#and I’m speaking from my experience because most young coworkers of mine are learning so damn fast

[nekoro-san]

Despite inexperienced, Yuri did tracking Twilight since the day he starts SSS. He also make the mistake since the doggy arc to not notice Twilight disguised the minister. And with how workaholics he is, he does learn from mistake and memorized from what Twilight tricking him before. Youngsters like him can learned very fast from experiences.

He also a country boy and probably used to have wild life survival with Yor ( there is a part mention as a kid he did fought with a bear to revenge on hurting Yor )

After this page, I gotta felling there is maybe a chance for Yuri and Yor backstory coming up in the future if things starts to turn serious.

[sunlight-moonrise]

Sugar, Spice, and Everything (Not So) Nice (Reid Imagine)

Summary: Being a Barista and falling for a regular is as cliche as it gets. Having that customer become your new professor? Not so much. 

A/N: *Peeks head out* Hello everyone. I have come back from my unannounced hiatus to show off this baby. Major thanks to @definitelynotkatesblog​ and @clean-bands-dirty-stories​ for helping me put this fic together. This was written for the lovely @httpnxtt​ for the secret-fic-swap in the Discord (thanks @imagining-in-the-margins​.) I hope you all enjoy this smutty goodness. 

Category: Smut

Content Warnings: Face Slapping, Degradation, Slight Hair Pulling, Oral Sex (male receiving), Fingering, Spanking, Penetrative Sex, Unprotected Sex/Creampie

Word Count: 6.4K

Masterlist

Being a barista is pretty awesome. Sure, there were bitchy customers and super early mornings but it had it’s redeeming perks. We got free coffee, tea, and snacks during our shifts, which served the caffeine addict in me. I also learned how to make popular lattes, mochas, and frappes that I ended up making at home for myself one too many times. While there were the occasional assholes who couldn’t appear human before getting their hands on some caffeine, there were the regulars who made it worth it. Most of the regulars were so sweet, I appreciated a familiar face when they came in. Some.. more than others.

“He’s baaaaaaaaack,” my coworker Hazel whispered to me in a sing-song voice as she scribbled a customer’s name on a cup. I turned to see who she was talking about, but I already had an inkling about who it was.

My suspicions were correct. I turned to see one of our kindest regulars, my personal favorite customer, Dr. Spencer Reid. Is it weird to know the full name -including the honorific- of a customer? Possibly. But when I’d asked for his name to write on his cup the first time he came in, he accidentally gave me his full name. 

“Dr. Reid- uh, Spencer. Sorry, work habit.” He stuttered, avoiding my eyes after the mistake.

“No worries! What can I get started for you?”

As a Criminology major,  I learned to study the people who catch my attention before indulging them. Call it an old habit. 

Dr. Spencer Reid had earned his title and then some. He’d joined the FBI at only 22, having six degrees under his belt by the age of 27. He’d written several dissertations and co-wrote novels with his colleague, David Rossi. Someone with his reputation could be a pompous ass and have a leg to stand on, which is what made his humbled demeanor so much sweeter. He was also incredibly easy on the eyes, which was a nice little bow on top. 

Hazel liked to joke about how we’d make a cute couple but I know she only did it to watch me get flustered.  

I walked towards the counter to take his order, leaving Hazel with the task of refilling the caramel syrup. I’m always the one to help him since he very aptly pointed out that I’m the only one who makes his coffee just how he likes it.  

Some days, he’d let me surprise him with a random creation. I’d confirm if he wanted caffeine (he always did), iced or not, and any flavor requests. He’d take his drink, tip me handsomely and let me know his thoughts on the drink the next time he came in. So far, his favorite was the almond milk honey latte I’d concocted. It was nice to have a little bit of fun, especially with regulars who were as consistent as him.

“Hey Doc, what can I get ya’?” I asked.

“The usual, please,” he said with a smile. I nodded and set off to make his drink: a venti dark roast with a shit ton of sugar, a dash of nutmeg, and a tiny bit of cinnamon.

“Of course!” I quickly go to fill his order, making sure to put a complimentary treat in a bag for him. I know he had the ultimate sweet tooth so I try to sneak him a confection whenever I can. At first, he was a bit reluctant to take the free pastries, but nowadays he usually smiles when he sees the small bag. 

“Here ya’ go.” I handed him his steamy cup of caffeine along with the little treat, seeing him smile at the small pun I add to his cup, “Have a BREW-tiful day, Doctor!” I watched as his lips landed on the rim of the cup, taking a long sip of the hot coffee. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, the sight making my cheeks promptly flush. I cleared my throat before asking, “Is it good?”

“It’s always good when you make it,” he stated matter of factly, a small smile touching his lips. The heat in my cheeks rose again. “Will you be taking a course this summer?” he asked, taking another sip of his coffee.

“Yeah, I’m really looking forward to it. My first day is actually later today. I’m surprised the class section was open, to be honest.” Super surprised actually. I’d been trying to enroll in this class for the past couple of semesters but it was always full by the time I was able to even load the registration page.

“Well, I’ll wish you luck, but I’m sure you won’t need it.”

“How can you be so sure?” 

“I can just tell.” He stated calmly, like it was common knowledge. I raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to explain. Before he could respond, an insistent cough caught both of our attention. I peeked over Spencer’s shoulder to see a customer waiting for his order to be taken. I turned my attention back to the Doctor, an annoyed look painted on my face. He nodded, taking a hint from the impatient mouth breather behind him. 

“Thank you for the coffee. Enjoy the rest of your day. I hope that class goes well.”

“Bye, you too.” I waved, watching as he exited the door. I turned to the waiting customer, a bit miffed that he interrupted our conversation. But because I was at work, I plastered a fake smile on my face so that he wouldn’t see just how annoyed I was. “Welcome, how may I help you?”

●●●

After clocking out at 2:30 PM, I made a dash for the building where my class would be held. It’s not supposed to start for another half-hour, but I wanted to be sure to get there in time to choose a good seat and settle in before the rest of the class arrived.

Luckily room 301 was relatively empty so I was able to score a perfect seat by the window. I decided to kill some time by listening to some music and doodling randomly in my notebook. Some time had passed when I felt someone take the seat next to me. I turned to see a young man occupying the chair beside mine. He looked to be a frat boy based on the Greek letters he was sporting. Who wears a cap and hoodie in this weather? I really hope he didn’t expect to cheat off of me- although these types of guys always seem to do so.

I was about to return to my doodle when I felt a poke on my shoulder. I turned to give the offender my full attention, removing one of the earbuds from my ears. 

“Hey, I’m Tony,” frat boy said, with a wide smile adorning his face. I must admit, his boyish grin melted the slight annoyance I had begun to stir toward him. I returned his greeting and introduced myself as well. “I don’t mean to be a bother,” he continued, “but I like to have at least one buddy in each of my classes. In case we need help or miss an assignment or something.”

I nodded my head - a friend in a class was always useful when it came to studying and swapping notes. We chatted a bit more, learning about each other’s major and why we both decided to take a summer course. Tony is a double major and this course will satisfy the credits he needs for his psychology requirement. This is why you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. 

It wasn’t until I heard the hush of the classroom that I realized the class was about to begin. I turned back to my notebook, preparing to jot down some important information despite it being the first day of class.

“Good morning class.” Wait. That voice... I didn’t even need to pick my head up to know who had spoken. “This is Criminal Psychology and I am your instructor, Doctor Spencer Reid. Unfortunately, Professor Monroe could not cover this course so I’ll be his permanent replacement. Now…”

I raised my head, watching as he continued to talk about what is to be expected in this course while a TA handed out the syllabus. He went on, able to capture the attention of everyone while speaking of the experiences he had with an array of criminals. His eyes scanned the room and for a brief moment I thought they would land on me, but they continued to take in the mass amount of students before him.

My concentration was broken by Tony passing me a copy of the syllabus. I scanned it over, making sure to highlight all the important dates. I didn’t want any exams or projects conflicting with my work schedule. I also made note of how the overall grade system is broken down. The whole thing seems pretty fair and everything was spaced out enough where I wouldn’t feel too overwhelmed with the workload.

“… and that pretty much wraps it up. Does anyone have any questions?” I tuned in just as he was pulling the first class to a close. No one raised their hands, so he dismissed us with a reminder to read the first chapter of the textbook and to check for any emails.

“So do you want to grab lunch?” Tony asked from beside me. I contemplated whether or not to go with him. He must have seen the hesitation in my face because he quickly added, “Not as a date or anything, I just wanted to grab a bite and I didn’t want to do it alone.”

“Sure,” I smiled, “Let me just ask the professor a quick question about his office hours and I’ll meet you at the food court.”

“Sweet, I’ll see you in a bit.” With that, Tony gathered his stuff and exited the back door. 

I focused my attention on the podium, seeing a gaggle of girls surrounding him asking redundant questions. From what I could hear, their questions could have been answered if they’d read the syllabus. I decided to give them the benefit of the doubt, they were probably more focused on him rather than what he was saying during class. I waited a few more minutes for them to finish up before I made my way to him.

“So do I call you Doctor or Professor now?” I laughed. 

“From you, I’d respond to either,” he replied warmly. The comment made me blush. If he looked into my eyes at that moment, he’d see more stars in them than the night sky. I bit my lip to stop the idiotic grin from spreading across my face. 

He’s your professor, get a hold of yourself.

“How can I help?” he asked, bringing me back to the original reason as to why I was standing in front of him without a cash register between us. 

I cleared my throat. “Um, I was wondering if it was possible to see you outside your normal office hours? I usually work the morning shifts and I don’t want to flood your emails with my questions.” I asked.

“Of course,” he said. “You can come to my office at whatever time works best for you. I know balancing a work and school schedule can be hard. Besides, I’m usually there handling paperwork anyway.” He gave a small shrug, pushing his hands in his pockets. 

“Thank you so much. I look forward to the rest of the semester Professor Reid.” I liked the way his newfound honorific rolled off my tongue. 

“Goodbye, Y/N.”

“Goodbye, Professor.” With that, I left and headed out to meet Tony. 

I was able to find him at the food court. We got some food and chatted more about our classes as well as life outside of school. He made it easy to be his friend, and it was nice having someone to talk to. He works as a waiter so we shared our customer service horror stories and tales of sneaking food at work. It was a nice distraction that took my mind off of Dr. Reid and the ongoing battle of calling him Doctor or Professor. As Tony rambled, my mind wandered about other things I’d like to call Spencer instead. 

●●●

In that short span of two weeks, we already had an exam, an oral presentation, and a report on the psychoanalysis of serial killers. Not one day had been wasted, but this is what to be expected from a summer course. The essay was due the day before. Now we had to wait for our grades which gave us a moment to take a breath.

I was worried that my paper was subpar; especially since I chose to write about Andrei Chikatilo, a serial killer from Ukraine. He wasn’t as popular as those in America, so I ended up spending hours on deep research to find substantial information about his crimes. It also didn’t help that some of the original reports weren’t in English. I had worked hard, and hoped Professor Reid would see that, even if my writing could sometimes be a little weak. I was worried about the grade as our research papers held the weight of 20% of our final mark. 

“Hello? Earth to Y/N! Anyone in there?” Hazel’s voice pierced through my worry bubble, her hand waving in front of my face. I shook my head, trying to focus on restocking the coffee beans.

“Sorry Haze, I’m thinking about this class.”

“Funny you say that; your favorite professor just walked in. Thought you might want to take his order.” She wagged her brows at me, making kissy faces as I hurried to the front register, trying my best to not let my eagerness be so glaringly obvious.

There he was, in his usual handsome glory, patiently waiting for me to take his order. He greeted me with a small smile that I happily returned.

“Hey Doc, what can I get you today?”

He debated for a moment before saying, “Surprise me.”

“Gotcha.” I already had an in my head; it’d been a while since he asked me to make him a random drink so I’d had plenty of time to plan. We got an early shipment of ingredients for our fall-themed drinks and I figured he would appreciate some pumpkin spice in his caffeine. “How are the papers coming along?” I asked casually as I rang him up.

“Pretty well. I’m almost done, so you’ll all receive your grades later today.” Wow, that was fast. I wondered if he stayed up reading all those papers to be done by today. Probably not, a TA must have helped him.

“I am a bit nervous about mine, especially since it’s worth a huge part of our final grade.” I really wanted to get an A in this course, but it was hard juggling everything in such a short amount of time.

“Don’t worry about it too much,” he reassured. “I haven’t properly finished yours yet but it looked great just from what I’ve seen thus far.” His words gave me a little reassurance.

“Thanks. I put a lot of effort into it. Let me grab your coffee now.” Spencer walked towards the pick-up station while I grabbed a venti cup for his drink. Just when I was about to make his order, I saw another familiar face come up to the register. “Tony, hey!” I shouted, placing the cup back down, “What can I get you?” 

This was the first time he’d been here, despite him saying for the past few days that he’d stop by for a visit, even with the promise of a cake pop if he did. It was nice to see another familiar face.

“Hey coffee girl, how you doin’ today?”

“Just peachy. My feet are killing me, though.” Just saying the words caused the ache on the soles of my feet to spike higher. I thanked my lucky stars I was almost done with this eight-hour shift.

“Give me the chance to sweep you off your feet, I promise you won’t regret it.” he offered boldly. It wasn’t the first time he’d joked about taking me out. I laughed, especially since he had a girlfriend. She met us for lunch one day and we became fast friends- she was an incredibly sweet and intelligent girl, polite and elegant as well. It is a wonder how his frat boy charm won her over but opposites attract, I guess.

“Shut up, Casanova. What are you gonna have?”

“I’ll have a grande iced matcha latte, please.” I should’ve known. He told me that he loves matcha flavored food and drinks the first time we grabbed lunch after class. He had complained that there was no good place to get one on campus. 

“Coming right up.” I quickly filled his order since it was faster to make compared to the pumpkin spiced latte. I handed him his bribe-cake pop, matcha flavor of course, while he waited for me to finish making his drink.

“By the way, we’re still studying at the library for the exam later tonight, right?” Tony asked.

“Yup, I’ll meet you at 8.”

“Copy that, see you later coffee girl.” He turned to leave while I turned to make Professor Reid’s order. I put extra whip cream and a bit more syrup to satiate his sweet tooth. I grabbed a fresh chocolate muffin from the display case and popped it into a bag for him as well, drawing yet another pun on the good doctors bag. “Thanks for being such a TEA-rrific professor!”

“Here ya’ go Doc,” I called out before placing his drink and muffin on the counter. I looked up to see him no longer smiling. “Is everything okay?”

Ignoring my question, he said, “I wasn’t aware you were so close to Mr. Montgomery.”

“Oh yeah, we study together once in a while.” I could have sworn I saw his frown deepen before his features became void of any emotions. He shifted his eyes downward, his hand moving rapidly to grab the cup.

“I should get going.”

“Oh, okay” Before I could say goodbye, he was already halfway out the door. 

That was weird. I looked at the counter and noticed that he left the cupcake behind. Maybe he was in a rush?

I shook my head. I needed to concentrate on making it through the last couple of hours of work. 

●●●

I made my way to the classroom, smiling at Tony as he pulled out my seat for me. Professor Reid walked in a few minutes later, his tall figure drawing all the attention to the center of the small stage. He let us know he already graded the papers and that they would be distributed by the TA before the end of class. I had a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach but decided to brush it off and pay attention in class. Despite my attempts to focus on his lecture, I found my mind wandering every so often anyway.

I couldn’t help but think he was less animated today. Usually, he taught with such passion that the class couldn’t take their eyes off him. But today, it felt as if we were all in a boring seminar with an ancient professor. Tony kept glancing at the clock, probably also wondering why time felt like it was going by so slowly. 

I couldn’t shake the unsettled feeling the entire class. It didn’t help matters that every time I would raise my hand to answer a question, he would call on another student. What the hell did I do? 

I decided to tune out the rest of the class. There is no point in being an actively engaged student if I wasn’t going to get treated like one. I’d just get the notes from Tony later.

Thirty minutes before the end of class, the TA handed out our essays while Professor Reid wrapped. 

“Some of you did very well, while a few others struggled with the assignment.” His eyes landed on mine as he said that. It was the first time he had glanced in my direction the whole class. He moved on to the other side of the room. My mind was probably just playing tricks on me. “If you have any questions you can see me at my office hours next week or send me an email. You are dismissed.”

The TA finally made his way over to me, handing my essay in a slight fold. I looked at the grade on top and almost dropped the paper. My heart sped up as I stared at the letter in bright red ink. No way, no way this could be my report. I looked at the right-hand corner and saw my name at the top. I read through the first page and saw they were indeed my words.

How the fuck was it possible that I got a D on this paper? I knew my writing wasn’t the strongest, but a D? 

“How you’d do?” Tony asked. For a moment I forgot I was in a room with other people.

I cleared my throat, trying to relive the lump so that he didn’t hear the croak in my voice. “Umm, not what I expected. I’m going to try to speak to him about it.” Tony was a smart kid, so I was sure he could see how tense I was. Luckily he didn’t question me any further and instead told me he’d text me later before leaving the classroom.

Fortunately, there were no other students in the classroom to slow me down this time. I walked right up to the podium, watching as Professor Reid placed some papers in his satchel. 

“Professor, I need to speak with you.”

“Not now, I’m busy,” he replied, not even bothering to glance in my direction. This can’t be real. The sweet, kind Doc could not be the man acting like a total asshole right now.

“I really need to discuss with you my paper,” I pressed, raising my voice a little louder in an attempt to get his attention. That was wishful thinking on my part since he continued to fiddle with his satchel.

“I said I’m busy,” he uttered once again, his voice void of any emotion. He was about to walk past me, ignoring my whole being. His blatant disregard made my cheeks burn, and not in the usual way they usually did when I was around him.

“Spencer,” I barked, “We need to talk. Now.” For a few moments, he stood in front of me, his back facing my direction.

I was about to speak again before I heard him say, “My office. Half an hour.” He exited, leaving me alone in an empty classroom. The only things keeping me company were the fuming feelings swirling inside me and the failed paper clutched at my fist. 

●●●

I knocked on his office door ten minutes earlier than he’d told me. The anger in my gut brewed hotter the longer I waited. As soon as I heard a “Come in,” I rushed through the door, slamming it behind me. He regarded me coolly, but didn’t comment on my actions. 

“What can I do for you Ms. (Y/L/N)?” I walked up to his large desk, not bothering to take a seat in the chair in front of me. I took a moment to calm myself down before replying.

“Well, you can start by explaining to me why I got such a low score on my paper.” I guess he didn’t like being the only one of us sitting down because he stood up and leaned against the wall behind him.

“It did not meet the requirements for a passing grade as outlined in the rubric. The information given was boring and the overall topic was uninteresting. It was tedious to get through,” he responded nonchalantly, like he was giving me a weather report.  

“You said that you enjoyed it so far.” I rebutted, placing my hands on the desk. I needed something to offer me stability so that I wasn’t visibly shaking.  

“I’d mistaken your work for another student’s. Maybe Mr. Montgomery,” he dryly clipped.

A bitter laugh escaped me as I put the puzzle together. Was- was he serious? Was this man acting like this because of Tony? The audacity! The laugh that bubbled from my lips must have unsettled him. He left his position from the wall in favor of standing in front of me.

“You want to know what I think?” I didn’t give him a chance to respond before continuing, “I think you’re jealous that I have another guy that isn’t you getting friendly with me at the shop and because of your inability to keep your---“

“That is enough,” he grounded out, shaking his head. But I didn’t stop talking.

“--private feelings away from your professional ones, you decided to give me a failing grade. Do you know how hard I worked in-” my voice rose up higher and higher until I was yelling.

“I said that’s enough,” he said again, louder this time. But I wasn’t done.

“-this class? This is my life, my fucking future on the line. I’ve told you how important this all is to me and you don’t even give a shit! You’re going to let your interpretation of my relationship with another student influence the way you do your job? And here I thought you were a decent man, Professor.” I hissed, “Do you even give a damn abo-”

“Enough,” he roared, slamming his hands on the desk and caging me against the wood. His breathing was matching the upbeat pace of my own. His quick movement and the sheer volume of his voice caught me off guard, effectively silencing me. 

“I don’t deserve to be punished over your envy,” I whispered, locking eyes with him in a steady gaze.

“You want to see a real punishment, darling?” he hissed, the heat of his words almost breaking my glare, his breath fanning along my face.

We stared at one another for a while, neither of us willing to be the first to back down. The tension between us kept rising and rising until the inevitable happened. I couldn’t be sure who made the first move but before I knew it, our lips collided with a mix of rage and desperation. My arms draped around his neck as he pressed me on to the desk. He placed his hands on the back of my thighs, lifting me up high enough until I was perched on the cool wooden surface.

Spencer’s lips were soft, a stark contrast to the harsh way he was kissing me. His tongue parted my lips, gliding over mine with fervor. I couldn’t help but moan as he rolled his hips into me. He continued his rough grind, keeping my legs open as we moved as close together as our bodies would allow. He overwhelmed my senses- the smell of him, the taste of him, the feel of him. Everything was making me absolutely feral for this man. 

