#wear that turtleneck one more time baby - no one will know ! it's our secret <3

[bbbrianjones]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BRIAN JONES [28TH FEB 1942]

"I can talk about almost any subject. Lots of reporters say I’m an interviewer’s dream. But it’s on travel that I like to talk about. There are hundreds of places all over the world that I’ve always wanted to see. Egypt’s Pyramids, Sydney Harbour, Honolulu, the North Pole. I could name lots more. If I ever get the time and the money I’d like to seek out every corner of the earth." - Brian Jones

[let-it-raines]

Catch Me If You Can (40/40)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

a/n: I’ve written a lot of words - it’s actually a ridiculous amount - but some stories worm their way into your heart. This one definitely goes in the top five of that for me. I don’t know if it’s because this was the first story I managed to write after getting some pretty harsh words sent my way or if it was because this story was something I wrote throughout my pregnancy. Did you guys notice how much food was involved? That’s why. Haha. Nevertheless, this is a special one. Thanks for coming along for the ride ⚾️

Thanks to you @resident-of-storybrooke​ for all of her hard work with me on this one​! I’ve kept this epilogue a secret from you as your gift for being a spectacular human being, so I hope you enjoy it ❤️

AO3: Beginning | Current 

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-/-

“What are you wearing today?” Ruby asks her over the speaker on her phone.

Emma hums in response as she thumbs through the clothes in her closet, passing by sweater after sweater that Killian has organized by color despite her consistently messing up his organizational system for their closet. Miraculously, it always gets fixed, heels going on the shelf and white sweater moving to its section instead of chilling with the red jackets on the other side of the room. She didn’t need a closet this big, not really, but if this is what came attached to the master bedroom in their brownstone, Emma is certainly going to fill it up with clothes and boots and far too many hats.

She’s simply not going to organize them the way that her husband wants her to.

“I’m not sure yet,” Emma tells Ruby while running her hand runs over a black turtleneck sweater that might look good with her plaid skirt and the thigh-high boots that she owns three pairs of now since she wears them so often. It’s not a problem no matter how much Killian says it is as he places them on the shelf. “It’s cold outside, but it’s going to be sunny. Maybe my plaid skirt with the black sweater. What are you wearing?”

“Jeans and a sweater, but it’s not my big day.”

“It’s not my big day either.”

Ruby sighs, and Emma can imagine the exasperated look on her face and the way that Graham is likely sitting on the bed behind her reminding her to be gentle or something similar. He should know better after so many years with Ruby – she’s not gentle when she’s in a teasing mood, and she’s definitely in a teasing mood.

“It is your big day,” Ruby corrects. “Your husband could be retiring from baseball today. That’s a huge fucking deal.”

Emotion lodges itself in Emma’s throat, and if she could swallow it down and get rid of it for the day, she would. Quickly, she turns around to look and make sure Killian isn’t standing in the closet or the bedroom. He’s not, at least that she knows. He could be hiding in that blind spot near the bathroom. He’s got weirdly quiet footsteps, and she can very rarely hear when he’s moving in this house.

“Killian wants to think about it as any other game. He’s told me approximately five hundred times that this isn’t a big deal.”

“And you believe him?”

“Hell no,” Emma scoffs as she unties her robe and hangs it on a hook before pulling the plaid skirt off of its hanger and slipping into it as most as she can without having someone tug the last little bit. It’s got this stupid hook that never does quite right. “He hasn’t slept in days. Like, actual days. I wake up in the middle of the night to find him reading or running his fingers over me or something. Killian doesn’t want to admit it, but baseball is in his bones. He’s never going to be able to fully leave it behind. He just…they’re down three games to none in the ALCS and even if they win tonight, they could lose tomorrow. I don’t – I want him to win tonight, but I think if that happens, he’ll just keep holding onto the hope that it’s not over yet.”

“It’s never over until it’s over.”

“You sound like Killian.”

“I’ve spent a hell of a lot of time with him in the past six years. It was bound to happen at some point.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m the one who was supposed to start picking up his mannerisms, not you.”

“We’re sister wives, baby.”

“Um, no,” Emma laughs as she clasps her bra together behind her back, “we are not sister wives. I love you, but that’s not true.”

“Ah whatever.” Ruby scoffs. “Is the jersey going to go over that sweater well?”

“Yep.”

“The plaid may not mix with the stripes.”

Emma clicks her tongue, a protest on her lips, but then there’s a high-pitched squeal followed by small legs lacking pants running into the closet. It’s not like she can judge. She doesn’t have a shirt on.

“Mommy,” Jace squeals, still giggling and running toward her until he’s slamming right into her calves and wrapping his fingers around her legs while his dark mop of hair brushes up against her thigh. “Mommy, Mommy, Mommy.” “What, Jace?” she questions with a small laugh before scooping him up and resting him on her hip. She swears that he gets bigger every single day, and it kind of freaks her out. Then again, most things about being a mom to a two-year-old kid are terrifying. But also weirdly rewarding. She’s been reassured by Mary Margaret, Elsa, Ariel, and Anna that it’s normal, but she’s not sure she believes that quite yet. “What’s got you running in here out of breath?”

“Daddy funny,” Jace giggles, and like he was summoned by the laugh (he probably was), Killian walks into the closet with a small smile on his face and the slightest shake of his head.

Handsome as ever.

“Daddy is funny,” Emma agrees, leaning down to press her lips against Jace’s forehead, “but we can’t tell him because his ego might get bigger and then you and I won’t have any room in the house.”

“Ems,” Ruby interjects, “I’m going to let you go so that you can continue to tell lies about Killian being funny.”

“Okay, I’ll see you soon. I’m wearing the plaid skirt.”

“It’s not going to go with the stripes,” Ruby says before the line goes dead.

“You’re hysterical, love,” Killian grumbles, walking toward her and placing his hands on her waist. They’re warm and rough, callouses that she’s grown used to scratching up against her skin, and he tugs her zipper up without her asking. He’s going to have to undo it when she puts her sweater on, but it’s sweet that he realized she needed a bit of help. “Where’s your shirt?”

“Where are our son’s pants?”

He arches a brow before waggling them both across his forehead, a smirk stretching across his lips. “Touché, darling. Touché. Jace seemed fit to not stop squirming around so that I could tug his jeans up.”

Jace smiles at her, a toothy grin, and it’s almost not fair how much he looks like Killian. Genetics are not supposed to work this way. There is supposed to be some of her in him. She didn’t carry him in her body for nine plus months for him to not at all be like her.

There’s supposed to be some kind of payback or reward or something.

(Unconditional love or whatever, probably.)

“Baby, did you not let Daddy put on your pants?”

“Nope.”

“Would you let me put on your pants?”

“Nope.”

Emma rolls her eyes and looks up at Killian who simply shrugs his shoulders. “Well, I guess you won’t wear any pants, and I won’t wear a shirt. Daddy will have to go without shoes.”

Killian shrugs. “All in all, I think I’ve gotten the good deal here.”

“You have,” she promises, pressing up on her toes to quickly brush her lips over Killian’s. He needs to leave soon to go to what may be his final practice (she swears that she’s not thinking about it too much), but they were all going to ride over to the stadium together. “I’ll get him dressed, okay? You don’t have to worry about it.”

“Swan, no. You’ve still got to get ready. I’m perfectly capable of dressing him.”

“His lack of pants suggests otherwise.”

Killian opens his mouth to say something, but then his lips are pressing together and he’s reaching forward to run his fingers over Jace’s stomach while his other hand comes to rest on her ass, squeezing enough that she jumps.

“I’ll dress him,” he continues. “We’ve got to have a go at the jeans again. He might want the light wash instead of the dark. The kid is particular.”

“Just like you,” Emma sighs before handing Jace off to Killian. “I’ve only got to curl my hair and then finish getting dressed, okay? It shouldn’t take me more than thirty minutes, and then we can go.”

“There’s no rush, my love. Take your time.”

Killian walks out of the closet talking to Jace, murmuring little nothings that Emma can’t make out but that she’s sure are sweet and funny and probably ridiculous. It makes her heart swell, which isn’t good for how emotional she is today. She told herself that she wouldn’t be sad, that she would believe Killian’s lies about today not being a big deal, but Killian is a liar. Anyone that says today isn’t a big deal is a liar.

She’s a liar.

And she’s standing in the middle of her closet holding her hand against the chain around her neck staring at shelf after shelf of Yankees t-shirts and sweatpants and uniforms. This sport and this team are so intertwined with their lives and nearly everything that they do, and Emma’s not sure how she’s going to function commentating on games where Killian isn’t playing. When she got the promotion, she knew this would happen eventually. It was at the back of her mind, and it was supposed to stay there.

This wasn’t supposed to come so soon.

Killian is only thirty-three, and Emma always thought that they’d have more time.

Dammit. Why is she letting herself spiral like this when she’s supposed to be curling her hair and putting this sweater on and not freaking out?

Taking a deep breath, Emma grabs the black sweater, a pair of socks, and her boots before tugging them all on, taking each task one at a time while she gets ready. It’s fine. It’s simply another day and another baseball game. There’s nothing happening today that’s any different. They’re going to go to the stadium, drop Jace off with Ariel, Killian will go to practice, and Emma will go up to the booth to review her notes and do the pre-game show. Then the game will begin.

It’s all normal and just what they’ve been doing for almost every home game since Jace’s birth.

(Except it’s not normal.)

(She’s going to act like it is.)

When they get to the stadium an hour later, Emma and Jace both fully dressed despite the complications, the hallways are full of people – publicists, players, family members, coaches, vendors. Anyone Emma can think of is flooding the walkways, most of them waving hello and giving Jace high fives that Emma knows Killian will sanitize later simply because he’s a germ freak now, and there’s a particular look in each of their eyes, a tightness in all of the smiles, that make it especially hard for Emma to pretend that today is a normal day.

