#actually solicited advice

[krakenartificer]

Hello! I somehow came across a post of yours about the effect of menstrual cycles on adhd meds and you talked about tracking effects and everything. I only just started medication (in my 30s, late diagnosis for the win) but how does one go about figuring such things out?

Late diagnosis is such an improvement on never-diagnosis! Congrats on getting meds!

I wish I had an easy solution for you, but the way I figured it out is that I've been tracking my ADHD symptoms, the amount of adderall I took, and the section of my cycle I'm in (which can only be determined retroactively, because my cycle is irregular af), every day, for the last 8 months.

I've got a spreadsheet where I just have to enter the date, and (once I have it) the date my next period starts, and it will calculate the percentages and everything. And each day, I rate myself on a 0-5 scale, how much I'm struggling with:

working memory, aka "how many times today have I forgotten something literally seconds after I looked at it?"

tactifractitree problems, aka "I can't even hold all the pieces in my head, never mind figuring out how they all fit together into a 'plan'"

emotional regulation, aka "how many times today has a tiny thing caused me to entirely freak out?"

task initialization, aka "I know what to do, I know how to do it, I want to do it, but when I try to do it, I just .... don't."

need stimulus, aka "I have no idea what to do, so I'm going to end up doing the first task that crosses my field of vision, regardless of how useful or urgent that task is"

hyperfocus, aka "I can concentrate really well, but I don't get to choose what I'm concentrating on"

grasshopper brain, which is what I call that state where you have so many thoughts in your head and they're bouncing around like grasshoppers in a jar and every time you try to capture one of them you get smacked with three others

Inability to cope with changes, aka "I am perfectly functional as long as everything goes exactly according to plan."

And honestly, it's very much a work in progress, and I dislike a lot of things about it. I feel like maybe working memory and tactifractitree are actually the same problem? But I'm not sure. Inability to cope with changes is definitely a subset of emotional regulation, but for me personally I sometimes have times when I'm not freaking out about anything else, I'm only upset about changing plans. It might be that those times aren't actually emotional regulation at all? That they're tactifractitree problems where I can't see the big picture well enough to figure out how to adapt to the new circumstances?

And hyperfocus is a bad thing when it forces me to work on my novel or to make pie charts about Alexander Hamilton rather than doing my actual job, but honestly I kinda like it when I can do 20 hours' of work in a 10-hour workday because everything is coming together in godlike clarity, or when I'm able to write 7000 words on my novel in an evening. So do I need, like, a hyperfocus (affectionate) and a hyperfocus (derogatory), or something?? I don't know. And even if so, how do I keep myself from crashing at the end of it because I forgot to eat?

Worst of all, the ability to examine your executive function, and determine where on that spectrum you lie, is a thing that requires executive function. So while I'm pretty sure that on my good days, I'm accurately recording how well I'm doing, I suspect that I sometimes have bad days that are bad enough that they prevent me from knowing how bad it is. I'm trying to come up with objective, measurable ways to determine the problems, but I haven't been able to find any that seem to track well.

But, all that said, and even with those limitations, I'm delighted to have even just the information I have been able to glean, which is that I do, definitely, need my adderall to come in half-dose pills, so that I can choose whether to take 0, 1, or 2 pills on any given day. And I'm pretty sure that the pattern corresponds roughly with first-half and second-half of my cycle. I've started measuring my basal body temperature each morning, and we'll see if that has any greater clarity.

Anyway, I made a spreadsheet, and I make sure I update that spreadsheet fairly consistently by

a) making the google doc with the spreadsheet one of my firefox homepages, so that it opens up on my screen every morning as soon as I open my web browser

b) adding a recurring "record health data" task to my to-do list, so it shows up each day

c) adding "record health data" to the app I use to track my morning routine, and

d) adding a "did I record health data?" to my habits tracker in my bullet journal.

The combination of the 4 of them means that I manage to get a record almost every weekday, and some weekends. And after 8 months, trends are kinda-sorta starting to appear.

(If anyone has better ideas, please please please tell me.)

#askbox #actually solicited advice #actually adhd #gpoy #spreadsheets #coping mechanisms #menstruation and adhd

[yellowocaballero]

Character Work

Got an ask the other day that asked me how I developed a character, and there was no room to go into it on that ask at all, but I did want to note something. As a fic writer I feel pretty unqualified to write on how to create a character, but I do have something specific I want to say that I've been thinking for a while. I'll keep it just to that. I'll also say that I'm talking exclusively about writing, and not how you engage with fandom. It is, in fact, extremely fun to make an endless series of meaningless headcanons for random dudes. I'm just talking about in terms of how you approach the character from a writing perspective. Which is...

Your OC makes a bad character.

I mean your Dungeons and Dragons character. I mean the character you have a character sheet for, the character you've thought about for years, the one that you are extremely fond of and who feels like a real person to you. The character that is the character, and to change them would feel like changing a person.

Characters should feel like real people to the reader, but as the writer you cannot think of them as people. They are plot devices and a function of the story. They don't need to be fleshed out before you start writing. The actual creation of the character should take place in the outlining and drafting process.

I'm not saying you aren't allowed to stop and think about their favorite grilled cheeses or their sign. There's a few lists of good questions to ask yourself about your characters before you start writing them, such as their desires and their home lives, but the list of actual questions you need to answer are short. And you should try to stop there, because otherwise you're going to over-develop your character and it's going to get in the way of the story.

Assuming you're writing a character focused story, the character's journey is the plot's journey. But the character and the plot exist in relationship to each other. I think of them as two interlocking gears - some things in the plot just can't happen because Character A wouldn't do that, but some things need to happen for the plot to work, so Character A needs to be the kind of person who would do that. Both the character and the plot are in service of what the story is about (Theme, moral, message, etc). These three things have to line up, and they can't overpower each other. You shouldn't try and make round pegs fit in square holes. If a character doesn't fit in with what you want the story to be about (if the story's about vanity and your character doesn't care about vanity) then you need to change one of those things. You can bend the entire plot and meaning of the story around the character, but damn you better have a character who makes a really fantastic story.

You need a character that makes a good story. Some characters don't make good stories, and you need to work super hard to create a story that fits them. That's fine - that can create a unique and great story. Your character has to be consistent and work along their own internal logic. That is shit you absolutely have to stop and work out in the outlining process. Your character needs to make decisions that feel right to the reader - really good stories have the character making the worst possible decision, but in a way that makes the reader understand that they couldn't have done anything else and still been that character. And, like, obviously, give your characters faults and have them make mistakes. A character who does not do that cannot carry a plot.

Fic writers struggle with this. Of course you...shouldn't...be me and completely disregard every characterization, but I do think you can run into the same problem with your blorbo as your D&D character.

Your blorbos aren't actual guys.

This feels kind of obvious, but sometimes I think people don't feel that way. We write fanfic because we like the characters, and we'd rather use these characters and this setting than use our own. I see people projecting on these characters a lot. Like, a lot a lot. It gets to the point where an attack on the character feels like a personal attack - where people defend the character as if they're a real person because they ID so much w/the character. We all know this is dumb, but it also makes for some really shitty fic. The writer becomes completely unwilling to bend the character at all. And they don't try to make the character good for a story, because that kind of involves a lot of faults and mistakes that they don't like seeing their blorbos make. I sound dismissive but it's pervasive. The character becomes a character who makes them feel good instead of a well-written function of the story. The story suffers. Which is alright for some stories, but if you're writing a heavily character focused story like a lot of fic, then nothing is really propping up this story or making it engaging.

