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fox124693 · 11 months

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Family Guy

Family Guy is facing big major changes in May 8th 2024 as it will focus more on Family. Fans are really excited for the animated sitcom changing in late spring of 2024.

18 main characters of Family Guy

Stewie Griffin: Stewie is the youngest member of the Griffin family. He is a highly intelligent and diabolical baby with a British accent who constantly devises elaborate schemes and plans for world domination.

Brian Griffin: Brian is the anthropomorphic family dog and the most intelligent member of the Griffin household. He often serves as the voice of reason and offers witty commentary on the events happening around him. Brian is also known for his intellectual pursuits and struggles with his romantic relationships.

Meg Griffin: Meg is the teenage daughter of the Griffin family. She is often portrayed as socially awkward, unpopular, and the target of ridicule both at school and within her own family. Despite her struggles, Meg occasionally displays moments of strength and resilience.

Chris Griffin: Chris is the teenage son of the Griffin family. He is depicted as overweight, not particularly bright, and often the butt of jokes. Chris is known for his simple-mindedness and his love for food.

Peter Griffin: Peter is the bumbling, overweight, and often clueless father of the Griffin family. He frequently gets into outlandish and ridiculous situations and is known for his distinctive laugh. Peter works at a toy factory and has a love for beer, TV, and unhealthy food.

Lois Griffin: Lois is the patient and level-headed mother of the Griffin family. She serves as a voice of reason and tries to keep the family in check. Lois is a stay-at-home mom but occasionally takes on various jobs throughout the series.

Joe Swanson: Joe is one of Peter's best friends and a neighbor. He is a paraplegic police officer who uses a wheelchair. Joe often participates in Peter's misadventures and provides the group with law enforcement knowledge and skills.

Cleveland Brown: Cleveland is another one of Peter's best friends and a neighbor. He is a mild-mannered and good-natured character who often finds himself caught up in Peter's shenanigans. Cleveland later got his own spin-off series called "The Cleveland Show."

Glenn Quagmire: Quagmire is Peter's perverted and sex-obsessed neighbor. He is known for his catchphrase "Giggity giggity goo!" and is constantly on the lookout for sexual opportunities. Quagmire works as an airline pilot.

Patty Patterson: Patty is one of Meg's teenage friends. She is often seen hanging out with Meg and the other girls.

Ruth Rutherford: Ruth is another one of Meg's teenage friends, often seen in the group.

Esther Esthederm: Esther is a teenage friend of Meg's.

Olivia Fuller: Stewie's love interest and a baby. She is often portrayed as sweet and highly intelligent

Jillian Russell: Jillian is a human girl and Brian's love interest. She is portrayed as attractive and somewhat dim-witted but good-hearted

Neil Goldman: Neil is a teenage boy who has a crush on Meg and often appears as a socially awkward character.

Tom Tucker: Tom is a male news anchor in the fictional town of Quahog. He often provides exaggerated and sensationalized news reports. Tom is known for his smooth voice and occasional romantic interests.

Diane Simmons: Diane is a female news anchor and Tom Tucker's love interest. She is often involved in outrageous and scandalous situations.

Connie D'amico: Connie is a popular and manipulative teenage girl who often antagonizes Meg.

16 Recurring Characters of Family Guy

Principal Shepherd

Carter Pewterschmidt

Babs Pewterschmidt

Bonnie Swanson

Loretta Brown

Angela Everwood

Evil Monkey

Ernie the Giant Chicken

Tricia Takanawa

Mayor Wild West

Mort Goldman

Miss Tammy

Jerome Cool J

Pouncy The Talking Cat

Bert and Sheila

Family Guy will have more laughs with the griffin family and their friends. Family Guy is about to be rewritten from Family Guy seasons 1-23 and beyond.

The Main Plot is in a wacky Rhode Island town, a dysfunctional family strives to cope with everyday life as they are thrown from one crazy scenario to another.

Sick, twisted, and politically incorrect, the animated series features the adventures of the Griffin family. Endearingly ignorant Peter hangs with his friends Glenn Quagmire, Cleveland Brown and Joe Swanson, goes on crazy adventures. Homemaker wife Lois reside in Quahog, Rhode Island with their three kids. teenage Chris their eldest, is a social outcast; Meg Griffin a smart teenage girl, cry baby, hangs out with her friends, Patty, Ruth and Esther goes on adventures, Stewie, is a genius baby bent on killing his mother, destroying the world, and in love with Olivia Fuller vows to marry her someday, Their talking dog Brian keeps Stewie in check, book writer, in love with Jillian Russell vows to marry her someday and sipping martinis and sorting through his own life issues. Connie being popular girl at the High School. Tom and Diane work as news anchors at the Quahog 5 News Station.

Stewie, Brian, Meg, Chris, Lois, Peter, Joe, Cleveland, Quagmire, Olivia, Jillian, Patty, Ruth, Esther, Connie, Neil, Tom and Diane are Outcasts, family, hero and main characters of the show.

The 18 main characters go on crazy adventures.

Stewie gives up being evil after season 6 and starts being with his girlfriend Olivia and his family.

Connie gives up being bully after season 9 and begins being nice, taking things seriously being with her friends and the Griffin family.

Stewie Griffin, Brian Griffin, Chris Griffin, Meg Griffin, Peter Griffin, Lois Griffin, Olivia Fuller, Jillian Russell, Cleveland Brown, Glenn Quagmire, Joe Swanson, Connie D’amico, Patty Patterson, Ruth Rutherford, Esther Esthederm, Neil Goldman, Tom Tucker and Diane Simmons will enjoy family dinners in all 23 seasons in the animated sitcom.

Family Guy is a feel good show.

The animated sitcom is about friends and family working together and never giving up, above all they’re family.

Stewie, Brian, Peter, Joe, Cleveland, Quagmire, Olivia, Jillian, Connie and Diane keeps Chris in check to prevent him from causing trouble.

Olivia Fuller lives with her mom and dad Stan and Carol Thomson. Penelope Thomson is Olivia’s real name. Stan looks like Patrick Pewtershmidt Lois’s brother, the only difference is his hair is black. Britney Wilcox is Jillian Russell’s real name.

Meg, Patty, Ruth and Esther keeps Beth in check and preventing her from causing so much trouble.

Meg, Patty, Ruth and Esther working at the Sub-Hub.

Stewie, Brian, Peter, Joe, Cleveland, Quagmire, Olivia, Jillian, Connie and Diane keeps Chris in check to prevent him from causing trouble.

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kammartinez · 7 months

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By E. Tammy Kim

Last fall, when I was living in South Korea, a woman in Seoul was killed by her stalker, a co-worker, in the bathroom of a subway station. A friend and I went to see an informal memorial dedicated to the victim. We read piles of notes left by strangers: “Stop femicide.” “Your death is my death.” “The government, the courts, our culture of discrimination are guilty of murder.” The scene of the crime and the shape of the commemoration recalled another murder, from 2016, which had sparked Korea’s version of the #MeToo movement. Whatever remained of that feminist upsurge now felt eclipsed by widespread backlash; in 2022, a new President had been elected on a platform of unreserved misogyny. I went from the memorial to a bookstore and bought Kim Hyesoon’s most recent poetry collection, “After Earth Dies, Who Will Moon Orbit?,” which was inspired by her mother’s passing. “Mom, don’t read this book. It’s all sand,” the dedication says. The poems include bloody dramas, familial and cosmic, set in the space of the kitchen. It felt appropriate to read Kim in that moment, not as a manual for processing grief but as an extended fantasia of feminine rage.

Kim is sixty-seven years old and going on her fifth decade as a poet in the public eye. She has published more than a dozen books—of poetry and of unclassifiable texts, with titles such as “I Do Woman Animal Asia”—and won every major literary award in South Korea. Since her début, in 1979, in Literature & Intellect, a journal founded during the country’s authoritarian period, she has been at the frothy crest of many artistic and political waves. In her first career, as an editor under the dictator Park Chung-hee, she had to tell a Marxist economist, on his deathbed, that his book had not survived the censors’ redactions and would not be published. (She later wrote, “Behind his thin, wrinkly glasses, his tears flowed down to his ears.”) In the mid-eighties, she joined Another Culture, a pioneering feminist group that convened educational camps for kids, critiqued patriarchal norms in books such as “Equal Parents, Free Children,” and translated women from other countries, including the Indonesian poet Sugiarti Siswadi. “We were finding a Korean language for feminism,” Kim told me. In her second career, as a professor at the Seoul Institute of the Arts, she helped revive an interest in shamanism and other gynocentric folk traditions. Once, she followed an anthropologist friend to Mt. Halla, on Jeju Island, to commemorate a shaman’s death in a days-long kut ritual of singing and ecstatic dancing.

Poetry in Korea has been a vaunted form—and traditionally left to men. Kim broke away from the masculine styles that came before her, which tended to be either self-consciously political or “pure” and detached from the world. She smashed words together and savagely enjambed her lines. She ripped apart syllable blocks and turned the letters of Hangul into raw material for typographic play: “Mrsdustingarmselephantgod. Salivadropexplodeslikefreongas. / . . . Do you know all the dearest gods that are hanging onto our limbs?” She wrote about women’s bodies, in all their guts and gore. “Women poets start out writing like men,” Kim told me. “Feminism isn’t something you’re born believing. Feminism is going through life and changing yourself.” In “To Write as a Woman: Lover, Patient, Poet, and You,” a book of essays, Kim connects the experience of the woman poet to Princess Bari, a Korean folk heroine who remains loyal to her parents even after they’ve abandoned her. To be lost or left behind, or to disappear, is at the core of being a female artist, Kim argues. In Korea, the book became something like Hélène Cixous’s “The Laugh of the Medusa” or a less practical version of Virginia Woolf’s “A Room of One’s Own.” It was reissued last year, on its twentieth anniversary, and is being translated into English.

Kim has pursued a vernacular that’s intensely Korean yet open to the world. She reads widely in translation, and hosts obscure Catholic nuns, the Tibetan sages, Adrienne Rich, Sylvia Plath, Simone de Beauvoir, and Agnès Varda in the back of her head. About fifteen years ago, when her own work began to be translated, she attracted a following across North America and Europe. She grew especially close to her English translator, the MacArthur-award-winning poet Don Mee Choi. In 2019, the English version of Kim’s “Autobiography of Death” won the international Griffin Poetry Prize. The book is structured as a forty-nine-day Buddhist mourning ceremony for hundreds of teen-agers who drowned when a Korean ferry capsized five years earlier: “perhaps a doll, perhaps a human, perhaps you, perhaps me,” she writes on day forty-four. Kim’s latest translated work, “Phantom Pain Wings,” came out in May. These two volumes are the first and second of what Kim calls her “death trilogy.” (The book I bought in Seoul, “After Earth Dies, Who Will Moon Orbit?,” is the final installment.) “I don’t think I’ve ever comforted anyone with my writing,” Kim notes in an afterword to “Phantom Pain Wings.” “Perhaps literature crosses into a zone where consolation can’t intervene.”

What zone does Kim occupy? She has modelled an approach to language, and the writing life, for dozens of poets and other artists in Korea and in the diaspora. In 2019, her writing on Princess Bari inspired “Community of Parting,” a video installation by Jane Jin Kaisen, a Danish Korean adoptee who represented the Korean pavilion at the Venice Biennale. (A suite of poems titled “Community of Parting” is the centerpiece of “Phantom Pain Wings.”) A former student of Kim’s, Yoo Heekyoung, runs a poetry bookshop called Wit N Cynical, in Seoul’s Hyehwa district, which became a center of the #MeToo protests. When that movement got started, Yoo told a reporter that Kim’s “Autobiography of Death” was a top seller.

Since retiring from her job as a professor, in early 2021, Kim has kept mostly to her apartment, in Seoul’s Daehakro neighborhood, beset by undiagnosed nerve pain—which she interprets as a chronic female ailment—and insomnia. At night, she goes between her bedroom and her study, lying down and failing to sleep. She reads old novels all the way through (recently, she was back on Clarice Lispector, a favorite) and new fiction until it bores her (“It isn’t very good”). She watches competitive-singing shows on television, answers e-mails from three continents, and drafts stanzas longhand.

Several times last year, I caught up with her in periods of good health. One afternoon, she intercepted me at a subway stop near her home. She lives with her husband, the avant-garde playwright Lee Kang-baek, and their daughter, Fi Jae Lee, whose raucous line drawings and sculptures adorn many of Kim’s books. Kim was unmistakable, even in a face mask: jet-black, bowl-cut hair, architectural glasses, scarf, billowy pants, and platform sneakers. We were repeat patrons of Gupo Noodle, an old-fashioned restaurant that specializes in batter-fried squid and rice noodles in anchovy broth. We ordered makgeolli rice wine, which she barely touched and I ended up drinking alone. Kim speaks at an unhurried pace, and in a soft rasp. She told a tragicomic story about travelling with an incurable melancholic, a Debbie Downer-type who saw only pebbles, never pearls. Laughing and eating with Kim, I felt an alien-like attentiveness to my own body. I considered the peristalsis working noodles down my throat and the purple-blue blood racing back to my heart. “My bones are hollow like a flute / so every one of them can sing and whistle.” “The achy root has spread between the intestines like lightning.” I suspected that she noticed all this somatic activity in herself and, possibly, in me.