“Jace Jones,” Ariel yells out when she comes into view. “What’s up, my man?”

“Ariel,” he screeches out, squirming in Killian’s arms until Killian puts him on the ground and he runs toward Ariel. He’s a blur of pinstripes and the number twenty-nine running in a miniature version of Killian’s jersey. Emma’s got her version hidden away in her purse.

“I was always jealous of other guys who got this.”

Emma twists from where she’s standing to look over at Killian as he softly smiles at Ariel and Jace, the crinkles around his eyes much more prominent than they’ve ever been. “What?”

He nods his head before turning to face her as well. Killian puts his hands on her hips, tugging her a little bit closer to him, and she lazily slings her arms around his neck so that she can smile up at him and his stupid blue eyes. Emma talks for a living. She should be able to find a better way to describe how much she loves Killian’s eyes, but that’s not really in the job card for baseball commentators.

Killian’s lips tick up to the right, the crinkles showing up some more, and he can’t seem to decide between looking at her or Jace. “That,” Killian repeats, nodding at Jace. “I used to be damn jealous of all of the guys who got to have their kids watch them play and got to wear their numbers on their backs. He’s not…fuck, Emma. He’s not going to remember that I did this, that I got to be this really cool guy who lived out my dreams and brought joy to a lot of people, and it’s so idiotic – ”

“Hey, hey, no,” she whispers as her hand keeps running through the hair at the nape of his neck and her own eyes fill with water, “don’t go there, twenty-nine. You’ll drive yourself crazy. Jace may not remember seeing you play professional baseball, but he’s going to know that you did. And he’s going to have a million other memories that are going to be so much cooler than this, yeah? Today isn’t an ending, babe. It’s a new beginning.”

Killian sniffles, his jaw still tense, but it softens a little bit when he dips his head down to hers and starts running his lips across Emma’s jaw and down her neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses that light her entire body on fire and make her cant her hips up into his until Killian has her pressed into a concrete wall. It’s not unusual for them to find a spot to make out in this stadium, not at all, but it’s unusual for them to be this open about it. Their relationship has been a public one without their permission, and they try to keep it as quiet as possible.

Right now, Emma doesn’t care.

Not at all.

Until there’s a whistle and Ariel speaking. “I know you guys are probably going to try for another one of these munchkins during the infamous baseball mating season, but here is really not the place to do it.”

Killian chuckles against Emma’s jaw, his scruff brushing into her skin while his smile is tattooed there, and of all of the things Emma is going to miss, she thinks this might be at the top of the list. She guesses that they’ll simply have to do it at home…or Killian can come visit her at work. They have their options.

“Daddy kisses Mommy a lot,” Jace explains to Ariel in his broken speech, which only makes Killian snicker into her skin even more before he pulls back.

“I bet I can kiss you more than I kiss Mommy,” Killian challenges as he swipes Jace out of Ariel’s arms and peppers kisses across his face and down his arms.

Emma’s heart is never going to function normally again, and their insurance is not going to cover this.

“You guys are ridiculously cute,” Ariel sighs before walking up to Emma and wrapping her up in a hug so that she can whisper in her ear. “It’s all clear for you to come down after the game. Will and Eric are under strict instructions to keep him in the dugout instead of letting him go back to get his PT and hide out away from the field.”

“Thank you, A. You’re the best.”

“Yo, Professor Jones,” Will calls out from down the corridor, and everyone’s eyes glance over toward him. “I know you’ve got that fancy college degree now and could actually be a professor, but you’ve still got to show up to practice.”

“I’m right outside the door to the clubhouse, Scarlet,” Killian yells back.

“Outside isn’t inside, man. I bet Jace knows that, and he’s only two.”

“Give me three minutes, and I’ll be there.”

“Al is going to have your head.”

“He can have it.”

“My boy,” Killian sighs as he brushes Jace’s hair off of his forehead, “will you be good for Ariel so that Mommy and Daddy can go to work?”

“Nope.”

That is undeniably the word of the day.

Sending Killian off to practice and the game is a little bit more difficult than usual. The words are lengthier, the hugs longer and tighter, and the final “good luck” and “I love you” weigh heavier on Emma’s mind as she walks away from the clubhouse and to the elevators so that she can go and do her job.

It’s a hard day, but it is simply a day.

And a ballgame.

-/-

Before Killian’s first pitch, he looks up to her in the commentator’s booth and taps his fist right over his heart.

She does the same thing back before holding her hand to the ring that still rests against her sternum.

“You’ve got this, twenty-nine,” she whispers, not caring that the microphones are going to pick it up.

-/-

The Yankees lose, 3-2, and the loss definitely stings. The season is over, but Killian’s career is also finished, the bookend closing on the mound and his time there.

A beginning, she told him. It’s an ending but also a beginning of him not spending half of the year with a crazy schedule. Her schedule is crazy too, but at least she won’t be traveling with the team anymore.

It’s a new beginning for her too.

Chants of Killian’s name ring out around the stadium, a melody that sends chills down Emma’s spine, and Killian walks around the bases waving. He looks like he both loves and hates it, and Emma chuckles as she waits in the dugout, hidden away from him until he steps back on the mound one final time.

The man she loves is so intertwined with this game and this field, but she knows he’s also so much more than any of this.

He’s everything.

“You ready to go support Daddy, kid?” Emma asks Jace as his little blue eyes look around at all of the noise. He’s not used to this.

“Yes,” he says, and Emma sighs in relief at finally getting that word out of him.

It’s not a long walk, not at all, but it feels that way as she passes by all of Killian’s teammates, past and present, to get to him. When he sees the two of them, he immediately moves toward them. His strides are long, almost quick enough to be a run, and Killian wraps his arms around them so tightly that Jace protests and tries to move. He can’t, though, especially when Killian slams his lips into hers and kisses her deeply enough that every thought that Emma had disappears into the continuing chant of the crowds.

Killian. Killian. Killian.

It’s overwhelming but in the best way, and every thought that Killian has about it is felt in the kiss that leaves her breathless and with barely working limbs.

Falling in love with Killian was like this, overwhelming, unexpected, terrifying, and thrilling all at once, and she’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.

“Easy tiger,” Emma laughs when Killian finally pulls back, “we’ve got company.”

“Are we talking the kid we just squashed or all of these people?”

“I’m talking Jeff and the camera that’s on our face. I’m supposed to interview you right now.”

The smile that breaks out on his face is beatific, and he kisses her again. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” Killian grabs onto Jace and pulls him into his arms. “You too, kid. You ready to watch Mommy work? She’s really good at this even if it isn’t her job anymore.”

“She play baseball?”

“Something like that, lad.”

Emma barely remembers the questions that she asks Killian. It’s a blur of laughter and funny questions and maybe one or two actual questions about baseball. It all gets interrupted by Jace’s talking, most of it tired babbling, and then Liam, Elsa, and the rest of Killian’s family coming out onto the field. The stands don’t empty out, the constant buzz of the stadium staying around, but Emma doesn’t bother looking around up there when she’s got so much going on down here.

It’s absolutely everything.

Even more so when Killian takes Jace’s hand and walks him around the bases, the two of them laughing together in the way that they always do whenever they’re together, and Emma is most definitely scouring the internet for those pictures tonight.

But far too soon, the moment is over, reality coming back to everyone, and Killian has to go inside to do his press conference just like so many of his teammates. There are still articles to be written and deadlines to be met, and the world doesn’t resolve around them.

Emma’s world revolves around the two guys wearing the number twenty-nine.

She gets Jace back from Killian when they go inside, and the two of them hide out in the corner of the back of the press room as Killian settles down behind the table and all of the journalists and photographers sit in their seats. It starts mostly with the game, Killian’s stats as well as his team’s. It’s standard, just like any other post-game press.

Until it isn’t.

“You threw a one-hundred-and-one mile per hour pitch out there eighty pitches in. And it was accurate. Why are you hanging up your glove when you have some good years left?”

Emma flinches at the question, but it’s one she knew he would get. It was pretty much inevitable.

Killian’s hand reaches up to rub over his eyes, the blue sparkling against the red rims from where he’s cried and tried to hide out. “Look,” Killian starts while staring down at the baseball cap in front of him, signatures from every single teammate marking it up, “I get that I’m only thirty-three. That’s not old in life, but on occasion, it’s old in sports. The fact that I’ve played this game professionally for twelve years for the same team is a wonderful honor, especially when you consider the issues I’ve had with my shoulder. I think…it feels damn good to be able to throw an accurate strike like that one you mentioned, but it feels better to be able to hold my son without pain. It feels better for me to be able to embrace my wife or keep my arm around her shoulder while we watch a movie. Those are things I might not be able to do if I keep playing and screw my arm up a little bit more.”

Emma adjusts Jace in her arms, careful not to rouse him since he’s probably about five minutes from sleep. The kid has no idea the declaration of love his dad just made for the two of them, all of the declarations he’s been making, and he has no idea just how lucky they are that the sweet man having to talk to strangers about a huge part of his life ending is also the dumbass who thought it would be a good idea to ask her out on television.

It’s a good thing that Killian has learned from his mistakes and that she knows how to forgive.

“So you’re retiring because of your family? Lots of guys play with families.”

Killian rolls his eyes. Emma does too.

