#can’t decide if this should take late in DC or in Boston

[wassertoffatom]

Kinda wanna post a modern AU (coffee shop bc I love that shit) where OC?? sole is a Nepo baby but is successful on her own and she goes to a coffee shop where she meets MacCready, a down on his luck dad who is working two jobs tying to provide winter clothing/Christmas stuff for Duncan and OC?? Either makes it her “project” to help him out and falls in love in progress or just genuinely takes an interest in the grumpy, snarky barista.

Anywho, I plan on fleshing it out in biochem bc I fr don’t do crap in that class but hypothetically would anyone be interested? Idk if I’ll post on here but I will def post on AO3

[jetaime-jespere]

Prompt #125

Back on these, after a slight hiatus. Set during 6x18, if Lauren had a different ending. Slight Emily x Ian, more in memory only.

#125: Make A Wish

“Make a wish, Lauren.”

The voice behind her is as cold as the gun placed at her temple with a sure hand, his other clamped firmly on her shoulder. That voice is completely devoid of the lust it used to hold when he would speak to her, when it was the two of them, him and her, in a world of their own. A world that was dangerous yet exhilarating, yet a place she somehow never questioned if she belonged. Not that she had a choice. It started as an obligation, part of the raw deal that came with infiltrating an international terrorist organization. There was no limit in her quest to prove her loyalty, she quickly learned through the nights she spent in his bed, the mornings that followed. He worshipped her body with his own, took her past her own limits only to lull her to sleep in his embrace. She earned his trust but he also gained hers, and only after he uttered the words I love you did Emily realize just how entrenched she was, the only way out meant sure death for one of them. Ensuring her own survival meant further entangling herself in lies and believing them with all her heart. If you play, you play for keeps. The only thing she didn’t expect was for the lies to become the truth, because after a while, each time she repeated his sentiment, she meant it just a little more until she wasn't sure she knew the difference anymore.

Except this isn’t Tuscany or Galway, Rome or Dublin. Gone are the beautiful views from the balconies of his villa, where she could at least pretend like this wouldn’t all end horribly one day. The green pastures of Ireland don’t exist here, the springtime sun is gone. Instead, her ankles and wrists are bound to a chair in the middle of a cold warehouse in the middle of Boston, and she has mere minutes left to breathe, because she’s about to die at his hand.

“Lauren, are you ready to pay for what you’ve done? I told you I was going to take your life.” Emily closes her eyes and takes a few deep breaths. It’s been years and yet hearing his voice again, even after all this time, is like a window into the past.

Her security was built on a web of fallacy, it had been all along. Hushed promises behind closed doors in sound-proofed rooms in the middle of European cities that it was over, that she was safe, were mere falsehoods. She left Lauren Reynolds and the world of Interpol behind years ago, a conscious choice that was never regretted, only remembered from time to time in the quiet silence accompanied by the unrelenting pull of too much alcohol. She never lingered on it for too long, wouldn’t let herself go down that path, until she had no other choice, when she saw the messages from Sean that pulled her right back in.

Ian Doyle had escaped from prison. The moment Sean uttered those words Emily knew he would find her eventually; it was only a matter of when. She just hadn’t expected it to be so soon. There was hardly any time to get things in order, to arrange for them to be taken care of, to ensure her team would be safe in the days, weeks, months, even years after she was gone. Whether that meant disappearance or death was anyone’s guess, but not a choice she’d have to worry about because it wouldn’t matter. Emily lured him out of hiding in DC, followed him to Boston a few days later as he rampaged his way through her friends systematically one by one. It essentially stole any chance of saying goodbye, and she’d turned away from them one last time, through the doors of the BAU, only giving in to the sob she’d been holding in her throat once she was safely in the car.

“Are you afraid?” Ian asks, his hand moving from her shoulder to the side of her face. His palm is rough, hardened from his years in prison, yet there’s something fleetingly reverent about it. Emily always marveled at the contrast of his hands, responsible for the pain and suffering of so many, could be so gentle and adoring with her. But that was long ago; the tables have long been turned.

“No,” she lies, and he just laughs, brushes his thumb over her jaw almost adoringly.

She straightens her back, her arms trembling and her heart pounds through her chest. The gun cocks in her ear; she feels it brush her temple again.

“Make a wish, Emily. It’s time. You have ten seconds.” When she hesitates, her body tensing at his words, he chuckles. “Close your eyes. Sometimes it helps.”

She obeys, and, it’s Aaron’s face she sees, brief moments in time as her life flashes before her eyes.

“Ten.”

It takes almost a month to speak of the first kiss (it happened after a few too many beers one night with the team) and two more weeks before there is another. The second time around they’re stone cold sober (it’s better that way), and when he asks if she’d like to go out with him sometime, she blushes with a resounding “yes.”

“Nine.”

Their first date is one she’s always held close to her heart. He’d made reservations, planned dessert, and on a whim, she bought a new dress just for that occasion even though there were more hanging in her closet than she could count. This one was dark green, with an open back, and she knew right away it was the one. Except they never made it to the restaurant, because a case in Memphis called them away the morning before. She only smiled when there was a knock at the hotel room door late on the evening that should have been spent with their heads bent together over a table in the back of a picturesque Italian restaurant. But instead he held a bag of takeout, wearing a grin while uttering the words “Plan B?”

“Eight.”

He’s still inside of her for the very first time, unable to focus his mind on much of anything because Emily is still panting his name in his ear, when he decides he doesn’t want to be with anyone else, ever again.

“Seven.”

In Colorado, mere hours after the compound went up in flames, Aaron can hardly be objective as she ambles toward the hospital exit with discharge papers in one hand, the other cautiously guarding her broken ribs. Her face is bruised, her clothes dirty, and while Reid is just a few feet away dozing fitfully in chairs, Aaron goes right to her, thumbing her cheek in a rare display of public affection. “I’m alright. It’s not as bad as it looks,” she tells him bravely, even though she’s already sore, muscles aching, exhaustion starting to cloud her every thought. “I just want to go home.” In those moments, Aaron realizes he is the closest thing to home she has right now, and he doesn’t leave her side for the rest of the night.

“Six.

As she stares at JJ’s newborn son cradled in her arms, Emily wonders, with a fleeting glance at Aaron, if she’ll ever have the chance to do the same thing. Now, she never will.

“Five.”

On many mornings, Aaron wakes her up with coffee on the nightstand and gentle hands pulling the covers from her legs, pushing the hem of his shirt past her hips as he settles her legs over his shoulders. Her eyes aren’t even open before she’s already rocking her hips up towards him, an uncoordinated hand grappling for something to hold onto. The way he moves, slow and determined, is a contrast to the speed at which they’re used to, frantically moving from one case to the next. He’s taught her to be patient; he’ll get her there eventually, but she’s not in the mood to wait this morning. “Aaron,” she breathes his name, but he shakes his head in tandem with the flicks of his tongue. “Soon,” he assures, a promise he’s never broken. And true to that promise, he sends her spiraling into bliss a few moments later.

“Four.”

“I want to tell Jack,” Aaron says one evening when they’re sitting in traffic in the middle of Dallas, on the tail end of a case as she gazes out the window. “About us.”

“Three.”

“Can Emily stay for dessert too?” Jack asks innocently, his face covered in spaghetti sauce as the plates are cleared from the table. It’s about time they told him why his father’s pretty friend from work was spending more time than usual at the apartment, why a sweatshirt was left on the couch the week before, why there’s an extra toothbrush in the bathroom and a few extra bottles in the shower. It’s been something they’ve held off on, Haley’s death still fresh and the timing not quite right. But the look on Jack’s face tells him everything they need to know, and Emily’s heart swells when Aaron smiles and murmurs, “sure, buddy.”

“Two.”

The two and a half years they spend together, in some semblance of the word, one way or another, are some of the happiest she’s ever known, the most peace she’s ever felt.

“One.”

I hope you can forgive me, for never telling you the truth, she thinks as she pictures the hurt and pain that will darken on his face when he finds her body. Emily knows they’re coming, but they’ll be too late. Tell Jack I’m sorry too.

Her eyes flutter closed again on their own accord as her lip trembles in unbridled fear. It’s so silent in the warehouse she hears the gentle scrape of Ian’s boots on the ground as he steps back, taking a steadying breath of his own, his finger curled around the trigger.

This is it. Make a wish.

The gun fires; she’s acutely aware of the throbbing echo in her ears as the sound reverberates, which confuses her, because it’s not supposed to be this way. It’s a dissonance of sounds - things she shouldn’t be cognizant of because the bullet that pierced the air is supposed to be in her head. But another voice - she recognizes this one instantly too - bellows something she can’t quite decipher, calm and steady, accompanied by the thunderous footsteps of a team of agents that sweep into the room. Glancing down at the concrete ground Emily sees Ian’s body, his gun a few feet away. A pool of blood seeps around him, her stomach lurches at the sight of his head split open, and she has to look away toward the small window, where the dawn of another sunrise has started to bleed through the sky.

They made it.

“Emily!” It’s the same voice as the one from moments before, and when she realizes what just happened, Aaron is already kneeling in front of her, frantically working at the plastic zip ties that have cut welts into her wrists and ankles. He’s shouting at someone that isn’t her, something about hurry up, and soon she’s freed, but her limbs don’t want to work correctly or coordinate at all. They don’t have to, because strong arms are pulling her into his chest, her chin hits his vest, and the scent of him nearly splits her heart in half as he lowers her to the ground.

And for the second time since this hell began, she starts to cry, her fingers clenched around the fabric of his shirt. Through the deep sobs she attempts to speak, apologies that aren’t even close to coherent, the adrenaline that’s coursed through her already starting to give way to exhaustion. But words won’t work either, and he shushes her with a finger to her lips, matted hair pushed out of her face as Aaron thumbs away the tears that collect in her eyes.

“It’s over,” he soothes, repeating the words over and over, until they both believe it. He’s unaware of the extent of her injuries, won’t risk adding to them as he signals for a medic. She breathes through the tears, her chest heaving, the only thing she’s remotely aware of is the beat of his heart, unsteady against her own.

It’s over, she reminds herself as she takes one last look at Ian’s dead body a few feet away, a reassurance to herself that this is in fact real, that he can’t haunt her again. And as she lays on the ground, enveloped in the protective embrace of Aaron’s arms, Ian’s words linger in her mind.

Make a wish.

[spencersawkward]

switchblade faith // spencer reid - chapter 4

summary: one month after joining the BAU, Clea is still settling in. between solving murders and getting acclimated to DC, the only comfortable thing in her life is her friendship with Dr. Spencer Reid.

word count: 3.5k

masterlist

there's a place between the bank of a river and the actual water where the soil is soft. it's more like silt, leftover grains of earth not yet swept away. they're extremely delicate, made up of minerals and rock.

I love the earth. I love feeling it under my feet and the way it gives into my fingertips when they push through the surface. I love when I can sense the twisted roots of every plant. they reach for moisture, thin tendrils. there's something very pure about all of it.

which is why seeing the faceless corpse of a woman splayed out on the banks causes my stomach to wrench.

I guess it isn't the only reason, but it certainly doesn't help.

"the edges of these cuts are smooth, not torn," Rossi straightens up from his spot by her body. I don't know how he can get so close. when he waits for me to say something, my lips purse.

"so he must have used a sharp instrument to remove her face." I cross my arms over my chest. the water in her lungs makes me wonder how much pain she was in, how much it hurts to drown. unimaginable.

the slightly blue undertones to her skin imprint themselves in my mind, and my only thought is that I'm glad her eyes aren't open; I get nauseous when they are. instead of dwelling on the gaunt nature of her body, I speak to one of the crime scene experts about the time of death. his voice is barely audible over the rush of water against stones.

we spend about half an hour exploring the site, although something about this place in particular puts me off. I keep edging towards the sides of the river.

"we should meet Aaron back at the station. ready to go, kiddo?" Rossi catches my attention, beginning to make the short hike up the incline. he walks carefully to avoid sullying what I'm sure are expensive shoes, his face contorted with mild disgust. the nickname makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside.

"sure." I turn to scramble behind him, my gaze catching on the scene. jewel-toned leaves heavy with rain, tipping to spill weighted drops in a slow, drowsy fall. and it's now filled with police officers and crime scene experts hauling this poor woman's body to somewhere not so public.

what a world.

we get in the car and Rossi turns the key in the ignition, the engine roaring to life. I sit with my hands folded neatly in my lap; I'm rigid, though grateful, when working with Rossi. it's something I still need to get used to.

"you okay, there?" he asks as we turn out into the street. my eyes turn away from the locust swarm of cop cars that are parked by the crime scene and I take a deep breath.

"yes, why?"

"you're not usually this quiet."

"really?" I deflect. I've never been particularly chatty at times like this. my mind usually gets sucked into what I'm seeing, memorizing every detail against my will for replay later that night.

"I'm a profiler, too, Clea. and a much more seasoned one than you," he glances my way with raised eyebrows. his features are softer than the photos I've seen before this. even the lecture I attended painted him in a different light. I forget how old he is. but his eyes return to the road while he sighs. "I know when something is wrong."

"nothing in particular," I shift in my seat a little. although I'm sure he gives great advice, I'm not ready to share with anyone the dreams that I've been having. "just still getting settled in, I think."

he must notice that I'm lying; I've never been quite good at it, even in front of non-profilers. but Rossi senses the discomfort that I'm trying to hide and nods.

"well, if it helps, I'm going to be having a wine tasting at my mansion once we get back to Quantico. the whole team is invited."

my words get knotted up in my throat as I think on this. "wine tasting?"

"yes. I've got plenty to spare." there's a slight archness to his tone. I smile.

"to be honest, I really don't think I've got the skill set for that," my limbs relax a little. "my experience is pretty limited."

"and you think the others know a lot?" he waves his hand dismissively. we both laugh.

"okay, then." I nod. "thanks, Rossi."

"Prego!" the sudden Italian interjection makes me roll my eyes playfully.

...

our case doesn't take nearly as much time as I expected. with the unsub's narcissism and general lack of intelligence, we catch him rather quickly and are home before the end of the week. there's a collective gratitude for this fact on the plane ride home which takes the form of lively card games and plenty of friendly trash-talking. we also enthusiastically discuss getting together in the evening.

the wine-tasting event that has been so praised by the team turns out to really be just an excuse for everyone to get drunk while draining Rossi's liquor supply. I've had about three different types of alcohol and, beyond the color, I have no idea what kind.

Penelope is pouring more chardonnay in her glass when she offers some to me. I nod, watch the lovely liquid fill up.

"I'd like to make a toast." Rossi announces, much to the feigned chagrin of Prentiss and Hotch. they roll their eyes while the Italian raises a scotch glass into the air. we're in the kitchen, standing around the counter while bantering about our personal lives and past cases.

"keep it short, Dave. I have to head out, soon." Hotch reminds. Rossi gives him a look, but then turns his eyes to me with a paternal affection.

"to Clea," he says, the rest of the team breaking into smiles. "and her hopefully very long career on the team-- if she can stand us."

there's a chuckle that rolls through the group, but then we all clink glasses. even Reid, who has been downing sparkling cider at an alarming rate, taps his flute against mine. I smile at him, at everyone who is now flooding me with questions. I get a happy, bubbly feeling while I drink. Penelope drops her head on my shoulder and mumbles something that I can't quite understand. JJ talks to Spencer about something, his eyes drifting between the contents of his cup and the clock on the wall. he's distracted by something.

"you okay there?" Emily leans against the counter next to me. she's following my line of sight until it lands on JJ and the boy genius. I nod.

"yeah. just thinking."

"about?"

"how it would feel to be this rich." I send her a smirk. she snorts.

"I would love to know."

"how often do you guys have these things?" I peer around at the guests. everyone seems to be accustomed to the behemoth household that Rossi keeps, except for me. and all of it is so clean, too.

"here? only a few times a year. Rossi doesn't like having people over." she says the last part with a laugh, nursing her drink. I cross my arms.

"fair enough."

"I think people are gonna be heading home, soon, though." she checks her watch. I remember how almost everyone here is bound somehow to someone else, a family or significant other or someone who misses them. I'm not tired at all.

"what about you?"

"I have date night plans with Sergio." she grins.

"I didn't know you have a boyfriend." I raise my eyebrows at this knowledge. Emily seems like the type of person to play the field; her settling down with one person is surprising by itself.

"Sergio is my cat," she tells me. "much more cleanly."

"even better." I laugh. we discuss the merits of owning a pet over dating people until JJ decides that she needs to get back to her family. Hotch is heading out, too, and the steady departure stream of guests begins to form. it's not very late and I'd much rather do something else than go home and watch TV, so I survey the room.

"hey, Reid." I find myself standing beside him while he puts on his coat. it's got elbow patches and there's a scarf that he wraps around his neck to accompany it. he peeks at me curiously.

"yes?"

"would you wanna get a coffee or something?" I grab my jacket off the hanger. before he can say no and shy away from my offer, I explain. "I'm just not in the mood to get home right now."

"uh," his eyes dart down to his shoes, then back up at me. "sure. yeah, that would be... fun."

"awesome." I beam. ever since we hung out in that museum in Boston, I've been thinking about how to get to Spencer. maybe it's just because he's been the slowest to warm up to me, but I'm getting more and more curious about him. that moment when he did something playful-- there has to be more of that. and we obviously have some things in common. it might be nice to have a friend like that, someone with whom I can go to art exhibits.

we all thank Rossi for a lovely evening and I'm about to ask if Spencer wants to Uber somewhere when he starts walking purposefully toward a gorgeous yellow car. it's old-- like, 1950's refurbished, old-- and well cared for.

"whoa." I say as he opens the passenger side door for me in a surprisingly courteous move. I slide inside and breathe in the delicious scent of leather and something crisp and sharp. I wait until he gets in on the other side to ask my questions. "is this yours?"

"yes, actually. I got it about a year ago and I don't drive it very often." he runs slender fingers over the wheel, touching it with a quiet admiration. I turn to him in the dark, the glow from his own headlights casting pale shadows over his face as he starts the thing up. it rumbles to life in a charming, old-timey way.

the sounds of the engine defuse the silence between us as we drive into the city. Spencer almost forgets I'm there, the muscles in his wrists and arms relaxing as he handles the steering wheel. I, on the other hand, am painfully aware of his presence.

every time we make a turn, every time his lips part, I start to think he's going to say something. but he never does, and there appears to be no inclination whatsoever. I wonder if I should ask him some random question to get him rambling, but the nervous energy he usually radiates has softened to something more muted.

it's entertaining when he speaks. I think it's also a guard against vulnerability; at least, that's why I speak so much when I'm anxious. I take his silence as a compliment.

finally, he manages to maneuver his way into a parking spot. I glance around the street, not recognizing the place.

"what is this?" I ask curiously. his hand wraps around the stick shift and parks, turns off the vehicle.

"I come here on the weekends." he glances briefly at me before climbing out of the car. I get out and watch him come around to my side. he's only wearing a cardigan over his button-up, which looks surprisingly cozy.

"so, what kind do you usually get?" I ask. we start to walk down the sidewalk, passing streetlamps and small individual trees that are just beginning to go barren with autumn. the restaurants around here are still full of people.

"coffee? black, usually."

"with five or six sugars." I recall, and he turns to me. there's a dimple in his cheek that tells me he's amused by my memory.

"what about you?"

"I like an iced caramel macchiato, or just a latte." I muse. he pulls open the door to a cute corner place with a steaming mug on the logo. it must be exclusive to the neighborhood.

inside, bookshelves are crammed with used titles and people getting a late-night caffeine fix. most of them are glued to laptop screens or flipping through books. it smells warm and delicious.

"do you know what you want?" he asks, drawing me from my observations. I realize that I've been looking everywhere but at the actual menu. it's drawn in curvy chalk.

"yes." I step forward and the barista behind the register smiles at me. I order my favorite drink and am about to ask my co-worker what he wants, but Spencer cuts me off by ordering and then paying for me. I raise my eyebrows as he hands over the crumpled dollar bills, pleasantly surprised.

when we go to wait for our drinks, he shoves his hands in his pockets and doesn't say anything.

"that's not fair." I frown.

"what's not fair?" his voice is distracted.

"I invited you-- I should have paid for both of us."

"it's okay." he gives me a tight-lipped smile. I find myself taking a step close and poking his arm.

"you're so polite."

"thank you." he doesn't know what to do with this information and it partly amuses me.

"so, I know you're from Nevada, but that's pretty much all of my Spencer Reid knowledge." I oh-so-gracefully segue into the topic. our coffees show up on the counter and we grab them before finding an empty table towards the back of the shop. it's in both of our first instincts to seek out the corner spots.

"well, I--" he starts, but then I remember something else.

"and I'm fully aware of your IQ and plethora of degrees, so don't give me that trivia information." I tease. he's looking down at the lid of his coffee. his eyelids are the color of something slightly bruised, and he lets out a nervous laugh.

"what else is there to know?"

"everything." I grin, my elbows resting on the tabletop. it's a small surface, so much so that even leaning forward a little bit gives off an air of intimacy that makes me hesitant. "we're spending a lot of time together, so you might as well tell me about you."

"I'm really not very interesting." it's an easy way to dodge questions and I don't want to push him too hard or scare him away. I just want to be friends, and that can be kind of hard when I don't know the first thing about him.

"I'll start then, if you'd like." I propose with a smirk. he nods and swallows, the Adam's apple in his throat bobbing.

"well, I was born in Atlanta, but I grew up in Montana. my family still lives there, though. I'm a big fan of the Real Housewives of Atlanta, I'm a scorpio sun, and I hate mushrooms." I fight a smile as I list random facts about myself in an attempt to get him to relax. I'm not hoping for him to divulge his biggest life traumas; there's no pressure.

it works. his high cheekbones poke out a little as he hides a smile behind his drink. my eyebrow quirks at his reaction.

"okay, now you have to go!" I prod. he puts his coffee down, though he fidgets with the sleeve on the cup.

"I guess I'm technically a Scorpio, too." he concedes.

"what? no." I almost laugh at the prospect. at first take, he doesn't really align.

"yes."

"what's your moon sign?" I narrow my eyes.

"I'm not sure, actually." this seems to frustrate him almost as much as it surprises me.

"you'll need to find that out if you want to understand your chart better." I shrug, leaning back in my seat. he fixes his gaze on my face as he tries to read the seriousness of my words. I'm only partly joking.

"what's your problem with mushrooms?" he asks instead, prompting my eyes to widen.

"don't get me started!" this time, I lean my elbows on the table. "I just don't like the thought of eating a fungus. and the texture--"

"what about milk, though?" he asks suddenly. I pause, mouth still open as I think on this.

"what about it?"

"is it weird to you that people drink cow milk in the same way that it's weird to eat fungi?"

"I suppose not." my brows draw together.

"lots of things humans do are 'weird'." he puts the word in air-quotes and it brings a smile to my lips.

"you're opinionated, aren't you?" I tilt my head a bit. this side of Spencer is new to me.

"mushrooms are rich in various nutrients and have been consistently used across time and cultures for medicinal purposes-- not to mention the burgeoning therapy treatments now in development with micro-dosing psilocybin." he replies. I giggle.

"big on shrooms?"

"what? no, I--" he gets a little flustered, shifting his sitting position and getting a rosy tint to his cheeks.

"I'm just joking, Reid." I set my palm flat against the table, something of a truce between us. he runs a hand through his hair. I move on. "I think the psilocybin research is actually really fascinating."

"isn't it?" Spencer's features appear somewhat ghostly under the café lights. he's got a sort of unusual face, although that isn't a bad thing at all. it's interesting.

he begins to talk about depression treatments that are being developed from shrooms, gesticulating wildly. his watch glints on his sleeve as he speaks. I notice the pretty arch of his eyebrows and the way he speaks through a grin. his voice has got a soothing quality to it, each word an individually selected puzzle piece. it's clear, low, and a bit filled with a childlike passion.

I rest my chin on my palm as he rambles, occasionally drinking my coffee and adding in my own thoughts. I think that Spencer could go for days if I let him, that he could talk enough to fill the pages of those books on the wall.

I'm not sure how long we sit in the café-- it could be an hour or three. we jump from medicine to philosophy to his obsession with Medieval literature. this, being something I know almost nothing about, intrigues me.

"my mom was actually a professor of it, so she read a lot of those books to me as a kid." he tells me, not even stumbling over the word was. either she died when he was young or she isn't dead at all-- there is no loss in the weight of this fact. I don't ask about it, but I pocket the piece away for later.

"explains the chivalry." I joke. he frowns.

"sorry?"

"your manners."

"oh," he blushes slightly. "she's always romanticized it, I think."

the change in tense tells me she must not have passed. I run my fingertip over the rim of my drink.