None of that is how I develop a character but that is what I wanted to say about characters lol (fwiw, how an OC is created for me is: "I need a character in this spot or representing this thing. Yoink!"). Of course I spoke hyperbolically and took a hard stance on all of that, haha, and of course all of this is rule of thumb. I'm sure your OC is wonderful. Just don't get caught up in them, okay? Go write. The best possible OC is an OC who is born from a good story. That's how you get rich and real characters.

#this is also true for worldbuilding. #my writing #my asks #writing #writing advice #kinda obvious if u follow me that I can go ON and ON and ON about what the fuck is up with some of my characters #and I can kinda promise that for every single one none of that was decided ahead of time #long time readers can see my understanding of the character grow and develop and change the more i write them #so you end up with someone super fleshed out and rich #and sometimes you keep on making so many swerves fifteen degrees to the left that you end up with f101 jon #that being said keep the silly HC coming i fucking love that shit #if no chip sw was an Actual Thing at this point i would go back and rewrite all of it #with what i now know of cody #and thats how the story would be decent lol #but I had to write ALLA THAT to actually get cody you know? #and I could NOT have figured that out just by thinking about him #i promise the advice was solicited this time jalksdf

[pennielane]

in my brief absence from here i’ve managed to fall in love with a man 11 years older than me

#i think i'm in my dear john era so pray for me #no but actually i've mostly been gone because my best friend is going through some really really terrible personal stuff and i've just been #Supporting Her #and also work has been busy (but good! yay!) #and yes #this 11-years-older-than-me man #he is my coach for a sport i do and i am.....in love (she says while she actually barely knows him) #(and she says while he barely knows of her existence [he DOES know i exist but there are so many of us he coaches so i'm sure i'm just one #face to him dlsiahfih;vdd]) #anyway tell me this...i'm late 20s and he's late 30s so is it....REALLY that bad #......??? #(yeah it's probably not ideal) #(i've been soliciting advice from my friends and they say i have the soul of a 100 year old so 11 years my senior isn't that bad but i still #think it's not....the most ideal) #no but i actually never crush on people so this is a Big Deal for me which is why i'm spiralling about it even though it will never amount #to anything :) #(anyway sorry for trauma dumping but hi! happy to be back on here)

[unopenablebox]

i somehow forgot that all knitting photos posted on here get abundantly reblogged by randos and now people are in my replies condescendingly explaining that picot bind offs aren’t too hard actually

they only mean well by this and i hope they never see me complaining about them and if they do they shouldn't internalize anything about it. but it really irritates me anyway

#if i was sincerely concerned about it i would not post in the next sentence that i am not worried about it and confident in my ability #to learn new knitting techniques as needed. #i admit that this is just me being dickish to well intentioned people. but i really hate it when someone is like 'you've got this!!!' #to a STRANGER on a random post that is not specifically asking for emotional reassurance and is instead just. about something #like oh? you're so much better at knitting than me that you're qualified to start contentlessly life coaching me about it? #you can tell that because you read one sentence of my tags? #this doesn't apply to literally any of you btw because first of all you've been around enough to have actual context on any given post #making any reassurance you provide into something that is not just a smug assumption that you're in a position of expertise relative to me #but an actual like. social interaction #and second of all because none of you do this. if you cheerlead me it's on posts where that makes any sense to do and i might want it #and if you provide advice it. is advice. and has content. and again. is usually more solicited and always isn't from strangers. #this is purely how i feel about it when someone who i don't know and has never seen me before acts like i obviously need reassurance #that it is possible to learn to do a bind-off. i self-teach new knitting techniques constantly! leave me alone!!!!

[fazcinatingblog]

My dad is the type of person who would say honey on toast is too bland so they've responded with:

#it's all my dad's fault #actually it's still Sophia's fault #sophia likes chili as well so she would love this #sophia would ring up the honey company and argue that their honey isn't flavoursome enough #and then bill them for her time #sophia is 100% the type to write letters or emails with her feedback/criticism/unsolicited advice #but in her mind it's solicited #I'm getting this for my dad for Christmas #I'll buy it this week and wrap it and then next tuesday bring it to my parents house and put it under the tree #make my dad go crazy just wondering what the hell I've bought for him #but he supermarket shops himself so he would've seen it already #still #it's a good idea #i don't know what to get him besides a tattslotto ticket

[algorizmi]

Soliciting profane vocabulary with practical meaning in blue-collar contexts.

My collection so far:

tranny - transmission

dyke - diagonal cutter

horsecock - gas can spout

bastard - file with medium tooth pitch

#i have heard all of these in person while working #my tractor actually has 2 trannies #3 when I'm driving #words in the words part #solicited advice

[dreamlandsystem]

we’re changing rapidly as we grow, adapt, and learn more about ourselves.

this being said, our carrd is out of date :( and will be taken down from our pinned

and a rant/vent is below the cut ;-;

last night we had a weird mix of neb, gigi, and parker which resulted in a freak out/identity crisis. gigi was (and likely still is) certain that we are faking our plurality and are lying to ourself and the people in our life… despite having a diagnosis and despite others in the system disagreeing with them.

it’s just been a mess… today we’ve been feeling weird and out of it idk. it’s just fucked that we still have such difficulties with communication, with recognizing who we are, with having an identity at all. none of us feel real. nothing feels real.

we don’t understand how we’ll ever be able to fit into an irl community. we have such a little desire for friends and interpersonal relationships and connections, and we’re scared that our plurality will continue to make it challenging to interact and connect with others (especially due to the fact that most of us are nonhuman).

we had resigned ourself to this and were coming to terms with it, but the recent decision by a lot of us to learn more about judaism with a goal of conversion throws a wrench in things. community is an integral part to the jewish culture and way of life. how are we supposed to entertain the idea of conversion if interacting with people is such a struggle for us? how are we supposed to enter a community and express ourselves authentically when our authentic self is a fractured system of queer autistic nonhumans? how can we expect anyone to be accepting of that, especially the neurotypical singlets who will likely make up the majority of a temple congregation (and whose approval we will so desperately want)?

it’s been a whirlwind, and we don’t know fully how to articulate what we’re feeling. we have been drawn to the jewish faith for so long, and the more we learn, the more we fall in love with the religion, its culture, and traditions! at the same time, we’re worried our averseness to humanity may make it nearly impossible for us to actually convert.

#we are actually soliciting advice if anyone has any tips #we need some serious help lmao #conversion tag #sys.txt #religion mention #unreality mention #vent

[maddenikaris]

I emailed one of my all time fave authors very politely asking if she’d be willing to offer plotting advice and it was one of scariest things ever tbh

#sam liveblogs life #okay her website said she accepts editing inquiries/advice on a select basis #so it’s not like I just solicited her out of nowhere KRHFHS #I’ve actually talked to her before years ago she’s so sweet #trying to make author friends even as I pursue my debut #ITS SCARY MAN.