“I’m retiring because it’s my time,” Killian corrects with a forced smile on his face. “I love this game and everything that it has given me. I’m never truly going to leave it. I think I’ll likely take a few years off, maybe spend a hell of a lot of time making another kid with my wife, and then I’ll come back somehow. I don’t know. Maybe I’ll get into the commentator’s booth with Emma. I think we’d make a hell of a team, and there’s nothing I’d love more than working with her again. Maybe I’ll be a coach for an MLB team or for a college or for my kid’s little league team. I don’t know yet. I haven’t exactly gotten it figured out.”

“One more question,” Ariel calls out, and Emma swears that she’s not crying. Nope. It’s not a thing that’s happening.

Except that she’s definitely crying and far too emotional, and she doesn’t want Killian to be up there by himself for his last press conference question. So as there’s a loud chorus of questions with every reporter’s hand raised, Killian still trying to pick someone to ask a question, Emma moves around the side of the room until she’s stepping up on the stage, her heels clacking against the platform, until she’s gently sitting down on Killian’s lap.

He rolled back in his chair in anticipation of her walking this way.

And his hand is warm on her arm and around Jace’s back, and just the slight touch is enough to make her emotional all over again.

Killian deserved to go out winning the World Series again. He deserved for his Hall of Fame career to have a big bang for an ending instead of a quiet fizzle, but life doesn’t work out that way. If this is what he wants, this is what he wants, and it’ll be perfect for him.

“Lawrence,” Killian calls out, nodding to the reporter who took over Emma’s job at ESPN.

“In all of your career, what’s been your favorite moment? Do you have one?”

Killian snickers at the question before turning to the side and pressing a kiss against her forehead. “World Series 2019, game seven. That was the year that changed every aspect of my life, and that game was incredible. I don’t think I’d ever experienced such an adrenaline high before. I don’t know if I have since in terms of baseball. I just…that was a special win for me because I got to do it with my mates, a lot of whom have retired since then or been traded to other teams, but I also got to do it with Emma. I know that I…God, I know that I sound like a sap right now, and I – ”

Killian tilts his head to the side and buries his face in her hair while his arm tightens around she and Jace. She can feel his body shaking the slightest bit.

“It’s okay, Killian,” Emma promises, whispering in his ear while Jace twitches in her arms, waking up the slightest bit. “You’re doing great, twenty-nine.”

“I was a fucking liar when I said that today wasn’t a big deal.”

“I know.”

He chuckles, that same chuckle she’s heard almost every day for six years, and when Killian pulls back from the two of them, he’s got a smile on his face.

“That year was the first time I had a partner in my life outside of my brother that I knew was always going to be by my side, no matter what happened, and I think baseball wise, that moment is always going to be my favorite. I’ve loved almost every minute of this journey, even having to deal with all of you guys hounding me about every move that I make, but if you don’t mind, I think I’ve got a toddler who is fast asleep and needs to go home.”

Emma twists her head to look at Killian, and he throws her a wink before leaning forward and pressing his lips to hers in a kiss while applause fills the room, an echo of the standing ovation Killian received while out on the field. He doesn’t stay to listen to this one, though. Instead, he encourages her to stand from the chair, and the two of them walk out of the room with his arm looped around her waist to the sound of people cheering for Killian.

He deserves every single clap.

They don’t stick around the stadium much longer. Killian runs into a few people who want to say goodbye, mostly those who won’t see him in their personal lives, but they’re able to leave pretty quickly. Their families have already gone home per Killian’s request of not making a big deal out of today. They’ll have some kind of celebration next week, one full of food and laughter and joy that isn’t so bittersweet like today.

When they get home, Jace is completely out, the car ride having knocked any remaining wakefulness out of him, and instead of waking him, Emma tells Killian to go take a shower while she changes Jace into his pajamas. He protests, like he always does, but eventually he relents and walks out of the room and down the hall to their bathroom so that he can shower. Emma figures that he likely needs a little time alone anyway.

It’s a weird day.

Once Jace is asleep, his arms wrapped around Will, the stuffed lobster toy that Jace named after Will Scarlet, Emma quietly turns on the baby monitor and closes the door behind her before making her way to the bedroom. The water in the shower is running, a constant hum of a stream, and Emma really does intend to let Killian be and let him have his moment alone where no one will bother him while the warm water beats against his skin. But Killian left the door to the bathroom open, pretty much inviting her inside, and she doesn’t think that he’ll mind even if her plan is simply to stand underneath the water with him and have her makeup fall down her face until she’s left looking like a terrifying clown.

Slowly, she steps into the room, the tile cool against her feet, and strips out of her clothes, picking them up off the floor and throwing them into the hamper. Killian hasn’t noticed her yet, the water pressure too high for him to hear her, and he’s got his back turned to her so that she has a view of strong legs and a firm ass that looks a million times better like this than in baseball pants.

She’s lucky for a lot of reasons. The muscles that stretch up Killian’s back and his arms tick off some of the more superficial ones.

Steam escapes the shower door when she opens it, a little bit of water too, but then she’s quickly pulling the clear glass door closed and stepping onto white tile so that she can wrap her arms around Killian’s waist, her finger threading into the patch of hair over his stomach, and her cheek nuzzling between his shoulder blades. Heat curls between her thighs at the feel of him, at knowing just how much she loves him, but instead of acting on any of it, she presses her lips to his back, laying soft kisses wherever she can while Killian’s hand comes to rest over hers.

“I thought you had banished me in here so that I could be alone,” he finally says as the water continues to pound down on them.

“Do you want to be alone?”

“I want to be with you.”

Emma hums and moves her arms from his stomach, sliding them up his body until her hands come to rest on his arms. Killian grunts something unintelligible, a mixture of pleasure and relief, and she’s barely even begun to work out the knots in his shoulder. He didn’t get his post-match massage, none of his usual recovery happening, so his shoulders are particularly tense. She knows exactly what to do, which muscles to apply pressure to and which to knead. It’s a rhythm and a practice that they’re been doing for years now to make sure Killian’s shoulder doesn’t get too stiff in the middle of the night.

Running her hands from his shoulders to his neck, she kneads the straining cords there while Killian reaches forward to press both of his hands against the tiled wall. His head drops, chin practically touching his chest, and his groan is almost more than Emma can handle.

“Fuck, love. I don’t...this feels so damn good, but if I don’t get to touch you soon, I’m going to lose my bloody mind.”

The heat she feels at his words, spoken in a deep and gravely tone, is almost dizzying, and Emma is ready to let him touch her, to let him bring her to life in the way that he always does. But today is Killian’s day, whether he wants to accept that or not, and instead of letting Killian turn around and kiss her, Emma wraps her arms around his waist again, dipping lower and lower until she can feel him straining warmly against his stomach.

She wants to tease him, to draw this out and make him go crazy with want now that they have actual alone time together, but Emma’s never been very good at being patient, especially not when it comes to this man wanting her. Killian’s the patient one, the one who is willing to wait until things are right, but his shallowed breathing and stuttered words make her think that he’s not very interested in being patient right now.

“Emma,” he breathes out, a mixture between a plea and a promise.

“You do this thing,” Emma begins as her finger traces underneath him, tracing a line in the vein in his length that Killian loves for her to do, “with your arms that make your veins more prominent. It’s just, like, all of the time, and your forearms are ridiculous. I get distracted staring at them. You’re a very distracting man.”

She wraps her fingers around his cock now, slow and steady as Killian’s knuckles practically go as white as the tile, and moves it in long strokes. Killian is very obviously trying to keep from thrusting his hips, the tenseness in his body back in full force, and all Emma can do is continue to stroke him and let him find more pleasure than pain as the water falls down around them and causes the hair on Killian to mat together and for the hair on her head to tangle.

“Sometimes I worry that I don’t let you know how much I love you,” she continues while Killian’s feet move and his hips begin to pump, aiding her hand in its work. “You’re so good with words and affection, with letting me know how much I mean to you, and I wish I could do the same with you. You deserve that.”

Killian’s step falters once more, and Emma thinks that he’s on the precipice of coming until he turns around, her hand falling from him as Killian’s hands come up to grip her face, kissing her with something approaching desperation. His tongue is sinful, hot and wet mixing in with hers, and Emma can feel his all the way down to her toes. There have been times over the years when they’ve gone through rough patches, when things weren’t always great between the two of them simply because of busy schedules or disagreements, but they’ve always worked back from those and come back to this.

Come back to this and everything else that makes up the two of them: baseball games, late-night baking sessions that never go right, attending far too many weddings and baby showers, having their own wedding at a courthouse on a random Wednesday, racing each other through Central Park as they run, laughing at the other as they trip over a pair of socks, sharing the depths of their hearts while under the covers, the lights of the city surrounding them.

Sobbing at a false positive on a pregnancy test. Sobbing at the accurate positive.

It’s a whirlwind, their life, and none of that can encapsulate it all.

Emma’s eyes are shut tightly as Killian continues to kiss her, his mouth insistent, and there’s no stopping the curl of heat now. Absolutely none. Especially when Killian moves his left hand and turns the water off, the stream immediately stopping so that chilled air hits the heat of her skin, gooseflesh rising. It’s cold, that’s undeniable, but Emma doesn’t care as her desire roars and Killian slowly backs them out of the shower with water dripping down both of their bodies.

“I swear if you let me trip, Jones,” Emma mumbles out as her feet hit against the cloth of the mat in the bathroom.

“You’ll what, Jones?” He enunciates the last word with a flick of his tongue against hers before he’s pulling back so that her nipples are no longer brushing against the thick patch of hair on his chest. Emma whines, her thighs too slick with wanting him to even care how desperate she sounds, and all Killian does is grab a towel from the shelf to wrap around her body, the soft cotton nothing compared to Killian’s touch. Even if he’s being an asshole right now. “I know you’re capable of a myriad of things darling, but I think you’re too desperate for me to do any of them.”

