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eirabach · 4 years

Text

Starcrossed [1/1]

My contribution to @pen-and-ink-week-2020 day one, prompts: camping / steady.

Gordon’s got mud in his hair and splinters in his knees and a blood blister on his palm from a mallet he had absolutely no idea how to use and Virgil -- Virgil needs to wipe that look off his face right this damn second.

“I cannot believe I let you talk me into this.”

Virgil, the bastard, is grinning from ear to ear. “Hey, you asked for my advice and my advice was to do something different and memorable. Not go bury your excrement in the woods memorable. That’s on you, kid.”

Gordon drops back onto the crinkly nylon nest he’s fashioned from their sleeping bags, and presses the heels of his palms into his eyes.

“Oh this is a disaster. This is such a disaster. I need evac. A new name. Safe house. The works.”

Virgil sighs, and taps his tiny holographic foot against the painfully out of place pink leather overnight bag that’s jammed up against the tentpole.

“You’re being over dramatic. She hasn’t actually left.” He pauses, craning his head as though he can’t already see the entirety of the two man tent from the comm’s spot at Gordon’s feet. “Has she?”

“I have sent,” Gordon hisses between clenched teeth, “a member of the aristocracy to fetch firewood.”

“Sounds fair to me, she wants to eat right?” Virgil’s grin is so big it must physically pain him. Gordon hopes so. “Vive la revolution!”

“Vir--gil.”

“Gor-don.”

Beyond the gentle rustling of the wind through the redwoods and the sound of his own internal mental breakdown, comes a high pitched and familiar yelp. Gordon scrambles upright as best he can, clutching the comm to his chest with unsteady hands.

“Oh god, she’s coming back.”

“Yeah, that was the plan right? Gordon --” Virgil’s not grinning quite as big anymore and his voice turns gentle. “It’s gonna be okay. It’s Penelope. And you. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Gordon grimaces, peeling back the tent’s zipper far enough to see her, her hair tucked up under a worn IR branded bobble hat, her back to him as she drops an armful of kindling into the centre of the clearing. “Yeah, I mean, she could realise. And run. Yeah, that’s pretty much what I’m worried about.”

Virgil rolls his eyes. “Gordon --”

“Gordon!”

Virgil squarks unhappily as Gordon tosses the comm over his shoulder.

“Hey! Hi, yes. Hello.”

The tip of Penelope’s nose is pink from the autumn chill, and when she smiles it scrunches up tight as the band that seems to have appeared around his chest..

“You sound surprised to see me.” She moves to peer around him and into the tent proper. ”What are you up to in there?”

“Nothing?”

“Really?” She steps back, gesturing to the woodpile. “Well, since you’re a gentleman of leisure, does this meet with your approval?”

Gordon winces, and begins struggling to extradite himself from the really very much too small tent. Yet another plan that had seemed like such a good idea at the time.

“I didn’t mean like, nothing nothing.”

“Oh of course.” Penelope nods sagely. “The other sort of nothing.”

“Yeah exactl -- Bertie!” A tiny flash of cream and black comes barrelling into him as he tries to untangle the zip, sending Gordon flying back into the tent in a cacophony of tearing fabric. He scrambles back up and stares at the tent door, which is now hanging morosely in raggedy strips. “This is -- kinda a disaster isn’t it?”

Penelope pops her hands on her hips, and smiles down at him fondly.

“Oh I don’t know, I can’t see any Thunderbirds swooping down to save the day.”

Gordon groans. “Don’t tempt me.”

“Oh come along, darling. Fresh air, nature, what’s not to love?” She steps forward, and drops to her knees in the leaf mulch before him. “You’re not getting spoiled by your tropical island lifestyle are you?”

“Uh, this was my idea?”

“So I recall. Sold to me on the promise of ‘smores and cuddling and really darling --” she taps her watch. “I seem to be suffering from a distinct lack of either.”

Gordon slaps at the remains of the tent doorway and clambers out, pulling Penelope to her feet as he does so. Behind them Bertie is busy tugging a tartan blanket free, his tail wagging frantically as he wraps himself up in it.

“Sorry,” he says, wrapping his arms around her waist and swaying slightly as she leans back to place her own arms around his neck. “That’s very remiss of me.”

“Very,” she says, and goes to rest her cheek on his shoulder. “Is there something wrong, Gordon?”

The leaves crunch under their feet and Gordon buries his nose in the soft wool of the ugly hat. It smells like her perfume and ozone and island heat and he’d wondered where she’d gone and got it from and huh, now he knows.

“You stole my hat.”

“I borrowed it.”

“That’s a crime, Penelope.”

“Are you trying to change the subject?”

“Are you trying to get away with stealing my hat?”

Penelope draws back, soft smile replaced by a line between her brows that makes Gordon’s chest hurt. “You can have it back, you know.”

“No -- god no. You look way better in it than I ever did anyway,” he smiles a little brighter for her, and kisses the line until it melts away. “Sorry if I’m being weird. I kinda -- I don’t know. Nervous, I guess.”

And then she’s smiling again, and the world rights itself slightly. “I am threateningly attractive in this hat.”

“Oh, very.”

“And you do have to prove your manliness to me.”

“Oh?” The world tilts again, but for very different reasons as Penny pushes her body against his. “I think I can probably --”

And then she’s gone, practically prancing across the clearing to the pile of wood. She holds two pieces up, her lip between her teeth, and wriggles her eyebrows at him.

“You promised me ‘smores.”

---

He proves his manly worth eventually, and the campfire he coaxed and wheedled into existence burns bright as the full moon rises overhead.

He’d brought camp chairs, but they sit abandoned where he’d dumped them, and the two of them lie side by side on the blanket Bertie had liberated, cooling cups of tea at their sides, their breathing steady and rhythmic under a spinning, starbright sky.

“It rather puts everything into perspective, don’t you think?”

“Hmm?”

Penelope waves a hand up at the sky. “All -- all of everything. Sometimes it all can feel a little overwhelming, and then I think -- well.” She drops her hand, wriggles a little closer into his side. “I think that sometimes it’s all too easy to forget that this whole planet of ours -- every one on it -- we are so terribly tiny aren’t we?”

“Jesus, Pen.” He pinches her side slightly, squeezing his arm underneath her as she jumps and pulling her as tight against him as he can manage. “I get enough short jokes at home.”

“Oh ha ha, I don’t mean that in a bad way --”

“That I’m short?”

She smacks at his belly, and her laugh rings through the trees and out into the universe. “Gordon!”

“Sorry, sorry.”

Penny shakes her head slightly. She’s lost the hat at some point during the evening, and her hair catches on the rough blanket, tickles his nose. “I just -- sometimes I need reminding that I’m allowed this, that’s all. That we have a place.”

“Tell me about it.” It’s hardly more than a breath, hardly out loud at all, but Penny’s hand settles on his where it lies at her waist and her fingers twist tight between his own.

The moonlight forms a silvery halo around her upturned face, her soft breaths forming little puffs of cloud that float and fizzle away in the chill night air, and it’s just the two of them, the rest of the world banished from the circle of the campfire’s light. It’s -- it’s a moment.

Gordon’s other hand settles in the pocket of his jacket, and he grips the velveteen box tightly as he tries to steady his nerves. Imagines Virgil, the way he’d rolled his eyes and said, what’s the worst that could happen?

And Gordon looks at Penelope and Penelope looks at the stars and he thinks forever.

I could lose this forever.

And he thinks -- he thinks -- he can’t.

He uncurls his fingers from the box, slips his hand free to thumb at a chocolatey smear on her cheek. Penelope turns her face into the palm of his hand and sighs.

“Thank you,” she says. “I needed this.”

Gordon goes to scoff, but then she’s dipping her head to drop a kiss to his wrist and his heartbeat skitters and skips under her lips.

“Take me to bed?”

She doesn’t have to ask twice.

---

Morning has brought a bright autumnal dawn, perfect yellow light pouring through the poorly pinned doorway to settle on the dew damp curls at Penelope’s temples, freckles burnished gold against her cheeks.

He’s seen a lot of beautiful things in his life. Beautiful places. Corals, neon pink and orange in a turquoise sea, otherworldly sunsets, cave systems that glow lilac with phosphorescence, the way a mother’s face twists when he places their lost baby back in their arms.

He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything as beautiful as this.

Penny’s all twisted up in the sleeping bags, the zips long abandoned, her hair wild with static, her arm thrown over her head. There’s a pug snoring between her knees, her elbow’s half an inch from his nose, her lips are chapped from the chill air, and he loves her. God, but he loves her.

And Gordon -- Gordon can’t help it. He leans over, kisses the tip of her cold nose and whispers;

“Marry me.”

Blue eyes snap open shrewd and bright, so bright, that the part of Gordon that’s not currently freaking the fuck out wonders, briefly, if her perfect peaceful sleep was just a bit too perfect. “Pardon?”

Oh, oh this is not the way this is meant to happen. No. No way. He wriggles away from her as best he can, backs himself right up until the tent is sticking to his back and Penny -- Penny is staring at him as though he’s actually lost the plot.

He’s totally lost the plot.

She’s worrying her lip between her teeth, that furrow back between her brows and oh god he’s fucking this up isn’t he. He knew he would. He knew it. “Gordon, did you --”

“No! No, not -- not no -- just hang on -- hang on I was meant to do this -- stand up.” He gestures, a tad wildly, and Penelope blinks at him. Maybe she had actually been sleeping after all. Maybe he can convince her this is some sort of terrible nightmare.

“I -- excuse me?”

He takes an unsteady breath, attempts to gather whatever wits he possesses, and scuffles around for his discarded jacket. His fingers finally close around the box, and he squeezes his eyes shut. At least he’s already on his knees. “You gotta -- you gotta stand up.”

“I don’t think -- “ she starts, but then he’s pulling the box out of his pocket and even though he literally would rather okay face a tsunami naked than open his eyes, he can still hear her sharp intake of breath. Oh god.

“Okay -- okay darling, look at me all right?” He opens one eye, risks a glance upward to see her bent almost double, the cross pole of the tent across her shoulders. “There now, better?”

“Penelope --”

Maybe he feels the tension, or maybe he is just a tiny little asshole, but this, this moment, is the very moment Bertie chooses to rouse from his slumber and leap up at Penelope’s legs.

He launches himself with such force that the slippery nylon that makes up their bed shifts, and Penelope, already off balance and folded like a half shut knife, jumps in shock. The cross pole shudders and -- oh, shit.

Penelope lands in a heap, and the tent follows her collapsing on top of them like one of grandma’s souffles. Bertie whimpers unhappily, wriggling his way free of a sea of wet nylon to force himself bodily between them. He laps at Gordon’s shaking hand, then looks up at Penny with huge, innocent eyes.

Bertie, Gordon decides, has been spending far too much time with Parker.

He goes to tell Penny as much, but to his horror he sees big, fat tears rolling down her cheeks, her eyes red and rimmed black with yesterday’s mascara. He scans her for wounds, protruding tent poles, anything that might explain the funny little gasping sounds she’s making, as though she can’t quite catch her breath.

“Are you hurt? What -- did you sprain something? Tell me where it hurts.”

Penelope shakes her head fiercely. “No, no I’m not hurt.”

She half laughs, a strained, breathless little thing, and moves to hover her hand over the little box.

Gordon looks down. Penelope might be not quite touching it, but Bertie is resting his nose against the golden clasp holding it closed and looking up at Gordon like --

Like even the dog can’t quite believe the mess he’s making of this.

“Oh don’t -- I’m sorry Penny, I’m sorry-- don’t cry. Oh wow, this has gone even worse than I expected.”

She laughs again, he can feel it against the crown of his head as he tries very hard to curl up into himself and disappear entirely. “Gordon Tracy, you are the most ridiculous man --”

“Don’t rub it in Pen, jeez.”

“Will you let me finish?” Her voice is sharp, and he snaps his head up. She’s smiling all the same, even though her cheeks are still streaked with tears “Thank you.” He just nods, lost for words, lost entirely and just waiting for her next words to set him back up. To show him where to go. They’re close enough in the wreckage of the tent for her to rest her forehead against his, her words quite as a whisper but all the clearer for them. “You asked me once if you were my favourite.”

Gordon swallows hard. “Yeah. I remember.”

She smiles, and their noses knock together. “Ask me again.”

“Am I your favourite?”

A huff of breath against his mouth. Irritable, but so close, so much closer than he’d ever thought he deserved. “Not that.”

“Wh--” And she pulls back, just enough. Just enough that he can see himself reflected in her pupils, blown wide and dark and waiting. “Oh.”

“Oh. And I’m not getting up.”

He spares a glance around them, the tent now more a cocoon than anything else. “Don’t think either of us are.”

“Gordon.” She reaches for the box with shaking hands, opens it, pulls out the ring and presses it into his hand. Rose gold. Pink, of course. Pretty and delicate and set with a stone that has outlived its last owner by some twenty years. There’s a scar across its surface, avalanche blue, but he kinda likes that. The promise of outlasting whatever the universe throws at them. Penelope’s breath catches, as she withdraws her right hand to scrub at flushed cheeks, leaves her left in his. “Ask me again.”

“Oh. Right.” There’s that. The asking. He takes another deep breath. Steadier. Certain. “Penelope,” he says, and man she’s still crying but she’s nodding and that -- that seems positive, right? He powers on. There’d been a speech. He’d practiced it on Alan, who’d swooned very beautifully right off the balcony and into the pool. He doesn’t bother with it now. Sticks to the basics. “I am an idiot.”

“Yes you are,” she agrees, and her smile, her smile is brighter than the sunshine, brighter than anything. It’s the only light he needs, the only hope.

“Do you think you could maybe marry me anyway?”

She kisses him, hot and open, tears salty on her lips and a plea on her tongue and together --

Together they taste like yes.

#pen&inkweek2020 #thunderbirds #thunderbirds are go #gordon tracy #penelope creighton ward #clare vs writers block

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camillemontespan · 4 years

Text

intoxicated thoughts [drake x camille] [one shot]

LAST FIC OF THE WEEKEND!

I got caught up writing Drake and Camille angst. I felt inspired. This is so angsty. I hope it has some humour? And I hope I captured Drake’s POV. This follows similar fics I’ve done in relation to his dreams, you can find them on my master list.

Warnings: Just a lot of swearing because it’s Drunk Drake.

@moonlightgem7 @burnsoslow @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @ibldw-main @emichelle @rainbowsinthestorm

@jovialyouthmusic @saivilo @loveellamae @mskaneko @katedrakeohd @sirbeepsalot @dcbbw @gardeningourmet @pug-bitch @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @drakesensworld @walkerswhiskeygirl ***********************************************************************

You woke me up again.

That’s the fifth night in a row now. This is getting ridiculous.

The fifth night in a row where I wake up in a tangle of sheets soaked with my sweat, my heart pounding and the other side of the bed empty. I wake up alone, as always. But the image of you is clear in my mind’s eye.

What happened this time? Ah yeah. We were in this garden that had cherry blossom trees growing and the sun was shining. I was sat down on a deckchair with a bottle of beer in my hand and I was watching you play with this little girl on the grass.

The little girl’s face wasn’t clear; hell, she could have been pixelated. I don’t remember what she looked like. But I remember you perfectly. You were wearing a red sundress with spaghetti straps. Your skin glimmered in the sunlight. You were laughing and twirling the little girl around.

You turned to where I was sitting and asked the little girl, ‘Shall we ask daddy to play with us?’

That was when I woke up.

That’s how this works, you see. Every night, I go to bed and fall asleep. You appear in my dreams, we do cute things like get married, have kids, typical cutesy things, and that’s when I bolt up from my slumber. Every night, I wake and every night I clamber out of bed to pour myself a glass of whiskey.

Whiskey helps. Whiskey clouds my thoughts and soon makes me sleepy again. My head hits the pillow and I surrender to a dreamless state, one devoid of thoughts of you.

That’s how this works.

So, I’m pouring myself whiskey now. A good double measure, that will help. I swear to God, my alcohol intake has quadrupled since I met you.

*********************************************************************

I work hard to not think of you during the day and I gotta admit, I’ve become pretty good at it. It’s easy after a while. As soon as I think of you, I pinch myself hard and that reminds me to think of something else. It’s at night time that my mind betrays me and the image of you runs rampant.

Whenever I see you in the day, I’m.. indifferent. I act like I tolerate your company, which is for your own good. Really, it is. But sometimes, you make me laugh. And smile. And you make me more talkative which is fucking annoying because I hate talking.

You always seem to want me around which doesn’t make sense. Why would you want me around you? I’m Drake Walker. I’m nobody. The only friend I have is Liam while the other courtiers act like I don’t exist. When people start acting like you barely make an impact, you start to believe it.

But you make an effort to talk to me. You ask me to sit beside you at dinner, when you could just sit with Liam or Maxwell. Maybe it’s because you know I’ll be sat near the end of the table, talking to no one, while trying to work out which fork is the correct one to use. You pity me, that’s it.

Question: why are there so many forks?!

This whiskey tastes good. You know my dad always drank whiskey? That’s why I drink it. I guess it makes me feel sorta close to him if I drink his favourite tipple. Is that tragic? Whatever, I don’t care..

I’m thinking about you again, acting like you’re here. Why do I do this to myself? Why prolong the angsty torture?

Sometimes, I think I should just fuck a random girl and that’ll put aside any feelings I have for you. Kiara always seems keen, she flirts a lot, but I couldn’t bear the idea of leading her on. I may not have a lot of emotion but I’m not an asshole. I was raised right by my mom and I have a sister. I treat women with respect.

The thing is, no other woman really compares to you. You shine. You bring a little sparkle with you wherever you go and you just get on with it. You haven’t let this suitor competition intimidate you. Never played polo before? Fuck it, you’ll learn how. Never danced the Cordonian Waltz? Fuck it, you’ll constantly rehearse the steps until you get it right.

Which brings me to my next thing.

You’re trying so hard to be good at this competition which means you want to win. You want to win so you will marry Liam.

That’s the harsh reality I have to drill into my thick skull.