[angelredhead]

how to tell my friend that has the same interests as me that them talking about The Thing makes me want to die

#pretty sure it’s the rsd and unstable sense of self but Jesus christ can it go away #advice is solicited #rejection sensitive dysphoria #adhd #adhd problems #vent #rsd #adhd rsd #rsd is a bitch #rsd things #actually rsd #fuck rsd #tw rsd #rsd vent

[transgendz]

Okay, so I'm not calling out the OP of the post bc I firmly believe in assuming good intentions, but there's a post going around with over 150,000 notes that just. When you know how misinformative it is, it really comes across badly.

Okay, so I went through the notes and check the subs out some and this is a breakdown of every sub on the post, in the originally listed order. Just keep in mind comment farming is widely disallowed and if you're banned you're likely to be sent to the universal scammer sub.

/r/Assistance - requires 60 days of regular activity, 400+ comment karma required, 18+ user age requirement, one account per household

/r/legaladvice - seemingly run by cops who delete actually helpful legal advice

/r/Randomkindness - for gifts only, fundraising explicitly banned

/r/Charity - account must be 30 days old, 300+ comment karma required, primarily for charitable foundations as opposed to personal funding, no personal cashapp, paypool + gfm allowed

/r/care - email must be verified by reddit, account must be 6 months old, 100 karma required, financial and material requests require you to put your "city,state,country" on the post.

/r/Random_Acts_Of_Pizza - request pizza every 3 months, account must be 90 days old, 400+ comment karma, 18+ user age restriction

/r/Food_Pantry - requesting food, no takeout or delivery (relavent for food deserts), account must be 180 days old, 500 comment karma required, 90 days of regular activity, explicitly bans fundraising

/r/RandomActsOfPetFood - request pet food once every month, account must be 90 days old, 500+ comment karma, 90 days of regular activity in multiple subreddits required, explicitly bans fundraising

/r/RandomActsOfChristmas - private for most of the year, Christmas gifts for children

/r/almosthomeless - explicitly bans fundraising

/r/homeless - explicitly bans fundraising

/r/freelance - no hiring or soliciting, no self promotion

/r/povertyfinance - explicitly bans fundraising

/r/thrify - advice specific

/r/borrow - PRIMARILY LOANSHARKS, no links/gfm, must post your city,state,country to request, account must be 90 days old, 1,000+ combined karma requirement, one request per household

/r/gofundme - crowdfinding sites only, 250+ comment karma required, account must be 90 days old

/r/depression - advice

/r/familysupport - inactive

/r/transitions - inactive

I've color coded the list, red for no assistance available, green for assistance offered, blue for food assistance, and white for ultra specific assistance. I'm sure this list is partially useful for very active reddit users. But some of these suggestions are just ridiculous.

So yeah, idk like don't be this kind of person, don't reblog this kind of shit without checking it out yourself. It's condescending.

[avatar-anna]

Unknown Number

someone made a request about reader accidentally being given harry's number, but i accidentally deleted it, so if you requested it, here it is!

(the text chain will be from harry's point of view)

italics: y/n (unknown number)

bold: harry

Part Two

Part Three

Unknown Number (UN): heyy. i had a really good time the other night. maybe we could do it again sometime? xx (click to download image)

Harry Styles (HS): How did you get this number?

UN: you gave it to me?

UN: last night at the pub? marcus, right?

HS: No. You have the wrong number.

UN: is this a joke? are you fucking with me right now?

HS: No.

UN: oh my god

UN: i feel like such an idiot

UN: one of the first times a guy gives me his number at a bar and he gives me the wrong number

UN: probably on purpose too

UN: i should've known when he left his OWN APARTMENT the next morning but i was actually hopeful

UN: and now i've made an ass of myself here too. sorry to bother you i'll leave you alone. sorry again

(one hour later)

HS: It's okay. Sorry about that guy. Sounds like a jerk.

(twenty minutes later)

UN: it's fine, i guess

UN: i wasn't in love with him or anything but he could've had the decency of expressing his disinterest himself instead of hiding behind a fake number.

HS: That is quite a dick move.

HS: I'm not gonna lie, I wasn't expecting that text. I didn't open the picture either by the way.

UN: thank you. for a moment i was worried i was messaging a creep, but hopefully you're not a creep

UN: i mean you could be still and i'd have no idea

UN: maybe i should stop texting you

(ten minutes later)

HS: I'm not a creep.

UN: that's exactly what a creep would say

HS: I don't really know how to prove it to you. You're the one who sent me a photo of yourself half naked. You could be the creep.

UN: you said you didn't open it!

HS: I was trying to be polite!

UN: great now some 40 year old living in his parents basement has one of my nudes

HS: I'm not 40! And I don't live in my parents basement

UN: you text like an old man

HS: wuld u rather i txt like ths???

UN: no but i'm just saying i don't know many people my age who use proper punctuation in text messages

HS: Well I might not be your age, but I'm certainly not 40

UN: "certainly not." you're right. you sound like my grandpa

HS: I suddenly regret restarting a conversation with you

UN: you know despite the fact that you might be catfishing me, i've enjoyed this. i feel like i'm doing what all the other teen girls did in high school at sleepovers

HS: So you're out of high school.

UN: creep!

HS: You outed yourself, that's not on me.

UN: you...might be right

UN: can you tell me something about yourself to make it even? there's always a possibility that you could be lying and i have no reason to trust you, but...idk i feel like i can

HS: Well that's stupid.

HS: But I suppose since I've already seen you partially naked...

UN: i'm blocking your number

HS: My first name is H, and I'm 20 years old.

UN: h? just the letter h?

HS: You could be a creep too for all I know

UN: fair enough. i'm june

HS: Full name? Wow, you really are a dummy.

UN: don't get your 60 year old panties in a twist. it's a nickname

HS: June is a nickname?

HS: And I'm not 60.

UN: june. june bug. that's what the folks call me

HS: Folks? Now who sounds old?

UN: whatever

(thirty minutes later)

HS: Well, it was nice talking to you, June. June bug.

UN: you too h

(three days later)

June (J): you're a guy right?

HS: I'm sorry?

J: well when i first texted you i thought you were a guy, but you weren't THAT guy, so i have no idea

J: i just assumed but i thought i would ask

J: plus i need solicited guy advice and if you're not a creep i would really appreciate it

HS: We're back to me being a creep?

J: it's a risk every time i text you

J: so? are you a dude?

HS: Yes.

J: great! can i ask you something?

HS: Um...I guess...

J: ok. would you ever get offended if a woman covered their drink during a conversation with you?

HS: I'm not following...

J: like say we're at a bar and we're talking and i turn my head away for some reason but i put my hand over my drink until i look back at you to prevent it from being spiked. would you be offended by that?

HS: No. Why?

J: see? i don't think that's unreasonable. some loser got mad at me for doing that. well EXCUSE ME for not immediately trusting the guy i matched with on tinder

J: who was not as cute in real life i might add

HS: You don't have the best taste in guys.

J: that is not advice!

HS: Okay, here's my advice: don't swipe right on guys who have mirror selfies in their profile.

J: ...

J: ok fair enough but it's not like prince charmings are falling from the sky. it's hard out here

HS: I'm sure.

J: what you don't have the same problem?

HS: I don't really date.

J: in like a douchey way? are you one of those guys who say they just fuck?

HS: I just don't have time for dating, I guess.

J: so no special someone?