“You’re pretty confident in yourself, aren’t you?”

The towel tugs tighter around her waist, pulling her back into Killian so that his straining length brushes the inside of her thigh, and his lips are so close to her ear, breath heavy, that she’s not sure if she can handle any more of this. “Extremely. You usually like that about me.”

“You’ve had a lot of people complimenting you today. I wouldn’t want it to get into your head.”

“Of course. You’re here to keep me humble.”

“Exactly. I’m very good at my job.”

“Mhm,” Killian hums as the towel drops around them and Killian’s hands find the globes of her ass, kneading both of them while he continues to back them up into the bedroom. His lips are on her neck, her shoulder, back to her lips. “I love you, you know? It’s ridiculous how much.”

“Funny thing, I feel the same way.”

“Good.”

Once Emma falls against the mattress, they come together quickly, easily, like they have thousands of times before. Killian knows each inch of her skin intimately, knows just where to kiss and to touch and how to thrust, and it takes absolutely no time for her to begin to feel that desperation of needing him seep into her bones and settle there like it’s going to make a permanent stay. He’s fully seated in her, a heavy and thick drag that is like nothing else, and she can feel all of him hovering over her, heat and strength surrounding her he takes his time with his thrusts.

They’re slow, languid, and so damn breathtaking that Emma can’t even speak. She’s not sure that she wants to. Sometimes sex is just sex, a simple release of desire and passion to physically feel good. Other times it’s words of affection written with each kiss and feelings of love enunciated with each thrust and swirl of a thumb over a bundle of nerves.

Right now is the second one, and every word that Killian spoke to her earlier – in the hallways, on the field, in the press room – is echoed back to her as he moves within her and over her, his lips writing his love while Emma holds on and attempts to write the same words back.

Her heartbeat is thundering, a sound so loud that it blocks out nearly every other noise, and then she’s there, falling apart with a plea and a whisper, pleasure shaking over her body faster than she thought it would.

Holy fuck.

“Fuck,” Killian repeats back, almost as if he heard her thoughts. “Fuck, love. You’re exquisite.”

“So are you. You planning on finishing anytime soon?”

“I’m an old man. I’ve got to catch my breath.”

Emma barks out a laugh that Killian captures with a resounding kiss while his hips snap into hers, a perfect fit that is like nothing else in the world, and as his fingers intertwine with hers and he pulls them up above both of their heads, Killian joins her in her bliss, his body tensing up as his words become breathless, a mess that gets carried away with the thrum of the ceiling fan.

They collapse against the mattress, a tangle of sweaty limbs and wet hair, and when Killian pulls the comforter up over them, Emma turns on her side until she’s snuggled against Killian’s chest with her cheek resting against his heart and his hands in her tangled hair.

“We’re going to have to take another shower.”

Emma laughs with unbridled joy before pressing a kiss to his collarbone. “Tell me the truth. Did I have mascara running down my cheeks this entire time?”

“Oh, most definitely.”

“Totally worth it.”

“Tell that to sheets that have little black marks.”

“I think we can wash them.”

“Possibly,” Killian sighs. His hand moves down her back until it’s resting on her ass once more. “But your mascara is damn stubborn. Ruined one of my favorite shirts that way.”

“It did not.”

“No, no, it did. I swear.”

Emma huffs and reaches around to pinch Killian’s side. He doesn’t even flinch. “Would it be so terrible for the two of us to go downstairs and make some brownies and then eat all of them so that we don’t have to share with Jace?”

“I think that’s the best idea you’ve ever had.” Killian winks, trademark smirk curling on his lips. “Besides asking me out. That was a pretty bold move on your part, Swan. You had no idea that I had feelings for you. It’s not as if I’d given you any inclination.”

Emma laughs again, uncurling herself from her husband and sitting up in bed with a sated, goofy grin. “I had a pretty good idea, my love.”

-/-

-/-

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[dianapana]

SasuHina Month 2020- Day 14

Prompt -Yakuza

This is in the same universe

Today should be a celebration, but most of my maids have been quiet and watching me with pity. Their uneasiness is understandable but it doesn’t help my anxiety. I was 7 years old when I realized that love in our world does not exist; if love is a flower than we are poisoned and dry soil, love cannot survive here let alone flourish. But marriage is sacred to women, it’s our only goal, since we are born, we are taught to cook, clean and be silent. We are trophies for men to display. Women are not seen as humans but as objects that men can do what they see fit with. We’re always owned, first by our fathers and later in life by our husbands. I’ve seen quite a few of my cousins getting married, most of them were terrified. Only very few still had their innocence and viewed marriage as a positive thing, they were foolish enough to thing that love and marriage are the same thing. But one does not need love in a marriage, most of our world is proof of that. I’ve seen one of the girls that has naively gone into the arms of her new husband expecting kindness, her innocence has been killed, every little sound makes her flinch, she always wears long sleeved shirts and turtlenecks. I wished to help her but, in our world, nobody can come between a man and his wife, despite the clear signs of abuse.

“You look beautiful, Hime-sama” the maid brushing my hair says. She was new, young, maybe 13 and her eyes shine like diamonds. The maid that just finished my make-up shakes her head but everyone remains quiet.

“I can’t wait for my own wedding. How I want a man that loves me like your future husband loves you Hime-sama.” Her voice is breathless and I can tell she’s in her own world. She has rose-colored glasses on and sees everything in pinks and reds. She touches the tiara on my head “Look how beautiful this is. And he bought it just for you, oh how much he must love you”

The piece of jewelry is indeed lovely, it was delivered this morning along with a full set of earrings, necklace and bracelet. They are heavy and rather than ornaments they feel like chains. I had done my best in the past 2 hours, since I put the dress on, not to look at myself in the mirror, I don’t look at my hands in my lap for the fear of seeing the engagement ring. I had a habit of playing with my fingers but it stopped a few days after I got the ring; I kept touching it and being reminded of my future.

I had only seen my future husband once; when he gave me the ring. And we did not speak. But I knew his name and I looked him up, asked around. I wish I hadn’t. The young girl stops brushing my hair and an older maid takes her place and starts curling it. “permission to take the tiara off until your hairdo is done?” her voice is low and filled with pity. They all pity me. They know who this man is and what his reputations says about him. They raised me and now they’re preparing me for the beginning of the end.

“Granted.” The tiara is placed on the vanity and my eyes fall to it. It is beautiful, it looked like a flower crown made out of silver; each flower has in the middle a white diamond surrounded by 6 rubies. The earrings are small, each a flower, the bracelet is just like the tiara flowers braided together and the necklace is made out of a single stem in a U shape with one flower at each end. The red rubies only make me think about all the blood money they must have costed, just like the dress I’m wearing, just like every other dress I own. Not a single thing I have touched in my life has been paid in anything but blood money. I was born with blood on my hands.

“Your mother would have loved the sight of you today” says one of the maids, she too is new in taking care of me, she’s one of Hanabi’s maids so it makes sense for her to lie. My little sister is one of the few girls that hasn’t had her innocence ripped from her soft hands.

My mother wouldn’t have loved this for me. My mother wouldn’t have loved me. She couldn’t. She was bitter and cold. Dad had turned her to be like him. But Hanabi doesn’t know that. The stories everyone tells her about our mother are of her being loving and caring, about how mother’s dying wish was to hold her baby. Mother died giving birth to Hanabi, but she hadn’t seen her, she didn’t hold her, nor would she had wanted to. Hanabi had to be cut from my mother’s corpse. I walked in the room expecting to see my mother and father smile at each other and kiss their new born daughter like they do in the movies. Instead mother was dead on the table, a nurse was holding a crying baby and father was smoking. He hadn’t seen me and even if he did, I don’t think he would have cared. ‘Take this thing away’ he told one of his men, disgust could be heard in his tone; the ‘thing’ was my mother.

Mother had never been affectionate, she never held be, never played with me or told me stories. She critiqued me or ignored me. Yet when she became pregnant, she seemed to be happier and for the first few months of her pregnancy she was kind. It all changed when they learned it was yet another girl. Father wanted a boy, an heir. Moher spiraled, she started drinking and smoking not caring that it was bad for her or the baby. Hanabi was born prematurely at 6 months and a half because mother tried to get rid of her on her own but that led to Hanabi being born early and her dying. Who knows, maybe that was her goal all along.

The maid finished curling my hair and put it in an elegant bun when she says “I’ll put the tiara back on” and I nod. The preparations are done. Any moment now father will come to walk me to the ceremony and down the aisle to the man known as ‘the devil’. In a world of murder and crime my future husband is known under that and many other names. I have heard stories upon stories and they were all cruel and terrifying.

I don’t get much time to run wild with my own thoughts because my bedroom door opens and Neji is on the other side which shouldn’t surprise me but it still does. I get up and go to him; Neji has been oddly quiet since the engagement was announced a month ago. He did almost everything in his power to stay away and even now I see grief and regret in his eyes. He’s blaming himself for not being able to stop this marriage. There is nothing anyone could have done. Father and Fugaku Uchiha reached an understanding and they decided to unite our families. As far as I know this hasn’t happened in the past 150 years.

The walk to the back door is not as long as I would have wanted. This ceremony is the official one but it’s held in our backyard because only our immediate family was invited. There’s a war going down in the yakuza world at the moment which is also the reason why I think the two leaders decided to bury the hatched for the time being and focus on the common enemy. Neji leads me to the door where he tells me to wait and he goes to the side door probably to tell father I’m here. A few moments later the very same side door opens and father walks in; it is weird seeing him in a suit and not in his normal traditional Japanese clothing.