Fuck, I need another whiskey. There we go. Double measure, nice, nice, nice.

But we’ve shared moments together! We shared fucking whiskey in Olivia’s cellar. Now that was good fucking whiskey. We drank and talked and joked. For one time, my walls were down and you saw the real Drake Walker. You seemed to like me.

Then another other time, we went out for dinner! To an Italian restaurant! Like a date! Whyyyy? Why did I invite you out? It was like Lady and the Tramp. Except we’re not dogs and there was no accordion playing waiter or singing and we didn’t have the last string of spaghetti and I didn’t give you a meatball, but still, it was close. It was weirdly intimate.

Have you ever seen Lady and the Tramp? Those Siamese cats are fucking terrifying. Anyway… more whiskey please. It doesn’t seem to be working right now, why are you still in my fucking head? Get out of my head. Just once, I want you out of my head so I can get some sleep.

*************************************************

The whiskey is not working. I tried to sleep again but no, you keep running around in my head. All I see is you. Your smile. Your brown eyes with gold flecks. Your ass when you wear those jeans that shape you perfectly.

Damn, your ass.

I’m reaching for that whiskey bottle again. Another measure will do it; it’ll help me sleep. It burns my throat as I swallow, fiery medicine. The room is spinning a little which is a good sign because it means I’ll soon be close to blacking out. Every little helps.

Do you know I like you? I don’t think you do. I think I confuse you. One minute, I’m sarcastic and the next, I’m making a joke. Fucks sake, I call you by your last name all the time which you will definitely see as a slight. I don’t mean it; it’s the only way to keep you at arms length. If I say your name to your face, it means I’ve let you in. But I got no issue with saying your name right now.

Camille. Camille. Camille.

It sounds delicious on my tongue.

Drake and Camille.

No, stop it. This is the equivalent of writing your name paired with my last name on the back of a notebook like a school girl. And I, Drake Jackson Walker, am not a school girl. I am a 28 year old grown ass man with a potential drinking problem.

Camille Walker.

Jesus, I need more whiskey.

*************************************************************

Okay, so I’ll tell you about the dream I had last night. We were in bed together - no, not having sex - just in bed. Innocent. You were snuggled up into the crook of my arm and reading aloud from your book to me. I think it was a book of love poems. I can’t remember which poem it was, though I don’t actually know any poems so why am I wasting time trying to work out which poem you read out for me?

It was a cosy dream. It was a boring dream, yes, but it showed a snapshot of a life I guess I wouldn’t mind having? That make sense? That’s what I think these dreams are - they’re my subconscious showing me things I actually want but will never have.

So I guess you could call them nightmares.

***********************************************************

The whiskey is finally working. My eyes are struggling to stay open and my body feels heavy. I’m definitely gonna be hungover tomorrow. Fuck, what excruciating event has the palace planned for tomorrow?

Applewood.

Fuck, we’re visiting Applewood tomorrow. Fuck.

The mere thought of that makes me want to drink more. I hate having to travel to fancy manor houses with the rest of court. There’s rarely time to steal for yourself. You have to be social. You can’t hide. You have to engage in small talk and ignore every barbed comment, every tiny dig and act like nothing bothers you.

You’ve defended me to Olivia. I’ll never forget that. It was at Lythikos and Olivia was in a particularly bitchy mood. She brought up my sister and I walked out into the snow, not caring that it was rude. She went too far.

I heard you tell her that if she didn’t wipe the smirk off her face then you would smack it off for her. You then followed me out, bundled up in a scarf and coat. For thirty minutes, we talked. We lay on our backs in the snow, looking up at the meteor shower, and talked.

It would have been seen as a romantic moment for anyone. It was romantic. That was the beginning of my feelings you see; that was when I began to think that maybe, somehow, you cared for me. You even took my hand when we walked back to the lodge, saying it was for ‘safety.’

So why are you tryin’ so hard to win this contest? I can’t work you out.

All I want is to tell you that I like you. Like really like you. But I can’t afford to be vulnerable because no doubt you will be chosen by Liam and you will marry him. You don’t need to know my feelings. I wouldn’t burden you with them.

Fuck I’m not usually this angsty.

This is why I don’t talk to people or open up. Opening up is like opening Pandora’s box. I’d rather keep to myself, have no ties, no disappointment. Because, Camille, in the end, you will marry my best friend and I will have to deal with that. I’ll probably be best man at your wedding. I’ll have to say a speech about how good it is to see Liam in love. I’ll have to give some ‘funny’ anecdotes and then comment on how you’re too good for him but then I’ll laugh and say I’m kidding when really I fucking mean it.

Nah, I don’t mean that.

Fuck it, I do.

Whiskey. One more measure.

****************************************************************

If we got married, it would be in Texas. I’d take you back to the ranch and we would exchange vows on the jetty by the lake. It would be a small affair; like, thirty people maximum? We would have guests choose from whiskey or wine - no champagne, I hate the fucking stuff - and we’d play rock and roll music. I can totally see you getting down to Elvis.

We can’t go on together with suspicious minds and we can't build our dreams on suspicious minds…

My mom loves Polk Salad Annie. You could dance with her to that song and sing along. Then everyone would leave and it would just be us, dancing slowly by the lake. I dunno what our song would be. Maybe we would dance without music? Just listen to the sound of the crickets. Maybe I’d sing for you?

Fuck, I’m drunk. I never sing.

But then we would kiss and the kiss would turn into something more. I would help you out of your wedding dress, careful not to rip it, and I would take you in my arms and I’d make love to you right there by the water.

Jesus, that thought’s got me really hard.

***********************************************************

I needed that release.

It’s 3am now. I need to sleep. I need to just stop thinking about you. I need to stop drinking whiskey. I need to stop jerking myself off as I imagine you naked under me. Right, bed time. I’m gonna just close my eyes, count some sheep and I’ll be asleep before I know it.

*********************************************************

Can’t sleep. What a shocker.

Another measure of whiskey. Just keep em’ comin’ invisible bartender.

You know, your room is just down the hall. I could just go to your door, knock and tell you how I feel.

Yeah! Let’s fucking do it. Let’s tell you how I feel! Then I can come back here and get to sleep. And if you don’t feel the same, it’s cool because I can just say I was hammered (which I am FYI) and laugh it off.

Yeah, I’m going to your room. We gotta talk.

***********************************************************

Camille woke up to slow knocking on her door. Groaning, she rubbed her bleary eyes and checked the alarm clock on the bedside table.

3.30am. Who was at her door at this time? If it was Maxwell again coming to tell her his new book idea, he would have another thing coming.

She stumbled through the dark and unlocked her door to find Drake standing at the threshold.

Standing being a loose term. ‘Swaying’ seemed more apt. His eyes were bloodshot and red rimmed. His hair was ruffled and he was wearing a white t-shirt with check pyjama bottoms. He looked like he hadn’t had much sleep. He stank of whiskey.

‘Drake?’

He pushed past her and practically fell into the room. He nearly knocked over the bedside lamp and cursed as he managed to catch it. ‘Fuck, sorry..’

His voice was slurred. He turned to face her and Camille waited to see what he was going to say. Like, why was he here?

‘We gotta talk,’ he said, his voice thick. ‘Bout ‘portant stuff.’

Camille frowned. ‘Important stuff?’

Drake nodded furiously. ‘Very important stuff.’

Camille wrung her hands together. ‘You’ve been drinking,’ she said softly. ‘Maybe go to sleep? We can talk in the morning-’

‘NO WE TALK NOW!’ Drake hollered, exasperation flooding his voice. ‘Now! It’s important.’

Camille sighed. ‘Okay. What do you want to talk about?’

Drake looked like he was bracing himself. He raised a finger in the air, swaying like a palm tree in the breeze, and was about to speak when his face suddenly turned green and he dry heaved.

Camille was alert instantly. ‘Drake? You okay?’

Drake shook his head, clapping his hand to his mouth. ‘Gonna be sick..’

Camille opened the door to the en-suite and pulled Drake inside. He fell to his knees and positioned himself over the toilet bowl, emptying the contents of his stomach. His fingers clenched the toilet rim as he threw up.

Camille grabbed a flannel and poured it under the cold tap. Gently, she crouched down beside him and placed the flannel on his forehead that was beaded with sweat. ‘Shh Drake, it’s okay,’ she whispered, rubbing his back. She could feel his muscles tense as he heaved.

‘Oh god, this is embarrassing,’ Drake groaned, before vomiting again. Camille smiled despite herself and continued to rub his back.

‘We’ve all been there, Walker,’ she told him. ‘You’re human like the rest of us.’

Drake responded by throwing up again.

As she watched him, she felt that familiar sense of protectiveness for him. This was the Drake nobody else but her got to see. Granted, he was vomiting right now, but he was vulnerable. Why had he drank so much tonight? Why had he turned up at her door? What did he want to talk about?

Was it about their friendship, to give it a loose name?

Or did he know she liked him? Like, really liked him?

Did he know she thought about him all the time and wanted to quit the competition?

Or maybe he had just found a really good bottle of whiskey and had wanted to tell her.

Drake stopped throwing up and wiped his mouth with the flannel.

‘Sorry..’ he muttered.

‘It’s okay. Can you stand?’

Drake nodded and pulled himself up. He promptly fell against the sink, making Camille reach out to grab him.

‘Let’s get you to bed,’ she said, taking him by the arm. He leaned on her as she led him to her bed.

‘No no, not your bed!’ he protested. ‘No-’

‘I’m not sending you back to your room where you may vomit in your sleep,’ Camille interrupted. ‘You’re staying with me tonight and that’s final.’

Drake wrinkled his nose. ‘Jesus, Montespan, you’re bossy.’

*************************************************************************

Camille curled up on her side and closed her eyes. She felt Drake roll over and his arm went around her body, pulling her in close. The gesture was intimate and very un-Drakelike. Confused, Camille turned to ask him if he was feeling alright.

But he was asleep.

He looked content and untroubled and for that reason, Camille didn’t wake him. She rolled back over and let him spoon her, eventually falling asleep herself.

#drake walker #drake walker x mc #trr fanfic #the royal romance

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solastia · 5 years

Text

Feels So Right | 1

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader

Word Count: 1,804

Summary: Yoongi’s falling in love with his neighbor. She’s beautiful, talented, has the same sense of humor, great taste in music - and she’s married.

Warnings: Emotional manipulation, domestic violence(all from the male OC, not our main characters). Infidelity. Eventual smut.

Notes: Commissioned by @ehn-ee-elle (I probably made it angstier than you wanted and I’m sorry. I’m unable to stop myself)

I was originally going to try to make this just one long one shot, but the ideas I had for it and the pacing I needed for their relationship would have made it way too long. So here we go with another series! It won’t be a very long one, as I’m hoping to be able to keep it between three and four chapters. I also really wanted to get this first chapter finished and published since I’m still working on Break My Stride and Tuqburni as well. P.S. Potato the pug is my dog irl. That’s right, I did a dog insert. Behold his awesomeness.

“A curse upon all people that decide to move in the middle of the night like psychos,” Yoongi groans, cracking his neck as he forces himself out of bed. He could have sworn that he’d even heard screaming and crying, and not the good kind. Just the type of neighbors everyone dreams about.

He grabs the worn black hoodie draped across his computer chair and pulls it on. A quick glance down to make sure he even has pants on is good enough. It’s too early for him to care about anyone seeing his Iron Man lounge pants.

Yoongi yawns loudly, ruffling his hair as he walks towards the front door. His little brown poodle is running circles around him, yapping and hopping around in excitement over getting to go outside. He shoves his feet into his slippers and hooks Holly onto his leash, cracking open the door and hissing at the too bright sunlight.

Sneaking a peek at the door next to his, he notes that all the shades were drawn and the apartment seemed silent now. Probably because they’d stayed up all night moving in, thereby keeping him awake too. Too bad he didn’t get the luxury of catching up on his sleep today since he had to work.

With an annoyed sigh, he leads Holly down the stairs to his favorite patch of grass, watching in fond amusement as the poodle takes his usual sweet time to find just the perfect spot. Usually, this was one of his favorite times of the day, since it was often just him and Holly in the silence of the early morning. Just them and the birds, with Yoongi working on some melody in his head while Holly spends five minutes eating grass he’s just going to puke up later.

Of course, as per his luck during the past twenty-four hours, this was ruined too.

“POTATO! Get back here, mister!”

A woman was coming out of the newly moved into apartment, chasing after a chubby pug that was staring right at Holly as he ran. She had the leash in her hands as she stumbled after him, still shoving what looked like Bulbasaur slippers onto her feet in her rush to catch the little escapee.

The pug went right for the startled Holly, trying his best to entice him into playing with his fat wiggling butt and snorts. Holly has never been the most social of dogs, much like his owner, but he wasn’t attacking the thing so that was good at least. Yoongi grinned when Holly looked up at him like he was asking for help.

“I am so sorry. He’s sneakier than he looks sometimes,” the owner apologized breathily as she glared at the dog.

“It’s all good. He seems friendly enough, and Holly’s just not used to other dogs being here.”

“Well, I can certainly see why he was in such a rush. She’s a cutie.”

“Holly’s a boy, actually.”

She smiled politely, but he could see the unasked question behind her eyes.

“My brother named him,” he shrugged. “Also, I don’t think someone who named their dog Potato has any right to judge.”

“Oh come on, look at him. He’s literally a breathing potato,” she gestures to the pug that was now rolling in the grass in another attempt to engage Holly, only he couldn’t really make it all the way around.

“I call him Tae for short most of the time if that makes it any better,” she shrugs with a grin, and Yoongi had to contain his snort. Wait until his friend Taehyung learned a fat pug shared his name.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence as they watched their dogs. Holly was reluctantly letting the pug follow him around, not reacting when Potato tried to convince him to play but not stopping him from pouncing or nipping at him. Yoongi thought Holly might be a little in shock that someone wanted to be his friend.

“So we’ve established that’s Potato and Holly. I’m Y/N,” the woman said with a shy smile.

“Uh, yeah. Min Yoongi.”

Her grin widened, “Nice to meet you, Yoongi.”

He wasn’t sure what it was, but something about the way that she said his name made him finally take a good look at her. She was pretty cute, actually, something he’d failed to notice over the shock of her dog’s entrance. He couldn’t help the flicker of interest as he subtly looked her over, the black tank and yoga pants flattering enough on her that he could excuse the ridiculous slippers. She was sporting a few bruises that she must have gotten during the move, making him wonder why she didn’t have help.

“Which apartment are you guys in?”

“207,” Yoongi drawls with a quirked eyebrow.

“Oh, we’re in 208! That’s so...oh no! We probably kept you up last night, didn’t we? I’m so sorry. That was the last time I was going to have help for the next couple of days,” she holds a hand to her chest as her eyes implore him to understand and he just melts.

“It’s no biggie. We’re night owls, anyway,” he shrugs, preening as her smile lights back up.

“Well, most of the big stuff is put away already, so I hopefully won’t be too annoying to listen to. I do play my acoustic guitar a lot, but if you let me know what your usual schedule is, I’ll wait until you’re gone so I don’t bother you.”

He was about to ask more about that when Holly decides to make his desire to leave known, walking straight to the stairs that led to their floor and pulling on the leash as he turned to stare at Yoongi.

“Looks like his highness is ready to go home,” he sent her a crooked grin as he reluctantly turns to leave.

Y/N giggles cutely and waves at him. “Yeah, we’ll still be a few minutes. Tae will want to check out all the new bushes. It was nice to meet you.”

Yoongi nods and obediently follows his dog, letting Holly lead him all the way home. Once inside he kicks off his slippers and releases Holly, snorting as the dog goes right to his bed to sleep. Apparently, only a few minutes of interaction with the hyper pug tired him out.

He stared at his blinds and decided to ignore his creepy desire to peek out of them and watch her. He shook his head and went about his day instead, totally not thinking of bright smiles and or the fact that her socks were different colors.

He came home from work around four and found a little gift bag hanging from his door handle. He grabbed it and peeked inside, the smell of fresh baked chocolate chip cookies hitting him instantly. A little slip of paper was tucked inside, so he pulled it out and scanned it.

Going to be hanging some stuff on the walls. Here’s an apology treat! It shouldn’t take me too long, but if you need me to stop at any time let me know!

-Your totally awesome not annoying on purpose neighbor

Yoongi snorts and goes inside, munching on one of the cookies as he does. He’s not usually one for sweets, but they aren’t bad. Holly is anxiously circling his ankles waiting for him to drop something, but he was going to be disappointed today. As he pictured her cooking these and wrapping them up all nice just for him, he knew he was going to be eating every single one.

Sure enough, a light banging sounds against their connected wall, although he thought it seemed like she was trying to do it quietly with little taps instead of outright hammering. It was going to take her forever doing it like that.

He also heard some music playing, but couldn’t quite make it out. Letting his curiosity take over, he pressed his ear against the wall. He figured if he heard something like Justin Beiber or Nickleback that would cure the strange curiosity he had about this woman.

Instead, the familiar rap-heavy collab track of Epik High, Born Hater, flowed through the room. His lips quirked as he heard her attempting to rap like Bobby. She sounded cute, even if she was failing horribly.

Suddenly, the door slammed next door, hard enough to make his own apartment shake a little.

“What’s for dinner?”

That was a male voice. Of fucking course. Why wouldn’t he be interested in someone that was fucking taken.

“I could throw together some spaghetti if you want? I wasn’t sure when to cook since you were supposed to be home three hours ago.”

She sounded so timid, and it just seemed off. It was nothing like the beaming voice he’d heard earlier.

“I had stuff to do.”

“Were you with her?”

“For fucks sake, Y/N. I told you I ended it. Isn’t that why we moved? To start over? A little hard to do when you keep bringing up old stuff.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll be in the bedroom. Let me know when dinners ready.”

Yoongi was kicking himself for being a creep and listening in like that, but holy shit that guy was an asshole. That was some textbook manipulation and she just fell right into it. And to stay with someone that had obviously cheated? Why?