I never expected the gentle Dr. Reid to be so fervent, so sensual. The kindhearted, sweet professor who regularly drank his weight in caffeine never gave me this impression. But then again, I’m sure he was shocked by my attitude as well. He knew me as the friendly, bubbly barista, now student, who enjoyed his class. He was about to meet a whole new side of me, just like I was going to for him.

Spencer pulled away from me, our mouths making an audible ‘pop’ sound from the sudden separation. I tried to catch my breath as he stared at me, our chests rising and falling together. If I were to move a bit closer to him, we would be touching once again.

He took a few steps back before motioning me to step in front of him. “I want you to get down on your knees. Now.” I wasn’t going to argue with him, mainly because I wanted the exact same thing he did. I kneeled down, keeping my eyes on his face.

“You going to shut me up, Professor?” I teased, feeling powerful, even though he was looming over me. He didn’t reply, just continued to look down on me with those honey colored eyes- full of lust and rage.

I watched as he slowly placed his hands on his slacks, undoing the belt and buttons. He drew down his pants and boxers at the same time, just low enough to reveal his impressive size. My mouth salivated at the sight of his bulge as he came closer to me.

“We’re going to put that smart mouth to better use. Open.” He said, gripping my face between his fingers, forcing me to follow his orders. I opened my mouth slightly, not giving him exactly what he wanted. Instead of ordering my mouth to open further like I expected, he placed his thumb inside. He pushed the digit deep, pressing it against my tongue. I moaned around the finger, softly nibbling at the skin. He continued to slide his finger within my mouth before dragging it out completely. He wiped the excess spit on my cheek before lightly smacking it. The small shock of pain sent a shiver down my spine.

“Open, and do it right this time.”

I obeyed, opening wide enough to accept him into my mouth. My lips were stretched almost uncomfortably in an attempt to fit around him. He was so hot and thick, I couldn’t help but hum at the taste of him on my tongue. The soft “fuck” that fell from his lips had me purring around him. I went to place my hands on the remaining portion that couldn’t fit, but he batted them away.

“You’re using only your mouth.” 

Fine, have it your way, Sir. 

I placed my hands behind me as I bobbed my head, hallowing my cheeks with every rise. His shallow thrusts encouraged me to suck harder. I slowly pulled away to run my tongue against the vein protruding on the underside of his cock. I was rewarded with a groan escaping his lips.

“I should have known that you would be so good at this, darling,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse as he tried to control his grunts.

I made sure to look in his eyes as I swirled my tongue around the head of his cock. The face he made was purely angelic. The muscles of his neck protruded more evidently and his breathing became more labored. I placed him back in my mouth, this time taking my time to go down on him.

“That’s right, Princess. Show me what a good girl you are for me.” He moaned as I felt his hands weave in my hair before he pushed my head down on to him, causing me to gag around him, tears pricking my eyes. He continued his thrusts into my mouth, barely allowing me a chance to breathe. My nose repeatedly touched the base of him as I swallowed around his hard length.

Spencer tightened his fingers in my hair and I knew he wasn’t going to last much longer.  The pace was brutal, but I enjoyed the rough treatment. Knowing that I was the one making him feel good was such a turn on. He buried himself deep in my throat after a few more thrusts to finish. I swallowed his release like the greedy brat that we both now knew I was.

He eventually pulled out, a satisfied sigh leaving his lips. I swiped the back off my hand across my mouth to clean off any leftover spit and cum.

“Get up,” he ordered, his voice hoarse.

I did so, rubbing the ache in my knees as I slowly rose. “I want you bent over the desk,” he continued.

“I want you to answer my previous question.” I quipped.

“You’re not in the position to be making commands,” he growled. He wrapped his fingers in my hair again, pulling just roughly enough so that I was looking up at his face. “If you want this to end well for you, I suggest bending over my desk before I stuff my cock in that bratty little mouth of yours again.”

He released me, eyes still on my face waiting for me to follow through on his order. I turned to his desk and did as he asked, bending over the wood until my chest laid flat against the surface. I waited as patiently as I could for him. It felt as if I was in this position for an eternity before he touched me. He pushed both my underwear and skirt down to my knees before placing his hands on my hips. I heard it before I felt it- the smack on my ass that caused me to yelp.

“Fuck, Spencer. What the—” I was cut off with another resounding smack.

“Did you really think that I wasn’t going to give you a real punishment, darling?” I took a deep breath as another shiver went down my spine. He had no business sounding so hot right now. Another smack, this time on my opposite cheek, had me biting down on my lip to stop myself from crying out.

“This” *SMACK* “Is” *SMACK* “What” *SMACK* “Happens” *SMACK* “To” *SMACK* “Bratty” *SMACK* “Little” *SMACK* “Girls” *SMACK*. A sob ripped from my chest as the last blow landed. My ass was on fire and surely littered with his hand prints.

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood since you sucked me off so nicely, or I would have made that worse.”

Gee, thanks.

“You look like such a dirty slut like this.” I felt a finger enter me easily, the wetness gathered there making my entrance ready to take him. “So wet. Was it the spanking that got you like this, or your mouth around my cock?” A moan was my only reply as he added another finger, the two digits moving in a scissoring motion. 

“Are you gonna be my sweet girl, now?” He asked as I moved my hips along his fingers, desperately trying to seek some more relief for the fire burning between my thighs as his mouth littered marks along my thighs. I closed my eyes, focusing on the pleasure he was giving me as he curled his fingers, a slow moan falling from my lips. He pulled them out of me, wiping the slickness against my still burning ass. Fucking bastard. I wiggled my hips against him, hoping he would grant me a reprieve and put his fingers back inside me. Instead, he spanked my ass one more time- one quick, sharp blow against the bruised cheek.

Just when I was about to yell at him, he placed the head of his member against my entrance. He moved up and down my drenched entrance before penetrating me in one full thrust. I took a short breath in, trying to get used to feeling so full. He was stretching me out in the most amazing way.

Spencer waited until I was grinding against him before he pulled out and pushed back into me. “Look at you, such a wanton little bitch aren’t you?” He could call me whatever he wanted, as long as he didn’t stop fucking me.

He kept a steady pace, making sure to grind into me every time he slammed back in. The obscene sound of our skin smacking against one another’s and the moans escaping our throats was an erotic symphony that had my body heat raising the temperature in the room.

He hitched my leg on top of the desk, entering in an angle that made the pleasure so much better. I couldn’t stop the whines that kept escaping my mouth every time he pounded into me. His hand stayed upon my leg, holding me down and limiting my movements. His nails dug into the skin so harshly I was sure there would be bruises left in their wake.  

“Fuck, you feel so good wrapped around me,” he hissed under his breath. “Should have known you just needed to be fucked like the cheap whore you are.” He sped up, hips snapping at an almost punishing pace. The desk creaked every time he slammed into me. I hoped no one was nearby to hear what was going on. A whine left my throat when I felt his fingers rub against my clit. I was so close now.

“Should I stay inside you? Fill you up so you walk around campus carrying my child?” He growls, his pace increasing with each passing moment. “Knock you up so the whole campus knows what a whore you are for me?” He asks, earning a cry ripped from my throat. 

“Who’s fucking you?” he grunted. I don’t know how he expected me to form a coherent statement at this current moment. My eyes could barely stay open at this point. 

“Spencer, please.” He smacked the outside of my thigh.

“Try again, who’s fucking you?” 

“You are, Doctor.” Apparently, that was the wrong answer too, because it earned me another smack on my thigh. I had tears streaming down my face from the pleasurable pain he was giving me.

“You have one more chance or else I’m not letting you come. Now, who’s is fucking you?”

“Professor Reid!” I cried out.

“That’s right darling. Now come on my cock.” A harsh bite on my neck was the ultimate push that had me seeing stars. Spencer thrusted a few more times before fully sheathing himself within me.

He slumped over me, the feel of his breath against my neck causing me to shiver once more. We took a moment to have the high leave our body before he pulled out of me, a gasp leaving the both of us. Spencer was the first to break the silence between us.

“Would you like to have dinner with me?” he asked, his voice a bit shy. 

I giggled at his demeanor. A few moments ago, he was fucking me senseless and spanking me over his desk like a porno, and now he was asking me out to dinner. 

“Absolutely,” I smiled. “But I should probably cancel my study plans.” I quickly added. 

He led me to the faculty bathroom so I could freshen myself up. When I emerged, he was back to being the prim and proper professor I knew him to be. Just before we left his office, he leaned down and whispered, “By the way, you got an A.”

[writer-panda]

Ruin and Rebirth - Chapter 1

Ruin and Rebirth

Chapter 2

Inspired by @jumpingjoy82 on Tumblr. Thank you for the amazing prologue.

I don’t own the characters, only the plot. Miraculous and Justice League belong to their respective creators

--------

"It's okay Marinette. Everything is going to be fine. You’re too young to understand, but it was for the greater good."

To young.

TO YOUNG!

It was all the Justice League's fault. If they kept their incompetent asses out of Paris, none of this would have happened.

Apparently, they just spontaneously decided to go through the Watchtower’s recycling bin, and what they found astonished them. Years upon years worth of pleas for help from Paris.

They decide to finally investigate, and it just so happens that it was during an Akuma Attack, and they threw everything the Parisian heroes were telling them out of the window, wanting to do things their own way.

Superman was one of the ones there.

And they learned just how far the Miracle Cure could go.

He decided to use his super strength and threw a car at the akumatized victim, who moved out of the way at the last minute, so the car sailed right through the Tom & Sabine Bakery, promptly, catching on fire, giving no time for the people inside to get out. No one got out alive.

Ladybug froze for a moment, before fighting with more determination than before, knowing that the Miracle Cure would bring them back.

She was wrong, which brings us back to this point.

"I don't give a damn about you so-called 'greater good' and now you’re telling me, that I'm too young to understand, but am I too young to experience it? Too young to actually see everything and everyone I love torn from me because of these heroes?! Why the hell are they here now? Where were they when this first started? What changed? And now, because of them, my entire family is dead!"

After that everything was hazy, but she knew, she hated superheroes.

They never knew when to stop, and just like Chat Noir, they expected to be praised for whatever happens, no matter if there were casualties or not.

The world would be better off without them.

----------------

The sun has long since set over Paris. The fires were still burning in some parts of town. For the first time since Ladybug first appeared, the citizens of Paris felt true fear. It was ironic. They didn’t fear the akuma. They feared the heroes that came to their rescue. For the first time in four years, the casualties were piling up. And the akuma was responsible for none.

True, many of them initially asked for it. With each fight, Ladybug and Chat Noir were taking longer. It’s been obvious for some time that they were slowly being worn out. Some media started to criticize the duo, question their skills, age, their right to act in Paris. They weren’t part of the UN Justice League Charter. Their only real authority came from the trust of the citizens themselves. And that trust was lost. The civilian pleas to the Justice League increased in number and frequency. Under public pressure, the mayor had no choice but to issue an official plea for help.

But then, then… the heroes came. 

In retrospection, almost everyone would agree that it was a mistake. Justice League was not used to fighting magical threats. They weren’t practiced in dealing with possessed villains. They didn’t understand. And they treated Ladybug and Chat Noir worse than sidekicks. 

That flying chicken even dared to wrap Chat Noir in a metal bar so he wouldn’t get in the way. 

Ladybug… tried her best. She allowed herself to trust the new heroes. She stopped saving every civilian from the rubble. She focused on the akuma. If heroes didn’t bother with the lives, it must’ve meant they trusted her cure, right?

WRONG

They were like a tank, riding through the city with a singular goal in mind. 

It didn’t help that they deemed the akuma a “world-level threat”. Yeah, right. Stormy Weather was powerful, but the damage could’ve been repaired. 

Or so she thought.

The volcanos, the tsunami, the tornadoes, the earthquakes? Those were fixed. The rubble caused by them was put back in place and those who suffered under them were better than new. 

But not the damage caused by the heroes. 

Not the bakery.

There was no magic in what happened. There was nothing to reverse. Those were human actions. For the first time perhaps, the people could see how much of the damage caused by the fight was the fault of heroes. How many deaths they caused. That is if they admitted, before themselves at least, that it was their fault. 

And yet, the so-called ‘heroes’ dared to lecture her about responsibility. About the sacrifice of few for the lives of many. About the innocence of young. 

She ran away. She managed to dodge them and vanish. Meld with the crowd when there were no cameras in sight and she was sure they couldn’t track her. 

Now, Ladybug stood alone on the top of the Eiffel tower, with her yo-yo communicator in her hand. She sent the message fifteen minutes ago. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but at this point, she no longer cared. There was nothing more for her. 

“He thought this was a trap.” A voice spoke from behind her. Ladybug twisted immediately, taking a guarded stance. She was still avoiding the Justice League after all. Before her stood… someone. She suspected it was an Akuma. The woman had pale skin and wore a black dress, black gloves, and a black veil over her face. 

“It isn’t. I’m alone. The city suffered enough as it is today. I suffered enough.” Ladybug’s voice cracked slightly.

“I see…” The akuma pursed her lips. For a moment, a purple butterfly appeared over her face before the woman nodded. “Fine. Give me your miraculous and I will take you to him.” 

“That isn’t going to work and you know it. You would just leave me stuck here. I’m willing to offer a token of goodwill though.” With that, Ladybug pulled a necklace and dangled it before the akuma. 

“Is that…?” 

“The miraculous of the fox? Yes. No tricks. I want to negotiate. In-person.” She made sure to emphasize the last part. 

The outline of the butterfly appeared in front of the Akuma’s face for a moment before she silently nodded. “I can lead you to him, but not before you reveal your face.”

“Fine.” Ladybug didn’t hesitate. She was past that point long ago. There was no hesitation, no doubt… no regret. Not for her actions anyway. No more.

In the flash of light, instead of Ladybug, Marinette stood before the akuma. 

“You’re…” the woman’s voice was stuck in her throat.

“I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng.” 

Tikki, floating nearby gasped in fear. The Kwami didn’t get a chance to explain before Marinette resumed her transformation. 

“Fine. Let’s go.”

The two leaped from the tower and started to zoom over the city. At first, they remained silent. Neither wanted to speak. It was tense anyway. It was, of course, Marinette who broke the silence first. 

“Your… your look. Have you lost someone today?”

The woman didn’t answer immediately. She appeared to be mulling over the question at first. Or wondering if she should answer.

“A… colleague; coworker. He was… a friend of mine you could say. We’ve been working side-by-side for at least a decade.”

“I see…” Marinette pursed her lips into a thin line. “I’m sorry.” She spoke up after a moment. “I imagine you blame me now?”

“No.” The akuma snapped. “You’re just a child. I put the blame where it belongs. With heroes. And with people who chose to invite them.” 

“Not hawkmoth?” Escaped ladybug’s mouth before she realized it. 

“He… he never wanted this either. He isn’t a villain you believe him to be.” The akuma hesitated for a moment, but Marinette could sense it was her own opinion. She filed it in her brain under interesting. 

-----------

When they arrived at Agreste manor, Marinette was surprised.

When they entered the study, she was baffled.

When they went down the secret elevator, she was angry. 

When she stood before Hawkmoth, she was furious. And it wasn’t because he was her mortal enemy. 

“So that’s why you neglect your only son?!” She screamed at him as soon as he turned to see her. His mouth moved, probably to give some excuse. “I don’t care if you want to rule the world or be a god or whatever. No matter what little sick excuse your brain found to justify your actions. You are not allowed to just ignore Adrien like that! He needs a father. He is a teenager and he needs you!” 

“Madmoiselle Dupain-Cheng.” His voice was cold, but in a different way than she ever heard Gabriel Agreste or Hawkmoth speak. 

“Gabriel Agreste. And I assume you akumatized your Assistant, Nathalie?” She pointed to the woman next to her. 

“Astute observation, Ladybug. You risked a lot coming here to speak with me. I could take your miraculous now, or any other time. You gave me your most precious protection: your secret identity. So… what was that important?”

“I want to know. What is so important to you that you’re willing to go any length to get it?”

“That’s it?” Hawkmoth raised an eyebrow. “That’s all? You’re ready to risk everything over that little piece of knowledge?”

“Yes.” Once more, there was no hesitation. There was no doubt. Her heart had no place for doubts anymore. Her heart was still stuck under three levels worth of rubble. 

“And what, pray tell, would you do if I told you?” He asked with a hint of amusement in his voice. 

“That depends.” She could see he was now intrigued, so she started to explain. “On whether I like the goal or not. And on whether you understand fully the implications. If you pass, you will get my miraculous and I will deliver you Chat Noir’s miraculous too. If you fail, you still get my miraculous. But you will never get the ring. I made sure that if something happens tonight, he will retire. He will leave Paris and toss the ring into the ocean in a concrete box. You would be left to torture the city all you wish until the League found you, but the ring’s power would forever remain out of your reach. You would be left with nothing but a criminal record. And your son would sooner than later be left without both parents. Of course, you could abandon your crusade, but then I would’ve won. I’m not a naive girl without a plan. Not anymore.” She spat the last part angrily, but her gaze was not focused on Hawkmoth, but far in the distance. 

“I… see. Clever. You’re right. This will probably end tonight.” He looked her over top to bottom. It was the first time he stood so close face to face with Ladybug. His nemesis. 

Gabriel wasn’t sure if he was impressed with her, or infuriated. Scratch that, he was sure he was both. She outsmarted him. She was willing to make an ultimate sacrifice for the sake of ending the fight. In that very moment, in her determined expression, he saw a reflection of another headstrong woman he knew. It was as if Emilie’s spirit stood before him. 

“So? How will it be?” she asked impatiently.

“Follow me.” He simply motioned for her and started walking. 

Soon, the group entered a large chamber, lit by several lights. In the center of a platform in the far end stood a glass coffin. Even from the distance, Marinette easily saw there was a woman inside. She was quick to pass Hawkmoth and get there, even as he was trying to grab her.

When the akuma and Gabriel arrived, they watched as Marinette was carefully pacing around the coffin and muttering under her breath. 

“She overused the damaged miraculous.” It wasn’t a question, but Hawkmoth answered anyway.

“Yes. Only the wish can bring her back.”

“You’re one of the biggest idiots in this whole city!” The girl screamed. “She is not dead, you moron. There are literally five different ways listed in the book which, may I remind you, you possess!” She continued to yell at him. “Hell! You could akumatize someone and give him healing power. You know… use the butterfly miraculous like it was meant to be used!” She scolded. “But nooo! You’ve got to be an idiot and immediately go for the most dangerous, imprecise, reckless, chaotic, risky solution there was! I’m sure she would’ve been ashamed.” 

Gabriel was at a loss for words. Was it really that easy? It couldn’t have been. He checked several times. He would’ve known. The akuma left Nathalie, who collapsed onto the ground. Some tear stains were now visible on her face. “I… I was just… I did what she told me. Only the wish can bring back the dead.” He stammered. 

“She. Is. Not. Dead.” Marinette made sure to punctuate each word. “She is in a coma. She is alive you moron. Tikki! Spots off!” The flash of light signaled the end of her transformation. “Be silent, little one.” She said in a caring voice. She couldn’t bring herself to take her anger on Kwami, but she couldn’t doubt now. “Akumatize me. Give me the power to heal her.”

The corruption left the akuma that was floating in the air, only for Hawkmoth to get his hands around the white butterfly and pour a new dose of power into it. It flew the short distance between them and sunk into Marinette’s purse. She smirked as the corrupted energy passed through her, turning her into an akuma. That is until she could see how she looked. 

“I’m not sure how you can call yourself a designer and yet dress me in this!” she complained. Her skin was now deep red, the color of blood, and her clothes turned into a white nurse uniform. Still, she walked to the coffin and easily opened the top. From her purse (now medic’s bag) she pulled a needle and injected the content into Emilie.

When the beautiful woman started to move, letting out an exhausted groan, Marinette sighed in relief. 

“Wha… what’s going on… the last thing I… Gabriel!” She bolted upright and immediately moaned in pain. Her hand instinctively flew to her back. “Gabriel Agreste! Did you keep me in this coffin for a whole week!?” She yelled at her husband. “And who’re those two?” She pointed at Marinette, who was smiling next to her, and Nathalie, still exhausted on the floor. “You were supposed to only reveal this to Adrien if anything happened to me. There was no talk about your assistant and… um, who’re you?” The woman turned to the akuma, who sighed and tore a strap of her bag. The butterfly left the item and Marinette reverted back to her normal form. 

“I’m Marinette Dupain-Cheng. I’m… was… used to be Ladybug.” 

“But you’re just a kid. And why was Ladybug active… Gabriel!” She roared and her husband took a step back. 

Marinette was… surprised. She didn’t expect Emilie to be like that. From what Adrien told her, she was supposed to be the kindest, nicest person in the world. Then again, he might’ve been looking at it through tinted glasses.