He doesn’t tell me I look pretty; he doesn’t say he is proud; he doesn’t say anything but place my hand on his arm and opens the doors. Neji, Hanabi and 3 elders are on the right and 6 Uchiha’s are on the left. The wedding is a secret. In front is my future husband, wearing a suit my eyes move to his ear. He has a number of piercings but the one that catches my eye is a flower with red rubies. His earring matched with mine.

Mikot, Sasuke’s mother was the one to organize this, she pushed for a western ceremony for the family so I could wear a normal wedding dress which apparently is every little girl’s dream. After the waters clear we will have another ceremony and party with more people and in a traditional Japanese style. Upon hearing that, Hanabi started whining and saying how unfair it was that I would get two weddings. I did not feel quite as lucky as she thought I was.

There is no music in the background, the walk is short and father does not make a show of telling Sasuke ‘you better take care of her’ this is not like in the movies. I take a step towards Sasuke and do my best not to flinch when he takes my hands into his. His skin is rough and his hands look so much bigger compared to mine. I heard that he crushed someone’s neck with his bare hands. I heard he bathes in his enemies’ blood. I heard his eyes look red like the devil just before he kills someone.

I am frightened to look him in the eye, but I feel his overwhelming presence all around me and his stare on my face and I know he wants me to look at him so I do. My eyes meet his and they do indeed look red. I have to fight against every instinct in my body that tells me to run.

The officiant says his part and asks us to repeat after him and we do. The rings are exchanged and the ceremony ends with the man saying ‘You may kiss the bride’. I didn’t allow myself to think about this before. I don’t know what to do but I don’t have to do anything; Sasuke takes a step forward and lowers his head so our lips meet. His lips are softer than I expected and so it the kiss, he doesn’t put more pressure on it and after a few seconds he rights himself. We both turn to our families. I don’t feel different. I thought I would feel monumentally different after becoming someone’s wife, after becoming Sasuke’s wife. But I feel normal. Hanabi is he first to come to me and hug me. She goes on and on and on about how beautiful I look and how she’ll miss me. I’ll miss her too. In all this I never once thought about how I am leaving her here with father. He’ll crush her spirit much like he did mine. Despite being the one that just gave her life away to ‘the devil’ of the yakuza; I feel pity for Hanabi.

For the next hour or two Sasuke stays by my side, his arm around my waist and we all sit around a table and eat. Father looks pleased for the first time in forever and he and Fugaku talk like they are old friends. Hanabi talks to Mikoto about whatever they talk about. Neji and I are quiet, while my husband talks to his brother.

I ate a few bites but I have been on the edge the whole day so eating more would only lead to disaster. I push the food in my plate around for a few moments before I feel Sasuke shift next to me. “Are you not hungry?” he whispers into my ear and I shiver, half from fear and half because he caught me off guard.

I look at him and he looks genuinely worried. I heard him being called the stoic, emotionless and expressionless prince. So why would he look like that? I simply shake my head and avert my gaze from his. His fingers around my waist tighten for the briefest moment letting me know he’s displeased with me ignoring him. The meal goes on for a couple more minutes before Sasuke clears his throat rather loudly and everyone stops talking.

“Today has been a lovely day and I could not imagine having spent it with anyone else. But as lovely as it has been it has been just as tiering. So, if you wouldn’t mind, I would like to take my wife home and rest”

Sasuke gets up and extends his hand to me, I don’t even think about it and take it. Before leaving I go to hug Hanabi and Neji once more. I return to the side of my husband and he takes my hand and holds it. I see Neji looking worried at our joined hands but for some reasons I feel oddly calm. All throughout today I have been very calm.

Sasuke’s mother hugs both of us, his brother and father clap him on the shoulder and kiss my hand and we part ways. Sasuke leads me to a limousine and I have to say that is not what I expected. My surprise must have shown on my face.

“Mother insisted. If I learned something in this life is that it’s much easier to just allow her to do whatever she wishes than fight her.” He says. It feels weird to be alone with him and hear him talk about such trivia things. It makes me realize how I did not think of Sasuke as a human at all.

We spend most of the ride to his house in silence, but it’s not an awkward silence. I feel something scary starting to bubble in my chest, hope, hope that this might not be as bad as I initially thought. I thought I knew better than to have hope. But his gentleness thus far took me by surprise. Even now in the car he hasn’t let go of my hand, rather his thumb is caressing my wrist gently. His eyes are on the road so I allow myself to look at him. Beside all the horrible things I’ve heard about him the other thing I knew was that Sasuke is beautiful. And being as close to him as I am now, I can indeed confirm those stories. I have not seen many men outside of the Hyuuga family in reality, but Sasuke is much more handsome than all of them and then any men I’ve seen in cinematography. He turns to look at me and our eyes meet, this time his eyes are black and not red. He looks relaxed and a bit tired but not cruel and my hope grows a little more. I have to remember myself that no matter how beautiful and kind people look they could still be monsters, and my husband is a monster, but he doesn’t look like one when he smirks at me and rises our joined hands to his lips and kisses my knuckles. When the car stops and we step out it isn’t dread that I feel but hope. I thought I knew better than to expect anything out of life, but this moment right here proves me wrong. I don’t scream, I don’t cry or try to run away, instead I walk hand in hand with my husband to the door of my new house, it all feels utterly domestic, normal.

[writeanapocalae]

Surprise it’s a tutorial!

Because @tenacious-scripturient​ and @agnodice-writes​ asked for help making characters earlier and it just so happened that I need to design a character RIGHT NOW I thought I’d do a bit of a tutorial while I do it? I’ve never done something like this so I hope it works. 

1) Inspiration - Last night I watched the original Charlie’s Angels and I remembered my absolute love for the Creepy Thin Man. Since I am always making more evil men and my story needs an evil man I’m taking some of the aspects of that character for my own. I’m going to take the sharp look and the nonverbal characteristics while dumping the hair pulling, screaming, and smoking. 

You can take your inspiration from just a look, from an art piece, from someone you know, or from other characters you have. If you have a film character that can be helpful to draw you back to the basics if you ever get away from them. You can also combine multiple inspirations and make them one.

2) Image- This part is so much fun for me and I’m hoping that it is for others too! I personally draw my characters but creating some imagery for your character can be done through picrew, pinterest (hiss), faceclaims, or video game character creations! While I draw my character I try to imagine things about them. Here’s a 3 minute sketch of my character

His face is a lot softer than the inspiration, he’s got a kinder personality and is far more patient. He has terrible posture, which lets me know how he sits and stands and gives me a hint as to how to write his idle motions. He has this loose sort of Bluth hair and he’s not wearing a full suit like the other characters in the story are, so he’s a lot more casual than they are. He’s wearing a turtleneck so there may be something that he’s hiding about his throat or he just knows he looks good in them. If your character has scars or tattoos or anything like that, this could be a good step to figure out where they came from. I definitely find this step the most useful for coming up with backstories and the like. 

(A secret step to this that I find helpful is having a friend who you know will find the character super hot. Instant validation)

Things to keep in mind

the world - there are blogs and pinterest folders and all sorts of things based off of aesthetics! If you’re writing a western, you should keep an eye on western blogs! If you’re writing fantasy, keep an eye on @armthearmour​ and blogs of that ilk! Having a character that greatly clashes with the setting can work but it has to be shown as an oddity or you’re writing about space travel or something. 

the story - If you’re writing an action/adventure story, having your character in a dress and heels doesn’t really make sense. Writing a story about the rise and fall of corporate life could be awkward if your lead always wears baggy lounge wear. Keep in mind what they’re going to be doing and the pros and cons of their outfitting for the setting. 

the character’s aesthetics - What is your character like and what sort of things do they carry with them? Do they wear clothes that they should probably get in trouble for? Are they trying to distract or bring attention to something? Do they always wear the same color? Is there something sentimental that they always have with them? 

the character’s job - My personal aesthetic does not pair well with my work uniform but I understand the importance of my work clothes (sometimes). The fact that I wear a button up, a name tag, and nice jeans makes it easier for customers to recognize me as an employee. Can I sneak some jewelry and as many skulls as possible into there? Not always. A character may not like what they have to wear, but that can tell us a lot about them and can come into play if they are working in the story. 

3) Names - There are a lot of different ways to go about naming your characters.There are a million baby names sites and there’s also generators. Usually, by this point of the character creation I have an idea as to what I want their name to be, just from learning about them, but I often make my names up instead of going with realistic ones. If you’re making up names though, you have to make up everyone’s names, or most of them, otherwise it will be jarring every time your character’s name is said and can create a “spot the protagonist” situation. Since my character is a hitman, he needs both a name and a code name. Luckily the code name was super easy since all of the other guards that he’s blending with have animal code names so he became Jackal. 

Remember that friend that thinks our character is hot? They can be super useful here. Come up with a couple names, for this guy I’m thinking.... Jack (duh), Jacopo, Raffaele, or Giorgio. And just like that he became Italian! That’s a new development! For the main character of the story Jackal is from I ran a poll on twitter and 15 out of 16 people voted for Anson, so that’s why I went with that for the main characters name!