Part of him wanted to go over there and break the guy's nose, but he shook his head and walked away from the wall instead. He didn’t know the whole story, he told himself. It was none of his business. ‘

None of his business, he reminded himself over the next few days, even as he could hear her crying through their walls at night only to be met with her beaming smile as they met up every morning.

#bts #bts fanfic #bts scenario #yoongi #yoongi fanfic #yoongi scenario #yoongi x reader #kpop #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #feels so right #solastia

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beca-mitchell · 6 years

Text

Aubrey Posen's Guide to Using Social Media Effectively

summary: Aubrey learns that knowledge isn’t always power. In fact, she’d like to forget that she ever believed that.

aka this is an Aubrey-centric fic in which Aubrey learns that Beca and Chloe are seeing each other through various social media and how she deals with this.

word count: 6.5k

author’s note: Happy birthday @velmster!!!

Thank you for keeping me somewhat calm when we met bsnow. Thank you for helping me write my Pitch Perfect lectures. And thank you for being an incredible friend. I know how much you were looking forward to this story, so I really wanted to make sure it was finished for your bday!

For everybody else, this story is based on a true story about how I found out my roommate and best friend were dating each other. Some embellishments here and there, but otherwise, yes I am crazy.

Also on AO3.

“Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.”

- Sun Tzu, The Art of War

Aubrey Posen dislikes social media.

It’s not that she’s old, it’s more that she just doesn’t get it. Every day, it seems like a new social media network is created and Aubrey has pretty much only just figured out how to make a Bitmoji for her Snapchat account.

It’s mildly irritating that Chloe spends most of her time on one social media platform or another, flitting between her laptop and phone and persistently attempting to show Aubrey cute photos of corgis.

Well, she doesn’t dislike the content, it’s just that social media seems like a really difficult thing to keep up with and she has to worry about not flunking out of her MBA program.

Her buzzing phone jolts her out of her musings.

Instagram: chloebeale has sent you a video.

Knowing Chloe, it’s probably a meme, a topical video, or just a cute fluffy video of a corgi or a pug. Somehow, Chloe still manages to suss out when she’s feeling down because the videos tend to be on point with everything she’s going through at the moment.

She supposes just one more Instagram video of a corgi lying on its back won’t hurt.

Living with Chloe after Barden only makes sense. By the time Chloe finally graduates from university, Aubrey is done with managing the lodge and wanting to pursue something a bit more prestigious again.

They somehow both end up in New York, though Chloe has started working for an advertising agency and Aubrey has started school at NYU. Aubrey recalls that living with Chloe for their first year of Bellas co-captaincy had only been natural - as much as it had been a necessity. They weren’t allowed to have the Bellas house all to themselves because their entire team would be primarily first years. Without the allure of having a full team, student government had elected to allocate their treasured house to yet another sorority on campus.

Back then, Aubrey immediately shot down Chloe’s idea to join the sorority. Instead, she got to work and found a cute two-bedroom townhouse, small enough for the two of them and yet large enough that she doesn’t necessarily have to see Chloe’s things encroaching on her personal space.

If Aubrey’s being honest, Chloe’s ‘things’ might be a misnomer.

The absolute parade of people she’s seen (and heard, on many occasions) leaving Chloe’s room in previous years? That might be more accurate. It had admittedly stopped when Chloe set her eyes on one Beca Mitchell in the fall of 2011 and Aubrey saw significantly less people leaving their comfortable little townhouse. Instead, she saw more of Beca Mitchell than she would have liked back then, absolutely pestering Chloe with her latest music innovations or whatever the hell she called them.

And the next year, Chloe stayed back at Barden for another year with Bellas (read: Beca), she helped Chloe wrangle their treasured Bellas house back from the sorority and the rest is history.

Now, in New York City, freshly graduated, Aubrey has a little trouble finding something as cozy considering rent prices in New York City and the budget they’re both working with. She finds a nice two-bedroom (read: two-closet) apartment in East Village, with a functioning bathroom, kitchen,and , thank God, a working dishwasher. It’s a steal, even if Aubrey had flirted a little with the landlord and his wife to get a good price.

It’s a steal and she doesn’t have to share a bedroom with Chloe. She won’t have to hear Titanium for the millionth time.

Ultimately, Chloe is a good roommate. She picks up after herself. She cooks. She cleans.

(Aubrey has heard nightmarish stories from Chloe about what it had been like when Beca and Fat Amy shared a room in the Bellas’ house.)

The thing about Chloe is that she really has no sense of personal space. She enjoys shoving her phone into Aubrey’s face to show her a funny text or a cute image. She’ll ask Aubrey loudly and inappropriately whether she needs more tampons halfway down the aisle in the supermarket. She tries to braid Aubrey’s hair sometimes when they’re both lazily waiting for their laundry in the dingy laundromat - emphasis on tries . She sets Aubrey up on about five blind dates only their third month into living together in Manhattan.

In fact, Chloe’s fairly infuriating because she does all these things without asking and never wants anything in return. She never talks about her own feelings - the ones that Aubrey has to draw out of her with painstaking precision. In fact, Aubrey sometimes worries that her obsession with Beca Mitchell might be getting out of hand. Aubrey tries to remind Chloe that Beca isn’t so bad without her ear monstrosities and that maybe Beca just needs time to see the light (read: Chloe), like she did with her ear piercings.

Chloe just smiles and asks her whether she wants to get McDonalds for dinner.

Aubrey would never ask for another best friend.

“You know what you should do? Download Tinder, Bree. I’m sure the selection here is much better than Georgia.”

“No.”

(She downloads Tinder.

It is admittedly not horrible.

She ignores the smug look Chloe shoots her.)

Aubrey should have seen it coming, in retrospect. There’s something about Beca Mitchell that makes Chloe completely lose her mind whenever they come within touching distance of each other. Aubrey can’t recall Chloe ever being so touchy with anybody else, especially not when she vehemently reassures Aubrey that they’re “just friends, besides Beca is seeing Jesse.”

It’s weak and they both know it, but Aubrey supposes that the fixation on Beca means that Aubrey will get some peace and quiet in their apartment for the time being.

Until one day, Beca is very much single. It’s not even news that comes directly from the woman herself since Beca pretty much moved immediately to Los Angeles after graduating to pursue the first label that offered her a job. No, the news comes from Fat Amy who actively updates their group’s Facebook chat with whatever gossip she can find...usually about the Bellas themselves.

It’s actually kind of deja-vu, seeing the hurricane that has seemingly gone through her home. Aubrey comes home to a mess of crumpled-up pieces of paper and about five empty cans of cider.

“Oh, Chloe,” she murmurs, reaching for the blanket draped over the back of the couch.

Sitting with Chloe on the couch while she sleeps restlessly? That’s kind of deja-vu as well.

Instagram: chloebeale has sent you a photo.

It’s a photo of Jesse with his arm around a woman’s shoulder.

chloebeale: i can’t believe he moved on already!!!!!

Aubrey scowls, typing back. She doesn’t understand how she has five separate conversations going on with Chloe. Can’t she stick to just one account?

aubreyposen: You’re literally in the living room. You couldn’t have shown this to me in person?

aubreyposen: why don’t you message Beca if this is bothering you so much?

An hour later, Aubrey notices the Seen receipt and suspicious lack of reply from Chloe.

Aubrey finds out that Beca is actually living in New York before Chloe does. It’s only because she bumps into her at their local Trader Joe’s and is about to berate Beca for not knowing how to use her eyes when she realizes-

“Beca?”

“Aubrey?”

Aubrey is pleased to note that Beca looks mildly terrified of her in that moment, but she can’t quite dispel the warmth that rises up when she sees her friend. She had missed Beca, despite all her original reservations about her.

“I’m going to hug you now,” Beca states, somewhat awkwardly before proceeding to do so. When she pulls back, she looks equally astounded. “Wow, what the hell? This is crazy. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“In this Trader Joe’s?”

Beca laughs at that, shaking her head. “No, I just meant...here, I guess. Manhattan.”

“How would you? You never message us.”

The mild terror is back in Beca’s eyes, alongside a glimmer of genuine regret and sadness.

“I thought I knew what…” Beca trails off, looking absently at her full cart. “How is Chloe?” she asks, lowering her voice. “I never…”

In a sympathetic streak, Aubrey shakes her head, stopping that difficult line of thought. “Why don’t we set up a kind of reunion dinner or something? Get more Bellas down here.”

Beca brightens and relaxes at that. Aubrey takes the opportunity to critique Beca’s choice in fresh produce.

There’s nothing quite like a Bellas party, even if the entire evening had been hijacked by Fat Amy. Somehow, she manages to wrangle them all into a party near Columbia.

“Do you go here?” Aubrey asks. She realizes that she’s not exactly sure what Amy is doing in New York. They had kept in contact sparsely over the years, but Aubrey knows stuff about Amy mostly through Chloe’s updates over the years.

“No, not really,” Amy answers vaguely. Aubrey doesn’t bother pursuing that. “Hey, do you think Beca and Chloe will finally figure it out?”

“Figure what out?” Aubrey asks absently.

There’s a long silence while Amy drinks from her cup, watching her carefully. Aubrey waits, raising an eyebrow in response to Amy’s silence. Amy finishes her entire drink first before saying “never mind.”

Aubrey shrugs and squints through the darkness. She still feels a protective streak flare up in her at the thought of her teammates, even though she’s long been off the Bellas’ team. She takes in how far they’ve come - how distant and precious their years at Barden seem now, compared to everything. She is so grateful for the experience. Even though these are mostly Chloe’s friends, if anything, Aubrey feels like there’s definitely a connection and bond with this set of Bellas - one that’s stronger than ever before. She begrudgingly attributes it to Beca’s hand in reshaping the Bellas, and though she’d love to maintain that she finds Beca irritating about 90% of the time, she knows how untrue it is and how much she considers Beca a friend.

Looking back up, Aubrey scans the crowd again, relaxing against the cushions of the couch, which she has deemed the perfect vantage point.

She pauses.

She thinks she sees Chloe grabbing Beca’s hand and pulling her out onto the makeshift dance floor and Beca’s expression indicates mild protest and discomfort, but she follows obligingly. Aubrey thinks she sees this because they disappear as quickly as it happens.

She actually doesn’t think too much of it until much later. She sees what appears to be Beca and Chloe in a heated argument on the couch she had once been sitting on, now haphazardly pushed to the side. They are angled towards each other with a familiar comfort emanating from both of them.

“-didn’t mean it! God, Beca,” Chloe is exclaiming - loud enough for Aubrey to hear as she passes on the way to the kitchen.

She wonders if it was a mistake, introducing Beca back into Chloe’s life so soon after her break-up with Jesse. She stops walking and hovers near the doorway, trying to look as nonchalant as possible.

Aubrey watches the tension rise and fall in Chloe’s shoulders, the way she turns her body towards Beca. She can no longer hear their conversation, but she watches anyway because a part of her kind of wishes they’d figure it out and - oh , that’s what Amy meant.

Aubrey wonders if Chloe will finally leap at this very perfect opportunity to reveal her ever-growing feelings for Beca. It’s a constant back and forth between them. Aubrey had been mildly interested in this fixation back when they had first met Beca, but now she’s kind of tired and wishes they’d just get their crap together.

Aubrey doesn’t see them for the rest of the night, but she might have been fairly distracted by the competitive karaoke game going down between Flo and a few other students.

“I think you’re right,” Aubrey tells Amy the next day. She hands Amy a bottle of Advil and a water bottle. “About Beca and Chloe.”

“Of course I’m right,” Amy mumbles. “Hey, can you go grab me a burger from Shake Shack?”

Chloe (4:41 p.m.) I’m gonna be visiting my parents this weekend in Portland! Don’t wait up ;)

Aubrey (4:50 p.m.) Say hi for me! Also, we’re rescheduling movie night.

Chloe (4:51 p.m.) Totes!

It’s not uncommon for Chloe to visit her parents. She did fairly frequently while they were in school together. The quiet weekend means Aubrey can tackle that case study that had been evading her focus for the past few days and she can work on a few other assignments she wants to get out of the way.

She’s about a quarter through an assignment when she gets a text.

(Fat) Amy (5:29 p.m.) the big bm is away for the weekend. Want to hang?

Aubrey considers that heavily. She waits an hour before replying.

Aubrey (6:34 p.m.) Sure.

Aubrey (6:34 p.m.) Also, stop calling her that

Hanging out with Amy is kind of fun, Aubrey supposes, so long as she takes everything with a grain of salt. She lets Amy tell her about her part-time job as a mail courier and makes it a point to ignore her stories about her more peculiar clients and their oddities. She tuned out after the story about a man with long toenails and tries to ensure her dinner stays down.

Aubrey finally focuses when Amy says, seemingly out of the blue, “So, how are we getting Beca and Chloe to admit their feelings for each other?”

She considers denying it or feigning confusion.

It’s tempting because Aubrey has always enjoyed a good scheme, but she doesn’t want to interfere too much, knowing that Chloe will likely want her privacy on this front. “Aren’t they figuring stuff out themselves?” she asks.

Fat Amy scoffs. “Please. Your hair is going to be grey before they actually sort everything out. We need to give them that little push.”

It’s already sounding better than working on tedious assignments, but Aubrey’s still cautious. “We shouldn’t meddle,” she says half-heartedly. “We really shouldn’t.”

She receives a glare in response. “We definitely should,” Amy retorts.

Well, Aubrey doesn’t know how to disagree with that. “What’s the plan? We need a plan.”

Instagram: @becamitchell has posted for the first time in a while. Check out their post!

Aubrey frowns at this very specific notification. Why has Instagram deemed this as important material? That seems invasive - both to her and Beca. She opens it regardless and tilts her head, trying to suss out what exactly it is that Beca posted. It’s a photo of Coney Island with the sunset in the background.

She notices that Chloe has already liked the post. She shakes her head. Chloe’s addiction to social media will always evade her understanding.

(Fat) Amy (2:57 p.m.) SHE LIKED HER POST!!!!

Aubrey (2:57 p.m.) Calm down, she likes everybody’s posts.

That is true, as far as Aubrey is aware. Chloe likes everybody’s Instagram posts. It’s not really that which is most interesting to Aubrey. There is something more interesting about the fact that Beca had apparently been at Coney Island all day, especially since Aubrey distinctly recalls that Chloe mentioned she had been planning to go over the weekend.

Aubrey (3:01 p.m.) Do you know if Beca went with anybody to Coney Island?

(Fat) Amy (3:03 p.m.) No, she never tells me anything.

Aubrey (3:03 p.m.) understandable.

If Aubrey knew that scheming with Amy meant reactivating her Facebook account, she would have declined immediately.

“Do I just create a Facebook group or something?” Aubrey asks, frowning at her phone. “Why can’t we just text them and tell them we’re having a movie night at our place?”

“What era are you from?” Amy demands. “Just make a Facebook event. I know Beca needs her entire life scheduled or she’ll never show up to anything.”

Aubrey grumbles and sets up a Facebook event. “It’s literally just going to be the four of us,” she mutters. “This is so unnecessary.”

“Fine,” Amy exclaims. “Let’s invite the rest of the Bellas.”

“Amy, no!”

Her cry is to no avail as Amy immediately invites the Bellas and a few other people whose names Aubrey can’t quite recognize at first glance. Aubrey’s first thought is how their landlord is going to receive a few complaints over the weekend because of course Amy would somehow turn a small gathering into an impromptu party.

She sighs, mentally doing calculations in her head as to how much food she should buy as well as how many drinks she’ll need to get.

“This is going to be amazing, Aubrey. I’m so happy you agreed to this.”

She tacks on a couple extra drinks to her mental list because she’s sure she’ll need it.

Leading up to the movie night in question - an event that once only belonged to Aubrey and Chloe - Aubrey tries to figure out if Chloe and Beca are still talking to each other.

Chloe has been quieter and more reserved recently, though she cites stress from her job as the primary reason.

There’s a part of her that knows instinctively that Chloe likely had some kind of falling out with Beca, or maybe she’s mulling over her own feelings, but Aubrey just wishes Chloe would open up to her.

“Chloe?” she tries tentatively one evening while they’re scarfing down take-out from their favourite Chinese restaurant.

Chloe glances up at her from where she’s reading text messages on her phone. It’s a bit too far that Aubrey can’t quite see who she’s texting. “Yeah, what’s up, Bree?” Chloe asks, clicking her phone off casually.

“You’d...tell me if you were seeing somebody, right?”

There is a very brief pause, but a pause nonetheless.

Then, Chloe, as quiet as Aubrey has ever heard her, murmurs “yes,” softly. “I would.”

“That’s good to know.”

Aubrey lets it go for the moment. She has assignments to worry about and this damned Bellas party.

Chloe is ridiculously excited about the movie night extravaganza Aubrey and Amy planned. They somehow manage to wrangle 12 women into their tiny apartment, with enough seating (most of it improvised) for everybody.

They opt to watch horror movies, starting with It . Aubrey is not sure whose brilliant idea this is, but she feels like it could be either Lilly’s or Amy’s.

Aubrey grumbles as she retrieves another roll of paper towels from underneath the sink. Amy has somehow spilled her third drink of the night - none of which have been her own drinks.

Aubrey notes that Chloe isn’t being particularly helpful either because she’s immersed in a conversation with Beca on the loveseat - the most comfortable seat in their apartment currently. Chloe has her arm casually draped around the back of the couch to play with strands of Beca’s hair and Beca seems to either not notice or not care , but it’s then that Aubrey realizes that it’s neither . Beca is enjoying it if the smile on her face is any indication.

God, they’re dating, Aubrey thinks, resisting the urge to point at them and yell out her triumph.

Instead, she tilts her head, observing in silence.

They’re sharing a blanket too, which Chloe brought out from her room. Neither of them notices anything about the movie that’s playing and it’s dark enough that Aubrey only catches glimpses from time to time of their expressions.

It’s enough to see that Chloe has never quite looked so happy and Beca has never quite looked so relaxed.