HS: No.

(four hours later)

HS: If you asked for advice, does that mean I can too?

(one hour later)

J: sorry i was at work

J: and i don't see why not

HS: What do you think about guys who wear skinny jeans?

J: hm...i think styled right it could be nice

J: YSL is kind of pushing the whole skinny jeans and chelsea boots thing which might eventually trickle down to the losers i match with on tinder so...why not? i say dress how you want

J: any guy who has a good sense of style is sexy to me

J: sorry if that wasn't the answer you were looking for

HS: Yes and no. I've been experimenting with different styles. Sometimes I get a little in my head about it.

J: doesn't everyone?

HS: I guess you're right.

HS: Do you follow fashion shows and things like that?

HS: That's not too personal, is it?

J: no, but it's kind of embarrassing

HS: Not as embarrassing as sending a complete stranger a picture of yourself in your bra

J: harsh...but fair

J: fashion is kind of my religion

J: i'm trying to become a stylist. keyword trying

HS: That's cool!

J: tell that to my family

HS: they don't support you?

J: nope! but i'm gonna do it anyway!

HS: Do you have a favorite designer?

J: it kinda depends on the year and who was creative director at the time, but the first time i got my hands on vintage vivienne westwood i was hooked

J: you?

HS: I'm just starting to explore the fashion world I guess you could say.

J: well lucky for you i happen to be a bit of an encyclopedia when it comes to house codes

HS: House codes?

J: oh boy. i hope you're comfortable. we might be here a while

(two days later)

HS: Have you ever had rumors spread about you?

J: i don't think so

J: oh wait! in eighth grade this girl in my class told everyone i made out with a boy at the school dance which was NOT true

J: it was just a peck

HS: Naughty.

J: it was harmless. why do you ask?

HS: There's a rumor going around about me. It's just frustrating when people actually believe it. sometimes it gets to the point where i start to believe it myself.

J: i'm sorry. i won't pry or anything, but i know what it feels like to not be understood

HS: I just hate the feeling of being under a microscope. It's exhausting. I feel like my life isn't my own sometimes.

J: that sucks

J: sorry that was in no way helpful, but i don't really know what to say. is there someone you can talk to about this?

HS: ...

J: oh! i actually feel kind of honored

J: well, obviously i don't know the whole situation, but maybe try and surround yourself with people who don't scrutinize you so much?

HS: Easier said than done.

J: true but i think if you have a solid group of people who know you and understand you and like you for who you are, it's easier to deal with things like rumors and being under the proverbial microscope, you know?

J: and don't be afraid to get rid of the toxic people in your life! it's not easy but you'll be better off in the long run

HS: sometimes it's hard to tell who's toxic and who's not

J: start with the people who would never believe a rumor about you, or the ones who would never START one about you

HS: Well said, June Bug.

J: thanks! maybe i should entertain a career in counseling

(one month later)

HS: Why June Bug?

J: i was born in the summer. it was a nickname my grandparents gave me. been called that ever since

HS: That's sweet.

J: there are worse nicknames i suppose. i have a cousin that got stuck with chip because he used to stuff his face like a chipmunk when he was little

HS: Yikes.

J: you're telling me

(three weeks later)

J: have you ever danced alone in your bedroom to stevie nicks?

HS: Have you?

J: i have, and can i just say she does NOT get enough credit as a songwriter?

HS: Edge of Seventeen?

J: edge of seventeen

J: i went on a date last week with a guy who had the AUDACITY to call her music mediocre

HS: You didn't see him again did you?

J: ...

HS: June!

J: just once! and only because he had really nice hands

HS: I don't get how that would make you stay with a stevie hater...

J: REALLY nice hands ;)

HS: You disappoint me sometimes.

J: ;))))

(fifteen minutes later)

J: hey you never answered my question about dancing in your room!

HS: ...No comment...

(one week later)

J: you ever been in love, h?

HS: I can't say that I have. Have you?

J: no ://

J: i think i want it too much. i've always just been in love with the idea of falling in love, you know?

J: but the reality isn't what i thought it would be

HS: I'm sorry.

HS: It probably won't help but I'm sure you'll find someone. You seem like a great person. Anyone would be lucky to be with you.

J: aw h you're making me blush!

HS: But perhaps you should stop looking for love on a hookup app

J: annnd good feeling gone

(two weeks later)

HS: Guess who has two thumbs and got invited to Paris Fashion Week!

J: no fair!

J: and that joke doesn't work if i can't see you point to yourself. it doesn't work period

HS: I will let that slide because I know you're just jealous.

J: are you kidding me? OF COURSE i'm jealous! i can't believe you get to see Alessandro Michele's work up close

HS: Who?

J: don't think because we only communicate through text that i can't strangle you

HS: Relax. I'm only joking.

HS: Alessandro is a friend ;))

(ten minutes later)

J: sorry i just had to scream into my pillow

J: what exactly do you do again?

HS: I told you. I work in the industry.

J: but that could mean anything! the cosmetics industry, the movie industry, the meat packing industry...

HS: Meat packing?

J: you know what i mean!

HS: I do a lot of PR.

J: see. that wasn't so hard now was it?

HS: Can I go back to gloating?

J: only if you promise to give me a full report afterwards you go to all the shows

HS: Deal.

(four days later)

HS: Favorite movie?

J: that's hard...

J: it's probably cliche but the devil wears prada

HS: Good choice.

J: what about you?

HS: The Notebook.

J: really?

HS: Yes. Why?

J: do you say that to impress girls or because it's actually your favorite?

HS: Would you rather I have said a film with lots of car chases?

J: no

J: but i went out with a guy who was a film major once

HS: Is that a bad thing?

J: let's just say it won't be happening again

J: he thought he was superior for disliking popular movies. i hate that

HS: Well, I love The Notebook and I love Ryan Gosling

J: now THAT is something we can agree on!

(six weeks later)

J: BIG NEWS

J: LIKE HUGE

J: GROUNDBREAKING

HS: And here I was thinking you forgot about me.

J: i texted you yesterday

HS: You asked me if my dick could move on its own.

J: a legitimate question! i nearly had a heart attack when i saw it in person

J: but i was also weirdly fascinated. my question was purely scientific!

HS: You said you had news?

J: right!

(twenty minutes later)

HS: Are you making me wait to create anticipation?

J: no sorry i got a phone call.

J: i got my first real gig as a stylist

HS: That's great! Congratulations!

J: thanks

HS: You don't sound excited anymore. What happened to all caps?

J: my mother happened

HS: Still not on board, then?

J: she told me it was a waste of time and that i should get a real job

HS: You're still gonna take it though right?

J: i don't know. maybe she's right. the pay is less than ideal. more like i'm being paid in experience, and it's not the clientele i was imagining...

HS: But it's a foot in the door, right? That's something.

J: i guess

HS: Make connections. Get good references. And who knows, you might actually enjoy yourself.

J: you're right.

J: it's for some up and coming band that's going on tour. pretty sure i was what they could afford

HS: Don't sell yourself short. You're gonna do great.

J: thanks. i hardly even know you and you're currently my biggest supporter

HS: What happened to Bill?

J: ancient history

HS: What was wrong with him? He seemed nice.

J: yeah

J: his girlfriend thought so too.

HS: On behalf of all men: Sorry. We truly are the worst.