For Kim, poetry is “dancing,” “being a nameless animal,” “crossing the river of the grotesque,” “making a revolution in the realm of language,” and “a verb.” She has long concerned herself with animals, human and nonhuman. The collection “Poor Love Machine” is filled with rats and felines. “Sorrowtoothpaste Mirrorcream” contains a gray bear, fire ants, roe deer, an ostrich, a rabbit, and a duck. Her pig poems are among her most famous, and controversial:

This poem, “I’m OK, I’m Pig!” appeared in her 2016 collection, “Bloom, Pig!” The following year, the book won the 5.18 Literature Award, named after the Gwangju uprising of May, 1980, when South Korean soldiers, commanded by President Chun Doo-hwan and backed by the U.S., killed democracy activists. On Facebook, male critics slammed Kim as undeserving of the honor: her use of “surrealism” and visceral animal metaphors were an insult to the democracy movement, they said. It seemed like a clear case of jealousy, or gendered territoriality—but Kim was forced to turn down the prize and a much-needed cash award. Her brute-force poetry—what one critic called “the female grotesque”—was at once career-making and costly. To my ears, in English, it recalls the work of Lyn Hejinian (“The baby is scrubbed everywhere, he is an apple.”) and Dawn Lundy Martin (“Awareness of being in a female body is a tinge of regret.”).

Kim’s new translated work, “Phantom Pain Wings,” is heavy with birds and verbs. “It’s an I-do-bird sequence,” Kim writes. As the second book in her death trilogy, it responds to the loss of her father and the traumas of his generation: colonization, war, and economic development at all costs. “Daddy, in the room where you died / I become bird,” she writes. The address sounds tame in English; in the hierarchical ordering of Korean, it’s a crass impossibility. “In Korea, you can’t call your father ‘you’ or ‘other,’ but, in this book, I call my father ‘daddy’ and ‘you,’ ” she told me. “It’s my way of bringing myself and other women to an equal level with the father as an institution, mechanism, and authority.�� Kim envisions this rebellion as a bird flapping its wings in flight.

Translation has a peculiar capacity to reframe an artist’s œuvre: an old work becomes new in another language and time. “Phantom Pain Wings” was published in Korea, in 2019; its English version took shape during the pandemic. I visited Kim’s translator, Choi, in 2021, at her home in north Seattle. Her desk was taken up by a large computer monitor (for working in two languages, side by side) and thick Korean and English dictionaries. I pictured her sitting there, bird-watching through the window, as she mastered Kim’s ornithology. Choi kept a diary, which serves as a translator’s note at the back of the finished book:

Choi told me, “Not only was this book difficult to translate but I felt a great deal of grief myself while translating. It’s not only about her father. In that long poem, ‘Community of Parting,’ she’s also addressing the source of her sorrow, and it goes all the way back to the Korean War.” A twentieth-century war, a twenty-first-century pandemic—overlapping eras of mass death. There’s also a poem eerily relevant to post-Roe America called “Abortion Boat.” It features Varda’s film “One Sings, the Other Doesn’t,” from 1977, about two friends in France who must travel abroad—one to Switzerland, and one to Amsterdam—to get abortions. The speaker of the poem is in, or next to, a tunnel—the Dutch canals, the birth canal, and the tubular branches of a tree:

As I run, the tunnel runs beside me like a dog The tunnel cries and follows me, becoming very long The woman who just had an abortion but still has a baby runs When she exits the tunnel, her baby comes out but when she enters the tunnel her baby sticks to her again

Kim has described her process with Choi as one of exchange. “I don’t edit her translations,” Kim told me. “I answer her questions. Translating poetry is the hardest thing in the world.” For “Phantom Pain Wings,” Choi asked more than usual about subjects and objects. The syntax of Hangul leaves much unsaid: subjects are implied; pronouns are rare. (Verbs, though, especially in Kim, are abundant.) Choi’s inferences weren’t enough. Who was doing the thing, and to whom was the thing being done?

Kim did not always have an answer to Choi’s probing questions. She had to think, and decide, before writing back. The English version became more than an update of the Korean original: it was its own, new thing.

Kim’s responses sometimes created new problems. How to lasso multiple perspectives, and subjectivities, into a single term? In Korean, she could get away with ambiguity, but, in English, the doer had to be named. For a couple of poems, Choi told me, the fix was an equation. In “Girl, Your Body Has So Many Holes for Straws,” the subject is “I + bird + music”; its actions include speaking, vomiting, and lying “prostrate like a corpse, hiding at the bottom of a lake.” In “Straitjacket,” parentheses achieve the same clarification. “Why does apple (I) need to apologize to apple (you)? / Apple (you) and apple (I) are apologies (for what)?” These markings echo the playful, mathematical vocabulary of the Korean modernist poet Yi Sang, also known as Kim Haekyeong, whom Kim adores and pays tribute to in the book. One poem is titled “Again, I Need to Ask Poor Yi Sang.” In another, Yi’s pathbreaking “Crow’s Eye View” becomes “Crow’s Eye View 31”:

13 birds keep flying up till they can’t be seen from below . . . I want to keep writing ruthlessly about all 13 birds but that wouldn’t be polite, for they’ve been endlessly patient and it wouldn’t be polite to Kim Haekyeong either who wrote the same line— . . .

I don’t understand what these phrases specifically mean. (It’s reassuring that Kim occasionally had to mull her own intentions.) But they have an additive effect.

There is no thematic break or stylistic rupture in Kim’s poetry, despite the length of her career. The kitchen remains bloody and agonistic, demanding the preparation of yet another family meal. Knives and carcasses and dark orifices exist in otherworldly spaces. “Moon is shining like the lens of the patient’s eyeball / and I’m sitting on the white of his eye / examining his sadness,” she writes. Objects are extruded and sheathed. “A pair of fish-bone-shoes you can slip onto bare feet.” “Spiky sprouts burrow through your teary eyes.” Animals, real and mythological, fit inside one another, like turducken: “A rat / devours a sleeping white rabbit . . . . A rat devours a piglet that has fallen into a pot of porridge.” She captures the anger I detected in Seoul, which every woman has learned to gulp down. We are better off than we were when Kim started to write, no doubt. Yet we are still that rabbit, that punctured foot, that floating object compelled to reproduce.

One day, Kim and I rode a “village bus” (the rickety public equivalent of a hyper-local dollar van) up a steep incline to Gilsangsa, a Buddhist temple in Seoul. Gilsangsa is small and new and used to be a barbecue restaurant before coming to house an order of robed vegetarians. Kim and I walked the verdant grounds. We admired the low walls of ceramic tile and clay and circled a seven-tiered stone pagoda. Rain arrived, first in droplets, then in blocks, overwhelming our umbrellas. As we scampered downhill in muddy shoes, we were splashed by luxury S.U.V.s pulling up to gated houses. (The area has long been home to chaebol executives and retired authoritarians.) My Korean became more tentative in the din of the storm. “I like your accent and the mistakes you make. You sometimes use the wrong word,” she once told me. I was mortified, but convinced myself that it was actually a compliment—a poet taking pleasure in the jagged accidents of language.

We last hung out in late September, when she and Choi did a reading at the Seoul International Writers’ Festival. Kim spoke into a microphone as Choi’s translations were blown up on a pink-tinted screen behind her. The poet Kim Haengsook and several friends from the publishing world were there, as were Kim Hyesoon’s daughter and Choi’s husband. All but two of us were women. During Korea’s #MeToo movement, “there were so many accusations made and so many men who disappeared,” Kim had told me, that “when you open a literary magazine today, everyone’s a woman. Even the novelists.” This felt very true. The writers winning awards, getting buzz, and getting translated were mostly women, and often quite young—a second generation influenced by Kim. I thought of Lee Soho, whose raw début, “Catcalling,” was published in English, in 2021. I could imagine Kim dispensing the advice that appears in one of Lee’s poems: “You know I read a lot of debut collections these days. Listen, being a poet means going crazy. . . . Kill all your literary heroes and jump over our dead bodies. . . . hang on the edge of poetry. Then take another step forward from there.”

Our post-festival group walked to a Japanese restaurant for dinner. We sat at a row of tables along a linguistic gradient: the native Korean speakers on one end, then Kim’s daughter and Choi and me, then those who were English-only. We clinked tiny cups of sake and shared donburi bowls of silken eggs, braised meat, and seafood over rice. Kim was the doyenne of the festival, the mother of our feminine chatter. I remembered an old poem of hers, “The Story in Which I Appear as All the Characters 3.” The speaker of the poem is a forty-year-old woman, a child not yet born, and an old woman—all of them Kim. The poem ends:

We are stacked like three spoons On top of a pillow we turn our faces together The forty-year-old-me in the middle grinds her teeth saying, I’m scared I’m scared

#poetry #writing #kim hyesoon

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kamreadsandrecs · 8 months

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By E. Tammy Kim

Kim’s new translated work, “Phantom Pain Wings,” is heavy with birds and verbs. “It’s an I-do-bird sequence,” Kim writes. As the second book in her death trilogy, it responds to the loss of her father and the traumas of his generation: colonization, war, and economic development at all costs. “Daddy, in the room where you died / I become bird,” she writes. The address sounds tame in English; in the hierarchical ordering of Korean, it’s a crass impossibility. “In Korea, you can’t call your father ‘you’ or ‘other,’ but, in this book, I call my father ‘daddy’ and ‘you,’ ” she told me. “It’s my way of bringing myself and other women to an equal level with the father as an institution, mechanism, and authority.” Kim envisions this rebellion as a bird flapping its wings in flight.

I don’t understand what these phrases specifically mean. (It’s reassuring that Kim occasionally had to mull her own intentions.) But they have an additive effect.

We are stacked like three spoons On top of a pillow we turn our faces together The forty-year-old-me in the middle grinds her teeth saying, I’m scared I’m scared

#poetry #writing #kim hyesoon

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college-girl199328 · 1 year

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Commuter pulls out chainsaw, cuts up fallen tree snarling traffic on the Malahat

It could be the most imminent cleanup ever. Two men, one equipped with a chainsaw, weren’t stumped about what to do when a tree fell onto the Malahat Highway Saturday. The tree blocked the only lane into Greater Victoria.

Langford’s Tammie Blair captured video of her husband Shawn and another man to the rescue, cutting the tree into pieces and tossing it aside to clear the way for drivers caught in a fast-growing traffic jam.

“We were on our way home from Duncan and my husband Shawn saw a rock slide on the side of the highway, and a tree broke free and was blocking the road,” Blair told CHEK News.

“He pulled over on the side of the road and said he was surprised nobody got hurt. He said he had a chainsaw and had to cut it out of the way.” That’s when the man in the car behind the couple pulled up beside them. He saw the tree blocking the highway. He started helping, according to Blair.

“As soon as the people in the other car saw that Shawn had a chainsaw, the man got out and helped Shawn by removing the branches that were cut off the highway,” she said. The highway was closed and reopened, all in under two minutes, thanks to the quick actions of Shawn and the other man. Therefore, it’s only fitting that the song playing in the background of Blair’s video was Good Times Roll by Jimmie Allen.

Her video, which was posted to the Victoria Rant & Raves Facebook group, received a flood of positive reactions online, including from one commenter who joked, “My husband just bought me that chainsaw for Christmas! Glad it works,” and another who said, “You might be Canadian if… you always carry a chainsaw in your vehicle.” Blair finds the feedback “awesome,” adding: “We were so happy nobody got hurt. We could help our community on the island.”

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calamitouscynic · 4 years

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will i ever get a koala villager that doesnt want to leave my island

survey says no

#mine #text #kieran talks #kieran plays video games #gonzo is leaving my island :(#but that's fine #i want to find that secret agent rabbit dude #and another wolf #and i need to kick out tammy eventually #i dont like the look of her

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svtskneecaps · 2 years

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sunset in a bottle

(gender neutral) reader x lee seokmin

genre: fluff, and about three paragraphs where it gets a wee bit of angst in it ; words: 3.3k

horse camp!au; listen in the interest of full disclosure i ripped most of the mystery aspect from the Barbie Horse Adventures: Riding Camp wii game alright, anything in 'single quotes' is more or less quoted directly from the game. also, my knowledge of horses begins and ends with that game (and about twelve total hours on a horse over the course of my entire [redacted] years of life) so if you know stuff about horses. please stop.

note: HEYA @escapewriter I GOT YOU BABY, I BE SANTA, SORRY LAKJSDFLKAJSFD MERRY HOLIDAY BUD I HOPE THIS IS GOOD also hope that tag works anyway love u <3

(also thank u yellow for struggling to title this bad boy with me and coming up with the one seen here, let's just all agree not to think too hard about it thx)

You wanted so badly to be mad. You wanted to be huffy, and you wanted to sulk, and you wanted to rail against your mom for kicking you off to some ridiculous horse camp on some ridiculous island a million miles from everything you’d ever known, but damn it all, the island was just too pretty. It was too hard to stay mad when the sea glittered everywhere you looked, and the distant sound of the waterfall serenaded you to sleep. So you wanted to consume yourself in angst--but you couldn’t.

C’est la vie.