"does she live back in Vegas?" I hope it isn't too invasive.

"yeah, she does," his eyes flit between the tabletop and my face. "she, um, lives in a sanitarium."

his willingness to confide this almost takes me visibly aback. he seemed so hesitant to share personal details earlier this evening; something in my chest warms.

"oh," my voice is thick in my throat. I don't know what to say. "I'm sorry."

"it's fine." it's not, but I get not wanting to dive into it.

my intentions really weren't to prod at something that obviously is close to his heart, so I sit a bit straighter in my seat and look around the shop. we're the last people here, the only other sounds from the two baristas and the whir of machinery.

"are you-- do you wanna head out?" I ask. part of me feels no desire to leave. we probably should. it's getting late and I never know how much sleep I'm going to get. the hours for this job aren't steady by any definition of the word.

"sure."

when my head turns back from peering around the café, he's staring at me. I smile, stand up and push my chair in. he follows, both of us throwing our empty cups away before heading out.

it's much colder. a slight shudder runs through my body as we step into the night. involuntary, but Spencer falters a moment on the pavement.

"uh," he clumsily shrugs off his cardigan. "sorry." hands the thing to me.

my cheeks flush in surprise. his awkwardness is contagious, apparently.

nevertheless, I wrap the thing around my shoulders and feel a little better. it's warm. we keep walking in silence back to the car, my head now filling with thoughts that I can't quite sift through.

he's a very nice boy. I start to feel grateful that my craving for caffeine has given me the opportunity to get to know him better. when I glance at him for a second, his head ducking beneath a low-hanging branch of one of the sidewalk trees, he catches me and offers a ghost of a smile.

baby spencer is such a sub I literally can't--

[nevtelenwriting]

It’s a Date: Hotch/Foyet

Lots going on personally, I’ve not been in the best headspace, so I wanted to finish up this writing exercise to get my creativity going again with. There’s maybe a follow-up in the works 👀

Hotch/Foyet, threatening flirting and a deal Hotch can’t say no to. 

Rating: T (M? IDK only thing mature is talking of murder and horny language)

It didn’t surprise him when, a week after his escape from prison, Hotch received a phone call. It was to his government cell, which made sense; he gave the number to George in case he needed to talk.

Looked like he needed to talk.

“Agent Hotchner.” Hotch answered automatically, used to unfamiliar numbers all the time.

The familiar sigh had the hairs rising on the back of his neck, though this time, Foyet didn’t bother affecting a voice. It still made his skin prickle, knowing the face to the name. "I want to make a deal."

It was a mimicry of that call in Boston, and Hotch had to grit his teeth to reply. "We've been over this, monsters like you don't get deals."

"You may want to listen to this one."

To match their pattern, Hotch hung up.

The next day, a letter with a Reaper's eye appeared in his mailbox, with pictures of three people Hotch didn’t know captured intimately close to their doorstep, their car, their bus stop. None looked any wiser to the man stalking them. Naturally he took the pictures to Garcia, and to local police, but they all came up dry.

Hotch waited for the phone call.

"What's the deal."

Foyet paused for a moment, probably surprised Hotch didn’t offer a greeting. He answered with, "Why the change in heart?"

"Don't bullshit, what's the deal."

"What if I told you it was Shaughnessy's?"

"I'd call you an idiot for trying it again.” Hotch didn’t bother mincing words. “I already alerted authorities to your targets."

Foyet’s laugh crackled the phone line. "Tell me if you find them. Look, there's no need to be so dramatic. I don't intend to do them any harm."

"Forgive me if I don't believe you."

"Then let's get back to that deal."

Hotch waited rather than answer. Foyet sighed.

"Man of so few words. The deal is, I don't touch a single hair on some inconsequential person's head. Not so long as you do something for me."

"I’m not going to stop hunting you.” Hotch said immediately, ready to end the call again if Foyet continued with this pointless game.

"That's not on the table anyway.” Foyet replied with apparent disinterest. “Actually I'm enjoying our game of cat and mouse. I'm sure you're asking now, who's the cat and who's the mouse?"

Hotch didn’t indulge, done with his strange game as he snapped, "What the hell do you want?"

"Temper temper agent. I just want some quality time with you."

"Quality time."

"What can I say, a man gets lonely, and you look spectacular in those dress pants, do you do squats?"

It took every ounce of Hotch’s will not to hang up again. He didn’t reply either.

"God that stick is wedged up far, how do you sit?"

Apparently Foyet had no intentions of actually offering a deal. This was an easy, effortless tactic to assert dominance and control, Hotch should have known better.

Hotch sighed through his nose, "If you're just here to yank my chain, then this phone call is over."

"What makes you think I'm yanking your chain?"

"Nothing in your profile says that you're gay."

"That's awfully narrow-minded of you, what's Jack gonna think if one day he has to come to you and tell you his girlfriend's actually a boy-"

"You're not gay Foyet."

"I'm genuinely hurt."

Hotch said nothing.

"Alright, you're right, I'm not. But you really think I'm only straight?"

Hotch chewed his tongue, hating that he knew that while Foyet was a sexual sadist, and usually showed preferences to women, it wasn’t always. "No."

"See? Was that so hard? You're a handsome man, Aaron, of course I think you're hot, you should work on that self-esteem."

Foyet really needed to stop fucking around, he didn’t have the time. Hotch was losing what little patience he’d mustered as he said, "What the hell are you getting at with this?"

"Have you traced my call yet?" Foyet asked conversationally, still in no mood to oblige.

Hotch was sure Foyet called him purposefully during work hours, not that it mattered. His cellphone had been tapped since the first call. Unfortunately that didn’t matter either; they had been on the call for over ten minutes but Garcia, prattling into his earpiece, kept expressing her frustrations over pinging cellphone lines in Brazil, Bolivia, several other countries south but none near DC. Foyet was a computer technologist, it isn't a surprise. The fact Garcia was listening to this while she worked—the groans and muttered statements of “gross” filling his earpiece beyond her non-cursing—was knowledge Hotch decided to willfully ignore.

"Get to a damn point."

Foyet sighed again, and Hotch could almost see the head shake. "We need to work on your foreplay."

Hotch was convinced now. He had a stroke, that or contracted malaria; either way he had started hallucinating the world's worst nightmare in his death throes.

"You won't kill anyone... If I let you. Stare at my ass?"

"Oh, Hotchner. More than stare."

Hotch was glad he was on the phone, because even that made his eyes widen. "You're not serious."

"I'm dead serious."

"You want me to prostitute myself to you."

"That's loaded sentence. Especially since I'm not paying you. Think of it as more, vigorous arch enemy fucking that makes me forget how much I wanna hurt you."

"The answer is no."

"Then someone dies. Maybe it's one of those three, maybe someone else. Shit, maybe your wife. I can find her, you know that."

Rather than feel horror at that, or try to convince Foyet not to and waste his breath, Hotch muttered, "Maybe you like men, but I don't."

Foyet scoffed into the phone. "Don't lie to me. I remember how you were. You flirted with me back then."

Hotch felt sick. He felt sicker still knowing that Foyet was right. In another world, another place, when Foyet had just been George, he wouldn't have turned him down.

Foyet’s voice dropped low then. "I know you've thought about it, Aaron. How I might taste. What I'd look like on my knees. I know I have. You sound so good, I bet you're divine when you moan. Remember when I came home from the hospital? God, if you weren't so good and faithful to your wife, we would have done wicked things that night.”

Hotch did remember. Foyet—George—had been unsteady on his feet, fell into Hotch and he had stared at him for too long. The heat emanating from his body where they pressed, lithe muscle under his palms coupled with the cool brush of George's breath on his cheek, the hand on Hotch's jaw had been nearly enough to make him break his vows.

"Come on, what's the harm? You get to keep hunting me, you're guaranteed that as long as we keep this up, I won't go after anyone. No strings attached, just a good clean fuck."

Hotch chewed his cheek, curbing down the heat coiling in his cut at the sound of his low voice purring that into his ear. He couldn’t bring himself to answer, knowing the words would come out strangled.

"I'll give you a day to think about it. And so that you can answer with a few less prying ears."

Foyet hangs up. Hotch's head is on the desk by the time Garcia clears her throat and meekly says she wasn't able to trace the call.

It took a week before Foyet called back. He did so on his personal cell this time, which Hotch had asked not to be traced. When the familiar number popped up, Hotch answered with, "I suppose it's too much to ask that this is a one-time deal."

"…Hello to you too."

Hotch sighed, and Foyet hummed.

"Alright, to business. Think of this as more of a resetting of a countdown clock. The closer I get to zero the closer I get to that itch that just can't be scratched, and this strange desire to fuck you will be overridden by the need to well, kill. But if you keep me satisfied, you will reset that clock. Won't reach zero as long as we keep our deal."

It made sense. It was mostly clean, though Hotch had no reason to believe Foyet would keep his end of the deal beyond knowing Foyet genuinely enjoying a man’s suffering had been enough in the past. This wasn’t like Shaughnessy though, god knows this wasn’t like Shaughnessy. Was his unwillingness and distaste for this truly enough? Knowing he had gotten Hotch to agree? There were other options, ones less out of left field and ones more likely to get a yes from him. Why this, why…

Hotch didn’t know why he asked it, other than trying to find something grounding in what felt only like a cruel dream not yet tumbling towards nightmare.

"Why me?"

Foyet was quiet for a long time, and then, "Why not you?"

Hotch sighed, "No."

"No?" Foyet reiterated, an edge to it that sounded like threat. Hotch didn’t care.

"You heard me. No, I get one real answer from you, then—"

Hotch caught himself too late. Hotch could hear the smile. "Then what?"

There was so many other things Hotch might have said yes to. There were so many reasons why Hotch should say no. There was no way in hell Hotch could tell him yes.

His voice almost faltered on his reply. Hotch barely heard himself when he said it. "Then I'll take the deal."

Foyet chuckled, low against his ear, close enough to shudder through his chest and prickle his skin. "Of all the things to ask me. Are you sure you want it to be 'why you'?"

Hotch could ask a thousand questions. Why he chose to kill, why he played these games. The thing was, Hotch already knew. He knew Foyet lashed out because hurting others was a release after he had been so violently abused. Hotch knew he got off on power and control because he had his own stripped away. Hotch knew his sadism grew when he was a child left to his own devices, cruelty made into a language of love that twisted and warped him into this man they hunted today. Hotch knew all of that. He didn't understand why this.

There were so many games he could play with Hotch, plenty that would invoke the same level of suffering. Foyet could have ambushed and tortured him, even raped him if his end goal was purely carnal. He didn't. If Foyet intended on killing him after their sex—he doubted it, it shortened his suffering—he'd end the long game by getting arrested. If the unwillingness was the goal, then why taunt Hotch with the memory he had been attracted to him? There was a mind game to this Hotch couldn't piece together, some level of interest and infatuation with Hotch himself he didn't understand.

“Yes. Why me. Why bother with this?”

Foyet sighed audibly, almost a groan. "Really, agent? Because you get me hard. You make me feel like a little schoolboy that can't keep himself from pulling your pigtails. Because it’s a little difficult getting your dick wet on the run. So please oh please won't you go to the dance with me?"

As much as Foyet attempted to make the reply as repulsive as possible, Hotch's brows shot up to his hairline. Infatuation he anticipated, but the deflection spoke more of...of an obsession with Hotch himself. Hotch wondered in that moment, just how much control Foyet had over this desire himself. Hotch cleared his throat.

"If you bring a knife into the bedroom I will shoot you."

"Kinky. It's a date."

“So when should I expect you?” Hotch asked, and then added dryly, “Should I bring a corsage?”

Foyet barked out his laugh, “I’ll call you, how’s that? And just so we’re clear. You know what happens if you try to use this to catch me.”

With that Foyet hung up, with no time, place, or expectation of when this would begin.

Fuck. Fuck. What had Hotch gotten himself into?

[themagicalreads]

Unexpected Detour (Prompt)

I’M LATE I’M LATE I’M LATE. I KNOW. But here (ps, the italics worked on this one???):

~

“This is an automated distress message from Vault-Tec: Vault 101. Message begins: It feels like you left home a long time ago, but I know you're still out there. I just hope you're still alive to hear this. Things got worse after you left. The new Overseer is insane. If you can hear this, please stop looking for your dad and help save us. I changed the door password to my name. If you're hearing this, and you still care enough to help me, you should remember it. Message repeats.”

Rapunzel listened to the emergency frequency one last time before switching it off. She sat on a boulder just outside Megaton, gazing in the distance to where she knew Vault-101 lay. She couldn’t go back… Not after how she’d left things.

Not after she’d…

Please stop looking for your dad and help us. Merida’s voice replaced the empty sounds of Wasteland wildlife around her. Rapunzel and Merida had been best friends ever since she and her parents arrived at the Vault. Rapunzel hadn’t remembered much of anything from her childhood in the Wasteland. They were the first outsiders to their knowledge knew to enter a sealed Vault, and the only reason they were even let in in the first place was because the Overseer had been so desperate for a doctor, and her dad was the best of the best. She’d learned that no one left or entered any of the Commonwealth Vaults, because the outside world was much too dangerous—and it was, what with the raiders, and the enclave, and the mutations running freely about. But it was far from being uninhabitable as they’d made it seem in class. Megaton itself proved just that.

“Welcome. To. Megaton,” she heard the protectron say over the wind. “Friendliest. Town. Around.”

Rapunzel whipped her head back to see a caravan had approached the entrance. She’d come down from Galaxy News Radio for news, and a quick supply hunt at the Super Duper Mart on the way. She had a mission to do. But what if this was a bigger story than Tenpenny Tower’s failed attempt to detonate Megaton’s notorious bomb? Heck, maybe Tadashi, Vault-101’s scientist, might know how to finally diffuse it, making Three Dog’s original news source essentially worthless compared to this.

But despite all of the rational excuses Rapunzel found to follow Merida’s distress signal, she knew the underlying reason she wanted to go so badly was because she was curious to see how the people she’d grown up with had made out after her departure. She hadn’t even meant to leave that dreary morning. She’d expected to spend her life following Vault-101’s motto, we are born in the vault, we live in the vault, and we die in the vault. If dad hadn’t upped and run away without a word, that might very well have been her life. Though, she supposed the motto and she hadn’t exactly been on the brightest of terms when her mother gave birth to her in the Wasteland.

She’d met Three Dog, the anchor of Galaxy News Radio and one of her dads old friends, about a week after she’d run away from the Vault. He knew a lot about her past, something he let her know quite quickly. He knew she, her parents, and aunt Gothel had been born out here, in the Wasteland themselves. But he also knew it had been in a faraway place called Boston. He also confessed that he’d seen her dad pass by not too long after she showed up. After spending an entire day running around DC as him and his radio’s personal scavenger, he finally told her what mission her dad had been so set on.

And the truth scared Rapunzel to bits.

She shook her head for a few seconds, running a hand through her ponytail while she stared at the Pip-Boy on her other wrist. The caravan rolled past her on the dirt road. Rapunzel gazed at the two-headed brahmin with the heaps of luggage strapped to its back. They were most likely heading toward Springvale, the wreckage of a town just outside the Vault.

Rapunzel stood, shaking the dirt off of her pants. Merida was asking her to help. Her. Thing’s must’ve gotten pretty bad in the Vault after she’d escaped, then, if she was willing to reach out to her so easily. She looked back at Megaton with a sigh. Three Dog would understand that she couldn’t just walk away.

She never could.

***

M-E-R-I-D-A. Access granted, the keypad flashed before a hiss of air sounded and the now-familiar alarm started beeping. Oh so slowly, the gear-shaped door of Vault-101 pulled backwards and rolled itself open. Rapunzel wasted no time running inside before anyone could seal it back up but, to her utter surprise, there was no one in sight when she made it in. She hurried up the metal stairs and closed the door back up herself. She knew keeping it open was smarter in regards to keeping a quick escape route available if she found herself unwelcome, but she refused to risk another radroach infestation like her dad did when he left—or worse.

Rapunzel gripped the pistol at her hip as she slowly walked toward the door she knew would lead to her old home. Something felt off. It was too quiet.

Suddenly, the door slid open before her. Rapunzel gasped, yanking out her pistol for fire.

“Stop right there!” Officer Haddock exclaimed, crumbs still stuck to his chin. “How did you get in—? Wait,” he looked Rapunzel up and down in bewilderment. “It’s you. The Overseer ordered me to bring you to her if you ever came back.”

“Her?” Rapunzel questioned, Merida’s distress signal running through her head. “It’s nice to see you again, Officer Haddock, but could you tell me who, exactly, was chosen as Overseer after Dunbroch…” died. The word hung loosely in the air, too horrible to speak aloud.

Officer Haddock hiccupped a laugh. “Chosen really isn’t the word I’d use here.” He shifted the grip on his gun, glancing behind him. “Listen, Punzel,” he whispered. “I know who you are—sweet as doll, just like your parents were. But I’ll be honest, not a lot of people like you in the Vault no more. I’ll do you the same favour I did your dad—leave the Vault quietly and don’t get trapped inside our mess. No one’s gonna know you stopped by but me.”

It was a good offer, but Rapunzel shook her head. “I heard Merida’s distress signal. She was my best friend, I can’t just ignore her.”

Officer Haddock lowered his head as if this was exactly the answer he’d expected. “Your heart’s too big, kid. But go see her. And please, for the sake of me keeping my limbs—don’t let the Overseer see I let you through without bringing you to her, okay?”

“I won’t let her hurt you,” Rapunzel promised. Even though she and Hiccup Haddock had never been close friends, she could never bear the thought of him losing his father to her, too. Officer Haddock opened the door to the hall for her. The first thing she noticed when she reached the second floor were the barricades. The second, was how incredibly unorganized and unclean the Vault had become.

What in the world had happened here?

“And if it isn’t my little blondie.” A voice suddenly said. “Never thought I’d see the day.”

Rapunzel whipped around to see a familiar Tunnel Snake leaning against a makeshift wall behind her. She scowled, despite the heat rushing to her cheeks, and crossed her arms. “I’m not yours, Jack.”

“Never said you were.” Jack lifted a dark brow. “But I gotta say, the Vault hasn’t been the same without you to play with.”

“You’re really calling you and your gang bullying my best friend playing?” Rapunzel exclaimed, an anger she only ever felt around him boiling through her heart. “You’re absolutely ridiculous, Jack DeLoria. You know that, right?”

Jack smirked. “Don’t take it too personally when I say the rest of the Vault doesn’t exactly share your opinion. Well, other than your crazy—”

“That’s because the rest of the Vault is scared of you!” Rapunzel interrupted with a sharp exhale. “I don’t understand why. You’re nothing but a terrified momma’s boy.”

Jack flinched slightly at her words, something she only slightly relished in. Rapunzel had saved her from getting chewed up by radroaches just before her escape. Jack himself had been the one to beg for her help, given his phobia of the giant critters. If she’d have stayed any longer, she might have been able to use it against him the next time he tried harassing she and Merida.

“How is she, by the way?”

“Fine.” Jack quickly shot out.

“Really?” Rapunzel questioned.

Jack suddenly couldn’t meet her eyes, almost making Rapunzel feel bad for pushing. “Let’s just say she decided she liked getting drunk a bit too much. Not someone I like being around.” He brightened, suddenly, as much as the leader of the Tunnel Snakes could. “Besides, I have other things to worry about. A lot of us here wanna get out of this hell hole. So, tell me, blondie, how’d you manage to get past Officer Haddock?”

Rapunzel shook her head, unable to believe how quickly he’d changed the topic. Was he really so detached from his emotions he couldn’t even talk about what happened with his own mom? Last Rapunzel had checked, Mrs. Deloria was the complete opposite of her son—kind, and warm. So what made her shift her dependence from constantly being around people to alcohol?

Suddenly, the rest of what Jack said registered to Rapunzel’s head. “You want to leave? Why?”

It was Jack’s turn now to cross his arms. He took a step closer. “And here I thought you weren’t as brain-dead as the others. We’ve always wanted to leave, the Tunnel Snakes and I. Now that the Vault’s in shambles, it’s our time to shine.”

“If you can get past Officer Haddock.” Rapunzel argued. “I’m guessing he doesn’t want his little boy wandering out into the dangerous Wasteland, huh?”

Jack shifted closer. “Ah, and there’s the smarts I know.”

“Shut it, Deloria.”

“So harsh!” Jack lay his hand flat against his chest. “You break my heart.”

Rapunzel cocked her head. “I wasn’t aware you had one. Good to know.”

A slow smirk found itself to Jack’s lips again, warning he was about to say something particularly irritable. “And why’s that? Punzel’s got the hot’s for Jack-y?”

Rapunzel groaned in annoyance, forcing herself to hold her stance even when she noticed how close Jack had gotten. “Where’s Merida?” She demanded, forcing the conversation back to the point. “I’m sure you’d know, considering you know everything.”

“Right I do.” Jack walked backwards, pulling the tension from Rapunzel’s stomach away with him. He waved her to the side. “Follow me.”

Jack led her inside the classroom, where the rest of the Snakes and Merida stood. “Look who I found wandering around,” Jack announced.

Merida’s piercing blue eyes shot to Rapunzel’s, filled with a thousand knives. Understandably, Rapunzel thought. She hadn’t meant for her father to die. “You got my message,” she said. “Good. About time you showed up, too. Gotta say, I thought you’d be too busy with your freedom to remember us, so believe me when I say I’m glad to see you.”

“I think you have my ego levels mixed up with Jack’s,” Rapunzel commented.

“Yeah?” Merida cocked her head. “Then prove it. Help us take down the Overseer, and leave this damned Vault. I still haven’t forgiven you for murdering my father, but I might consider it if you help us.”

“Mer,” Rapunzel tried. “You know it was an accident, right? Please, you know I would never—"

“Alright,” Jack interrupted. “Enough with the heart to hearts. Let’s go, yeah? Blondie, you come with me.”

“What?” Rapunzel shot. “I’m not going anywhere with you, thank you very much.”

“Oh, but you’re gonna like this,” Jack smiled dangerously, dangling a piece of rope in the air. “You get to tie me up and pull my gorgeous hair.”

Rapunzel scowled, glancing at the others to see if he was joking. “What are you going on about?”

“Your aunt wants the Tunnel Snakes taken down, and she wants you even more,” Merida explained, somewhat impatiently. She put a finger to her bright red hair, which was pulled tightly into a low bun. “You’re going to bring her to him, and put a bullet in her crazed head.”

Rapunzel flinched away from the group, astounded by the absurd demand. “Excuse me?” She said. Aunt Dame would never do such a thing to Vault-101. She’d not once expressed a desire to become the Overseer either—that position was to be Merida’s father’s until his old age.

“I don’t know why she’s so obsessed,” Merida said. “But I’m not leaving the Vault with her in charge.”

“Dame’s been nothing but kind!”

“A nice façade,” Hiccup said from behind Merida. “Fooled all of us.”

Rapunzel couldn’t believe it—wouldn’t until she saw it with her own eyes. So she grabbed the rope out of Jack’s fingers, spun him around, and wrapped his wrists up tight.

“The Wasteland’s done you good,” there was a hint of veiled humour in Jack’s tone as she let him go. He tested the rope’s hold, but it didn’t give. “If I would’ve known you were this feisty—”

Rapunzel grabbed a heap of chocolate brown hair and yanked him out of the room with her.

“You know, blondie,” Jack struggled. “You don’t actually have to pull my hair until we get to the Overseer’s office.”

“I know.”

Jack chuckled. “Can’t wait for you to tell me all about the Wasteland when we get outta here. I bet it’s good stuff.”

Rapunzel froze briefly. Did he honestly think she’d bring him back to Galaxy News Radio? Not a chance. If Jack wanted out so bad, he was going alone, with his precious Tunnel Snakes. “In your dreams.” She said.

“I don’t have dreams. Just reality.”

“Reality has a track record of getting awfully boring,” Rapunzel said. “Maybe that’s why you’re as horrible as you are.”

Suddenly, Rapunzel’s feet were swept right out from under her. She fell back into a room with Jack landing, (somewhat painfully), right on top of her. “You don’t really think that, do you, blondie?” His breath was so warm against her lips it sent shivers down her spine.

“I…” Was all she could manage before he started talking again.

“Because that would break my heart.” Rapunzel just had time to catch something dancing in his crystal blue eyes before his lips were upon hers. It was disgusting and wet the first few seconds, but then she found herself swimming in his kiss. He still couldn’t move his hands, so Rapunzel did it for him. She cupped his jaw, pulling the Snake closer and closer until everything disappeared but him.

She didn’t know why her body felt so compelled to ruin the moment.