J: agreed. what about you? still single?

HS: Yes, though people keep trying to set me up on dates.

J: the horror!

HS: Ha ha

HS: I just want to meet someone on my own terms.

J: i get that

J: i just want to meet someone who's actually a decent human being

HS: I'll be on the lookout.

(three weeks later)

J: i think i've decided that tour life is not for me

HS: oh?

J: yeah. sitting on a bus for hours and hours with only myself to keep me company? no thanks

HS: it can't just be you on the bus can it?

J: no but i have a hard time making friends right away. and a lot of the crew for this tour are older than me

HS: are your clients nice at least?

J: yeah. one of them tried to hit on me, which i guess i should take as a compliment, but i am on the clock. no flirting for me

HS: a professional then. or are you not into the musician type?

J: not sure. i haven't dated one before

J: i told you that the other day

HS: right. must've slipped my mind

HS: but back to taste in men. is it all about looks for you or do you like funny guys?

HS: are you the type to sleep with someone on the first date? because i feel like that's very telling about a girl

J: who is this?

HS: what do you mean? it's me

J: it's not. you're not texting like a middle aged woman and you're acting like a total ass

HS: Sorry. I thought I'd try something new. And I was just curious. Can't blame a guy for asking right? You did send some guy you barely knew a picture of yourself

HS: It was very wholesome by the way. Maybe try a little more skin next time and you'll get the response you want. You can practice here if you'd like.

J: oh my god

HS: What?

J: this was a mistake. i'm such an IDIOT

J: was this some kind of prank?

J: whoever you are, you're sick

J: don't text me again

HS: June, I'm so sorry. That was my friend he was just being stupid.

HS: Last time I leave my phone anywhere.

HS: June?

HS: June please.

HS: That wasn't me I swear!

HS: I'm sorry.

(three weeks later)

HS: Day 21 of trying to get you to respond.

HS You probably blocked me which is fine. I don't blame you.

HS: But if you DO happen to read these and are just ignoring me...

HS: I'm sorry. Again. For like the millionth time.

J is typing...

HS: June?

J: i should've blocked you

HS: Why didn't you?

J: because as insane as it sounds, you've become a close friend

HS: I feel the same. I'm really sorry about before. I swear it was one of my mates. I would never say something like that.

J: that's what makes this whole thing crazy! i don't actually know you, so how do i know if i can trust you?

HS: I mean you even noticed that he wasn't texting like me. I would never ask you questions like that, June. I never have.

HS: And I do NOT text like a middle aged woman by the way

J: i guess that's true

J: i think it just doubled down the fact that we don't actually know each other. this whole thing is ridiculous if you think about it too long. it gives me a headache sometimes.

J: i know we've joked about it but...this could be potentially dangerous

HS is typing...

HS: I could send you a voice note.

J: you would do that?

HS: You're right. This whole thing is ridiculous but...I don't know, I trust you, and I consider you a friend.

J: a friend you say?

HS: That's all I'm willing to admit for one day

J: and what about tomorrow?

HS is typing...

HS (voice recording): Maybe tomorrow I'll admit a little more.

(one day later)

Y/n hated how much her stomach flipped every time her phone pinged with a new message.

It was so reckless and dangerous and utterly ridiculous. She didn't know who H was, she didn't even know what time zone he lived in, and yet she felt like she knew him.

And after hearing his deep voice—deep British voice—on the voice recording, Y/n determined that he wasn't some creep in his forties like she'd originally thought.

Since sending that voice recording, they'd sent each other messages like that all night. And by all night she meant all night. They stayed up late sending voice recordings back and forth. It was the longest conversation they'd held to date, which was surprising considering that they often missed each other during certain hours. Just based on what hours of the day they texted the most, Y/n figured H lived somewhere in Europe, which gave her peace of mind considering he couldn't exactly kidnap her if he was a whole ocean away. But the last couple weeks their schedules seemed to be lining up, though Y/n chalked it up to all the traveling she'd been doing lately.

One thing she was certain of was that she adored H's voice. It was soft and deep, but got raspier the longer they spoke. And at times he would whisper in his messages, like he had to keep his voice down. The hushed tones made her shiver.

Y/n didn't call H, and he never offered. But she wanted to, boy did she want to. No matter how terrifying that thought was. A full-fledged phone call seemed more...real to Y/n. With the messages, she and H were still in their little bubble. It was stupid, but she needed that bit of separation. She was becoming attached to someone she'd never met.

Walking through the halls of a stadium in Canada, Y/n pulled up past conversations with H. It was too embarrassing to admit to anyone out loud, but she felt like she really knew him. He was endearing, had a silly sense of humor, had good taste in music, and was honest. Well, as honest as either of them could be. Outside of the one slip up with H's friend, Y/n believed what he said to her over text. Maybe that made her naive, but their conversations were legit. He felt like a friend, and she knew he felt similarly.

Maybe tomorrow I'll admit a little more.

Y/n had no idea what that could mean. She of course knew what she wanted it to mean, but what she wanted rarely ever lined up with reality.

Y/n looked up from her phone to make sure she didn't pass the right door. The one in front of her read, Harry Styles in big bold lettering. She quickly hurried past and continued down the hall to where the dressing room for Five Seconds of Summer was.

Harry Styles was a bit of an enigma. Even though she was on the same tour as him and One Direction, Y/n hardly ever saw him. And when she did, his nose was always in his phone, completely closed off to the world around him. He just had this vibe that said, "don't talk to me," and Y/n received that message loud and clear. The Five Seconds of Summer boys seemed to get on with all the members of One Direction, but Y/n usually made herself scarce whenever they came by the dressing room, for no other reason than too much testosterone in one room.

"You want to come out after the show, Harry?" Y/n heard one of the boys ask. Michael.

"Um...No. I think I'll have to pass tonight, boys. Sorry."

"What? Big date tonight?"

"Something like that."

Y/n felt frozen to the linoleum floor. She knew that voice. She'd spent all night listening to that voice.

"Holy shit."

#harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles x reader #harry styles fanfic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles x you #harry styles fluff #harry styles writing #harry styles one shot #harry styles fic

[ghost-proofbaby]

DO YOU WANNA BE FRIENDS? (a barista!eddie x barista!reader au)

summary: eddie really hates being on bar. Especially during morning rush. When you not only notice his impending breakdown, but do something about it, he realizes that the two of you might be capable of being more than just coworkers.

warnings: ONE use of "y/n", fem!reader (use of she/her pronouns), description of being overstimulated/extremely anxious

wc: 4.5k

a/n: shoutout to all the friends that let me make them fellow victims of the siren <3 also thank you to everyone who showed love the first one shot! i didn't expect that at all so it means the world. hopefully with this part, it makes more sense what i meant by little slices of life! the masterlist will always have the individual one shots listed chronologically.

the full menu

Bar was Eddie’s own personal Hell when he first started. It was chaotic, it was fast paced, and it was simply too much to deal with first thing in the morning (especially on the sparse few hours of sleep he functioned off of). 

He was much better put to use on DTO. Taking orders, stalling perfectly so that whoever was on food could get a jump start, cracking plenty of jokes all while still always perfectly reciting back the customer’s drinks. He thrived on DTO. Even when he would be assigned to “one-manning” drive, which simply meant he handled both taking orders and handing them out the window, he was clearly one of the best.