The horse riding wasn’t too bad, either--once you stopped gasping every time the horse picked up speed. At least the horse was patient with you. The woman who ran the camp--Ms. Roberts--seemed unsurprised by your hesitance towards picking up speed. Apparently your grace in the saddle once you finally crossed that little mental hurdle was more surprising, although you didn’t hear that from her directly. You only found out when she sent you to saddle up.

“Try to find my nephew,” she said. “Ask him for Breezy.”

And you did as she’d said, pushing through the stable doors and looking for the stable boy you’d been introduced to on your first day.

“Seokmin!” You didn’t yell it as loud as you wanted, wary of startling the horses, but it was a big building and you weren’t about to keep Ms. Roberts waiting.

“Polo!” he called back.

You snorted, rounding the corner to see him grooming one of the horses--one you recognized as way above your skill level. “Shouldn’t that only come after Marco?”

“They’re both names, aren’t they?” He set the brush down, turning to face you with a smile. “What can I do for you?”

“Ms. Roberts said to ask you about ‘Breezy’.” Saying it aloud landed you with conflicting feelings--either you sounded like a spy, or a total dork.

Seokmin’s eyebrows shot up. “Wow, already?”

“Already?” you echoed. “Am I about to live my ‘main character in a horse girl movie’ dreams?”

He shook his head. “No, Breezy’s a total sweetheart, but usually my aunt keeps new riders on Tammy for another week.”

“Well, I swear I’ve never been on a horse before,” you said, holding up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.” You’d never been a scout, but he didn’t need to know that.

“That I could tell.” He laughed, but it didn’t feel mean. He gestured to the horse he’d been grooming. “This stunning beauty is Breezy.”

You felt your own eyebrows shoot up, but you tried to soften the sudden fear. “Bit narcissistic to compliment your own work, huh?”

“It’s not narcissistic if it’s true,” he countered.

“I’ll give you that one, she truly is stunning.” You chewed your lip. “She’s also way out of my league.”

“Not if my aunt said to ask for her,” he said, grabbing the saddle hanging on the wall. “She thinks you can handle it.”

“Well I sure don’t.”

But he was already adjusting the stirrups, paying your naysaying no mind. “Ready to mount up?”

“Um,” you said, articulately, staring the horse in her sleepy, terrifying eyes. “What happens if I say no?”

“Then we’ll saddle up Tammy and you can practice until you feel ready.” He set a hand on your arm and smiled. “But for what it’s worth, my aunt believes in you. And so do I.”

For once, your lack of air had nothing to do with horses.

“Okay,” you said, when you finally found your voice. “Let’s give it a shot.”

It took you a couple tries to mount up. Breezy was taller (and terrifying) but you got it, without help, even, although it was offered. You found yourself beaming as you walked the horse over to Ms. Roberts, and you barely gasped at the speed changes and found yourself at ease in a steady trot by the end of the lesson.

Overall, an excellent day’s work, in your opinion.

Pretty quick, you were cleared for free riding across the island. You’d been strictly instructed to keep to the main trails, but otherwise you’d been allowed free reign (ha. free rein). And it was exactly what you needed; careening around the scenery at a walk or a trot or--very rarely--a gallup was a balm to your soul. You’d graduated from Breezy to a horse more equipped for the long rides you craved--Buckshot. You thought that’d be the kind of name given to a sprinter, but he seemed to enjoy long walks on the beach as much as you did, which was good, because one of your long walks uncovered the bottle.

At first you thought it was just trash, which kinda pissed you off.

“People have no respect,” you grumbled, swinging your leg over Buckshot’s back to hop down and grab it. Brushing the sand off it, you realized there was something inside--a paper. The cork in the bottle was stuck pretty tight, but with enough work you got it out of the way. It must’ve been ancient, since it fell apart under your fingers. Fishing the paper out of the bottle was the work of seconds.

You heard the callout while you read, “Marco!”

“Polo!” you hollered back, still skimming the page.

Seokmin appeared over the hill, reigning Tantor to a halt. “It’s sunset, time for campers to be back at the stables.” Then he blinked. “What’s that?”

“Message in a bottle,” you answered.

“Ooh, really?” He dismounted with grace you could never hope to match. “What’s it say?”

“Not gonna lie, it’s pretty depressing,” you said. “It says, ‘To whoever finds this, it looks like our boat is going down, and I will never see my beautiful island again. I was so scared to go on the boat, and now I know why. They’re getting the lifeboats ready, but I’m still scared. So if anyone finds this, you can have the jewelry I hid in the heart of the old place. Momma’s calling now. Think of me. Signed--” you squinted, trying to decipher the curlicues “--Hannah Roberts’.”

Seokmin’s eyebrows shot up. “Hannah Roberts?”

“Is she related to you?”

“Yeah, she’s my great-great aunt.”

You huffed a breath. “Oof, sorry to have read her final words out of nowhere.”

“Actually, those weren’t her final words.” He grinned. “She actually survived and lived a long and happy life at her destination. They shipped all her stuff back after she died of old age.” He frowned. “She was right about one thing, though. She never did come back to the island.”

“Well that sucks.”

He shrugged. “She seemed happy out there.”

You frowned at the note. “Wonder what she meant by ‘the old place’.”

“Are you thinking about trying to find it?”

“Well, if she never came back to the island, it’s probably still there, right? Family heirlooms should be with the actual family.” You shrugged, rolling your shoulders. “Besides, I need a project. Just something to focus on.”

“Blasting through ribbons faster than any camper on record isn’t enough for you?” he teased, moving to mount his horse.

You rolled your eyes, attempting to mount Buckshot and succeeding on the third try. “I’m not that impressive.”

“Sure you are!” He swung himself onto Tantor’s back, on the first attempt.

“Uh huh,” you said.

He sighed, shaking his head at you. “You can’t compare yourself to me,” he scolded. “I grew up here.” He wheeled his horse around, patting you on the shoulder. “Trust the horse boy, you’re doing amazing.”

Then he grinned. “Race you to the stables!” He clicked his tongue and Tantor took off like a shot.

You gasped, looking down at Buckshot. “We’re not gonna let that stand are we?” With a click of your tongue and a gentle squeeze, he took off after Seokmin.

(they beat you there, of course, but you didn’t fall off or panic and he didn’t even seem to be handicapping himself, so you’d count that as a victory of your own)

You met up with Seokmin after the first jumping lesson, throwing yourself dramatically to the porch next to his chair with a groan. He looked up from his book.

“That good, huh?”

“Curse you for inflating my ego with your repeated assurances that I’m a prodigy,” you grumble. “Do you have any idea what I’ve been through today?”

He pretended to consider, before smiling. “No clue!”

“First, Jeonghan had me set up the course by myself, even though I’ve never done it before, and I still haven’t figured out if it was a teaching moment or if he just didn’t want to do it himself--”

“The second one.”

“--And then I spent the morning toppling on my ass, and the afternoon icing my bruises.” You threw a hand over your eyes. “My pride is too wounded, I can never ride again. I will never move from this spot. I’ll become one with the moss. Remember me as I was, and not as I am. My strength. . . it’s failing. . .”

“Well, I found Hannah’s diary.”

You sat up. “My strength returns.”

He laughed and it sounded like a sunset. “You wanna see?”

“Am I allowed?”

He shut the book and stood, offering you a hand up. “Of course you are.”

You took his hand.

Reading the diary was an adventure. You kept cycling through emotions--from guilt over reading someone’s private thoughts, to giddy over witnessing this slice of history, to analytic as you scanned every passage of the diary for some hint as to what ‘the old place’ meant. The wild shifts made Seokmin giggle, but he was just as bad as you were, so you didn’t feel bad about it in the slightest.

Seokmin grabbed your arm, pointing at a passage. “Look, she mentioned the bottle!” He bent over the page (he was better at reading cursive). “ ‘Now that I’m safe, I wonder if anyone will find that message in a bottle I threw overboard. I would hate to lose my jewelry forever. Of course, they would have to find the Rainbow Waterfall and the cave painting I made in order to figure it out.’ ”

You chewed your lip. “There’s only the one waterfall on the island, right?” That trail had scared you far too much to attempt it.

“Yeah.” He suddenly seemed unsure. “But the storm caused a lot of damage across the island, and that path is treacherous on a good day. If you’re not careful, some of those bridges could snap right beneath you. It wouldn’t be safe.”

You sighed. “Then I guess the adventure ends here, until the trail gets fixed.”

“Guess so.” He patted your shoulder. “On the bright side, we’ve still got a ton of history to go through.”

“True!” You brightened. “I wanna see how she met her lover.”

“Her lover,” he echoed, faking a swoon. “You say it so romantically, it really is like the days of old.”

“Well I don’t know who she married!” You defended. He opened his mouth and you shrieked. “And don’t you dare spoil it!”

“I wasn’t! I swear!” He leaned back over the diary. “Come on, she’s going to that dance she mentioned a couple entries ago. You’ll miss all the drama.”

“If she didn’t manage to upstage Tiffany Greenwood the world has no justice.”

In your defense, you’d intended to keep the agreement. You stayed to the well trod trails, focused on your riding, careened over hill and dale, until you left everything in the dust and Marco, Polo became less of a joke and more of the easiest way for Seokmin to find you, when sunset finally came.

(by this point, you knew enough to start heading back by then, but he still came out to find you. truthfully, you enjoyed racing him to the stables in the twilight, and seeing him grin at you as you hurtled across the terrain affected your heart rate more than the adrenaline)

But you completed the camp requirements for a jumping ribbon, and you blasted through the Roads and Tracks ribbon, and there was only one ribbon left to work towards, and it scared you. When that was done, what was left?

And then it was visitation day.

And your mom came to the island.

And she took one look at your ribbons--four ribbons, obtained faster than anyone in the history of the camp--and said, “Well. It took you long enough.”

The sun didn’t set right, that night. You didn’t leave the bunkhouse. You didn’t see Seokmin. You just laid there, staring at your ribbons.

(took you long enough)

And then you were on the mountain trail, staring down a wooden bridge--barely visible between the faint light of a crescent moon and the vapor from the waterfall--with the reins clenched in your fists.

You dismounted, heart pounding. You wouldn’t put Buckshot in danger. Thinking was difficult, over the beating of your heart and the echo in your head (took you long enough), but you had enough sense to know that this was stupid--that putting anyone else in danger was stupid--and you patted the horse on the side and stepped closer to the bridge.

And then the call echoed up the mountain, “Marco!”

You froze.

Again, “Marco!”

You hesitated, but called back. “Polo.”

Seokmin guided Tantor up the mountain at a canter, dismounting with that grace you didn’t have--that you would never have--and hurried over to meet you.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked, and his eyes shone with worry.

“How’d you know I’d be here?” you said, instead of answering.

He started, stopped, hesitated, and then said, “I missed you at sunset,” he said. “And I was going to stop in and see if you were okay, and you were gone. The mountain was. . . just a hunch.” He placed a gentle hand on your arm. “But you didn’t answer my question.”

You looked away--you couldn’t meet his eyes. “It’s. . .”

You wanted to be honest. He made you want to be honest.

“I wasn’t fast enough,” you said. “I spent too much time being scared and falling off, and I didn’t get the ribbons fast enough.”

“Says who?”

The outburst made your eyes snap up to his face--his expression shifting from flabbergasted to annoyed and back, every second.

“You’ve advanced faster than any student we’ve ever had at this camp,” he said. “It took me a whole year to earn my Roads and Tracks ribbon, so you listen to me and you listen good.” And he took you by the hands and looked you in the eye which made it very hard to listen. “Not only are you fast enough, you’re too fast. I mean-- leave some for the rest of the campers, come on!”

You snorted, and he grinned.

“No,” you said, “it’s all mine. They can fight me for it.”

He laughed, squeezing your hands. “That’s the spirit.” He bumped your shoulder. “And I’m the resident horse expert, so you know I’m right.”

You glanced over your shoulder at the misty bridge. “Guess we better get back to the stables.”

“We could, but we’re already up here.”

“And it’s dangerous. You said so yourself.”

“I said it was dangerous for you. And that was before you finished the Roads and Tracks ribbon.” He mounted Tantor, wiggling his eyebrows. “How ‘bout it?”

He would be the death of you.

You swung yourself back onto Buckshot. “Let’s do it.”

The trail was as treacherous as was advertised, but the horses were careful and you made it to the top of the mountain with relative ease.

You dismounted, staring across the island.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Seokmin said.

It was no sunset. “It’s sure pretty,” you said, watching the thousands of stars.

“We’ll have to come up here before sunset sometime. You’ll love it.” He nudged your arm, then turned to an outcropping. “If Wii Sports Resort taught me anything, it’s that there’s gonna be a cave back here-- aha!”

“Wii Sports Resort?”

He seized your hand and tugged you behind him. “I can’t believe I never found this place before!” He yanked a flashlight out of his pocket, flicking it on to reveal the small chamber--and the painting.

“That is a big tree,” you said, staring at the mural overtaking most of the wall. Despite the years, it hadn’t faded really at all.

“For a cave painting it’s really detailed.”

“What I don’t get is why you’d leave a hint in a cave painting at the top of a mountain.” You shook your head. “It seems like a lot of unnecessary steps.”

“Shh!” He waved a finger at you distractedly. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth!”

“Didn’t that lead to the fall of Troy?”

