask through and he grabbed it before it fell to the ground. With a grand roll of his eyes, he took a swig from the metal bottle. He made a show of visibly swallowing the salted holy water and then stared at me.

I grinned when his eyes didn’t blacken. I pushed my door open and he shook his head at me over the roof of the car.

I shrugged, “Can never be too safe.”

He shoved the flask into his jacket pocket and made his way towards the ominous door in the middle of nowhere. Using a key off his car keychain he unlocked it. He stepped through the threshold and held the door open, waiting for me to come through. I slung the strap of my bag over my shoulder and followed behind him. Dean let go of the door and it swung shut behind me with a resounding slam. I raised my eyebrows up at him and he grinned.

“Welcome to the Bunker.” He introduced.

I noticed the long, thin balcony we were currently on. I leaned over the railing and studied the room below. It was reminiscent of something out of a WWII movie. I shook my head in disbelief. I didn’t know how they found this place, but it was equipped.

“How the hell did you find this place?” I mumbled, more to myself than anything.

Dean stopped, halfway down the stairs and graced me with a brilliant smile, “We’re Men of Numbers.”

I blinked, “I’m sorry?”

“Men of Letters.” He repeated.

I nodded, “Oh yeah, thanks. That clarifies everything.”

He continued his descent laughing out loud at me. I followed down behind him, grumbling to myself.

He pointed straight ahead of him, “Library’s through there.”

I nodded, following his direction towards the room. I gazed back at him and noticed he wasn’t following.

He inclined his head towards one of the hallways, “I’ll be right back.”

I narrowed my eyes at him but figured he was going on the search for Sam. No one had come out to greet us so I was under the assumption that he wasn’t here.

I hopped up the steps and leaned against the entryway of the library. This place was impressive. I dropped my bag down on the floor and meandered around. I ran my fingers along the table in the center of the room. There were a bunch of books opened to various pages, notes scribbled down all over the place and empty beer bottles scattered around. This was obviously where they did their research. I rounded the table and picked up one of the leather-bound volumes. It was old, but it was still in English. I flipped through the pages, noticing the intricate drawings within it. My perusal was interrupted when I heard the scuff of shoes at the entrance and figured it was Dean coming back with food, or to tell me where I could shower and change. I hoped for the latter.

“I didn’t know you could read.” I quipped, knowing that it would bother Dean to make fun of him.

“You know,” A different voice than I expected answered, “They had been a little worried about my illiteracy at Stanford but I managed to muscle my way through.”

My head whipped up at the sound of his voice and I found myself staring at Sam. I froze. Now that I was face to face with him I was terrified. What if he wasn’t ready for this. What if I’d made an equally massive mistake by coming here? When I saw him last week I essentially told him to screw himself.

“Where’s Dean?” I asked, failing epically at addressing the fact that I’d walked out on my own wedding.

Sam took a step into the room, “He said something about needed to take his monkey suit off.”

His answer trailed off as he continued to advance on me. I dropped the book back onto the table but held myself still. I realized again for the second time that morning how ridiculous I looked. I was still wearing my gown. I’d forgone the veil but I was still dressed like a bride. I breathed out, puffing my cheeks in the process. I wasn’t ready for this. I thought I was, but I wasn’t. My heart rate raced while I fought to keep my breathing normal.

Sam circled around the table with slow and steady steps. It appeared that he was taking precaution, worried that if he stormed over I’d run. It was almost like I wasn’t real to him. Not yet. When he reached no farther than a few feet from me he stopped. He remained motionless. He was waiting for me. I understood why. I’d only just told him he was too late. That what we had was gone. He needed me to make the first move.

“Sammy.” I whispered.

I watched as his pupils dilated when his name fell from my mouth. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion. I took one step towards him and with the that the momentum caught me and I was speeding towards him. My arms opened and I grabbed onto his shoulders. I pressed my mouth against his, forgetting about all my qualms. I just wanted him. I wanted this life back. He responded in kind. Both of us frantic in our ministrations. His hands clutched at my lower back, while my nails dug into the shoulder blades on his back. His tongue snuck out, running along my lower lip. I responded with a moan, opening my mouth to him. He caught my lip between his teeth. I whimpered, wanting to have all of him immediately. Comprehending the direction of my thoughts I broke away from him.