Nicole knew this. Meg knew this. All the shifts knew this — except the newest shift, Gale, apparently.

Because this morning, a major fuck up had occurred. 

Gale was going over his floor plan for the peak rush, explaining who would be in which position, and Eddie knew something was up the moment you shot him a concerned look from across the room. Initially, it was actually funny, the way your eyes so quickly found his and your nose scrunched microscopically. But by the time Gale had made his rounds to Eddie, he understood that the reaction you’d given him the privilege to witness had not been just something cute – it had been a siren going off from across the store, your attempt to forewarn him of the impending chaos and doom. 

Since that first opening, Eddie has been lucky. Just as he had hoped for, that morning wasn’t the last time he saw you. In fact, he sees so much of you on a weekly basis, he’s sure the Universe is playing a sick joke. It was bound to happen; there’s only so many people who are willingly to be openers (for obvious reasons), and you were one of those brave soldiers. He took Nicole’s advice to heart, he decided to let you slip into pace beside him on the front lines, and he’d been reaping the benefits. 

You’re kind, you’re funny, you make the time pass. You make Eddie feel like the two of you might be friends, or at least could be. And it wasn’t the fake kind of niceties that some of the other baristas would extend only from the moment they clocked in to the moment they clocked out. Your sweetness towards him lasted long past being on the clock. In the parking lot in the early mornings, in the lobby after your shift as the two of you solicited just to get a few more jokes in with Nicole. You’d wait for him and walk out to his car with him. You learned how he likes his coffee, and sometimes made him his preferred drink amidst your opening tasks, only handing it over with a smile and charming, “Drink up, Munson. You’re gonna need it to keep up with me today.” 

God, he fucking liked you. 

A month of openings all tallied up to this moment now, in which you’d just opened him up to the possibility of private, silent conversations in a crowded room. He’d never been on the receiving end of that before. Usually, he was the outsider as glances in a secret language were exchanged. 

Not anymore. Not now that you had your sights set on him. 

“Hey, Eddie,” Gale approaches him slowly, a friendly enough smile on his face. He’d transferred here from another store a few weeks ago, “So, game plan for today’s peak.”

The words lay it on me are on the tip of Eddie’s tongue, but they stick to the roof of his mouth instead. He wasn’t that quick on his toes with most people at work. Half the time, he’s lucky he’s managed any banter with you. 

Blandly, Gale explains how Marissa will be on cafe bar. “And then, I’m going to put myself over on front and warming, try to keep myself flexible for you guys. I’ll have you, Y/N, and Ash run drive today.” 

Eddie pales a little, and just as your eyes had immediately sought out his, he’s looking right over Gale’s shoulder to find you peeking out from around the corner, already in position. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah!” Gale is oblivious to Eddie’s nerves, “I’ll have you bar, she’ll be your DTO. It’ll be great, you guys are going to kill it.” 

The only thing dying will be our drive times. 

Gale leaves with a quick, encouraging smack to Eddie’s shoulder, telling him to go ahead and head over to the small nook that’s designated for the drive thru as he ‘splits the bars’ – changing the system so that tickets for cafe and mobile orders will expel out from the printer that sits atop the bar facing the front of the store, while any drive thru orders print on the bar hidden there. 

Eddie is in his own personal Hell. Actually, he’s in his own worst conundrum. 

On one hand, he’s thrilled to be able to spend the day in this corner with you. Plenty of times, Nicole will assign you to bar and Eddie to take orders or greet customers on the window, and it’s wonderful. Forced proximity due to the set up of the store, easy conversation during lulls, and abundance of inside jokes shouted between customers. He loves it. But he only loves it because he’s not the one busting out those drinks, already starting on the next iced caramel macchiato as the customer at the speaker box has hardly finished announcing it as their drink of choice. He loves seeing you in your element; you’re quick, fast and always on your own rhythm that keeps those damn drive times that corporate care about so much under a minute. Eddie could never do that – he could never average thirty second wait times, especially when so many customers order so many drinks. 

Today is not his ideal situation. He will be the one trying to juggle all those drinks, trying to find a pace that works for both him and the customers and fucking corporate. 

“You good?” you whisper the moment he steps up around the corner and up to the bar, turning and facing you. Your mirror images of one another – both of you have your lower backs pressed to sticky counters, leaning with arms crossed and already looking defeated before the rush has even begun. 

“I’m gonna fuck it all up,” he blurts out quietly, the girl who will be on window - Ashleigh, Ash for short – not quite joining you two in the corner yet. “Our times are going to suck so badly.” 

If it were anyone else, he would have just shrugged the question off. He would have smiled politely. But it’s you, still bleeding sunshine even after being back from vacation for a full month, and still offering him a reassuring smile even as his pessimism hangs around the space like a dark cloud. 

“Fuck the times,” you immediately say, and he laughs a little, eyes widening in shock at how serious you look right now, “You know what? I think our store has been doing a little too good. I’ve always wanted to see if we could get it up to a five minute window time. Are you down to test my theory today?” 

He can’t help but fully throw his head back at that, smile wide, no laughter audibly escaping him but he can feel it fizzing in his chest. He used to hate that, especially during his first shift with you – the way you could seemingly make him feel so much better about this entire situation. Now he’s just grateful. If he has to stand on the deck of a sinking ship on this terrible Tuesday morning, he’s so glad he’s going down with you. 

It’s the worst moment for Ash to appear between the two of you, looking wildly confused as she asks, “Did you just say five minute window times?” 

You throw your head back, and the laugh that leaves you is the prettiest sound Eddie has ever heard. The fizzling chuckles in his chest burst, and Ash only looks at the two of you as if you were certifiably insane. 

Oh, yeah. He’s very glad that this is the ship he will go down in. 

—

Famous last words. Not even an hour into peak, Eddie is biting down on every positive thought you had fooled him into entertaining. His jaw aches with both stress and regret as his knuckles sting from burning himself again with the steam wand. Honestly, he thinks he burnt himself less his first time on warming, and he still has a scar on his pinky from those damned ovens. 

“We’re just waiting on a-” Ash starts to say to him when she turns and lets the window close, effectively sealing them off from the customer. 

“A grande hot americano, I know,” Eddie cuts her off. He didn’t mean to snap, but his irritation is getting the better of him. An impending meltdown is already crawling beneath his skin due to overstimulation and stress. 

Yeah, he really hates bar. 

When the newest green bean meekly adds on, “With cream and two sugar,” Eddie prepares himself to scream into oblivion. 

Until you interfere. 

He’s just taken his first breath, shallow and vapid as he glares at Ash, when one of your hands comes down on his shoulder, the other carefully slipping the cup that only needs to have hot water added to it from  his grasp and into yours. 

“I can finish this off for you,” you sweetly insist, leaning forward so that your face fills the minimal space between him and Ash, “That okay?”

Something flashes in your eyes. It isn’t the same look any of your other coworkers send him when he’s falling behind, when he feels like he’s drowning in this position. It doesn’t feel as though you’re insisting on finishing the drink out of impatience, a desperate last call to speed Eddie along like some sort of machine, but instead as though you’re genuinely trying to help him. 