“Shh!” He surveyed the cave wall, and then pointed. “There’s a heart on the trunk. That seems important.”

“Didn’t she mention something like that in the bottle? In the heart of the old place, right?”

He shook your shoulder, bouncing on his heels. “There’s only one tree on the island she could mean!”

“The Ancient Oak,” you finished.

“We gotta check it out. We gotta check it out now!”

“Since when was I the voice of reason?”

“Oh come on, you’re with me, and if we find the jewelry there’s no way my aunt will be mad at us when we get back,” he whined.

You laughed. “I was convinced from the minute you said it. Race you once we’re clear of the mountain?”

“You’re on!”

Going down the mountain was harder than going up, somehow, and while Buckshot was an angel, he was not a racer, so naturally Tantor and Seokmin won the breakneck chase to the tree.

“Check it out, it’s shaped like a heart!” He pointed at a knot in the trunk as you trotted up. “It’s the thing, it’s gotta be!”

“Is the jewelry in the tree then? Or like, buried under it?” You swung yourself off your horse.

“In it I bet, she said in the heart, didn’t she?” He inspected the knot. “Yeah, there’s a hole there!”

You poked the knot, and the wood dislodged, revealing a small space behind it. “How long did it take to hollow this out? That’s nuts.”

He giggled. “Tree pun.”

You snorted. “Unintended, I promise.”

He shoved his hand into the space, fishing around. “I’m not feeling--oh wait!” He yanked his hand out, shoving it towards you. “I found it! I found the thing!”

“A necklace, huh?”

“A locket,” he corrected.

You made a face. “The locket is the thing on it, it’s a necklace with a locket.”

He ignored you, fumbling for the clasp. “There’s a drawing here. It’s her! This is amazing!”

“It’s her?”

“Her and her friend I bet, the one from the island.” He laughed. “And their horses, of course.”

“They’re valued members of the team,” you said, thinking of Buckshot and Tantor tramping over the mountain with you when they could have been snoozing in a warm stable.

Seokmin beamed at you with that sunset smile. “You’re a valued member of the team. I don’t think I’m exaggerating when I say you’re the best thing that’s happened to this island in a long time.”

“Well, I don’t know about that.”

He crossed his arms. “Not convinced, huh? Well you’re sure the best thing to happen to me. Have fun debating that one.”

He would be the death of you and damn, you’d sit back and watch it happen.

“The feeling is mutual, may I assure you, detective,” you said, pretending like your head wasn’t singing.

“We certainly cracked this case, partner,” he said.

“You sound like a cowboy now.”

He shrugged. “I think I prefer that to a detective. Not enough room for horses in a mystery novel.”

“The horses are the most important part.”

He coiled the necklace chain, placing it carefully in his pocket. “Guess it’s time to get back to the stables, since we solved that mystery. Too bad there’s no sunset to ride into.”

You smiled. “Who needs a sunset? I’ve got you.”

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blackacre13 · 3 years

Note

Just making some Loubbie touch requests if you're still taking them. Could you do passionate hand holding and hands linked above head.

thanks and I love your writing😌

Aw thank you! And absolutely!!

HOLDING HANDS: 27. Passionate hand holding

HOLDING HANDS: 26. Holding their hands above their head, fingers linked together

I feel like these two work super well together, so rolling them into one (but feel free to send more if you were looking for multiple fics!)

You think we should tell them?

Oh, yeah. You wanna tell them, baby?

Lou and Debbie spoke silently, their eyes doing all of the talking as the other women waited, scattered around the kitchen.

“You thought we were gonna steal one necklace?” Lou tested the group, eyebrows raised. She pushed further. “What do you think we are, a bunch of pussies?”

Debbie leaned against the fridge, waiting patiently for the ultimate reveal as she watched her partner with curious, deep eyes that bore brown into blue with heat. They’d done it. She and Lou had battled it out on the beach and came out on the other side. Debbie had survived prison. Lou was surging sobriety. And they were partners again. True partners. Making up for lost time. They couldn’t get enough of each other. And to top it all off, they’d pulled off the biggest jewel heist of the century, and still had surprises up their sleeves for the team.

It had been hard to find time alone with the team around, but it also made things exciting. Debbie and Lou showering together, steam filling the bathroom as they took too long, too distracted to get clean with Tammy poking her head into the door to tell them she had the new seating chart. Lou in the midst of going down on the brunette, having to roll away and hide under the blanket, pillows thrown on top of her as Nine came in to go over the new blind spot with Debbie. One thing after another. It was a thrill in itself, sure, but Debbie was ready for it to be just the two of them in the loft. Just the two of them getting back to being Lou and Debbie. Debbie and Lou.

The Ocean watched the blonde monologue, revealing the bits and pieces of the job Lou had been running on the side, keeping things flowing. Debbie wondered what it would feel like to brush the velvet of her blazer’s lapels. To tug at the pencil thin tie around Lou’s neck. To undress her as Lou undressed herself, leaving nothing but cool chains on Lou’s chest that Debbie could feel touching her own. Her eyes drifted downwards to Lou’s tight, red leather pants and she had to swallow and shake her head away for a moment to keep her composure. How many times had she tried to roll down tight leather against the blonde’s thighs and hiss in frustration before she took over and slid them down over her knees like loose silk. Or dipped behind the waistband and felt the molten heat trapped behind leather. She had to tear herself away from Lou’s knowing gaze to open the fridge of jewels and reveal it.

She tried to keep her usual, cool demeanor as she revealed the secret diamonds and gems, but she could feel Lou undressing her with her eyes. She knew that Lou would lick and bite through the cut outs of her shirt, and get her belt off with finesse as she whispered dirty things in Debbie’s ears.

After they had finally ushered everyone out of the loft, a fully in the know Tammy smirking with glee as she pushed forward a clueless Constance, they were finally alone. And Debbie already felt breathless. Lou already feeling on fire.

Debbie slumped against the island in the kitchen, her stomach resting on the slab as she let out a long sigh.

“They’re finally gone,” she murmured to the wood.

She could feel Lou’s hips line up behind her ass, the blonde’s hands settling on her waist.

“Please tell me I wasn’t the only one thinking about stripping you down naked and having my way with you tonight right here in the kitchen,” Lou whispered, chills swirling down Debbie’s neck.

“Baby, you read my mind,” Debbie hummed, pushing her hands out in front of her.

Lou leaned against her back, fully transferring her weight to Debbie, as she slinked her hands along the cool table until she reached the brunette’s hands, gripping them tight as she kissed the back and side of Debbie’s neck until Debbie was letting out soft and small moans, trying to push back and grind against Lou.

“Lou,” Debbie moaned, trying to push back.

“Yeah, honey?”

“I want you to fuck me,” Debbie whispered.

Lou spun Debbie around, pushing her back against the counter, taking her hands once again, keeping them clasped.

“That so?” She teased.

Debbie’s silent nodded was interrupted by a groan as Lou pushed a thigh between the Ocean’s own and pressed upwards into heat.

“Fuck, Lou,” Debbie swore, looking up at the blonde, her eyes desperate, lips pouting as Lou leaned down to kiss her, pushing their joined hands along Debbie’s chest and down her stomach, and then against her own body.

Debbie tried to separate them to feel Lou’s body but Lou’s lips smirked against hers and she tsked, raising the joined hands above their heads, fingers linked, as she moved them to the nearest wall, slamming Debbie against it.

She pulsed her hands against Debbie’s once before unclasping and holding the brunette’s hands against the wall, whispering for her to “stay like that for me, honey” and to be good for her as she left Debbie’s hands above her head so she could kneel to the floor, taking the black pants down with her, expert fingers and teeth taking the inner layer of black lace down to join them.

“Fuck, I’ve been thinking about tasting you all night.”

“Please, baby. I want your tongue on me.”

Lou didn’t hesitate a moment before her tongue was pressed against Debbie’s folds, teasing her bundle of nerves.

The sounds Debbie was making we’re driving Lou crazy in the best of ways. She didn’t want to let up, taking her tongue from Debbie, but she wanted her fingers inside her, going deep, feeling the Ocean squeezing and pulsing around her. And fuck, she wanted her strap buried inside the brunette, Lou’s name on her tongue, shaking under her, moaning and begging and coming for Lou and because of Lou again and again.

Lou pulled back as Debbie started shaking, getting to her feet as Debbie whimpered in protest. But she licked up the brunette’s neck as she thrusted two fingers inside her making her moan Lou‘s name again.

“Debbie,”

Debbie tried to lock eyes with Lou, but she couldn’t keep them open as Lou fucked her hard, the sensation making her eyes flutter.

“I want to see how many times I can make you come tonight. On my fingers. On my tongue. On my strap. You think you can do that for me, honey? Let me have my way with you? Make you feel good over and over and over again?”

“God, yes, baby. Fuck the jewels. This is what I’ve been waiting for.”

“Every step of the way,” Lou echoed, increasing her rhythm, kissing Debbie until she was deliciously dizzy and breathless.

Edit: Part 2 now here

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bubblestheraccoon · 3 years

Text

Music Mixes

Lumberjanes “Arts and Crafts” Program Field

Treble Maker Badge

“Some Risks are worth the Reward”

Music fuels the mind and thus fuels creativity. A creative mind has the ability to make discoveries and create innovations. The greatest minds and thinkers like Hildegard von Bingen, Barbra Strozzi, and Florence Mary Taylor all had something in common in that they were constantly exploring their imagination and creativity. As a Lumberjane it will be vital that we not only enrich our minds, but enrich those around us. Music is just one of the many mediums that can create an empowering environment, it is one of the few mediums that can be enjoyed at any time.

Finch’s Notes:

This post is based on a section from the bonus content from Lumberjanes: To The Max Edition Volume One. I did not create these playlist, their titles, or the blurb at the top of the post. If any of the links are wrong or broken, or if I should add any more disclaimers for song content, please feel free to let me know!

*D-Slur Warning.

**Only version of the cover I could find on youtube, here’s a version of song without the extra audio but it’s on a Russian website that overwrote my adblocker a little bit so visit it at your own risk. Here’s the song it was covering if you want that instead.

***Could not find cover on youtube. Link instead goes to band camp.

****F-Slur Warning.

Fox Fight Jams! By April!

Edge of Seventeen by Stevie Nicks

Bad Reputation by Joan Jett

Run the World (Girls) by Beyonce

Northshore be Tegan & Sara

Woo Hoo by The 5 6 7 8s

Wilderness by Sleater-Kinney

Wolf by Now, Now

Spin Around by Josie and the Pussycats

Buffy the Vampire Slayer Theme

Jet Pack by Dog Party

Pirates by Jenny Owen Youngs

Dance Apocalyptic by Janelle Monae

Bamboo Bones by Against Me!

Push It by Salt-n-Pepa

I Knew You Were Trouble by Taylor Swift

Up All Night by One Direction

Roar by Katy Perry

Eye Of The Tiger by Survivor

Say You'll Be There by the Spice Girls

Ribs by Lorde

Edge of Seventeen by Stevie Nicks (”Best Song Ever”-April)

River Adventure Mix of dooooom by Mal

I Was An Island by Allison Weiss

Shark In The Water by V.V. Brown

Let's Submerge by X-Ray Spex

Eyes Open by The Gossip

Rebel Girl by Bikini Kill*

Giant Kitty by Shonen Knife

I Won't Follow by the Secret Someones

4Ever by The Veronicas

Sk8er Boi by Avril Lavigne

Take Me Away by Fefe Dobson

Borne On The FM Waves by Against Me! & Tegan Quinn

Ain't It Fun by Paramore

3 Small Words by Josie and the Pussycats

Anchor by Letters To Cleo

That's Not My Name by The Ting Tings

Independent Woman Part 1 by Destiny's Child

Crush by the Sleigh Bells

Oh! by Sleater-Kinney

Tropical by Plumtree

Rhiannon by Best Coast or Fleetwood Mac

The Con by Tegan & Sara

The Competition by Kimya Dawson

Cave Tunes by Molly

I Have Confidence by Julie Andrews

Ain’t No Mountain High Enough by Marvin Gaye & Tammi Terrell

Tightrope by Janelle Monae feat Big Boi

Just A Dream by Taylor Swift

Heartbreak Dream by Betty Who

Corner of the Sky by the Jackson 5

Valerie by Amy Winehouse

I Wanna Dance With Somebody by Whitney Houston

Call Your Girlfriend by Robyn

Let It Go by Idina Menzel

Build Me Up Buttercup by The Foundations

Ring of Fire by Johnny Cash

Jolene by Dolly Parton

Rock ‘n Roll High School by Shonen Knife

Don’t Save Me by HAIM

The Cave by Dia Frampton**

She Keeps Me Warm by Mary Lambert

This Is For by Ingrid Michaelson

Cut It Off by Mal Blum

Smash Into You by Beyonce

Jen’s Perfect Camp Mix by Ripley

Gravity Falls Theme Song

Summertime by Audra McDonald

Strong Enough by Kina Grannis

(You’re So Square) Baby, I Don’t Care by Cee Lo Green

Waterfalls - TLC

Just A Girl by No Doubt

Nobody Knows Me At All by The Weepies

I’m Beginning To See The Light by Ella Fitzgerald

Bad Girls by M.I.A.