I held myself close to him. He leaned down into me, relaxing his forehead against mine. Our gazes locked and we both smiled. Both of our breathing was haggard. We stood in silence catching out breath. I reveled at the feel of his solid form beneath my hands. I never thought this would happen again. I had prepared myself to spend the rest of my life living without him. My fingers contracted against him and he let out a small huff. One of the hands he had placed on my back smoothed up my arm and hook around my neck.

“I missed you.” He murmured.

I grinned, this was the Sammy I remembered. The sweet and gentle one. I reached up to thread my fingers through his hair.

“It’s longer.” I commented.

He chuckled and nodded. I stretched up on my tip toes and pushed another kiss to his mouth which he responded too. Our little moment was interrupted when a heavy set of footsteps clamoured into the room.

“Hate to break up the reunion, but I figured your girlfriend might want a chance to change.” Dean’s voice came filtering through.

We pulled away from each other. Sam turned to his brother, smiling from ear-to-ear. Dean rolled his eyes but we could all see the hidden smile underneath his mock annoyance. Sam snaked his fingers through mine, pulling me towards the entry way. I followed close after him, Dean backing down the steps and into the main room. He swept down to scoop up my bag and then turned to back to me. He stopped, his smile faltering. I pulled my brow in, concerned by the sudden change in his behaviour. He opened his mouth to speak but shut it again without a word. I tilted my head to the side when I was hit with understanding. I licked my lips, dropping my head down to compile all the things I wanted to say. In the end I decided that this wasn’t the time. We could hash out our differences later. Right now, I just wanted to be here, with him, and Dean.

I glanced back up and beamed softly at him, “Later.”

He nodded with comprehension and tugged me forward. His arms engulfed me and I took a deep breath in. I memorized his scent. One that I had never been able to forget. Be let go too quickly but grabbed my hand again.

“Come on.” He pulled me forward, “Let me give you the tour.”

[themoneybuff-blog]

What I learned (and taught) at Fincon 2018

Greetings from sunny and sweaty Orlando, Florida! It's been a long, lovely, crazy week behind the scenes at Get Rich Slowly. I've spent the past ten days hanging out with fellow money nerds at Fincon, the annual money and media conference. Fincon started in 2011 with just 225 attendees. Now there are over 2000 attendees including nineteen of us who have been to every iteration. Here's a quick run-down of what I learned (and taught) at Fincon 2018.

Bond with Friends and Colleagues Fincon is first and foremost a chance to meet and bond with friends and colleagues. When you're a money writer (or money podcaster or money YouTuber, etc.), you spend a lot of time holed away by yourself. It's a lonely existence. It's rewarding to see each other, even if it's only once a year. It's been eighteen months since I've seen Mr. Money Mustache, for instance, but we got to be temporary roommates this week, and are now spending a couple more days together (with other friends) at a post-conference retreat in Clearwater. Plus, I got to make new connections with folks like Piggy and Kitty from Bitches Get Riches (my favorite money blog), who are even more awesome (and hilarious) in person than they are on the cyberwebs. Like me, the Bitches are huge fans of Harry Potter. Actually, they are huger fans than I am, considering I haven't yet read the final two books. (Sorry, I didn't like Order of the Phoenix.) Talking with them made me realize that although I've always self-identified as a Ravenclaw, I am actually a Hufflepuff. (You're a Hufflepuff with Ravenclaw rising, Piggy suggested, and I think she's right.) It's strange to think that although I see these people only one week each year, they're almost like family. We're able to pick up where we left off twelve months ago and continue as if we'd never been apart. Teach Everything You Know Fincon is also a chance for us to teach everything we know in order to help others improve their sites, podcasts, and channels. The unrestrained sharing of info and experience is astounding. In a lot of other fields, people would be jealously guarding their secrets. Not here. Here, folks are dropping knowledge bombs all of the time. As always, I've been involved in a couple of presentations (in addition to the bajillion casual conversations in bars and lobbies). On Thursday, I joined my pal Jim Wang (from Wallet Hacks) to give a talk on how blogging has changed during the past decade. We had fun exploring the ways in which this world has (and has not) evolved since we started in 2004 and 2006.On Friday, I moderated a panel discussion about the four flavors of FIRE. Our small group discussed the rising popularity of financial independence and early retirement. Why is the subject suddenly resonating with so many people? Is it an idea that's only applicable to tech workers without children? How does retiring early affect relationships?On Saturday, I participated in a panel about Playing with Fire, the upcoming feature film about financial independence. This project has been in production for more than a year and is finally nearing completion. In fact, Fincon saw the world premiere of the Playing with Fire trailer! (To learn more about the movie, check out the Kickstarter page.) I don't really like public speaking. I turn down a lot of requests. And when I do agree to speak, I'm often very nervous. But I'm always happy to do whatever presentations I'm asked to do at Fincon, and I'm nearly never nervous doing them. Not sure why that is. Maybe because I'm completely comfortable and in my element? [embedded content] Partner with Like-Minded Companies Lastly, Fincon is a chance to meet with potential partners, companies who want to advertise on our channels or who want to pitch their shiny new money apps. Ive never actually done this in the past and probably wont do so again in the future. This year, I over scheduled. (In fact, I nearly collapsed from exhaustion on Friday evening for real! and had to return to my room for a few hours until the empty, hollow feeling and dizziness wore off.) The real problem, however, is that many partner pitches just aren't appropriate for me or for you. Fortunately, some are. I was impressed with three companies in particular, and hope to work with them in the future (whether or not there's financial compensation involved). This year, I came to the startling realization that I, as a man nearing his fiftieth birthday, really ought to be working with AARP, the national non-profit whose mission is to empower people to choose how they live as they age. It was hilarious during my meeting with the AARP rep to watch the light switch on in both of our heads: Oh, our missions are well-aligned, and there's an opportunity here to collaborate and make the world a better place. We don't know what that collaboration would look like yet, but I'd be surprised if we didn't work together extensively in years to come.