And your hand. It’s still on his shoulder, curling carefully as he finally can feel the way your thumb is sweeping back and forth over his shoulder blade. Such a soothing motion, it nearly makes him cry. Between your thumb and hand, your gentle eyes, your sweet perfume that cuts through the nauseating smell of coffee – all of it makes him just want to throw in the towel, step off the bar, and let you hug him while he’s a giant crybaby. He knows you’re the only one here who wouldn’t judge him. He’s witnessed first hand several other coworkers do almost exactly that, as a matter of fact. 

He was still secretly jealous of your coworker Sam and the day that she’d been on the verge of her own breakdown, still had the image of the way you’d softened when you caught sight of her genuine tears and just pulled her into your arms. 

He swears he isn’t down bad as some of the kids would call it. He wasn’t special – everyone wanted hugs from you. 

“That’s fine,” he answers after far too many precious seconds have slipped away between you two, the customer at the window momentarily forgotten. His voice is thick with emotion and he has to blink several times just to eat away at that impending breakdown once more. 

Just make it another few hours. Another few hours, and you can scream and cry all you want in the van. You can lose your damn mind if you so please, if you make it another few hours.

He has to remind himself of this over and over as he lets you finish off that fucking americano, and he takes a few consecutive stickers of nothing but frappucinos. He doesn’t even know the time, but it might be better that way. 

He doesn’t even realize the way you’re still watching him so carefully, and so full of concern. 

Suddenly, though, your voice sounds over the headsets — this time, without a car at the speaker box. You’ve clicked for the private channel, meant just for communication between any of the baristas wearing a headset.

“Hey, Gale?” you sweetly say. 

Eddie finishes the drink he’s working on with shaking hands.

Gale takes several seconds until he finally answers you from where he is in the back, “What’s up?”

“Can we switch up the floor a little bit?” Eddie’s stomach twists immediately, the burn of betrayal causing his shoulders to tense without facing you. Cool. Great. She noticed. She’s doing something about it. She’s about to throw me under the bus. Whatever. “I’m getting tired of DTO, starting to kind of stutter and I can’t hear the customers clearly anymore because my brain is melted.” 

That he didn’t expect. It’s subtle, and a little white lie. You hadn’t been stuttering. Any mishearings were laughed off easily. You were constantly buying Eddie more time to get a head start on the drinks.

You weren’t requesting a switch for your sake.

Gale sighs over the channel, mumbling your name before saying, “It’s the middle of peak, we can’t-“

“What if me and Eddie just switch?” he finally turns to face you at your suggestion. You’re not quite looking at him with pity, but understanding. You’d been there before — overwhelmed and panicked on bar, left out to sea without anyone to throw you an anchor. And you could recognize an anxiety attack from a mile away. “The customers always like him better anyways. And he has better suggestions for drinks-“ 

You’re blatantly lying. You knew Eddie was more comfortable on DTO. You knew he could handle that, even on his bad days. He almost gives in to his urge to hug you out of sheer relief.

“I- Fine. Yeah, that’s fine.” 

Once Gale agrees, you’re instantly logging out of your partner number and sweeping your arm out dramatically for Eddie to take your place at the order screen with a small smile. He moves forward slowly, finally feeling like he can breathe as you walk up to the bar. 

You didn’t need a break from DTO. You’d thrown yourself under the bus to offer him some relief. 

Wordlessly, the two of you transition into your new positions, and it immediately becomes obvious that it was more ideal. You barrel through drinks all while wearing a smile, and although Eddie stays a bit reserved in his interactions with customers as his anxiety settles, he still shows off all his strong suits. Stalling customers with idle chat, lying about checking to see if something was in stock so you could pull extra shots, repeating back drinks multiple times to make sure you heard it correctly. 

It’s seamless. The times that corporate cares about dwindle down to better match the day’s goal, and Eddie’s chest finally loosens. 

You didn’t have to do that. Anyone else wouldn’t have done that.

When the rush has finally passed, both you and Eddie finally in the final stretch of an hour until your shifts end, he finds the nerve to bring it up.

You’re wiping down counters, humming under your breath, when he clears his throat awkwardly, “Uh, thank you. For earlier.” 

“Why are you thanking me?” you ask nonchalantly, shrugging as you stop pretending to be busy, “I really was tired of DTO-“ 

“No, you weren’t,” he stops you from defending your lie, “You… you’re amazing at DTO. Better than me by a landslide.” 

Your entire expression softens from that constant joy and constant reassurance. But the glow of your kindness doesn’t erase with the relaxing of your cheeks. If anything, it simmers and only reaches Eddie even more potently.

You relay your next words with careful consideration, “I’m really not, Eddie. It’s not a competition. I.. do enjoy DTO, but you were stressed. And Gale wasn’t about to change his floor without someone saying something.” 

“If it had been anyone else, they would have told me to suck it up,” he points out.

“But it wasn’t anyone else. It was me, and I don’t think any of us should have to spend our shifts suffering.” 

You leave off a very important detail that you aren’t quite ready for Eddie to be privy to yet — if it had been anyone else, you wouldn’t have caved so quickly. You actually probably also would have told anyone else to suck it up, albeit still in a light-hearted and encouraging tone. You would have offered extra help, you would have tried to make jokes to ease the anxiety, but you wouldn’t have just thrown yourself under the bus. 

And yet, when it comes to him, you find yourself going soft. Any affirmativeness that you use during your training, that you usually persist with having with new hires, has melted. 

You hated seeing him so stressed. 

“You know,” Eddie’s nervous to say his next words, but they’re true, “You’re probably my favorite coworker.” 

Your smile is back, radiant and comforting. Eddie’s pride swells that it was his hand that ignited that bit of flame back into you. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

You’re like a child, looking down bashfully and fiddling with the edges of your apron. He’s sure that any second now, you might start swaying side to side, that your pupils might form into absolute hearts. You visualize exactly how it feels every time he sees that yellow Jeep parked in the lot. 

You bite your lip to break from your shy spell, leaning towards him with a summer glint to your eyes, “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m starting to think you’re my favorite too, Munson.” 

A conglomeration of the past month – it feels as though it all comes to a rise in this moment, hitting an unimaginable peak, and he isn’t scared of a sudden drop. There will be no veering or falling down from these heights, no sudden lack of friendliness. He knows it surely the longer he stares into your eyes. If anything, maybe this is actually just a beginning. 

“Yeah, sure,” he snorts, unable to contain himself, “I doubt that, Sunshine.” 

The nickname slips out without much thought, but he doesn’t even have time to panic – your grin is painfully wide as you lift a brow. “Wanna bet?”

“Never took you as a gambler.”

“John rubbed off on me.” 

He twists his face, holding back any sexual innuendos, and that’s when it happens. Your mouth falls open, realizing the dirty joke he’s biting down on, and you gasp dramatically. Your hand flies out without second thought, smacking him on his shoulder. 

A smack. That’s what breaks the seal between the two of you. A joking smack on the shoulder at a crude innuendo, and suddenly the unspoken and terribly awkward boundary that should always exist between coworkers is shattered. 

“I lied,” you try to deadpan, but you can’t stop smiling at Eddie’s withheld laughter, “Oh my God, fuck you. That’s gross! You’re officially my least favorite coworker.”

“Yeah, but I bet John’s your favorite customer, right?” 