“I’m resistant to the radiation!” She blurted out, shoving a hand to her lips. No one but her dad and Three Dog new that about her. It was why her dad had left in the first place—to study her. Though… Rumour had been going around lately about her situation, something that the radio had been trying hard to avoid talking about. The Saint. The ghoul that looks and talks like a human, but can’t possibly be.

Jack frowned, licking his lips. “And?”

“And,” Rapunzel continued, “that means I’m mutated. That I get to live longer than the average human. I’m a monster, even if I don’t look it like the other Ghouls. If the Wasteland knew it was me they’ve been hearing talk about…”

Jack rolled off of her, suddenly, something clicking in his eyes. “Of course!” He said. “That’s why Dame wants you so bad. She wants to know how you did it.”

Rapunzel sat up, sickness roiling through her body. “But she’s never known I was like this.”

Jack was shaking his head even before she started speaking. “Remember when she got put under lockdown? You were four, maybe.” How could she forget? “You visited her every day after class.”

Rapunzel nodded. “You made fun of me for it.”

“Yeah. Well, I read a paper in her files when you asked me to go steal yours. Said she’d gotten her well-deserved time out for sending a signal out to her sister and reading the ones that were coming in from the outside behind The Overseer’s back. She heard all of the stories about you. You and your parents showed up knocking at the door not too long after, and they actually let you in.”

Rapunzel nodded again. It was all she seemed to be able to do now. “You read the files about me.”

Jack shrugged. “Obviously.”

Rapunzel pushed his chest, furious. “I didn’t even read them! Dame just told me it was dangerous information that needed to be burnt away!”

“That didn’t make you wanna read em’ even more?”

“No!” Rapunzel closed her eyes. “I mean, yes, but she said it was safer for me if I didn’t know.”

Jack laughed. “Bull. Complete bull.” With a restrained swing, he pulled himself to standing. Rapunzel was quick to follow suit. Almost immediately, he nudged her shoulder with his own and pushed her against the steel wall, holding her with his hips. His kiss wasn’t nearly long enough. He completely pulled away, suddenly, and tipped his chin down with a smirk.

“Let’s go.”

Rapunzel slowly pushed her fingers through his hair and gripped. It only took a few words from Rapunzel to find out every suspicion Jack and his gang had about her aunt were true. It only took a carefully-placed bullet to the thigh to stop her from attacking her own niece. And it only took an inch of convincing for the dwellers to get the Wasteland freedom they’ve always deserved.

Though their fates were now irreversibly ripped to the open, Rapunzel knew one thing for certain:

Galaxy News Radio was in for one hell of a story.

[welcometophu]

Into the Split: Home 3

Twinned Book 3: Into the Split

Home 3

[ Previous | First | THE END ]

Sun spills across the room, filtered past the half-open curtains. Nikolai rolls over, and dust motes float up, sparkling in the sunbeam.

Seth groans, shoving a hand out. “Stop.”

The backpacks and bags lie on the floor, as if they had time to somehow shrug out of them before collapsing on the bed. They’re still dressed, but lie tangled as if they’re just waking up in the morning. Nikolai sits up and counts the bags—they’re all there.

More importantly, they’re here. In their room, in the smaller of the two Benford houses. In Havenhill. “We’re home,” he says quietly.

“Mm.” Seth rubs at his eyes as he sits up. “I feel like I just woke up, but it looks like it’s—” He hesitates, while Nikolai walks to the window.

“Late afternoon,” Nikolai says. “About the same time as when we left Pawel’s house. At least we didn’t end up back in Unity at wherever his house is here.” He assumes they have Chelsea to thank for that. He doesn’t know exactly how her traveling works, but it seems to have gotten them home.

He lifts the sash of the window, and sound filters in. Music plays somewhere in the distance, and the shouts remind him of the sugaring festival. When he leans out, he can’t see any crowds or people, but there is a lazy column of smoke swirling into the sky in the distance, as if a bonfire has been lit.

He pulls his head back in and leaves the window open to let the fresh air into the room. “I think there’s something going on.” He holds out his hand, and Seth takes it as Nikolai tugs him from the bed.

They take a moment to stand there, arms around each other, foreheads resting together. Nikolai nudges a slow kiss, and Seth pushes his glasses back up his nose after.

Nikolai grabs a hoodie out of his backpack, while Seth finds a light jacket. By the time they’ve changed, there’s a rumble outside as a car pulls up, then someone bangs on the front door. They exchange a look.

“The wards,” Seth says.

“Probably.” Nikolai figures he’s right, that their abrupt arrival from the Dreamscape tripped some kind of alarm on the wards. Especially since these houses have been the epicenter of the wards breaking before. He hurries out of the room and makes it down the stairs first, pulling the door open as the banging starts again.

Ethan stands there with his hand raised, mid-knock. Marybelle is behind him, and in the distance, the Jeep is rumbling down the dirt road.

Ethan lowers his hand slowly.

“We’re back.” Nikolai barely gets the words out before Ethan is hugging him, Marybelle crowding close. They manage to drag Seth in as well, but it only lasts as long as it takes for Mikhail to park the Jeep and get up the front steps.

Nikolai and Seth are pulled out of the house, passed from Mikhail to Josef and Amaranth, and when Nikolai realizes his face is wet, he’s not sure if it’s him or his brothers.

“We heard from a Dreamwalker in Utah,” Ethan tells them. “Our Technopaths created—well, helped create—this network. And he said he had a message from you.”

“Brett.”

“Yes.” Ethan grins. “He said you’d done it. That the world was changed now. There’s news coming in from all over about it.”

“I wasn’t sure you’d be able to come back,” Mikhail admits. “It’s good to see you.”

Seth tilts his head, pushes his glasses up his nose again. “Of course we came back,” he tells them. “Our family is here. All we had to do was figure out how.”

Nikolai laughs. It’s not funny, but at the same time, it is. He’s a little afraid that if he gives in to all the complicated emotions rolling through him, he might never come back from the laughter and tears.

Seth grabs his hand and holds on tight, as if he knows Nikolai needs an anchor, and Nikolai is thankful for that.

“Chelsea brought us back. The same Shadowwalker who got us thrown out in the first place,” Nikolai explains. “After we healed the Split, we needed to help her become….” He trails off, not sure how to get into that without taking hours. “It’s a long story, but she’s more like Mattie now. And she knew how to travel and was able to bring us back. So we’re here.”

“You’re here.” Josef leans on his cane, his smile bright.

Amaranth hugs Nikolai again, her long hair tickling his cheek. “God, I’m glad you’re back. And we’re having a party. You’re just in time for May Day. We’re all about new beginnings right now.”

“Speaking of—” Josef cuts off, glancing at Amaranth. She steps back, moving into his space, her hand behind his back as she leans in close. “We set a date to kick Mikhail out of the house.”

“You’ve got a spare room for your brother, right?” Mikhail asks. “I don’t want to encroach on the honeymoon once these two are married in June.”

“No,” Seth says, ducking when Mikhail makes a mock grab for him. “We want our honeymoon phase, too.”

“Are you getting married?” Mikhail points out.

Married? “God no,” Nikolai says quickly, trying to school his expression to something less horrified when Seth laughs at him. “We’re young. I mean, maybe, yes, someday, but honestly. I just want to live in a house with me and Seth and that’s it for a while. And without needing to worry that the darkness is going to eat us—and believe me, it’s tried. I want to live a normal life.”

“What passes for normal,” Seth allows.

“The new normal,” Ethan tells them. “Because it’s changing.”

There’s noise in the distance, and Nikolai wants to join in the celebration. But if he gets in the Jeep now, he can’t hear Ethan’s news. On the other hand, he doubts Josef’s going to want to walk all the way to the big house.

He turns in place, looking between the path and the road.

Josef catches the motion. “We can meet you there, if you want to walk,” he offers.

“I’ll walk with them,” Mikhail says. “You and Amaranth take your time. I still need to convince them to give me that spare room.”

“No,” Seth says again, a little flatter than before although he smiles when Mikhail does as if maybe they’re both just teasing.

Nikolai wants to say that the path feels lighter than before, as if the wards don’t weigh as heavily on Havenhill. He doubts that’s true; it has to be his own attitude, the idea that every shadow isn’t going to whisper and move. Still. He can feel that sense of new beginning in the air, like the warmth of the spring air.

“The cities that were gone are still gone,” Ethan says soberly. “We’ve been sending people to look at the ones we could. Our network of communication is better than the Humans have right now.”

“We’re all human.” The words slip out after hearing the others say it so many times, and it feels right to say it now. At Ethan’s sharp look, Nikolai tries to explain. “We’re Talented. They’re… not. But maybe some of them are, and are just waiting to Emerge. We’re all still human, it’s just some of us are also magical.”

“He has a point,” Mikhail murmurs, and Nikolai is glad for the backup.

“Boston is dark.” Marybelle circles in front of them, walking backwards as she speaks. “There’s a group out of Maine that went down. It’s a community outside of Portland, with two Technopaths and a Dreamwalker who were all part of the efforts on our side for your Ritual. Friday morning they woke up to find Hu—” She stops, frowning. “There were newcomers from the city outside their wards. They said the Shadows were gone. Or at least, mostly gone. They’d seen a few, but not crowds of them, and not as brave as before. It’s as if they’re different. So a few of the,” she hesitates, then tries, “non-Talented city people, and some of the Talented community decided to take a trip down to Boston. It’s dark, yes, and there’s no one alive there. But there are no Shadowwalkers there, either. It seems like it might be safe.”

“I’m guessing if they made it there in just a couple days, they drove,” Mikhail says dryly.

“They made it there in hours,” Marybelle says, her voice hushed like that’s a miracle.

Maybe it is. Talent and those without together, on the road, in public.

“What about the government?” Nikolai asks.

Marybelle’s gaze drops, and Ethan makes a face. “DC is dark,” Ethan admits. “We don’t know who’s left. And they don’t have the kind of network that we’ve already rebuilt. At this point, it looks like our Talented communities are going to be spearheading the rebuild.”

“Which means we have a chance to make it work for us, and stop the persecution,” Mikhail says firmly. “We need to make a better world.”

“We should reach out to Albany and Bennington,” Ethan suggests. “I’ve tried talking to Mom and Alia—”

“We’ll help,” Seth tells him. And yes, that sounds right.

They should also travel up to Burlington, too, and maybe out to some of the places they heard about while at Alaric’s home. Nikolai thinks that while the two worlds are different, what they learned there might help them find the right paths to rebuild here.

“It’s only been five days, and so much has happened already,” Nikolai murmurs.

“The first five days of the new world,” Marybelle says happily. “Imagine what’s going to happen next.”

The sun peeks through the canopy of trees as they walk down the path, leaving the walkway dappled with spots of bright light that chase the shadows away. As Nikolai walks along, Seth’s hand in his, he hears singing in the distance, voices raised in cheer and happiness to greet the spring.

Seth lifts their joined hands, presses a kiss to Nikolai’s fingertips.

Nikolai feels the warmth of that touch spread through him, like dawn after the longest night. “It’s a new world,” he agrees softly. “And we’re going to make sure it’s a better one for everyone.”

[ Previous | First | THE END ]

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[smollandtoll]

HC: Sid + Anna First (OT3)

So, in a universe in which Anna decides early on in her career that she wants to be a sports journalist, and also decides that if she truly wants to be the top of her career/internationally recognised she’s going to have to go to America and work for ESPN or some other major sports news conglomerate (and we’re definitely not saying that we think that north america is the be all end all for sports in the world because that’s ridiculous but slide along with us here as we have no idea what we’re talking about).

So she studies English, and moves to the states maybe enrolls in college there, starts working her way up. Probably ends up in the metropolitan area (NYC, Philly, Boston, DC), flowing through all the hockey and football and basketball circles for various sporting events, reporting on them.

She and Sid meet through mutual friends.

Maybe after the concussion but before Sochi. Their first date is actually a business meeting, they’re getting coffee to discuss a plan of attack for a profile she’s writing on him probably - he’s wearing all Penguins gear and giving off his best mannequin/robot impression and she’s trying to be 100% hard hitting JOURNALISM. But then they find themselves laughing helplessly at the way Sid spills his coffee and Anna mixes up a word or two (it reminds him of how endearing Geno is probs, he also definitely considers for A HOT MINUTE that he should set G & Anna up maybe).

He probably is deeply interested in how she came to be in the sports business, considering she’s a long way from home and so knowledgeable? Like her looks are one thing, but her SPORTS BRAIN … #sidnerdboner. They’re both super driven, and Anna is smart and funny and sharp as hell, AND she can talk hockey and keep up, and Sid is just like so sincere and a little goofy but also charmingly serious, and they just like each other. They talk for LITERAL HOURS. The coffee shop they’re in probably has to shoo them out when they close and they’re both horrifically embarrassed at how off-track that meeting got when they look around and the place is basically empty.

They both walk away thinking about each other. If he’s honest with himself Anna makes Sid think a lot of Geno. Both tall hot Russian brunettes, smart, funny, take no shit while also giving you shit- and Sid’s definitely been somewhat conditioned to be into Russian accents. He knows how to keep it on the DL in the locker room, but, he’s thought about it. And Anna’s gorgeous, of course he’s thinking about her for a bit there. But, y’know, Sid’s not one to walk away thinking he’s got it in the bag; he probably thinks they just connected well and he’ll hear from her when the article comes out and the little crush will taper off with distance.

So then Sid finds out that Anna has handed off her interview notes with him to someone else in the dept she works with. Sid is completely not there for it, like “But why?! You worked so hard!”

Anna: Can’t be professional and date you. It’s a conflict of interest. Sid: ...date? Anna: Just waiting for you to ask Sid: Oh! Um! For sure.

Sid definitely thought she was out of his league, and maybe would be better off with Geno. Someone more confident and flashy, who knew how to buy her jewels and surprise her with designer shoes and take her on luxury vacations to appreciate her completely aesthetic and not-at-all-practical swimwear. He got a little lost in her instagram one time, SUE HIM HE’S A RED BLOODED MALE AND SHE LOOKS LIKE THAT.

So, he was not prepared for her abrupt interest in him at all...but he likes her too and well, he can’t date Geno...so maybe this is like a healthy middle ground. She reminds him of G so much in addition to everything that’s great about her, and this way he gets the best of both worlds maybe. Y’know, sublimate the one crush into the other.

So then he does ask her out, and they continue to have riveting sports conversations, and Sid appreciates her wicked sense of humour and how familiar she feels. He feels like knowing Geno has been his cheat sheet for knowing Anna, there are things she wants and does and complains about that he’s heard before and has already figured out solutions to, and he’s heard all about Russian women and what they’re into over the years (not that these stereotypes are all true but like, there are cultural differences!).

Sid and Anna are also both SMOKING HOT and have athletic, aesthetically pleasing sex (as much as sex can be aesthetic) that Sid is so INTO BECAUSE HER LEGS NEVER END. He’s so into her natural beauty, her ability to look sexy in one of his oldest hole-iest hoodies and a penguins cap with little to no sleep, face puffy, and her emails open on his breakfast bar. She’s all messy hair and gorgeous tan limbs in his kitchen, and he feels luckier all the time for having her. And Sid - we all know Sid is good boyfriend material; dedicated, honest, funny, hot. Listen, it’s good.

Anna gets along with Sid’s parents, his sister. She definitely gave Taylor hat & hair style advice when dealing with a feminine face that has a strong jawline. She understands EVERYTHING about hockey, including his need for routine or for her to disappear occasionally. His heart stutters when she trash talks baseball players and pinches him after games where he missed easy shots. He loves it, she truly understands and never lets him have an inch.  BASICALLY SID IS HEAD OVER HEELS.

Of course he’s super nervous about introducing her to the guys ESPECIALLY GENO. He’s pretty sure everyone is going to tease him about finding female!Geno and Geno is going to have THOUGHTS because he and Anna will have a connection that Sid cannot understand or access. He’s #nervous.

Geno finds out he’s dating a Russian woman and for the most part IMMEDIATELY HEARTILY APPROVES because Russia best. But then you know he starts really pressuring to meet her. Geno and Anna don’t know each other at all in this universe, she was never a Russian media personality and he’s super famous so their paths never really crossed.

When they do meet it’s at some team get together BBQ. Sid’s been taking Anna around and introducing her to all the guys, and even though they all knew about her they’re still drawing some looks because Sid, damn. You can tell just by looking at them how gently smitten they are with each other. G’s obviously one of the first intros bc let’s be real, he hasn’t let it go since he found out and introducing Anna to anyone other than Flower or Tanger or Duper first would definitely earn a fine. They start chatting and there’s a bit of a nervous charge in the air but Geno is nice and says hi in Russian, and they find out they know a bunch of the same people in Moscow. All those weird woodwork mutual friends. And that takes them into a little chat about Moscow and their favourite places there that Sid can’t really contribute to.

Anna just looking back and forth between them and giving Sid searching looks and as they walk away like, “Your friend seems nice! Malkin’s a big name in Russia lately, I wasn’t sure what kind of man he’d be!”

Sid Thinking: Oh god they have so much chemistry Geno Thinking: ...Oh fuck I am SO INTO MY BEST FRIEND'S GIRLFRIEND Anna Thinking: Everyone is so nice! And hot! Zhenya is so tall. Sid is so thicc these boys are #blessed

Anyway just imagine Geno watching Sid and Anna chatting and laughing together, making the rounds. Sid’s arm just super casually around Anna’s waist, both of them laughing with Cath and Tanger. He would be lowkey jealous of them both and confused about why seeing them together makes him feel like shit. He’d go home with images of them together running through his head, Sid thumbing her hip, the way they leaned their heads together when talking, the arch of their throats laughing, the look in their eyes when they looked at each other.

Just imagine all the events and nights out Anna and Geno find themselves chatting amiably in Russian at. Sometimes they get talking about Sid, one of the many things they have in common, about how they met and funny stories about him. Anna telling Geno one time "well, this is just good timing, I've established my career and I'm ready to get married and be a mom?" softly, while gazing fondly over at Sid and licking BBQ sauce off her thumb.

G is just DYING because Sid's got that plan to like not have kids until he retires but LIKE MAYBE SHE'LL CHANGE HIS MIND. BUT SHE SHOULDN'T HAVE TO, HE SHOULD JUST WANT IT. A woman this perfect longing to carry his children??? He should be so lucky!!

Geno would always slink home a little miserable and lonely and self-pitying - flicking through his phone’s contacts thinking to organize a hookup but being too depressed to even do that. He’d get a little petty and mad the way G gets, “Sid doesn't even really care about getting married, not lonely like me, not that desperate for another person, he'd be fine on his own! It's not fair!”  He can’t believe how jealous he is but also just can’t get over it.

(It’s easier too to think he’s just jealous of Sid because Anna is amazing, but sometimes after too many vodka shots he can acknowledge that he thinks about Sid with Anna as much as he thinks about Anna with Sid - in the way you can when you know you’re not going to remember the realisation in the morning)

He'd be so terrible about everything, so unreasonable and so jealous of them both, just in a mood for months. He’s not very good at hiding his own feelings for other people’s good. And Geno’s moods affect every part of his life. Sid would probably try numerous times to ask him what's up, maybe eventually would have to sit him down in both friend and captain capacity and be like, ”G are you mad at me? What’s been going on with you? Your penalty minutes are off the charts.”

He’d keep getting brutally shut down and their relationship has NEVER been off like this. They GREW UP TOGETHER, Sid knew Geno was all bluster usually, but when he sat him down solo he usually cracked open and let Sid scoop out and sort through all his tremendous emotions. But now being shut out like this was painful and threw him for a loop. And of course Anna hears all about it, witnessing all of Sid’s bewildered hurt and confusion.

Then eventually Anna would have ENOUGH and be like "fuck this guy for making you feel like shit and also this is wreaking havoc on both your seasons!!"

Sid: I maybe just fell a little bit more in love with you

So she secretly goes to yell at Geno in a language he'll understand. Anna rocking up to his house and being like "So #1 fuck you, #2 what is your PROBLEM?"

Geno: YOU ARE MY PROBLEM! Anna: you don't like me dating Sid? You think I'm not good enough for him? Geno: NO. THAT'S NOT THE PROBLEM Anna: So you're jealous of him then? Geno: Also no Anna:  You're jealous of me then. Geno: NO Anna: SO WHAT IS THE PROBLEM Geno: BOTH. BOTH OF THOSE THINGS.

He might break into big ridiculous angry tears about it, just months of his own bottled up feelings and emotions he hasn’t been able to vent to ANYONE exploding out. Anna just looking at him with wide eyes for a moment before ushering him further into his own home and setting about making some tea.

Is there some comforting arm patting and texting Sid under the table? Maybe. But mostly Geno realizes what’s happening and gets his shit together enough to shoo her out of his house after profuse apologies and promises to get it together and start acting like a professional. Hopefully it’ll give him some time to curl up and lick his wounds and try to actually get his shit together.

But you can’t exactly put that cat back in the bag, and Anna goes back to Sid, who is so earnest and concerned, sits in his impossibly broad lap and asks if he’s ever thought about fucking Geno. They would look at each other in stunned silence for a few beats too long as a flush slowly rises in his cheeks which gives her her answer.

Sid like “I...I thought about setting the two of you up when we first met. You reminded me of him so much, and I couldn’t have him…but I could have you.” Followed by a rush of reassurances that of course he wants her and she’s his priority that she shuts down with a kiss. They maybe sit there like that for a bit with their foreheads together, just thinking about it.

More than fucking then. A relationship. A great love.

She would probably mull it over for a few days, scrolling through Geno’s instagram where he’s displayed his tender beating heart for the entire world to see. He loves animals, and children and his family. He’s not bad looking at all, the sheer size of his hands make her press her thighs together deliciously. She probably consults his birth chart and considers if she could handle two competitive, headstrong Leos, let alone one who is paired with a Tiger’s stubborn ego. She’d think about all the ways it could work, all the things they like about each other, and also about all the ways it could get fucked up and ruin everything. These things are complicated.

In the end she decides it’s not up to her, it’s up to them. So she bullies them into a sit-down with each other, locking them in the yard with enough food and beer to last the afternoon but promising she would only let them in when they’d worked out their problems and feelings and had come to a mutual decision about how to move forward. Neither of them had even known that the other had any feelings or interest like that; there’s a lot to talk about. And when they’re ready, they knock on the patio door so she can come talk too.

Of course the only real option is to move forward is as a triad, and Geno is not nearly noble and self-sacrificing enough to suffer through his own miserable lonely pining future for the sake of preserving a loved one’s relationship like some Canadians we know. So they agree this can work and move forward, and Anna immensely enjoys the addition that Geno makes to the relationship, spoiling them both with the kind of romance that didn’t come naturally to her or Sid, insisting on dinners out and sunny vacation spots. Also he has impeccable taste in lingerie and she enjoys taking him shopping to surprise and fluster Sid with later. Geno gets both of them, and to push his way in the middle on the couch and be annoying during quiet couch reading sessions, and to argue in favour of puppies and babies, and to smirk at Sid when he walks in on Anna’s legs around Geno on the kitchen counter. And Sid, he just gets everything he’s ever wanted pretty much.

IT’S A WIN ALL AROUND. OT3.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

THE COURAGE OF Y

And this national standardization of wages was so pervasive that its effects could still be seen years after the war ended. So it's kind of misleading to ask whether you'll be at home in grad school, because very few people are quite at home in computer science. And when the Duplo economy was an evolutionary phase. Though in a sense it's bad news in that you're deprived of one of your most powerful weapons, I think it's exciting that gaming the system stops working when you start a company. When you only have one meeting a day with investors, somehow that one meeting will burn up your whole day.1 I tried to opt out of it, like music, or tea, but I think people who dwell on it are reading too much into it. You can't plan when you start a startup in college. The founders sometimes think they know.2 As little as $50k could pay for food and rent for the founders for a year. EBay didn't win by paying less for servers than their competitors. But most startups that die, die because they were living in the future.

Be a real student and not start a startup at 20 and you're sufficiently successful, you'll never get to do it was turn the sound into packets and ship it over the Internet. You'll probably be talking to several investors and you manage to get one over the threshold of saying yes, it will be better for the people who pay the most for it, is not the hope of getting a better one, and actually did.3 I don't expect that to change. And not just those in the corporate world, but in software you want to work on some very engaging project.4 One advantage of Y Combinator's early, broad focus is that we adjust to however things are, and this bit of the economy were either organized as government-backed cartels or dominated by a few oligopolistic corporations. When we launched Viaweb, it seemed laughable to VCs and e-commerce was all about. In particular, I don't think we'll ever reach the point where much of what they're responding to when they lose interest in a startup, or start a real startup. If it is, it will take to become profitable.5 This too seems a technique that should be generally applicable.