Spice Up Your Life by the Spice Girls

Magic To Do by Patina Miller & Ensemble

***Flawless by Beyonce

Come On by Josie And The Pussycats

Don’t Stop Believin’ by Journey

Here Comes The Sun by The Beatles

Jo’s really rad! Mix by Jo

Star Trek: Deep Space Nine Theme

Androgynous(Live) by Joan Jett and Against Me!

Tous Les Memes by Stromae

Sunshine by Rye Rye feat M.I.A.

L.E.S. Artistes by Santigold

What About Your Friends by TLC

Just One Of The Guys by Jenny Lewis

Melody by Kate Earl

Red Cape by Priscilla Ahn

No Wow by The Kills

I Found You by Tilly and the Wall

Do You Remember the Morning by Kid in the Attic***

Cheerleader by St. Vincent

Concrete Wall by Zee Avi

You Can Count On Me by Panda Bear

Go Your Own Way by Fleetwood Mac (”<3″-Jo)

Don’t You (Forget About Me) by Simple Minds

Ziggy Stardust by David Bowie

Oblivion by Grimes

Q.U.E.E.N. by Janelle Monae and Eryka Badu

Rapid Decompression by Against Me!

Roanokes Rule: The Mix[!][!][!] by April

Rattlesnake by Saint Vincent

Transgender Dysphoria Blues by Against Me!****

Amazon by M.I.A.

Another One Bites The Dust by Queen

Art-I-Ficial by X-Ray Spex

Separate Rooms by Now, Now

What’s Mine Is Yours by Sleater-Kinney

Sci-Fi Wasabi by Cibo Matto

Tennis Court by Lorde

Son Of A Preacher Man by Dusty Springfield

Dreams by Fleetwood Mac

Desire Lines by Deerhunter

Hot and Cold by Ex Hex

White Daisy Passing by Rocky Votolato

Misguided Ghosts by Paramore

For The Best by Gregory and the Hawk

The Hymn Of Acxiom by Vienna Teng

Capture The Flag by Broken Social Scene

From A Shell by Lisa Germano

Rosie’s Turn

Feeling Good by Nina Simone

Annabelle Lee by Sarah Jarosz

Terrible Things by April Smith & The Great Picture Show

You Can’t Be Told by Valerie June

Wild Geese Blues by Gladys Bentley

The Day Is Short by Jearlyn Steele

One Dime Blues by Etta Baker

Hard Way Home by Brandi Carlile

The Devil’s Paintbrush Road by The Wailin’ Jennys

To The Bone by Okou

Panic Cord by Gabrielle Aplin

Cups (You’re Gonna Miss Me) by Lulu and the Lampshades

Crayola Doesn’t Make A Color For Your Eyes by Kristin Andreassen

Complimentary Me by Elizabeth & The Catapult

Blue Spotted Tail by Kina Grannis

Sorry About The Doom by Slow Club

You Know I’m No Good by Amy Winehouse

From Texas: Big “D” by Julie Andrews & Carol Burnett

Finch’s Notes Cont:

Hi! I made this post to avoid work. But mostly I made this post because Lumberjanes is something really important to me, and these playlist are a part of my enjoyment of Lumberjanes I don’t see people talking about a lot! So I decided to make a post in order to share them with y’all. I remember hunching over my phone making a spotify playlist (here, though it’s missing a few songs that aren’t on spotify) while on a trip to California in the summer of 2018 when I first got into Lumberjanes. I probably listened to these songs while I made my first ever Lumberjanes fanart. These mixes helped me to discover artist I really love, like Janelle Monae and Mal Blum. I hope you enjoy them as well!

Other notes: Sk8r Boi is crossed out as that is the way it appears on Mal’s playlist. Also, I tend to shy away from music videos as a personal preference, so that’s why there are so few included on this playlist, though I’m sure many of these songs have beautiful music videos. I might reblog this post in the future with some youtube playlists of these mixes, but if you want to find them yourself there are a lot of playlists of these songs made on youtube already! Or you can make your own playlists using this post.

And, just for fun, have one final Lumberjanes themed music recommendation:

Lumberjanes by Various

#lumberjanes #mine #music #mixtapes #long post

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cockasinthebird · 4 years

Text

“I pray you, do not fall in love with me, for I am falser than vows made in wine.” -William Shakespeare, As You Like It, Act 3 Scene 5

Brown and blue both stare up at the many a love declarations on the underside of the bleachers of Hawkins High. Football practice has begun, along with their ever so faithful cheerleaders, and while Robin was here just for how short those skirts went, Steve was here for both those legs, and the sweaty muscles of the blonde haired quarter back; how he shone like diamonds underneath the ruthless summer sky.

Robin hands him the roach, and he has possibly never felt more at peace than now, in the shade with the occasional breeze. But of course, he thought so every time the two of them decided to get high and lie in the grass.

“Tommy + Carol 4 Ever,” Steve reads out loud. “Fucking asshole.”

“Aw, does poor Steve still feel abandoned?” Robin pouts falsely and puts both hands behind her head.

“Shithead was my best friend for most of our lives, and now he's off somewhere licking Billy Hargrove's boot.” He frowns whilst pressing the final embers of their joint into the grass.

“You're just jealous,” she laughs mockingly at him and turns her head to peek out through the seats.

And Steve leans up on his elbows to look past her and in the same direction, to where he sees Billy Hargrove tearing off his helmet with a victorious smile, mullet done up in a low bun, bangs clinging wetly to his forehead.

“Fuck no,” he lies.

“Come on, Dingus.” Robin knocks their shoes together. “You know you can't lie to me.”

“I can try,” he huffs a laugh and looks at how she mimics him genuinely.

“You think I got it any better?” her laugh turns to a scoff and points up. “Tammy Thompson loves John Johnson.” And there's a deep silence for a few short seconds as she keeps her finger in the direction of that etching. “Who the fuck names their child John Johnson?”

Steve cannot contain his chortle, and she is right behind with her usual snort; the one that only comes forth when they're this high.

“It would be like-” Steve takes a deep inhale. “If you were named Robin Robinson!”

“Or you Steve Stevenson!”

“Is that a real name?!”

“Y-yes?” Robin fights against the grin that wants to spread all too wide, and looks at him. “Robert Louis Stevenson!”

“Who?” Steve keeps breathing slowly to try and calm down from something that isn't actually that funny, but when you got bloodshot eyes like these, everything is.

“The famous writer? He wrote Treasure Island and Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde.”

Steve leans up on his elbows again to stare down at her with the most bewildered look this illiterate teen can manage. “Mr Hyde as in... our chemistry teacher?”

“Oh...” Robin's blue blue eyes grow as wide as they can. “My God... Steve... No wonder you're failing literally every class.”

And his expression falls from confused to somewhat offended, but it is the inevitable truth. “It's fine,” he says with nary a worry, “I will get a job at my father's office as... I dunno, coffee guy? Mailman?”

“You really think he'd put you in charge of something as important as their postal service?”

Rather than come up with a sensible reply to that remark, he simply grabs a fistful of grass and throws it at her.

He smiles, she laughs, and the both of them settle down once more with only the loud cheers from the girls in uniform to fill the comfortable silence they find themselves in again, as they continue reading everything that's been carved and written into the far too old wood.

Steve's name can be found numerous times, both in forms of compliments-

“I wish Steve Harrington would notice me.”

“Mrs Harrington is my dream job.”

“Steve Harrington the Keg King.”

All surrounded by hearts.

On one step it reads, “Steve 'The Hair' Harrington” in suspiciously familiar handwriting.

He used to bring girls down here, too, and would have them watch as he reached high above them and wrote his name + theirs.

Steve + Laurie. Crossed out. Steve + Amy. Crossed out. Steve + Becky. Crossed out.

He never got to bring Nancy here. Brought Robin here originally for the same reason as the rest, but she was quick to tell him the truth as he stood too close.

At least they remained friends.

“Is your name up there somewhere?” he asks her, having never actually found it.

“I'm a band dweeb, what do you think?” she sighs but acts like it doesn't bother her.

“Do you want it to be?”

“Nope,” she lies and pops the p.

And of course he doesn't believe her, but he considers himself too nice to press her on any of it.

Silence drags on for what feels like eternity crammed into one minute, and he's got something on his mind, but has absolutely no clue how to work it into conversation all casual like, because it's kinda a big deal, but he doesn't want to seem a fool for thinking so.

So he tries to just flat out say it, “Robin?”

“Steve.”

“You're... smart, right?” He feels himself failing at just saying what he's thinking.

“Smarter than you, although that's not saying much,” she chuckles out and looks to him, but he seems... nervous, and she stops. “What's up, dingus?”

“I... I got a note in my locker today, and I don't really know what it means,” Steve speaks hesitantly and rips small pieces off of a blade of grass.

Robin's brows quirks up. “Oh? And you want me to decipher it for you?”

He sits up far too fast, and even though his body remains still, the world spins for longer than what is possible. “Would you?” There is such a brightness to his tone.

“Sure, what does it say?” She gets up as well and crosses her legs.

Steve fishes out a paper that has become impossibly crumbled up in his front pocket, to a point where the letters written in beautiful cursive is almost unintelligible.

“I love you more than words can wield the matter; dearer than eyesight, space and liberty.”

And while she turns the paper around and re-reads those words, Steve stares unblinkingly so at her.

“So?” he finally asks, bursting with anticipation.

“So, it's a love letter.” She hands it back, and he looks at the paper with such admiration, as if he had forgotten he was worthy of such, just to be reminded of it now. “It's Shakespeare, King Lear. It means that she loves you more than words can describe.”

At that he looks up, beaming with elation as he asks for reassurance, “Seriously?”

“Yup.” She is clearly far less excited, but there's optimism to her tone, to know that he might find what they're both longing for, whether out loud or in secret.

“Someone wrote me a love note...” His smile wide with shocked disbelief.

“Congratulations.” She rolls her eyes although with raised lips, and lies down again.

The very next day, shortly after lunch has begun, he finds another in his locker and runs to where Robin would be eating her lunch alone in the unattended library.

Steve slams down the paper in front of her, and she pauses just before biting into her boring ham sandwich.

“Well well well lover boy,” she mocks lightly and places her food back down on the tray. “I assume you're in need of my service once again?”

The chair next to her screeches across the floor as he sits down with a hard bump. “Yes, and it's the same handwriting as last, so that means it's the same girl, right?”

“Hey now, I haven't agreed to anything yet!” She slaps her hand down on top of the paper, and smirks. “I will help you with this, again, if you buy me pizza after school.”

“Yeah, deal, whatever, just-” He gestures wildly to the neatly folded paper. “Tell me what it means!”

Robin shakes her head and slumps back into her seat; slipping down a bit with her legs splayed out all comfortable and taking up far too much space.

“Love is blind, and lovers cannot see, the pretty follies that themselves commit.”

She nods for a moment in thought, fully ignoring the way Steve's eyes could drill holes in her skull.

“I think it's from The Merchant of Venice. It means... something like, how love makes you act different?”

And since she seems satisfied with that, nods more and lets out a little “Yeah,” so is he.

“Okay, so, someone that acts differently around me?”

Robin taps her temple with a blackened nail and continues nodding like it's all he understands. Still, to ensure he gets her point, says, “You got it.”

Now it is his turn to slump into his chair, but far more confused. “How... how am I supposed to know that they act differently around me? Isn't that how I'll always have seen them, then?”

She raises her brows at that and sits up a bit more straight. “How astute!”

As if he knows what that means.

Through the weekend he waits on his bed, each note in hand and smiling so wide his cheeks grow sore.

Two love letters in two days? They are meant for him, right? This girl didn't accidentally put it in the wrong locker, right?

Steve catches himself briefly hoping she's beautiful, but pushes that aside by the fact that she's so poetically inclined, so sweet and shy that her looks hardly matters, for her choice of words warms his heart and makes it beat in a way that he has oh so missed.

Another thought is what if it's Robin, but he shakes his head violently at that stupid little thing, because no, she's his best friend and that's all they'll ever be, and he truly is happy with that. But everyone gets wrong and bad ideas from time to time, so he won't fault himself for her name popping up, as he mentally goes through a list of all the girls he knows. Or thinks he knows.

And though he tries to distract himself with TV and swimming in his pool and letting Robin paint his toenails, Monday always feels so far away.

It is the first thing he does when he shows up at school; pushes his way through his peers to fling open his locker, and sure enough a little note slips out.

He skims it for just a second before he rushes off to stand by Robin's locker for when she eventually moves to it and shoves him aside.

“Another?” she asks with her head in her locker as she rummages for gum.

“I knew she was gonna leave me another! I could feel it in my body the entire weekend!” his tone pitched high with excitement.

“Ew, gross, I don't need to know that!” she jokes and yanks it from his grasp.

“Come what sorrow can, it cannot countervail the exchange of joy, that one short minute gives me in her sight.”

And Steve folds it, lovingly so, before placing it inside his wallet, and thankfully he doesn't have to wait long for a more modern translation of it.

“Something something about how her pain and misery goes away in your presence; in the presence of a loved one. Romeo and Juliet, which is not a happy love story!” she says ardently and points a stern finger at him for emphasis.

“Okay, but does that mean we have classes together at least then?” Steve shrugs and runs a hand through his shiny hair.