The Future of Get Rich Slowly Perhaps the biggest Get Rich Slowly news to come out of Fincon is that I've found somebody to come on board to handle the technical side of the site. As loyal readers know, I'm a writer. All I want to do is write, to share stories and strategies for better managing money. I hate hate hate dealing with the technical and business aspects of this business. (And make no mistake, this is a business.)

Well, my friend Tom Drake from MapleMoney does not hate the technical and business side of things. In fact, he's the sort of nerd who digs this sort of drudgery. (For him, it's not actually drudgery.) We haven't hammered out the details yet, but we've agreed that some sort of partnership is in order. In fact, he's already begun working behind the scenes to clean things up around here. Yay! I still have a couple of days left here in Florida. I'll return home to Portland on Wednesday. (Then, almost immediately, Kim and I will dash off to the Oregon coast to celebrate her birthday.) Next week, things will be completely back to normal at GRS. Meanwhile, I already miss my Fincon family. I know I'll see many of my closest colleagues several times in the months ahead, but I won't see most folks for an entire year. The 2019 edition of the conference will take place in Washington, D.C. (where I've never spent any substantial time), and I can't wait. I also can't wait to resume writing for you money bosses. There won't be anything new tomorrow, but it's my goal to publish a new substantive, real article on Wednesday. See you then!

https://www.getrichslowly.org/fincon-2018/

[themoneybuff-blog]

What I learned (and taught) at Fincon 2018

Greetings from sunny and sweaty Orlando, Florida! It's been a long, lovely, crazy week behind the scenes at Get Rich Slowly. I've spent the past ten days hanging out with fellow money nerds at Fincon, the annual money and media conference. Fincon started in 2011 with just 225 attendees. Now there are over 2000 attendees including nineteen of us who have been to every iteration. Here's a quick run-down of what I learned (and taught) at Fincon 2018.