The next time Aubrey glances at them, Beca has seemingly fallen asleep, completely pressed into Chloe’s side with her head tilted onto her shoulder. Chloe isn’t bothering to watch the movie at all even though her conversation partner has knocked out. Instead, she watches Beca, eyes trained on her the whole time.

Aubrey can’t help but smile even if it briefly hurts her that Chloe evidently didn’t bother telling her about this little development at all.

Mostly because it’s such a significant development in her best friend’s life.

(Aubrey is ridiculously happy for her. And Beca too.)

While sitting next to Chloe on their couch, Aubrey tries to focus on reading her textbook, but she finds her eyes drawn to Chloe’s phone because it continues to vibrate with a new message every two seconds.

Chancing a glance at her best friend, she sees the slow smile spread across Chloe’s face - a smile that is so smitten and grossly cute that it makes Aubrey shudder because she knows who Chloe is talking to without having to see the messages.

When Chloe gets up to retrieve their mail from downstairs, Aubrey bites her lip before pressing the button on Chloe’s phone. She sees a slew of messages from Beca. Except, it’s not just ‘Beca’. Chloe has changed her name on messenger to read as “grumpy becs” followed by three emojis: a blue heart, a raincloud, and a star.

The messages themselves are all the more incriminating, if the display name change weren’t enough.

Beca I miss you

Beca Just thought you should know or whatever

Beca When can I see you again?

That alone is enough to make Aubrey sit back firmly and contemplate. She vaguely wonders how long this has been going on - how long Chloe has been hiding this from her.

She wonders when Chloe will just tell her.

Her plan evolves.

Aubrey attempts to set Chloe up on a few dates, just to test the waters. She does so right in front of Beca. She’s really just testing the limits of Beca and Chloe’s strength because she still can’t quite believe that they’ve been hiding this from her for so long.

It was kind of cute at the beginning, now Aubrey is wondering how long it’ll take for either of them to crack. It’s like a fun game, sometimes.

Today, they’re enjoying brunch in Brooklyn. It had originally been Aubrey and Chloe’s pre-arranged brunch, but Chloe had tentatively asked Aubrey if Beca could come along because she was “feeling down from her job” and “we should totally show her this brunch place, Bree!”

Aubrey had agreed because she kind of just wanted to put Beca on the spot again. It’s a little fun to watch them both squirm.

“Chloe,” Aubrey states, primly folding her napkin. She waits until both Chloe and Beca have taken sips of their mimosas. “I would like to set you up on a date with one of my classmates.”

Chloe looks mildly curious, which is fine.

It’s Beca’s reaction that almost cracks Aubrey’s facade. She chokes on her drink and turns to Aubrey with wide eyes, like she can’t quite believe what she’s just heard.

“You would?” Chloe asks at the same time Beca asks, rather loudly, “Why?”

“I would,” Aubrey agrees, ignoring Beca. “I just think you’ve been single for so long. Not that you need somebody to make you happy. Just. Something to take your mind off things because I know how stressed you’ve been at work.”

“You’ve been stressed?” Beca asks, so softly that Aubrey momentarily forgets that she’s sitting across from Beca Mitchell. The amount of tenderness in Beca’s eyes directed straight at Chloe is kind of alarming if Aubrey didn’t already know they were in some kind of relationship.

“No, just,” Chloe sighs. She directs her attention fully to Beca. “A little. It’s just some personal things going on right now.”

Aubrey decides to let up on her line of questioning and drinks some water, watching them carefully. She decides not to bring it up again, feeling only more certain that they are dating , like officially.

When she gets up to go to the washroom, she can hear Chloe and Beca begin to whisper to each other, catching the tail end of their conversation: “-tell her?”

Aubrey smiles triumphantly.

“What made you bring that up today?” Chloe asks quietly, when they’re doing some weekend cleaning.

Aubrey frowns, focusing on a coffee stain plastered on their counter. She is sure she didn’t see this just a week ago and Chloe doesn’t drink coffee.

(Aubrey also knows that she always uses coasters and cleans up after herself.)

“What did I say?” Aubrey murmurs.

“About setting me up with somebody.”

Aubrey straightens, eyebrow rising slowly. “Chloe,” she starts.

“I’m happy right now,” Chloe says, not allowing her to finish. She fiddles nervously. “I can tell you that much. I appreciate the offer, but no.”

It warms Aubrey’s heart somewhat, when she notes the sincerity in Chloe’s tone. She can’t help the smile that rises on her lips and she nods encouragingly at Chloe to continue.

She wants to hear all about it - she wants to hear how happy Chloe is and how far they’ve come.

“Okay,” Aubrey says slowly. “You’re happy.”

Chloe bites her lip, looking like she’s about two seconds away from spilling everything. Aubrey restrains herself from excitedly wringing the cloth in her hands.

“I’m happy,” Chloe says after a moment, shrugging a little.

When she catches Aubrey staring at her, she smiles, a little apologetically and hurriedly returns to vacuuming.

Aubrey sighs.

She’ll accept that for now.

(She is so happy for Chloe.)

Amy sighs, stretching out completely on the couch and leaving a little place for Aubrey to perch herself at the end. “If only there were a way to see where they were at all times.”

Aubrey agrees absentmindedly, feeling like there’s something that she’s missing - maybe something that she has completely overlooked.

“Oh, hey, look. Beca’s in DUMBO.”

“That’s nice,” Aubrey replies. Something buzzes through her body. It feels like excitement. Maybe anxiety. Maybe indigestion from Amy’s food.

Vaguely she recalls that Chloe said she’d be away all weekend for an office retreat in -

She pauses.

In Brooklyn.

She latches onto it because she had given Chloe a little shit for it when she heard about it. She hadn’t understood why Chloe opted for separate lodging in Brooklyn when she had a perfectly good home in Manhattan, but now ...

Aubrey scrambles for her phone, nearly leaping clear over the couch and dislodging Amy in the process.

“Where are you going?” Amy calls, peeking over the couch. “Washroom?”

“No,” Aubrey says briskly. “Even better.” She swipes open her phone, navigating to Snapchat like Chloe once instructed her. Opening it, she sees missed notifications from a number of people, including Chloe.

It takes her about an entire minute to click through all of the missed photos and videos from Chloe when she finally gets to one from just half an hour ago. A vague photo from somewhere that looks like it could be Brooklyn, but it’s not quite discernable to Aubrey.

She furrows her brow before pinching her fingers on the screen, enabling the map function.

She’ll never get over how creepy this is, but she’s is suddenly immensely grateful for it.

She notices that Chloe’s Bitmoji is back in what Aubrey assumes to be her Airbnb.

“This is the most useful thing that Snapchat has ever done,” Amy mutters as they stare at the little circle enclosing both Beca and Chloe’s tiny figures in the same space.

“They’re together!” Aubrey yells. “They’re in the same place! That’s what that means, right?”

Amy is nodding vigorously. “Yeah! Should we go over there now?’ She’s already grabbing her shoes from the front door.

Aubrey’s arm flies out. “No, no. We should…” She can’t stop the grin that stretches across her face. “We should send them a Snapchat.”

“Uh, what? Why?”

“So we can be sure. Amy, you don’t understand. She was so close to telling me. Maybe this will be the exact guilt trip she needs to finally tell me!”

It had not been the guilt trip Chloe needed.

She sent back a few selfies. Beca ignored Aubrey’s Snaps mostly, but at least it updated their locations frequently enough that Aubrey could tell exactly where they were all weekend.

Aubrey diligently keeps track of all their movements with this newfound power.

On Saturday, they spent most of the morning inside, before Chloe seemingly met up with other friends or coworkers for a few hours while Beca wandered around DUMBO again.

Then, they went for dinner at a place Aubrey had been dying to try.

Then, a movie.

Aubrey is shocked at how much information she suddenly has at her disposal. She feels simultaneously torn between continuing to keep this information from Chloe or just revealing all her cards at once.

She discusses this properly with Amy while they’re at Pinkberry on Sunday evening. Aubrey is expecting Chloe to return home soon, but her action plan has yet to be completed.

“Do we tell them we know?” Fat Amy asks as she continues piling toppings in her cup. "Oh, this is like that episode of FRIENDS. Excellent.”

“We?” Aubrey questions.

“Yeah, we’re partners in crime. Practically sisters.”

Aubrey shrugs at that. “Well, I’m thinking of just asking Chloe if she’s hiding something for me.”

“How well did that work out for you last time?”

Aubrey scowls at her friend. “She’ll tell me. I have all the evidence I need.”

“Ah, so you’re going to ambush her. You're an amazing best friend.”

“I’m going to gently nudge her,” Aubrey says delicately. She turns on her phone, navigating to her notes. “I have proof that she and Beca have been going on secret dates for at least the past three months. Maybe more.”

“Well, how are you going to bring it up?”

“I’m going to casually bring up all the places she was today.”

“Casual,” Amy agrees.

Aubrey opens Snapchat, wondering where Chloe is at the moment. Her eyes widen and she splutters, dropping her spoon.

“What is it?” Amy demands excitedly.

“Chloe’s home,” Aubrey says stiltedly. “And Beca’s with her.”

She has barely thought about talking to Beca about all of this. She obviously has to go through her whole spiel as Chloe’s best friend.

Amy is already standing and holding out Aubrey’s purse for her. “Let’s go.”

Aubrey stands, chair scraping back loudly. “Let’s get them.”

By the time they end up reaching Aubrey’s apartment, she is primarily trying to slow her breathing and put on an air of unaffected nonchalance. She makes extended eye contact with Amy before sliding her key into the lock.

Beca and Chloe are sitting on the loveseat again, though they’re not sitting close together. They’re chatting casually, facing each other. Both turn towards the door when it opens all the way.

“Hi roomie,” Chloe greets.

“Hi Aubrey. Amy,” Beca says, waving a little.

“Chloe. Beca.”

They all stare at each other for a moment before Amy breaks the awkward silence by moving to sit on the other couch, stretching out.

A million things run through Aubrey’s mind as she stares at Chloe and Beca. There are so many ways to go about this - so many opportunities for embarrassment and amusement.

Also, so many ways that they could continue to lie to her.

Chloe coughs, standing up quickly. “I’m just going to run to the bathroom. One sec, guys.”

Three pairs of eyes swivel to watch her leave.

“Is there something you’d like to tell me?” Aubrey asks Beca once Chloe has disappeared to the washroom.

Beca stares back at her, a little insolently, a little nervously. “I don’t know. Is there something you’d like to tell me?” she fires back.

Aubrey is surprised at how easily Beca placed the ball back in her court. She practically handed it to her. Aubrey gracefully accepts.

Staring at Beca, Aubrey watches the way she seems to wither under her gaze. Aubrey’s not sure why it comes out exactly like this, but it does: “Not really,” she says slowly. “Except, maybe - Beca, please leave smaller hickeys on Chloe’s neck.”

Her voices rises a little at the end and her arms cross as she stares her down. Beca flushes deep red. Aubrey grins triumphantly when Beca squeaks "what?"

Beca seems to shrink into herself and she gapes, sinking into the couch a little. Amy unhelpfully laughs - or shrieks - and contributes nothing more to the conversation.

“You know, it was one thing when I thought you two were just trying out a friends with benefits thing, because God knows that you’ve both needed to get this fixation with each other out your system, but -” she holds up a finger when Beca opens her mouth. “-My roommate , Beca Mitchell? My best friend? How could you?”

Beca’s brow furrows. “I’m not exactly sure what you’re upset about, but I’m...I’m sorry-?”

“You two,” Aubrey says, sighing. She pulls out her phone, consulting the list of places they went all weekend. “All weekend, while Chloe was supposed to be away for work, and instead, you went to the movies, went to DUMBO, went for a nice stroll in the park,” she continues listing off places and Beca looks increasingly freaked out with each item.

Aubrey can hear Chloe rushing back down the hall. She heaves a breath when Chloe skids into view, eyes wide as she takes in how traumatized Beca looks, how delighted Fat Amy looks, and how pleased Aubrey looks.

“What’s going on?” she asks, her voice rising nervously in pitch.

Amy grins. “How long do you have, Chloe?”

Aubrey is about to settle down for bed after finishing off a bottle of wine with her friends. After all the drama, they had laughed it off - Beca more hesitantly than everybody else - and drank some wine, reminiscing on Barden and everything in between.

Chloe and Beca had cuddled immediately on the couch, limbs tangling, pleased smiles on their lips.

Now, Aubrey hears a quiet murmur of voices from the hallway.

“I tried to tell you,” Chloe whispers, hushed. “I knew she had an idea.”

“I really thought she didn’t,” Beca mutters back. “You didn’t tell me she’s fucking crazy. I felt like I was on episode of Maury or something. I've never been screamed at like that before.”

Aubrey scoffs. Beca is a baby. She had only raised her voice once. Hardly screaming.

Chloe laughs. “Hey, that’s my best friend you’re talking about, babe. I know her better than almost anybody else.”

“And I’m your girlfriend,” Beca says, in a voice that is so foreign to Aubrey. It is tender and affectionate.

Chloe giggles in response. “Well, I did try to warn you.”

“Chlo!”

Aubrey smiles.

Now that Beca and Chloe feel like they don’t need to hide anymore, Aubrey sees more of Beca than she ever did before, especially with how often she stays overnight. Especially on weekends.

Aubrey hears more of Beca’s music everyday. She also hears Chloe happily humming to herself whenever she’s making dinner.

Aubrey huffs, bumping into Beca on the way to the bathroom.

“Sorry,” Beca says, a little too cheerfully for Aubrey’s taste.

“I didn’t realize you were here,” Aubrey mumbles, blinking to make sure she’s not imagining Beca Mitchell in one of Chloe’s old oversized shirts in the middle of her hallway.

“Here I am,” Beca parries back.

“Bec!” Chloe’s voice calls from down the hall.

“Coming!”

Aubrey makes sure to take her time in the bathroom, hoping against hope that Beca and Chloe are going to sleep in.

She is very wrong.

Aubrey stares wide-eyed up at the ceiling, regretting her decision to forego the earplugs while she was in line at the check-out today.

This is her third traumatizing weekend in a row.

It is only 7:30 a.m. on a Saturday morning.

That’s early, even for Aubrey.

She doesn’t even want to think about whose idea this is.

Aubrey has had enough.

She barely resists the urge to just smack her hand against Chloe’s door to tell them to keep it down.

Aubrey (7:29 p.m.) Chloe Beale. Get out here. I have to tell you something.

She sends it off and doesn’t bother waiting for a reply considering she had just been freshly traumatized.

Aubrey privately wonders how Beca finds energy considering how much time she used to spend trying to make Bellas’ rehearsals difficult for everybody. Aubrey assumes Beca spends more time figuring out ways to annoy her than humanly possibly.

“Hey,” Chloe says, startling Aubrey out of her hypnotic trance by the stove. She turns to lower the heat on the stove before facing her friend. “Whatcha making?” Chloe asks, grabbing two - Aubrey’s eyes zero in on the action - water bottles from the fridge.

“Chloe, I have something to tell you,” Aubrey says briskly. She wants to get it over with. Chloe nods, uncapping one water bottle and taking a swig. Aubrey tries not to think about it too hard. “Chloe, you...I -” Aubrey tries to think about what Fat Amy would say, or even do. Chloe continues to stare at her, growing more concerned by the second. “I...no longer wish to have surround sound to your…” Aubrey puts her hand on her chin, tapping contemplatively. “Your...activities,” she finishes delicately. She mentally congratulates herself on her word choice.

It’s interesting, actually. Aubrey kind of wishes she had a secret camera set up somewhere because the next progression of events is simultaneously mortifying and hilarious. Chloe tilts her head in confusion, taking in Aubrey’s words. Aubrey only narrows her eyes further, willing her roommate to just...get the point, so neither of them have to be subjected to this awkward silence any longer.

“Oh,” Chloe says, finally. Quietly. Her cheeks grow red. It’s only temporary while Aubrey thinks that she can maintain the upper hand. Unfortunately, Chloe’s lack of boundaries means that she often bounces back from embarrassing moments with lightning quick reflexes. “I mean,” Chloe says, maintaining a hesitant tone. “It wasn’t me, right? I tried to tell Beca you’d be able to-”

Aubrey drops her spatula in the sink in horror. “No!” She wants to die. “I don’t want to - Jesus Christ, Chloe. Just, I’m letting you know that I can hear you, okay?!” Then, quieter, after a brief pause, “it was definitely you this morning,” she mutters.

Chloe blushes again, though she seems less embarrassed. “Oh, right.”

About an hour later, Aubrey finally settles back in bed with her laptop, determined to watch a movie and just relax for the rest of the night. She quickly stuffs her headphones into her ears, wary of the fact that both Chloe and Beca are still in the apartment.

Her phone buzzes just as she’s about to recline further into her pillows.

Chloe (8:47 p.m.) Oh, haha, I just saw your message.

Chloe (8:47 p.m.) gotchaaaa

Aubrey (8:48 p.m.) I hate you. And I hate Beca, too.