“Yup.” The bluenette couldn’t stop herself from commenting. “He decided that the best way to wake you up was to get the miraculi of Ladybug and Black Cat.”

“You nincompoop. That plan was only for when I was dead.” She glared heatedly at her husband and Marinette couldn’t help but be a bit smug. “And you couldn’t get the items from a kid? How many other heroes are there?” 

“Only Chat Noir. He’s my age. And I sometimes call in some help from others.” Marinette supplied quickly. She was having entirely too much fun from watching Emilie tear Hawkmoth a new one. 

“Two kids! You couldn’t defeat two kids! I leave for just one second and you start getting your rear kicked by kids!”

“He also neglected Adrien for the last two years.” Marinette decided to have as much fun as she could while it lasted.

“Gabriel Agreste. You’re officially grounded until I sort this mess. Now take your secretary and leave. I will sort the mess with you later,” she ordered. Her husband could only nod and leave as quickly as possible. 

Marinette was now holding her sides laughing. ”That was amazing. Merci Madame Agreste. I didn’t think I would get to laugh tonight… But this was too good.” 

“Oh sunshine, don’t worry. I will get him in line for you. Whoever decided to let kids fight for them was clearly sick or senile.” 

“Master Fu was… he made some mistakes. I… maybe if I wasn’t so young…”

“It’s not your fault. Whatever you blame yourself for. You shouldn’t have been responsible for Paris. Or whatever else my husband did. I think some time on the couch will do him great.” The woman got up and walked over to pull Marinette into a hug. She then led the girl back to the (now half-open) coffin and seated them both on the edge. “Why don’t you tell me what ails you? I’m sure I can help.” 

For a moment, Marinette looked the woman in the eyes. Then, she started talking. She told her everything.

About a class full of idiots who believed every lie and actively fought against her.

About Lila, who manipulated everyone and did everything to turn her life into a personal version of hell. 

About the teachers, who preferred to let her be walked on then do their jobs.

About her partner, the dorky cat who couldn’t take life seriously and at times was immature. She came to like his antics, but he infuriated her as much as he kept her sane. 

About the so-called heroes, who came into the city and ruined her life.

About the destroyed bakery. The four bodies inside.

“It was her birthday. Today my nonna had her sixtieth birthday. We were celebrating when the Akuma happened. Except the Justice League came. Funny thing. The cure can return anyone killed by magic. It can’t return those killed by aliens tossing cars around.” 

“Do you have any other family?” Emilie asked, worried about the girl. She walked through so much pain in her short life. 

“My uncle… but he lives in Shanghai now. Papa was the only child and Maman moved here from Asia… I’m not sure what will happen next.” The girl revealed. 

“Next? Next, you will come live with us. No strings attached. I have no need for your earrings or other miraculous and I can keep my husband in check. I owe you that much.”

“I… you don’t owe me anything, Madame.” The girl quickly protested. “You’re not responsible for what happened. I don’t blame your family. Those were the American heroes who killed my parents. They were the ones that destroyed half the city. They are the ones to blame,” Marinette informed the woman in a solemn tone. 

“And that’s why I want you to stay with me. With us. I can protect you. Teach you. You can have your vengeance on those who wronged you. I can make you a queen. They will regret the day they wronged you.”

“I… I accept.” Marinette bowed her head.

[masterthespianduchovny]

The counter argument to people being against Sam/Rebecca for legitimate reasons are claims that Sam is being “infantilized.”

These age gap conversations in general are difficult to have because one side won’t acknowledge that just because two people are adults doesn’t mean they are in the same place emotionally and mentally. And this is a very important thing to note.

Someone being 18, a legal adult in America (I think you can date adults at 16 in the UK), doesn’t mean they are able to date a significantly older person, say 38, without a problem. Because, more times than not, which is an understatement, there’s a lot of fucking problems in an age gap relationship even if the older person isn’t dating the younger for nefarious reasons.

It is not infantilizing Sam or any young adult to say, “hey, this relationship may be detrimental to them because of their age.” That is just…facts.

Many people on tumblr and other SM sites often talk about how they still feel like kids at 22 and are still figuring life at, despite having jobs, kids, and shit. Despite being in full blown relationships, these young adults don’t feel like adults and that’s because you aren’t magically mature just because you’ve reached an arbitrary age to be declared a legal adult.

You just aren’t.

And being mature in one aspect of your life or regarding emotional development doesn’t mean you’re mature in other aspects. At 17, I was mature enough to understand this.

Because maturity isn’t just something you obtain like your degree or license, it’s an ongoing, ever evolving thing.

It’s life experience. As in how you learn and grow from it.

Acknowledging that someone doesn’t have significant life experience isn’t infantilizing them, it’s giving an important perspective to a crowd of who is essentially arguing “age ain’t nothing, but a number.”

If you’re all for an 18 year old dating a 38 year old, why not a 16 year old and a 36 year. It’s only a two year difference, right? And what if that 16 year old is really mature? Most would have an issue with that. People are justifying a significantly older person dating a younger person due to legality and not they are actually mature and on the same level. But there’s not much difference between a 16 and 18 year old or an 18 year old and a 20 year old. But guess what, there is a significant difference between people between the ages of 18-22 dating people a decade or more.

I literally just turned 30 last week and, even when I was 25, after a while I could tell when I was speaking to a teen or someone in their early 20s. Because, whether or not you get along with them, there are just some things that, because they haven’t had enough life experience, they don’t have the nuance or perspective to engage with you a certain way and this is even on a non romantic level.

And, in some cases, the younger person is more “mature” not because they’re actually that mature, but because the older person is that immature.

So before I get into the issues with Sam and Rebecca, let me give you four examples of age gaps relationships:

1. A friend of mine dating an older man when she was 23 and he was 38. She was a manager at a gym and he was a gym member. They would have sex and hang out, but she wanted commitment. Whenever she asked him about it, he’d get weird on her. After finally breaking it off months later, he “loved” her and finally wanted commitment, but she’d moved on. While she dated him, I told her my two cents on the situation and left it alone. Last month, she recalled this conversation as she groaned in displeasure hearing about an age gap relationship. She’s now skeptical of older people dating significantly younger people.

2. A friend of mine was 18 dating a 28 year old. We all worked at a pizzeria. He watched her on the cameras from the back when he became a manager—got mad if she talked to male coworkers. Used to gaslight her, controlled her via manipulation, and other gross toxic shit. After emotionally tormenting her for a year or so and pressuring her to live with him, which her parents allowed due to some issues they didn’t want to exacerbate, he cheated on her. They’re broken up now. She was always stressed out while with him.

3. A girl got into her first and only relationship when she was 19 with a man who was 32. They’re now married 23 and 36. She wants to wait to have kids and on her birthday he gifted her baby clothes. Make of that what you will.

4. A girl, 22, dated her 37 year old professor. At 28, she feels like she’s outgrown him and is disturbed about how and when they got together. And one night she heard him advise his friends to date younger girls so they can mold them. Yeah…

Sure you have marriages that have age gaps that lasted, but even then, very few of those are actually healthy. The younger person is usually taking orders from the older partner, can’t do certain things, doesn’t have any true agency, skills to survive on their own, etc. What typically happens is after that person becomes older, they begin to question their relationship because what seemed okay when they were younger, is unsettling after becoming older.

Like I said, take out the nefarious shit, and there is still a significant life experience gulf between Sam and Rebecca and that is one of the many issues with this pairing. Despite what some romantics and media loves to say, “love does not conquer all.” Most of the marriages that end in divorce isn’t because they couple fell out of love, it’s due to finances. Love couldn’t conquer that. Some marriages end because one of them changed or they could’ve overcome their vast differences.

I’m not saying Sam and Rebecca are on a path for marriage or are even in love, they aren’t, however, they idea that just because they get along and have some things in common means it would be a great relationship is very shortsighted. There isn’t even enough significant interaction to prove this. Getting along on an app isn’t the same as connecting face to face. And none of this can overcome Rebecca’s life experience and, relatively speaking, Sam’s lack thereof.

And I’d argue that, on average, athletes tend to be immature because they live in such a bubble where people constantly kiss their ass. Which makes Sam look more mature than he probably is.

Even then, being with an older person ages you. This younger person misses out on so much, many of which they regret, because they’re trying to be mature enough for their older partner. They don’t want to seen as immature for doing young shit when that’s exactly their age range.

But let’s get into the real consequences for Sam here:

1. Sam has to keep his relationship a secret. The media will tear him up about dating/fucking the owner of the team. And so will fans. People love to mention he’s being infantilized because he’s young and black, how do you think that is going to go if anyone finds out about them? Racism, baby. He won’t suffer from sexism, however, they will question his place on the team and if he deserves to be there. This will taint him and even cause issues with his parents. So secret relationship it is.

2. If his teammates found out, this will fracture his relationship with them. Whether or not it’s true, Sam will be blamed for shit outside of his control. They’ll think he only got more playing time, more pay, or whatever because he’s fucking Rebecca. OR they’ll try to ask him for favors and get upset if he won’t do it. His team will think he’s getting favoritism and believe there is a power imbalance between them and Sam as a result. Don’t believe me, Google dynamics once students realize a classmate is dating their teacher or an employee is dating their boss. It usually doesn’t go over so well.

So even if the relationship is loving and healthy, Sam will suffer from being with Rebecca. Because if it's a secret, it’s going to bother him eventually that they have to sneak around and the anxiety of being caught. If it’s out in the open, he will suffer harassment, alienation, his play will suffer because his teammates probably won’t pass to him, etc.

Which leads to, 3: transferring teams. But how is that fair? Sam is developing well under ted and now that may delay his development and stock just so he can be with Rebecca? We want this young, black man to succeed, but his career will be kneecapped due to his relationship. Sam is serious about football and this would be a major blow to him.

Like I said, take out nefarious shit and this relationship is still detrimental to Sam. And even with a healthy relationship, there will still be a disconnect that will lead to their relationship ending because they are in two vastly different places in their lives.

That is not infantilizing Sam, that’s reality.

And, again, that power imbalance is massive. We saw how easy it was for Rebecca to send Jamie back to Man City. She has so much power, control, and influence over Sam’s career and livelihood. She can dictate how much or how little they offer to pay him during contract negotiations.

And this is the ship people are getting upset at others rightfully taking issue with?

It doesn’t even make sense for Rebecca to go along with this either. She played a part in Keeley breaking up with Jamie, which age, Jamie being younger, played a key part in it. She’s even disgusted by Rupert dating a significantly younger woman. I doubt her opinion centered on maturity. She’s not going to suddenly support this relationship if she found out that Bex is super mature.

Rebecca would stand to lose a lot of she were to get involved with Sam and others found out. She’d get dragged through the mud worse than she did after her divorce. She’s lose them support of her staff. And it would fuck up the relationship she has with her players.

Now some Sam/Rebecca supporters have called bullshit on people who are against this relationship, yet support Ted and Rebecca. They claim it’s the same power imbalance or that one exists.

1. It’s not the same power imbalance.

2. Yes, one does exist, but it’s not nearly as wide as it is with Sam and it wouldn’t destroy her either.

Ted has the authority to hire and fire people. He has the authority to facilitate trades, call up people, and send them down. He has a lot of influence that Sam does not. They aren’t equals, but there also isn’t a massive power disparity either.

Rebecca also can’t completely fuck over Ted like she can Sam if she went all scorned woman. Because, doing so, would entail her own demise. Even if you don’t include that, Ted is only attached to Richmond. He doesn’t care about having a career as a football coach in the ways coaches from non US countries do. He can go back and have a career as an American football coach and still be massively successful. Or, if Rebecca did want to fuck him over, he has that bomb as to why he was hired. Ted doesn’t even have to play that card for it to be played by either Higgins or Keeley.

Because one of them will if they feel it’s necessary.

We have no clue what’s going to happen with this storyline. But the idea that people against Sam and Rebecca being a thing, romantically or sexually, being fueled by racism or sexism is misguided, hypocritical, and flat out wrong. If this entanglement is pursued, it stands to harm Sam from various angles and that’s MY objection.

People think this is all about Ted/Rebecca when, personally, I’d lose (some) respect for Rebecca if she got involved with Sam. That would taint her for me. Because let’s be real, many of us are grossed out by Rupert dating, marrying, and then impregnating Bex. Yet, some are okay with Rebecca and Sam getting together and those who are against it are sexist? And I truly believe the same people supporting this ship are also grossed out by Rupert’s relationship.

How is Rupert’s relationship gross, but we shouldn’t obsess over age with Rebecca and Sam? People say Sam is mature enough to date Rebecca, which implies that Bex isn’t mature enough to be with Rupert and that IS sexist.

Even if the writers confirm tomorrow that Ted/Rebecca will never be a thing, I wouldn’t object any less to Sam/Rebecca. If Sam was Roy’s age and in Roy’s position, I’d have way less of an issue.

But you’re going to have a tough time convincing me that a young man who is 20/21 and employed by a 47 year woman who can heavily influence his career isn’t a massive power imbalance that shouldn’t be explored by fans.

I’m really curious to see how this post ages once the storyline plays out. But this post is about exploring what it means for Sam and Rebecca to get involved and how the accusations of infantilizing Sam doesn’t pass the sniff test.

[kiki-is-writing]

the beginning and end of everything UPDATE!!!

DISCLAIMER: This is my original work. I choose to share my work here and here specifically for my comrades in the writing community. Plagiarism in any form will not be tolerated. 

HI EVERYONE! I FINISHED MY NOVEL! Whooo hoooo!!!

It’s actually sort of surreal, I started it in June of 2020 and now it’s 2021 and it’s over! Ty, Jude, Ada, Dorothy, and Madison have been living in my head since October 2019, and less than a year and a half later, they’ve been brought to life! Crazy!!

A summary in case you forgot/are seeing this and don’t know who the hell I am:

Ty Kassisieh has no direction. He’s just graduated college with a degree he doesn’t care about and no clue what to do with his life. Per his parent’s request to be more like his genius twin sister Ada, he picks up a job at a local library to save some money. There, he meets his coworker Jude, who’s stuck in a position not too far from his own, and Ty immediately sees the potential for companionship. But after speaking to him, Ty discovers Jude is everything he isn’t: he’s cold, introverted, aloof, and worst of all, humorless. Soon, Ty forgets all about his initial goal and becomes determined to crack Jude and see what makes him tick. 

Ty’s journey of self-discovery is uprooted completely as what begins as an investigation blossoms into a friendship, and then into something more. Ty is forced to confront the feelings he’s been pushing down since high school and come to terms with himself, his family, and the relationships he thought would never change. It’s only when he befriends a young library patron, Madison, that he finally begins to see the world for what it is and figures out how to pave his own path.

Here are some stats!

Word count: 65,900 (it’ll get at least 20k words longer)

Genre: Romantic comedy

POV: third person limited, present tense

Characters: Ty, Jude, Ada, Madison, Dorothy, Diane, Omar, Paul, Uncle Hubie, Ethel

Chapters: 15

Font: Times New Roman (sorry)

This was my second novel, but the first novel where I actually knew what I was doing, at least a little bit. And holy shit, I learned SO much about my writing process:

1. I cannot pants for the life of me. I have no idea what I’m doing without an outline. But sometimes, the outline doesn’t know best. I added a ton of subplots and off-the-cuff scenes halfway through that have no set up, gave up on subplots that weren’t working halfway through, it’s a disaster of a plot. BUt the important thing is that I know how to make it perfect. I know what the story needs and how to get that.

2. Why can I only write in bursts? I wrote like seven chapters, half the novel, in the month of July. There was a day where I wrote almost 5,000 words. And last night, I wrote for 6 hours straight, without eating, drinking, or going to the bathroom (because frankly, I forgot those things existed) and I cranked out a chapter and a half in a DAY. I had such a headache and was very hungry by the end, but it was SO REWARDING. 

3. I noticed while drafting is how often bits of my real life bled through. Little anecdotes, arguments, dynamics and experiences. Those who know me particularly well can probably pick out little allusions to either some of my past works, my friends, and myself.

It was 1:00 AM when I finished, and I live on the east coast of the U.S. so we’d just had a huge Nor’easter (New England for blizzard) and I went outside in the middle of the night, in my pajama pants and my uggs, and stood in my backyard and looked at the trees and processed the fact that wow, I just wrote a novel. It was cathartic and beautiful and I 110% recommend standing in snow up to your knees by yourself in the middle of the night. Very peaceful. 

As exciting as it is to be done, it’s kind of weird to be ending it. I started this novel from Ty’s first person POV, and he was just kind of another goofy, dorky character that shared my own sense of humor as well as my sense of perfectionism. But as I wrote, not only did I realize that third person worked so much better, but I started realizing how much of me and my own journey as a queer person had gone into this. It turned from a light-hearted, silly rom-com with little depth, a fun summer project to keep myself busy, to the most self expressive story I’ve ever written. I didn’t expect it to come out with much deeper meaning, it was summer and I was on a light-hearted rom-com kick, and life was carefree and silly and I wanted a book that reflected it. And then, school started, and life just descended into absolute chaos, and it was November, and it was NaNoWriMo, and I was writing my novel while watching CNN for a week straight. (But it all turned out great! New president!)

I can’t remember exactly when I started to incorporate my own struggles growing up as a queer kid, but somehow they bled through in the second half. The last scene of the book is (no spoilers) an incredible breath of fresh air for Ty. It’s something I can only wish for every queer teenager, that moment where you can finally be unapologetically and authentically queer without that nagging worry in the back of your mind. I’ve struggled over this past year with my identity, and as Ty found his place, I found mine as well. 

Seriously, writing this book was one of the best experiences I’ve had. Yes, the entire time I had a separate document open, writing down every little thing that needs to change, but I legitimately feel excited for draft 2 and continuing working on this project. I think about how much this book helped me, unconsciously creating the story that I needed to hear, and how maybe, in ten, fifteen years, some queer teenager will be wandering around a bookstore and pick up The Beginning and End of Everything. Maybe just because the cover is pretty. Maybe they like the F. Scott Fitzgerald reference in the title. Maybe they heard about it on Twitter somewhere. But they pick it up, and see themselves in Ty, or in Jude, or in Madison. I know every book that gave me that feeling, I cherish them so deeply, and all I really want is for someone to get that feeling from something I wrote. To see themselves in the pages and know they’re not alone. It’s cheesy, but it’s true, and it’s important. 

I think one of my favorite themes in the novel is the whole ‘someone’s got your back’ thing. I 100% did not mean for it to go in the way it did, but I was writing this as I was going through some Stuff, some stuff in which I realized that having someone, just one person in your corner can mean the entire world, if only for that moment. And if there’s no one in your corner when you need it, you can be in someone else’s when they need it. Frankly, I love how it plays out throughout the novel. There was always that theme of Ty and Madison sort of being there for each other, but as I found myself in the first semester of the school year building new friendships with incredible, smart, funny people (albeit most of that being online) and strengthening old bonds, it worked its way in, and it fits perfectly. It adds depth and strength to the story I couldn’t have done consciously. 

Essentially, it is still the romantic comedy I intended it to be, but it’s also a coming-of-age (except much older than the traditional coming-of-age). Watching some of my close friends and family graduating college and continuing to struggle with their identities and places in the world I think is what truly carved out this idea. Because not everyone has everything figured out as soon as they graduate, and I feel like, as a teenager, that’s something my friends and I really need to get through our heads. A lot of us expect to have everything figured out as soon as we turn 18. But, we’re 18. There’s a lot of life ahead of us, and we can’t possibly know what we’re going to do so young. So I think that was my main source of inspiration for this novel, and I’m really proud of the way that fleshed out. Of course it needs lots and lots of work, but. I like it. The way my personal life bled through and strengthened the story is incredible to reflect on. Honestly, I really, truly, cannot wait to start working on draft 2.

taglist:

@alicewestwater @august-iswriting @lottieiswriting @phiwrites @jennawritesstories @chloeswords

[an-aura-about-you]

An Extremely Personal Take On Disability Representation in Christmas Is Here Again

I thought I could just sit with these thoughts, but they’re stewing too much in my brain and I need some kind of outlet. What I’m about to talk about is tied into my own personal experience, hence the title. I’m not about to speak on behalf of such a varied community, even a community I’m part of, when the only person I can attempt to represent accurately is myself.

So this is me talking about my life, my disability and how it affects me, and how I felt watching the movie Christmas Is Here Again. Under the cut because I imagine this is going to be long and a bit ranty.

History time! I live in a house on top of a hill that isn’t very high up but does have a dangerously steep angle. Back in early March of 2013, my hill was covered in ice, and I fell down to the street below in an attempt to get to work. This accident resulted in me severely breaking my right leg at the ankle. (Related note: NEVER risk your life for your job unless you’re a fireman or the like and it comes with the territory.) Putting it back together required two surgeries, screws, clamps, and a metal plate that goes about halfway up my shin. The ER doctor said that amputation was a possibility. I was fortunate and have my whole leg, but with that came two big changes:

1.) I most likely will never be completely free of pain for the rest of my life.