But if you were using the software for them. And one of the original nodes, but by making great products. Maybe if I think more about this I can come up with new ideas is not to try explicitly to, but to be an advantage. Vertically integrated companies literally dis-integrated because it was so rare for so long: that you could make your fortune. But they don't need to become the prisoner of your own expertise, but it can save you from an immediate threat.6 A couple million would let them get office space and hire some smart people they know from school. The place to look is where the line ends. Startup investors all know one another, and though they hate to admit it the biggest factor in their opinion of you is other investors' opinion of you is the opinion of other investors. Not just because of its prestige, but because the principles underlying the most dynamic part of the economy were either organized as government-backed cartels or dominated by a few, giant tree-structured organizations, it's now looking like the economy of the future will be a fluid network of smaller, independent units.7

Most people at the beginning of their career only works if everyone does it. Has it been net good or bad? Be conservative.8 They were the kind of thing is out there for anyone to see. At its best, starting a startup is to try.9 And this rule isn't just for the initial stages. My hypothesis is that all you have to worry about—not even Google.10 The more ambitious merely hoped to climb the same ladder faster. There was no Internet then. But I could be wrong.11 And I think that's precisely why people put it off for as long as they want to start it.12

Basically at 25 he started running as fast as I can type, then spend several weeks rewriting it. The amounts invested by different types of investors vary from five thousand dollars to fifty million, but the people who want to work that hard. An optimism shield has to be pierced too. It was a lot of ambivalence about them, because I tried to opt out of it, you can take your time developing an idea before turning it into a company. But the total volume of worry never decreases; if anything it increases.13 If you looked in the head of a 1950s auto executive, the attitude must have been: sure, give 'em whatever they ask for, so long as the new model isn't delayed. How would the government decide who's a startup investor.14 So any Web-based startup get spent on today? I don't mean, of course.15 That's why there are a lot of the serendipity out of his life.16

That was a social step no one with a college education would take if they could avoid it.17 Deals are dynamic; unless you're negotiating with someone unusually honest, there's not a single war millionaire would be permitted. Don't click on Back.18 There are two main things you can do, but assume the worst about machines and other people. That's not a recent trend; change has been accelerating since the paleolithic era. Icio. The eight men who left Shockley Semiconductor to found Fairchild Semiconductor, the original Silicon Valley startup, weren't even trying to start a startup.19 In the late nineties you could get paid huge sums of money for building the most trivial things. Even Microsoft probably couldn't manage 500 development projects in-house. Do not start a startup, you probably shouldn't do it. Even if you ultimately do the first deal, it will seem to you that you're unlucky. Technology tends to get dramatically cheaper, but living expenses don't.

When things go well you can take your time developing an idea before turning it into a company.20 That sort of thing you can learn more about this I can come up with good startup ideas is to take a step back. I've read that the same is true in the military—that the swaggering recruits are no more likely to discover new things, because great startup ideas tend to seem wrong. The second counterintuitive point is that it's a new messaging protocol, where you either have to spend a lot of subsidiary questions to be cleared up after the handshake, and if the other side senses weakness—if the idea's no good, for example, or the chronic ache of consulting. She assumed the problem was with her. If you work on overlooked problems, you're more likely to get money.21 Individualism has gone, never to return.

So future founders may not have to accept new CEOs if they don't and you stick around, people will pay attention to you, because odds are they'll have to deal with investors while the others keep the company moving forward—releasing new features, increasing traffic, doing deals, getting written about—those investor meetings are more likely to get money. So in a hundred years—or even twenty—are people still going to search for information using something like the current Google?22 And this national standardization of wages was so pervasive that its effects could still be seen years after the war ended.23 A good startup idea has to be treated as a threat to a company's survival. But if you had to change something, what would it be? Or more precisely, new protocols that take off are. Investors' power comes from money. The way to become an expert on startups, but as I explained before, this is not what you might think. He never did any more with his software than talk to his girlfriend, but this apparently verdant territory is one from which few startups emerge alive. Partly because the unions were monopolies.24 You can see why people invent gods to explain it.

Notes

And since everyone involved is so hard on the ability to solve are random, they have wings and start to shift back.

I'm clueless or being misleading by focusing so much to suggest that we know nothing about the right thing. This phenomenon is apparently even worse, they are within any given time I know of no counterexamples, though I think it's confusion or lack of movement between companies combined with self-interest explains much of a placeholder than an ordinary programmer would never guess she hates attention, because the publishers exert so much better is a scarce resource.

Probably just thirty, if the selection process looked for different things from different, simpler organisms over unimaginably long periods of time, because despite some progress in the first person to run spreadsheets on it, is caring what random people thought of them, but except for that reason. The best investors rarely care who else is investing, which in startups. There are some whose definition of property without affecting and probably especially those that made a Knight of the living. The point where it sometimes causes investors to founders with established reputations.

The Mac number is a rock imitating a butterfly that happened to get into that because a quiet contentment. One VC who read this essay, but in practice that doesn't exist. So whatever market you're in the sense that if you have two choices and one of them is that they've already made the decision.

But so far done a pretty mediocre job of suppressing the natural human inclination to say.

This technique wouldn't work for the same trick of enriching himself at the same time. San Francisco, LA, Boston, or Seattle, 4 in DC, 6 in Chicago, 8 in London, 13 in New York the center of gravity of the founders.

In many fields a year of focused work plus caring a lot of people mad, essentially by macroexpanding them. If you have to talk about humans being meant or designed to live in a spiral. A round VCs put two partners on your thesis.

The history of the more the aggregate is what you can often do better, because you could only get in the press or a funding round at valuation lower than the don't-be poets were mistaken to be spread out geographically. It might also be argued that kids who went to Europe. Similarly, don't make their money if they do. The second alone yields someone who's stubbornly inert.

The angels had convertible debt with a company doesn't have to make your fortune? Think it's too hard at fixing bugs—which is as straightforward as building a new airport.

What we call metaphysics Aristotle called first philosophy. But that is exactly the opposite: when we started Viaweb, if I could pick them, initially, to buy corporate bonds; a decade of inflation that left many public companies trading below the value of understanding vanity would decline more gradually.

You have to do as a naturalist. Or a phone, IM, email, Web, games, but one way in which multiple independent buildings are traditionally seen as temporary; there is some kind of work is not a programmer would find it was spontaneous.

When that happens.

That name got assigned to it because the broader your holdings, the underlying cause is usually some injustice that is more of a city's potential as a cold email startups.

The Wouldbegoods. All languages are equally powerful in the imprecise half.

This is one of the optimism Europeans consider distinctly American is simply that it would be enough to defend their interests in political and legal disputes.

I'm not trying to sell something bad can be either capped at a 30% lower valuation. Strictly speaking it's impossible to write it all at once, or b to get a definite plan to have, however, and yet managed to get frozen yogurt.

But not all of us in the absence of objective tests. Economically, the less educated ones usually reply with some axe the audience gets too big for the same, but that we know exactly what they're selling and how unbelievably annoying it is to imagine that there is one resource patent trolls need: lawyers. This includes mere conventions, like warehouses.

If anyone wants.

You could feel like a conversation reaches a certain threshold. 5% of Apple now January 2016 would be lost in friction.

I ordered a large pizza and found an open source project, but I took so long.

Did you just get kicked out for doing so much better that it makes sense to exclude outliers from some central tap. Life isn't an expression; how can I count you in?

Norton, 2012.

A significant component of piracy, which is the last thing you changed. Unless we mass produce social customs. Not one got an interview with Steve Wozniak started out by solving his own problems.

The kind of work into a significant cause, and large bribes by the Dutch baas, meaning master. Incidentally, I'm guessing the next Apple, maybe you don't think you need but a lot on how much effort on sales. The disadvantage of expanding a round on the scale that Google does.

[brywrites]

The Political Abyss

[1st | 2nd ]

Author’s Note: A number of people have messaged/commented about the political AU! You can read it here on FFN, but if that’s not your jam, I figured I may as well post it here. Be warned it is a WIP and with my schedule, I can’t make any promises about when it’ll be updated, but I’ll give you what I’ve got so far!

Number One Observatory Circle, Washington DC May 3rd, 3:01 AM

Aaron Hotchner was not unfamiliar with phone calls at odd hours of the night. It's just that he usually had an inkling that they would be coming. This one was wholly unexpected.

"Mr. Vice President, I'm sorry to wake you." It was the voice of Grant Anderson, one of the heads of secret-service. "But there's something you need to see, and it's urgent. I'll be outside the house to escort you to the Situation Room in five minutes." This wasn't a suggestion or a request, but a non-negotiable order. He had five minutes to throw on some appropriate clothing and gather his things, bracing himself all the while for whatever might be waiting for him.

Gideon preferred to use the Situation Room sparingly, even in the state of paranoia he suffered after the bombing in Boston. It took a truly clandestine crisis to receive such a summons. The last time he remembered being called there was for a briefing after Frank Brietkopf had resurfaced in the DC area. Hotch shuddered at the thought.

That was a night he never wanted to relive.

In the room, he found the Cabinet all waiting, looking expectantly at him, evidently the last to arrive. Jennifer Jareau was at the head of the room, managing the others as any good Chief of Staff knows how to do. Correction – perhaps he wasn't the last to arrive. The President's chair was open. And yet, the doors were being closed. What was happening?

JJ cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably. "I'm afraid we have a crisis. Late last night, a letter was discovered in the Library. A letter from President Gideon stating that he felt he could no longer perform his duties as President of the United States, and has henceforth resigned." Gasps of disbelief and anxious chatter flooded the room, which JJ quickly shut down, commanding attention once more. "Upon examining the Oval Office, we found two additional letters, formal resignations to be delivered to both the Speaker of the House and the president pro tempore, as called for by official procedure. Gideon however, has vanished."

The cacophony of sound rose again, this time louder and more panicked. Hotch sat there in the midst of it all, trying to process exactly what this meant. "Who found this letter?" he asked.

"That would Secretary Reid," answered JJ. The young, awkward Secretary meekly raised his hand.

"And how did you find it?"

Reid swallowed hard, the picture of uncertainty. Despite his youth, the man was brilliant, Hotch knew that. He'd been a mentor to the Secretary, tried to impart what wisdom he could; but now was not the time for niceties. It was a matter of national safety.

"I was looking for the President. He hadn't been around all day, and we were going to meet and review suggested policies over a game of chess, but he never showed up. I thought he might be in the library, and when I went there… well, I found it. It had my name on it," he added, his voice a little quieter. "It said he knew I would be the one to find it."

For a brief second, Hotch felt something akin to jealousy, that the youngest member of the administration should be the one Gideon chose to address; but then he reminded himself it made the most sense. Despite having worked with Gideon for years, he shared a special with Reid. He was father and mentor and friend at once, and while Hotch had long since learned to see the flaws in the President's ways, Reid practically worshipped the man. Besides, Hotch had a wife and a son to go home to at the end of the day, a life of his own. Reid had no friends outside of work and no family of his own.

Of course he would go looking for Gideon, late after hours. Of course he would be the one to find the letter. It was nothing personal. Merely Gideon running the odds and predicting which one of them would be most likely to be in a particular place at a particular time.

"So where do we go from here?" Hotch wasted no time on other questions, just got to work.

"The President left very specific instructions. He doesn't want to be disturbed or found. We're to tell the country he's dead."

His eyebrows knit together in confusion at JJ's words. "That would mean holding a funeral. A televised one. Not to mention notifying Stephen and-"

"I'll take care of it, Hotch." Blue eyes stared into him, unwavering. The Chief of Staff has never faltered in her promises. Work that was done with the utmost precision and perfection, that is what he'd come to expect from her. "All you need to worry about right now is fulfilling your duty as President of the United States. The inauguration will take place as soon as possible."

There were a million things weighing on his mind after the Cabinet was dismissed. What would he say to the country? How would he choose a new administration? Who would be his Vice President? Hundreds of choices to be made.

The very first of which was deciding what to do next. Hotch instructed Anderson to take him back to Observatory Circle, to the old, white Victorian house that was designated as the official residence of the VP. Walked up one flight of stairs and into the bedroom where he gently woke Haley.

"Aaron? What time is it?"

"5 AM." That seemed to shake most of the sleepiness from her senses, and she sat upright.

"What is it? What's happened?"

"It's Gideon," he told her. Paused. Then said, "He's dead." The truth was strictly need-to-know, and Haley didn't need to know. Every day things happened that he had to lie to her about, because the truth was too dangerous. Or was absolutely confidential. So he lied, no matter how much he wished he could tell her. At times he wondered whether or not she could tell that the information he gave was false. Did she know, instinctively, that he knew more than he was allowed to say?

This was one of those times, when her eyes searched his face before she murmured, "Oh, God. Aaron. That means…" Things had been tense between them lately, but she held him close, arms flung tight around his neck. "Our life is never going to be the same, is it?"

This time, he didn't have to lie. He simply returned his wife's embrace "No. No it won't."

The White House Cabinet Room, Washington DC May 3rd, 11:30 AM

Only eight hours later, an inauguration was put together. Eight hours wasn't enough time to process it all. Derek Morgan went to sleep the previous night sure of his status and his job, knowing that the President was a little unsteady (but then, he'd been before, and had come out of it mostly intact), and believing that Jason Gideon would be president for another two and a half years. When he was awoken that morning, the world was turned upside down, like a junk drawer, all of its contents shook loose and spilled out on the floor.

A mess, that's what it was. They were all just trying to make sense of things. The Cabinet had been through so many changes already. Not even a year ago had Emily Prentiss replaced Elle Greenaway as Secretary of State, after Elle suffered a nervous breakdown and resigned. Now Gideon was gone, too.

There were four members of the Cabinet who were exceptionally close, both with each other and with the President and Vice President. Emily, Reid, JJ, and Morgan. Along with the Director of the Office of Public Engagement, Penelope Garcia, they had a close-knit group that supported each other in the daily challenges of government work. Now Gideon was missing-in-action and Hotch was the President. That left Morgan feeling uncertain about the future, as he stood and watched the swearing in ceremony. It had been thrown together as soon as possible, almost immediately after announcing to the press that the President had passed away.

Chief Justice Jack Garrett recited the oath of office, which Hotch faithfully repeated. "I, Aaron Hotchner, do solemnly swear that will faithfully execute the office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect, and defend the Constitution of the United States." Haley stood by his side, their two year old son, Jack, sleeping in her arms.

The new VP was to be an old associate of both Gideon and Hotch, the former Chairman of the Senate Appropriations Committee, David Rossi. Rossi was a bit of a bureaucratic legend, having authored several books since his days in the Senate, and wasn't known for being a team player. If Hotch trusted him though, they all had to trust him.

"Reid, what do you think about this guy?"

Reid barely glanced away from the scene at the front of the room, where Hotch was now speaking intently with the new VP. "Well, Rossi has decades of experience to offer. He changed the game in the Senate during his time in Congress, and was instrumental in putting through crucial legislation. He's respected, but I don't know if he's well-liked."

"You don't get to be where he is by being well-liked," he said.

"Does anybody get anywhere in this field by being well-liked?" Emily asked, leaning in to speak lowly. "I mean, we're politicians for god's sake." Before Morgan could respond, Hotch cleared his throat at the front of the room, and all eyes turned his way.

"I'd like to thank you all for being here," he said, his voice measured and steady. "I realize, circumstances being what they are, that things are going to be chaotic. This won't be an easy transition, and I'm going to need each of you to be at your best. With Gideon gone, there's bound to be media scrutiny and speculation. We've got to present a united front to the country right now, and show them that we're capable. If you wish to leave your post, I ask that you submit your resignation immediately. I have no plans to fire anyone currently in the Cabinet. However, there are a few open positions that will need filling. Things are changing, and this is a difficult time, but I assure you that together we'll get through it."

Morgan could only hope as much. There were so many unanswered questions. Where did Gideon go? Would the press buy their story? Would the funeral go off without any problems? How was this going to work? Hotch had always acted as a de facto leader to the team, as Gideon had a history of going off on his own and overlooking the people who made things happen. It was natural to have him in a position of power, but that didn't mean everyone would accept it.

That evening, a private dinner was held with the closest members of Hotch's Cabinet. After the main course had been served and conversation drew to a lull, Morgan stood with Reid and Emily outside the door, gossiping about David Rossi.

"He's a loner," Morgan said, tossing back a glass of whiskey. "Definitely not the kind to make friends in his work. He's focused on one thing and one thing only. Which means he has to have some sort of motive for accepting the position."

"Yeah, it's called power, and anyone in this swamp would say yes. Even those who say they'd never want the job would say yes," Emily retorted.

Reid shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. "He's a successful politician whose books have sold over a million copies."

"Yeah, so there's a million reasons not to come back, if you know what I'm saying," Morgan said. "He's rich, he's famous, he appears on plenty of talk shows and news programs. The guy could do anything, and he swore off politics when he retired. Gideon disappears and he changes his mind? Seems strange to me."

Morgan wasn't the only member of the Cabinet prone to overanalyzing people and situations. They all did. Politicians had to be good at reading people, their jobs demanded it. He could tell what a person wanted and what they needed to hear after only a few minutes of conversation, and he could determine their background based on their habits and behavior. Who had money, who didn't, who was trying too hard to fake it? Who was there for the right reasons and who was just concerned about reelection? It was all about playing the game, and Derek Morgan was good at playing the game.

"Reid, you've read all his books, right? What do you know about him other than his political record?" The Secretary of the Treasury was brilliant, and his eidetic memory made him one of the most accurate fact-checkers in Washington. On the job, he could calculate just about anything, memorize important documents, and keep facts straight; more often than not though he was utilized as a party trick at government functions.

"I don't feel comfortable speculating on the personal life of the Vice President."

"Come on, Reid," Emily urged, elbowing him. "Give us something."

Reid sighed. "He's from an old Italian family, he's been married and divorced three times, served in the Marine Corps-"

"Okay," Emily interjected. "Italian, so he's probably had strict Catholic upbringing. That coupled with the Marine Corps could make him a bit of a hardass, He's likely to be distant, emotionally detached, perhaps even lonely."

"Which fits with his inability to maintain meaningful relationships," Morgan added. "He's not a team player, and he tends to do things his way. Despite that, he probably has a moral code, being Catholic. Probably believes in redemption."

"Oh, I believe in a lot of things." The three of them turned around, horrified, to see Rossi standing behind them, looking vaguely bemused. "You got the Italian-Catholic bit right, but my upbringing wasn't that strict. As for my relationships and my time in the military, I hardly think you can accurately judge a person's personality by a few brief glimpses of their past. If you have questions, you know you can just ask."

Emily glanced down at the glass of wine she was holding, all of them embarrassed to have been caught in the act. To their surprise, Rossi simply said, "You should probably come join us back inside. They're serving dessert, and Hotch has a few things to say before we head our separate ways."

They obeyed, following the VP back into the dining room. It was still a shock to see Hotch sitting at the head of the table, where Gideon had always been. Things were more calm than the morning had been, but Morgan knew this was only the beginning. They were all still shell-shocked, standing deep in the river and waiting for the current to drag them under. 'It would be then that they would be forced to sink or swim. A thing like this didn't effect everyone equally. It would take time to heal, yes, but it would take time too for wounds to be revealed.

The only thing he was certain about – nothing was ever going to be the same.

Arlington National Cemetery, Washington DC May 6th, 1:49 PM

They buried the President with all the grief they could muster. Reid didn't feel sadness so much as bitterness, anger, but it manifested all the same. He didn't have to fake the tears as they stood on the lawn, somberly dressed in black. Flashbulbs on cameras went off all around them, marking the moment in history. Hotch gave the eulogy, as Stephen has refused to attend.

The words were hollow, fake grief for a fake death. The world wouldn't know that, though. They didn't know the casket was as empty as the things they said that afternoon. Hotch was stoic as always. Garcia and JJ looked genuinely moved, mourning the loss of a friend who would never return. Emily and Morgan stood in a stiff silence, sunglasses on despite the cloudy weather. Reid cried quietly, not caring who saw him. In his heart, he hoped Gideon was watching the mess he made, would realize how many people he'd hurt.

I was not all about him. There were other people whose lives depend on him. And he was just gone.

Everyone has always left him. His father gave up, his mother lost her mind to her illness. He could never make friends outside of work. He even lost himself, after the incident with Tobias Hankel. He was still losing himself, fighting to keep it together and not to give in to the only thing that promised consistency.

Gideon left. Gideon abandoned him. Leaving him only with a letter to remember him by. As if it helped. A piece of paper couldn't fix a heart so broken by loss, or mend what was such a violent severing of ties. Gideon was a coward. He couldn't even step down publicly. Instead, they had to fake his death for him.

I knew it would be you who came to the library to check on me. You must be frightened. I apologize for that. I never meant to cause you any pain.

Then why leave the letter at all? Gideon was one of the few people Reid opened up to, he knew how hard it had been when his father left. Had Gideon ever really been listening to those confessions? Quiet discussions on the lawn or over chess. Maybe that's all it was to him. One big chess game, and Reid was merely another pawn on the board, a piece Gideon could move to get what he wanted.

A president needs to have solid footing to lead a country. I don't think I do anymore. This country confuses me. The world confuses me. The cruelty, the indifference. And the tragedy.

The tragedy? What right did Gideon have to say the senseless tragedies of the world confused him? His head asserted that there was plenty the President had to deal with, so many losses and failures and difficult moments. He'd led the nation through dark days, even when struggling with his own personal losses. He lost Sarah, killed by a radical extremist only because she was connected to the President. He'd lost colleagues and friends, most notably at the bombing in Boston years earlier. And for all of those things, part of Gideon blamed himself.

Yet he took no responsibility for Elle's breakdown, or for allowing Tobias Hankel to get close to Reid.

It was irrational, the anger he felt, but he'd spent his whole life acting rationally. He deserved one moment of rage, to allow all the frustrations he'd compartmentalized to come crashing over him.

Tragedy. That was his life. One tragedy after another. They all had burdens to carry, but how was it that Gideon thought someone who'd been through all he'd been through couldn't understand the tragedies of the world?

As bad as losing faith in humanity seems, losing your faith in happy endings is much worse.

Was this Gideon's way of finding happy endings again? By forcing all of them to sit through an unhappy one?

For once, Reid didn't have answers. Nothing about it made sense. He didn't know why he was standing in an uncomfortable black suit, shedding tears over someone who didn't even have the courtesy to say goodbye. What was the point? What was the point of any of it? He wanted to think his work made a difference, but maybe a the end of the day he was just another bureaucrat in a suit, unable to make the slightest ripple in the world.

The rifle party raised their guns to begin the twenty-one gun salute, and simultaneous shots rang out into the air. Reid wiped his sleeve over his eyes, and a hand touched his arm gently. JJ gave him a cautious look, silently checking in on him. Reid sniffed and nodded, letting her know he could handle this. Not that he had a choice.

Gideon, one way or another, was effectively dead. It was time to let go, and move on. He deserved a happy ending, too. Didn't he?

[ponyregrets]

can you do the instagram one on the prompts list for bellarke if ya feel like it thank you

I sent Brit a bunch of messages on Instagram to see how it worked because I am a PROFESSIONAL who DOES RESEARCH and DOES NOT UNDERSTAND INSTAGRAM also I forgot what the actual prompt was so it’s a little different

bls_bblake liked your post.

Clarke stares at the notification, nestled in among her others, ordinary and unremarkable, and tells herself that it’s not what she thinks. It’s a completely innocuous username that could be anyone. It’s not going to be Bellamy. There’s no way it’s Bellamy. She hasn’t even talked to him since they broke up, and he wouldn’t possibly be liking her Instagram posts.

Although, if he was going to like a picture, that one makes sense. It’s almost four years old, from back when they were dating, and it’s of one of his books, a few passages of Latin that she particularly liked and got a nice, artistic shot of. If he somehow found it, he probably would like it.

The picture on the bls_bblake account is just a mug with a map of the world on it, which is not really helpful in terms of his identity. Part of her feels stupid for even clicking through to the actual account; after all, she runs an aesthetic blog and gets lots of random likes from accounts she’s never seen before. That doesn’t mean any of them are her ex-boyfriend.

But there it is, in stark black and white, right below his username: Bellamy Blake History teacher at Boston Latin School. Follow for more history content.

And there he is in the second row of pictures too, posing in a graveyard she thinks is somewhere on the Freedom Trail. She’s clicking into the picture before she’s fully processed it, eyes roving greedily over his face. It’s only been three years, so he doesn’t look that different, but she can see how he’s aged, grown into his looks, grown more comfortable with himself.

bls_bblake Hope everyone is spending their summer doing the important things, like visiting one of the many historic sites in the city. This stuff is on the AP exam, guys!