#bechloe #aubrey posen #beca mitchell #chloe beale #mine #my fanfic #social media #text #fanfiction #pitch perfect

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simplycarrie · 5 years

Text

a list of things canonically said by ‘preston’ and ‘alexandra’ in ‘the connors’ ft. @ofcmattys

alexandra: “are you in love with girl?” preston: “ho, ho yikes! slow down. love isn’t even real. it’s just something your nanny sometimes says to your dad.”

alexandra: “your idea of stress is when your chest waxer goes out of town.” preston: “roberto is the only one who doesn't make it sting!” alexandra: “i would kill to have your problems. too much money, too much free time, too many parents.” preston: “i know you're upset, but you don't have to take it out on me. i've been around enough to know when people are not okay, and you don't seem okay. i get where you're coming from.” alexandra: “you have no idea where i'm coming from! you've had everything handed to you! you had to get hooked on drugs just to be interesting!” preston: “you don't sound like yourself. i'm gonna go.”

preston: “oh, hi. you here to yell at me more? maybe insult one of my mothers? whoa. whoa. hey! hey. what's going on?” alexandra: “i did this thing where I recorded myself thinking out loud. can you just listen with me, please? [ recording ] ‘hello, alexandra. It's me alexandra. this is so stupid...’ preston: “isn't it so weird to hear your own voice out loud? you want me to listen to the whole thing and then comment? gotcha.” alexandra: [ recording ] “i can't sleep. It literally feels like the weight of my life is sitting on my chest. and then i see those kids, those beautiful kids and i’m so tired. maybe too tired to be what they need. i want so badly for them to grow up and live full, happy lives. but I can't teach them how to do that because I don't know how to do that myself. i'm failing them. i'm failing them. they deserve so much better than me. it's like when people tell me, "be happy. you have a great life." it makes me feel like garbage because i know. but what's wrong with me that i can't appreciate that? that i can't feel it? and what's the point of living if you can't feel anything?’ [ end recording ] you were right. that woman is not okay. i know what the last part sounds like, but i promise i would never do anything like that.” preston: “i know. But I think you know that healthy brains don't go to that place. you need to go back on your meds.” alexandra: “i don't want to be on a drug for the rest of my life! i shouldn't have to need it!: preston: [ points out glasses ] i shouldn't have to need these either, but i do. to see. and to look rugged but also smart.” alexandra: “It's not the same thing.” preston: “oh, no? okay. so it's Fourth of July, 2011. i’d been sober for a while, so i thought I'd celebrate with a beer. woke up three days later in an alley. then the bowling ball hit me. i was in the gutter for a long time. it's really slippery without the shoes. that was the day i truly accepted that i can't have alcohol or drugs, ever. not a beer, not a glass of wine, not even six hits of acid at a Grateful Dead show, no matter how well it makes me dance. i kinda get where you're coming from. there's something I want that I can't have for the rest of my life. and there's something you don't want that you have to have for the rest of yours.”

alexandra: “i’m really sorry about all the crap i said about you.” preston: “i can take it. we’re best friends!” alexandra: “oh man. i think you might actually be my best friend. now i really am depressed.”

[ this happened after alexandra had a panic attack ] preston: “did you like that pug dressed as Dame Judi Dench?” alexandra: “yes. thank you, preston.” preston: “all right, just doing my final check-in. so, you okay now? all right, now just remember: all this hard work, everything you're juggling right now, - it's leading to great things. don't quit before the miracle happens. and hey, I'm always here for you.”

preston: “i've been waiting for this my entire life.” alexandra: “well, a bunch of hard-working families are gonna be out on the street. but i’m glad that you and your daddy have a little project.” preston: “why are you mad? this is gonna be great for you. you can own your own home, but the monthly payments will be the same.” alexandra: “i don't have enough money for a down payment. i buy Target furniture! from Goodwill!” preston: “just get one of those loans where you don't have to put anything down and you only pay interest.” alexandra: “you mean the loans that broke America?” preston: “when was this? look, you're a veteran. can't you get a special loan? or don't they, like, give you houses? they should give you houses.” alexandra: “you have no idea how the world actually works. this is really gonna affect us. but you obviously don't care.” preston: “of course i do. but i have to do this.” alexandra: “right. you know, you can learn our language. you can eat dinner with us. you can pretend you're part of the family. but when it comes down to it, you are still the man and we're just your tenants.” preston: “come on, alexandra. that's not at all—” alexandra: “no, congratulations. you are your father's son. get out.” preston: “alexandra-” alexandra: “no, i mean it. please, get out.”

alexandra: “hey.” preston: “hey. come on in. alexandra: “sorry I kicked you out before. but it's nice to know that you're actually capable of leaving my apartment when asked.” preston: “i'm so sorry, ally. i don't know what to say.” alexandra: “no, i'm sorry. you caught me off guard. this is your building. and it is a good business decision. and hell, if the shoe was on the other foot, i’d have kicked your ass out too.” preston: “thanks.” alexandra: “i can't expect you to push your father away because of us. and i get it. family is everything, and no one knows that more than me. the Connors are gonna be okay. and so are we.” preston: “great.” alexandra: “but i gotta say. i don't think you should try so hard to become the man your father wants you to be. because i like the man you are just fine.”

alexandra: “my son has to find you passed out in a laundry room? How long has this been going on? and tell me the fricking truth this time.” preston: “it actually did start when my dad was here.” alexandra: “you been lying to us for that long? what the hell, preston?” preston: “i know. it’s just seeing him again reminded me of how he always said i was bad at everything. but it's not true. i was really good at one thing drinking. i could always drink way more than everybody else. it made me interesting and fun. and when he was here, i had one drink, and i actually managed to stand up to him. so i started thinking, ‘why does it have to be all or nothing? i can handle a drink now and then.’ but obviously, i can't.” alexandra: “what are you doing?” preston: “i'm removing my eight-year chip. I don't deserve to be in the Connor Museum anymore. i blew it. you're never gonna trust me again. you know the first time you asked me to take Alex to his baseball game was one of the proudest moments of my life. nobody ever asks the addict to do that kind of stuff, but you did. you're the only one who's ever trusted me, ally. all that goes away now.” alexandra: “it doesn't go away. it's just gonna be hard to get back.” preston: “eight years. gone. and now the thought of going back to a meeting and starting over? i can't do it. alexandra: “yes, of course you can. and you will. i’m not giving up on you. none of us are. if you don't start going back to meetings, you're just gonna keep slipping. you want to be a good role model for the kids, right? this is your chance. someone once told me, ‘don't quit before the miracle happens.’ preston: “that's pretty smart. who said that? alexandra: “you did, dummy.”

preston: “i can't get over madison. i had a magical angel woman who wanted a future with me, and i screwed it up. alexandra: “don't be so hard on yourself.” preston: “i'm sorry. a wedding probably isn't the best place for me right now.” alexandra: “well, i'm glad you came. otherwise, i’d be the only single loser here.”

#i tried to make them the happy quotes #but most of this is angst lbr #also are all of these from one day at a time?#yuh that show bangs #hennyways #drugs tw #addiction tw #relapse tw #depression tw #panic attack tw #i think that's it stay safe kids

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marypsue · 7 years

Text

What Happens In Space Vegas

Inspired by the Stanchez Summer Sizzle prompt Salad - Tropes; I saw ‘bodyswap’ in the suggested tropes and thought ‘yes’ and then realised that, for these two shows, there was no way I could play it straight. So here is...whatever this is. Warning for body horror and some mild dubcon implications.

I'm also on AO3 as MaryPSue!

...

The world jumps, abruptly, to the right.

The zip and zing of laser fire reaches Stan’s ears slowly, like it’s filtering down through several fathoms of water. He feels...strange. Not bad. He doesn’t hurt. Actually, it’s strange that he doesn’t hurt. He feels kind of like he should be hurting, right now.

It’d be nice if he could remember why.

He lets out a groan, and raises a hand to his head anyway. There’s an absence of headache throbbing there, and the pressure of his hand against his forehead doesn’t help. Stan still doesn’t hurt - even his creaky old joints are moving too smoothly, too easily - but his fingertips prickle when he presses them against his skin, too sensitive and yet strangely muffled, like he’s running a fever. He knows that what he's touching is warm (but not outside of ordinary human body temperature), has the give and texture of human skin, in the same way that he knows there's a pressure against his forehead, five points of heat where his fingers are resting, but he isn't...feeling it. Exactly.

Stan lets out another groan, for good measure. Trying to think about it is making his brain hurt. (But not his head. That's still eerily headache-less.)

A hand (human, bones close to the surface, slightly below average human body temperature, pulse and sweat production slightly above average) wraps around his wrist, jerks it down and shoves something into his hands. Stan’s fingers close around it reflexively, his right hand finding what feels like a trigger. He tries opening his eyes to get a look and see if what’s in his hands is actually what he thinks it is, but the absolute dark stays exactly the same.

“Uh -” he starts, and Rick’s voice, from somewhere to his right, interrupts him.

“You shoot, I’ll try to put yourrrrurrpp guts back in. Sound good?”

“Wait, what?” Stan says.

Sure, yeah, he feels weird, but not in-agonising-pain-because-his-guts-are-spilling-all-over-the-place weird. He guesses it’d explain why he feels like he should be in pain right now. But how’d his guts get outside his body in the first place? And -

“Hey, not that it matters, but who’s shooting at us this time?” he asks, as laser bolts scream past overhead.

“Your - your - your intestines, Pines! You want ‘em inside your torso? Then shut the fuck up and get shooting!”

Stan blinks. It doesn’t change anything.

Maybe he’s just blindfolded, or something, though why anybody would bother blindfolding him without tying him up, he has no idea, but it has to be, has to be, he can’t be, be blind -

There’s a squelching sound that Stan figures he’d rather not ask about, and Rick says, “Here, hold this.”

“Hold what?" Stan snaps. “I can’t fuckin’ see!”

“Oh, yeah,” Rick says, like it’s just occurring to him. “Think you’ve got - got - infrared or something in there.”

“In where?”

Rick doesn’t answer. The squelching’s louder now. Stan kind of wishes he could see what Rick’s doing. It can’t be worse than what he’s imagining. Right?

“Rick, what the hell -”

Stan doesn’t get to finish his sentence. He gets cut off by the shriek of a laser bolt as it sizzles past, close enough that Stan can feel the heat of it on his face. That feels weird too, somehow, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it. Stan’s hands tighten on the gun, and he pushes himself up from the floor he’s slumped on, spinning to fire off two quick shots in the direction the laser bolt had come from before dropping back down again.

He realises, as he presses his back flat against whatever he'd been leaning against when he'd...woken up? Had he been asleep? Whatever he'd been leaning against, anyway - that the sudden, quick motion hasn't left him out of breath like he'd half-expected. Actually, Stan's not breathing hard at all. He's not -

He's not breathing.

The jolt of panic that stabs through Stan at the realisation should really make his heart seize in his chest, make it kick into a pounding, fevered pace that makes him worry that a lifetime of bad gas-station food is about to catch up with him - but that doesn't happen either. Stan's not breathing, and his heart's not beating either.

Well, hot Belgian waffles.

"Sweet shitting fuck!" Stan shouts, quickly lowering his voice again when another burst of laser fire sears the air above his head. "You actually got me fuckin' killed this time!"

There's a snarl in Rick's voice. "Oh, oh sure, just - just make this my fault -"

"It is your fault!" Stan explodes. "The only people that got beef with me don't use laser guns!”

“Plasma rifles.”

“Plasma - I can't see and I'm not breathing and some assholes are taking potshots at us and according to you, my intestines are all over the floor! Who gives a shit what they call their laser guns! What the fuck is going on?"

“You got shot by the intergalactic cops,” Rick says, entirely too composed for somebody who claims to be stuffing the intestines of the man he’s fucking back into said man’s body. “I - I - I stuck you in the nearest robot so you could cover for me while I put your body back together.”

Another laser bolt sizzles through the air beside Stan.

“You stuck me in the nearest robot,” he manages, flat.

"Did - did you miss the part where - where the whole point of that was keeping me from getting shot?"

"You couldn't just portal us somewhere safe or something," Stan says. His voice still sounds flat.

There's annoyance creeping into Rick's voice, and Stan could almost laugh, if it weren't for the fact that he's probably dying on some grimy space station floor or something right now. "I could, if - if somebody hadn't gone and got himself shot. Try putting you through a portal like this and you'll end up wearing your guts as garters. I - I mean it literally. And not - not the colloquial use of 'literally' where you - you just throw it around to make your statements sound more hyperbolic -"

"Yeah, got it," Stan interrupts. "Guts everywhere. Bad idea. So, obviously, the next best thing was to put me in a robot."

Someone in the direction the laser fire's been coming from yells, "We're prepared to accept your surrender! Come out now and we'll make sure the judge who sentences you will go easy on you!" Stan reaches over the - low wall? Upturned table? - he's been leaning against and fires off a couple of shots in their general direction, just on principle. This feeling-but-not-feeling thing is really starting to piss him off. Fuck. Rick really, really better be able to stitch his body up.

"That why I'm blind?" he asks, and flexes his fingers around the gun he's holding (unobtanium alloy and squeevil hide grip, worn, well-used, most recently held by an Earth-D42 human whose perspiration and pheromone production indicate fear). "And got...sensors."

"And infrared," Rick says.

"Yeah, real helpful," Stan snaps back. "You got any idea how I can turn that on?"

"How - how should I know? I'm not the one who's a robot."

"Hey, are you guys surrendering or what?" the voice from the direction all the laser fire's been coming from calls, and Stan fires off another halfhearted blast in its general direction. "Okay, but I've got a two-o'clock tee time, and I'm gonna be really pissed off if you guys make me miss it!"

"What a - what a shleeb, am I right?" Rick mutters.

"You know, sometimes I think you just make words up to fuck with me," Stan says, feeling at his own face for some kind of switch or something that might turn on the infrared Rick says he's supposed to have. He can't find anything. It's kind of surprising, now, knowing he's in a robot, just how human the thing feels. Apart from the curved strip of cold glass that wraps around his face right over where his eyes should be, and the fact that these damn sensors are telling him that the 'skin' he's touching is actually a silicone overlay, he could almost be a real person.

"How the hell'd you get your hands on a humanoid 'bot, anyway?" Stan asks, not really listening to his own question.

Rick doesn't answer.

"Rick?" Stan asks, suddenly nervous. He's forcibly reminded that, oh yeah, his body is currently lying on a dirty spaceport floor with its guts around its knees and only Rick's dubious grasp of normal human anatomy between him and a lifetime of reading the chemical composition of everything he touches through his fingers.

What he can’t figure out is how they ended up in this situation in the first place. There’s no reason the cops should’ve come after them. It’s not like they were doing anything all that illegal - that he can remember, anyway. Far as Stan can think, they were just doing the tourist thing. Sightseeing. Drinking. A little gambling, at an actual, licensed, official casino for once, and Stan hadn’t even understood the games well enough to cheat at them. Turns out aliens are weird. Who woulda figured.

Maybe Rick had been cheating, but still, that doesn’t explain the cops. Maybe it’s different in space, but Stan’s pretty sure most casinos would still rather take out their own trash. Which means -

“Is this more of your tragic backstory baloney?” he asks, turning in the general direction Rick’s voice has been coming from. “Because if your stupid hangup about dipping sauce or something gets me killed -”

“Way to run a - a minor but amusing character trait into the ground until it - it - it stops being funny and overwhelms every other aspect of my personality,” Rick snaps. “Do you hear me constantly bringing up your pug-smuggling?”

“All right, sheesh, you don’t gotta make a federal case outta it,” Stan grumbles, adding a muttered, “Touchy,” under his breath.

From the other end of the...hall? Street?...the now-familiar voice calls, too eager, “Did I hear someone mention a federal pug-smuggling case? That might just be enough for me to get a special ops team down here!”

Stan doesn’t need to see the look Rick’s giving him. He can imagine it easy enough.

“Hey, you brought the pug thing up,” Stan says, firing a few more bolts in the direction of the cops. It’s getting easier, though this whole sensor thing is still just too weird. His hearing’s a lot better than he can remember it ever having been, though, even before the hearing aids, and his hands haven’t been this steady since before he got kicked out. Heck, even the stink of this place (a lot of rubber and latex, and machine oil, and leather, with a hint of stale, recycled spaceport air and, for some reason, cinnamon) seems sharp and clear. Maybe this robot business isn’t the absolute worst.

There’s gotta be a way to turn on this stupid infrared so he can actually sort of see, though. There’s no switch on the outside, as far as Stan can tell, which means he’s going to have to figure out what makes this robot tick on the inside. Great. Since mechanical genius has always been his thing.

“What kind of robot is this, anyway?” he asks, smiling grimly when one of his shots is finally answered by a strangled scream. He really is getting better at this.

Rick doesn’t answer, again, and the buzz of victory fades fast.

“What is this, the silent treatment?” Stan asks, and Rick makes a noise that’s downright indescribable. Or maybe that sound’s coming from Stan’s ruptured body. Hard to tell.

“Of course not, I’m not a teenage girl,” Rick sneers, and Stan fires off a couple more shots thoughtfully, listening hard for more screams.

“Yeah, maybe if you were you’d be more emotionally mature.” A short, sharp shriek from the cops’ side of things, and Stan lets out a whoop. “Seriously, I’m pretty sure Mabel’s better at dating than you, and I once saw her pick up a girl by saying, ‘Hi! I’m Mabel and I have a pig! You can pet him if you come get coffee with me!’”

“I’m a fantastic date,” Rick grumbles.

“You got me shot on an alien planet.”

“Exactly. Who else is taking you to such glamuuurrrrpous and - and exciting places?”

Stan doesn’t really have a comeback to that one, so he focuses on trying to turn on his infrared instead. There’s a whirring noise, and something starts blasting shitty dance music, a heavy thud of bass like an artificial heartbeat pounding from a speaker embedded in Stan’s chest.

The zip and zing of laser bolts around him suddenly intensifies, like he’s just painted a giant target on his back. Stan concentrates, and the music snaps off again as soon as humanly - well, robotically - possible. One last shot still kicks sparks up off his shoulder, his sensors registering torn silicone without any pain and dispatching nanobots to patch it. Shit, that feels weird.

“What. The hell,” Stan says, in the ringing silence.

He’s pretty sure that it’s not just his imagination that the silence coming from Rick’s direction has taken on a slight embarrassed tinge.

“Sounds like you guys are having a real party over there!” the irritatingly enthusiastic cop calls. “Hope you don’t mind if we crash it!”

“Rick,” Stan demands. “Are my guts back in me or what?”

“I’m working on it! I’d’ve been done twenty minutes ago if your - your digestive system was a diflurbian convertor box!” He manages to make it sound accusing, like it’s Stan’s fault his internal organs aren’t a - whatever Rick just said.

“Shit,” Stan mutters. There’s entirely too much rumbling coming from the other end of the...room, for lack of a better word, and he stabs wildly for something else, hoping blindly that if it’s not the damn infrared, it’s at least a giant plasma arm cannon or something.