2.) Though I was able to walk again and don’t have much if any of a limp anymore, there are some days when my right leg simply can’t support me. On those days, I use a cane to help me walk.

I think it’s important for me to specify this because as time goes on and I get stronger, the days when I need my cane are fewer and farther between. That won’t last forever, of course, but things still look relatively good for me in the present. Most days I don’t need my cane at all, and I tend to surprise coworkers on the rare days I actually need my cane. But the point I’m trying to make here is the days when I don’t need my cane do not erase the days when I do need my cane. The days when I can don’t take away the days when I can’t.

I’d also like to bring up, as this is going to be relevant to later discussion, that I love to cook. I went to culinary school and had a few kitchen jobs, and while I ended up learning the hard way that doing what you love for work leaves you hating what you love, the before and after of my accident did present some new challenges. Cooking means being on your feet a lot, usually with no choice but to stay if you’re a short order cook. And one of my post-accident kitchen jobs involved me both working by myself and occasionally needing to use a ladder. That is TERRIFYING if your leg can give out at any moment. Sure, usually I know beforehand if I can handle something, and I’ve learned how to get around in my home kitchen, but I’ve still been surprised by an unexpected wet spill or the like.

And now that I’ve set up exactly where I’m coming from, let’s talk about Christmas Is Here Again. Or, more specifically, let’s talk about Christmas Is Here Again’s protagonist, Sophiana.

Now, I am a sucker for Christmas schlock and kid characters have more of a tendency to tug on my heartstrings as I get older. (I actually was horrified the first time I sat down and properly watched Child’s Play not because of the murderous living doll angle but any time it cut to Andy crying or screaming in terror because THAT IS A BABY.) And I’ll admit, Sophiana had one moment where she got to me, though that was related to her situation of being an orphan in the Standard Horrible Orphanage because let’s be real we’ve ALL been in a situation where we wished we could just fly out of it.

Sophiana, like me, is a cane user. It’s never specified why, though the implication is that it’s something she was born with as opposed to my situation where it was the result of an accident. (If I’m wrong about this, let me know though.) Sophiana is also like me in that she has a passion for food and cooking. And, also like me, Sophiana doesn’t seem to need her cane all the time?

Diva of Musical Hell mentioned the short version of this in her review of the movie, specifically that Sophiana’s disability never seemed to have a detrimental effect on her and her cane might as well be just a prop to garner audience sympathy. It got me wondering what it would be like to try to represent someone like me in media. On the one hand, it is necessary for people to see that a disabled person having a good day is still a disabled person. That, for example, a wheelchair user that is able to walk a short distance is not faking being disabled. On the other, it takes a fine touch to make that believable and not fall into the trap of only using it as a convenient way to hamper the heroes. It might not really be possible, falling under the realm of Reality Is Unrealistic.

It kept coming back to my mind after seeing the Musical Hell review, which sometimes happens with me. And I decided I would watch the movie myself and see what Sophiana had and what she was lacking.

So, here’s something else about me: Most of my good days are good enough that I won’t have my cane with me. If I did, it would indeed be just a prop. I’ll sometimes bring it along if the forecast says it’s going to be cold or humid because that specifically hurts my leg where the metal plate is. This sort of pain isn’t necessarily metal plate specific, though, so I wasn’t really surprised by Sophiana having her cane with her out in the winter cold while climbing a tree.

Actually climbing the tree, though? I don’t know. Climbing up it is one thing. Maybe it’s because I’m in my 30s, but the thought of trying to climb back down the tree and possibly landing on my bad leg wrong leaves me shuddering. I suppose it’s just as well that she ended up falling out. But if she had climbed back down, that would have been a better way to show Sophiana’s disability impacting her. It’s okay for a child to do something like this and learn the hard way that they’ve gone a bit past their own capabilities.

Sophiana also uses her cane weird? I guess I can’t say it’s the same for all cane users, but the recommended way I learned to use a cane is opposite the bad leg. Since my right leg is my bad leg, I use my cane in my left hand. Sophiana seems to limp on the side she holds her cane. I say “seems” because it’s very slight in the animation. It’s a bit similar to how I walk I suppose, so there is that. And it doesn’t necessarily have to be as exaggerated as, say, Duster from Mother 3.

Based on my own experience, a better way to show Sophiana having trouble getting around might be having her climb up or down some stairs. Even on my good days, I sometimes take the stairs one at a time, stepping first with my good leg and then bringing my bad leg on the same stair to join it. It’s slow going, but sometimes I just can’t take the stairs the way most people do it.

There’s a scene when Sophiana climbs out of her bedroom window, hooks herself on a tree branch with her cane, and then drops to the ground landing on both feet. I felt myself cringe from the pain I would have felt if I had done the same thing with my bad leg. Good day or bad day doesn’t even figure into that. If I did a drop like that on a good day, it’d turn into a bad day from that point on.

That actually brings me to another point: even on good days, there are some things I can’t really do. I can’t do any jumping or hopping because of the impact on my leg. As goofy as this will probably sound, this means I can’t jump rope, play hopscotch, or even play Dance Dance Revolution if we want to talk about more modern-yet-outdated things. (I miss playing DDR, guys.) Maybe something like that could have been incorporated into the movie to show us a way Sophiana’s disability impacts her ability to play.

Related to that, Sophiana does cook in the movie and she is knowledgeable about food. This could have been a great opportunity to show how she manages her disability while doing what she loves, but we never actually see that. All we see is her bring a finished plate of food out, where she’s able to walk while carrying it without needing her cane. That, by itself, is pretty reasonable, but it’s not really enough. Cooking is physically demanding. I don’t necessarily bring my cane in the kitchen, but if I’m having trouble that day, I usually get around by using my counters for support and sitting down at the kitchen table whenever I can. I’m also probably going to be a bit pickier about what I cook. I may like sabayon, but that’s a standing commitment of at least twenty minutes and at most possibly an hour.

It sucks because this could have been better than it is. There were opportunities that just weren’t taken. In particular, we don’t see a lot of young cane users. Again, I’m in my 30s but still young by cane user standards. That kind of visibility is important because disability knows no age. Even if they didn’t go the route of depicting a life like mine where I have more good days lately than bad, there could have been more of an effort to make it clear that Sophiana’s cane is something she needs. As it is, Diva was pretty much right. It is just a prop, and not even a terribly important prop as Sophiana’s locket has more impact on the story.

[moonbeambucky]

The Price of Gold (Part 17)

Pairing: Lance Tucker x Reader Word Count: 4654 Warnings: angst, mention of cancer, mention of real life gymnastics sex abuse scandal

Summary: As a sports journalist you’ve traveled the world interviewing famous athletes. You’ve loved your job up until you find out your next article is on the last person in the world you ever wanted to talk to, Lance Tucker.

A/N: This was probably the hardest chapter I had to write but I love it so much and I hope you do too! This doesn’t follow The Bronze canon though some film details are mixed with real world events. Written for @green-eyeddragonfanfiction Dragon’s 3k Follower Creative Content Challenge. My prompt was “I can’t be in love with you!” gif source (x)

PART 16 | THE PRICE OF GOLD MASTERLIST

On the grand opening day for Tucker Gymnastics Lance looked like absolute shit. He spent the night in the ER again with his mother and Nadia, all for the doctors to tell him the same thing as before, his mother was dying.

Lance cupped Dorothy’s hands in his own, watching her hooked up to machines again. This wouldn’t have happened if you didn’t call. Why didn’t you listen to him? Nadia said she received a phone call that made her really confused. There was screaming from the other end of the line and it was upsetting Dorothy but all she kept repeating was “Y/N.” She became so upset she started to panic, her mind couldn’t handle whatever was happening and Nadia couldn’t calm her down. Her blood pressure was through the roof and so she went to the hospital.

He contemplated everything, wondering if you were playing games with him from the start. Maybe he deserved it. Lance knew he fucked up in the past but he was young and stupid. He was also madly in love with you and every day he tried to explain, to apologize. Even if you didn’t forgive him he just wanted to see your face one last time to know it was really over. Instead you ignored him and the open wound that was his heart hurt more and more until it was infected. He partied to forget you, he became the asshole that would have driven you away if you even attempted to contact him. He convinced himself that he didn’t need anyone but it was a lie. He always needed you.

But now Lance doesn’t know what to think because you hurt his mother. He ignored your calls and texts, turning his phone off because he couldn’t stand to look at your face each time the photo of you cuddling together on his couch popped up. Once he thought you were beautiful but now he only sees a monster. How could you do this to him?

Lance left the hospital to run home quickly, disgusted that he stood in the same shower you shared only twenty-four hours ago. He changed and sped over to the center, hoping the bags under his eyes weren’t too deep, hoping he could claim he was up all night preparing for this day.

He was in a daze as the day went by. He should have been happy, this was his dream; his center was USAG accredited, there was an overwhelming sign up from excited children and their parents but Lance wanted to scream. He was too exhausted to deal with everything, wanting to go home and sleep for the next month instead of being there. Looking around all he saw were memories of you and he hated it. You turned his dream into a nightmare.

By the end of the following week Lance was exhausted after visiting his mom after a long day at the center. She had been back home for a few days, with new medication to ease her discomforts. She refused treatment knowing there was no point to it; she’d rather not face the side effects again especially after the cancer had spread.

Lance plopped on the couch slinging his arm over his tired eyes, even the soft glow of the flickering TV was too bright for him. His head was pounding and he wanted to sleep. The sound of his phone going off disturbed the small moment of peace he found. Now that the center was open his phone was always going off with notifications, emails regarding new students and scheduling, Twitter replies, and continued texts that go unreturned from women he didn’t care to involve himself with.

Lance instinctively opened the inbox for the email created for the center to find there was nothing new there, it was his personal email that had a new message and his stomach twisted into knots when he saw it was from you.

Sitting up now he stared at his phone, debating if he should even open your message. You never read any of the apology notes he left for you so he thought about doing the same but something pulled at his heart and he decided to click the box, bracing himself for whatever words were on the opposite side.

Dear Lance,

I want to apologize for many things but the most importantly for the phone call your mom received. An ambitious former coworker searched for her number and used my name to try to gain information. This shouldn’t have happened and I take full responsibility for everything. I love your mother very dearly and I would never jeopardize her health or privacy, ever.

I’m also sorry for accusing you of something that didn’t happen. I felt like my trust was broken, like I was that vulnerable teenager again who didn’t want an explanation. I ran away then just like I ran away now and I’m sorry. It’s a bad habit of mine that I’ve come to realize since my trip to Spring Hill.

Speaking of, it comes as no surprise to us both that I was reluctant to go on that trip but I’m very happy that I did. Despite how things ended I want you to know that I’m truly happy we resolved our issues from the past. I’m really sorry it took so long.

Writing has always helped clear my head. When thoughts are swirling around my mind like a hurricane it’s comforting to get them out in this way. Since I’ve been back in New York I’ve taken the time to write down all of my thoughts about our experience together. Even though you aren’t approving the article I wanted you to read it, keep it for yourself and know just how much you’ve always meant to me.

I wish you the very best success with your gymnastics center and your life. You deserve great things Lance Tucker, you always have.

-Y/N

A lump was caught in Lance’s throat with tears burning his eyes as he reread your email. He felt horrible, saying those things to you when you were innocent. He knew you would never hurt his mom and now he hated himself for yelling at you.

Lance went into the kitchen to grab something to drink, leaning over the cool countertop of the island and opening the PDF attachment within the email.

IN DEPTH with Lance Tucker By Y/N Y/L/N

Sacrifice. Sacrifice is a word that’s tossed around the sports industry a lot with the focus on the athlete and the things they’ve sacrificed to get to where they are today. Sacrifices are never easy. Most athletes have strict diet and workout regimens to adhere to, others have sacrificed their time, losing hours that could be spent with friends and family in favor of practicing, training or performing halfway across the world. When you’ve achieved your goal of becoming that athlete it makes the sacrifices a little easier. They were part of the journey to the top but what about the sacrifices put you on the path in the first place?

Lance Tucker was a household name when he made it to the top by winning a Silver Medal in the 2004 Rome Olympics and the Gold in 2008 Beijing Olympics for the US Men’s Gymnastics Team, but the name you should know is Dorothy Tucker. If it wasn’t for the sacrifices of Dorothy, Lance’s mother, Lance would not have become the athlete we know today.

For the first time in my sports journalism career I haven’t had to do research on the person I would be going to interview. In 1991 I moved to Spring Hill, Florida and the first friend I ever made was the boy across the street, Lance Tucker. He and his mother Dorothy welcomed my family to the neighborhood and we all became very close.

Lance’s father Mitch was an intimidating man, loud and gruff, angry at the world for the cards he had been dealt. He was the type of man that dreamed of a better life but let his own insecurities hold him back. He settled in for a blue collar job, living every day with regrets that were pacified when he reached the bottom of the bottle.

Mitch insisted on being the sole provider for the Tucker family, something I learned later on that Dorothy heavily protested but after various screaming matches she ended up settling into her role as housewife. He worked long hours so Dorothy and Lance had become accustomed to being alone together. Dorothy sat through episodes of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles with her son excitedly jumping off the couch to reenact the fight scenes. She laughed as Lance’s little body spun around from the force of the punches he threw to the air as he pretended to fight The Foot Clan but he showed grace when he mimicked the turtles, doing cartwheels and somersaults around the living room.

On trips to the park Lance would climb the monkey bars and Dorothy noticed his agility, seeing him demonstrate more coordination and balance than his peers. She scanned through her VHS tape of the 1988 Olympics for the gymnastics portion she swears she recorded. Upon finding it, Dorothy asked Lance watch it with her and this was the day his life changed. The four year old was mesmerized with the sport and was especially excited to see a young man with his namesake, now retired Olympian Lance Ringnald, practically flying in the air as he swung over and under, flipping his body around the high bar. From that day forward Lance wanted to become a gymnast too.

Mitch was against the idea from the start but Dorothy fought for her son, sacrificing her sanity as Mitch continually yelled; his booming voice shaking the foundation of their home, all because of some old fashioned ideas about what it means to be a man.

Mitch Tucker grew up idolizing Mickey Mantle, an extraordinary baseball player whose life outside of the field was equally as exhilarating, indulging in the Manhattan nightlife offerings of endless booze and women. In Mitch’s mind Mantle was a real man he could look up to and while he never played any professional sports he certainly tried to emulate the lifestyle of his hero.

When his young son took an interest in gymnastics it was safe to say that Mitch panicked, worrying that it would make Lance soft and feminine. It was close minded thinking ingrained in him from a long line of other close minded thinkers.

Fighting with Dorothy over Lance’s hobby became a natural part of their relationship and while he didn’t appreciate her standing up to him in some twisted sense of pride he liked the devotion she had towards Lance.

Reluctantly, Mitch began to take Lance to competitions and despite his son’s talent, earning top scores and gold medals from an early age he would consistently demean Lance and his achievements, telling him he should quit and join a real sport instead.

When Lance was ten his parents separated. Mitch’s drinking and infidelity (something both Lance and I were unaware of as children) had reached an all time high but it was the way he spoke about Lance that angered Dorothy the most; Mitch was disappointed in him.

On the surface Lance was an award winning, talented gymnast who was dedicated to his training. He balanced schoolwork and house chores and still made time to see his friends. He was a smart and kind young man and he adored his mother. When you put everything together you can easily see what Mitch was disappointed in, Lance was nothing like him.

I won’t say that Dorothy sacrificed her marriage because she always deserved someone who treated her with love and respect, nevertheless with divorce on the horizon Dorothy was in need of a job. She worked hard, as a letter carrier during the week and got a second job on some nights and the weekend in a dentist’s office to ensure she could pay for Lance’s increased gymnastics training and it paid off in his achievements. Lance continued to compete and the walls of his room were decorated in medals and trophies from various competitions.

There’s a natural sense of pride in winning especially when you’ve worked as hard as Lance Tucker did. In middle school he began training exclusively with Coach Jaclyn Burrows who occupied most of his time after school and on weekends. Despite his exhaustion Lance never failed to hand in his homework and even if his body was sore and achy he never once complained. Although there was the time during my twelfth birthday party where he came very close.

It was held at a roller skating rink and Lance begged Coach Burrows to come in a few hours earlier in order to get out in time so he didn’t miss all of my party. When I saw Lance had arrived I skated over to him, jumping with excitement as he laced up his skates but the minute Lance got onto the floor his overworked legs were like jelly and they gave out on him. I helped him up as he gripped on to me and I skated us both to the benches. He apologized, asking if I would be upset if he didn’t skate. Of course I would never ask him to do that but had I said yes I know Lance would have forced himself to do it, gripping the rail against the wall for support with a smile on his face just so I would be happy.

Lance laid on the bench, resting his head on his mother’s leg as he watched me skate by, eventually closing his tired eyes and falling asleep because he was exhausted. Dorothy woke him up in time for cake although Lance couldn’t have any. He had an upcoming competition and he restricted himself, sticking to a regimented diet of lean meats and vegetables. For a thirteen year old that is sacrifice! Lance stared at the forbidden dessert decorated with flickering candles as he and I posed for a picture, smiling widely as we hugged.

By the time Lance was in his first year of high school he was completely overworked. He was training to compete for the Junior Olympic National Championships while trying to balance the heavy workload of his classes. He hardly had time to do anything, trying to read books for English class on the bus to Coach Burrow’s gymnastics center, training until it was dark, rushing through dinner and staying up late to start his homework. He was burning out easily and Dorothy hadn’t truly seen the effects until she received a call from the Principal’s office. Lance was sleep deprived and his body was too sore to move, so when the Physical Education teacher yelled at him for “being lazy” and not participating Lance snapped at the man, yelling and crying out of frustration (a terribly embarrassing scene for Lance in front of his classmates).

Dorothy wanted Lance to complete high school but she understood there was no way he could do it with the amount of training he required, so she pulled him out in favor of hiring someone to homeschool him. It was another expense she really couldn’t afford but she made sacrifices, dropping the expensive cable TV and only buying new clothes for Lance when he absolutely needed them. Unfortunately the boy was growing into a man whose body was growing as well, becoming taller and stronger but Dorothy never complained. She mended her own wardrobe as needed so Lance could get new clothes, it was a privilege for her to sacrifice things in favor of her son.

Lance homeschooled for a few hours six days a week and he trained for seven, dedicating as much time as he could. Nationals were an important step in his Olympic journey and my family and I were there to support him. Lance was neck and neck with Michael McNamara, each of them rotating between first and second place after each event. It wasn’t until Lance completed his routine on the high bar, expertly performing moves I still don’t know the names for that sent him to the top.

He twisted around the bar, varying his grip and changing direction. I watched with amazement at the way he skillfully controlled his body around the steel frame. Finally he swung around the bar gaining enough momentum to spring upwards, his body rotating a few times before he stuck a strong landing, reaching his arms up with achievement. The perfect execution of his routine earned him the Gold Medal with Dorothy running up to him, tears of joy streaking down her face as they celebrated a big win. Lance and I lost touch before he the 2004 Olympics but I watched as he took home the Silver medal. I was proud of him though Dorothy was the true celebrant that day; this was the culmination of the sacrifices she made.

A lot can happen in four years. In the four years between the Olympics Lance had turned from a boy on the brink of adulthood to a man at twenty-one, standing taller, stronger and more determined than ever. He pushed himself to train harder, wanting another shot at the gold.

Lance moved to Houston, Texas to train full time with Kevin Mazeika of the Houston Gymnastics Academy. Mazeika who has served on the National Team Coaching staff since 1988 spoke about Lance before Beijing stating “I’ve never met anyone as focused as Lance Tucker. He eats, sleeps and breathes gymnastics. He wants to be the best and I’ll tell ya [sic] with the way he’s training he just might be.”

Lance put himself through a grueling diet to ensure his body was at its peak physical condition. He pushed himself to the limit as he worked on his routines. He became a machine, training until ever imperfection was eradicated. He needed to be perfect.

Lance was obsessed, needing to win the gold to feel validation from the unnecessary demands he put on himself. He only visited home during the holidays and quickly returned to Houston to train. As Lance bent forward to receive his gold medal he was a changed man. He reached the top of the mountain and instead of being thankful for the journey and the sacrifices made he was boasting. To commemorate his win Lance got his infamous ribbon tattoo, an impulsive decision he looks back on today and regrets.

Lance was at the top of his career after his Olympic win, becoming the youngest National Team Coordinator in US Gymnastics history, purposely taking a position with the women’s team because his self-admitted ego would not allow him to train the men’s team and become overshadowed by anyone.

Lance had a successful career living in Los Angeles when he wasn’t travelling for USA Gymnastics and then his world came to a complete halt when the scandals broke.

Psychologists have argued about the various reasons why we like scandals. They’re a form of entertainment, a real life soap opera that plays out before our eyes, they give us distraction from our own lives, sometimes making us feel good if we can compare ourselves to the persons involved and think we’re better than them because of this.