“Probably? Or maybe some extra curricular activity,” Robin's tone careless and she starts down the hall, with Steve right behind.

“But the only other extra whatever I take is basket.”

“So maybe your admirer is a guy.”

He shakes his head with conviction. “Nah, I doubt that completely, I mean you've seen the handwriting! And what guy is into Shakespeare?”

“Anything is possible Steve, don't be so close minded.”

For once he is early to first-period history class, and he sits on the desk Robin usually occupies, to which she responds with throwing her bag into his lap, accompanied by a cocked brow and strong stare.

Steve doesn't say a thing, simply lifts up a fourth note, and she snags with from his fingers with an exasperated sigh.

“I would not wish any companion in the world but you.”

She groans out loud now and pushes him off of her table. “Come on dingus, this one is easy! You cannot be this stupid.”

“Just tell me what it is!” he says as he shuffles into the seat in front of hers.

“She only wants you, no one else, Jesus.”

“Oh,” he breathes out, his wide grin that of pure joy, and although this is a tiring thing to be bothered with every day now, she does appreciate his happiness to some extend.

Wednesday morning Robin is already by Steve's locker, arms crossed and a friendly smile painted across her face.

“Let's see what your stalker has come up with this time,” she says and leans away so that he can twist the lock in the right order.

And today it is a far shorter note.

“Love hath made thee a tame snake.”

She doesn't bother waiting before saying, “Love will humble and soften even the most hardened individual.” And there's a glint in her eyes, so short and easily missed, revealing that she might have an idea as to which hardened individual this could be. Not that she hadn't thought about him before already.

For she had seen his copy of As You Like It by Shakespeare fall from his bag in English Literature, but it is not her place to out anyone.

“That's a weird one, right?” His brows furrowed as he awaits affirmation. “Hardened individual? What does that even mean?”

“Steve, I-” She rubs her eyes hard and nods. “Yeah, it is a weird one. But it probably means someone who's acting tough, but in truth softens around you.”

He folds it back up and slips it into his wallet together with the other four.

“Tomorrow, then,” Robin says and pats his shoulder a few times before heading to class.

Steve stays still for a moment, looking at how the five notes stretches the leather of his wallet. His thumb runs over their ripped edges, all seemingly from the same piece of paper, thinking about the dainty fingers that must hold the ballpoint pen to write him such loving words.

Cheeks flushed, smile tender, eyes soft, he wanders towards class as well.

Months ago when he and Robin became best friends, she took a very slight interest in him and his education, because he very clearly needs help with school, and she's suspicious of the fact that he might be dyslexic, but when asked about it he gets mad.

So instead she demands food and favors from him whenever he starts screwing up in school again, starts falling behind, or shows up late to class. And of course he has slept through his alarm for the first time in weeks on this Thursday, the one day of two where they have first-period together, and now he'll have to pay for dinner at the diner, but he has a good excuse!

Sat up all night with several books written by none other than William Shakespeare that he had checked out at the library.

He's hungry and tired and in a goddamn hurry to get to class ASAP; the hallways empty and silent save for the occasional teacher yelling at an unruly student, but even that he can hardly hear over the beating of his heart, which is just great, because now he'll spend all day with floppy hair and reeking of sweat.

He just has to make a quick stop by his locker to see if there's a new note, the only thing that truly matters and overshadows the importance of getting passing grades or upholding his deal with Robin.

Around the next corner and... and...

And it never dawned on him at any point, even with Robin's constant droning of “Guys can read Shakespeare, too!” that his secret admirer might not be a girl at all. Maybe he was just so stuck in the expected reality of the world, the one he's so used to, before Robin helped him see the light, to help him realize that there's other options than gay or straight.

No he never even bothered thinking that way, till he sees Billy Hargrove slip something into his locker.

#Harringrove #My Writing #Steve Harrington #Robin Buckley #Billy Hargrove #Shakespeare #Fluffy fluff fluff #pining #I got drunk last night and listened to #twelfth night #And was like #Poet Billy? Poet Billy.#I think I've seen some other people talk about their love for that #and altho out of character imo #it was nice and fun #I write a lot of smut so stuff like this is RARE and a breath of fresh air to me #10/10 would write Poet Billy again #Also dumbass oblivious Steve #too much fun

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aerial-aspie · 3 years

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An Autistic Point of View 21 (Summer Camp Edition)

Hi there it's Hazel! I'm finally back after a bit of a too long break because I've been struggling to find things to write about (which is also called being too lazy too) but I actually have something to talk about today! Yay!

So if you haven't seen on some of my earlier posts, I am a youth summer camp leader and 3 weeks ago I led for my first time and this is how it went.

Coming from a northern city in England, it was already difficult because everyone else was from London and were all talking gossip about people at school and would leave me out of everything, telling me I didn't want to know. I felt left out and isolated because I couldn't join in conversations as much because I didn't know who anyone was. This went on for the full four days of pre-camp preparations and it was quite difficult, another thing that happened was someone used the phrase 'you're not Jewish if you don't know...' and this was about a musical called 13 which was about a Bar Mitzvah. I'd never heard of it because I mostly know things that people tell me about or that I've seen come on tour and I wasn't sure how to respond because I didn't know it.

We also had multiple clashes in interests because the interests of all the girls (who I clashed with more) were more mainstream such as watching love island (I hate that show with a passion, it's disgusting), being die hard mamma mia fans (the songs are annoying and the film is awful in my opinion) and this is about everyone, they love pop music (again, I hate pop music and would much rather listen to vocaloid, jpop, electro swing, heavy metal and whatever is on my weird playlist). So because of this we clashed quite badly, especially over our opinions on love island because I'm so opinionated on how much I hate that show and they love it we got into a somewhat argument, so I left the building and went back to my dorm because it was the evening when we could do basically what we wanted.

Now I've gotten that off my chest, I need to say that I loved the group of people I was leading with. Yes we didn't get along interests wise and north, south divide didn't help but they were lovely to lead with and some of them I've come out with friends for life (well if we can keep in contact).

When the kids came it was so daunting, but luckily my friend Ash (who is leading with me) was on the coach with them because they had just had covid and had to isolate before coming, but they were fine.

I can't really remember fully what went on every day but I can tell you that the first meal time was horrible. I had this one kid on my table who begged me for the full half an hour about what we were doing next and I couldn't tell him at all and was panicking about what to say. I grabbed one of the senior leaders and was like "help, I don't know what to do" and he gave me some tips but even then, the kid wouldn't get off my back. He started being like "I hate it when people keep secrets from me, my mum once kept a secret from me and it was so horrible so tell me what we're doing please" (this is not exactly word for word what he said but he did bring his mum into it).

However, dinner was luckily over and I thought I was done with him but whilst we were blocking the entrance to one of the buildings whilst the activity was being set up, he went at me again and I was really struggling and panicking. Ash, who is one of my closest friends and knows me better than any of the other leaders, quickly spotted I was in a bad position and turned to me and said "Hazel, I think you're needed inside" and instantly got me out of that stressful situation. I thanked them for it later because it really saved me from a panic attack.

I only had one major panic attack through the entirety of camp, which is the best I've ever come out of one before. The one I had was because we were running early and had to think of something to do. I was suddenly told in front of all the kids with no prior warning that I was leading an invisible circus session and I found and excuse to leave the room and then I panicked. From there on out, the people running the camp knew they had to pre warn me about anything that was causing major changes and I would have to do things on the spot (even though I already told them that when we talked about my needs on a call prior to camp).

Last extremely negative moment when leading, then I'll get onto the positive sides. The kids were so hard work and one day they had 4 discipline talks and it did nothing. We were getting so annoyed and upset that Tammy had to do a full powerful speech about how upset we all were and I could see she was struggling too. Because of this, she wasn't in the next session she was leading with me (and I do not and will not blame her for it because she was so upset and needed that break). Luckily, Ethan was there to help me out and helped run the session and keep the moral high up for the kids as I was really struggling. At dinner I basically broke and after went to sit in the welfare room, there was another kid in there from another bubble and so I moved a chair just to put more distance between us and it was stuck to a phone lead and the phone clattered to the floor. This kid was very noise sensitive and was so frightened, I apologised so much to them before they got taken out and that was enough to set the tears off. There were leaders from the other camp there who knew me and comforted me (socially distant) because they understood I was having a terrible day.

I was then kicked out the welfare room because kids from the other camp were eating in there and this was for safeguarding reasons and so I got sent to one place to wait for the welfare officer but she was already there with someone else. I was basically a stranded autistic person, mid meltdown, not knowing where to go.

I did get rescued by another set of leaders who make our resources and they sat and talked to me whilst I cried it out. I really wanted to go home then, I hated it so much that day and soon the welfare officer came and I talked it out to her before ringing my parents and telling them about it.

I didn't go home in the end and made it all the way through.

Now for the good moments.

Meetings in the evenings were the funniest moments ever, where we talked about about our day and told funny stories and they never failed to make me laugh and always made my day, plus they were always followed by snacks!

We led some amazing activities where the kids got so into them and joined in with everything so that we all had a blast in the end. Site activities were so fun and I got to do high ropes, crate stacking and climbing and I loved it. Me and Ash went as a pair in crate stacking and I fell off at 6 crates, while they got to 13 and it was supposed to be a pairs challenge. But let me say, I screamed the whole way up the crate stacking.

The last night of camp talent show was hilarious. I got to do my poi in it because I was not comfortable doing what everyone else was doing, which was being randomly assigned acts on the go and you had to go up and improvise. But all the improvisation acts by the leaders were so funny, there was; the freedom sandwich song with a singer and someone with a broken finger on recorder, bohemian rhapsody without the vowels, slam poetry about the clavicle and more and it was so funny and such a great night.

The last night of camp in general was great because I pigged out on ice cream and popcorn and got my face painted as a cat. It was great except me 2 hour shift of watching the quiet sleeping area, which was dead boring but then I got to sleep early.

Finally, I did a talk on autism, at first it was just a half an hour chat session where Ash came to sit and listen and also crowd control in case anyone was silly in it. I only had 3 people turn up and another leader ran a football chat session to try and bring more people to mine (how sweet of them) so I ended up with 5 of them, all of them boys.

I thought they would mess around but they were so mature it was amazing! They asked loads of interesting questions about what it was like to be autistic and I answered them all and I loved this talk so much because I was so happy when it ended because it went so well and all the boys said I was now their favourite leader and it made me so happy.

I then ran this talk again in a session which was an hour where you could move between chats freely, whenever you wanted to. Ash was inspired by my autism talk and wanted to do one on being non-binary however, they didn't want to stop people from coming to mine. I turned round and said it doesn't matter about who comes and who doesn't, you should lead it, don't let me hold you back. And they did it! I was so proud of Ash for leading that talk.

I ended up getting all the boys in my talk, whilst Ash got all the girls (which they all apologised to me about not coming but I said it was fine and that they could come and ask questions at any time). All the boys were mature again and I got to happily chat about being autistic and I loved listening to all the questions they asked and anecdotes about people they knew and it went so well again.

Finally, my last highlight was Ash's 'why don't we talk about periods' session which most of the leaders all assisted on because it was so interesting. All the girls were sharing stories, I shared a story and even lots of boys turned up and one was brave enough to ask where the blood goes which I was so proud of him for asking. Whilst the female participants found that question funny, we were making this boy feel good for asking because we thought it was a mature question to come from a 12 year old boy and happily answered it.

To help desensitise people to some of the words we were using, we had everyone yelling period, menstruation, period blood, etc and it was good fun and I loved it.

And that's all about being autistic as a summer camp leader, will I lead again? Probably not. I considered trying again next year but it clashes with the commonwealth games and whilst there were positives from leading, there were lots of negatives too that were off putting and I'd rather go to the commonwealth games.

I hope you enjoyed it and see you next time!

#autistic experiences #actually autsitic #autism #autistic positivity #being autistic #autistic life #autistic blogger #summer camp

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laughingpinecone · 3 years

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ToT letter 2021

I am laughingpineapple on AO3

Hello dear author! I hope you’ll have fun with our match. Feel free to draw from general or fandom-specific likes, past letters, and/or follow your heart.

Art likes: characters doing something, even something very simple, illustrating a moment rather than abstractly posing. I also enjoy seeing them wear different clothes, getting a feel of what their fashion sense is like beyond their canon outfit(s). Or dressing them up for some outlandish AU!

Likes: worldbuilding, slice of life (especially if the event the fic focuses on is made up but canon-specific), missing moments, 5+1 and similar formats, bonding and emotional support/intimacy, physical intimacy, lingering touches, loyalty, casefic, surrealism, magical realism, established relationships, future fic, hurt/comfort or just comfort from the ample canon hurt, throwing characters into non-canon environments, banter, functional relationships between dysfunctional individuals, unexplained mysteries, bittersweet moods, journal/epistolary fic, dreams and memories and identities, canon-adjacent tropey plots, outsider POV, UST, resolved UST, exploration of secondary bits of canon, leaning on the uniqueness of the canon setting/mood, found families, characters reuniting after a long and/or harrowing time, friends-to-lovers, road trips, maps, mutual pining, cuddling, wintry moods, the feeling of flannel and other fabrics, ridiculous concepts played straight, sensory details, sickfic, places being haunted, people being haunted, the mystery of the woods, small hopes in bleak worlds, electricity, places that don’t quite add up, mismatched memories, caves and deep places, distant city lights at night, emphasis on non-human traits of non-human characters (gen-wise, but also a hearty yes xeno for applicable ships), emphasis on inhuman traits of characters who were human once and have sort of shed it all behind

DNW: non-canonical rape, non-canonical children, focus on children, unrequested ships (background established canon couples are okay, mentions of parents are okay!), canon retellings

All requests are for both fic and art!