Where the hell did Rick even find a humanoid robot with infrared and such sensitive sensory input - and a built-in sound system? Who built something like that? And who went to so much trouble to make it look and feel so human, other than hiding its eyes -

“Wait,” Stan says, a horrible suspicion seizing him. “We left the casino. Where are we right now?”

“Outside the casino,” Rick answers, unhelpfully.

“I know we’re outside the casino,” Stan presses on, wishing he could stop or get off this train of thought before it arrives at its horrible, inevitable destination. “Because we were both pretty drunk, and somebody forgot a certain...adult vitamin supplement, that I need, for reasons -”

“You’re a geezer, just - just admit you need pharmaceutical help to get it up already,” Rick complains.

“Only when I’m drunk!” Stan snaps back, a little too fast. “Which is normal. Could happen to anybody, any age.”

“Sure, keep - keep telling yourself that.”

“You’re just trying to piss me off so I get distracted, aren’t you,” Stan says.

“Is it working?”

“Because,” Stan pushes on, stubbornly, determined now to reach that awful conclusion he knows he isn’t going to like, “you don’t want me to remember that you said you knew a guy who could take care of our - my - little issue and -”

Stan stops. He really, really wishes he could draw in a deep breath, or pinch the bridge of his nose, or something. He settles for slapping a hand flat against his face and slowly dragging it down, the silicone of his palm squeaking loudly against the cool glass band over where his eyes should be.

“Rick,” he says, using his best ‘I’m-not-mad-I’m-just-asking-so-I-know-what-I’m-about-to-be-mad-about’ voice, honed on both the kids at the Shack and on Ford, who can be a big oversized kid himself half the time, “did you stick my brain in a sex robot?”

“No,” Rick says, sounding so affronted that for half a second Stan almost tries to heave a sigh of relief. “Your brain’s still in your body with the - the rest of your organs. Except some of your intestines.” He says it offhand, like Stan’d dropped a handful of change rather than a major part of his insides. “I stuck your consciousness in a sex robot.”

Stan doesn’t move for a long, long second.

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” he says, finally, conversationally.

There’s a rumble from the far end of the room that Stan can feel coming up through the soles of his feet and his knees where he’s crouched on the floor (brushed concrete, very industrial, rough on the silicone).

“No you’re not, then you’d be stuck in the sex robot indefinitely,” Rick says, equally conversationally. “There. That should - should hold you through at least one portal.”

He wraps a hand around Stan’s wrist (warm, heart rate and body temperature elevated slightly above average for an adult human male, pheromones - pheromones indicating the first traces of arousal, and damn if that isn’t doing something weird to Stan’s robot innards that he’d really rather not think about right now) and yanks, pulling Stan forward. “Help me move you.”

Stan’s (hopefully temporary) robot hands find his own, human torso (body temperature too low, sensors indicating blood loss, dangerous but survivable with appropriate transfusions) and he hoists...himself...up over one shoulder, pushing himself to his feet. There’s the wet sizzle and sudden waft of ozone and burnt limes that mean Rick’s just opened a portal. Rick yells, “So long, suckers!” over the rumble from the other end of the room, which builds until it drowns him out, until it’s almost deafening, feedback whining in Stan’s ears and splintering into random strands of data.

Rick’s hand on Stan’s wrist tugs Stan through the portal, and

...

“Whoa,” Stan says, trying and failing to sit up. His whole body from the neck down is just a ball of agony, but at least it’s good, honest pain. And he’s never been so grateful to see so many colours. He just hopes they belong to some kind of alien hospital and not, say, a cop shop, though the soothing pastels and the smell of piss, overcooked food, and industrial disinfectant seem to bode well for that. Some things are universal, apparently. “Ow.”

“Yeah, that’s gonna - that’s gonna hurt for a while,” Rick says, from somewhere to Stan’s right.

“What happened?” Stan asks, carefully. It hurts to talk. His right hand is warm, and slightly damp, and just a little sore, like somebody’d been holding it too tight until very recently.

“Sensors on the robot went all haywire coming through the portal. Too sensitive. Apparently they ‘aren’t meant to be used for unregulated interdimensional travel’ and I’m ‘not getting the damage deposit back’.” Stan manages to turn his head just in time to see Rick shrug one shoulder, like he isn’t bothered by any of it. “It - it fried pretty spectacularly. Fireworks everywhere. Too bad you were in it, you missed the - the show.”

“Too bad,” Stan echoes, feeling stupid with surprise and pain. “My guts still out?”

“Nnnnope,” Rick says, proud, popping the ‘p’. “All - all stitched up and healing. It’ll hurt like a bitch for a while, though.”

Stan gives a little huff of acknowledgement. That hurts too.

"It's official, this is the worst vacation I've ever been on,” he says. “And I'm countin' the time I got Vegas-married to a prospector statue."

Rick gives another nonchalant shrug. “Can’t say we - we never do anything interesting.”

Stan snorts laughter, gasps in a silent breath when it laces a line of silver pain through his side.

He considers the lines of fire striping his stomach, the memory of the twist in his robot insides when Rick had grabbed his wrist back there, the warmth that’s quickly fading from his right hand.

“You got another one of those robots kicking around?” he asks, and Rick’s grin turns wicked.

“Why, you - you wanna take it for a spin?”

Stan tries to shrug, regrets it. “Hey, what’s the worst that could happen? Don’t answer that.”

Rick just smiles, long and lazy and triumphant. "Well, you know what they say about what happens on Vega."

"I'm pretty sure that's 'in Vegas'," Stan corrects him.

"Oh, oh right, because the - the universe revolves around the Earth. Any other fourteenth-century scientific breakthroughs you'd like to share?"

Stan just shakes his head the best he can, before shutting his eyes and settling back into his pillow.

#gravity falls #rick and morty #stanchez #stanchez summer sizzle #this is mary's fic tag #I told myself 'you will write one fic for this event and get it out of your system' ha ha well guess what #i've been staring at this for so long that it has become joyless and unfunny in my eyes. is it any good? who knows! but here it is

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thebeautyblender · 5 years

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PREGNANCY PRODUCTS EVERY MOM-TO-BE NEEDS

This post has been sponsored by PALMER’S and PURE ESSENCE; however, every opinion is my own and my genuine real interest and use of the products.

When I first got pregnant, I had no idea how much the products I used would change. Like really change. Or more than that, how many new products I would have to buy for my changing body, skin, sleep, etc.

Being that I’m now 6 months pregnant, my belly is pretty big and still growing. And when that belly grows, it grows fast, and you have to change with it. I remember Christmas shopping with my sister and mom in December and having to unbutton my pants and walk around covering up with my purse in front of me. It was 1. totally embarrassing and 2. extremely uncomfortable having your jeans that you totally could fit into no problem 1 week ago (some days easier than others depending on my fonut intake - yes, that’s a baked donut that is freaking amazing/has been my #1 pregnancy craving :) ). It felt like my jeans were shrinking, but no, that was just baby boy growing! It was time for maternity jeans and I needed them NOW otherwise it was yoga leggings for days....

I started researching so many products from maternity jeans to pregnancy pillows to the best stretch mark belly cream... After work, I’d get home and just research the internet and Instagram, asking every Mom I knew and I started buying and trying. Let’s just say some of the products weren’t great, but I did find my go-tos after some trial and error.

Here’s what I found and am loving...

1. PREGNANCY PILLOW: Wamsutta® Quilted Body Pillow in White

Sleeping has been interesting to say the least. Let’s just say I get up to pee every few hours and the leg cramps that I jump out of bed with that make me feel like Frankenstein, are NOT FUN! I’m a belly sleeper (anyone else?!), so the side sleeping thing is really new and difficult for me. I tried a ton of pregnancy pillows, the Snoogle, the Boppy... I tried THEM ALL. I hated having the pillow under my head since I’m picky about pillows and felt my neck was too elevated with most pregnancy pillows I tried. Toby (my pug) tried to get in every single one of them with me, which just defeated the whole purpose. I almost gave up until I went to Bed Bath & Beyond to try a body pillow instead. And I LOVE MY BODY PILLOW! You don’t need anything fancy - It’s so inexpensive and comfortable. They come in different firmness levels so give it a try! I wrap one leg on top and really cuddle with it. Toby can then sleep on my other side. I sometime prop a pillow on my other side to avoid laying on my back, but Toby usually keeps me propped up. Thanks Toby! :)

2. NO STRETCH MARKS!: Palmer's Cocoa Butter Formula 4.4-ounce Tummy Butter

OKAY SO I DIDN’T KNOW THIS WAS A THING! But obviously you can get stretch marks when your belly and body is growing rapidly! I started using an oil based stretch mark product, and then realized the ingredients weren’t as good as I wanted them to be. I noticed that I was getting stretch marks on my boobs already and it FREAKED me out. LADIES, BE SURE TO MOISTURIZE EVERYTHING... YOUR BELLY, YOUR BOOBS, YOUR BUM, YOUR BACK.... Sorry to get graphic here, but I mean it! Start the moment*** you find out you’re pregnant - it’s never too early. I was a little too late to the game, but luckily I haven’t got another stretch mark since! I started using Palmer’s Tummy Butter and I seriously looked forward to it every day.

Palmer's Cocoa Butter Formula Tummy Butter is an easy, effective way to heal* and avoid* stretch marks (double whammy!). Whether you've recently lost a lot of weight, or are a new mother, this butter formula works to help your skin smooth and avoid the stretch marks that will last way longer than you would like!

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3. THE BEST MATERNITY JEANS: 7 FOR ALL MANKIND Maternity b(air) Denim Ankle Skinny in Black

Okay, another item I had to trial and error with. I first found some that went below the belly and they well, were falling off of me! I then started looking for jeans that went above the belly and would stay up all day. I LOVE these 7 FOR ALL MANKIND jeans. I seriously wear them almost every day... and probably will continue once bub arrives.

4. THE BEST PRENATAL VITAMIN! Pure Essence Labs One N Only Prenatal Vitamins

I tried a few different prenatal vitamins, most gave me headaches or made me incredibly nauseous. I also hated having to take more than 1 a day as I would tend to forget. I found PURE ESSENCE and love that it’s just 1 a day. My headaches stopped right away once I started taking them. I love that they are vegan, soy free and contains a bunch of superfoods to help both me and baby. I also haven’t got sick my entire pregnancy (they sometimes say that you are more susceptible to getting sick while pregnant), and I want to owe it to the extra immune support this vitamin gives.

Also it has a NATURAL FORM OF FOLATE, which was super important to me. Most supplements use folic acid, which the body must convert to folate. Many people lack the enzyme required for this conversion and thereby get no benefit from folic acid. Pure Essence’s folate is Methyltetrahydrofolate (MTHF). MTHF is already in the active form so that even those with the enzyme deficiency can use it. Pretty obsessed with this vitamin!!!

5. BEST PRODUCT FOR CALM - Pure Essence Labs Ionic Fizz Magnesium Plus - Calm Sleep Aid and Natural Anti Stress Supplement Powder - Raspberry Lemonade

I MISS WINE!!!!! Lol. No but really, I was use to coming home after a long day of work (I run my own wellness brand/company and teach yoga), and would pour myself a glass of wine. It wasn’t even a glass most of the time, but even a few sips would help me unwind and relax. Being pregnant is great, but the no wine and no sushi thing, is well, A THING! I needed to find something that I could take before bed that would help me unwind and was still safe for me and baby. I love having a warm cup of tea with this Magnesium powder. I swear it helps to avoid leg cramps in the middle of the night. AND IT 100% helps me sleep better throughout the night. If you were a back or belly sleeper, get ready to learn to be a side sleeper (it takes a while and magnesium helps me fall asleep while on my side).

6. BEST PREGNANCY TOP - Women's Ingrid & Isabel Rib Knit Maternity Tank

So I didn’t expect I would have maternity wear go-tos, but I do and lets just say my outfits are LIMITED. I basically wear this tank under everything because I love the way it holds the belly in. I bought at least 3 of these so I can wear it every day.

7. BEST PREGNANCY APP - PREGNANCY PLUS

The best pregnancy app I found. I love the weekly updates, what size fruit baby is, common symptoms I might have and even Dr. Appointment reminders/what they will usually test for when. I also like the “What To Expect” App and the book is also extremely helpful!

8. HYDRATION IS KEY!: S’well Water Bottle

I started getting pretty gnarly headaches around week 8. They were almost daily and would start early in the AM and not going away until around 6pm. I tried my best to not take anything, but sometimes would take Tylenol. I found that drinking water early in the AM and before bed was key. HYDRATE MY PREGNANT MAMA FRIENDS!!!! Your body is working a ton right now and it’s key to stay hydrated. I take my S’well Water Bottle with me everywhere to remind me to drink up.

. . .

(Here’s bump at 26 weeks!)

Hopefully this post helped all of you mama-to-bes. These are my main go-to products I’m using right now and that have been helping me majorly get through this pregnancy. Overall, I’ve been feeling great and can’t complain, but of course there are modifications we need to take and products we need to buy. Have fun with it! I’m now in the stage of obsessing over baby’s room, and let’s just say, that post will be fun of goodies too!

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vespertine-legacy · 4 years

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Did a buttload of ops with @astrifer-bound and their guild last night!

Explosive Conflict was supposed to be a Hard Mode run, but there was a guildie who had never done any ops who really wanted to join, so we switched to SM. We picked up a pug dps, who was apparently drunk on cheap vodka and a little emotional about it and whispering me the whole time (but hey, they still dps’d well while drunk, so it’s all good). They whispered me after the run to ask when they guild is gonna be up for a HM run... Buddy... pal... go to sleep. Also, during the opening phase of that last part of EC, I heard someone say, “damn, look at November (something I couldn’t hear because like four people started talking over her)” and I would like to know what I did. :grump face:

Next we jumped over to impside and did SM Eternity Vault. We got to play a game of The Floor is Lava with a pack of Terrible Dogs, I got to solve a pylon puzzle while making my entire team Have a Bad Feeling About This, Raz got sucked into a Mind Trap TWICE, and I wasn’t watching my feet on the final battle so the floor fell out from under me and I fell to my death (but at least fell onto the floor below and not into the lava, so when the rest of the group made it down, they were able to get me back up, so I failed in the right way at least...).

Then it was back over to pubside for a run through SM Temple of Sacrifice. I’ve always wanted to do the ToS ops and never had a group for it, so yay! I was threatened with learning to dps with taunt, but it ended up never really coming up? Apparently I nearly died during the fight with the two walkers. For one thing I kept getting the grenade or bomb or whatever on me, and then at one point I had just come back into the fight from like my 7th time leaving because I had the grenade on me, killed the targeting droid, didn’t see that I was standing in the blue circle of death until everyone was yelling “November MOVE” and noticed that my health was at like 2%, WHOOPS. Reminder: I am the dumb dps that stresses healers out until they eventually decide that I’m not worth healing (although I guess maybe I do a decent amount of damage, because in times when a large chunk of the group is down and there’s an argument over who to rez first, I have heard Anh suggest “get Kestrel up after the tanks”). Some highlights were: getting a screenshot of Revan trying to look like he’s about to drop the hottest album of the season but Kem (I think?) threatening him in the background, the guild ship actually being helpful (I didn’t know it could do a strike during a boss fight in an ops?), our tank falling prey to the purple gas clouds and dying just on the edge of it as he tried to get out, and “oh, what’s that? there’s no more blades at this phase? ANH?!”/”JESUS CHRIST take the blades AWAY FROM THE GROUP.”

But here’s what I’m up to on ops now:

Toborro’s Courtyard: story mode, dps (and I always make Lex panic by staying under the droid until the absolute last second before the blast because I’m Like That; pretty sure we’ve done hard mode too? but I’m not logged in to the game right now to check...)

Eternity Vault: story mode, dps

Karagga’s Palace: story mode, dps and heal

Explosive Conflict: story mode, dps and heal

Terror From Beyond: story mode, heal

Scum and Villainy: story mode, heal (and an absolute shitshow, need to do a legit run of this one sometime)

Dread Fortress: never attempted ;-;

Dread Palace: story mode, heal

Ravagers: story mode, dps and heal

Temple of Sacrifice: story mode, dps

Gods from the Machine: story mode, dps (three and a half hours oh my goddddd but it was still fun)

Nature of Progress: (attempted but not finished) story mode and hard mode, heal

#swtor #november plays swtor #swtor with friends #adventures in healing #adventures in ops #swtor oc kestrel #swtor oc raz #this guild's ops runs are very disorganized and stressful but they are a lot of fun

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webbygraphic001 · 5 years

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20 Best New Portfolios, August 2019

It’s August, which means the rain is finally slowing down, and I have a chance to get my roof fixed. While I wait here under a literal tarp-fort that I hung up in my office, I thought I might as well compile some of the best recent portfolios for you all to look at.

We have a mix of sites this month, both colorful and, shall we say, color-minimalist. We’ve got more than a few specimens of one-column layouts, and some superb CSS Grid-based affairs. Enjoy.

Note: I’m judging these sites by how good they look to me. If they’re creative and original, or classic but really well-done, it’s all good to me. Sometimes, UX and accessibility suffer. For example, many of these sites depend on JavaScript to display their content at all; this is a Bad Idea, kids. If you find an idea you like and want to adapt to your own site, remember to implement it responsibly.

Mike Harrison

Mike Harrison’s portfolio is all about “big”: big text, big pictures, and a great big “M” that all fill up big screens (and yes, the small ones too). It’s dead simple, eye-catching, and might have a little bit of a blue thing going on. (It’s subtle, but it’s there [/sarcasm])

I sure would like it if the logo mark in the header took you back to the home page, like most sites do, but otherwise we have a solid (blue) first site for this list.

Platform: WordPress

Rules Creative

Who needs a power-point-style site when there’s actual 3D graphics to be had? Rules Creative uses both 3D and pseudo-3D effects combined with some light brutalism(?) to create a brash, but lovely-looking site. And it’s the first site this month to use yellow effectively, so it gets bonus points from me.