In the early 1990’s sports scandals became surprisingly common beginning with the attack on Nancy Kerrigan followed by the O.J. Simpson murder trial. The scandals were ubiquitous between the endless cycle of news programs and media coverage.

On the day of the Simpson verdict everyone was waiting with bated breath, with workplaces standing still, listening to the radio to hear whether the former football player was deemed guilty or innocent. The actual verdict was irrelevant since the story was so sensationalized it had become detached from the facts. Instead of being concerned about the horrific murder of Nicole Brown-Simpson and Ron Goldman, the country was in hysterics over Johnnie Cochran’s infamous glove line. It seems like people will always enjoy the entertainment that scandals bring as long as they aren’t affected by them personally.

When Lance Tucker was at the center of various scandals his life was forever changed. A student accused him of fathering her child, another accused him of rape, and while every accusation was proven to be untrue Lance was let go by USA Gymnastics, a direct result of the case with former National Team Doctor Larry Nassar. USAG was under fire for not protecting the athletes as their employees who worked in and around Nassar at the Karolyi Ranch failed to report or tried to cover up the incidences.

Lance believed he was wrongfully let go as he was innocent and began to prepare an appeal until he received devastating news about his mother. Dorothy had cancer and with that knowledge Lance shed the hard exterior he created, his arrogance cracking on the ground like shattered glass.

Lance returned to Spring Hill, taking up permanent residence to be closer to Dorothy and assist her with treatment. Lance sacrificed his career, having neither the time nor desire to make an appeal to USA Gymnastics, staying in the shadows instead to care for his mother, the woman who sacrificed so much during her life for him.

Eventually Lance needed a source of income as the money he previously earned through endorsements was dwindling quickly thanks to the expensive healthcare system. He refinanced his home to start a business, Tucker Gymnastics in the heart of his hometown.

While Dorothy battled cancer Lance found the strength to fight as well, finally appealing the committee’s decision with a motion to be reinstated. Lance’s decision to do so was not for himself but for his mother, wanting to make up for his past behavior when fame and arrogance became more important in his life. He sought to bring honor back to the Tucker name so that Dorothy would know how appreciative Lance was for all the sacrifices she made for him, though Dorothy didn’t need any of that. She loves her son wholeheartedly and she would do it all over again to ensure his happiness, knowing his love in return is all she ever needed.

Tucker Gymnastics is in its infancy but under the care and direction of Lance Tucker I have no doubt the gymnastics center will flourish. Lance has lived a lifetime of ups and downs both personal and professional. He’s an excellent teacher and coach, and future gymnasts will have an opportunity to learn great things from him.

However the greatest gift Lance can give to his future students is the knowledge of firsthand experience. Lance wants them to learn about the path to the top of the mountain and the sacrifices they will make along the way. He wants to provide guidance for when they’re at the top and how to safely get back down and avoid the mistakes he’s made.

The price of gold is high and Lance Tucker wants to ensure his students know the sacrifice it takes to pay it.◼️

Lance had been crying as he read the article, wiping his tears on his sleeve. He was overcome with emotion as you fondly recalled your memories of his childhood, painted his life honestly and above all unexpectedly praising his mother in a way no one else had done before.

It was beautiful. He sniffled, ripping a paper towel off the roll and blowing his nose with it. His heart ached as it beat against his chest wondering how he ever could have questioned you in regards to the phone call. His throat became dry so he quickly finished his sports drink, wiping the tears from his face once more.

Lance didn’t know what to do with himself now. He felt terrible and wanted to apologize. He wanted to speak with you, to fly to New York and hold you in his arms again. To tell you how much you meant to him, to tell you that he loves you.

He ruined things between you though. He was embarrassed with himself, he yelled at you for the first time in his life and he hated it. He yelled at you like his father yelled at his mother, raising his voice loud enough to talk over you, shouting from the pit of his stomach. He was cruel, just like his father, the comparison disgusts him. He didn’t deserve you.

Lance took a shower to clear his mind and after tossing and turning for hours he finally grabbed his phone from the nightstand, opening your message and briefly replying “Print it.”

The beeping of your alarm awoke you from the peaceful sleep you finally managed to fall into. The moment your eyes opened you went to your phone. You hated how eager you were to see if Lance responded but you had to. Seeing his reply made your heart race but as you read his message it stopped entirely.

Lance’s short reply brought tears to your eyes. At least Susan will be happy he’s going forward with the article but there was no mention of your apology even though you explained the truth. Maybe he still thinks you’re lying or maybe he doesn’t care. The fact that his response was all business made you painfully aware of the fact that whatever you and Lance had in the past is where it should have stayed.

Months passed and you were now in the middle of a new assignment that had you packed in a stadium in Nashville, Tennessee, with thousands of people celebrating as others criticized a controversial call made by the referee. It was a decision that led to the Pittsburgh Penguins winning the Stanley Cup finals. Though he is captain, Sidney Crosby is as soft spoken as they come. He exudes a calm demeanor one wouldn’t expect when you think of hockey players, especially not a back-to-back championship winner.

The Penguins were celebrating their win tonight and though Sidney was happy for his team he was looking forward to going home to Nova Scotia to spend time with his family. He’s a fairly private person, not feeling the need to be on social media. His Foundation serves as his online presence but only to promote the work it does supporting children. Though his Olympic wins are something he regards with fondness, his true pride was opening a hockey school in his hometown of Halifax.

There was so much of Sidney that reminded you of Lance and you couldn’t help but think about him. He was always on your mind and though you wanted to reach out in the past in the hopes of reconciling again you didn’t. Lance didn’t want you.

Adjacent to the arena was the hotel everyone was staying in, celebrating their win with a spread of food and champagne. Nashville was famous for its delicious barbecue but right now your mind and taste buds were being blown away by hot chicken. Your nose was running, your fingers were coated with a delicious glaze that you sucked into your mouth. Still, you needed a napkin.

You stood up in search for more, because the singular one you initially took was not enough, passing loud and slightly tipsy players who were enjoying their win. Feeling your phone vibrate in your pocket you rushed to clean your hands, answering your mom’s call just in time.

It was hard to hear so you told her to hang on as you squeezed past a group of very large hockey players. You found yourself in a less noisy hallway and finally greeted her properly.

“Hi mom, what’s up?” you shouted, sticking your finger in your other ear to block out the background noise.

Your mother exhaled a heavy breath into the phone, her voice shaking with sorrow as she said, “Dorothy Tucker passed away.”

PART 18

[therainshow]

I made a Taylor Swift Music Education Lesson that covers each album, in order, and my favorite songs from said album. I included bits of each album’s prologue and background information on each album, plus my personal opinions on each. I made this for some coworkers that want to learn more about Taylor, feel free to look it over and pass it on to anyone you’re trying to convert someone into a Swiftie :) There is a Spotify link for a playlist I made that has all these songs. You can find that at the bottom :)

Welcome to your Taylor Swift Music Education Lesson. Please read carefully.

 For your education and enjoyment (hopefully), I have included a detailed track-list of all the songs on your Spotify playlist. These songs appear in order of album, beginning with Fearless and ending with reputation. I did not include Taylor’s debut album in this lesson. It’s a great album, but has a heavy country influence and was written when she was 14, so it is difficult to relate to and/or isolating to those who do not appreciate country music. Within each album, there is no specific order. As I introduce a new album, I provide you with a bit of background information to give you a more thorough understanding. This background information begins with a blurb taken directly from the prologue that Taylor wrote for said album. With each track title I have included my favorite lyric from that song. You may also see some asterisks with notes scattered throughout. I couldn’t resist. The songs I chose are either a) my favorite, b) a fan favorite, c) generally iconic in nature, or c) songs I think, or hope, you will like. My favorite song off each album is indicated with multiple exclamation points. Let’s begin.

 FEARLESS: “To me, “FEARLESS” is not the absence of fear. It’s not being completely unafraid. To me, FEARLESS is having fears. FEARLESS is having doubts. Lots of them. To me, FEARLESS is living in spite of those things that scare you to death.”  Fearless is Taylor’s second album and was released in the fall of 2008 when Taylor was 18. It is actually the most highly-awarded country album of all time. Fearless won Album of the Year at the 2010 Grammy’s when Taylor was 20 years old. Taylor is the youngest person to ever win that award. There are 13 tracks on this album, and 8 were written solely by Taylor. This album cemented me as a stan, and the songs saved my life in high school. I have Fearless tattooed on my back, and I truly believe that I wouldn’t be who I am today without this album. I’d probably be dead in a gutter somewhere. Joking, but seriously, high school was rough. Thank God for Tswift.

1.      Forever & Always!!!!!!!!!!!: “It rains in your bedroom when everything’s wrong. It rains when you’re here and it rains when you’re gone.”

2.      Fifteen: “Back then I swore I was gonna marry him someday, but I realized some bigger dreams of mine. And Abigail gave everything she had to a boy who changed his mind, and we both cried. ‘Cause when you’re fifteen and somebody tells you they love you, you’re gonna believe them.” *Abigail was Taylor’s best friend in high school, and they’re still friends today.*

3.      Love Story: “This love is difficult, but it’s real. Don’t be afraid, we’ll make it out of this mess.” *This is Taylor’s first #1 song. It went #1 on both country and pop radio. She attributes her career to this song. She wrote the song in 20 minutes solo on her bedroom floor after an argument with her parents over a boy.*

4.      The Best Day: “I’m thirteen now and don’t know how my friends could be so mean. I come home crying and you hold me tight and grab the keys. And we drive and drive until we find a town far enough away, and we talk and window shop ‘til I’ve forgotten all their names. I don’t know who I’m gonna talk to now at school, but I know I’m laughing on the car ride home with you. Don’t know how long it’s gonna take to feel okay, but I know I had the best day with you today. *Taylor wrote this song for her mom.*

5.      Breathe: “People are people, and sometimes it doesn’t work out. Nothing we say is gonna save us from the fall-out.”

6.      Fearless: “We’re drivin’ down the road, I wonder if you know I’m tryin’ so hard not to get caught up now. But you’re just so cool running your hands through your hair, absent mindedly making me want you.”

7.      Tell Me Why: “Why do you have to make me feel small so you can feel whole inside? Why do you have to put down my dreams so you’re the only thing on my mind?”

 SPEAK NOW: “What you say might be too much for some people. Maybe it will come out all wrong and you'll stutter and you'll walk away embarrassed, wincing as you play it all back in your head. But I think the words you stop yourself from saying are the ones that will haunt you the longest. So say it to them. Or say it to yourself in the mirror. Say it in a letter you'll never send or in a book millions might read someday. I think you deserve to look back on your life without a chorus of resounding voices saying 'I could've, but it's too late now.' There is a time for silence. There is a time for waiting your turn. But if you know how you feel, and you so clearly know what you need to say, you'll know it. I don't think you should wait. I think you should speak now.” Speak Now is Taylor’s third album and was released in the fall of 2010 when Taylor was 20. There are 14 tracks, all written solely by Taylor. There are no co-writers on this record. After Taylor won AOTY for Fearless, many of her critics said that it was impossible that she carried her weight in those writing sessions. Basically, the songs on Fearless were so good that a lot of people didn’t believe that she actually wrote them. To prove them wrong, she decided to write the album entirely by herself. This album is the fan favorite, and is my second favorite. I feel like this album was way ahead of its time. Speak Now is the kind of album I’d expect a musician to write towards the end of his/her career once they stop caring about crafting the perfect song, and start making great music for the hell of it. Most of the songs on Speak Now are over 5 minutes in length with many clocking in over 6 minutes. Definitely not suited for radio. Taylor is known for painting stories in her lyrics, and I’d say Speak Now does that the best. I met Taylor during the Speak Now Era, the most lauded of eras amongst fans. To have seen the Speak Now concert is a huge deal in the Swiftie fandom. The concert was absolutely magical. If you don’t believe me, you’re welcome to come over and watch the live DVD. Most of the general public knows next to nothing about Speak Now because none of the songs really charted on radio. However, Speak Now is the first of her albums to sell a million or more copies in the first week (a pattern not broken thus far. #blessed). Speak Now Era was sort of the golden age because she had proved herself to be incredibly talented and cemented her place in the music industry, and yet her PR stunts were at a minimum. Nobody hated her yet, and she kind of went back under the radar despite being at her prime. It was downhill from there, but we were all oblivious to that fact. We were just so blissed out, we couldn’t see the impending doom on the horizon. I could honestly write an entire thesis on Speak Now. Anyway, it was a strange time, indeed.

8.      Mean: “You have pointed out my flaws again, as if I don’t already see them.” *Like I said above, the songs on Speak Now were not widely popular and didn’t chart on radio, with the exception of this one. ‘Mean’ won Country Song of the Year at the Grammy’s in 2012. Taylor wrote this song as a way to cope with relentless and over the top, mean-spirited criticism from a specific music critic named Bob Lefetsz. Suck it, Bob.

9.      Mine: “But we’ve got bills to pay, we’ve got nothin’ figured out. When it was hard to take, this is what I thought about.”

10.  Last Kiss: “How you’d kiss me when I was in the middle of sayin’ something, there’s not a day I don’t miss those rude interruptions.”

11.  Haunted: “Come on, don’t leave me like this. I thought I had you figured out.”

12.  Never Grow Up: “You’re in the car on the way to the movies, and you’re mortified your mom’s droppin’ you off. At fourteen there’s just so much you can’t do, and you can’t wait to move out someday and call your own shots. But don’t make her drop you off around the block, remember that she’s getting older too.” *Taylor wrote this the night she moved out of her parent’s house and into her first apartment in Nashville.*

13.  Sparks Fly: “You’re the kind of reckless that should send me runnin’, but I kinda know that I won’t get far.” *Taylor first performed this song back in 2006 at a random live show when she first started out. Fans recorded it and it went viral. For years fans begged her to record it for an album. She did! Thank you, Taylor! We are #blessed.*

14.  Enchanted!!!!!!!!!!!!: “The playful conversation starts, counter all your quick remarks like passing notes in secrecy.”

15.  Back to December: “It turns out freedom ain’t nothin’ but missin’ you.”

 RED: “My experiences in love have taught me difficult lessons, especially my experiences with crazy love. The red relationships. The ones that went from zero to a hundred miles per hour and then hit a wall and exploded. And it was awful. And ridiculous. And desperate. And thrilling. And when the dust settled, it was something I’d never take back. Because there is something to be said for being young and needing someone so badly, you jump in head first without looking. And there’s something to be learned from waiting all day for a train that’s never coming. And there’s something to be proud of about moving on and realizing that real love shines golden like starlight, and doesn’t fade or spontaneously combust. Maybe I’ll write a whole album about that kind of love if I ever find it. But this album is about the other kinds of love that I’ve recently fallen in and out of. Love that was treacherous, sad, beautiful, and tragic. But most of all, this record is about love that was red.” Oh, Red. I have so many thoughts about you. For starters, Red is Taylor’s fourth album and was released in the fall of 2012. Red is comprised of 16 tracks. Like I said previously, the Speak Now Era was such an incredible time, and Swifties didn’t want to let it go. We didn’t want things to change. I think the Red Era is the only era that Swifties didn’t welcome with open arms. We just didn’t know how to feel, and were afraid of things changing. But Taylor was headed in a more pop direction, and we could all sense it. Of course, Taylor had always been pop, or country pop, but that’s neither here nor there… And so, Red was Taylor’s “pop” debut, because she wrote three songs with pop hitmakers Max Martin and Yohan Shellback. But, it was also her rock debut if you ask me. Red was like a patchwork quilt of music: differently styles, production types, collaborators, producers. Taylor was trying new things and flapping her wings. And it worked. At first, I was hesitant to leave Speak Now behind, but Red quickly became my favorite album and still is. Taylor’s best songs are on Red. That is unanimously agreed upon in the fandom and throughout. Red is Taylor’s crown jewel, her zenith. Unfortunately, Taylor suffered a lot of hate and backlash for her dating life during 2012 and 2013, and that really clouded the success of Red. Like Taylor has said before, she was promoting a massively successful album and touring the world, and all people wanted to talk about was her personal life and it broke her heart. Well, Taylor, it broke mine too. Next to Fearless, Red is the album that helped me most in life. Red chronicles a disastrous heartbreak from beginning to end. The anger, the frustration, the sadness, the regret, the hopelessness, the pining away. You name it, she wrote about it. If you’re ever heartbroken, put on this album. (Except I hope that never happens to you!!) It’s interesting to me that she wrote the songs for Red while she was touring Speak Now, because we thought she was really happy at that time. But, what do we know? We never really know. Well, Red was nominated for Album of the Year at the 2014 Grammy’s and lost to Daft Punk. Whoever announced the winner that night really dragged out the R when he said “Random Access Memories Daft Punk”. So naturally, Taylor thought she had the award and her face lit up. Only to see that she did not, in fact, win. So, she stood up and clapped, although still looking a little miffed/embarrassed. Well, what do you know, the next day the internet is tearing her apart and making fun of the face she made when she thought she had it and then realized she didn’t. She became a gif, a meme, everything. I have seen the waves of irrational, baseless and crude hatred and bullying of her on the internet over the years and that, to me, was the worst. UNFORGIVABLE! So, anyway, it didn’t win the award, but fans and music critics unanimously agree that it should have. Speak Now might be the fan favorite album, due to the attachment to the Speak Now Era, but we all agree that Red is her best work. Alrighty, let’s dive in! Finally, right?!

 16.  I Knew You Were Trouble: “Flew me to places I’d never been,  ‘til you put me down.”

17.  Everything Has Changed ft. Ed Sheeran: “All I feel in my stomach is butterflies, the beautiful kind, makin’ up for lost time, taking flight making me feel like I just wanna know you better.” *Taylor and Ed are best friends in real life. They claim they wrote this song whilst having In n Out burgers on her trampoline in the backyard. I believe them.*

18.   Treacherous: “Nothing safe is worth the drive and I will follow you home.” *This song is cowritten and produced by Dan Wilson from Semisonic.*

19.  Sad Beautiful Tragic: “Distance, timing, breakdown, fighting, silence… the train runs off its tracks.”

20.  Red!!!!!!!!!: “Moving on from him is impossible when I still see it all in my head, in burning red.”

21.  Holy Ground: “We took off faster than a green light go, yeah you skip the conversation when you already know.”

22.  All Too Well: “I’d like to be my old self again, but I’m still trying to find it.” *The original version of this song is over ten minutes long. This is, unanimously, Taylor’s best song of all time. Check any list by any critic and this song will be at the #1 spot. I think, for me, Red and All Too Well are tied for favorites.*

23.  Begin Again: “You throw your head back laughin’ like a little kid. I think it’s strange that you think I’m funny, ‘cause he never did.”

24.  The Last Time ft. Gary Lightbody of Snow Patrol: “You wear your best apology, but I was there to watch you leave.”

 1989: “I wrote about moving to the loudest and brightest city in the world, the city I had always been overwhelmed by… until now. I think you have to know who you are and what you want in order to take on New York and all its blaring truth. I wrote about the thrill I got when I finally learned that love, to some extent, is just a game of cat and mouse. I wrote about looking back on a lost love and understanding that nothing good comes without loss and hardship and constant struggle. There is no ‘riding off into the sunset’, like I used to imagine. We are never out of the woods, because we are always going to be fighting for something. I wrote about love that comes back to you just when you thought it was lost forever, and some feelings never go out of style. I wrote about an important lesson I learned recently… that people can say whatever they want about me, but they can’t make me lose my mind. I’ve learned how to shake things off. I’ve told you my stories for years now. Some have been about coming of age, some have been about coming undone. This is a story about coming into your own, and as a result… coming alive.” Oh man. I have a lot of feelings about this one, too. And not the good kind. Let’s start with facts. 1989 is Taylor’s fifth album and was released in the fall of 2014. There are 13 songs. And that’s it for the facts, because now I’m going to dive into my feelings and opinions about this one. Which are basically facts, but anyway... So, like I said previously, Taylor did not win AOTY for Red and that bothered her. She went home to her hotel room, gorged herself on In n Out burgers, and cried (Dramatic much?!? It’s okay though ‘cause it was a rough night. And I’m not making this up, she really told us that’s how the night went down. POOR TAY!). Next thing you know, she wakes up in the middle of the night with an epiphany that she is going to make a sonically cohesive pop album. She said the problem with Red was that it wasn’t “sonically cohesive”. Swifties hate the word sonically cohesive. It hurts me that I am even typing it. If you are in my presence do not say the word sonically cohesive, okay? Moving on. In a way, she was right. Red WASN’T sonically cohesive, but that’s kind of what we loved about it. Every song on Red sounds exactly like the feeling the lyrics portray. We didn’t think it was an issue. But Taylor wanted to hone in on a specific sound and perfect that and keep things neat and clean. And, of course, that sound was going to be pop. EXCEPT SHE’S ALWAYS BEEN POP BUT SURE. So, Taylor decides to try 80s synth pop (I guess?) and go with that. And so 1989 is born. Look, I love the narrative and inspiration behind 1989. I am really inspired by the prologue I shared up there. It was all about independence and friendships and not needing a man because she had stopped dating. But she also said she had to stop dating because the hate got so bad. So, the whole single life thing was kind of forced on her, but whatever, she embraced it. Except we all know she wasn’t *really* single (Hello Karlie Kloss!!). When the first single from 1989, Shake It Off, came out, I cried incessantly. I was inconsolable, and my friend’s dad had to make us grilled cheeses to cope. Shake It Off never grew on me, and to this day it’s my least favorite Taylor song EVER (it’s borderline unbearable), but the rest of the album did grow on me. To a degree. The problem with 1989 is that a handful of the songs are incredible, and the rest feel incomplete/watered down/like filler. I feel like she really worked to perfect a few of the songs and geared them in a way to be popular on radio, and the rest were afterthoughts. 1989 is the only Taylor album where the best songs were chosen as singles (except for Shake It Off). With Taylor’s albums, usually the best songs feel like hidden gems because they’re never chosen for radio, and so the public doesn’t know about them. I’m happy that everyone got to enjoy her songs from 1989, but it also felt like there was nothing left over for the fans that felt special. The best songs on 1989 ended up overplayed and overdone. 1989 is the first tour I did not attend. I can be honest with you and say I regret that. 1989 isn’t a bad album, it’s a good album, but as far as Taylor’s work goes, it’s just not the best. But it did win Album of the Year in 2016, making her the first woman to win that award TWICE.  To go a little deeper, it wasn’t even so much the 1989 album that I disliked, I think it was more the Era/Taylor in general during 1989 that didn’t jive with me. She got obsessed with appearance, and status, and there were some strange business dealings that left fans feeling used and abused. Before 1989, Taylor felt like the “girl next door” (I do realize she’s a celebrity and not the girl next door at all, but her perfected relatability factor became part of her marketing image), but during 1989 Taylor threw that all away to be #squadgoals with the Victoria’s secret models. Whatever, it was a strange time. Glad that is over. ALSO, listen to Ryan Adams cover of this album. It’s better than the OG at times. Aight aight, let’s dig into these sick beats (ugh).