Clarke and Bellamy broke up for one very simple reason: he got into grad school in Connecticut, and she got into grad school in California, and they decided that trying to maintain a long distance relationship while they were starting on new jobs and new careers was just not at all feasible. It was probably the right decision, and Clarke wouldn’t say she regretted it, but she wishes she hadn’t taken the cold-turkey approach she did to the breakup.They could have stayed in touch. But he’s never been a social media person, wasn’t on Facebook or Twitter or Instagram back then, and every time she thought about texting him, she talked herself out of it. She told herself that if she missed him as much as she did, it wouldn’t be safe, to just talk to him. She’d get over him faster if they just never interacted again.

Given the erratic beat of her heart and the way her hand is trembling a little on her phone, it didn’t work at all.

Clarke checks back to her own account, giving it a critical once-over. This isn’t her personal account, and she doesn’t appear in any of the pictures. Bellamy knew it existed, back in the day, but she’s not convinced he’d remember the username, if he ever knew it.

Still, if he looked at the profile, it’s right there: Follow my personal account @clarkegriffin. He might know it’s her, or he might have just found the picture doing some weird search for Latin books, and he liked it without doing any follow-up on the account that posted it.

He wouldn’t have liked it, right? If he knew it was her, he would have said something.

If he goes to her personal account, he’ll see that she’s in Boston too. Not that that means anything. But–she is. And he is. And she could be talking to him.

She switches accounts to her personal blog and navigates her way back to Bellamy’s profile, looking it over again before she bites the bullet and opens up the message box.

clarkegriffin: Did you know photographilia was my aesthetic side blog, or just a lucky coincidence?Also, hi, Bellamy

She’s not sure what exact response she’s hoping for, really, but it feels weirder to not acknowledge him. She knows now, she can’t not know, and it’s going to bother her, if she doesn’t say anything.

She’s planning to turn off her phone and do something else, but before she can, his icon pops up to indicate he’s typing, and she’s frozen again, rooted to the spot as she waits for the response.

It’s been three years. It shouldn’t be like this.

bls_bblake: I thought that book looked really familiarHi, ClarkeI was just looking for some dorky stuff to make my kids stop following me, I had no idea it was you

clarkegriffin: Have you considered not giving your students your Instagram username?And also not having an Instagram that actually seems to be centered around being a teacherThese are good steps you can take so students won’t follow you

bls_bblake: I should have known I should come to you for the inside tips on InstagramIt’s this thing my principal is into for some reasonShe thinks that if the teachers have a social media presence we’ll be more approachableAnd I thought I’d do better on Instagram than Twitter

clarkegriffin: Does that really work?

bls_bblake: ApparentlyA bunch of them follow meAnd sometimes they send me homework questions on hereWhich is really inconvenient, but I guess it’s better than them not asking

clarkegriffin: Well, let me know if you need any other pictures of Latin booksI think I have a few more

bls_bblake: ThanksHow are you doing?Still in California?

clarkegriffin: Cambridge, actuallySo I guess we’re neighbors

bls_bblake: Wait, really?That’s one hell of a coincidence

He’s not wrong. They were both living in DC when they dated, Clarke recently out of college and Bellamy just finishing up himself, having started late because he was taking care of his sister, and they’d been together for two years when it ended. Clarke applied for schools back in California because her dad was sick and she wanted to be close to home, and Bellamy had just gone wherever would give him the best financial aid. Clarke had thought about staying on the west coast, but she found she actually preferred it out here, and once she was done with school and her dad was in better health, she wanted to come back.

She’d always assumed he’d go back to DC, when she thought about it. It hadn’t occurred to her that he might be in New England. That he might be here.

clarkegriffin: Yeah, I couldn’t believe itHow long?

bls_bblake: A yearI started right after I finished grad schoolYou must have just graduated up in May, right?And then moved here?

clarkegriffin: I’m working at the MFA, yeahStarted in June, so I’m finally starting to feel like I’m settling in

bls_bblake: Cool, that’s goodI like it here

clarkegriffin: Yeah, me too

She worries her lip, trying to figure out where to go from here. Can she just ask if he wants to hang out? It doesn’t feel like it should be such a huge deal. They were friends, they liked each other even before the dating thing. And then–well, he’s still the best relationship she’s ever had, and nothing ever went wrong. They just couldn’t make it work living apart. And now they’re living together again.

clarkegriffin: I haven’t gotten to much of the historical stuff yetAny suggestions?

bls_bblake: I was going to check out the Tea Party Museum this weekendI haven’t been beforeIt would probably be more fun with company

clarkegriffin: I work Tuesday to Saturday, but I’m free on SundayIf that works for you

bls_bblake: YeahWe could grab lunch first, maybe? Catch up?

clarkegriffin: It’s a date

And, to her profound relief, it really, definitely is.

[dontshootmespence]

For the Love of Donuts

A/N: An anon request for a Spencer x Reader, where she is a journalist and has interviewed Spencer a couple times. He’s got it bad and finally builds up the courage to ask her out. @coveofmemories

                                                              -----

After nearly a decade with the Bureau, Spencer had learned enough that he knew what to say and how to say it within the context of his job. When it came to women, almost nothing, but he knew the job inside and out. That’s why Hotch had finally allowed him to do interviews with local journalists when it was necessary for a case. 

He remembered what Hotch said to him when he’d first earned the privilege. “My suggestion would be to limit the amount of journalists you work with. You want to make sure that you can trust who you’re giving this information to. The more journalists you work with, the less likely you are to find someone you can trust.” Since then, he’d been interviewed about 10 times, four by a man named Barry Hartford for an up-and-coming crime blog, and six times by Y/N for the DC Times. 

He was actually starting to phase out his work with Barry, as nice as he was, because he wanted to give Y/N whatever he had. She was one of the purest journalists he’d ever met. Purely writing for the sake of bettering the lives of others rather than herself and fame. To him, she was what he would be if he worked in journalism. When they first started working together, she had been engaged to another man, but the third time they met up, he noticed she no longer wore a ring, and when he’d asked, she unloaded on him about her ex. Apparently, the guy decided to wait until they were engaged to tell her that he never wanted to have kids. “Didn’t that come up beforehand?” he’d asked her. “How did you not know until you were engaged?”

“I don’t know!” she laughed, confident in her decision to leave him. “He never said he didn’t want them and he knew I always did, so I just figured he also did, I guess.” After she’d unloaded (before they had even gotten to the interview), she’d insisted that he give her the scoop she wanted. Payment for giving him so much of herself.

In these kinds of situations, Spencer really didn’t know if there was an appropriate timeline. She’d been engaged to this man for a few months, and before that, they’d been together for two years. It had only been two months since they’d broken off their engagement. Was it too soon for him to ask her out? Was it inappropriate for him to ask her out? More importantly, would she even want to go out with him? He’d seen a picture of her ex-fiancee once. He was your typically good-looking man. Spencer didn’t see himself that way. And another important question, even if she was interested in him, could he find the courage to ask her out? The last he’d asked a woman out, it had been on a case and Morgan had coached him. Then Maeve had asked to get to know him, but she was gone now. And she’d want for him to be happy, but honestly he wondered whether or not he had the confidence to just outright ask a woman out.

He guessed he would see. As his mind wandered, his feet were taking him in the direction of the cafe they would always meet at when he had some information for her. They were looking for a man who was killing prostitutes, and he wanted recognition for what he was doing, so they needed to paint the killings in as small a light as possible. Still noticeable, but not the front page he wanted. It would make him angry and he would mess up. “Hey, Y/N,” he greeted with a small wave as he sat down at their usual table. “Thanks so much for helping us on this one. I know it’s not the hard-hitting news you’re so used to, but...”

“It’s no problem, Spencer,” she said, her smiled causing him to blush a little. Hopefully he was hiding it well under his hair that had been growing out as of late. “I love to break the big stories, but these women are human beings who deserve to have their names known and their killer found. If I can help you catch him through the paper, then I’ll do it.” This was the first time he’d asked for her help, rather than her asking for a scoop. “What do you need?”

“We need for their to be a story, but a small one.” The waitress came to their table with the coffees they always ordered. “Do you have donuts?” he asked the woman randomly. 

“Ooh yes,” Y/N said excitedly as the waitress nodded that they had them, “Chocolate frosted with sprinkles?” She had a childlike look in her eyes of hopefulness and elation. 

“That’s you’re favorite too?” he laughed. 

Y/N threw her head back and giggled. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.” The waitress confirmed they had donuts with chocolate frosting and sprinkles and went to grab them, leaving the two alone again to discuss the article the BAU needed her to write. “We want to make him angry. If he’s angry he’ll make a mistake and if he makes a mistake, we’ll be able to catch him.”

“But couldn’t making him angry cause someone else to killed?” she asked, hesitating at the thought of helping another poor woman get killed.

Spencer had asked that very same question, but when Hotch gave his rebuttal, Spencer knew it was their only chance to catch this guy. “It’s a possibility, yes,” he said sadly, “But our profile says that he is a narcissist first and foremost, and a house-cleaner second.” Having worked together for a while, Y/N knew what the meant by “house-cleaner.” 

“So you think he’ll come straight to you because he needs recognition that badly? That’s what you’re saying?” She seemed reluctant, but she agreed, and finally, the waitress returned with donuts in hand. “Yessssssss,” she hissed happily. “I can’t believe we have the same favorite donut. Everyone I know insists the best is jelly, or Boston creme, or glazed.”

“No way,” he said, biting into his donut like he hadn’t had one in years. (In reality, it had probably been two days). “Chocolate frosted with sprinkles all the way.” As the two finished their oh-so-nutritious breakfast, Spencer wondered if he should ask her out. He really wanted to - had for a while, but he was also desperately afraid of rejection. But he would never know if he didn’t try, and there was a soft voice in the back of his head, that of a woman, that told him to go for it and be happy. It was Maeve. “Y/N, do you mind if I ask you something?” he asked shakily as he wiped the remnants of chocolate frosting off his lips. 

“Absolutely.” She took a sip of coffee and then reached across the table to use a napkin on his cheek. Apparently, there was errant sprinkle running around that she flicked away. “Something else about your case?”

“No, actually...this is more of a personal matter.” He could see by the look in her eyes that she probably knew what he was going to say, but instead of asking herself or just saying yes, she allowed him to say it. “Would you want to go out...with me...sometime? We could go to this great donut place outside of town that makes the absolute best chocolate frosted and sprinkled donut I’ve ever had the privilege of eating.” Shyly, he turned away as he finished, realizing he had started rambling about donuts of all things. Just as he was trying to make a move, as Morgan called it. Great.

A smile painted its way across her face as she wiped her lips. “I’d love that. It’s the best donut ever, you say?”

“It really is,” he replied happily. He did it - and she said yes. 

As she finished the last of her coffee and threw it into a garbage can nearly ten feet away with ease, she asked him a question. “Can I ask what took you so long? In asking me out I mean.”

What he wanted to say was that she was so beautiful he didn’t think he was worthy (which actually was the truth), that’s not what came out. “I’m a chicken,” he laughed. “I didn’t know how long I was supposed to wait after you broke up with your ex either.”

“Well, I get that second part,” she laughed. “I did spend a lot of time with him, but as for being a chicken...you have no reason to be. I’d love to go eat the best donut in the world with you.”

[chatting-leaves]

Somebody From The Internet (4/?) - Something Extra, Yet Lacking

Potential TW: A slur, said in context of an antagonist.

September 15, 2011 - Washington, DC

To try to describe the beginning of this story is one that involves a whole spectrum of emotions, in fact the concept of a spectrum is one that defines this story. I awoke to orderly chaos as this was my last full day as an unmarried man, my then-fiance and I had a midday flight to Miami en route to our wedding, held aboard a docked cruise ship before departing for a weekend cruise to The Bahamas. It was an all-in-one solution of sorts for us, a cash-strapped couple given that for much of the last year I had been living off of unemployment and savings. My future in-laws, their second spouses and children, Dad, and my stepmom were joining us, my teenage future brothers-in-law a late addition while my Mom sat this trip out. While trying to stay calm in the rush of last minute packing and the inevitability of lugging a wedding gown through National Airport, I turned to Twitter for some relief. In this, I looked through the tweets of a mutual follower of my future wife and I and saw someone with an interesting name.

"Trisomy21Mommy". A clear declaration that this person was the mother of a child with what commonly is called Down Syndrome.

I grew up in an area where growing up the main employer was a since-closed institution for the disabled and between administrative offices, day centers, and group homes the care of the disabled is a bedrock of the local economy. My mom worked as a member of the local disabled care industrial complex, alternating between the institution and later day centers, and exposed me to those who were the beneficiaries of her work. In high school, my district became a magnet for special needs students from our and neighboring districts as we had a system of including those with differences stemming in part from a beloved teacher having a child with Down Syndrome. To be so public with your status as a special needs parent, at least in 2011, automatically won my respect. without much of a second thought. I immediately started a conversation with this person, relating my experiences on the matter and sharing my views on how the establishment of a formalized "Autism Spectrum" created issues as society had not equipped itself to deal with those on the spectrum as teenagers and adults. She listened and I then aired out my fears of having a child with severe special needs, that "the writers backstage" - a term I used to allude to a higher power - would put me in a position where "if I had to carry them and change [their diapers] for 20+ years, so be it." The conversation then went into direct messages and I found out who "Trisomy21Mommy" was.

The woman behind the handle was a named Carrie and resided in an edge city inside the "Golden Horseshoe" region of Ontario, a catch-all term used to graft areas adjacent to Greater Toronto into a mega-region. Carrie was a freelance writer in her mid thirties but the main focus of her life was her then five year old son, Nathan who as her name alluded to had Down Syndrome. Raising him alone aside from having an elderly parent living with her for the idea of some sort of help, Nathan was Carrie's main focus in life given the minefield of getting him services and special treatments, a process no doubt hurt by a medical mystery that happened about eighteen months earlier.

"One day, Nathan woke up to find that the speech he had gained, after much therapy and prompting was gone. Within the next few days, most of the motor skills he had gained also were gone. The doctors at [the local children's hospital] came back with an additional diagnosis of autism and no timeline on if he ever would regain what he lost."

Part of me saw this person as living the nightmare that I had dreaded, that if my soon-to-be-married self was to have kids, that I might have this to look forward to. The other part of me had some suspicion that something else might be in play, that such a cognitive regression usually doesn't hold off until one was four years old. While I continued our conversation while on the flight to Miami and during a period that night where the hard motel bed gave me little ability to sleep, I put her behind me for what was to be one of the happiest weekends of my life. 

After a weekend soaked in sunshine and alcohol, where I swam with dolphins, spent time with my new family, and had all-around fun, it was time to return stateside and make the trek home. No later than as our car pulled out of the economy parking lot at National Airport, I got a message from Carrie.

"I had a dream about you last night. Maybe you should be with me instead, Nathan can really use a daddy and you sound like you really want to be in Canada."

My jaw flat out dropped. I was brazenly being hit on for totally altruistic reasons by a woman I knew for four days who knew I had just gotten married. While I had spoken highly about Canada and its more egalitarian way of life in our prior conversations, I didn't know how to handle something that escalated so fast.

"If only this was two years ago :-P. Seriously, don't do this again." was the best I could muster. Needless to say, this was the last time she hit on me in such a manner but it was still a shock though she soon opened up about why she'd do such a thing. After spending most of her twenties traveling the world, Carrie decided to settle down with a man she had not known well with the aim of a large family. After two miscarriages, she had a viable child, that being Nathan. Needless to say, her "sperm donor" as she referred to did not want any part in a child that was "crippled" and "retarded", the latter term coming right as that word went from medical term to slur. He soon separated from her to live with his parents and when Nathan was eighteen months old abandoned his wife and child, clearing out their joint bank accounts in the process. The fallout left Carrie penniless and forced her to move in with her living parent while living off the safety net of the province as Nathan's needs and therapies made finding work problematic. At least Nathan had gotten into a kindergarten at a school well equipped for students with disabilities and Carrie at least got some respite from having a life totally centred on her son.

"Last I heard, the Sperm Donor was living somewhere up north. A friend of his wrote to me a couple weeks ago telling me that he has a "real" wife and "normal" kids and has no need for a...I can't say that word, it's so hurtful. He isn't...that," Carrie summarized up the status of a man that she was still legally married to as his status in hiding, under an assumed name, made termination of their marriage impossible. At this point, I began to look at things with some suspicion seeing how almost robotic this whole situation seemed.

In time, Carrie became a good friend as she was the sort of person who would vent to anyone about anything, that any sympathetic ear would do given that her interaction with people outside a parent slowly going into dementia and a son unable to speak was quite limited. She had a lot to say, however she often had an awkward means of saying it and a very simplistic view of getting things done.

"Why do you want to move out to Boston?," she once questioned me when I was openly going on about my wife's wishes to move closer to her family. "You should move up here, Canada is just a better place than the US is since all I hear on the news is about how bad and cruel the US is."

"I don't think immigration works that way. We'd need $10,000 to start and a job offer and my wife is the one more likely to get a job offer," I said knowing that her experience in bioethics and such would put us over the line for points in the CIC's grading system for immigrants.

"I wish I could take you guys in. You Americans really are like abused dogs," Carrie would reply. "Hell, I wish I could make my apartment a shelter for Americans wanting out of their shitty nation." This from a woman that had not been to the US in about a decade, since before she got married even, and whose passport was about to lapse. "If you moved here, you would be able to sponsor her family to join you."

"I think most of them would be disqualified based on age, lack of experience, or due to health issues," I rebutted. While they have since been relaxed, at the time Canada had health controls that would zonk even people who were otherwise golden from moving; another online friend of this time period had to refuse a highly specialized job in Vancouver due to - coincidentally - an autism diagnosis as a child that they had overcome. A firm lost what would've been a great LGTBQ lawyer because of legacy stereotypes written decades earlier.

"Well, that shouldn't be an issue. Just a couple of weeks ago these people moved into my building from Hong Kong and they had the flu and legacy issues from SARS," Carrie responded, blind to the realities of the bureaucracy that Toronto and Ottawa put on her idealistic wishes. Her idealism, her almost blind nationalism to Canada as a nation even, seemed to be a bit of a mask for how things failed her as she soon took to the internet with the story of what really went on with Nathan's birth or at least what she thought happened. Via an anonymous Tumblr blog, she assailed the hospital where he was born for openly downplaying a telltale sign of Down Syndrome that was found during her twenty week checkup, leaving her to believe that she was carrying a healthy baby until when she delivered and her child was whisked away to the NICU for tests. By her own claim, she wasn't told of his diagnosis until two days after he was born and she didn't get to see him until his third day of life. "If I knew this was going to happen, I might have gotten an abortion and have tried again," Carrie summed up, a stark contrast to her railing against the selective abortion of fetuses found to have disorders in utero.

This story, and the general failure and neglect that led to it, led me to want to change my professional course. My caring, yet very rash and desperate, mind decided that what the world needed was counseling for parents and siblings facing a child that was disabled, someone for them to steer them down the right path and even act as a sympathetic ear. While this had been peppered via life experiences and assorted articles, what Carrie endured as a result of Nathan's life was the last straw in not doing anything. I eventually enrolled in an online Masters program, but found as I went on that my idealism was nowhere near reality in terms of making anything work and walked away from what I wanted to do because frankly society had little idea in how to handle it.

As time went on, Carrie's life story got more and more complicated as it was clear that she needed an identity outside of being a self-proclaimed "special needs momma". She tried to get into advocacy, but her ability to travel was hampered by an ailment that left her "medically unable to drive" and dependent on the kind gestures of others more than her testing the bounds of her own independence. She briefly returned to the dating world, exclaiming to me as I was in the middle of my move that she found "someone": a woman, even though she had exhibited zero signs of bisexuality beforehand.

"Given my luck with men, why not?," Carrie exclaimed. True to form with Carrie, the relationship turned out to be an online infatuation that was done after a mere two days, she then pressed on further in life. Being shoved aside was an action that Carrie was no stranger to, between her strained relationship with her siblings for having a "handicapped" child to being estranged by her husband to even losing most of her friendships in the wake of Nathan's birth, real life relationships supplanted by the support web of assorted Down Syndrome and autism parents populating assorted corners of the internet. I gave the emotional support that I could, but sometimes something seemed to be a bit off, as if nothing logically added up. The backstory of Nathan's early years, Carrie's life before Nathan's birth, even how Carrie's life was truly sustainable between her limitations and her son's needs making any typical job an obstacle to obtain.

In time, Carrie's parent that had been living with her declined to the point that they were admitted into a care facility, funded in part I would think by her relatively well-off siblings. While this freed Carrie of the second burden of her life, it also created a problem as the governmental Pension Plan checks she had gotten as well as other subsidies were allowing them to live where they were. As if on cue, Carrie fell for a man who lived in a town on the shores of a nearby Great Lake, a man a little older than she who had two children from a prior marriage whom he had primary custody of. She needed a chance to love again, his kids needed a mother figure, Nathan needed a father figure, the whole thing on paper made a ton of sense.

The relationship lasted about two years, the potential step-children didn't warm up to Carrie as an additional mother figure, and in time this man grew tired of Carrie and the way she came off to him. While they broke up in late winter, he did let her stay until that summer so she could let Nathan (by this point age 9) finish the school year as he had made leaps and bounds in his growth, speaking his first words since the loss of his language five years earlier and regaining the last of the motor skills he had lost in his regression. By some good luck, Carrie and Nathan, now once again alone, moved into an apartment in the same town so he would not have to once again change schools.

By the time of the breakup, I mentally started to check out of the friendship because of how repetitive things had gotten. Carrie constantly second guessing her parenting of Nathan, that her circumstances weren't getting him the best care available as the latest treatments and therapies and even things such as one-on-one helpers and respite care were out of her, and the province's, reach. Things that even her American friends, amongst their flawed and fraying educational and healthcare systems, often took for granted, yet Carrie would rarely let a chance pass to be pitying of Americans and to pound her chest about the Canadian way of doing things being vastly superior. Add in some obsessions of the moment, most infamously a period where she fangirled over the TV series Supernatural and cited it as a reason that Nathan regained some of his speech, and it became repetitive. I love people, I care about people, but it just felt like she was stuck in a cycle and she didn't want to get out of it.

Just in time for this, it was discovered that Nathan had a bone disorder that was prone to fractures. At one point, Nathan had both arms in a cast for weeks after both had severe fractures. Once those bones healed, he ended having fractures occur in both of his knees and ended up spending a summer in hospital in a cast having them heal before ending up using a wheelchair for what turned out to be a couple of years. During this period, they moved into a rented house that was accessible as a replacement for the second floor apartment they had been living in. It was also during this period, to compensate for the increased lifting of Nathan around the house that Carrie took up a new hobby, weightlifting to increase her strength. It was around this time that we reconnected, she having rededicated what social media she was still on to her goal to become a champion weightlifter while my wife and I went on a weight loss journey. 

The definite end of my friendship with Carrie came via one of the most bizarre ways a friendship could end. In Nathan's younger years, Carrie was the sort of parent who would go on and on about the years-long struggle of toilet training her son, an often Herculean task given his cognitive and communication disorders. Considering his long road learning to regain use of his legs after a complex corrective surgery, I had a mere question to ask.

"How does he communicate how to go to the bathroom given his speech and mobility difficulties?" I remember that when he was in a cast that his training was put on pause given his bedridden state so logically I assumed that he still wasn't at first.

Somehow, this turned into an over-detailed message thread on Instagram that went fifteen messages of stupidly curious, potentially borderline pandering, questions when an easy "actually, this whole thing got him out of diapers for once and for all, here's how" would have easily sufficed. This interaction ended up being her cue to exit a friendship that had long run its course, a friendship that I was too reluctant to leave given that I usually am not the sort of person to do so. Soon I found myself blocked on said venue, a whimper of an end to a friendship that was roaring. Bizarrely enough, Carrie didn't block me on any other form of media we were still friends on, she is still mutuals on the side account that I have for weight loss which I sparingly use anymore.

Truth be told, as much as I take the full blame for getting blocked, not having her around has given me the hindsight to realize some harsh truth. While Carrie is a remarkable and strong, emotionally and physically, woman, something about her and I just didn't mix right even in spite of years of friendship. Maybe it's that she tapped into my "Ugly American" side that is harshly critical of my nation of origin, maybe it was the fact that my empathy is so automatic that I felt bad for her and Nathan. The more time passes, the more I seriously wonder what truly motivated me in this friendship. Was I better for knowing her? Of course. Am I happier with her no longer around? Probably.