Bond with Friends and Colleagues Fincon is first and foremost a chance to meet and bond with friends and colleagues. When you're a money writer (or money podcaster or money YouTuber, etc.), you spend a lot of time holed away by yourself. It's a lonely existence. It's rewarding to see each other, even if it's only once a year. It's been eighteen months since I've seen Mr. Money Mustache, for instance, but we got to be temporary roommates this week, and are now spending a couple more days together (with other friends) at a post-conference retreat in Clearwater. Plus, I got to make new connections with folks like Piggy and Kitty from Bitches Get Riches (my favorite money blog), who are even more awesome (and hilarious) in person than they are on the cyberwebs. Like me, the Bitches are huge fans of Harry Potter. Actually, they are huger fans than I am, considering I haven't yet read the final two books. (Sorry, I didn't like Order of the Phoenix.) Talking with them made me realize that although I've always self-identified as a Ravenclaw, I am actually a Hufflepuff. (You're a Hufflepuff with Ravenclaw rising, Piggy suggested, and I think she's right.) It's strange to think that although I see these people only one week each year, they're almost like family. We're able to pick up where we left off twelve months ago and continue as if we'd never been apart. Teach Everything You Know Fincon is also a chance for us to teach everything we know in order to help others improve their sites, podcasts, and channels. The unrestrained sharing of info and experience is astounding. In a lot of other fields, people would be jealously guarding their secrets. Not here. Here, folks are dropping knowledge bombs all of the time. As always, I've been involved in a couple of presentations (in addition to the bajillion casual conversations in bars and lobbies). On Thursday, I joined my pal Jim Wang (from Wallet Hacks) to give a talk on how blogging has changed during the past decade. We had fun exploring the ways in which this world has (and has not) evolved since we started in 2004 and 2006.On Friday, I moderated a panel discussion about the four flavors of FIRE. Our small group discussed the rising popularity of financial independence and early retirement. Why is the subject suddenly resonating with so many people? Is it an idea that's only applicable to tech workers without children? How does retiring early affect relationships?On Saturday, I participated in a panel about Playing with Fire, the upcoming feature film about financial independence. This project has been in production for more than a year and is finally nearing completion. In fact, Fincon saw the world premiere of the Playing with Fire trailer! (To learn more about the movie, check out the Kickstarter page.) I don't really like public speaking. I turn down a lot of requests. And when I do agree to speak, I'm often very nervous. But I'm always happy to do whatever presentations I'm asked to do at Fincon, and I'm nearly never nervous doing them. Not sure why that is. Maybe because I'm completely comfortable and in my element? [embedded content] Partner with Like-Minded Companies Lastly, Fincon is a chance to meet with potential partners, companies who want to advertise on our channels or who want to pitch their shiny new money apps. Ive never actually done this in the past and probably wont do so again in the future. This year, I over scheduled. (In fact, I nearly collapsed from exhaustion on Friday evening for real! and had to return to my room for a few hours until the empty, hollow feeling and dizziness wore off.) The real problem, however, is that many partner pitches just aren't appropriate for me or for you. Fortunately, some are. I was impressed with three companies in particular, and hope to work with them in the future (whether or not there's financial compensation involved). This year, I came to the startling realization that I, as a man nearing his fiftieth birthday, really ought to be working with AARP, the national non-profit whose mission is to empower people to choose how they live as they age. It was hilarious during my meeting with the AARP rep to watch the light switch on in both of our heads: Oh, our missions are well-aligned, and there's an opportunity here to collaborate and make the world a better place. We don't know what that collaboration would look like yet, but I'd be surprised if we didn't work together extensively in years to come.

The Future of Get Rich Slowly Perhaps the biggest Get Rich Slowly news to come out of Fincon is that I've found somebody to come on board to handle the technical side of the site. As loyal readers know, I'm a writer. All I want to do is write, to share stories and strategies for better managing money. I hate hate hate dealing with the technical and business aspects of this business. (And make no mistake, this is a business.)

Well, my friend Tom Drake from MapleMoney does not hate the technical and business side of things. In fact, he's the sort of nerd who digs this sort of drudgery. (For him, it's not actually drudgery.) We haven't hammered out the details yet, but we've agreed that some sort of partnership is in order. In fact, he's already begun working behind the scenes to clean things up around here. Yay! I still have a couple of days left here in Florida. I'll return home to Portland on Wednesday. (Then, almost immediately, Kim and I will dash off to the Oregon coast to celebrate her birthday.) Next week, things will be completely back to normal at GRS. Meanwhile, I already miss my Fincon family. I know I'll see many of my closest colleagues several times in the months ahead, but I won't see most folks for an entire year. The 2019 edition of the conference will take place in Washington, D.C. (where I've never spent any substantial time), and I can't wait. I also can't wait to resume writing for you money bosses. There won't be anything new tomorrow, but it's my goal to publish a new substantive, real article on Wednesday. See you then!

https://www.getrichslowly.org/fincon-2018/