25.  Welcome to New York: “When we first dropped our bags on apartment floors, took our broken hearts, put them in a drawer. Everybody here was someone else before, and you can want who you want, boys and boys and girls and girls.” *Taylor moved to NYC the summer gay marriage was legalized in New York. Thanks for the shoutout Tay.*

26.  I Know Places: “Just grab my hand and don’t ever drop it, my love. They are the hunters, we are the foxes, and we run.”

27.  Clean!!!!!!: “It was months and months of back and forth, you’re still all over me like a wine-stained dress I can’t wear anymore.” *Despite 1989 being my least favorite album, this song is one of my all-time favorites. It’s brilliant how she compares a relationship to an addiction. And Imogen Heap comes through for some dope ass background vocals.*

28.   Out of the Woods: “The monsters turned out to be just trees, when the sun came up you were looking at me.” *Ryan Adams cover is amazing, and so is an acoustic piano version Taylor did for the Grammy museum. Check youtube.*

29.  You Are In Love: “You keep his shirt, he keeps his word.”

30.  Style: “I say ‘I’ve heard that you’ve been out and about with some other girl. He said ‘What you heard is true, but I can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you.” I said ‘I’ve been there too, a few times.’”

31.  Wildest Dreams: “You see me in hindsight, tangled up with you all night, burning it down. Someday when you leave me I hope these memories follow you around.”

32.  This Love: “Tossing, turning, struggled through the night with someone knew… Lantern burning, flickered in my mind for only you, but you were still gone and gone, gone and gone.”

 Reputation: “We think we know someone, but the truth is that we only know the version of them they have chosen to show us. We know our friend in a certain light, but we don't know them the way their lover does. Just the way their lover will never know them the same way that you do as their friend. Their mother knows them differently than their roommate, who knows them differently than their colleague. Their secret admirer looks at them and sees an elaborate sunset of brilliant color and dimension and spirit and pricelessness. And yet, a stranger will pass that person and see a faceless member of the crowd, nothing more. We may hear rumors about a person and believe those things to be true. We may one day meet that person and feel foolish for believing baseless gossip. This is the first generation that will be able to look back on their entire life story documented in pictures on the internet, and together we will all discover the after-effects of that. Ultimately, we post photos online to curate what strangers think of us. But then we wake up, look in the mirror at our faces and see the cracks and scars and blemishes, and cringe. We hope someday we'll meet someone who will see that same morning face and instead see their future, their partner, their forever. Someone who will still choose us even when they see all of the sides of the story, all the angles of the kaleidoscope that is you.” Last album?!? I can’t believe we’re here already! Reputation, Taylor’s 6th album, was released in the fall of 2017 and consists of 15 tracks. At the start, reputation was a wild ride. During the 1989 Era, Taylor managed to crawl out of the pit of hate and despair that the Red Era brought, and she soared to popularity. I’ve noticed this happens with Taylor, the love/hate comes in waves. One day everyone loves her again, and then the next they hate her. During 1989 Taylor was flying high. Highest grossing tour, AOTY, “dating” (I have to put that in quotes, but that’s a whole other can of worms) Calvin Harris… but, nothing good can last forever, and so literally everything fell apart. Messy break up with Calvin, even messier drama with Kimye (can’t even get into that). Things weren’t going so well. Taylor had reached overexposure and she went into hiding for almost a year. No performances, no candid shots, no interviews, no mags, nothing. She usually releases a new album like clockwork every two years, but she skipped her typical release season and tacked on another year to the wait. Well, while she was hiding, Taylor was doing what she does best.. making music. At some point during the summer Taylor put all of her music back on streaming accounts, and so I knew then that something was brewing. She finally announced the name of the album and released the first single, “Look What You Made Me Do”. The day she dropped “Look What You Made Me Do” was one of the craziest days for just about everyone, let alone Swifties. It felt like the world was literally collapsing over this song. The internet was breaking. A few people loved it right away, some people thought she had cracked and was finally losing her damn mind, and I was just confused and depressed. The day it was released I spent a large portion of the day crying. I cried and clutched onto my 1989 CD (but I never even liked 1989 that much… which shows how much I was worried….) But, before I knew it, I was bopping along to the song and loved it like the rest. And once the music video came out, I realized that everything was going to be okay. If you haven’t seen the music video, you need to. It’s iconic. It broke Youtube’s record for most views in 24 hrs. A few more songs came out before album release and I wasn’t *that* crazy about most of them. Turns out that reputation is like all of Taylor’s albums before 1989, the best songs were not released as singles. Back 2 Basics, guys. The fans get everything, and everyone else gets the scraps. When the album finally did come out I was overjoyed. Now let’s see why!

33.  Delicate: “Is it cool that I said all that? Is it chill that you’re in my head? ‘Cause I know that it’s delicate.”

34.  Getaway Car: “I wanted to leave him, I need a reason.” *Jack Antonoff produced this song and many others on reputation. We are #blessed. I recently read somebody say that Jack has a stranglehold on pop music. I WISH!!*

35.  Dancing With Our Hands Tied: “I loved you in spite of deep fears that the world would divide us.” *Beginning at some point in 2014, Karlie Kloss and Taylor Swift entered a torrid love affair. It’s possible they are still together today. That’s a discussion for a later date. Anyway, this song is definitely about her. Funny how some people think Taylor hates gay people (why?) when really she writes songs for them. Thanks Tay.

36.  Dress: “I woke up just in time, now I wake up by your side.” *Also for Karlie.*

37.  Call It What You Want!!!!: “I brought a knife to a gun fight, they took the crown but it’s alright.”

38.  I Did Something Bad: “They’re burning all the witches, even if you aren’t one, so light me up.”

39.  Don’t Blame Me: “For you I would fall from grace just to touch your face. If you walk away, I’d beg you on my knees to stay.”

40.  King of My Heart: “I’m perfectly fine, I live on my own. I made up my mind, I’m betting off being alone. We met a few weeks ago, now you try on calling me baby like trying on clothes.”

41.  New Year’s Day: “You squeeze my hand three times in the back of the taxi. I can tell that it’s gonna be a long road. I’ll be there if you’re the toast of the town babe, or if you strike out and you’re crawling home.”

Spotify link:  https://open.spotify.com/user/22xaifvaciqklwgcnidnxuuhq/playlist/7ssFqGusg3Sf1sPe5cS7hR

[sincerelybillie]

on liking yourself when others dislike you

do you think you could handle knowing, at the rate and visibility of social media “likes” and praise, how many people cannot stand you? i think about this often - how i myself do sometimes quantify and qualify my work and my worth based on the affirmation i receive, read and hear. and years of self-growth and self-love aside, to look at yourself through rose-coloured glasses isn’t any much healthier than picking at the scabs of your own insecurities. whether you’re healed or not, you’re not above self-examination. i’m really learning that these days. 

there’s a lot to unpack here, so i hope you’re comfy. because i’m about to get uncomfy.

 and again, the thoughts burst to the forefront of my brain and again i, in the paralysis and then dull pain of honest self-reflection, spat them down as bullet points. things that sting just as much removing an old and actual bullet from a body that’s gotten too accustomed to its own damage and romanticized being a warrior whose bones can no longer be broken w sticks, stones, or anything for that matter. but none of us are that untouchable. we wouldn’t be human. 

in middle school, stephanie and sarah started a myspace comment thread about my eczema and how they didn’t want to be near me in the locker rooms during P.E. because they didn’t want to have “lizard skin” like me. i found out about their lifetime movie school bully behaviour after they’d been discussing me for weeks (which was honestly weirder than any skin condition i had? you’re preteen girls obsessively talking about my mostly naked prepubescent body that experiences dry skin sometimes? which isn’t contagious?) anyways, they both ended up having severe, cystic acne for much of their teenhood, and i always felt secure in knowing karma did a much better job than any revenge i could have employed at such a young age. i’d known stephanie since we were in first grade, and sarah was one of the “bad girls” who started wearing excessive eyeliner and push up bras before the rest of us. i guess stephanie felt like she needed to invest in something like that, for social currency. sarah got beat up a few times, i think, because other girls caught word of her trash talking. i think stephanie knew how to be strategic in her associations and never actually had to be held accountable for being shitty. i don’t know what happened to either of them, but i remember being really smug about my clear skin and the state of their faces when i found them on facebook in high school. this wasn’t productive. this didn’t make me a good person. and i guess i just always wanted to believe anyone who didn’t like me was in the wrong and would receive a cosmic consequence for being a dick to me.

let’s head to my early twenties where my first full time job with an organization i spent two years with showed me i was wrong. there were still coworkers who disliked me for really petty reasons, who still acted like spiteful and gossipy middle school bullies or were passive aggressive towards me for reasons that really didn’t make anymore sense than hating me for my allergies did. but i did have to hear and internalize and change the fact that i was too aggressive in my work ethic, isolated people who i felt didn’t work as hard as me, didn’t open up to people because i came across like nobody was worth knowing me or being trusted, was too opinionated, verbose, competitive, elitist. i couldn’t believe i could be considered these things, and anyone who called me that must have really misunderstood my commitment and my values. they were stupid and wrong. i was right. there was nothing for me to change here. but i was wrong because even if some of them had discussed me behind my back in separate group chats, behaved unprofessionally towards me, or stopped interacting w me entirely outside of mandated work environments, it didn’t automatically invalidate any and all other feedback they could have given me. it didn’t lose its legitimacy just because it was coming from someone i didn’t consider a friend with valuable insight. and because i placed so much value on the connections and thoughts of people i mutually respected, knew, and trusted, it was hard to swallow truths handed out by strangers, estranged friends, acquaintances or people i just thought sucked. 

i stifled my own growth by not listening to them because i thought loving myself and hearing what people who aren’t cool with me had to say were mutually exclusive. i chose to only hear half the conversation because that’s what served me. because only hearing criticisms and insults was so poor for my mental health, that i had to swing the pendulum as hard as i could in the other direction. and that may have felt better most of the time, but it didn’t make me better long-term. 

at the benefit of my sanity in this digital age, i don’t see who or how many people ignore my snapchat stories, screenshot my ig stories or discuss them when i’m not around, hate what i post, roll their eyes at my captions, or click thumbs down on my youtube videos, whether or not they watched the whole thing. but i know that people do it. i know some people choose to continue following me on social media or being friends w me because they want that mutual follow, despite never really interacting w me - positively or otherwise - on the particular platform. it’s a numbers game. they hate seeing their follower count drop more than they hate seeing me. i know i’ve been blocked, unfriended, and called names i can’t respond to before they press that button, a power move to get the last word in that i myself am guilty of using. my ex boyfriend made a hate account for me when we broke up. my numbers drop a little by a couple people on different platforms almost immediately after i share something that i guess people determine is enough of seeing me and my opinons on their timelines or feeds. my roommates talk about me and hide their ig stories from me. one of them reads my tweets, but doesn’t follow me, but she's given me a lot of valuable insight and feedback herself; the other throws temper tantrums, so i know where to put more relationship energy based on maturity and respect. i can’t explain human behaviour, my own or theirs when it comes to this. i could obsess over what possible reason anyone could have to decide to do these things. i could obsess over what possible reason anyone could have to think i’m not incredible. and that’s pathetic of me to do so, to assume so. 

so many things could be a blow to the ego if i let it matter enough. but how do you know when something is insignificant and when something is a sign? my impatience w what i consider “poor performance” has made me seem pretentious, unapproachable, and aloof. so i built up my empathy muscle, i started sharing how things made me feel, what i needed from people, asking them what they needed from me, listening, giving - and that has made a monumental difference in my relationships. i have less of them now (relationships), because it is not a numbers game, but the ones i have i enjoy and i put the work in to grow and maintain, like any other garden, talent, muscle, bond. if i care enough and because i care. 

apathy isn’t cool. we are not above being hurt or taking it personally, wondering what we did wrong instead of just as often deciding that person is trash anyways. so good riddance. ha ha, quality over quantity, yeah i’m never wavering from that perspective! 

but i do waver because as (un)fortunate, (in)convenient, confusing, or exciting as it can be, these perceptions of “what makes me great”, “why does everyone hate me”, “i’m good enough”, “i’m untouchable”, and “i’m trash” are fluid. influenced by read receipts, break ups, little to no interaction w people you have shared laughs and important times with, technology, celebrities and pop culture, childhood flashbacks, adulthood anxieties, etc. 

i’m still trying to make sense of this all. maybe you are where i am at on some or many days as well. i hope i, and you (but i can really only speak for myself, i have to remind myself on this blog) can understand what makes me a remarkable person doesn’t scream louder than the parts i should work on, doesn’t shine so much that i don’t need touch ups or entire renovations of how i act, think, and treat myself and others.

and adversely, people can dislike me because they dislike themselves or because they’re generally bad people w bad taste…or they can dislike me because there are things that i do, real behaviours that are mine, that are dislikable. bad. ugly. allowed to be criticized. allowed to be unwanted.

i can do something about them or i can let my precious, problematic ego inflate while my potential for growth and reconcilable, worthwhile relationships deteriorate. why do i preserve what i preserve? why do i overlook what i overlook? scoffs, tears, eye rolls, thank you’s, hugs. 

i have all this self-awareness and all these options. i just don’t have the foresight to know what is the correct button to press. maybe part of growing up is just taking that journey, for all its guts and glory, because we’re not entitled to the ending we think we deserve. we experience the consequences of our actions, the actions of others, sometimes we get lucky, we get better, we get hurt. i have to be okay w all that, i have to learn and never stop learning from all that. even if, no matter what i become or do or say, people still decide they don’t like me. 

after all, the end game isn’t likability, despite how sick these social media games can make us. my end game, my always game is just growth, goodness, the willingness to experience the refreshing pain of honest self-evaluation and re-calibration. as much as i can see greatness in myself, i’m not above being told there’s something ugly and bad that needs to be looked at too. removed.

maybe this isn’t enough for the people reading who don’t like me. is it insincere? irresponsible? i’m not here to please you or get you to like me; i need to be better, no matter what. this is the truth of how i feel and what i’ve been thinking. 

yes, i like myself. enough to see past mindless hate and not change myself to accommodate others, but also enough to recognize when i need to make real change for everyone’s benefit of being/knowing a better me. 

this is what needed to be said. 

[arplis]