4) Worksheets - I haven’t seen people use worksheets for their characters but when I was new to writing I filled out worksheets for my characters obsessively. I still do now, I guess, but without the actual form. They make you think of all these little details for your character, including their backstory! A worksheet can also be useful as a quick reference guide for your characters in the middle of the story if you forget the name of a spouse or of some location they’ve been. Here are a few worksheets to fill out if you find that useful! epiguide | novel software | freelance writing

5) Backstory - For this I would recommend working backwards. For Jackal here, I know that he’s a hitman, he’s nonverbal, he is terribly soft but that’s all hidden away, and he’s gay (of course). So I have to explain how he came to be these things or how he came to realize them. Most hitmen take on the job for economic reasons, so I have to figure out what the factors were for that. I’m going to go with a family member being terribly sick with no hope of recovery with the families current finances, which also explains his secret softness. He will kill, it’s business, he doesn’t see his targets as people as such since that will make it hard to complete a contract, but all of his money is going to the hospital and, if he has to deal with someone in a similar situation it may affect him differently. He’s nonverbal because (just researched this and I’m sorry if I’m wrong) he suffered some brain damage before he was born which affects his breathing. This leads to my decision that this damage occurred when his mother came down with the disease aforementioned and now I know that there are breathing problems involved with this form of nonverbalism which may come into play in the story. His being gay? Well, I don’t need to figure out how that came to be since that’s not how being gay works, but he probably realized that he was gay while on a job, falling, not for a target, but for an employer. And just like that I have a slightly cliche but still decent start to a backstory!

6) Asks - ask games, talking about your characters, and just open conversation can help you come up with minor details about your character. Yesterday I was asked what kind of candy my characters like and how they feel about Christmas in November. Will my characters celebrate Christmas in story or eat candy? Probably not but having to come up on the spot with an answer for these questions still taught me things about the characters. I learned that Anson loves nostalgia and has no interest in decorating for himself. And I learned that Jackal has very good control over his sugar intake, is more fond of bitter flavors, and is annoyed by the inequality of America’s Christian obsession. These are aspects of personality and those will effect the story more than what the actual answer to the question was will.

That’s a lot longer than intended! Hopefully me walking through my process for creating this character will be helpful for you! I know I know a lot more about this guy than I did before I started!

[good-and-safe]

Mythical, swan lake, and starlight

mythical; Dream destination?if i don’t see hobbiton before i die, i’ll haunt everyone

swan lake; Do you like poems? If so, what’s one of your favorites?oh yes my whole adolescence was poetry!! i still love elizabeth barrett browning’s fuckin classic “how do i love thee” sonnet. in high school, my honors english teacher made us all memorize and perform a poem (he outlawed frost’s “fire and ice” bc 90% of the class ahead of me chose it lmao) and the whole thing deeply stressed me out, but then i read that sonnet for the first time and i remember just feeling… Calm. 

starlight; Share a secret.i mulled over this forever bc suddenly i don’t know anything about myself but i’ll go with the story of the first time i remember tricking a man just because i could. this is less a secret and more a long-winded story, but long-winded stories are kind of My Thing and plus… my family didn’t know it even happened until a few years ago, so:

when i was 12 i went to disney for the first time with my family [eleven (11) of us went. E L E V E N. i was the oldest of the six children there. our parents are… Morons]. 

let me set the stage. this was the time before cell phones were really A Thing. like, yeah, they had been on the market for a bit, but (in my area, at least) only Wealthy Adults had cell phones. 

picture it: february 2004. the motorola RAZR wouldn’t be released for another 6-8 months. commercial use of 3G had just reached north america. the iphone was literally not even a thought in steve jobs’ turtleneck. it was the time of brick-like nokias and clam-shell samsungs. the time of 1-square-inch screens and T9 keyboards. the time of $.10-.20 per text and “i like my beeper just fine!” the time of playing snake during long bus rides on your friend’s dad’s flip phone that was meant only for work emergencies and using internet explorer because it was the only browser your elementary school’s ragged desktop computer had. 

a simpler time.

so at that point, i don’t think either of my parents had cell phones, and nor did the other adults on the trip. because of that we needed some way to ensure that, should we split the party (because someone always inevitably suggests to split the god damn party), we have a way to keep in contact, so we did what any middle-class, early 2000s family would do: we brought three or four long-range walkie-talkies with us.

i consistently commandeered one of those walkie-talkies because i was 12 and walkie-talkies made me feel like a secret agent (and also my mom was wrangling my then 3 y/o brother while my dad and his best friend walked us in circles and no one really ended up using the walkies anyway). one of our last days, we went to epcot. at 12, i just didn’t give a shit about epcot (other than spaceship earth bc that shit was tight), so i was bored and hungry and restless, so i started fooling around with my walkie. my family had all agreed that we’d stay on channel 7 to contact each other, but this walkie had 14 channels, which meant 14 opportunities for me to eavesdrop on other people’s conversations or to make contact with an unknown entity. 

so there i am, standing in the middle of future world on a rainy day, switching channels and calling out “are you there?” while my family argued about where to have lunch or some such, when i get a response.

“is that you?” the voice said.

it was a man’s voice, and he sounded angry. i repeated myself. 

“are you there?”

the same voice answered almost immediately and when i looked up to see if my parents were paying attention to my communication with a stranger, i saw a man walking through the courtyard who’s mouth’s movements were matching up with the words coming out of the walkie talkie in my hand.

“denise, where are you? we were supposed to meet up at noon!”

based only on the tone of his voice and the mean furrow of his brow, i decided i didn’t like this man and that he needed to watch his tone with denise. 

i said, “no, we said 1. 1 o’clock in front of the big umbrella.”

“what?”

“1 o’clock!” i repeated. “i’ll meet you by the umbrella at 1.”

then i got anxious because i was talking to a stranger and my family had apparently settled the lunch debate because i was shepherded toward the electric umbrella, the very place i, as denise, told the man we’d meet. i shoved the walkie-talkie deeper into my sweatshirt pocket, though, and quickly forgot about the interaction, because french fries. 

however, over an hour later, my family and i were still in the outside seating area of the electric umbrella watching the water show and giving the adults a chance to catch their weak-ass breath when i heard someone shouting by the entrance. i look over and it’s the same man i’d seen/talked to in the courtyard earlier and he’s yelling into his walkie talkie and pacing back and forth, arms flailing. boy looked foolish as hell. 

so my family gathers our things and filters back into future world’s courtyard. we pass the guy and, if memory serves, he was whining – whining – on and on about “you said we were going to meet back up” and “i’m here all alone” and “this isn’t fun” and blah blah blah blah like a big giant man baby throwing a tantrum. i couldn’t make out denise’s responses, but it was clear to me that she was just as over this guy as i was. i (obviously) had no idea what this woman looked like, but her unperturbed, droll tone, solidified denise in my head as a bombshell with curly red hair who was the kind of woman that chewed bubble gum and blew bubbles while men spoke, letting them pop loudly to communicate just how much she Did Not Care about what they had to say.

with that in mind, i smiled to myself, feeling some weird kinda powerful, and at that very moment, an older boy wearing heelys rolled into my path, so i tripped him. 

tl;dr if we could harness the power of adolescent girls and direct it toward common good, the world would be a better place 

also i hope denise is ok

fin.

[pixelated-alien]

1-50?

AW ILY

1. Have you met your soul mate? 

Umm, I think so! But things are forever changing around us, so who knows! 

2. Favorite color when you were younger, and now?

Probably black lol. Now I love purple!

3. Do you wear eye-shadow? What color?

I stick to nudes and black eyeshadow as my eyeliner. Occasionally, I’ll do a smokey eye with either blacks/purples or browns/orange tones!

4. Are you in love right now?

With every part of my being! Absolutely yes!

5. In your opinion, is love at first sight real?

I fall in love with every dog I see, so yes.

6. Are you an optimist, realist, opportunist, or pessimist?

I do my best to be as positive as possible, but I have pessimistic tendencies. 

7. First kiss details? (If you haven’t been kissed, reply how and if you would like to be.)

I was a freshman and my bf was a sophomore. My best friend was in a beauty pageant and so my bf and I went to support her. During intermission, we went for a walk around the highschool. We were just talking and I had walked slightly ahead of him. He grabbed my hand and turned me around and kissed me behind the school. It was super cheesy, but at the time it meant a lot to me.

8. Do you own stickers, an stationary?

I usually put all my stickers on my Mac case. 

9. What’s your aesthetic?

It changes really. Sometimes I’m casual and laid back. Other times, I dress all the way up and makeup beat for the Gods. Usually with my boyfriend though, I tend to pick up his vibes and I’m more casual hipster I guess lol

10. Do you wear dresses, and skirts?

Yes! Mostly dresses though.

11. What is your hair like?

Thick Latina hair lmao. Its dark brown, but bc it’s summer and I work outside, it’s lightening up to a reddish brown. The longer it gets, the curlier it gets and it’s the biggest pain in the ass to wash. It used to be super long, down to my waist, but after my separation, I started over and cut it off, and now its just right past my shoulders.

12. Does time go by fast or slow to you?

It depends. Right now, stupid slow. My boyfriend is gone for a year and this past week has felt like an eternity. But when I’m having a good time, time flies.

13. What time do you go to bed? What time do you wake up?

It varies. Especially now bc I am on my time and my boyfriends time. So I usually sleep around 1am but I’m awake again in a few hours. Then I sleep and wake up for work around 745am. Nap when I get home throughout the day. It depends on how our schedules line up on any given day tbh.

14. Favorite sweet food?

Reese’s! 

15. Tea, coffee, or hot cocoa?

Tea for sure!

16. Space, Ocean, City, or Forest?

This is hard… anything but the city. Probably space bc aliens

17. Favorite game as a child?

Uhh… I really liked Guess Who? and Uno

18. Comfort book?

I Love you This Much. The book about the daddy and baby hare. When my parents adopted me, my mom read it to me every night before bed or anytime I was sad. And any time I pass it in Target or any bookstore, I always pick it up to read it.

19. Princess, Fairy, Mermaid, or Unicorn?

Unicorn, duh!

20. Do you fall in love easily?

!!!!! BOY DO I !!!!!