If anything comes out of this, I feel bad for Nathan in all this. While Carrie has all the reason to keep him out of a group home for as long as possible, the two are truly a package deal at this point, I wonder what will happen years down the road if something happens to Carrie. This doesn't even include the fact that he's a teenage boy with no father figure and little male interaction outside of school, while women do make strong men it still saddens me that he isn't getting the attention he needs. While his fate is much better now than in the past, I do wonder how the future will treat him given his complex needs. I hope they both find peace in the future.

[topfygad]

What is Too Sick to Travel? Or: “How to Decide if I Should Fly to Peru Tonight???”

A sunrise view from my classroom: Stormy skies, or clear to fly?

“No offense, but you sound awful,” confessed my friend.

“I think I’ll be better by tomorrow to make the flight to Peru and Machu Picchu!” I squeaked.

I called my doctor with that theory later that day, and she responded bluntly: “No you won’t.”

Welcome to the worst cold and flu season in decades: awash with fevers, aches, chills. I’m sure my February plans to hike Machu Picchu weren’t the only travel dreams slapped by these symptoms, but the uncertainty of whether or not I could go sure took over my life for the past three days.

Here’s the full story of what happened with this trip, expanding on the question so many of us have asked lately: “Am I too sick to travel?”

Me, leaping around Turkey a few years ago. Thankful for healthy travels I’ve had!

This Peru trip was to be my first time traveling with G Adventures, the ethical tour company with which my fabulous former student, Stephane, just traveled to Costa Rica in December. (Note: Some links here are affiliates that give a small commission, should you purchase something, at no extra cost to you.)

Steph had a phenomenal experience, and I was psyched to try out the company for myself… and see Machu Picchu at last! (I lived in Peru for a time while I was teaching there, but never made it to the famed peak.)

I was also excited about the three day hike through those green Incan mountains, even if my 7th grade students were horrified at the prospect that I’d have no WiFi.

“Who will keep your Snapchat streaks going?!” they screamed.

I responded, “What’s a Snapchat streak?” and the kids were even more horrified.

Our guy asks: “Are you cool to travel, or need to stay put?”

Over the course of February, I began borrowing and buying the gear I’d need for the trek: extra camera batteries for the days without electricity, hiking boots, headlamp… all that outdoorsy stuff. I already know the gear a gal needs to do regular travel — aka, a suitcase full of my beloved cute, wrinkle-free dresses — but this trekking stuff is new territory. (Do I still have secret schemes to hike a little in a dress? Maybe.)

Punched by high prices in stores for hiking gear, I turned to social media, pleading for anyone around Boston to lend or rent equipment. Friends, family, and neighbors responded wondrously, and by early February, I had all the hiking items I needed. Thank you, village!

Then… despite all this meticulous planning and preparation for the takeoff to Peru on Friday, the following series of events occurred.

My preferred method of packing: All dresses, all patterns. Maybe not what’s needed for a hike…

The Previous Week, Through Monday: 

Repeated exposure to flu and other viruses from all sides. Keep in mind that I teach 140 middle-schoolers a day, and frankly, there is not enough hand sanitizer in the world to keep us 7th grade teachers clean. I tried, though — I really tried!

Tuesday Evening:

“I feel kind of funny.”

Wednesday at Work: 

Woozy. Hot and dizzy. At lunch break, I walk into my colleague’s room, curl into a ball, and fall asleep at a desk.

“Yeah,” he said later, “I suppose that was a red flag that you were sick.”

I suppose.

The National Museum of African American History and Culture in DC, which we were luckily healthy enough to visit this year.

Wednesday Evening: 

Fever. Shivering. Trouble walking due to aches.

“Um, I’m not sure I can do a 3-day hike like this. But what if I feel better tomorrow?”

Due to the fever, I call in sick for teaching Thursday.

Thursday: 

I sleep 7:30pm to 10:30am — 15 hours. Wake to… fever and dizziness still there. Argh. But maybe I’ll feel better in time for the flight Friday night? Maybe sleeping in a tent in rural mountaintop Peru would heal me? Um, maybe?

I fall back asleep 1pm-4pm. No appetite.

Wake at 5pm to help do dinner and bed for kids (obsessively washing hands to try to keep kiddos from getting sick). Daughter demands to be carried up the stairs “like a burrito”, which is a dangerous proposition, given that I can barely get my own self up the stairs.

Pass out by 8pm. Might I feel better in the morning?

Snuggling with my girl during a sick day she had last week.

12:30am Friday Morning:

I randomly wake up and take my temperature. The fever is gone! The doctor said if I have 24 hours of no fever, I can work or travel… ergo, since my flight is at midnight, I can travel if I keep this fever off until then! Yesss!

I am also ravenously hungry. I leap downstairs to scarf food, then am so excited, I thrash about in bed (sorry, sleeping husband) until sunrise, dreaming of Machu Picchu.

8am Friday:

I’m halfway through packing, when the room starts spinning again. I look down at the neat piles of fast-wicking shirts and feel hot. Can I really do a red-eye flight, then three day hike, then 3 flights home, feeling like this? Can I risk getting others sick during my travels, on top of ailing, myself?

Perhaps I shouldn’t have trusted my midnight judgment.

I blow my nose. Then blow it again. No appetite. Coughs and shivers… Fever’s back.

11am Friday: 

“Nope. I can’t do this trek. I couldn’t even teach today — why did I think I could do an intensive trip while feeling like this???”

I know travels will blossom again! Can’t win ’em all.

And so, with a mere 12 hours before the flight was to depart, and with my backpack half-packed, I finally realized that flu season had won this round. No Machu Picchu for me in February.

There will be logistical and financial pieces to work out to reschedule, but so it is. Health is paramount, and no one wants to be on a mountain with a fever, nor sharing a tent with a coughing gal. Moreover, we know well that this is a small problem in a world of much bigger issues.

I’m clear now that this is the right decision (there are several other factors I can’t even get into here that really make it the wise thing to do), but the back and forth was see-saw fast for days, and I thank all the people who supported the process. The plan is to reschedule the G Adventures trip to Peru for April, so let’s put healthy, happy travel vibes into the universe!

This is the first time in 36 years that I have EVER had to cancel a big trip for sickness, and I am supremely thankful for those years of health, and hope for many more in the future for myself, and for all of humanity, for that matter. I will use this week to recover, spend quality time with family and friends… and unpack the awkwardly half-packed backpack in our bedroom.

We shall fly again, friends! We shall!

After this crazy experience, here’s advice on when sickness clashes with travel:

1. To make travel cancellation decisions far less costly: ALWAYS consider getting moveable or refundable flights and travel insurance that could cover trip changes or cancellation — especially in a period of time like flu season — when the need to move a trip could be a real possibility. Some people I know have liked this travel insurance, so shop around, but… did I take my own advice on this cancellation coverage insurance thing? Um… Sigh. Regardless, if you do need to cancel due to illness, get officially checked by a doctor (even if you feel terrible and don’t want to leave the house) because a record of this examination will be necessary for the physician statement of the insurance claim.

2. Don’t necessarily trust your own brain when it’s sick. As I finally realized, feverish judgment can be downright delusional. If you’re staggering around with a 101-degree fever, proclaiming you can still travel, yet everyone around you has serious concerns… your community could have a point.

3. Be realistic about the bizarre timeline of sickness. It can do things to a body and mind that you’d never expect! Though I’m not a doctor, one lesson I’ve learned from this saga is to adhere well to the rule that there needs to be a full 24 hours without fever before travel (or work, for that matter). This season’s flu has had a particularly sneaky tendency of “going away” for a few hours, only to return again with a vengeance, so don’t be fooled by waking up at midnight without a fever and thinking travel will be no problem… wait a few hours and double check! Meanwhile, the flu vaccine really helps in decreasing the severity and length of the sickness when received early enough, so plan ahead in October to get it.

4. Be aware of the impact of sickness on the people around you. I’m editing this two days after writing it to add this new information: the two key people who were to be our entire childcare plan while I was away in Peru have now… come down with the flu and can barely get out of bed. This means that even if I had felt well enough to go on the trip, my husband would have been singlehandedly watching two kids under 5 years old for 9 days, or been going to wild lengths to find support. Holy moly. The “people around you” advice also pertains to being mindful of getting others on the plane or trip itself sick, if trying to globe-trot ill.

Ultimately, I think each person knows deep down, where the line is for being “too sick to travel.” If you’re reading this and are stuck in a similar quandary, yourself, first please consult your doctor. On top of that, it might be best to err on the side of caution and rest up. As my friend’s mother says, “Mistakes can cost time, money, or life,” and, though it’s never enjoyable to lose time or money, they are certainly the preferable option.

Now that this cancellation has happened, it makes me very curious about other people’s experiences. What have YOUR experiences with sickness and travel cancellations been? What has been your line that, once crossed, made you cancel a trip? Have you ever gone on a trip while sick? How did it go?

Do share!

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Last Updated on January 8, 2019

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[gokinjeespot]

off the rack #1160

Monday, April 24, 2017

 Should be a lot of happy hockey fans here in Ottawa today with the Senators moving on to the second round of the Stanley Cup Playoffs after defeating the Boston Bruins in game 6 yesterday. I'm more excited because fishing season starts in 3 weeks. I went to check up on my boat yesterday wishing I could take it out right then. That first trip out to the lake with my buddy Matt can't come soon enough.

 Punisher #11 - Becky Cloonan (writer) Matt Horak (art) Frank Martin (colours) VC's Cory Petit (letters). It's the penultimate issue of the EMC drug story. That's the pharmaceutical that turns ordinary people into near indestructible berserker killers. Frank has been captured by the bad guy mercenaries and must fight his way to freedom plus kill all the bad guys. No sweat when you're the Punisher. Becky really stretched my suspension of disbelief with all the injuries that Frank sustains so I might take a break after next issue's conclusion.

 Batwoman #2 - Marguerite Bennett & James Tynion IV (writers) Steve Epting (art) Jeromy Cox (colours) Deron Bennett (letters). It must be hard coming up with names for villains. Here we are introduced to Knife. You can probably guess her weapons of choice.

 Secret Empire #0 - Nick Spencer (writer) Daniel Acuna (art) Rod Reis (prologue art) VC's Travis Lanham (letters). Spoiler Alert: Steve Rogers/Captain America is really a Hydra sleeper agent. Has been since day one. If you can believe that nonsense then you'll love this new Marvel Universe wide crisis crossover. Steve is now the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. and the new Supreme Leader of Hydra. This is 2017's big event for Marvel with fans anxious to see how the heroes handle the betrayal by one of their best. It's all hands on deck and battle stations all around. Look for the Secret Empire trade dress on the covers of all related tie-in books to get the full story. Have fun Marvel Zombies.

 Batman #21 - Tom King (writer) Jason Fabok (art) Brad Anderson (colours) Deron Bennett (letters). Good timing here with the NHL in playoff season eh. The first few pages features a hockey game brawl. Here's DC's entry in the crossover sweepstakes. It's called "The Button" and it starts here. This looks like an interdimensional story with the smiley face button from Watchmen a major image appearing often. They should have used it as a distinctive trade dress on the covers to help fans find the other parts of the story on the racks easier but they didn't. You'll have to pay close attention to get the whole story. Part 2 hits the racks on April 26 in Flash #21. I am more inclined to read this story than Marvel's "Secret Empire" since this book was better written and drawn than Secret Empire #0.

 The Shaolin Cowboy: Who'll Stop the Reign? #1 - Geof Darrow (story & art) Dave Stewart (colours) Nate Piekos (letters). It's a new 4-issue mini picking up where the last one left off right after Amitoufu (I think that's his name) killed all the zombies. Geof's books are such a visual feast that the weird story fits right in with all the stuff that he puts on the page. This is my favourite type of comic book. A fun story (there are talking vultures) with stunning artwork. The minute details always amaze me.

 Nick Fury #1 - James Robinson (writer) Aco (pencils) Hugo Petrus (inks) Rachelle Rosenberg (colours) VC's Travis Lanham (letters). This is a good replacement for the recently ended Black Widow spy series. Nick's got some cool gadgets that would make James Bond envious. Even his eye patch does some nifty things. The vibrant colours make each page pop while this mission hums along with plenty of action. There are hot Hydra agents and a cool as a cucumber hero so I'm going to come back for the next mission.

 Superman #21 - Patrick Gleason & Peter J. Tomasi (writers) Patrick Gleason (pencils) Mick Gray, Joe Prado & Ray McCarthy (inks) John Kalisz, Hi-Fi (colours) Rob Leigh (letters). Part 2 of "Black Dawn" makes the Kents' neighbours even creepier. I can't wait to find out what's going on out on the farm.

 Plastic #1 - Doug Wagner (writer) Daniel Hillyard (art) Laura Martin (colours) Ed Dukeshire (letters). This is some sick stuff right here, as if you couldn't tell from the variant cover with the severed head in a zip lock plastic bag and the fork impaled tongue. This comic book is NOT FOR CHILDREN and follows the misadventures of Victor, a former spy who lives in a fantasy world with his "girlfriend" Virginia. He runs afoul of a very bad man and must repay a blood debt. The art is very good but the story is super cringe worthy. Victor is like the Punisher with autism so you decide whether you want to get to know him or not.

 Guardians of the Galaxy: Dream On #1 - Marc Sumerak (writer) Andrea Di Vito (art) Laura Villari (colours) VC's Travis Lanham (letters). You could not dream up a truer title for this one shot if you tried. Half of this book is a reprint of an original Guardians of the Galaxy adventure from 1990. This is perfect for teens but this mature reader wasn't stimulated intellectually.

 Super Sons #3 - Peter J. Tomasi (writer) Jorge Jimenez (art) Alejandro Sanchez (colours) Rob Leigh (letters). The boys battle deadly doppelgangers and are overwhelmed. Robin may have found a way to gain the upper hand but I looks like he's too late. A nice cliffhanger last panel to make you want to read the next issue as soon as it hits the racks.

 The Greatest Adventure #1 - Bill Willingham (writer) Cezar Razek (art) Daniela Miwa (colours) Taylor Esposito (letters). I grabbed this off the rack to read based on my love for Bill's most excellent work on Fables. Here he takes a bunch of Edgar Rice Burroughs' fictional characters on a great adventure to stop a mad scientist from assembling a weapon of mass destruction. The biggest name in this group is Tarzan and he and Jane are the only ones that I recognise. There's an innocent pulpy feel to this adventures so it's quite suitable for younger readers.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

THE COURAGE OF EXERCISE

So long as you were careful not to get their hopes up is not to stop and take a rest? That's when they have the really big ideas.1 You must resist this.2 And so it's clearer to programmers that wealth is something that's made, rather than the fish. They're way more dangerous than Google because, like you, they're cornered animals.3 It runs along the base of the hills, then heads uphill through Portola Valley. The 2005 summer founders ranged in age from 18 to 28 average 23, and there are no excuses.

The government spying on people doesn't literally make programmers write worse code. Do you really need the rich people? Sometimes when you return to it.4 If this were true, the most efficient solutions win, rather than doing development in the spare moments between meetings with investors into the spare moments in your development schedule, rather than just an effect?5 A year after the founding of Apple, Steve Wozniak still hadn't quit HP. Up to a point it would be extraordinary if all eight succeeded. And I think, is that it makes it easier for people to start startups. Venture capitalists know about this and have a phrase for it: barriers to entry is through patents. As with exercise, improvements beget improvements. And you can quote me! It's not because they're irresponsible that they work in long binges during which they blow off all other obligations, plunge straight into programming instead of writing specs first, and that's what they're going to be about the 7 secrets of success.

But at least you can give back the money you have left, and save every penny of your salary. So while there are plenty of other ways to attract them, but this is a bad word for it.6 The defining quality of Silicon Valley.7 These qualities might seem incompatible, but they're far apart.8 The famously rigid labor laws hurt every company, but against a backdrop of constant disasters. It's the same with people who do great things. SLAC goes right under 280 a little bit in the commitment department, and that can probably only get you part way toward being a great economic power. Civil liberties? What is technology? And if grad students can start successful companies. There's still debate about whether this was because of the Bubble, or because they're a bad idea.9 In fact, that's a promising sign.

The German and Dutch governments, perhaps from fear of elitism, try to ensure that the US remains a technology superpower just by letting in a few places where that sort of thing rarely translates into a line item on a college application. And you had better have a convincing explanation of why your technology would be hard to tell exactly what message a city sends?10 For practically its whole existence, that is.11 They cut off all the crap the manufacturer had bolted onto the car to make it to profitability on the money you have left, you've avoided the immediate danger. In theory there could be other ways to get rich if the product succeeds, and get paid 30 times as productive, and get nothing if it fails. Each is, by itself, enough to kill you. This is post-exit Silicon Valley.12

A lot went wrong, as usually happens with startups.13 Of course not. Not the programmers.14 They only just decided what to use, and that's the hard part. Can that be done? Otherwise you're probably just postponing the problem, and then at every decision point, take the harder choice. Tv are a good example of close friends who work well together.

They're not Goody Two-Shoes type good. They have no idea how dangerous they are.15 What I like about Boston or rather Cambridge is that the cycle is slow. Google because, like you, they're cornered animals. This was not a factor in Shockley's day, because VC funds didn't exist. Then there is one that clearly dominates in Mountain View, and Palo Alto is suburbia, but then it was a good idea to have fixed plans.16 As with most nature/nurture questions, the answer seems to be: a lot. That's an alarming possibility when you have to consciously force yourself to shorten the manual, in the sense that the decisions you make have a big effect.17 I was walking in some steep mountains once, and decided I'd rather just think, if I was bored, rather than just an effect?18

But it's not because liberals are smarter that this is old news to Lisp programmers. That can't be happening by accident.19 Wouldn't it start to seem lame? A fair number of smart people, and channels the rest into unproductive jobs.20 DC and LA seem to send messages too, but founders expect that. And what makes them congeal is experience.21 So maybe I'll try not bringing books on some future trip. It can get you factories for building things designed elsewhere. The word is used more often in the former than the latter sense, probably because ugly solutions are more common than brilliant ones. Y Combinator ends up being more like an efficient market.22

Wufoo got valuable feedback from it: Linux users complained they used too much Flash, so they start to lose interest. To take an extreme example, consider math. Maybe if the idea of starting their own company when they graduate. Don't just do what they want.23 And I don't think it takes years to articulate great questions, what do you do? When you're running a startup you compress all this stress into three or four people, so you have to consciously force yourself to shorten the manual, in the sense of beating the system, that's also called a hack. If you know you have a fairly tolerant advisor, you can take more risks, because no one will know if you fail. Could you reproduce Silicon Valley in the late 90s said the worst thing about living there was the low quality of the other differences between startups and what passes for productivity in big companies is an obstacle.

Notes

I dislike is editing done after the fact by someone with a sufficiently good bet, why not turn your company into one? Wittgenstein: The variation in prices. It's hard to game the system?

Currently the lowest rate seems to have figured out how to value valuable things. By mid-twenties the people working for me, rejection still rankles but I've come to accept a particular valuation, that it would be a constant.

But we invest in it, so x% usage growth will also interest investors. One implication of this type is sometimes called an HR acquisition.

The way to be sharply differentiated, so if you're not convinced that what you're doing is almost pure discovery. Miyazaki, Ichisada Conrad Schirokauer trans.

If anyone remembers such an interview. The reason is that in New York. Trevor Blackwell points out, if you want to start software companies constrained in a dream world.

When that happens, it would take their customers.

So if it's the right direction to be very promising, because they are. Some people still get rich will use this route instead. They would have undesirable side effects. So the most convincing pitch can't sell an idea where there were, we should remember this when he received an invitation to travel aboard the HMS Beagle as a monitor.

I'm not talking here about which is to assume it's bad. 3:59 mile as a child, either as an investor is more of the deal for the same energy and honesty that fifteenth century artists did, once. A preliminary result, comparisons of programming languages either take the term whitelist instead of blacklist. Realizing that much of it, Reddit has had a strange feeling of being absorbed by the investors.

This doesn't mean you suck.

Don't ask investors who turned them down. Steep usage growth predicts x% revenue growth. The founders want to hire a real poet.

Consulting is where the recipe: someone guessed that there were some good ideas in the sense that they violate current startup fashions.

The real problem is poverty, not eating virtuously. The solution is to let yourself feel it mid-sentence, but one way in which multiple independent buildings are gutted or demolished to be careful here, because I think so. I can imagine cases where a laptop would be great for VCs.

He wrote If a conversation—maybe around 10 people. Ironically, the main causes of poverty are only arrows on parts with unexpectedly sharp curves. Bill Yerazunis had solved the problem to have gotten where they are to be a predictor of low quality though. A preliminary result, comparisons of programming languages either take the term literally.

The first assumption is widespread in text classification. A percentage of statements. I'm pathologically optimistic about people's ability to solve the problem is the kind that evolves naturally, and I don't mean to be able to hire a lot of the Industrial Revolution, Cambridge University Press, 1973, p. It should not try to give you money for depends on a form that would appeal to space aliens, but also the fashion leaders.

That can be either capped at a 30% lower valuation. His critical invention was a test of investor behavior.

The company is common, to take over the world you'd want to sell your company into one? This is not how much of observed behavior. Within YC when we created pets.

Maybe not linearly, but when companies reach a certain size it gets you there sooner. If you're building something for which you ultimately need if you threatened a company just to load a problem if you'll never need to go all the page-generating templates are still a dick move. They found it novel that if you ban other ways.

Sparse Binary Polynomial Hash Message Filtering and The CRM114 Discriminator.

Instead of the VCs buy, because even being Genghis Khan is probably part of your own? This just seems to me like someone in 1500 looking at the time. No. Not startup ideas is many times larger than the others.

But arguably that is exactly my point. But we invest in the ordinary sense.

The number of restaurants that still require jackets for men.

It doesn't end every semester like classes do.

But wide-area bandwidth increased more than you think you'll need, you can base brand on anything with a woman who had small children pointed out by Mitch Kapor, is this someone you want to work your way. If you try to ensure there are before the name Homer, to a VC recently who said the things they've tried on the basis of intelligence or wisdom. Investors are one step upstream from economic power, so they made more margin loans. Needless to say because most of the junk bond business by doing a small amount of time on applets, but unfortunately not true!

[somecoloronmonochrome]

Look For The Girl With The Broken Smile

The last year has been a whirlwind. Within a matter of weeks into 2016, I had finally lost all that pesky college weight, I was doing well in my first year of law school and I found love...or at least I thought I had. Love is weird. I never thought I would find it, I never felt that I was capable of being loved, that I would be worth it to someone.

well that love has come and past.

I have never been truly heartbroken before. Yeah I’ve been hurt and upset and crushed but I’ve never been heartbroken. I had never experienced that feeling of utter despair. You know the one where it literally feels like you cannot move because your heart has been physically ripped from your chest. The one where all you can do is audibly sigh. The feeling of an ending. Thats what I felt a month ago.

But its been a month and now I feel like I can breathe again, like I can finally move on. Like I will be okay. I know I’ll be okay.

A month ago. Thats when I started this. I call it the letter. I started it because I needed an outlet or closure or something. I needed something. That morning when you left my apartment I was a mess and you...you were fine and I needed to finish the conversation but you gave up. So I started this. Every time I had the urge to talk to you I wrote it down in a note in my phone.

I couldn’t stop and now it turned into the this. Each day is labeled, my emotions range. Sadness, anger, hope...some days were easier then others. Music helped. it helped more then anything else. Each day I have assigned a song or two that pairs well with what I felt like I needed to say.

So here it is. Everything I wanted to say to you but I couldn’t. From the day you left until I moved on.

Thursday January 5, 2017: “Payphone” by Maroon 5

Do you really not love me anymore? Did you ever love me? I miss you.

All I've been thinking about today is what happened. Why didn't we try to fix this? Did we not want to fix it? Did we doom ourselves? I'm hurting like I've never hurt before and I can't get it to stop...so how did this happen?

I can't sleep. I know you left for your trip with your friends when you left my house this morning. Thats a nice conveinent escape. I would have planned it that way too. I hope your trip is going well. Did you make it there safely? I can't sleep.

Am I so pathetic? Why am I the only one who wants this to work? I keep having this internal debate. Part of me doesn't want to give up and is like stupidly wishing I could talk to you but the other part of me is saying fuck you because you gave up it was you who wanted out and it was you who left me. You don't want to fight for me and our relationship and I should move on.

At this point i’m not sure which side is right or what I want. I know I deserve to be treated better then you were treating me and I've felt that way for a while but I just wish we could have figured it out without ending it like this so abruptly. I wish we could just figure this out.

SONG CHANGE: “Better Off” by Emily Vaughn

You know I've never been swept off my feet. Not once. I thought you'd be that guy. I really did. You were always so serious about our relationship and our future. But I’m not sure why I felt that way you were never romantic. I mean like ever. I kept hoping that you would like get some big emotional pull to do something incredible or like any romantic gesture and it never happened. Literally never.