They could use a bit more contrast for the navigation menu at the bottom, perhaps, but it’s otherwise great.

Platform: Contentful

PWNK Digital

PWNK Digital brings more 3D WebGL graphics, a whole lot of pink, and a cyberpunk aesthetic, which makes their logotype alone very clever. The rest of the site is brilliantly atmospheric, whether you’re browsing through their work or their social feeds. It’s a great showcase of what can be achieved with WebGL and 3D graphics on the web in general.

Platform: Static Site (I think)

Caleb Barclay

Caleb Barclay’s site has that monospaced-type and thin borders look that was everywhere for a while. Combined with the pastels and grays, along with some light animation, the whole things is pleasant to browse through while listening to piano covers of ‘90s pop hits. I know that’s a bit specific, but it’s true.

It’s also another great example of what the Webflow platform can do. I do still prefer custom coding my sites, but man, the drag and drop builders are getting better.

Platform: Webflow

Zomorrodi Associates

The site for Zomorrodi Associates is a sleek, monochromatic design that makes excellent use of mild animation, for the most part, but hits you with a couple of big ones in just the right places. I kind of love the “broken” effect that they’re applied to a couple of elements, including their logo.

Platform: WordPress

Brightscout

Brightscout’s portfolio uses clean type, tons of futuristic vector illustrations, and a general aesthetic that I sort of remember seeing from the better designers on DeviantArt right as Web 2.0 was slowing down. Don’t get me wrong, I love it, and I love the way their using the green tones. If just using green made a company eco-friendly, these guys could have fixed the rainforest already.

Platform: WordPress

Rootsy

Rootsy has more pastels and grays to look at, but it’s mostly a brighter design. It’s also got a layout that works fantastically on larger screens, which I always like to see. As one-page portfolios go, this one feels downright elegant and sophisticated, while still managing to feel a bit techy.

Platform: Static Site

Kervin Tan

Kervin Tan’s portfolio has a lovely background animation, a good dark layout, and generally just looks pretty. Go look at the pretty thing.

Platform: Static Site

Isaac Powell

By contrast, Isaac Powell’s website is a lot brighter, though also very pretty. Go look at the other pretty thing. Well, I’ll admit that their approach to case studies is also pretty solid. They still let the images do most of the talking, but there’s a enough text to give you a feel for how they approach problems.

Platform: Statis Site

Ashley Sheekey

Ashley Sheekey’s portfolio looks less like a classic website, and more like a very elegant database. Nerd that I am, this does it for me. There’s something about that typography, grid-based organization, and the use of filters that just makes me happy.

Besides, when you have as much work to show off as Ashley does, filters just make sense. Someone please hold me down and tell me my own site doesn’t need filters. Oh, and do click on the “About” page, because I wasn’t kidding about that typography.

Platform: Static Site (I think)

Netbluez

Netbluez’ portfolio is modern, colorful, and it has lovely illustrations to boot. This one-pager keeps things mostly pretty simple, but then, I’m never going to get over how much my inner five-year-old likes space stuff. I love my minimalism, but I also like seeing designers go nuts with the illustration and graphics.

Platform: Static Site

Wesley van ’t Hart

This portfolio, well… I’ve seen a lot of minimalism in my admittedly limited time, but not many go for this much white space unless they have no content to speak of. Here, the white space is embraced, loved, and very well-used to frame a simple—but by no means empty—portfolio.

Platform: Static Site

Guillame Colombel

Guillame Colombel’s portfolio goes for the slideshow on the home page as their primary method of showing off their work. In general, animation is used to show off the images, and keep things looking fancy. And well, it does look fancy.

Platform: Static Site

EVERGIB

Want to see what CSS Grid can do for you? Look no further than the layout over at EVERGIB, with its print-like feel, and generally great use of white space. It’s a simple site, but simplicity is hard, and I get excited for the future of the web every time I see something this well-built.

Platform: WordPress

Stereo

Stereo is a site with smooth animation, a beautiful palette, and gorgeous type. It is a bit odd though, to have the navigation menu on the home page scrolling across the screen marquee-style (you can drag it manually, too, to get the link you want). It’s not an approach I’d recommend to everyone, but it’s certainly striking… and usable enough for short menus.

Plus, they managed to work memes into their actual website design in a way that made sense and amused me. I’m genuinely impressed with that.

Platform: WordPress

Christian Coan

Christian Coan’s portfolio is another one that leans hard into the use of yellow, but the real star of the show is that typography. I’m not sure I would have put the actual work all the way at the bottom, myself, but this one-pager is just that pretty.

Platform: Static Site

Kev Adamson

Not gonna lie, I am in love with Kev Adamson’s site for nostalgia reasons. It’s a bit ’90s, a bit early 2000s, and all built with more modern development techniques. I’m never going to say that we should all go back to skeuomorphism, but maybe some of us could, sometimes. This Kev person certainly can, I think.

Plus, they’re an illustrator. The aesthetic totally works.

Platform: Custom CMS

Cam Dales

Cam Dales’ portfolio is a fine example of both highly modern minimalism, and one-column layouts. It stands as a reminder that sometimes, when you’ve got very simple content, there’s no need to over complicate your design.

Platform: Cargo Collective, Backdrop

Studio 313

Studio 313 is coming in hot with a modern aesthetic, fantastic type, gradients, and A PUG WITH SUNGLASSES IT’S SO CUTE I WANT HIM BUT THEY HAVE SO MANY HEALTH PROBLEMS… and I have cats anyway. They’d go full Garfield on that poor thing.

It could use a bit more text contrast in places, but overall this site has quirky personal touches all over it, while still maintaining a professional image. That’s an approach I can respect.

Platform: WordPress

Kévin Chassagne

Kévin Chassagne’s portfolio is living (or at least functioning) proof that you can have and elegant, fancy website with great-looking animation, that also works without JavaScript. Sure, you don’t see the fancy ripples in the background, but everything important and functional still functions.

Sure, it’s a one-page portfolio with links to external sites, but my point stands. Content can load without JS. Oh, and I should probably mention that the site has fairly sold typography, and that I adore the color scheme. In this age of digital screens, it’s literally easy on the eyes.

Platform: Static Site

And you know what? If I’m honest, a part of me will really miss this tarp fort when it’s gone. It’s a fort. In my grown up office. Everyone should have one.

Source from Webdesigner Depot https://ift.tt/2YLjDT0 from Blogger https://ift.tt/2M2uamC

#Blogger

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the-record-columns · 7 years

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Oct. 18, 2017: Columns

Ellen, Dee, Dewitte—I loved all three

By KEN WELBORN

Record Publisher

This past Friday afternoon I was holding court at the foot of the basement steps in the catacombs of The Record, visiting with a pleasant young woman named Tara Fitz.

From where we were talking, I could see upstairs and could easily hear the bell on the front door which jingled, followed by another woman appearing at the top of the steps.

When she asked if I remembered who she was, it was easy, because it was a face I remembered from childhood, a neighbor from Hinshaw Street; younger than me, but easily familiar because she was one of the Berrong children I grew up with—Jane. All grown up and living in Wingate, N.C., Jane Hersey had stopped in to make sure I knew of the death of her mother, Ellen Dewitte Berrong, who had died on Wednesday, Oct. 11. I assured her that I knew and was deeply saddened, but quickly our brief visit turned much lighter as we began to reminisce about her amazing mother. I promised Jane that all those wonderful memories she had of her mother, and those days with all her brothers and sisters would carry her through many a long night of missing Dee. Truly, it is like a warm blanket on a cold night.

I am not exactly sure when I first met Dee Berrong, but it was as a small child. They lived in two different houses while in the Hinshaw Street part of North Wilkesboro, but it is when they were three houses down below the apartment my family lived in that I had the most contact. Dee was 10 years younger than my own mother, Cary, and had six children. Two of her boys, Joe Don and John were the closest to my age and we often played and got into mischief together; most memorably on every Halloween night. I was the baby and the last one still at home, what with two of my brothers grown and married, and Wayne old enough to be pretty much on his own; but Dee had a houseful and clearly was up to the task of maintaining order. Often Joe Don, John and I would hide out at our apartment until things cooled down a bit, because Dee wasn't one to put up with too many shenanigans.

The Berrong's moved off Hinshaw Street after a few years, but by then our families were forever tied together by the memories of baseball on the vacant lots on Toll Road, selling pop bottles to buy candy bars and 10 cent Cokes from Joe Johnson at the Community Grocery, throwing eggs and water balloons at Goat Canter's house on J Street, and, of course, the love of our mothers, Dewitte and Cary.

From those days till now, anytime I would run into any one of the Berrongs it was like a family reunion. Once, John stopped by the offices of The Record and we must have talked for three hours about the good times and the good memories of those youthful days.

As a young woman, Dee Berrong worked at the old Goodwill Department Store for the legendary Nike Smithey. It was from her experience there that I was able to learn the “secret” recipe for the famous Goodwill bread burgers. She also spent many years as a Department Manager at the Roses store in North Wilkesboro, specifically in the huge toy department which took up a great deal of the stores floor space. As store managers came and went at Roses, all would remember Dee's ability to keep the toy department organized, clean, and very profitable. One manager, however, a Mr., Oakley, objected to Dee's penchant for a little snuff now and then, telling her that the snuff simply “...had to go.” Well, it did, and Dee went with it, but in no time Mr. Oakley was calling to welcome Dee and her snuff back to the toy department.

Some years later, my parents ended up being next door neighbor's with Dee Berrong on K Street in North Wilkesboro. I knew that my parents thought a lot of Dee, but the longer they were next door, the closer they became. While my parents never had a daughter, they were blessed with my brother, T. A.'s, wife, Pug, and with Dee Berrong. Uncounted are the times I would stop to visit with my parents and Dee would be sitting at the kitchen table with them, or I would find them next door with Dee. There was nothing my parents needed that Dee wouldn't hesitate to look after. As their health began to fail, Dee stayed even closer to them, to the point that, if mom and dad didn't answer the phone, I would call Dee to check on them. In a moment she would call back to let me know they were outside digging in the flowers or would just put one of them on the phone to let me know that all was well..

When my parents died in 1995 Dee Berrong was about the same age as I am now. Clearly, she grieved them like the wonderfully loving daughter that she had become. Whenever I would see Dee out somewhere or visit at her apartment in North Wilkesboro, it wasn't long until remembering mom and dad was a great part of our time together. She would always remind me that she loved my mother and dad like her own and that she knew they loved her.

As do I.

Ellen, Dee, or Dewitte—I loved them all.

Ellen Dewitte Berrong

July 16, 1926 – October 11, 2017

Rest in Peace

Rethinking ourselves

By LAURA WELBORN

When it comes to feeling better about ourselves, and our place in the world, the biggest and most complex obstacle we have to overcome is our mind. If we can overcome that, we can overcome almost anything life throws at us.

The key is in accepting the fact that while we can’t control exactly what happens in life, we CAN control how we respond to it all. And in our response is our power to grow and move forward.

Bring awareness to the story you’re telling yourself, about yourself — You have a story about yourself that you recite to yourself daily. This is your mental movie, and it’s a feature film that plays on repeat in your mind. Start to pay attention when your movie plays—when you feel anxiety about being who you are—because it affects everything you do. Realize that this movie isn’t real, it isn’t true, and it isn’t you. It’s just a train of thought that can be stopped—a script that can be rewritten.

Rewrite the script (edit the storyline of your mental movie) — Your new script will replace that played-out one that keeps running in your cerebral theater. And this time you will consciously craft it. Start with the fact that you are a good person who is learning and working on getting better. Then ask people who love you to tell you why you’re lovable. And ask people who respect you to tell you why they do. Use their stories as scenes in your new movie script. Then fill in the blanks with recent moments and outcomes in your life that you are grateful for. Try to focus on the things you don’t celebrate enough, and the things you don’t give yourself enough credit for.

Practice your new lines — Learn to recognize the worn-out flicker of your old movie starting up, and then stop it. Whenever you catch yourself reciting lines from your old script, flip the script and replace those lines with lines from your new movie script. This takes lots of practice. Just keep practicing, and forgiving yourself for making mistakes along the way.

Deflect external negativity by taking it less personally — Various kinds of external negativity will attempt to distract you from your new script — comments from family, social media posts… lots of things people say and do. When you sense negativity coming at you, learn to deflect it. Give it a small push back with a thought like, “That remark is not really about me, it’s about you.” Remember that all people have emotional issues they’re dealing with (just like you), and it makes them defiant, rude, and thoughtless sometimes. They are doing the best they can, or they’re not even aware of their issues. In any case, you can learn not to interpret their behaviors as personal attacks, and instead see them as non-personal encounters (like a dog barking in the distance, or a bumblebee buzzing by) that you can either respond to gracefully, or not respond to at all. (Marc and Angel Hack life blog)

Then ask yourself:

Can I be ABSOLUTELY certain this story is true?

How do I feel and behave when I tell myself this story?

What’s one other (more positive) possibility that might also be true?

It all goes back to our thoughts are just our thoughts and quite possibly are not reality, although we convince ourselves they are. I think back on how many times I have confronted someone with "my thoughts" and found that was not what they meant at all. I tend to take my insecurities and magnify them into someone else's mind which is never healthy. I hope I will check in with people more and above all give people the benefit of the doubt.

Laura Welborn, Mediator and Addiction Counselor at DonLIn Counseling. contact [email protected]

Pity the Palestinians

By EARL COX

Special to The Record

I’d like to talk about the Palestinians—apart from the question of statehood. One should be provoked to compassion for the Palestinian people, because they are being destroyed by lies and strong delusion. Their leaders cause their young men to err by dangling the lie of beautiful virgins waiting to award them in paradise for the “honor” of murder or violence—and their own bloody and terrifying deaths. The Palestinians are destroying with their own hands those who in other circumstances could have been their brightest, bravest and most valiant young men—to lies.

Then there are lies about money: Instead of seeding $693 million in aid for 2017 toward needed infrastructure, education, and shoring up social and medical services, the Palestinian government will funnel roughly half—$334 million—to pay “salaries” to jailed or released terrorists and suicide bombers’ families. That’s not to mention the charges against PA President Mahmoud Abbas and his sons for corruption and misuse of public funds, or his jealously guarding his successorship to preserve his son’s business empires—a form of deception that deprives his people of governmental accountability. These examples are hard evidence that many in the current government have little compassion for their own people.

Political lies, many outlandish—are also rampant. According to Palestinian Media Watch, libels include: Israel steals organs from Palestinians; Israel seeks rule from the Euphrates to the Nile; Israel murdered Arafat (Abbas and rival Mohammed Dahlan accused each other of the same crime).

Instead of using schools to build strong academic foundations that encourage creative thought and expression, to give their children hope and a future, they enforce learning by rote with an inflammatory mix of distorted history and geography, false claims, propaganda, and incitement to violence. For example, a review of new UNWRA textbooks shows that “for the next generation of Palestinian kids, there is no Israel, it doesn’t exist,” Rabbi Abraham Cooper, Simon Wiesenthal Center associate dean told The Algemeiner. Instead of training young men to solve societal problems, they major in Stone Throwing and Kitchen Daggers 101, while their young women are traumatized by violence at home.

The Palestinians well understand the Temple Mount’s long, rich Jewish history. That’s why they go to great efforts to sabotage or destroy Jewish artifacts and other archeological evidence. That’s why they claim the Temple Mount is “in danger” of being restored to its original owner—Israel (see 2 Sam. 18-25; 2 Chron. 3:1).

If a terrorist with Israeli blood on his hands survives, he is promoted to leadership, calcifying the self-destructive cycle—just as terrorist Saleh al-Arouri was recently appointed deputy head of Hamas’ political bureau. Future leaders, who under other circumstances might have the potential to excel, and live normal, fulfilling lives, are caught in the vicious cycle.

If a child learns that the “right” way to deal with a disagreeable situation is by lying or turning violent, how will he cope with any disagreement? Palestinian violence is already turning inward to shred its own society. “People have forgotten the meaning of tolerance and resort to shooting to solve any small problem,” an Arab told Ynet News during a spike in Arab vs. Arab violence.

What can one expect when a people’s basic tenets of worship and law condone lies and deception? According to Quran 8:39, Muslims have a "divinely sanctioned" right to deceive, until "all religion belongs to Allah"–-that is, until they take their global caliphate by force. While Islamic ideology normally channels lying and deception toward non-Muslims, habitual lying and deceit seems to have seeped into relationships with their fellows.

Lying is not the exclusive domain of Muslims—but its danger lies in systematic practice. And certainly, lies and deception are an unstable foundation for any government, let alone a potential state.

By contrast, consider the attributes of G-d for both Jews and Christians: He extols truth, and withholds life and blessings to “whoever loves and practices a lie.”

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insert-a-suitable-gay-username · 7 years

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dear, her next love.

Hello. Sana.. alagaan mo si joyce. Sobrang swerte mo kapag nakuha mo na loob niyan, and never ever give up on her. Minahal ko din ng sobra yang mokong yan hahaha pero i guess it’s time to let go. So ipapaubaya ko na yung nararamdaman ko para sakanya, please take time to read this one by one to understand her more. (and to hurt her less.. please?)

1. Siguro, madami kayong problema na madadaanan and minsan mahirap i-open up si joyce. Please, never ever make the same mistakes as i did na lagi siya pinipilit mag open okay? It will take time pero she would eventually open up din kahit bit by bit.

2. Si joyce.. she’s amazing. Overthinker nga lang, kaya always make sure na she’s enough. More than enough to be honest.

3. Make sure to give her/or show her little things that would cheer her up or make her happy kahit walang occasion, maaappreciate niya yun sobra.

4. Speaking of appreciation, di siya masyado marunong magbigay ng reaction kapag may binibigay sakanya pero deep inside naaappreciate naman niya talaga kaya dont you worry brad/besshy, natutuwa talaga yun.

5. I loved her, because she has a very kind heart. May malaki siyang soft spot para sa mga nakakatanda and sa mga bata, (kahit awkward siya minsan sa mga bata, gusto niya talaga sila deep inside heh pag hindi annoying) lalo na sa mga nasa lansangan.