Death Crown: Death, trick

(I haven't played the DLC yet so, alas, no demons, or no spoilers for the demons, at least) I am absolutely charmed by the overall mood of this game and would like to see something more in that vein! Anything! Got more sacred (or unholy?) geometrical architecture for Death to interact with, maybe in greater detail than just wrecking it? What else feels like a contemporary take on a Bosch painting? Can Death get lost?

Ghost Trick: Jowd, Cabanela, trick, treat

Anything focused on Cabanela being an unstoppable force (confident, untiring, sparkling, stubborn, dexterous, loyal to the bitter end, legs) and/or Jowd being an immovable object (sarcastic, strong, depressed, self-deprecating but knowing he's hot stuff, also stubborn, clever but an emotional dumbass, round). Figuring out stuff? Something in the new timeline is linked to the old timeline? Coat? Dancing? Scarves? Halloween costumes?

I like Cabanela/Jowd and Cabanela/Alma/Jowd and Cabanela/Alma in scenarios where Jowd isn't around and Alma/Jowd in general (REALLY like all these, okay. like this is the one request where I'd love the most self-indulgent shippy takes as well), and dig Lynne/Memry. Yomiel/fianSissel and Emma/JM also cool!

Hylics: any, trick, treat

(I have only played the first game so far so please no overt spoilers for Hylics 2. Feel free to include stuff from it but... stealthily, I guess?) This is an "anything that feels somewhat like canon, please" sort of request! Love the mood, love the cast, love the little added details in their menu screen. Those can be prompts? Or the oddball stats? How do ToT's trick and treat freeforms apply to Hylics' overall... hylicsness, what would those guys think constitutes a "creepy" moment or a "fluffy" one?

Not into ships for this one, however I WILL say that Dedusmuln has all the proverbial curves in the right places. mostly their face.

Kentucky Route Zero: Weaver

Math, debt, the liminal state of almost being a ghost, seeing the world with a strange clarity... just anything Weaver, please! How'd she make her way to the town? What was it like for her to be working on Xanadu for a time? What about the community broadcast! Does she have an opinion on Carrington's oeuvre? You know... things... stuff. Weaver things. and stuff.

I love the whole cast and Weaver... wove... her story through most of them so feel free to bring in whomever. Not interested in ships here though.

Paradise Killer: Lady Love Dies, trick

A post-canon glimpse of life on '''''perfect''''' 25? That's not QUITE enough class consciousness to make the whole thing work, you guys. What does 'normal' life feel like to LD now? After following Henry's case and talking to Shinji so much, can she see that it's doomed to fail again, and then what? What IS Island 25 like, anyway? (what comes after Island 25, even?)

I liked the choice of canon romances - if it has to be just one I'd prefer it to be Crimson, but I'd also be interested in seeing what a V or triad with Doom Jazz would look like. They're all so chill about stuff

Pyre: Volfred, trick, treat

Pragmatic idealist, charismatic and bad at people, pacifist, activist, physiologically incapable of shutting up for a hot second, what's there not to love... I am very into either of the following: C. Volfred Sandalwood has a fantastic day; C. Volfred Sandalwood has a terrible no good day. Everything is great! Pre-exile antiestablishmentarian antics, maybe with Bertrude? Political gambits? The very physical dangers of the Downside which may or may not catch a scholar by surprise (who saves him?)? Tree problems? Meeting Oralech for the first time and Volfred thinks he himself is hot stuff but out of the two, Oralech is clearly the VIP? Feeling like he should live up to Lu Sclorian's legacy but he feels much closer to other Scribes (and what does Lu have to say about it, one way or another?)? The thrilling intimacy of Reading? The thrilling intimacy of lowercase reading also, maybe reading old manuscripts found in the Downside?

I very much ship him with Tariq and/or Oralech. The only canon ship I like is Hedwyn/Fikani. I also like Soliam/Gol, Bertrude/Pamitha and Celeste/Jodariel. Love all the Nightwings + Dalbert (+Deluge...?); love to dunk on Manley, Brighton and Lendel (I don't enjoy flat-out bashing, more like... I enjoy the way they are portrayed as horrible gremlins in canon and if they turn up in fic I'm not interested in more positive portrayals)

Signs of the Sojourner: Rhea, Elias, trick, treat

Once again pretty much an "anything in the style of canon" request. I love this setting, its themes and all the little lives that fill it. I am interested in a wide range of postcanon scenarios and love the whole cast - does Rhea come back to $town any number of years down the line and find $character? How'd their storyline end up in the medium-long term? What the hell is up with the Stranger (seriously, three runs and I never managed to speak with them, I have no idea)? What's life like for Elias back home, or in a new home if they can't keep the store, or if Rhea landed the Oscar ending or whatever (just, please, not dead Rhea. I love that ending but can't stand to consider what it'd do to Elias)? Or does he join the caravan just once? Who did Rhea grow to really like and can't wait to see every time? Any ghost stories or creepy encounters on the caravan's route? Does Thunder help?

I'm neutral on ships here - good with Rhea&Elias, good with background Rhea/Elias but I wouldn't like a romantic focus.

Totally Normal Wizard Apprentice: apprentice, wizard, master, trick, treat

(conflict of interest disclaimer, I illustrated this but didn't write nor nominate it) What awaits the apprentice outside the wizard's tower? It sounds like a pretty wild moon out there, I loved all the worldbuilding hints of the bigger setting. Does the wizard keep track of the apprentice, with her telescope or otherwise, and how does she take care of her ruined parlor? Was this all some sort of 5d chess on the master's part, and if so to what end? And what kind of otherworldly patience does this man possess, anyway, to handle the apprentice on a daily basis?

Twin Peaks: Margaret, Diane, Lucy, Tammy, trick, treat

(bass-boosted ethereal whooshing) For tricks, I would like to see any of these characters face the woods, the mystery of the woods, and/or a new symbol of your liking. Or: Margaret in the city, Diane and the moon, Lucy and the color blue, Tammy incognito.

For treats, a happy meeting. I love the whole cast and I'm always thrilled by gonzo "&" pairings, bring in whomever! Coffee and pie? The Bookhouse Boys? A kinder aspect of the woods?

Fandom-specific notes: love s3, love the books too. I like Lucy/Andy, Margaret/Sam fwiw, and rarepairs Tammy/Cynthia and Diane/Constance. Please no Fireman's-house-is-the-white-lodge, no Twin Perfect, no Judy-was-destroyed (nor is destroyable).

Arcade Spirits: Percy, Teo, treat

More than anything, I love the sense of group and camaraderie among the arcade's staff and regulars, and I'd love to see some more of it. I picked Percy and Teo 'cause they're my faves but anyone you may want to add, up to and including Sue, is very very welcome. Is there any aspect of gaming that feels like it could be adapted to this strange world of contemporary arcades? Cosplay shenanigans for everyone courtesy of Ashley? Any other activity that could show how Percy and/or Teo get along with the others, like they were all forming little groups during the beach chapter? It's such a feel-good canon, any feel-good situation would be great!

My Ari is with Percy but I'm not really interested in shipping here. All sorts of friendships though!

#letter

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yourcreepyneighborhoodelftwink · 3 years

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Oooo~ wat are u sewing? Also, ur thoughts on doggies and pussy cats :8? I personally love kitties, they so cute eeee! And another! Ohmigosh! Uhm,, who is your favourite villager on ur ACNH island? Mines Tammi cuz she makes me happy stim (mainly cuz her tail’s stripy 😍🥺)

Oh, Charlotte's little Tatl plush popped a seam. I guess I didn't sew it strong enough before, so I'm fixing the seam, then re-going over all the seams AGAIN so it'll be stronger. It's my first ever time sewing a thing to MAKE it, not fix it, so I'm just impressed it still looked decent.

And I really like cats and dogs! EEeEE is kinda a mix of both, if you really squint. But I'm definitely partial to horses.

I find it hard to pick a favorite. Raymond is a fan favorite, and I'm not immune, Reneigh was one of my first 2, and loud, happy horse lady? Yes,,, And Kitt makes me cry from happiness sometimes, she's such a mom, I love her,,,

#creepypasta #ben drowned #ask #ask me anything #ask away #ask me questions #ask me things

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dwaynepride · 4 years

Text

Missed Routines

Sebastian finds it difficult to concentrate when work impedes on tradition.

Words: 741

Warnings: None

Tags: @pageofultron @stanathanxoox @starryrevelations @thebeckyjolene @diaryofafan17 @specialagentlokitty

With Tammy and Pride leaving for Loretta’s, the squadroom is empty.

Sebastian stands from his desk, footsteps light and careful, as if he needs to be sneaky in his own workplace. But the case has been killer the entire day; nonstop running around and phone calls and problems popping up with evidence. He wasn’t about to jinx his good fortune by relaxing and being confident that he finally gets a chance to talk to you.

His head pops into the kitchen, just to make sure you really were in here by yourself. But where Sebastian was expecting Patton’s voice rattling off, he meets only silence.

Good. This is good.

“Hey.”

Your head whips up at Sebastian’s greeting, and the warm smile that welcomes him works to pull the gawky agent the rest of the way through the opening. “Hey. Did you finish going through all the Ensign’s bank records?”

“Yeah,” Sebastian head bobs up and down as he slowly makes his way over. “Nothing out of the ordinary. I’ll have to dig a little deeper.” Once he reaches the island, Sebastian finds that you’re preparing a sandwich. He wishes he’d known that you were hungry. Maybe the two of you could’ve gone out and had a late lunch or something...

“You want me to make you one, too?”

His eyes flicker up from the food, meeting your eyes before shaking his head fervently. “Nah, I’m not hungry. But- but thanks for the offer.” Sebastian inwardly cringes at himself.

And it doesn’t help that you give him an odd look. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Because you’re acting weird, right now.” You stop paying attention to the sandwich; setting the knife aside completely to give him your whole attention. “To think of it, you’ve been acting weird all day. I know something’s on your mind, Sebastian. I know you.”

You do. You do know him. And yet, the knowledge doesn’t help Sebastian. Doesn’t make it any easier to come out and say what’s on his mind.

He sighs and glances around the room while you’re patiently waiting for him to speak. And finally, he kicks himself to talk before things start to get really awkward. “Alright, well, it’s about this morning...”

“What happened this morning?”

“That’s the thing,” Sebastian answers. He can’t help the shy shrug of his shoulders. “Nothing happened. Nothing happened, and I don’t know why I’m so hung up on it.”

You’re so confused. He can see it on your face. He knows he’s gonna have to explain himself and it’ll come out wrong and creepy and you’ll end this precious relationship before it even gets to the two month mark. That’ll really be a record for him.

But then your eyes shift from confused to....understanding? A small smirk follows the change, and you step away from the sandwich towards Sebastian. “Oh, I get it. Because we’ve been so busy today...”

He nods.

“And we’ve barely spoken, much less had time alone...”

He nods again.

“I forgot our good morning kiss, right?”

Sebastian nods one final time.

And contrary to his own internal gripes about how he could’ve handed this conversation, you’re grinning. Wide and warm, with no trace of the awkwardness that Sebastian was afraid of. His tension releases on his sigh. “I really missed it,” he confesses lowly.

The grin falls into a light smile, but that’s just because you’re on your tiptoes now. A hand on his cheek to pull him down for a sweet kiss. And Sebastian nearly hum in the sensation. Suddenly, the busy day didn’t seem to bad. Because at least he had this.

You lean into him readily, and his long arms curling around your torso is automatic. It feels good and right and comfortable; something Sebastian isn’t all that used to feeling with another person. But with you, it’s effortless. It’s easy to just let go and not think about anything and just focus on the soft feeling of your lips. Listen to you huff in laughter when his beard gets a little too ticklish and prickly.

The kiss breaks before he wants it to. Sebastian would be content to stand there all day and kiss you. But your hand doesn’t fall from his cheek, like he expects. So when he blinks on confusion, you simply offer a shrug. “One more. Just in case we’re busy again, tomorrow.”

The second kiss is, somehow, even better than the first.

#ncis nola x reader #sebastian lund x reader #sebastian lund imagine #ncis new orleans x reader #ncis new orleans reader insert

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perogipoj · 4 years

Text

all this before coffee

Dedicated to my black sheep family, who will always be golden.

Barbed wire, blank walls and an empty sky. Cocoa Beach. Brevard County, FL. Jail. Also known as SHARPS. Tammy walked into the classroom with an air of bravado coupled with the eyes of a child. I never met a teacher before she said shyly, glancing at her handcuffs on the uncomfortable chair. Even … I hesitated, even in school, I asked gently. I adjusted my own hips to adjust for the cold hard beneath me. I mean, a teacher for real. Her eyes looked down, and I implored with my eyes this time to the corrections officer to remove the handcuffs. Her shoulder length hair was marred by black roots and mustard colored ends. There were scars on her arm from cutting. Her teeth were perfect when she decided to smile. Opening the GRE materials, I joked that I am useless at math but fairly good at grammar. Tammy looked beautiful.