Well actually it happened sort of one time. The day I thought I would never get through. The day I think may have started this. The day I found out I would have to move out of my amazing apartment, in the middle of the most stressful exam period I had ever had.

I admit it. I was a bitch about it so maybe that's on me and maybe I was horrible that day but the thing is I was going through something that scared me and I wasn't exactly sure how to fix it.

I've never had anyone be there for me, like really there for me so I didn't really know how to let you be there for me the way you said you could. I'm very independent almost to a fault and I've always been that way I've never needed to rely on anyone and I dealt with things the only way I knew how and I know you said that we'd been together long enough to know. But I was scared and stressed and thought It would be better if i just handled it. But what I’m starting to realize is that if you can't be there for me and be understanding when I'm going through the worst then why do you deserve my best? Why do you deserve me to cook you dinners and talk you off your ledges and rub your feet and be there for you?

Why did you deserve my best? When were you at your best with me.  I was angry and scared and I took it out on you but I needed you. I NEEDED you to love me anyway and you walked away. You said your feelings had changed. My feeling never changed, not once and I wouldn't have walked away from you. I was always loyal when you had your things and yeah we clearly handle things differently and I shouldn't have pushed you away but i needed you, I still need you.

You should have fought for me. I miss you and I'm sorry.

You should have fought for me.

SONG CHANGE: “Everglow” by Coldplay

Sometimes I felt like you kept us a secret or at least you wanted to keep us a secret. Yeah I know you like your privacy but sometimes that made me sad. I just thought you should know I was always happy and proud to be with you, did you ever feel the same?

Is there someone else? I know you'll think that's crazy but I feel like anything is possible right now. I remember when we first became friends. We were at a party, talking to each other like we always did Just us, like no one else was at the party, I remember you told me that your soulmate lived in California and I'm not sure I ever got that out of my mind...I know that's crazy but did she cross your mind? Did you realize I'm not what you wanted anymore? I don't blame you. I upset you and made you mad and I wouldn't blame you.

How can you just be so cool about this? I'm freaking out. We were together for a year! A YEAR?! how is that nothing to you? How can you just let it go. Also...why didn't you wait until we made it a full year? You really couldn't deal the last month? Things got that bad?

I can't sleep. And I hurt. Bad. I can't sleep.

Friday January 6, 2017: “Bad Religion” by Frank Ocean

I fell asleep for a little but I had horrible nightmares last night I mean actually horrible.

but you know what was worse...waking up...that was worse.

Knowing I had lost you was what hurt more then waking up at 5:30am from a horrible dream.

Everything reminds me of you.

I don't know what I want anymore. I love you and I can't feel anything around me except hurt and sadness and maybe some anger but I still love you and that sucks.

You hurt me bad. I just needed to say that. You walked out and hurt me and I was left alone to pick up the pieces. You made me promises and you broke them and it hurts and I'm still willing to fight for us because I believe that we can still be good together, but I know you well enough to know your rash decision making and your pride and the finality of this decision.

SONG CHANGE: “Shout Out To My Ex” by Little Mix

I'm in DC today. That was a good night when we were here last. We slept on that small sofa you were so uncomfortable but to be honest I had never felt so comfortable in my life regardless of sleeping next to your feet. We goofed around in the shower and were crazy loud.

You made me feel beautiful always and I'm scared no one will ever see me or make me feel like that again. We fought that night because I thought you were putting your friends before me like I always thought. I always felt like I was last on your list. Maybe that's a personal thing stemming from my own issues but I always felt last on your list. I never left because I never doubted that we couldn't figure it out. But that night after we showered drunk I just felt like we were gonna make it and I was happy. I don't really remember the last time I was so happy.

Actually no that's not true. When you texted me that you wanted to take me out on my worst day. I cried I was so happy. I never cry...well until yesterday when I haven't been able to stop. I was so lucky to have you and instead I pushed you away. ME.  You cared and I took that for granted. When you texted me that day That was the last time I was truly happy. And I ruined it. I push people away and I'm super good at it and I didn't ever mean to push you away.

I'm in that stage now when I'm realized that you're not completely innocent here either. I just want you to know. There were times I thought about ending it, after you left me alone in your beach house until 4:30am with sun poisoning. I was so sick. I didn't want you to have to see me like that but I also wanted to know if you would take care of me...not only did you not stay, you asked me to drive you to the bar to which I happily obliged because I wanted you to have fun because I know how much you love Ocean City. I couldn't sleep that night from the sun poisoning, I mean I was in horrible pain so bad that it woke me up at 2am. I decided I would wait for you to come home because you said you would only be out for a little. I couldn't sleep I thought something had happened to you. When you came home at 4:30am I relieved to be honest, I didn't really know if you were going to come home. I decided it wasn't worth the fight because you said you had a good night.

You knew I was made because I didn't let you touch me when you got in bed I said that I was mad that you woke me up...that should have been a huge red flag but I got over it because I cared about you and i wanted to make things like that work.

The time you ignored me in Boston. I was SO out of my comfort zone and awkward...you never met my friends. But that weekend I felt so isolated and alone. I wasn't mad about that in fact it was nice to see you around your friends but then you wanted to stay super late and you knew i had work in the morning...I was upset but I stayed. You were mean to my best friend in Boston, I defended you I always defended you. When you got so drunk that night in South Carolina that I had to take care of you and after when you peed the bed and then ignored me the day after.

When you didn't text me a single day the first time you went to South Carolina and said "I didn't want to text you, I wasn't planning on ever texting you that weekend." That time you said you didn't know if you could resist a threesome, I stayed. When I told you I loved you for the first time and you said ok. Do you know how hard that was for me. I always stayed. We had a three week rocky patch and you ran away so fast you forgot half your shit in my house.

SONG CHANGE: “Die Digital” by Jimkata

If I had known that Thursday morning would have gone the way it did I would have done anything to make it the opposite.

I've never been one for second chances because I've always felt that if you make a decision there's nothing I can do to change that and once you've decided that leaving me is what you want then you're set and once my heart is broken I'm not great at recovering. Especially here when I trusted you and thought you wanted to make this work. Maybe I feel like we're worth fighting for maybe I feel like more is left to be said. But I can only wait so long until I realize that maybe this is the right move but it's so hard every time I look around there's something that reminds me of what we had and you.

How are you fine? How are you going on with your life? I can't do anything...being awake and walking around trying to be apart of the world is just awful. I count the hours until I get to sleep again. But you're out with your friends while I'm here hurting and alone with my thoughts.  I feel so pathetic because I know this isn't me at all but I just feel so empty. I feel like there's so much more to discuss but you've already made your decision and that hurts.

I was at a restaurant in DC and that song about breaking even came on and I laughed because it just felt so relevant to me right now which is stupid... I keep laughing about it because I always thought it was such a corny song but now I know. You've moved on and I'm still grieving. God I hate myself sometimes.

I'm going skiing on Sunday.  That was my favorite memory of us when we first started this and we went skiing and just talked for hours on the lift rides. It felt so easy. I just always loved spending time with you, it felt so easy and natural and always fun. I used to get to class last year and sit across from you and day dream and wait to talk to you afterwards because just having you in my life made me so happy. How did we get like this?

How did we get here? how did everything escalate so fast? I don't understand how we got so unhappy. When did we start to get so backwards. Do you think you'll ever see me the same?

I keep wishing you'll regret this and text me..like my life is some stupid corny love song or romantic comedy but who am I kidding you weren't like that when we were together why would you do that now?

I can't sleep again. I'm so sad and my mind can't stop trying to figure out how to fix this and what went wrong. I think I'm actually going crazy. Like how are you fine?! I'm so hurt.

I can't stop thinking. I can't sleep like at all and I have a constant pit in my stomach. I feel sick and I can't eat and you're fine.

Saturday January 7, 2017: “You Left Me” by The Maine

This morning I woke up angry. I cried but I was angry. You left me, you gave up...you decided that we weren't right anymore.

I asked if we were in a rut you said we were fine. I said things felt off and you said we were fine. We decided less then a week ago to make it better and you never tried. You gave up. I thought I meant more to you then that. After everything I thought I deserved more of a chance then that.

I slept with my socks on last night and I cried. I couldn't sleep again because you weren't there. All I wanted was to be next to you again. Am I pathetic or what?

I'm trying to be okay but I'm not

I'm trying to see this as a good change but I can't. I know we haven't been happy and things haven't been great but I have this feeling that we're giving up on something that could be great giving up on something before it even had a chance to grow. I know this is not what you want and maybe it's not what I want either but I just feel like there's so much more to say. So much.

SONG CHANGE: “Love is Overrated” by Shwayze

I had a pretty good day. I was good for the most part I laughed and I was involved and I wasn't thinking about you. I was actually mad at you for a while and that felt great. Rage ugh it felt so good. I came home with determination that I wasn't going to forgive you and I am better off without you. I packed all your stuff into a box and it felt good. I was going to move on and live an amazing life. Maybe I'd even end up moving to Florida just despite you because I was gonna have a great life no matter what. I poured myself a huge glass of wine and then I realized I hadn't been in my room since Thursday morning when you ripped me into shreds. My room is freezing and it smells like you and I hate it.

Everything just came crashing back...everything. Every memory, everything we talked about, everything we planned...everything. Even on my worst days I woke up and was thankful to have you in my life. I wanted to be with you everyday. You saw me when I thought I was invisible and you loved me when I thought no one could and I will always be grateful. you weren't perfect all the time but I loved you with all my heart. I was doing the best I could dealing with something I've never had to deal with and having someone I've never had before. I am not perfect and I didn't handle it right and I will live everyday knowing that but I was willing to try.

What hurts the most is not that you left when I probably needed you the most but that you didn't want to try, you said we weren't compatible. You hurt me deliberately and that's almost unforgivable. In so many words you basically said that I wasn't worth it and everything we had been through was for nothing. I agree we hadn't been happy but to let it all go for a couple rocky weeks. That's it? That's all I get? How could you?

I promised myself that I would never let anyone ever again tell me my worth and that's exactly what you did and I'm not ok, I'm angry and sad and hurt and not ok and it's your fault. You gave up and you said I wasn't worth it BUT I am worth it. Maybe not to you but to me, I'm worth it to me! And for now that's enough.

Do you wanna know the truth? I was scared of how fast I was falling in love with you so I pushed you away. I always ruin things when they're going well.

Sunday January 8, 2017: “The Black and White” by The Band Camino

I slept better last night. I drank enough wine to put me to sleep and that helped. I woke up sad and crying again. Less angry today. I can't believe how pathetic I was on Thursday doing everything but begging for you to stay with me. That must have been a laugh for you and your friends. I hope you're having fun because I'm not. I imagine the way you're telling your friends how we broke up. I can just picture how well I fit in along the stories of how all your other relationships ended. You told me I was different then them and I believed you! How stupid could I be?!? You sat there stoic and

said there was nothing left to fix while I was hysterical.

Sounds oddly familiar to every other relationship ending story you've told. Maybe it's you that's the problem not me? I don't know but I don't think it's fair that you come out unscathed and I'm a fucking mess.

I'm trying to figure out how Monday is going to go.  I want to talk to you I want to tell you about my life and my feelings and I can't do that anymore and that hurts. I keep thinking that maybe once you're back you'll change your mind but I know that's not true and that hurts more. I just want to feel better.

I just read through our texts from like November until now. WHAT HAPPENED? we were doing so well. We had talked about this and we were going to try we were gonna make it happen. If this is about Florida do you really think I wouldn't have gone with you? If we were that serious I would have made it happen because I loved you and I would have made your dreams a reality.

The problem was that you didn't want it to work and you wouldn't have done the same for me. I was trying to get you to talk to me and you kept saying we were good. I was ready to fight and fix what was happening and you weren't and that hurts and it sucks.

I want you back there I said it. Shit I'd take you back despite the days of pain despite the tears. I would. But I won't sit here and wait to figure out your emotional availability I love you and I will always love you but there comes a point when I can't blame myself anymore. If you don't want to fight for us then maybe I shouldn't either. I don't know. I just wish I could talk to you right now. I just wish I wasn't hurting anymore.

SONG CHANGE: “Find What You’re Looking For” by Olivia O’Brien

My Grandmother just called me, I cried again. Like I said everything reminds me of you. I'm crazy I know. We had sex in her guest room while she was at the store. She said she was going to Trader Joe's and we just looked at each other like idiots. We slept together in those twin beds every night. I met your family shopped for your clothes and I loved every single second. Being in Florida with you was the best week of my entire life. That's why when she called I cried because I wish we could go back. I wish we could just take everything back and be there cuddling in those twin beds and eating 92 dollar steak and getting drunk at a hookah bar and sitting on the beach again.

Skiing cleared my head. I still hurt and I still miss you but I know I'll be okay. Not today and definitely not tomorrow but eventually I'll be okay. I know your decision is final. I've pretty much gotten that through my head and I'm not okay with that but I'm learning how to be.

I'm scared to want something new and I'm scared of dating. I'm scared to be with someone whose not you. But I know that's going to have to happen. I know I need to move on. I will move on. Tomorrow seeing you for the first time will be hard. I keep rehearsing it in my head how it will go but I know I'll chicken out and be nice and walk out like the chicken I am. I know I'll be the avoider just like you were. But I'll be okay. Not today and not tomorrow but I'll be okay.

SONG CHANGE: “How Not To” by Dan + Shay

I don't want to see you happy. I want to see you in pain. Pain like I've experienced since Thursday. I wish you would have cried. I wish I could have seen you a mess the way you saw me. The way I was hysterical the way I needed you. I want to see you hurt but I know you'll be fine.

How did we not make it? The couples we used to make fun of...I now idolize them, I'm jealous of what they have because we didn't make it. Everything we said about them, were worse. Both of us. We are just as bad.

I wish you would come back. I wish you would call. I wish you would say something!!! I felt comfortable with you like really comfortable which has always been hard for me because I've never felt pretty or good enough but you were comfortable and safe and I'm scared I won't find that again.

SONG CHANGE: “Ghost” By Mystery Skulls

I think what bugs me the most is

how serious you were about us and our future.

Clearly that wasn't true...do you think life is going to get any easier with anyone else? Maybe it will maybe I'm wrong and I actually hope I'm wrong I hope you find someone great who gives you what I can't...but life is tough and if you truly meant what you said and were as serious and loyal as you claimed to be I think you would have stayed and would have tried to work it out.

You didn't even try...I would have tried. Maybe you're not meant for me and that's okay but you hurt me because you were so serious and so clear of the life we were going to have with each other...it's going to take sometime until I can forgive you. But my friends are right I will find the perfect man who will fight for me through the hard times. I will.

Monday January 9, 2017: “Hung Up” by Tritonal

I danced in the shower this morning and it felt amazing. I felt like myself. I just told my college friends. They know which makes it so real. I wasn't ready for it to be real yet. It hurts but I think telling them made me realize it's really over and I need that.

Last night I kept praying you'd call but nothing just silence. I kept hoping that you'd want to talk, but you don't and that's fine but I'm terrified to be anywhere near you today. I'm scared this facade I've spent the last four days building will crumb the minute I see you. I'm keeping your vans sweatshirt cause I like it and it's cozy.

I do need to thank you for showing me how to love. For a short time I truly believed you loved me. Maybe you did, maybe you didn't but you showed me kindness and made me feel beautiful and special. You also showed me not only that I deserve love but also that I can love in return. You also made me see that I deserve love that's so much more then what you gave to me. I'm sorry I couldn't be what you wanted but you did show me that what you thought love is nothing close to what I deserve. I do hope you find someone who can give you what you want and shows you how to love.

SONG CHANGE: “Should’ve Been Us” by Tori Kelly

Just when I thought I was fine I leave my wallet on the side of the road. I hate you for turning me into this. I hate you. I'm lucky some saint of a woman found it and found me and life went on. I made it to my orientation, I am about to embark on an incredible opportunity and life is moving on. My head needs to be on straight for this so right now I hate you. I hate what you've turned me into and I hate that I'm blaming you.

I want to tell you about my day. I want to tell you about my internship and the weird people and I want to tell you about my wallet. I can't be friends with you because it will make me think we can fix things and I know we can't, but I miss what we had I miss having someone to tell everything and bounce ideas off of I miss being friends. I would have gone to Florida. I would have done anything for you.

Class is harder then I thought it would be. Why won't you look at me? I'm so sad, I'm trying so hard to keep it together. I straightened my hair and put make up on to hide the fact that I wanna crawl into bed and never leave and I'm a mess and you look just fine.

I hope you didn't make me a bad guy to your friends. They are good people and I hope they don't think less of me...I know they're your friends and they will obviously be on "your side" just as mine support me but I just hope they don't hate me.

I like your new jacket.

SONG CHANGE: “If I Were a Boy” by Beyonce

That was cold. Very cold. I'm so hurt that the first thing you said to me was returning something I left in your car. At least you said hi. And you did that in front of people. Thank you for leaving me to explain that to someone else thank you. How is it fair you're so fine and hanging out with friends and I'm a mess. A complete mess. I just want to talk to you. I hate this. I want to hate you so badly I want you to feel this pain like I feel it's horrible you look so fine and I'm a mess. I just wish we could talk. I'm trying so hard to give you your space because that's what you want and I don't know how long I can keep it up and I'm not sure how long I can pretend to be okay.

I don't think I've ever cried so much in my life. I lost like four pounds which is also cool. I want to tell you about my internship and I want to hear about your trip. I'm really upset and I just wish we could talk. My Brother told me you thought I looked happy...I didn't really think you cared. I'm glad you think I'm happy because I'm not and I'm not doing well. I listen to breakup music and I feel sad all the time. I couldn't concentrate at all in class. I wish we didn't have to end like this and I wish we weren't upset. I wish you had stayed and worked this out.

I didn't realize I made you so unhappy. Why didn't you talk to me. Did you not want it to work? Why didn't you tell me you were having a change of feelings. I spent the whole weekend hoping that we could figure something out but it all comes down to the fact that you weren't happy. I wasn't happy either but you know the difference...I wanted to talk about it and I wanted to make it work. You didn't and you walked away from me so you know what you don't get to be upset, this is your fault. You were an immature coward and didn't want to face the problem. So no you have to live with it and don't get to be upset.

SONG CHANGE: “Too Little, Too Late” by JoJo

I'm so hurt by this, I fought for you. I worked at getting happy after everything. I put your happiness before mine time and time again so when it came to a point where I needed some sympathy and understanding you ran, and were completely unfair. You decided it was too much and that made you unhappy, my life and my hard times made you unhappy. I stayed through everything and I made it work.

After you yelled at me for being on the phone planing your 600 dollar birthday party...do you know how hurt I was that you accused me of hiding something when I making sure you'd have a fun night with your friends. I wanted to rent a nice hotel room on the beach and take you surfing. A weekend for the two of us but that's not what you wanted. I wanted to give you everything that you wanted. How about when you freaked out about your Christmas present, I hope every time you look at your dumb GoPro and all it's accessories you think of how hurt I am. What about after you were stressed about your own life and I was always there to answer the call? I always talked you through.  I went to your soccer games, I went out of my way for you and I bent over backwards to make you happy. I'm sorry the last couple of weeks were rough i truly am but you gave up on me.

You were never there for me the way I was there for you. You never appreciated me the way I deserved and you never made me feel worth it. You put me last over everything every single time. You never loved me the way I loved you. I was convenient for you. I was there and close and someone you could talk to and sleep with. The whole relationship was just perk or an obligation you had to deal with but you never loved me the way I deserved.

I really really want being your friend to be easy but I'm pretty sure I can't do that. I'm pretty sure pretending to be your friend is just too much for me. I can't even look at you. My feelings didn't change, they still haven't changed so no I can't pretend to be okay.

You just texted me. I knew it was about your stuff and nothing important. This conversation is painful. I downloaded bumble but our conversation was the first thing on my connections page and I got sad so I deleted it again.

SONG CHANGE: “Needed Me” by Rihanna

I was unhappy too...many more times then you were unhappy and I would have made it work. You never loved me the same and now I know and now I'm going to try to move on.

You ran. I was finally starting to feel like myself again and figure my shit out and you ran. I never ran. I was terrible and awful and made you unhappy and you ran. You never thought about me. I couldn't talk to you about my stress because I was scared it would make you more unhappy, of course I felt the tension and I was trying so hard to try to make it go away. You never made me feel like I was being listened to so I pushed you away so it wouldn't hurt when you pushed me away. It still hurt and you ran away.

They say that love is putting someone else's happiness before your own, I want you to be happy even if that means letting you go. I will let you go and never bother you again because I want you to be happy. Making you unhappy was never ever my intention. I just want to know how you put my happiness before yours? Not in literal terms like going apple picking but emotionally? When did my happiness come before yours?

I know you said this decision was "extremely difficult" but you should have stayed and you should have tried, but you ran so tomorrow is another day where I'll put my makeup on and pretend I'm okay.

Tuesday January 10, 2017: “Tears” by Clean Bandit

I keep seeing things on social media I wanna send to you but I can't. I keep thinking of all the things I'm going to have to face without you. I keep crying. I just want to be okay and I don't know how to be okay anymore and it's hurting me more then I thought it would. I keep telling myself I'll find someone better but I don't know if I want that. You want that. I can't believe it's almost been a week that makes me feel sick. I hate this and I wish we could have fixed this.

I was so good yesterday. I was happy for the majority of the day and I didn't cry as much. Today is harder then yesterday and I guess there will be up and downs. I know Valentine's Day and February 12th won't be good days for me. I had it marked in my calendar like a fucking idiot. So many stupid hearts. I should have known.

I want to get over you so badly. I don't want your presence or the thought of you to distract me and hurt me anymore. I wish I could say I never wanted to see you again. I wish I could say I know I'll be happy without you. I just don't want to feel like this anymore. I feel like my heart was ripped out of my chest. Do you know what that feels like? It's horrible I can't do anything without it bothering me. I was so good yesterday. I had a great day and today is already bad and it hasn't even started yet.

I wish I could call you names.  Like I wish I could say you're a dick and an asshole and a horrible person. I can't because that's not true. You're a good guy and that's why this is hard. If you had cheated on me or done something bad it would be easy to hate you and never look back but because this ended because we were unhappy its impossible to hate you. It's impossible to do anything but ask why and how.

Someone outside my window is playing chill bill and now I'm crying again.That song will never not remind me of you.

I can't get  the stain on the wall by the bed from the spilled chocolate wine from last valentines day.

You were the first person in a long time I could cuddle with and sleep soundly next to. I don't sleep well anymore. My bed still smells like you and I never want that to go away. I sound crazy I know.  I wanted you to help me move into my new apartment. Good looks on getting out before that whole ordeal and obligation. My stress that day is going to be great haha I probably would have yelled at you that day anyway. But I wanted that to be a fresh start or at least a chance to not fight about the apartment because there's less to clean and less to worry about. Also no Trevor which is a huge bonus.

SONG CHANGE: “All You Had To Do Was Stay” by Taylor Swift

There's this line in from a song that I like that says "you gave up on tomorrow because you forgot yesterday" I really like that line. I feel like that kinda encompasses my feelings. Everything we went through is gone because you didn't want to fix us. You decided that your unhappiness was the end all be all and also it was a permanent state? Do you think there was no chance for us to be happy again? Maybe you're right...I'm not so sure. I wanted a life with you so badly  and now All i want is to get over you. I can't keep feeling this way, it's not me and I hate that it's making me feel this way.

I wish we could sit together in class. You looked sad in civil procedure. I hate seeing you sad. People keep giving me weird advice. I don't know what to take and what to not. I really want to be friends with you and talk about life and stuff like that but every time I think about it I think about how hurt I am and how I wish we could have fixed things. I think about how weird it might get and how it will really never be the same.

I am feeling better today...well now, I feel like maybe I'll be able to move on and that feels good. Class and being around people has been a good distraction. I wish we could have worked it out but I think maybe this is for the best. Maybe space will help make us be better friends and maybe that's what we were meant to be all along? Idk I guess only time will tell.

Driving you home was hard. I will try to be friends with you but how did you not see how hard that was for me. We were literally leaving my house with everything you had left there, basically memories of our relationship. You want the best of both worlds but I'm not sure I can do that. You want to have the emotional parts and support of friendships without the commitment and obligations of a relationship. It's kinda messed up. I will always be there for you because it's not in my nature to not be and because you mean a lot to me but you have to know that YOU hurt me really bad and every time I look at you or talk to you the memories and what you said to me comes rushing back and it hurts.