Arplis - News: 12 True Sex Stories You Have to Read to Believe

“WHEN HARRY MET SALLY” - COLUMBIA PICTURES   You’re out to brunch with your girlfriends, how long does it take for the conversation to turn to sex? Not long, amiright? It’s not just the ladies on “Sex and The City” who love to talk about sex—it’s most of us. We talk about it with our friends, our partners, and depending on how self-conscious you may feel, complete strangers. We talk about our true sex stories wether it be the amazing sex we’ve had, the comical, the sometimes strange and unusual, and even the not-so-great sex.  For many of us, we learned more about sex from our friends than we did from our parents or sex education class. It’s fun to share our sex stories—if it wasn’t, there wouldn’t be live storytelling shows, podcasts, books, TV shows, or movies. Fantasy has its place, but the stories that resonate the most with us are the true stories, those that actually happened. I AM & CO put the word out that we were looking for true sex stories and we received a very diverse response; stories from various sexual preferences, practices, and levels of sexual experience. All of these true sex stories are ones you have to read to believe. 12 True Sex Stories Guaranteed to Raise Eyebrows “Not Friends, No Benefit” Comedian Shalewa Sharpe, creator of  "So You Just Out Here?" I ran into my one-night-stand guy at the club. Now, some people might call that a “friend with benefits” but that term suggests that the two parties are friendly enough to schedule a benefit. This guy and I were not friends. Our benefits only happened if we ran into each other at the club. So, we made out for a minute, then he suggested we take this party to my car. This was how I ended up parked behind a grocery store, attempting to have sex with this guy in my 1988 Honda Prelude—a sports coupe, with bucket seats. Have you had sex in bucket seats? If so, a follow-up question: are you double jointed? The guy and I struggled for a bit, then his face fell. “Oh, this sucks,” he moaned. “It’s because my dick’s too small.” I had to console this guy while also keeping an eye out for the cops. If you find yourself in this predicament, don’t end up saying what I said: “Hey man, we’re in bucket seats—this ain’t gonna be easy.” A real mood-killer. We threw in the towel, I dropped him off back at the club and went home. Later that night, my roommate, who was the club’s doorperson, mentioned that she saw the guy with a weeping woman at the end of the night—they were walking in circles around the parking lot, then they hopped on his motorcycle and split. The next day, as I was furiously scrubbing and vacuuming my car, I found a driver’s license for a young woman wedged between the front passenger seat and the middle console. I guess it fell out of one-night-stand guy’s pocket during the, uh, festivities. I scratched out the ID’s info, punched a hole in it, and hung it on my rearview mirror as a cautionary tale. “It’s Part Of It” Jason, Columbus, Ohio We were both in college and had been dating for a while when she decided to take it to the next level. “Tie me up,” she demanded. “Okay, um, I’m going to tie you up now,” I said and went to get some scarves that were conveniently strewn about and set to work. “No!” “Oh, my God! I’m so sorry! I thought that…” and I began to loosen the bonds.  “No, it’s part of what makes it so hot.” “Oh, right,” I said and went back to doing Boy Scout knots such as the square knot and the sheepshank. I wondered if I should go with the trucker’s hitch? Nah. Too much.  “I’m going to f*ck you now,” I said getting into it. “Let me go!” I immediately stop what I’m doing. “Oh my God, I am an idiot. I am so sorry. I didn’t understand. You see, when you said you wanted, what I thought was, but in reality, I see… Oh no, I’m so sorry.” I quickly start to untie all the knots.  “No, it’s part of it.”  “What Goes Around, Comes Around” Ashley, Raleigh, North Carolina I paid my boyfriend for sex the first summer we were together…11 years later, he’s paying me for sex. “The Hook-Up Room”  Comedian Anita Flores, host of I'm Listening: A Frasier Podcast with Anita Flores. I’m at my first high- school party, and it’s not going well. Between my social anxiety and the fact that I only know the host, all I can think about is how I’m going to escape. I can’t actually leave, or else I’ll seem “uncool.” Fortunately, I come up with the next best solution. After making some light small talk with the host (Cassie) about her impressive selection of snacks, I ask, “Is there anywhere I can take a nap?” At the time, this seemed like a normal way to still be at the party without having to speak to anyone. I can’t say that Cassie agreed. After a long pause, she replied, “Uh, I guess in my attic.” I gleefully head to the attic. All the lights are off and it’s strangely warm, but it beats talking to people. I feel around and discover a futon I can pretend to sleep on. There I am lying down when something round and muscular attacks my face. It’s a butt, and it's smothering me! Ever want to suffocate someone, but don’t have a pillow? Just wear thick, non-breathable polyester pants. I hear a low voice. It’s a boy butt. He hears my muffled cries, gets up and exclaims, “Whoa, sorry dude!”  Now there’s giggling. He’s with a girl. Suddenly, I hear what sounds like a lot of teens slurping soup. There are more people in this room than I realized. Cassie sent me to take a nap in “the hook-up room!” Picture “Eyes Wide Shut: The Early Years.” Before the masks, there were braces. By this time, the boy butt and his lady friend have taken the futon from me. I'm standing there feeling left out because no one has asked me to join in. I can’t run away, otherwise, everyone will think I’m a prude! So, I find an empty loveseat, plop down, and close my eyes. Because there’s nothing cooler than ignoring sex. I’ll make sure to tell my future teen daughter that, too.  “There Are Rules” Michael, Portland, Oregon I was sessioning with a dominatrix named Vixen when her friend Wendy came over. Vixen blindfolded me and put me in the corner, which I was more than okay with. The minute Vixen’s back was turned, I took off the blindfold, even though I knew (and hoped,) I’d be punished. Vixen took out a strap on from her toy-cupboard and proceeded to f*ck Wendy with it. It was quite a show and later,  I was punished severely for watching—it was well worth the tribute that I paid Vixen. “Don’t Stop Under Any Circumstances!” Carrie, Chicago, Illinois My boyfriend and I were having sex one night on my old as hell bed. He was an ex-professional football player and I’m a big girl, so it shouldn’t have been surprising that right when things were getting super intense, the bed broke. He stopped what he was doing, so I yelled, “Don’t stop! I’m so close!” Without moving from the now broken bed, we get back at it and this time we don’t stop until we both cum. If there had been an earthquake or a tornado, I would have made him keep going then, too. “Side Effects Can Be Embarrassing” Krysta, Orlando, Florida  I've never been really big into taking birth control, but a coworker of mine mentioned that she was on a pill where she only had a period every three months... I wanted in on that! So, I went to my doctor and got on birth control. I started dating this new guy, who was literally the sexiest human-created. Around him, I tried to be Miss Perfection. Meanwhile, I'm on these new birth control pills and the doctor forgot to mention that they had lactose in them. I'm extremely lactose intolerant, even the smallest bit gives me major gas.  The first time the perfect guy and I had sex was a disaster. Every thrust he made inside of me made me pass gas. It was so embarrassing. We literally had to stop and go to Walgreens to get me some type of gas pills because he and I both couldn't take the noise, let alone the smell.  Let's just say, I stopped taking those pills immediately.  “Sex On The Deserted Beach” Beverly, New York City My partner and I were having a romantic vacation for my birthday in Newport, Rhode Island, and decided to spice things up by making love on a (deserted) beach in the middle of the night. Unfortunately, this beach was not quite as deserted or private as we had initially anticipated. All of a sudden we saw flashes of bright light, immediately stopped, and became alarmed.  A police officer arrived, trying to hold back a grin, and asked us if we'd seen some "kids swimming" after hours. We said no, he left, and we quickly packed up our things to make a quick exit. We drove home laughing not quite knowing what to make of the experience, but it certainly was a bonding one. It's definitely an evening and birthday I won't soon forget. “Don’t Disturb Grandpa” Spencer, Phoenix I hooked-up once with this guy who was taking care of his grandpa. It was around 10:00 p.m. by the time I got to his house. Whispering, he asked me to follow him and to not make any noise, his grandpa was watching TV in the living room. The guy sneaked me into a bedroom, but I guess that wasn’t soundproof enough, so we went into the closet and had very cramped and uncomfortable sex in there. I don’t think his grandpa had any idea about what was going on. “Male High Club” Reynaldo, San Diego, California I was taking a night flight home from Hawaii, as I was sitting down, I turned to see a guy who was so handsome I was stunned. Like a lot of us, he wore shorts and Aloha shirts, but he was well-built and looked more like he’d be a lead on one of those Hawaii detective shows. There was an empty seat near me on the aisle, and the guy asked if he could sit there to stretch out his legs. Other than nodding yes, we didn’t talk. The man grazed my knee with his leg, and all the hairs on my leg stood on end. And he didn’t pull away right away, just gradually. He got up to get a blanket from the overhead compartment which he placed over his legs. With no talking at all, he made the slightest gesture to offer me some of the blanket. Before you know it, the blanket was spread over both our legs. Then, our hands somehow started to find each other. And for a long time on the flight, that was it…just our hands grasping together, coming loose, rejoining, stroking fingers. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I was rock hard. And gradually, very gradually, all without talking and with this stud of a guy who I did not know at all, our hands gradually started to stroke each other’s thighs, mirroring each other.  And eventually, very discreetly to not get attention or show movement above the blanket, we each found our erections extending out through the bottom of our shorts, and we grabbed each other. Eventually, some napkins or handkerchiefs were brought below, and without making any sound, we both came, and it was pretty simultaneous.  “Kung Fu Fighting” Carol Gee, Author, “Random Notes ( About Life. "Stuff"And Finally Learning To Exhale)” A romantic, I fantasized about what it would be like to have sex on satin sheets. My fantasy materialized when my husband and I, two young Air Force sergeants returning from living in the Far East, stopped to visit another Air Force friend and his lady in San Francisco. Invited to spend the night, the lady made the guest room bed up with a brand new pair of red satin sheets. How did she know my fantasy? I couldn’t wait to get my husband in bed to enjoy sex so good that the neighbors in the apartment next door would have needed a cigarette.  I took a shower, smoothed on scented body lotion and got into bed. My husband was already in it waiting for me. On those satin sheets, our lovemaking suddenly morphed into Kung Fu fighting. Taking me into his arms I accidentally poked him in the ribs. Oof! Climbing on top of him I kneed in the thigh. Ouch! Attempting to kiss him I missed his mouth and ended up rubbing noses with him. Then his pillow slid off the bed, mine quickly followed. Instead of holding onto him, I held tightly to the bedsheets trying not to slide off, taking him with me. Not only was the whole thing a disaster, but we also got very little sleep that night for trying to stay in the middle of the bed. Frankly, I'm glad those sheets weren’t mine as they would most likely have ended up as pretty red curtains.  “Girl/Girl Love Lesson” Sensual Massage Therapist, Jazmin Light The streets of Zurich were empty as I headed toward their place. The gentleman on the phone had asked me if I would "be" with his girlfriend—while he watched. He said she wanted a woman to show him "what women like." The World Cup soccer games were on, and that night, Switzerland was playing. The air bristled with excitement. All anyone talked about was "Fussball." Everyone's windows were wide open due to the summer heat.  A classy-looking man in his mid-fifties opened the door to a modern loft apartment. Surprised, I wondered, “Shouldn't he know what women like by now?” Behind him, pouring champagne at the high-top table, stood Nadia, perhaps thirty years his junior. In her red La Perla lingerie and matching stilettos. She handed me a glass and kissed me on the mouth. We made a toast. I took a sip, then lifted Nadia's silky blonde hair and kissed her neck. I let my lips and teeth linger, then gave her a soft bite. She gasped. Suddenly, a roar of voices sailed in through our window and engulfed us. "YAAAAAY!!!” The cheering came from next door, from above us, below us, and from outside. “GOAL!” We laughed as the ruckus died down. I stroked Nadia's hair, neck, and torso. "There are endless ways to please a woman, Manfred," I said, twirling my fingers on her lacy bra cups. Manfred plopped down on the bed and stared at us, his mouth open.  I unsnapped her bra, returning his gaze. "There's much more to women then nipples and—" I slid my hand to her panties, "pearls." Nadia inhaled sharply. "So slow down, savor, discover, and—play!" Nadia groaned, Manfred grinned. New shrieks and cheers exploded throughout the neighborhood. *** When you share a sex story, it can help you to connect with other people, learn about yourself and others, and it can inspire you to try new things. As humans, we’re always growing and that includes our sexuality.  Sex is part of the human experience and it’s always fun to hear someone else’s stories of incredible sex, confusing sex, or way-out-there sex. #Sex #Relationships

Arplis - News source https://arplis.com/blogs/news/12-true-sex-stories-you-have-to-read-to-believe

[circeswife]

October 2006, 8 years old-- My mom brings home a copy of the self-titled album from the library and we listen to the songs together.  I’m 8 so I don’t understand all of it yet, but I know instantly that I love it.  I know Taylor is young, and I’m awed that she’s accomplished so much already.  I’ve already decided I want to be like her when I grow up.  At that age, I'm obsessed with Eragon and dragons and swords, and would dance around my room with a ruler (my sword, obviously) and pretend I was battling with evil kings.  The self-titled was my soundtrack.

September 2008, 10 years old-- I’ve just started 5th grade and my alarm goes off in the morning for school and the radio is playing.  A brand new song starts (Love Story), and I don’t know it yet, but I can tell I’m going to love it.  Later I found out the song was by Taylor and I’m ecstatic because that means there’s new music coming.  The very next year in 6th grade in my chorus class, we have karaoke Fridays every week and from day 1 I know I want to sing Love Story.  Later in the year there’s a Karaoke Concert and students Ms. Stanley chooses get to perform.  I sing Love Story and the whole night I’m all smiles.  (A few years later, my grandfather is in a Veterans Affairs nursing home in Richmond, VA.  They hold holiday dinners for the veterans and their families.  At one of the Thanksgiving dinners, there’s a DJ who is having people do karaoke if they want.  My dad walks up with me and asks the man if he has Taylor Swift songs.  He says he does, and I sing Love Story again.)  The album comes out a few months later and Change quickly becomes my new dragon fighting anthem.

October 2010, 12 years old-- I’m introduced to Speak Now the same way I am Fearless, with hearing Mine on the radio before school.  By then, I’m old enough to recognize it as a Taylor Swift song without needing to be told.  When I learn that Taylor wrote every single song on the album, I love her even more.  I’m not in chorus anymore, but there are new electives at my middle school, and one of them is karaoke.  I take it as many times as possible (they only lasted a quarter and then you were supposed to sign up for different things).  My friends and I make a goal to sing as many Taylor Swift songs as we possibly can (we get through quite a lot).  I love every single song on the album, but I’ll always have a soft spot for Long Live (the dragons, again).  My dad hears Haunted, and for the first time he starts to like Taylor’s music, too, not just because I do.

October 2012, 14 years old-- I’m a freshman in high school and I’ve spent a lot of the last few months listening to Taylor’s first 2 albums again.  I’m at a point in my life where I’ve realized I don’t have very many close friends (maybe 1).  My group of friends from middle school fell apart all too quickly when high school began and I’m not sure where to sit at lunch or who to talk to.  I latch onto Red and all its songs because at this point, Taylor’s music has been in my life for a while and I almost consider it a friend.  I feel weirdly passionate about We Are Never Getting Back Together, considering I’ve never been in a relationship.  All Too Well is beautiful and breaks my heart every time I hear it (which is why I listen to it a LOT).  My dad decides his favorite song is The Moment I Knew off of the bonus cd, and to this day it still is.  I’m on the swim team at school, and one of the meets is fairly far away and my parents come to it and instead of riding home on the bus with the team, I ride home with them and we listen to the album the whole way home.  I don’t think I’ll ever be able to pick a definitive favorite Taylor Swift song, but as of right now in my life, Red is my favorite album.

October 2014, 16 years old-- 1989 is released and I’m nervous because it’s a different style of music this time around, but I buy it anyways because it’s Taylor Swift and she’s never let me down before.  I love it.  Every time I listen to the songs, I notice something new about them and find something new to love.  At this point in my life, I’ve long since realized I want to be a writer and this album reminds me that Taylor Swift was one of my first inspirations since she writes most of her songs.  At Christmas, my parents surprise me with concert tickets to see the 1989 world tour in D.C. July 13th.  I have bronchitis that Christmas and a little out of it tbh so my reaction was definitely a bit more laid back than it normally would’ve been.

July 13th 2015, 17 years old-- This is the summer I started my job as a coach on my long time swim team. My coworkers and my swimmers have heard a lot of my excitement about the concert.  It finally rolls around and it was and still is the best day of my life.  I was up in the stands of Nats park with my mom and dad dancing and screaming along lyrics with people I’d never seen before and it was such a surreal experience.  It was the first concert I’d ever been to, not just my first Taylor concert.  I think I cried at least 3 times.  I wanted to live in that moment forever.  The next day, I went to swim practice/work despite getting less than 4 hours of sleep, and BOY did I talk about it all day to my swimmers.

Summer 2017, 19 years old-- This was the first summer I was too old to swim on the team, so this year I’m just a coach.  One of the lifeguards decided to play from Taylor Swift’s spotify a couple times, and every time a song came on, my swimmers knew I was gonna be dancing and singing as loud as I could.  One day a different lifeguard was playing music so there wasn’t any Taylor in the playlist, and one of the parents asked me about it.  At the end of the season all the coaches got thank you cards that the swimmers signed and 3 different people signed mine as Taylor Swift (it was adorable and its on my insta @llyceab).

Taylor’s music has been a part of my life for a long time, longer than the swim team I now coach for.  Her music always seems to fit my life like a soundtrack, and its been like a friend to me.  Idk if she’ll ever see this, I just wanted to say it bc as an artist and as a person, she’s so important to me.  I’m at a point in my life where I’m starting to push back against the people who aren’t really there for me and become who I want to be.  LWYMMD inspires me to not take crap from anyone and be myself unapologetic about it.

@taylorswift

[livefromhouseatlantic]

Chain Breaking, pt 19

"Your perception is influenced by conversations you have an experiences you live. As a result, no two people's perceptions are the same."

This was said to me in a conversation with a coworker I barely know earlier tonight. I'm pretty sure he was high, to be honest, but either way, there's a fair bit of truth to that statement.

Something that can and does happen to me, as I've written about before, is that I get "stuck" periodically. I've learned the proper term for this state. The clinical term that has been provided to me in therapy sessions by the doctor is "dissociation".

I knew that term already - I usually see it in memes that offer a light hearted take on mental illness. I'd looked up the term before (I'm an information junkie, remember) but I've been reluctant to apply it to myself up until now, and if I'm being honest, I still am to a point. After all, the therapy sessions I've had up until now have been pretty disjointed. I'm still waiting for a formal session and possible treatment plan. But the pros thus far seem to think that's what's happening to me.

Anyway, perception. You and I could be having a conversation and you might say something that I hyperfixate on. I'll focus in on it to the point where I might lose track of the year of the conversation. Or, while we're having a conversation, nothing you say might bring it on - I might say something or have a random thought that does the same thing.

When this happens, I tend to go very quiet. I'll have trouble focusing on that you say. I lose track of time. I think I've mentioned in previous entries that I've recently lost pretty much a three week period wherein I do still remember all of the events that took place, but I might have them out of order, for instance, or they all sort of blend together into one big event rather than a series of small ones. My physical journal helps me to stay organized mentally and emotionally (to a point), and I'm very glad I wrote in it at least a few times a week in this period.

In addition to losing track of what you say, I'll lose track of what I'm trying to say. This particular part distresses me more than anything. I've been told (did I say this before? I have to check later) that from a very young age, essentially since I started talking in full sentences, I'd take my time before I said anything - sometimes leaving a very noticeable silence between an adult or one of my peers asking me something and me replying. The result was always the same - but the time I finally did reply, my reply would be exactly what I meant to say and would b often elicit surprise from adults for how organized or whatever my reply was. I have an expansive vocabulary and use it because for me, it offers me a degree of precision that I find lacking in day to day conversation. For me, not being able to communicate clearly and effectively is very frustrating. This tends to make my "stuck" moments worse.

"Stuck" for me elicits one of a few responses: sadness, anxiety, or in some cases, a great deal of anger. As mentioned before, my anger generally turns inward in very quick order, if it isn't already directed at myself. So I'm being quiet, probably talking slowly if at all, but internally, my mind is racing along at a million miles an hour with a whole picture show off things that are upsetting me more and more. I tend to try extremely hard not to lash out - it does happen sometimes, and I always end up berating myself later on for my lack of self control - but I might cry, for instance. I'm more likely to cry than I am to snap or yell at someone. Even in crying, generally, you'll see a tear or two, that's about all I can do. Only in the most dire of situations do I really start to bawl.

The thing I get the angriest about is because I feel like I'm playing a part most of the time, I'll be upset that I'm letting someone see the moment I'm having. I feel as though by being in this state in front of someone, I'm somehow manipulating them. I know that I'm not doing that, and I know that I'm just stuck and need to calm down, but I can't stop thinking that I'm either cruel for playing with someone else's emotions by letting them see mine, or I get scared that in seeing it they'll dismiss me as a basket case or not worth the time.

Because these feelings I get come on with little no warning, when things get bad and I find myself getting stuck a lot, I get scared and feel as though I'm not in control of myself. I've mentioned before that I've built up, over the years, a very high degree of self control. I pride myself on it. When I feel I'm no longer in control of myself, I panic. I'll isolate myself and withdraw partially or completely in defense. I do this for myself, but also for others. I feel like because I'm upset, I'm "an affliction", which is a term I've used lately. I'll feel toxic, poisonous, and overly burdensome. Moreso than usual. As is the case with depressive moments in people's lives, this tends to turn into its own feedback loop. I'll be isolated, have no stimulation or distractions, and will thus spiral further, leading to me feeling like more of an affliction, and so on.

Let's switch tracks a bit. There are some advantages to being tightly wound (in terms of self control): most people who meet me consider me chill out down to Earth. On the exterior, I am. I try very hard to project calm even in moments where I might not be. It helps me to help people out when they're facing a hard time, which is something I take joy from doing. I enjoy being a shoulder to lean on. It gives me a sense of purpose. Most of the time, it's not an act. It's only rarely or lately that I've really felt not calm more often than calm. This is sort of part of a trend in my life. Disruptions of any sort tend to throw me off kilter. Give me a traumatic enough event, and I really get thrown for a loop.

Another (sort of) positive is that, since I feel like I'm playing a part anyway, I'm able to change things up in fairly short order. For instance, I might effect a new style by changing up my wardrobe suddenly with no warning. Or I might go out and meet new people, where usually I'm kind of shy and prefer either my own company or the company of those I've known for a long time. I might completely change my hairstyle. Or I might start playing new games or watch television series that I wouldn't normally bother to (I've always preferred the written word to television or film). I've done all of these things before to try and feel less sad. The only thing that doesn't really change about me ever is the music I listen to - but my music tastes are so broad that I will switch between wildly different genres within the same day, so that might not really count for much. These things will make me feel better to a point, but they also reinforce my feeling that I'm acting through my whole life instead of being genuine. I might find a jacket or a pair of jeans that I really like and that look nice on me. I'll then berate myself for pretending to be something I'm not. It's just a jacket, man. Doesn't matter. I don't actually exist.

Let's switch tracks again. Generally speaking, I'm a very careful planner. While I might change my hairstyle very suddenly, there's usually some thought behind what I'm changing it to. I tend to consider things, oftentimes for an unreasonably long time, before I actually go about doing them. For instance, as mentioned before, I'm hoping to become a police officer some day. I thought about that a lot as a little kid, but I only seriously considered that possibility in my adult life when I was twenty. Four years later, I finally decided I was ready to begin getting in shape for the testing involved. I've waited months or years to tell people things that I feel are too important to rush into. I have to consider all of the possibilities that I can, first. "Meticulous", remember. Once I've finally reached a point where I feel capable of acting, I tend to move swiftly, but I'll think about it and look over every angle I can first. Self control. I actually like that, but there are some downsides. Namely, anything that comes along and disrupts my expectations can and will completely rattle me. It could be as simple as a friend flaking out on a plan or something unexpected happening in my day. I get very upset when that happens, because it doesn't fit the plan I have for my day -not that I tend to plan too too much, I actually kind of like to play my days loosely - but I'm still in control of that, see. I've gotten contrary with people over surprise requests or surprise visits. I'll say no just out of reflex sometimes because this wasn't part of the plan. I've gotten much better at that over the years. And there are certain people who I will just drop anything and everything for, so that's when everything I've written about planning just kinda goes completely out the window.

I actually fell asleep (and slept for a full nine hours, praise God and Zopiclone) between that last sentence and this one, so I've kinda lost my flow. I'll put a pin in this for now.

[awithana]

psa: indian culture with a dash of sikhism

some of this gonna be nitpicky but-

as a Sikh Indian American (born and raised in America) i have noticed a few things that have rubbed me the wrong way, and i just wanted to spread some information. i’m sure most of y’all don’t need this info but if one person learns something that would be cool. this is gonna be all over the place

1. this one is real nitpicky but it’s chai, not chai tea. also naan, not naan bread. this one doesn’t matter much, but it’s still nice to know. it’s the same way most people just call tortillas “tortillas” and not “tortilla bread”

2. India is in Asia!!! in this day and age, we should all know that there are 7 continents and India is not one of them. India is in South Asia (not a continent, i’m sure you know but just to be safe-). Indians are still Asian even if we don’t look like the stereotypical Asian

3. there is not a language by the name of “Indian”. India has 22 official languages, including: Hindi, Punjabi, Gujarati, Telugu, Urdu, etc. do not ask “do you speak Indian?” or “are you speaking Indian?”, instead consider asking “do you speak any languages?” or “what language(s) do you speak?”