6. Talented din siya oh diba what a catch! haha, kahit sinasabi niyang hindi. Gumagaling na siya sa pag drawing and oil pastel, you should see her works ang ganda na talaga. tapos, marunong pa siya magpiano what even, di nga abot ng kamay ko yung ibang keys samantalang sakanya ang effortless lang wow. Ang bilis pa niya matuto. I’m super amazed kapag nagsesend siya saakin ng recordings of her playing, titirisin kita kapag di mo naappreciate yang mga ipagsesend niya sayo ha nako ka, may araw ka din sakin.. charot.

7. She has a very beautiful voice, hindi ko lang alam kung bakit di siya naniniwala na magaling din naman siya kumanta (minsan hehehe joke) kaya mission ko para sayo, please try your best na ipafeel sakanya na magaling siya, and that her voice is music to your ears okay? Kung di siya music sa tenga mo aba'y sisipain din naman kita pagkatapos sapakin, no big deal. char againnn. Maybe.

8. Magaling siya mag lead kapag siya na ang leader, tapos she would really put effort sa mga gagawin (kahit as a normal group member lang din) Andami ko nang times na nakikita na maeffort siya pagdating sa mga ganun, lalo na pag affected yung grades niya. Kahit nga sa mga projects niya ang effort din niyan eh, galing galing talaga hehe. It shows na kaya din niya gampanan mga responsibilities niya even if she’s sooooo lazy sometimes. She’d still make sure na ginawa niya lahat ng tama.

9. Did i ever mention na artistic siya? if oo, then oh well.. i’m gonna mention it again anyways. Oo, artistic siya. Ang galing din ng pagcalligraphy niya huhu.

10. Marunong siya magskateboard, tas yung ibang tricks din. Damn. Damn talaga.

11. Magaling siya mag acting, like shet??? Have you seen her act?! Nakaka bilib siya. Hands down. Para kang nanonood ng ibang tao kapag nag aact siya. Also, sumali yan sa contest ng sabayang pagbigkas sa pasig. Don’t me. Galing niya non, tapos ang effort niya sa lahat ng practices niya.

12. Magaling magbasketball, may pagka sporty yan eh hahaha. Get you a girl who could shoot!

13. Mahusay sa filipino, lalo na kapag nagfform ng constructed sentences. She really does know how to clearly express her thoughts beautifully.

14. She likes cute stuff. Lalo na yung mga design na aesthetic pero cute, mga tumblr-ish style with small cartoons or designs. Oh, and if i were you, make sure na kapag nasa sm ka daan ka lang sa stationary dep. (or any store with stationary) buy her any cute thing na useful tas ibigay mo lang. Her smile after receiving it will really brighten your day because trust me, it worked for me. Sobrang worth it.

15. Sobrang caring niya, and thoughtful. May ibang times nga na kapag naggive up na ako sa isang project, siya na mismo yung gumagawa eh. Pero syempre i never took it for granted, kaya ikaw din. Never. Take. Her. For. Granted. She deserves the best arayt?

16. She lovesss dogs. Esp golden retrievers and pugs, send her pics of them every once in a while yeah?

17. She hates ketchup and extravagant food. She prefers food na comfortable para sakanya na kainin and yung simple lang. Take her somewhere na di niyo pa napupuntahan, she likes adventures instead of being cooped up lang sa isang room.

18. She has a vast knowledge about OPM songs, hilig nga din niya dun eh. Pero depende din naman yun sa mood niya, minsan naaapektuhan ng kanta yung mood niya tas nadadama na niya talaga hahaha.

19. Straightforward siya, sobra. Ipopoint out lang naman niya kapag may something na mali or iba sayo, and it’s for your sake din. (i actually got angry lagi dati pero ngayon ko lang talaga narealize na she was doing it for me)

21. Mahilig kumuha ng pictures, lalo na kapag nature. She has nice shots, pwede na mag photographer char

22. Hyper and halipaparot, minsan lonely kaya don’t ever leave her alone.

23. Remind her to always drink water and eat at the right time, minsan nakakalimutan niya kasi uminom ng tubig eh.. pero i trust na you’ll take care of her.

24. Tinatago niya minsan (or lagi..) kapag may sakit siya, alagaan mo nalang siya in subtle ways and don’t overdo it. Magugulat ka nalang na ang init na pala niya o masakit na yung ulo.

25. Conscious yan sa cheeks niya, kasi feeling niya yun lang yung tumataba sakanya. Kaya ayun, di na tuloy kumakain masyado hahaha. She’s still beautiful kahit medj chubby na cheeks niya, sabihin mo yan lagi kasi it’s true.

26. Mahilig siyang magpalibre wahaha pero minsan nahihiya lang o kaya nagpapabebe pa, nag iipon kasi lagi yan eh hmp.

27. Kapag matagal na kayo, minsan nawawala siya sa mood makipag usap. And please respect that nalang, lalo na’t baka may problema siya or nag ooverthink. Paalalahanin mo lang na andyan ka lang lagi para sakanya.

28. Okay oh god. Pinipigilan ko na luha ko at this point. Siguro alam mo naman kung gano ko siya minahal kaya please.. PLEASE. paki ingatan.

29. Funny, witty, and charming siya. like how????

30. Eto. Sobrang importante. Brad, (or besshy whatevs u want to be called) Siguro alam mo naman na din diba? She is so beautiful. You’re doing a good job whenever you remind her she’s beautiful. Panlabas nga niya e, kay ganda na. What more pa sa loob? Whenever bagong gising siya, puro muta, tulo laway man o magulo ang buhok, beautiful. Kapag tumatawa siya nang sobra, na yung tipong minsan tumataas yung boses niya, beautiful. Kapag nanghahampas siya o nananakit kasi natutuwa o nahihiya, beautiful. Kapag nagtatago yan kasi umiiyak or pinipigilan umiyak, beautiful. Kapag tinanggal na niya glasses niya, beautiful. Kapag she’s drenched from the rain, adorably beautiful. Kapag haggard na haggard siya after walking long distances tapos mainit, still..beautiful. Kapag nag i love you na yan sayo.. everything would feel right. She’s breathtaking, and everything would feel wonderful din. She’s not just a pretty girl, and instead, she is so much more. Keeper yan.

31. Clingy yan. Cute nga eh. Never ever call her annoying, or anything na makakapag overthink sakanya.

32. BTS stan and k-drama lover. Wag maapektuhan kapag masyado na niyang crush oppa niya, ikaw padin naman number one sa puso niya hehe. Also, give her time din kung gusto niya manood or what.

33. Watches anime and reads manga. Nothing to say here.

34. Lagi siyang involved sa mga school activities, gusto niyang magka award talaga. Kaya gagawin niya talaga lahat para makuha yung mga yon. Support her, always.

35. Ipush mo siya sa mga gusto niyang salihan pero takot lang, makakayanan niya yun promise. Basta ipush mo lang ng ipush.

36. Hold her hand. Even if sabihin niyang pasmado siya, then hawakan mo padin. Kiss her on the forehead to let her know that you love her. Make her feel super appreciated.

37. Scratch her back slowly kahit wala pa siyang sinasabi, she loves it. Run your fingers through her hair, and wag kang maaannoy kapag binalik niya kamay mo sa buhok niya after mo tanggalin hehe.

38. Wag na wag mong gagaguhin. Kapag ginago mo yan, hala sige. Lagot ka sa mga kaibigan niyan, lalo na saakin. She’s a very sweet and lovable person, bakit mo gagaguhin?

39. She has her own way of expressing her feelings for you m'kay? Be patient and kind.

40. Marunong siyang umintindi ng tao, lalo na pag kaclose. Observant din yan nukaba, sobrang wise pa. Hindi din yan nagsusugar coat kaya be ready.

41. Lagi mong iparamdam na worth it siya ha? salamat.

42. Complicated siyang tao, pero kahit ganun never give up on her. Try mo intindihin kahit hindi mo talaga maintindihan, try ka lang ng try.

43. Love her hard.

All in all, ayan. Madami ka pang madidiscover sakanya, maybe may mga nabago din sa mga sinabi ko, maybe wala. Gusto ko lang alagaan mo yan kasi sobraaang worth it. To be honest, gustong gusto ko na siya bumalik saakin. Pero kung masaya na talaga siya sayo, then sige. I’m happy that she’s happy na she found someone new. Pasayahin mo lang, treat her like a princess/bestfriend. Be there for her lagi, especially when she needs you. Give her the love that she deserves, kasi she is worth it. You are so so damn lucky alam mo ba yun? Kaya do your best to keep her, Goodluck and cheers! I wish you both the best :)

3:28 am

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oathmmori · 7 years

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FACK v2

New Frequently Asked Questions (FAQ, pronounced FACK), because a bunch has changed. Let's see what we can answer.

What's your name?

Ian. You can call me Ian. Or Oath. Hey. 'Sup.

How old are you?

At the time of writing this, 32. My birthday is October 7. I'm not very mature though.

Where are you from?

I live in Orlando, Florida, in the United States. It's okay, mostly warm.

What is your race/ethnicity/nationality?

I'm Filipino American. My mom and dad are from the Philippines, but I was born in Indiana. I look ethnic, but I got that radio voice. Throws people off. I like it.

When do you stream?

At the moment, really, whenever I can. I’ve tried setting a schedule and sticking to it, however, with being a bartender and in a long distance relationship, my professional and private life takes precedence over streaming, so I stream usually in the evenings when I can manage it. SORRY FOR INCONSISTENCY.

What's with the bar and the drinks?

I'm a craft cocktail bartender. I was trained by Rene Nguyen at two of Orlando's best craft cocktail bars, Hanson's Shoe Repair and Herman's Loan Office. Currently in the bar scene, I work at the two aforementioned bars anywhere from two to five times a week. I've built a bar here for the stream due to my recent growing interest. I hope with dedication and time I can share my passion for craft cocktails with the Twitch Community. I tend to stick with classic cocktails, plays on classics, or riffing on classic bases, but I'm open to anything suggested within reason.

Do you take orders? How can I suggest a drink?

I do, so long as I have the stuff for it and it’s a classic cocktail in nature. Inappropriate drink orders, like a Redheaded Slut, Liquid Cocaine, or a Leg Spreader, for example, will not be made, nor will it be taken likely in the chat. Classic cocktail requests only, plays on classics, or a craft cocktail you may have tried, hell, if you wanna throw ideas at me, we can workshop on the stream.

What games do you stream?

I stream mostly the Sims 4. I'm pretty much a Sims 4 streamer, but I do play other things as well, mostly city builders, RPGs, survival games, sandboxes, anything with larger scope, long term gains aspect to it. I play story driven games on occasions, but not as often. Big indie game fan, so you'll see some of that. Not much of a FPS/shooters kind of guy, so you probably won't see me at the Call of Doots.

What're you computer specs?

I have an Intel i7-4790K Quad-Core CPU at 4GHz, 16GB of RAM, and an Nvidia GTX 970. That's the important bits, I think. You can gauge my computer's capabilities pretty much with just those things.

What do you use to stream?

Open Broadcasting Software. It's free and cool.

What's your audio set up?

I use an Audio Technica AT2020 condenser as a studio microphone hooked up to a Behringer XENYX Q502USB if I'm just playing games or for any guests on the stream. Usually I have a lavalier microphone on, an Audio Technica MT830cW attached to a Audio Technica ATW-T1001 System10 Wireless Body Pack Transmitter, transmitting to an Audio Technica ATW-R1100 System10 Receiver. It all sounds sexy.

When did you start playing the Sims?

I recall buying the first game when it came out, getting every expansion and stuff pack for that, and ever since then, owning every release for every version of the Sims for the PC since. so I guess since 2000, the initial release of the Sims.

Can I request a song?

It...kind of works? I use Ankhbot and it’s not the best at handling requests at the moment. Once I figure that out, sure, we can do that.

Can I be a moderator?

No.

Did you invent the Hunger Games for the Sims 4?

Yes I did. I created the Hunger Games in an attempt to weed out the population of my viewer sims town as best as I could. I adapted the rules from PopKell and her Sims 3 Hunger Games.

Essentially you’ll need an Arena; if you need one, you can search for me on the Gallery and I’ll have a few provided (OathD2C is my name on the Gallery, I’m fairly consistent like that about my username). Next, you’ll need 8 sims who all have one particular trait: Loves Outdoors. The other two traits and the aspiration don’t really matter, so long as they have this one. Next, you stick them in an Arena and...wait.

The idea of the Hunger Games is an attrition based, commentary heavy, specifically made for streaming method of gameplay. You don’t essentially do anything aside from streamlining the action and bringing back sims that teleport out by accident. Usually within 20 minutes to an hour and a half, you’ll have a handful of the original 8 dead to some form of attrition, whether it be actual hunger, embarrassment, fire, or the usual drowning. The idea is that you do not control any of them, but merely observe. Hell, you can take bets or even make it a drinking game.

Do you have a YouTube?

Yes, you can CLICK HERE and it'll take you to my YouTube account. I update occasionally with Sims 4 content as well as my own gameplay of other games, so stick around for more updates!

What time is it there?

I don’t understand why this is a really heavily asked question. I live in Florida, which is Eastern Standard Time in the United States of America (EST), Greenwich Mean Time -5:00 (GMT), so that makes it something-o'clock. I get that you’re trying to gauge when and if the stream will end, but knowing what time it is where I am doesn’t really make a lick of difference. I start and end when I want, and I stream for as long as I want.

How long are you streaming for?

I seriously don’t understand questions like this. What’re you doing? Are you multitasking? did you put me on in the background while you’re doing dishes? Did you happen upon me, liked what you see, but have some engagement you’ve committed yourself to and are wondering if I’ll be on when you get back? I seriously stream of my own volition; simply put, the stream ends when it’s finished. I know that doesn’t tell you much, but I have ended a stream after 45 minutes and I have gone as long as 25 hours. I seriously don’t know how long I’m streaming for. Until I’m tired or done playing games for the night, truth be told.

When will the stream end?

When it’s finished.

What is HBnBM?

HBnBM, Headbang ‘n Buttonmash, was a editorial website dedicated to bringing you clever articles written by fans of metal music and video games. As of July 2015, the website has shifted focus to apparel and storefront operations, bringing you clever designs by metal and video game fans for metal and video game fans. When it was an editorial website, I acted as Editor-in-chief and wrote for the video game editorial column. I managed the HBnBM channel and Twitch representation for the site. As a storefront, I was a Community Liaison for Twitch and the video game section. They make cool stuff for you to drink out of, wear, and stick on your wall, so check out the store at - hbnbm.com.

Where did your username come from?

“Oath” is short for Oathbreaker. I was an avid fan and player of the Warcraft series, in particular, World of Warcraft, where I played, since 2005, a Warlock, and as of late 2006, a Blood Elf Warlock named Oathbreaker on Farstriders Realm. I was an English and linguistics major in college, so etymology was standard, and the word warlock is Gaelic for oath-breaker, so it’s a literally translated name. I’ve used the name in some form or fashion ever since.

“D2C” is an abbreviation for “Dressed to Cuddle.” It’s an exacerbated inside joke that slowly ended up being a personal label, clan tag, and website. It’s also from my WoW days where I met a majority of my friends in the game from a level 19 twink guild called Dressed to Kill. Twinking in WoW consisted of stopping XP, back in the day, mechanically by not doing quests, currently by turning off XP by speaking to an NPC in a major city, and playing content in such fashion. Between 2007 and 2009, twinking was big on our server and our group garnered a small reputation in Warsong Gulch, Capture the Flag. Our rivals were Farstriders Elite (FE), and we communicated with them on the WoW forums constantly, sometimes competitively, sometimes just talking shop, and sometimes it got ugly. On one occasion, four of us, Mordypants, Mooj, Elegia, and myself, were in a Battleground up against a full FE premade group of 10, and we got our asses handed to us, needless to say. Queue after queue, we kept running into them, and it got to the point where we “gave up.” Giving up, to us, consisted of us taking off our clothes and dancing in the flag room. When FE realized that we weren’t really playing, not putting up a fight, they decided to have some fun with it, because capping the flag, getting honor, all when you’re already top geared and honor-point capped, is boring. So some of them took off their clothes, some of them danced with us, and then finally, all of us, nearly 20 Alliance and Horde (I say nearly because there was a handful of PUGs, pick up players, actually trying to fight and not getting what was happening) buck-ass nude walking to the Alliance flag room to cap the last flag of the night. FE started a thread on the forums, titled “Dressed to Cuddle,” sharing the experience for the rest of the realm, and what was meant to be slightly insulting ended up sticking. We treated our guild like a family and we genuinely loved each like brothers and sisters, so being a bunch of carebears, we took it in stride. A few months later, I bought DressedtoCuddle.com and I started blogging about the random shit I did in WoW. I keep the abbreviation in my username for all things I do to remind me that it’s all just a game, in the end, despite how competitive things can get, don’t get heated, have fun, and always remember that your friends are on your team and, sometimes, on the other team.

What game is this?

Read the title! Seriously, the whole “I can’t see the title” is bullshit. EVERY PLATFORM shows you the title. I’m usually good about putting what game I’m playing, if it’s not the Sims 4, in the title. Seriously, you’re lazy. How do you end up in my stream?

How tall are you?

I actually get this question a lot. I seriously don’t know why. I’m 5'7".

Do you play Minecraft?

Yes, not on stream though. Minecraft culture makes me nervous. I like the Sims Community, I like the culture and people it fosters, and I’ve seen what Minecraft does for and to streamers. While I can objectively say, sure, it could be ridiculously successful for the stream, it makes me wonder at what cost. At the end of the day, I like to think I bring in quality viewers, and even though I’d love a subscriber button and pull in those numbers, I don’t want to do it in any other way but my own. But then the question comes up, will I EVER play Minecraft on the stream? I dunno. If I get a pang to play it, sure, let’s toss out the idea that maybe I will. One day. Probably not.

What games have you finished on the stream?