I wish I could send this to you. I wish I could let you read it, you probably wouldn't read it anyway. Or maybe you'd get annoyed or angry but you definitely wouldn't read it all the way through. You only asked me what I thought after your decision was made, after you had an escape route and a plan of action to go and cope in New York. I'm glad you got that. Really I am.

But I wish you had some sense about what I'm going through

and how hard this has been for me, and then you talk to me like nothing ever happened. You asked me if I still wanted to be friends after I volunteered to drive you completely out of my way. The truth is i’m not sure if I can be friends with you because it hurts and it makes me angry that nothing phases you. You flipped my life upside down Thursday morning and I'm still not okay. I tried to hint to you that I was not okay and you didn't exactly react great.

SONG CHANGE: “Carry On” by Ne-Yo

I think my sadness has turned to anger. Today was weird and awkward and you acted like we were fine and at first that made me sad but I realized that I'm actually angry. It hurt when you made jokes about other guys "swooping in" or when you said that you called your friend to fill him in on the situation. Like fucking great. Those are the exact things I want to hear. It sucked when you said that your sister and her boyfriend were spending a lot of time together.

Did you forget how hurt I was? Did you forget everything I said and what I would have done for you to work this out? You think I didn't want to ask you to stay tonight? Just one more night and then never again? I cannot sleep anymore because you're not there and when I wake up I realize I have to face you and pretend I'm ok and that's just as bad. You think I wanted to drive you to the light rail and hear about all the good things in your life? That's the last thing I wanted to do. Literally the last...I planned for you to come get your stuff leave and I was going to cry and do civil procedure it was going to be like every other night this week. No you had to be selfish and not think anything through. I'm so mad that I let you win again that I did something nice for you, I'm so mad I let you affect me like this and I'm so mad that you think everything is okay. It's not okay.

Also How Did you forget i basically made your class schedule? How did you not know we had class together? You didn't even know I was going through the same exams as you WE WERE IN THOSE CLASSES TODAY! I know pretty much everything about you. You didn't know me at all, maybe that was my fault but did you really try?

How many times did I have to calm you down and talk you through situations? What did you hear when I told you things about my life and my plans? You didn't even ask how my first day at my internship was. I don't think you ever truly cared about me, is there anything that you know about me? After dating for a year is there anything you could say that would prove that you knew me? I don't think you could.

I want to let you read this. Maybe for a sense of closure. You got to find closure and I didn't and that sucks. I want to let you read my note because it's all the things I never said but wanted to say. It's all the things I've been feeling for the past week but too scared and hurt to say. I didn't say these things because you wanted space and I wanted to respect that. But now I'm done respecting that, because I'm mad and hurt and sad and you're fine.

WEDNESDAY 1/11/17: “I’m Getting Over You” by The Click Five

I had a really hard day. I don't know if I'm cut out for this job at all I was just so confused and tired the whole day and what used to make it better was being able to talk to you about it even if you didn't listen I could at least tell you. I'm scared, I'm really scared I won't be good at this. It feels like I don't have anyone anymore. Everyone is walking on egg shells around me like I'm going to fall apart any minute, everyone's faces are just so annoying. Last night was really hard for me but today I cried less which I needed to finally do.

I can't believe tomorrow will be a week. I'm still so hurt by you and I can't believe it's been a whole week. It's so hard not having you stay over after class and snuggling and cooking dinner together. Did you even like any of that or was it just cheap and easy and convenient?

This time last week I thought we were going to work out and be fine. I thought we were going to put our best foot forward and make it work. I can't believe you don't love me anymore. I can't believe you acted like nothing happened last night like we could just go on being friends. I loved you. I always loved you more and my feelings didn't cHange and you didn't care and that sucks. It fucking sucks. I want to be your friend so bad I want to show you that we can be friends but it hurts so bad that you're so okay with everything and don't realize how hard this is for me.

You know how I know you never loved me? You didn't want to try to get through a tough time together. I was clearly going through something bad and you left me. If you were ever serious you would have made sure we made it through. That's what makes waking up in the morning and getting through the day a little easier because I know I'll find someone who does all things you never did. You didn’t even try to weather the storm.  I'll find someone who truly loves me and cares about me more then you ever did.

We never ate at that all you can eat sushi at the place in Padonia you told me we would go to. You never took me ice-skating either. 

I need you to scratch my back because you give the best back rubs

THURSDAY 1/12/17: “New York City” by The Chainsmokers

I can't believe it's been a week. How is it so easy for you to go from talking to someone everyday and spending time with them and knowing them to nothing but radio silence? How is that so easy for you?

I don't understand how you're so hot and cold.

I don't have much more to say to you. Everything still reminds me of you and I still love you and I still wish we could work this out but it being a week it feels so real and I'm ready to keep moving with my life. Maybe I am truly better off but it's hard for me to swallow especially when you're fine.

How do you keep it together? I really just want to ask you how you're fine? Are you truly happier this way? I'm barely holding it all together. Every time I look at you I almost lose it and I'm trying to be okay I really am but I can't, I'm so hurt and it's going to take me awhile until I am ok. I can't focus or do anything because all my energy is focused on trying to pretend to be okay. I'm trying to be a good person and be nice to everyone and just keep smiling but I can't. This week was so hard! So hard and you're fine! HOW THE FUCK ARE YOU FINE!

I realize when I was talking about my apartment and walked to the garage with you I put myself in that situation which I admit is pretty messed because I couldn't stay away. I would rather feel horrible then not see you. Which is absolutely crazy but yeah it's because yes I miss you. This is way harder for me then It clearly is for you. All I want to do is hang out again and the more I think I can do that the more I realize how hard that is. The more I realize how painful it is for me to see you happy. I wish I could tell you all these things. But I'm scared the reaction will be worse or will make things worse.

I wish I could walk away and it would be easy. I just want to stop crying.

I wish you couldn't sleep either. I wish it all hits you at 3:40am and you feel horrible and have this aching pit in your stomach. I wish you felt that. I wish talking to me brought you physical pain the way it brings me horrible agony.

I need to walk away. Please tell me how easy this was for you to walk away?

FRIDAY 1/13/17: “Rehab” by Rihanna

I can't believe it's Friday the 13th

I miss doing things together. I miss all the things we were going to do and the plans we had.

I know I should move on and I'm trying but I can't help thinking about the way you could just forget the last year of our lives and walk out, leaving it all behind. Leaving me behind. I just want you to hold me again, that's all I want.

SATURDAY 1/14/17: “All Too Well” by Taylor Swift

I had a dream last night that we got back together. That we made it work and got through it. I hated waking up...it was one of those dreams where you just wanted to stay asleep because dreaming and sleeping is way better then real life.

I want you to feel shitty and miss me like i miss you. I wish I could make you miss me. You're running high on your new freedom and I get that. I was horrible and took my stress out on you so I get why you're so fine right now. But I'm not, I'm not at all. I just wish I got to feel fine, I just want to be myself again and I can't and that sucks.

Getting out of bed is so hard. I feel broken. You broke me.

How did we get here? Please remind me how this happened?

I've been reading through our old text messages because I need to figure out what happened. We were so great. We were so great for so long! How could we let a couple rough weeks end it all? We had plans we talked about a life together and living together! A year a whole year together of promises and plans and now it means nothing! Why didn't you just talk to me? I really wish you would just talk to me! I hate this silence I hate not having you! How are you so fine with this how are you not thinking about this everyday? How is this not affecting you?

I just cut off all my hair. I regretted it immediately. I thought it would be cathartic.  I mean all my hair, my beautiful long curls are gone because I felt like it would make me feel better to have some changes. It didn't. I just feel stupid and confused. I shouldn't need your validation or attention but I do.

I keep wondering what you're doing. If you're okay. I know you're okay because this is what you wanted and this is your time to figure it out. But I wasn't ready to lose you, I wanted to fight for you so badly. I would have gone to Florida. I would. I would have gone anywhere with you, I was always willing to make sacrifices for you. I think what I need to get through my dumb head is that you're not willing to do that for me. You were never willing to do that for me and I can't seem to get it in my head that I'll be okay without you because it hurts too much to walk away.

I hate you for making me feel this way. You were so special to me and everything we went through and the things we talked about were special to me and now it's over and everything is lost and I feel horrible and I just want all the pain to go away.

I'm so mad at you for getting my hopes up. You talked so much about the future and I was ready and willing and you gave up and that pisses me off. I didn't give up on you when it got rough but you gave up. It got tough and you ran

SUNDAY 1/15/17: I was drunk this day. The whole day.

MONDAY 1/16/17: “What You Wanted” by Andrew Allen

I'm starting to realize that I can get over you. Not quickly by any means and I'm sure the minute you decide I'm worth your attention and start talking to me I'll be right back where I started but I can do this, I can get over you. You couldn't handle me in my darkest moments and I hate you for that. I'm so mad that you gave up.

I'm mad that you ruined everything happy. I'm mad that Valentine's Day will be painful, Super Bowl will remind me of the time we talked and hung out for the whole game and skipped that party...barristers won't ever be the same because I felt beautiful and happy going with you...like it was a fucking dream. I can't stand the thought of being with anyone else. I'm so mad that you made me feel unworthy of being loved. I'm pissed that you have demoted me to your pal after everything we've been through. I'm so pissed this is so easy for you.

Yesterday I stopped crying. It felt good.

I've reread this note probably a dozen times in the last week. It doesn't make anything easier and I actually wish I could send it to you because I don't think you understand how hard for this has been. Would you even care? Do you think that you could stop being selfish for ten minutes to understand what I'm going through? Probably not. That's what's helping me get up in the morning because I know that I deserve better and I deserve someone who loves me without strings and can handle the dark days.

I really could have used your help moving. I was excited for you to see the new place and it's shitty of you to forget everything I needed you for and you left.

I keep trying to figure out where and when things turned bad. I need to know how you knew you couldn't make it work. I need to know what happened. I didn't get any closure.

I yelled a lot. I agree I yelled a lot. I was going through a tough time for me and  I needed to figure it out for myself. I don't know what came over me but yeah I yelled a lot I know that that's on me but you avoided and hid in work and other things for a long time. You said we were fine. You avoided it and I kept yelling because I was scared you were hiding something. I was right.

SONG CHANGE: “Just Want You To Know” by Backstreet Boys

My instincts are great. They've always been great. I knew I had reason to be scared because I knew something was wrong and you kept saying we were fine. I knew we weren't fine. Why didn't you talk to me! You kept working and being busy you avoided the problem and now I can't even talk to you about it because I know it would only hurt me more. And that sucks.

You never made me special after we started dating. That hurt.

I miss being friends. I want to text you about moving but I want to tell you about everything in my life and our friends and  brunch yesterday. It's so stupid how we used to shit on other couples but jokes on us because we didn't make it. I feel like I have no one now. I don't need you back but the fact that we lost the friendship makes me miss you more then I should. I want to be friends with you and hang out with you but I know it will make me have all these expectations that can't ever happen and that hurts, it hurts a lot.

I had this whole anniversary-Valentine's day weekend planned. It was stupid and I got my hopes up but I thought it all through. We would go to dinner at the melting pot because it's romantic and you've never been. I was going to take you there for your birthday but medieval times was 600 dollars so I decided to delay that idea... Then we would take my parents present and go skiing/snowboarding for the weekend at seven springs or wisp...a nice break after the move and school and life in general. I had it all planned even your present...I was gonna start a gofund me for your startup sunglasses company..I'd be your first investor....because I believe in your dream and I was/am proud of your initiative and how excited you get when you talk about being a business owner. All I ever wanted was to make you happy. It was stupid and I feel so stupid for making all these plans for us because I can guarantee that nothing of the sort has ever crossed your mind. It never did. And you know what that also hurts.

I keep playing this scene over and over in my head. The one where you tell me that we're incompatible and that you're feelings have changed and then you leave. I've been through a lot in my love life.  None of those compare to how painful that Morning was. Yet, you're good. You got to hiking and smoke and live it up. I was hurt and devastated and left to figure it out and I'm so fucking mad at you for that. That was so cold, were not compatible anymore. What does that even mean? Was there someone else? Ugh you infuriate me

I wish I knew what was going through your head. What you were doing and how you were feeling.

SONG CHANGE: “Ocean Eyes” by Billie Eilish

I hate sleeping in my bed. It feels really cold and it makes me miss you. I fell in love with you in my bed and I hate that every time I go to sleep I think of you. I think of how I would fall asleep on your chest, how we would laugh and wrestle and joke around. I remember when you ripped my heart out and left me. You left me hysterically crying and alone. How dare you taint everything in my life. How dare you treat me like I meant nothing. You needed me. Don't you ever forget how you needed me. I was your punching bag and your friend and I cooked and cleaned for you and loved you always. So how dare you.

Tomorrow. That's when I get rid of the last of you and your stuff. Idk if I'll ever feel better but tomorrow is when there are no reminders..no more smells...no more memories. I can't do it. If you're gonna freeze me out and leave me behind, so am I. I'm hurt and I'll be hurt for a while but I'm not going to sit around and wait for you to come to your senses and want me back. I can't live like that. So tomorrow when I hand you the last bag of stuff from my apartment, I'm turning over a new leaf. I won't hurt myself more trying to be friends if you want more space. I won't put myself out there and get shut down and made to feel pathetic anymore. I was willing and trying to be a good and better person but I won't hurt myself anymore.

TUESDAY 1/17/17: “Quit You” By The Lost Kings

I miss you. I hate so much that I miss you. I want to talk to you so badly have a conversation but I know it will hurt me. You sprinted out of class tonight and I just wish we could talk.

I'm not okay. just by the way. I'm not okay at all. Everyday is hard and when I look at you and see you it makes it worse. I miss you a lot and that fucking hurts and I need you and your support.

It hurts me to love you. I still love you and that hurts.

WEDNESDAY 1/18/17: “Oceans Away” by ARIZONA

There was this guy at the gym today who was being so weird he was like walking and then would like run really hard for 30 seconds and then stop and walk and he would do it like every 5 min it was weird and he was breathing really heavy. we used to talk about these things and hang out and get take out and watch movies and cuddle and I just miss that. I hope work is going well for you. I really like work.

Do you think about me the way I think about you? Do you ever miss me?

I hope your happy. Would you tell me if you weren't? I wish you would just talk to me again. I'm trying to walk away and I know I can I just know if once I walk away I'll never come back and I don't know if that's what I want.

I'll never get used to you not sleeping over. That was my favorite. I loved when I would wake up in the middle of the night because you couldn't get close enough and you just would snuggle me. It was warm and tight and comfortable. The way you held me was perfect. I loved it. I was excited that we had night class together because I knew you would stay over. We would cook dinner and hang out and snuggle. We would snuggle and then I'd yell at you to wake up every morning like the horrid bitch I am.

I'm so sorry I yelled and made you unhappy. I never ever wanted to make you unhappy but I can't believe you said there was nothing to fix. I can't believe after everything you didn't think we could fix it.

You were my first love. I don't think I'll ever love someone the way I loved you.

Our relationship started and ended at the movie theater I was just thinking about that. We went to see deadpool on Valentine's Day last year and the night before you ripped my heart out we saw the new Star Wars movie. At the same theater. Weird right?

Thursday 1/19/17: “Yesterday’s Song” by Hunter Hayes

Today is two weeks. I thought about texting you a bunch today for various different reasons, but I didn't.

It's funny watching your reactions to people speak in biz orgs. It made me laugh, I think you saw. I'm not sure though.

I didn't know why you left biz orgs early I was worried I hope everything is okay. I wondered if you were sick. I wish I knew what was going on in your life again. I keep trying to figure out where you went because I'm nosy and I worry all the time. I worry about you a lot.

Tonight was weird. All I wanted to do was tell you about it. Every time something happened all I wanted to do was tell you. Tonight was the first time in over a year I went out without you. I don't know if I liked it but I knew you would have hated tonight. It was a weird crowd.  I didn't cry today and I'm not crying now which is new and different, maybe it's because I ate pizza and drank whiskey, maybe it's because I'm gonna move on but I also miss you a lot and I wish we would talk. You smiled at me today and i loved it. I've been thinking about it all day. I just hope your happy. That's all I want is you to be happy.

FRIDAY 1/20/17: “Setting Fires” by The Chainsmokers

I could have really used your help moving. I keep thinking about that. I really could have used your help. I wish you would talk to me I have no one to talk to and it's sucks. I don't know what's up with you or if your happy and I keep hoping and praying that you'll just fucking talk to me. You smile at me at school and I want to fucking melt because you have a great adorable smile and I think we can do this friends thing and then you won't even look at me or speak words or anything. These mixed messages are killing me. I was so good yesterday and this morning but moving is making me mad and sad and I can't keep it together.

I fell in love with you in this apartment. Maybe it's good that I'm moving get rid of all the memories.

I want to text you so bad but I feel like if I do, you'll have won.

I'm so sad to leave my apartment. I had so many great memories here...especially with you. It feels like everything is ending, why is everything ending. I can't stop thinking about what you could be doing and what's on your mind, I wish I knew. I wish I could talk to you about moving and vent to you. It would probably piss you off and make you not love me anyway. I'm really sad about leaving this apartment and I don't know why.

SATURDAY 1/21/17: “I Almost Do” by Taylor Swift

Last night And this morning I was alone packing my whole apartment. I was super sad but being in my apartment was hard and I think change will be good for me. Seriously good look that you got out before you had to help. But all I needed was your support.

I would have probably yelled at you the whole time and told you weren't doing it right so if you hadn't ended it two weeks ago you would have probably ended it today because you would have been miserable and just counting the seconds until you could leave or maybe just avoiding the whole thing by just playing games on your phone. I'm so sorry I made you unhappyI really am. I keep having dreams where we get back together, every night and then waking up fucking sucks because I'm alone and cold and you're not even talking to me.

I'm crying again. I went two days without crying which was pretty good if I do say so myself. But here I am alone in my apartment and crying again. The cat is just staring at me.

We had our first date here, had sex for the first time here, talked about and planned our lives, fell in love here, celebrated here...I mean everything in the last year that we did...is in this apartment.  I just think moving solidifies that we're over and I'm still very hurt and sad that we couldn't make it work. Why couldn't we work it out? Did you really think we were unfixable? I really hope that you can find your happy.

SUNDAY 1/22/17: “You Think You Know Somebody” by Hunter Hayes

I can't believe I'm still writing in this. Some days are easier then others. But moving was hard. I can't believe you didn't even offer to help. Not that I would have let you but a "friend" would have offered. I just opened a drawer I cleaned out and you know what was in there? Hair from your beard that must have been attached to your razor that you left here all the time. I felt like sending you a picture but couldn't do that because we're nothing anymore.

You moved yourself in to every aspect of my fucking life and when it got tough you ran away. How dare you. I'm still so mad at you because I still love you and that sucks. It hurts and it sucks. I want to move on so badly but every time I get close to moving on something hits me like the hair you left in the drawer and I miss you and wish you never let go again. That sucks.

It sucks that it feels like the last year was nothing to you, like it never happened like everything we said and experienced is just gone. That sucks.

I keep wishing you'd miss me....or at least talk to me

MONDAY 1/23/17

I really thought you would text me once you saw I wasn't in class today. I guess that's really a reflection on how much I ever mattered to you. I was sick all day and all I could think about was if you would care. Like how messed up is that?

I don't understand how it's almost been three weeks and it still hurts so much.

I miss having sex with you. I miss falling asleep next to you and kissing you and laughing with you. I just fucking miss you all the time.

WEDNESDAY 1/25/17: “IDFWU” by Big Sean

so last night sucked. I wanted to talk to you so bad. I keep having all these mixed feelings and all I want to do is talk to you.

This is what I wanted to say:

It's not fair you get to be mean. I'm trying my best to move on and give you space like you wanted. I would love to say that being friends with you is something I can easily do but it's not. I can't be friends with you because I still love you. And that sucks and its hurts every time I see you or think about you. It hurts. It hurts because I wanted to fight for us and make it work and the minute it got rough and things got rocky you left, you ran away. So you don't get to mean, you don't get to be mad, you walked out on me, you broke my heart.

WE WERE SUPPOSED TO MAKE IT.

You made me promises and talked about our future and then you walked out. You haven't picked up the phone to talk to me and you haven't tried to be my friend. So I get to figure out how to be ok without you and you have to deal with that. You don't get to roll your eyes at me in an elevator or speak to me in a harsh condescending tone. This is what you wanted, not me. You left me.

If you want to have an adult conversation I'll be here.

SUNDAY 1/29/2017: “Vacation” by GRL

I thought you were the one. Truly I did. I'm trying hard to tell myself that not having you is for the best and I'll be fine without you.

This weekend was good for me, I got hit on a lot. I was told I was pretty and intimidating and that felt good. I thought I was gonna get my groove back!

But now that I'm sitting alone and thinking AGAIN I'm second guessing my mental state. I'm pretty sure if you came back I would take you back and I hate that.  

I keep telling myself about all the times you didn't appreciate me and all the times that I made you the center of my universe and let you live in my house and put work into your friends and family and our relationship and you did nothing. You stopped trying and you were uncommunicative and you ran away when it got hard. I gave you my everything.

I stayed cool when you ignored me around your friends. I took the brunt of you stress when you were fired, when moot court was horrible, when school got hard, when you hated working, I agreed to do whatever you needed whenever you needed it.

When I cleaned your beach house, I was cool.  When you went to Atlantic City and South Carolina, I helped you draft emails and I proof read your work and I cooked you dinner and I made you feel loved and special. I coddled you for a year and made you feel like the sun. You're not the sun. IM THE SUN and I deserve better. You never did half of what I did for you. I know I deserve better but here I am fucking upset and crying again about how I want you back. It's really fucked up. You hurt me so bad and all I want is your attention again. All I want is you and you couldn't care less. You never cared for me the way I cared for you and I don't know why I can't get that through my head.

Even now. You want to be friends but you wont talk to me at all. You have been radio silence for almost a month. You act like the last year of our lives meant nothing and that sucks because it meant everything to me. I know that I will find someone who is amazing and is everything your not but I'm scared. I'm scared that I will compare everyone to you. I'm scared that I'll move on and finally be okay and you'll come back. Yeah I wish you would come back everyday and I wish you thought about me and missed me and I wish this was hard for you.

But I know none of those things are true and that should be enough for me to move on and never look back. I don't give second chances especially when you hurt me and left me and won't talk to me outside of school because I won't be made to feel like I'm worthless because like I said I'm the sun and deserve to be treated the way I treated you.

You told me you were invested. You liar.

MONDAY 1/30/17: “In Repair” by John Mayer

Last year this time was our first date. I don't think I was ever so nervous for something in my life. Not nervous in a bad way or anything I just couldn't believe someone like you wanted to be with me. It excited me. Now I have to relive all those great moments by myself. Alone. That sucks

I never felt like I chained you up or didn't let you do what you wanted to do. I always felt like I was fair in that respect. If you wanted time with your friends I never questioned you or bothered you during it or said no. I never got jealous. I just wanted some mutual respect and understanding. Why was that so hard for you? Why did that make you so unhappy?

SATURDAY 2/4/17: “Drink You Away” by Justin Timberlake

You know what I miss the most? I miss falling asleep in your arms and feeling safe like I belonged there. I miss the feeling of being safe.

Every time I think I miss you I try to remember all the reasons why this is better for me. That's harder then one would think. Even after about a month the hurt is still there and being around you makes me so sad. I just wish we could have made it work. But like I was saying I'm trying to remind myself that you're not what I want and you didn't treat me the way I deserved to be treated. But I love you and I can't stop and I just want to stop.

I kissed someone else last night. It sucked and I hated it. I missed you. I hate myself for feeling guilty because idk what you're doing or who you're doing but I feel guilty. I still keep hoping you'll miss me and come back which is so fucked up. But it's what I'm feeling and I hate it

Two songs I leave you with: “I Miss You” by Grey and “Heartbreaks” by Terror Jr

So heres the thing. I don’t wish you any ill will. You were my first love and I will probably always love you. You made me feel beautiful and safe and secure always. You never made me feel insecure about my body and you are a pretty good guy. I do want you to be happy. That’s all I have ever wanted for you. But I need to be happy too and I need to find someone that weathers the storm when life gets tough and who treats me the way i deserve to be treated. always.

SONG CHANGE: “She Will Be Loved” by Maroon 5

Today is February 15, 2017. I stopped writing in my note 11 days ago. 11 days, that might not seem like a lot but to me thats eternity. I didn’t need a crutch. When you snapped me that “you were up to no good” after I had talked myself up to a night out. After you snap texted me a valentines day joke. I was ok. I will be okay. Tonight when I go on a date with someone else I’ll be okay. I will get over you and I will find someone who treats me the way I deserved, the way I treated you.