4. stop asking if we are American Indian. when someone says they are Indian there is a higher chance that they are from India, rather than being an indigenous person. 

5. just a reminder: Hindi is a language, a Hindu is a person who is a follower Hinduism

6. this one kind of goes for any BIPOC but an Indian person does not know every Indian person. don’t assume someone might know someone, just off of their race. also it is not interesting to hear about all the Indian people you know. when you talk to a white person, you probably wouldn’t talk about your white neighbor, or white doctor or white coworker just because they are white.

7. don’t assume anyone who looks somewhat Middle Eastern or South Asian is Muslim. the amount of times someone has asked me why i’m not wearing a hijab is unbelievable. first of all, not every Muslim woman wears a hijab. second of all, don’t assume someone’s religion. that should go without saying but apparently some people need to have it said to them. it’s heartbreaking to hear stories of people who are not Muslim being told islamophobic things (nobody should be saying islamophobic things to anyone!!!). It’s not dark comedy to shout “Allahu Akbar” at people. 

8. do not use arranged marriages against Indian culture until you have educated yourself on it. i will never support arranged marriages with children involved or marriages where the someone does not consent. arranged marriages have changed a lot from what people take these old stereotypes

“A 2013 IPSOS survey found that 74 percent of young Indians (18-35 years old) prefer an arranged marriage over a free-choice one. Other sources report that as many as 90 percent of all Indian marriages are arranged. Despite doubling in urban areas since 2007, only about 1 in 100 Indian marriages end in divorce.” Psychology Today 

9. you can not convince me that Indian representation in American media is okay. never have i ever and yesterday are great examples of what South Asian representation should be. besides this, what are some very famous examples of Indian characters. Apu from the simpsons and Raj from the big bang theory have not helped Indian stereotypes. i don’t mind them but when this is some of the only representation of Indians that people see, it can be harmful. 

one time i was having this conversation and someone brought up Kali from stranger things. it was great to see her, but she was only there for 2 episodes. it’s nice to see Indian characters but what I want is more shows with characters that Indians can relate too or see themselves in. i don’t see myself in Apu or Raj and it hurts if the only characters that look like you are over-exaggerated stereotypes.

10. Indian clothes are not a costume, so do not call them that. this part will be written in the experience of an American Sikh girl, so it might differ from what others have experienced.

there are many different styles of clothes and they are not all saris.

pretty much everyone in my family wears American clothes everyday except for my older aunts and great-aunts. there is nothing wrong with wearing Indian clothes in public, and if you appreciate someone’s clothes you can compliment them. don’t ask for a picture of the Indian costume (the way that never have i ever showed an accurate depiction of this)

Gurdwaras are Sikh temples. To be respectful, people entering should cover their heads and dress modestly. Sikh women typically wear chunnis, a long scarf, on their head. they are not hijabs or any other Muslim head covering. everyone should keep their head covered while in temple, but when not in gurdwara it’s okay for a chunni to be draped on shoulders.

a popular dress for temple is a salwar kameez aka a suit. they are modest and can be very detailed or very plain. the suits have long loose pants (salwar), that are normally tighter near the ankles. they have a long tunic/dresslike top. they are also worn by younger girls.

saris are generally not worn by young girls. saris have a shorter top that normally shows some of your stomach. there’s a long skirt that has a long fabric that wraps around covering the front of the stomach and laying over the shoulder (that was a horrible description). these are typically not worn to gurdwara, but to parties.

11. this might just be me but: if you’re not Indian don’t do an Indian accent. it’s so annoying. it’s just interesting to me how people will say not to AAVE, or imitate Chinese accents, both rightfully so, but the same people will give all the reasons why it’s okay to imitate Indian accents. i really don’t want to offend anyone because i know it’s not the same but i’m tired-

12. here’s some Sikh rules, i myself don’t follow a lot of these rules but they might be nice to know for a few of you.

kesh, not cutting hair, is a Sikh rule because it is a way of honoring God’s gift of hair. Sikh men and women may go their entire life without cutting their hair or shaving. some Sikh men wear turbans which protect a Sikh’s hair and it should not be removed in public. do not ask someone to remove their turban. most of my family cuts their hair and that’s okay. my uncles and my grandpa wear turbans, yes turbans can be removed in the privacy of a home.

kara, an iron bracelet worn at all times that signifies a permanent bond to Sikhism. my father has been wearing his for so long that he cannot physically take it off now (a pain at airports). some parents start putting them on their babies. i no longer wear a kara because i got mine when I was around 11 but it was not a high quality one and it rusted very quickly. when I was wearing one, a classmate pulled it off and used it as a stencil. don’t be like that classmate.

a lot of Sikhs are vegetarian because one of the Sikh commandments is not to eat sacrificial meat. some Sikhs include eggs as something they do not eat. some Sikhs will eat chicken and turkey, but not red meat.

so that was a rant- i don’t think anyone will see this but if you do, i hope this was maybe relatable or educating lmao

[thelanternlight]

Why Are Millennials So Anxious And Unhappy?

Source

Here are some of the negative stereotypes of today’s young adults, known as millennials—that is, those born between 1981 and 1996: They’re entitled, shiftless, egocentric, hypersensitive to criticism, and unable to cope with the stresses of real life.  But they’re also said to be diverse, open with their emotions, deeply empathetic, and interested in making substantive, important changes in the world they’ve grown into. The truth is, although no one can really agree about the millennial generation, one thing is fairly certain: They’re stressed out. Up to 17 percent of them are depressed, and 14 percent suffer from anxiety. Millennials seek psychotherapy more often than members of Generation X or other, earlier generations.

They may need it, too. Money is one of the most common focal points for millennials’ worries. Many of them have trouble finding jobs, are still living with their parents, or harbor serious concerns about making enough money to start their own lives in earnest. Today’s young people face greater financial difficulties than Americans from previous generations. Almost 30 percent of millennials see themselves as less well-off than they had expected to be, 10 years ago. They’re having trouble saving money, too, because of the 2008 recession, ballooning student-loan debts, and the rising cost of living.

But millennials’ money problems are only a part of the story. More importantly, these worries indicate just how concerned they are about what’s coming next—about making the right choices today in order to ensure a stable future. In truth, decision-making itself may be the number-one reason why millennials are so depressed and anxious, and why they feel the need for psychotherapy. I've previously written that many of my millennial clients are, for the first time, facing big choices that are likely to have lifelong consequences, and that they feel profoundly uncertain about how they should make these decisions. But there are other facets of decision-related anxiety, as well: Some young adults may find that they have too many choices and that trying to distinguish between their options is overwhelming. Others are seized by “analysis paralysis,” having difficulty seeing why one option is better than another, and feeling unable to make a choice at all.

At the age of 25, for instance, a young person is likely to confront most of life’s big decisions in the next 10-to-15 years. Metaphorically speaking, people in this position see their lives as a series of rooms, each of which is lined with doors. Whenever they make a choice, they walk through one door, only to realize that all the others have closed. Then, as they see it, they find themselves in a smaller room, surrounded by fewer doors than in the first. These doors, too, will all close when they walk through one  In fact, every door selected leads to a room that is smaller still, until ultimately the people making choices imagine finding themselves in a long hallway, stretching out ahead to the edge of vision, with no doors (and no choices) left to make. This model looks even more dire when you consider the millennials’ realistic, money-related fears: ending up less successful than their parents or failing to support themselves at their current standard of living.

In addition, it’s important to remember to be kind to yourself when you’re going through a stressful time. Not everyone finds the right life partner, creates an artistic masterpiece or founds a successful company before the age of 30. If you’re hard on yourself in this way—expecting too much of yourself and feeling stuck—try to exercise more self-compassion. Don’t expect perfection. You’re allowed to make mistakes. Take careful note of the aspects of your choices that you can control, as well as those you can’t—and don’t blame yourself for not getting everything absolutely right. Rather, when you do make a decision, try to accept and gain comfort with the act of stepping purposefully into the unknown, even as you acknowledge that uncertainty is a part of living. Instead of berating yourself about making the “right decision” every time, just try to make the decision as well as you possibly can, using all of the information and resources available—and then, afterward, live with the outcome as naturally as possible, knowing that your deciding process was a good one.

That's all good and well but I feel like the summation of this article does not address the initial hardships outlined in the beginning. For me, I'm lucky enough to have a job that is 'relatively stable' but that has fluctuating shifts from day-to-day which causes me lack of sleep, anxiety, and interrupts my life significantly. My pay is adequate but not anywhere near (not even in the same ballpark) as what my parents were making at this age and employees at my company have gone without pay increases for a number of years now. Furthermore I'm also aware that coworkers of mine who started before me (particularly ones that started before the 2008 recession) were offered substantially higher wages for the same exact job coming in the door. So immediately there's a devaluation of my time and resources as an employee that separates me from older workers.

Perhaps what bothers me most is the constant dread that I'm going to be let go because the company is constantly striving for automation and reduction in headcount to save money. I have worked this job year after year knowing with complete sincerity that I could be let go at any moment despite how hard I've worked and how much time and effort and energy and sacrifice I've put into my job every day. There is no job security and therefore no real way to plan for the future because those plans get cancelled the minute my source of income is jeopardized. Don't get me wrong, I'm plenty fortunate and privileged. I recognize that and am extremely appreciative of it (which also prevents me from looking for other work because I'm wary of starting something entirely new and beginning again at square one). I don't know if I will ever be able to retire and that scares me a lot too. I literally lose sleep over it because I don't see a way out. A best-case scenario might look like me doing exactly the same thing until the day I die, all because of rising living costs, aging parents with medical needs and their own standard of living, and me trying to keep sane while building my own life. Vacations are very difficult to take because there aren't enough coworkers to cover me (and if there were that would indicate to management that there's a surplus of workers which would lead to firings). Working from home helps a great deal, however, because of travel time and expense and because it's my home where I feel safe. At least there's that (and to me that's a very big benefit that I cherish).

But the reality of things, the overwhelming "oh my god what am I doing and how am I supposed to handle all this" seems to get worse as I get older, not better. The picture isn't becoming more clear, it's becoming more complicated. This isn't the world that Gen X and prior generations know and still expect to be true. And I think that's a huge disconnect between us. I once mentioned this to a family member in her late 50s who said "well that's because you're not doing what you love, you're doing something you -have- to do." That's all good and well, but how many people do what they love? That doesn't seem even remotely like a reasonable goal to which one can aspire. If you fall into something that you enjoy doing then wow, that's awesome. But for the vast majority of us we're just trying to get through each day and it's agonizing. For me I feel robbed of so much time because the alternating shifts and extra hours and the sheer exhaustion of dealing with my work consumes weeks at a time on a constant, unbroken cycle. Working weekends means that I have random single days off during the week, which I accept joyfully don't get me wrong, but who can effectively recuperate from a ten-day stretch of odd hours in one day? My life feels unstable because I have no idea when I'll be working, IF I'll be working, and what I'll be doing from one week to the next. I'm slowly giving more and more of myself to a ship that may be sinking right beneath my feet. And if it does sink, I won't have much to show for it aside from experience but even that's a weakening commodity. We've all seen the memes of employers saying "you need to be fresh out of college with ten years experience", etc.

And all this goes without saying that I'm extremely stressed at work. I give 100% each day and I'm burned completely out. What I do is not something that's ever really been "in my wheelhouse" but I've learned and continued to strive to be the best at it that I can possibly be, despite how out of character it is. I'm frustrated and I'm losing sleep and I don't know how to get out of this situation. And I don't see any better alternative. Except the lottery.

[onthegreenmountain]

gaining ground

The newest naturalist intern is an Englishman named Jacob. I have much less free time than the naturalists; I usually work around 40 hours each week. My responsibilities make it more difficult for me to connect with the naturalists, but I am fortunate that Jacob is friendly and we connected early on because we have both lived in Spain. He taught English in Catalonia through a program very much like mine (my program, available through the Spanish Ministry of Education, was not offered in Catalonia because of political turmoil).

Recently, Jacob asked me about the differences in communication between Central America and Spain. I told him that I did not realize initially the enormous differences that exist.

In Spain, people speak very openly and candidly, so the dialect of Spanish that I know best would probably be very offensive to a Central American. For example, I learned in Spain that I should almost never say “por favor” or “gracias” or “me gustaría que….” Spaniards are often brusque and loud, using many curse words in normal conversation.

This is just a different way to communicate, and for the people who learned this dialect, it seems normal and friendly and good. In Spain, politeness in conversation is unfriendly and strange.

When I first arrived in Costa Rica, I was open, warm, and not extremely polite. This was my way to offer friendship. In general, my attempts at friendship to Costa Ricans have been very well-received. People are kind and friendly, and they are always thankful for my comfortable, colloquial Spanish, but when they notice these differences in our dialects, they usually ask where I am from, thinking I am from another Spanish-speaking country. After almost 3 weeks of working with Marlon about 40 hours a week, that question comes less and less often. Marlon himself told me that I sound less Spanish than when I arrived.

In my opinion as a traveler, the Costa Rican dialect is very likely the best to learn, because it is well-enunciated and easier to understand in most cases. However, the Spanish are very proud of their own dialect, regarding it as the original and therefore the only correct form. This is not exactly true, since even the dialect of Spain has drifted significantly from its truly original form, and in some respects Latin American dialects are truer to the Spanish used at the time of colonization. However, I jokingly complained to Marlon that he was corrupting my Spanish! Because I want to work in Latin America, not Spain, I know it is for the best, but it is still with a divided heart that I relinquish the beautiful northern Spanish accent I worked so hard to achieve in Galicia.

Each day here, I feel more integrated into the fabric of San Luis de Monteverde. On Sunday, I enjoyed my first mass at the local church, where I met new members of the community and saw familiar faces. I am not Catholic, but I am Christian, and I find that my experiences at the place of worship in any community is a great way to place my finger on the pulse of the culture. I rode home with a family that works for UGA-CR, and I received a warm invitation to have coffee at their home one afternoon after work. It was lovely to report to the dining hall on Monday and have several new topics of conversation for the staff, who were touched by my desire to worship God with them.

I sometimes feel I have more in common with Costa Ricans here than the other interns. Last night the interns traveled to the hot springs about an hour from the UGA campus, and I spent almost the entire time chatting and laughing with the Honduran owner of the springs, her young daughter Camila, and the Costa Rican driver of our tourism van. 

The driver announced that I, like him, am “pura vida.” This is like saying that I embody the essence of Costa Rican attitude toward life. 

Or something like that.

After less than 3 weeks here, I feel I’m gaining ground.

After an hour laughing and sipping coffee after work, Marlon and Júlio, the maintenance supervisor, invited me eat my meals with them in the back. I reason that I’m here to take advantage of the Costa Rican culture and dialect. I would prefer to spend lunchtime with my maintenance and agricultural coworkers in the back. Lunch is in a few minutes, and I think I’ll try sitting back there at mealtime for the first time.

[culturegopher-blog]

Blog Entry #2 - Challenges

After developing the idea for my groundwork project, I instantly thought of all the different challenges that will accompany my goal. Some of those challenges are: my fear of a lack of noticeability, technology problems, and that I’m worried that I’m not the right person to talk about the problem I’m addressing. Even though these concerns are frightening I have analyzed how to overcome them.

For my groundwork project I want to start a digital campaign (The I’m Not a Threat movement) to bring more awareness to the victims of police brutality in the African American community. There are many different pieces to this project, on aspect that involves social media use, but no matter how amazing the project is the first challenge I will encounter is a lack of noticeability. I’ve been using all types of social media for years now and most of my followers are my friends and associates. If I was going to start a new social media page for the digital campaign how would I get followers? At first, I was worried but then I remembered that now you can pay for sponsored posts so that my pictures/statuses can reach a greater audience and if a viewer likes what they see then they can follow me back. I not worried about engagement or lack of interest because I know I’m focusing on a major modern dilemma, and I know that once people know about the project then they will engage and share. 

Another aspect to the campaign is a website with interactive components. This is a technological issue for me because I don’t know how to build websites. I only now basic html5 and CSS, and I still don’t know enough to even build the most basic site. One temporary solution to this problem would be to just settle and use one of the major site building sites (Wix, Squarespace, Weebly, etc.) until I find the right team to help me make my dream site. I’m wouldn’t wait till everything was perfect or how I envision it because I think it’s better to have information out there then to wait because I don’t know how long it will be till my website is fully finished,

The last and probably the most pressing challenge I’ve encountered and overcome is the fear that I’m not the right person to speak on police brutality since I myself am not a victim of it. Two years ago, when Freddie Gray died at the hands of the police, I was there marching for change. Even though I myself am not a victim I still feel the pain, fear, and frustration (on a much lower scale, I can only image how horrible those who are personally effected feel) of those effected by police brutality because in the bigger scope of things, police are more prone to kill me because I belong to the community they fear.  

I’ve only been pulled over once in my entire life and it was a bad experience. One morning I was running late to work and got little careless and did a “Hollywood stop” at a stop sign. It was early, and no one was on the road, but the officer didn’t care. He was across the street hiding behind some trees. At first when his lights came on I thought he was just going to go by me and go to an emergency, so I decelerated and watched him from my mirrors. After about 10 seconds I then realized that he wanted to pull me over. So, I pulled over to the side of the road and waited for the officer to get out of his car. He took his time. In the near 5 minutes it took for the officer to get out of his car and walk over to mine, it felt like an hour had passed. As he walked closer to my car, my eye caught a glimpse of his gun and in an instant all the news, videos, and articles of young black men being killed by the hands of the police, I’ve seen throughout my entire life flashed before my eyes. I was terrified. I already had my window down (even though it was raining) and I had got my license and registration ready in an instant before he even stepped out of the car. Sadly, being black in America means that you must teach your kids what to say and do if they’re ever pulled over by the police to stay alive.

As he bent over I greeted him with a “good morning” but he was not in a cheerful mood. He asked me if I knew why he pulled me over, at the time I had no idea, so I said, “I don’t know” but before I could even finish that short three-word sentence he cut me off saying “I pulled you over because you ran a stop sign.” Confused and reflecting on my morning commute, I tried to explain myself but before I could even say a word I was again interrupted with the infamous “License and Registration.” I handed over my identification and I tried to explain to the officer that I was running late for work, but he didn’t care, he walked away as I was in mid-sentence. He goes back into his car and runs my information. He was very rude and aggressive but that wasn’t the worst part. As I sat there and thought about the lecture I was going to receive when I arrive to work late, not one, but two police cars show up and box me in. There was one police car behind me, one in front of me, and believe it or not the third and last car was to the side of me. I looked over at the officer in the car besides me and our eyes met. I felt a powerful chill throughout my entire body in the miniscule piece of time that my eyes caught his cold gaze. “I was only pulled over for running a stop sign so why were there so many police officers?” I said to myself, but I knew why. I reached for my phone and in a panic, I sent about 20 messages each to my mom and my best friend explaining my current predicament. I sat there for 23 minutes, I remember this specifically because I was late for work and had to be there at ten and by the time I was pulled over it was exactly 10 a.m. Later I learned from coworkers, my parents, and friends that running someone license and registration doesn’t take more than five minutes and that it doesn’t take more than one officer.  

Finally, after those long twenty minute the officer came back to my car, gave me a ticket (even though this was my first “offense”), said some more stuff, and then left with his gang. All of this happened on June 10, 2018 and that was when I decided that I wanted to do this project. During that time, I wasn’t even in graduate school yet and this assignment wasn’t even a thought in my brain. Even though I wasn’t a victim of the more extreme cases of police brutality I was still afraid and maybe if I was a little aggressive or rude back to the officer this would be a different story, not one told by me but one you’d see on the news and people would march about. I think I have a right to research and talk about this topic because even though I was unharmed there are many in my community who weren’t so lucky. Even if someone doesn’t think I should speak on it I don’t really care anymore just as long as the conversation is happening, and the ball of change is slowly rolling. I hope by doing this digital campaign it will make officers think twice before they reach for their guns, because now they will be held more accountable for their actions and everyone will know who they are and what they did, and that might invoke bigger ramifications in their personal and professional lives.

Some ethical dilemmas that I need to consider with this project is that I don’t want it to make it seem like I hate the police or that the police are bad. There are good police officers but sometimes a bad apple can make a whole bushel look bad! A lot of officers are mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles, sisters, brothers, etc. just like the victims of those who receive the worst from the bad officers. It’s just that since the police are in a position of power, they should hold themselves to a higher standard and be punished for doing wrong. In most of the major police brutality cases the officer usually on gets a few weeks probation and then he/she's back on the force or he’s transferred (a slap on the wrist). I think these are the types of people who have no business being policemen and that they should be fired. I would want to include the Black Lives Matter organization in my network along with the Black Youth Project 100, the NAACP, and Communities United Against Police Brutality.