Some of us take many things too far. That has seemed to be my pattern. Even healthy habits turned into obsessions. Jogging turned into running which became marathons and a cruel treatment of my body. Some can run into their seventies without injury as some people live to a hundred while smoking and drinking whiskey to the end. Mindful eating became anorexia and bulimia. Going organic made me broke with the kombucha and hemp that flowed through my veins. Being tidy led me to compulsive house cleaning, often with bleach scouring my hands and my eyes colored in pink tears. Personal grooming turned to hours and dollars of hair coloring, clothes I could not afford, Botox, and breast augmentation. Wanting affirmation led to dangerous and toxic sexual situations.

Jaylen, I was warned, was “special.” I would normally groan inward, used to so many parents highlighting their children as such, usually to explain poor grades. The volunteer walked all twelve years of Jaylen, his mannerisms large and chaotic, into the room in which all toys and colors were removed. I hate reading, he said, standing with his arms crossed in front of him like a knight. Why? It’s stupid. Can you read, I asked, opening the second-grade reader I was given. I don’t need to read, I can dance.

I met The Peruvian on a last minute, pathetic online date. I was at a job expo to acquire my first teaching job after finishing my master’s degree at a world-famous university. I almost flunked out. I could not focus. I cried over social histories in German, a language I lacked grammatical skill in, dreading the meetings with just my professor and another grad student. Black tea, discussions of Marx I got lost in, his approval nodding at the stout Russian girl I already had difficulty understanding in English, never mind in German. In college, I was stellar. On time to each class, writing papers late into the night with a gusto of my fingers and a smile on my face. The world looked bright. On a sweltering day with an incompressible and unimportant commencement speaker, we burnt in the sun and passed around a flask of vodka under our graduation gowns. Life is beginning. I held the parchment color graduation schedule. My name had a star next to it.

I saw that Tammy was no longer shackled when she entered the gray room. Since the week I met with her, she had elevated herself to the trusted inmates who could clean, deliver meals, and hand out the dog-eared pages of books on a squeaky cart. So, you scored extremely high on many levels, Tammy. Let’s take a look at the reading comprehension packet I assigned on The Scarlet Letter. She smiled more brightly. I pressed her for intrigue. Ma’am, she said glowing, my commissary is so lit now I don’t have to eat the garbage they give us. They try to pass off expired food when I deliver it. I wanted to call them out on those pistachios. I don’t have time to answer these packets you give me. But I read the book. What did you read, according to you? We clasped hands. Of course, the minster got off and Hester had to wear the giant A over her pilgrim costume. I dipped my head. Of course. She could read Hawthorne.

I will be the gladdest thing

Under the sun!

I will touch a hundred flowers

And not pick one.

I will look at cliffs and clouds

With quiet eyes,

Watch the wind bow down the grass,

And the grass rise.

And when the lights begin to show

Up from the town,

I will mark which much be mine,

And then start down.

- Edna St. Vincent Millay

Jaylen came running into the room from the play center and basketball court which I assumed was a courtesy to me. He needed to get the wiggles out.

Nassau Point in the summer at Aunt Tillie’s, driving the Long Island Expressway until it ended to countless grey and white mottled roads. Passing vineyards that used to be potato fields, cramming my mouth with the last bit of contraband Doritos which were called a Special Treat to nullify us on the vast expanse from New Jersey to the tiny white house. Decorated in “Early American” with a front glass porch smelling oddly pleasant of moth balls and sunlight. The huge lawn rolling into the bay with a dock that appeared and disappeared with the tide. Kids took showers in the dank basement, carved out of a space teeming of a hoarder. A crusted bottle of prell shampoo and a withered sliver of ivory soap. I met Man-Boy With Very Hairy Legs for the first and last time. Stroking my legs up and down, he asked if I had a boyfriend. I was ten, and smug that I could run through poison ivy and never get a rash. Do you want to fool around, like do stuff? He whispered into my ear everything I did not know yet. That’s what married people do! With his laughter, I leapt my long legs and ran, up the hill, to the driveway where my father was shucking corn. I got away. This time.

I was so excited to see Tammy. But she was not in attendance. I left the CO the beat-up copy of Antigone for her. I never saw Tammy again. “All men make mistakes, but a good man yields when his course is wrong and repairs the evil. The only evil is pride.” This quote was for my betterment, not for Tammy’s.

A time of reckoning, and a time of complete growth. A time of a schedule not placed by us. A journey into us through the connection of others, who became best friends. Vitamin fusions, lining up for medication in ribbed short paper cups, and Group. Totally released from responsibility, my linens and clothes were washed, returned the same afternoon in compact squares surrounded by plastic wrap. Jokes of communal constipation. So, this is my brain mapped. Here is what displays depression, here anxiety, this is insomnia, that part shows a lack of memory and concentration. What is that big blue of the Pacific Ocean? She looked at me, clicked her keyboard. PTSD.

I want to draw a Parrot! P-A-R-R-O-T and speak like one! Wordless, I handed him the blue and black expo markers for the old white board. With precision, he drew the bird. I need more colors, he explained in one breath can I talk like a parrot. I smiled at him at led him to his desk. Let’s try to pay attention today, and I will get you more colors and you can show me how a parrot talks. I began my lesson, and his eyes drifted into imagination. I needed to get him more colors.

I told The Peruvian I was pregnant. Now I can never afford to divorce you he muttered, enraged. Married two months earlier, I realized our honeymoon baby was not welcome. The protesters were angry, and I felt sick. Him on his laptop, me crying to a social worker. Do not sedate me, I plead, I need to feel this sin. Sliding my shoes off in the car, my trunk grinding with mountain rolls of cramps and uncontrollable sobbing coming from a divine place, I declined lunch in West Palm. I never want to do anything fun. Changing my pad alone in a car beneath the ceiling of the parking garage in City Place, I then tilted my head and fell asleep again. My birthday came and went. You didn’t remember my birthday. With that evil glint in his eyes, he turned his head and told me that was because he did not love me.

I purchased a ream of paper and a new box of 42 colors Crayola, legit, sharpener in the box, for Jaylen. He immediately sat down and drew and drew. Can we put some words to these if we use the colors you want? He looked up at me shyly and wrote down five words from the fifth-grade reader. How did you know that? Easy, my Grammy teaches me.

I did not smoke to fit in. I smoked because it felt good out in the parking lot, vying for shade, with the Tech supplying communal cigarettes and a light. The wave went through me and my lips burned with the dirt and smoky taste. You look like Strawberry Shortcake trying to smoke a cigarette! My mother was a sophisticated Virginia Slims smoker, sitting on the brick steps in her tennis skirt, so beautiful, watching my brother play in the backyard waiting for my father to return from work. I sat next to her in awe, breathing in the sprinkler water and counting its pattern, hum hum-hum-hum, hum hum-hum-hum.

I took a cigarette break on my Uber ride home. I knew I would not smoke much when I got home. However, I did not consume much except cigarettes and black coffee. I felt Parisian. The house got messy, and my thighs grew softer. Investing only in ponds cold cream and drugstore mascara, I laughed deeper and threw myself into work more than ever, with determined concentration, forgetting my posture, hunched over in zeal working sixty hours a week. Anxiety attacks did not make my head and hands shake while driving. I binged watched Law and Order. Being unhealthy never felt so healthy.

I called the jail to let them know I am available for other inmates if they needed me. I went the next day to help a young man learn English as a second language. All went well until he stood up screaming asking for a guard then switching to Spanish.

Here is your key, you can find your mailbox in the teacher lounge. Here is the form to join the union, Mr. Pescatelli will most certainly find you about that. Do you know what a block schedule is? In the morning you will be teaching Advanced Placement European History to our magnet students. After lunch, you have sophomore World History in the fourth wing. The afternoon will have different challenges. If you ever need assistance, security is just down the hall. Welcome to Ft. Lauderdale High School. Welcome to my first year of teaching.

…

I met the Sophisticated Scandinavian Man in Boston in the Spring. A PhD candidate from a social democracy intrigued me. I was twenty-two and he was twenty-eight. I felt like a puppy taken in from the cold. There is a long story for this, maybe later. The times in which he devoured me, lavished upon me, he loved a short story I wrote, “All this before coffee.”

Sonya met me in the prison classroom. In anticipation of a new student, I posted Jaylen’s parrots, travel posters, pictures of presidents listing their failures before they took office. Hello, she said, reaching her cuffed wrists out to me. I am Jaylen’s mother.

All this before coffee. All this after a DUI.

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melvncholymvmi · 4 years

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Khourgorio comfort scene?

thanks for the ask! I hope you like it!

Special Agent Tammy Gregorio of NCIS, formerly an FBI agent. Trained sniper. Expert marksman with a real penchant for a kill shot just in the nick of time. Regardless, it was murder, plain and simple. It came with the territory really, but it always took a heavy toll on her heart. She hated the shrinking that followed, though. Sitting in a room with a complete stranger who was hell-bent on “doing what’s best for her” wasn’t her twist.

Brooklyn born and raised, Tammy was better off hitting the boxing gym, finding a pretty little thing to warm the other side of her bed and powering through with a shit-ton of coffee and reality TV. Lately, not even boxing, sex or free drinks at the Tru Tone was enough to ease the rapidly growing darkness in her mind.

“Thanks for calling me, Jimmy.” Hannah’s voice broke though her thoughts. The taller brunette leaned against the bar and smiled at Gregorio.

“Jimmy, you’re a rat.” Tammy huffed. It was half-hearted, though.

“Yeah, I love you too, Tam.” He said with a single tap to the bar.

“What are you doing here?”

“Drinking. What’s it look like?”

“Last call.” Hannah responded, and slid the remnants of the brown liquor away from her friend. “You wanna talk about it?”

“I want to drink about it.” She grabbed her keys from the bar and swiveled around in the stool, hopping down.

“Whoa, where do you think you’re going?”

“Home.”

“You’re not driving.”

“Obviously. I’m walking. That a crime?” She asked, leaving the bar and turning left. Hannah followed, catching up to her just before she turned the corner.

“Hey.” Khoury grabbed Gregorio’s wrist and stopped her. “I know we’re coworkers, but I’d like to think we’re friends too. You’ve been MIA for three days and now Jimmy’s calling me to come and help you get home. What’s going on?”

Tammy sighed, heavily. Hannah wasn’t wrong. Tammy definitely wasn’t herself. Hadn’t felt like she was in a good while. “Come on.”

She led Hannah to the condo she once shared with Percy. Through the lobby, into the elevator, up several stories until the elevator dinged, reminding them that they’d reached Tammy’s place. Inside, Tammy she’d her jacket and placed her keys, badge, gun and cuffs on the marble kitchen island. She kicked off her boots and pulled her hair from its elastic prison, shaking it out with her fingers.

“Make yourself at home.” Tammy replied as she pulled two bottled waters from the titanium fridge. She handed one to Hannah and made way to the living room, plopping down onto the couch with a loud exhale. Hannah followed, sitting on the opposite end and turning to Gregorio who had put her feet up on the coffee table and lie her head back, eyes closed.

“We kill people. I kill people, and I’m damn good at it, but—.” Tammy never opened her eyes as she spoke. “Doesn’t it get to you sometimes?”

Hannah was quiet for a moment. “Every time, but I try to remind myself that we’re the good guys.”

“Yeah, we are, but it’s still murder. We still—...” Tammy sighed again and finally raised her head to look at Hannah, brown eyes watery. “People still die.”

Hannah’s heartstrings tugged inside of her chest. “I’m sorry you’re hurting, T. But you have to know that when you take those shots, you are saving countless other people from being hurt. Yourself, your team, innocent civilians.”

Voice shaking, Tammy said, “I know! I know all of that, I just—. I don’t know. There’s got to be more, right?”

“There is more. The story always continues because of what we do.” Hannah reached over and squeezed Tammy’s hand. “The shots we take, they end one story but help another story find its happy ending. You have to believe that.”

Khoury found herself moving closer to Tammy and pulling her close. She wrapped both arms around her and held her tightly.

“Is this what we’re doing? We’re hugging now?” Tammy wondered aloud.

“Shut up and enjoy it. It may be your last.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, because if you’re not at work tomorrow, I’m gonna fire you.” Khoury teased. Tammy laughed for the first time in days and looked up at Hannah.

“I could arrest you for threatening a federal agent, y’know?”

“You could try.”

Gregorio snuggled back into Khoury’s embrace, face in her neck.

“Thanks for listening.”

“Thanks for trusting me enough to tell me.”

Tammy’s eyes closed and her body relaxed. She inhaled Hannah’s soft perfume and exhaled her worries. She could get used to this. Coming home to Hannah’s arms around her after a long day at work.

Fuck. Brown eyes popped open. She was in trouble.

#writers #tammy x hannah #tammy gregorio #vanessa ferlito #ncis nola #ncis new orleans #ncis nola fandom #fanfic writer #fanfiction #melvncholymvmi writes #melvncholymvmi #etherealmvmi writes #etherealmvmi #vsked & vnswered!#anon answered #anon ask #anons welcome #khourgorio #personalbutshareable

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