21. Favorite word?

redamancy N. : the act of loving the one who loves you; loving in return

22. Describe your life in 3 words.

I need more than 3 tbh

23. Do you dance? Slow dance?

I dont. I remember my boyfriend trying to teach me to slow dance in our kitchen one night, but it went miserably lol

24. Do you wear fake nails, or paint your nails?

I occasionally get my nails done bc I think they look pretty. But I get tired of them real quick.

25. Has anyone ever confessed to you?

Ummmm meaning ???? Like a secret? sure.

26. Do you lie?

Everybody lies. I do my best not to, but sometimes I don’t want to hurt anyones feelings. But I always make sure to go back and explain myself once I figure out what I need to say.

27. What makes you smile?

Lots of things! Dogs, snaps from my boyfriend, cute videos of literally anything, seeing my food come to my table…

28. Have you ever cried in a book or movie?

Oh absolutely

29. When and who was your first crush?

Idk probably a celebrity lol

30. Marriage or kids?

I definitely would love to get married someday. As for children, no thanks.

31. Are you superstitious?

I can be! Not usually though

32. Who’s your 3 am thought?

Definitely my boyfriend! 

33. Do you like candy? What’s your favorite candy?

As long as it isn’t hard candy! I love Reese's though!

34. Favorite holiday?

Halloween!

35. Favorite season?

Fall or winter! I love the wind and cold

36. Cat or dog person?

Dog person for sure

37. Are you quiet or loud?

It depends on the situation and the day. And also my mood and who I’m with.

38. Favorite time period? (80′s, 60′s, etc.)

Ancient Egypt for sure. 

39. Favorite fashion fad that went away?

TURTLENECKS WTF !!!! And also Overalls ):

40. The best dream/ worst nightmare you’ve ever had?

All of my best dreams are basic lovey dreams with my boyfriend. My worst nightmares are variations of my abusive relationship with my ex.

41. Worst fear as a kid?

Being abandoned/ forgotten/ left behind. aka my worst fear now lol

44. Do you flirt?

With my boyfriend, all the time. I probably come off as flirty sometimes because I’m overly nice. But I never mean it in any kind of romantic way if that happens.

45. What’s your style?

refer to #9

46. Do you blush?

All the time

47. Do you feel everything, nothing, or you don’t know what to feel?

I feel LITERALLY everything all the time 100X stronger than I should. I have BPD so my emotions are always at 200% regardless of it’s good or bad emotion.

48. Are you a crier? Do you smile?

My boyfriend and I joke that I am literally the biggest baby of all time bc of how sensitive I am and how I’ll cry over literally anything. And also bc I thrive off of attention and naps lmao. But yes! I smile often!

49. First love?

Probably my freshman boyfriend I was talking about earlier.

50. Last love?

Hopefully the man I’m dating now! I can’t imagine being this in love with anyone else. And i certainly wouldn’t want to be.

[greggsdiabetes-blog]

The Secret to Happiness? Simplify.

New Post has been published on http://www.greggsdiabetes.com/the-secret-to-happiness-simplify/

The Secret to Happiness? Simplify.

For centuries, people leaned into the popular (and false) belief that possession—material wealth and stature—was synonymous with happiness. But now minimalism is on the rise, and for good reason: it works. With the popular Netflix film Minimalism: A Documentary About Important Things and the massive bestselling book The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up emphasizing the benefits of decluttering, it's no surprise that more and more people are cleaning out gear closets, streamlining their workouts, and buying less stuff. Because when you do, there's way more room for adventure.

#1. Purge

The first piece of furniture I ever bought kept me up at night. I was 25 years old, and the offending item was a 60-pound oak armoire the color of whiskey and the size of a standard refrigerator. It wasn’t the price or the quality of its construction that triggered the angst. It was what it represented. I now owned something that couldn’t fit in my rooftop RocketBox. I saw my adult life beginning, along with a relentless accumulation of more stuff. That armoire was the loss of my freedom.

Looking around my house nearly 20 years later, my vision was prescient. I’ve col­lected more things than I want, and finding a place to put them all is a daily struggle. My twenty­something anxiety wasn’t un­founded, ­either. Research has revealed a troubling paradox: not only is clutter a cause of stress, but so is getting rid of things. For some people, the very act of shedding a possession triggers activity in the anterior cingulate cortex and the ­insula, the same parts of the brain that register physical pain. Which explains why millions of Americans, including me, have plunked down $10 for yet another possession: The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up, a bestseller by Japanese cleaning consultant ­Marie Kondo. According to Kondo, dealing with your clutter can improve your well-being. “A dramatic reorganization of the home causes correspondingly dra­matic changes in lifestyle and perspective,” she writes. “It is life transforming.”

I bought my copy thinking it would be a needed catalyst for the garage-cleaning project I’d been putting off for two years. Inside is my gear stash, proof of a lifetime of adventure and the only possessions I’d truly mourn in a house fire. Crampons that have felt summits from the Cascades to the Hima­layas. My first road bike. The BOB stroller that logged hundreds of miles as I trained for ultras and jogged my two small children to sleep. A lot of this stuff hasn’t been used in years, rendered obsolete by shinier new toys or my shifting passions. It was piling up. The issue came to a head when my fiancée moved in, along with her own stockpile. But any hopes that I would realize Kondo’s magic by confronting the mountains of sentiment in the garage were extinguished within the first few pages of her book. In rigid terms, she describes a “tidying marathon,” an all in, months-long project that will fail if not completed. If I didn’t address my entire household inventory—­closets, drawers, cabinets, everything—I would return to a state of unwanted clutter.

The garage would have to wait. I started by moving through Kondo’s list of categories in the prescribed order: “Clothes first, then books, papers, miscellany, and lastly, mementos.” The process forced me to confront those myriad places that attract random junk. The kitchen counter always littered with mail and school announcements. Bathroom cabinets stocked with bottles and tinctures. And that damn armoire, in which I discovered an incongruous collection of candleholders, board games, place mats, two puzzles, an extension cord, a New Mexico atlas, and an ancient video camera that records on something called MiniDisc. I took on these hoarding stations armed with a garbage bag (trash it) and a box (give it away). I purged like I was at a peyote ceremony. Over several days, I made four trips to Goodwill, where the staff began to recognize me.

Clothes, books, paper—those were easy. My garage came last, for it was filled with the high-end sporting gear that we adventurous types classify as mementos. It was here that my trust in Kondo’s method was tested. Her advice for deciding on whether or not to keep something: touch it, be aware of the feeling it triggers, and ask yourself, “Does it spark joy?” When I thought of my prized quiver of skis, bikes, and camping stoves (six of them!), I pictured Kondo asking the question and me defiantly answering “Hell yes!” to all of it.

One Sunday morning, I clicked the ­garage-door opener and confronted nostalgia’s grip. I started with the camping equipment. After careful consideration, stoves one, two, and three registered no spark. Neither did way too many headlamps, stuff sacks, first-aid kits, and ground pads. My first real trial was the sleeping bag I took on multiple cross-country family road trips as a kid. It was in that bag that I slept soundly in the back of our station wagon as my parents drove all night from the north rim to the south rim of the Grand Canyon to catch the sunrise. Running my hands over its greasy seams, I felt a powerful sentimental joy. I also realized that the memories it evoked were inside my head, not its weathered nylon. I put it in the giveaway box. There were three pairs of cross-country skis, each having carried me through the 40-mile Elk Mountain Grand Traverse. I’ve always liked seeing them propped against the wall, proof of my feats. But joy? It wasn’t sparked. I tried to draw the line at my first pair of telemark skis. No matter that they’re comically skinny, I thought, these babies rip. But now I was on a roll. I threw them in with the sleeping bag.

I went on like this for several more weekends, pawing flat soccer balls, tired camp chairs, and outdated bike wheels. Eventually, I whittled down my treasures to my absolute favorites and began reorganizing the space according to Kondo’s strict instructions—no piles. Finally, one recent evening, preparing for my first skin up the local ski hill, I felt a little bit of the magic. The real evil of clutter, the one I’d feared at age 25, was its ability to bog you down. Do I want to go backcountry skiing at 6 a.m. when the process requires an hour of rounding up misplaced necessities? Nope. I’ll just sleep in. But that night I ­entered the newly overhauled space, and all the items I needed��poles, skins, helmet, gloves, skis—were in exactly the right place.

I’d be lying if I said my life has been transformed. I haven’t touched my office yet. And I’ve actually noticed an increase in angst over the places that I’ve yet to tackle. But if tidying is indeed a marathon, I have faith in Kondo’s metaphor. I know how shedding weight and completing a long-distance ­trial brings on a curious euphoria. Kondo estimates that her tidying marathons take clients around six months, and I will keep running. But she’ll have to pry my BOB stroller from my cold, dead hands. —Christopher Keyes, editor

#2. Put Down the Phone

"You don't need to tweet or post during your adventure unless you're a sponsored athlete whose livelihood depends on it. I promise you that no one really cares. I've grown to love it when an expedition starts and the bars on my my phone dwindle down to uselessness. That's a sure sign that I'm headed in the right direction." —Guide Dave Hahn, who has summited Mount Everest 15 times

#3. Make It a Liquid Lunch

“Soup is a nutrition life-hack,” says ­Nicole Centeno, author of the cookbook Splendid Spoon and CEO of the soup-­delivery company of the same name. “It’s efficient and nourishing and keeps you fueled for hours outside without weighing you down.” It’s also a foolproof one-pot wonder. Buy a stack of plastic pint containers for single-serving storage in the fridge or freezer, and reheat for lunch as needed. Centeno’s favorite hearty soup, kale and lentil, is ­loaded with fiber and protein and made with ingredients you likely already have at home.

Kale and Lentil Soup (Serves 4)

Ingredients

1 tablespoon olive oil

1 small onion, diced

2 large carrots, diced

1 rib celery, diced

1 large garlic clove, minced

1/2 teaspoon ground black pepper

1 tablespoon Madras curry powder

3/4 teaspoon ground cinnamon

1/2 pound dried red lentils, rinsed and drained

1/2 pound dried green lentils, rinsed and drained

2 quarts water

2 cups thinly sliced lacinato kale

Sea salt to taste

Process

Warm the oil in a pot over medium heat. Cook the onion, carrots, and celery, stirring frequently, for ten minutes or until tender. Stir in the garlic, pepper, curry, and cinnamon, and cook for one minute.

Increase the heat to high, add the lentils and water, and bring to a boil. Add the kale, cover, reduce the heat to low, and simmer for 30 minutes or until the mixture thickens, the lentils are tender, and the kale is wilted.

Stir in the salt. Serve hot.

#4. Lighten Up

"I value celebration, possibly more than I should. You have to relish your accomplishments and take time off. I also have a terrible sweet tooth, and I don't care. I will continue to eat Sour Patch Kids. I usually have three two-pound bags in my room. There's a fine line between being anal retentive and being purposeful. Everything I do, I do with purpose." —Ultrarunner Clare Gallagher, who won the 2016 Leadville Trail 100 Women's Division by two hours.

#5. Choose a Uniform

Steve Jobs wore a black turtleneck and jeans every day. Mark Zuckerberg lives in a hoodie. Yes, they’re tech geeks—but not having to think about clothing frees up all kinds of mental energy for more important tasks. So what’s a style-conscious active person supposed to wear? Consider this foundational formula from Peter Buchanan-Smith, founder of Manhattan clothing and gear company Best Made.

Chambray shirt:"Chambray is far more versatile than flannel—it can be worn with jeans or trousers. The material is timeless. Once you find the perfect shirt, buy five."

Sweater jacket:"Best Made's shawl-collar sweater, with super-heavy, 100 percent western wool, is my armor. I wear it fly-fishing, as a winter jacket in the city, and under a rain shell.”

Aviator sunglasses:“Randolph Engineering’s are classic. You can’t go wrong.”

High-quality belt: “I wear Best Made’s Gfeller belt almost daily.”

Dark-wash jeans: “Levi’s 501’s. You get so much for the price, and they only get better with age. ”

Good socks: “Wool blend. Not too thick, not too thin.”

Rugged boots: "I don’t think it’s overkill to have burly leather ankle boots as your daily staple, even in New York. I’d pick the Danner Rainforest. They’re like the Land Rover Defender of boots.”

#6. Skimp on Gym Time

One of the pillars of the modern approach to fitness is the belief that gym-based strength training is essential, even for endurance athletes. Problem is, many of us take things too far. Two-time Olympic skier turned strength coach Eva Twardokens is part of a growing chorus of fitness professionals who ­argue that amateur athletes don’t need to spend more than two hours a week working out between walls. The upshot: you can spend a lot more time playing outside. “The danger for a lot of people is over­exercising,” says Twardokens.

She closely analyzed just how much gym work she needed to continue to perform at a high level. “I boiled it down to the essentials and created Minimum Dose, Maximum Effect,” she says. “The idea is to do the least amount of training that allows for good body composition and supports the activities in your life without wearing your joints down.” Twardokens, a ­National Masters Weightlifting champion, explains that her general workout philosophy is to “maintain strength and muscle mass through the basics, like squats, deadlifts, pull-ups, and dips. And that includes you endurance athletes!”

The rest of the time? Get outside and enjoy the sports you love.

#7. Bring It Back to Life

In 2011, Patagonia launched its Worn Wear program, which allows customers to send in jackets and apparel to be mended. The company has since performed 170,000 repairs. Here’s a quick guide to fixing your own stuff—and taking better care of it in the first place.

Keep it clean: Before storing technical layers at the end of the season, launder them in cold water with a revitalizing cleaner like Nikwax Tech Wash and hang them to dry, says Lindsey Stone of Seattle’s Rainy Pass Repair, which fixes, updates, and renews all manner of outdoor fabrics. “Once something like Gore-Tex is dry to touch, treat it with a DWR spray to revive waterproofing,” she adds. “Then stick it in the dryer on low for 10 to 20 minutes.”

Avoid the common errors: “Wool is much more difficult to burn than synthetic fabrics, so consider a top layer of wool while you’re tending the campfire,” Stone says.

Upgrade your field kit: “Tenacious Tape is just as strong as duct tape, but it doesn’t leave a sticky residue,” Stone says, “so later you can properly fix a tear without a mess.”

Save your sole: Don’t toss out those worn-down hiking boots if the upper structure is still in good shape. Legendary boot wizard Dave Page in Seattle can resole just about anything. He has repaired a pair of 1960s boots six times. Their owner is now in his eighties.

#8. Go It Alone

"I always say, if I had to wait for a friend, I'd still be in my cubicle office. It's easier to travel alone and has become a lot more socially acceptable." —Matt Kepnes, author of the blog Nomadic Matt

#9. Just Say No

"Most people overestimate how efficient they are, so we say yes to everything that comes our way. The result is you end up feeling overwhelmed. Saying no makes space for the things that matter most to you. Saying no more often is actually more expansive." —Leo Babauta, author of The Power of Less

10. Buy Less, Live More

There’s a joke that we tell around the office: How can you spot an Outside editor at the trailhead? They’re the one removing tags from their stuff.

It hurts because it’s true. Some editors’ offices are so packed with gear that it’s tough to find a place to sit. I’m no exception. When I decided to take up mountain biking a couple of years ago, I bought two bikes: one hardtail and one full suspension, so I had the right ride for any situation. I currently own six fly rods—one for throwing dry flies on small streams, another for casting streamers on big rivers, yet another for windy days, and so on.

But when I read a recent story about Pata­gonia founder Yvon Chouinard that noted how most of his gear was made in the previous century, I began to question my excessive ways. I suffer that disease so common among middle-class Americans: overconsumption. And I’m not joking when I call it a disease. We’ve long known that buying things releases dopamine in the brain—a 2012 study in the Journal of Psychoactive Drugs suggested it’s even addictive. Partly to blame: the ease of the buy-now button.

It’s not just a biological pull, either. Magazines, catalogs, and websites—Outside’s included—assault your inbox, mailbox, and Facebook feed with new gear. I decided to fight back: for one month I would buy nothing but food. (OK, and beer.)

The first week, I felt like an alcoholic standing outside a liquor-store window. I had a strong urge to cheat, to buy something small like a book or a movie ticket. But midway through the month, the compulsive urge to consume relaxed. At home I realized that not only did I have a jacket that would get me through ski season, I actually had two, even if they didn’t breathe quite as well as I’d like. I began to look at things I previously considered at the end of their useful life—jeans with holes, a laptop that was a few years old—as perfectly functional.

I spent less time scrolling through gear blogs fantasizing about smartwatches or fishing reels, which meant that I had more time for things that really mattered: my wife, my friends, my colleagues—people, not things.

Late in the month, though, I caved. My wife and I recently bought a home, and we wanted to replace the old smoke detectors. “I’m not buying everything for the house this month,” my wife said, with a certain tone in her voice, suspecting that my pledge to swear off consumerism was a ploy to bankrupt her. I immediately went online and ordered two of them. Later that day I got her flowers, just to be safe.

The truth is, not buying stuff doesn’t feel as instantly good as hitting the buy-now button does, and I can’t say that I won’t purchase superfluous stuff in the future. But I realize that I don’t need it. In fact my life may be richer by not having as much of it. A few weeks after my experiment ended, I reached out to Trout Unlimited to see if it needed any packs or rods for its youth programs. I rounded up my extra winter hats, coats, and gloves to give to a local shelter. After years of being sick, I’m starting to feel better. —Jonah Ogles, articles editor

#11. Don’t Get All Epic

I’ve got a bit of Viking in me. Not the raiding and pillaging so much as the deep-seated urge to explore distant lands. For years my M.O. was: save up money, blow it on a far-flung adventure, return broke, repeat. It was fun, but I’ve since wised up. While I still try to pull off big trips whenever I can, I’ve learned that closer-to-home outings can be just as satisfying.

I grew up in southeast Wisconsin and couldn’t wait to set out for the mountains and rivers of the West, eventu­ally landing in New Mexico. But when I go back to Wisconsin now, I’m discovering everything I overlooked. ­Within 20 miles of my childhood home in Sheboygan, there are sand dunes to explore, waterways to paddle, waves to surf (seriously, Google it), and glacially carved trails to wander.

Having kids has helped shift my perspective, too. In Santa Fe, a lifetime of family microadventures can be had right out the back door. This past fall, we spent a weekend rafting a section of the Rio Grande near town. It might not have been heroic by Instagram standards, but there were rapids, rattlesnakes, hot springs, and pictographs. The kids didn’t have to miss any school, and I swear I felt my inner Viking stir. —Sam Moulton, content marketing director

#12. Use Paper

“I’ve tried all the organizational apps, but I much prefer putting pen to paper,” says legendary alpinist Conrad Anker, known among fellow climbers for both his skill and his preparation. “I like using Moleskine notebooks, the lined five-by-eight ones. Every night I use a nice fountain pen to jot down my to-do list for the following day. Then I prioritize it, rewrite it to reflect that ­order, and think about it. On Sunday I do the same routine, but for the whole week ahead.” ­

Anker says that bulletproof organizational skills may be in his blood. “My sister is a professional organizer, with clients, so we joke that creating structure and having discipline runs in our family. I find myself flipping back though my journals and rereading them. Research shows that writing things down helps you process and remember them better, and I agree. I’ve been doing this since 1998.”

Original Article