He’s able to block your second attempt at a slap this time, now close enough that he smells your perfume and sweet shampoo. Smells whatever lotion you use, that lingering and stubborn fragrant chai syrup that’s dried on your arms. You’re giggling shamelessly as you wrestle your wrist out of his grip. He swears, if you’d let him, his fingertips would stay pressed there on your pulse until the two of you conjoined in some twisted way. Like overgrown roots taking back control of abandoned buildings, you’d wrap around him and his ridiculous insinuations. He’d die a happy man. He’s already about to die a happy man as he feels your heart racing, and he almost convinces himself that you feel it too. 

God, Eddie really liked you. He doesn’t care anymore, he’s willing to admit it to himself at the very least. He fucking likes you. He’d be a fool not to. 

His fingers are still wrapped around soft skin when suddenly, Gale rounds the corner, and clears his throat. 

“I, um-” his eyes zero in on the space left behind as Eddie drops your wrist, and you’re quick to tuck it behind your back. It’s as if the two of you are children who have been caught doing something you shouldn’t have been. Eddie shoves his own burning fingertips into the pocket of his apron, “I just wanted to say you guys did good today. It’s- uh, you’re both off. So… yeah. Um, good job today.” 

Eddie gets second hand embarrassment from Gale’s stuttering, but you look like you might burst into laughter at any moment. Not teasing chuckles or cruel mockery, but the kind of laughter that occurs when two friends are in trouble, and they avoid each other’s gazes during their scolding in the fear of laughing at an inopportune moment. 

You won’t look his way. It’s exactly that. 

“Thanks,” Eddie forces out, seemingly satisfying Gale as he just nods and scurries off. 

Once you two are left alone in the corner again, you finally look at him and burst into that building laughter. 

Sunshine is fitting for you, he decides, as your laughter fills his lungs with the sun and more. 

—

“So, you don’t live near the store?” you ask, scrunching up your nose cutely as you walk side by side with Eddie across the parking lot towards your cars. Both of you had been eager to get out of the store after Gale’s fiddly dismissal. 

Eddie shakes his head, pulling the straw of his free drink from his mouth, “Nah, twenty minutes out.” 

He’d gotten a caramel frappuccino, emphasis on a blasphemous amount of drizzle, and Ash had nearly castrated him with a glare as she had bustled away on bar. You’d only snorted under your breath and asked for a water. 

“Really?” you stop dead in your tracks, in the center of the parking lot. Eddie can’t lie – it makes him nervous. If any of the usual asshole drivers that usually speed through here decided to arrive, they’d hit you. He has half the mind to reach out and grab your hand, to tug you over to the safe space between the two of your cars, “No way – I live twenty minutes away.” 

He swears his stomach falls to the pavement below, “You live in Hawkins?” 

No. It can’t be possible. He refuses to believe that you could live so close, that you would have been residing so near him this entire time and it took a miserable opening job at some out-of-the-way coffeeshop for him to meet you. You cannot be in Hawkins. Not fucking possible.

“Oh, no,” you shake your head, finally walking over to that space Eddie had deemed safe. The shade from your Jeep stretches only about half way to his van as the sun gets closer to settling into the center of the sky, “Opposite direction.”

“Damn.” 

He can’t help the disappointment; yes, his stomach had dropped at the prospect of having spent years already circling around meeting you, but it’s his heart that sinks as you reveal the actual distance between the two of you. 

At least this means you don’t know anything about his reputation in his hometown. 

“That would’ve been cool, though, right?” you stop and turn to him, kicking as a few of the pebbles on the ground, “If I just so happened to live, like, next door to you or something.”

It would have been Eddie’s innocent crush’s dream come true. To find out his sunny coworker was also his goddamn neighbor.

“Yeah,” he tries to hide his disappointment, continuing on with a shrug, “But if we’re gonna be neighbors, it’s probably better that I live next door to you.” 

You look up at him questioning, “Can I… ask why?” 

“I live in a trailer park.” 

He shouldn’t be handing this information over so easily. He’s one step away from dumping all his childhood traumas onto you. 

And he knows that the others joke that it’s normal, and that there've been many heartfelt conversations on the floor between rushes. But something about this feels more personal – it doesn’t feel like two coworkers just comparing old wounds or exchanging living situations. It feels like two friends just getting to know each other. 

He never would have admitted that to anyone else that works with the two of you. 

You don’t even react, just shrugging as he had to brush off his disappointment. There’s no pity, no disgust. No judgment. It’s just a new piece of the puzzle that is Eddie. 

“Fair enough,” you settle on replying before it looks as if you’ve had a sudden revelation. Eddie swears he sees the lightbulb go off over your head, “You know, no one else knows where I live.”

He finds that hard to believe. They all adore you too much, surely your coworkers would be fumbling over themselves to find out as much about you as they can.

“Really?”

“Really. No one’s ever asked me. And it’s… never really come up.” 

Something about holding this rare piece of information about you makes Eddie want to jump for joy. He wants to hold it close to his chest, tuck it away for safe keepings. He doesn’t really know why. 

But he’s on his way to figuring it out as he says, “I guess it’s not something coworkers really talk about, huh? Probably more friends territory.” 

A slight fib, because plenty of the other baristas have overshared that type of information. The ones that talk too much, that never seem to take a breath or leave a space for people like yourself or Eddie to really insert yourselves into the conversations.

He’d noticed that. You talk quite a bit too, but never about yourself. Always encouraging information out of other people, remembering the little details they share, but it’s never an even exchange. He used to think it was a choice you made, but he’s suddenly wondering if it’s because no one ever cared to listen. 

“I guess so,” you hum. You two should part ways. You climb into your Jeep, Eddie hop into his van. And maybe you’d sit in your respective idle vehicles for a second, even look at each other through tinted windows and make silly faces. But this should be the beginning of the end of your day together. Someone has to leave; one of you should leave. Instead, you just tilt your head curiously at Eddie, and he knows why now he wants to hold you so near and dear and safely as you ask him, “Well, in that case, do you wanna be friends?” 

And – yeah. Eddie does want to be friends. As a matter of fact, he might want to even be more than friends eventually. But for now, this offering is enough. 

He thinks you’ve rubbed off a little on him, because he must be bleeding a little bit of sunshine as he says, “Absolutely.”

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#my writing #barista!eddie #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #coffee shop blues

[transmutationisms]

what do you think abt all those tough love posts on tumblr that are like "i know youre depressed but you HAVE to stop wallowing in bed all day and go outside and eat vegetables stop making yourself miserable" etc. like i dont think they're helpful and i find them really condescending but also worry that they have a point and i feel guil;ty whenever i go a couple days without leaving the house . i often feel like i need the time in bed but is that just the depression talking idk

nah i hate those posts lmao. i think this is another phenomenon where like, people on tumblr sometimes lose sight of what the actual mainstream position is on something outside of tumblr. like they see three or four blogs that are talking about how you can't just 'cure' depression or whatever else through willpower, and that strikes them as a dangerous message because it like, doesn't emphasise the importance of Getting Back To Work or whqtever. if you look on like any medical website or talk to any professional you'll actually 100% immediately be exposed to the exact same messaging as these posters are pushing, where you need to do a bunch of individual things to make yourself Better and if that doesn't work or you can't, well, you're not trying hard enough. like truly you don't need to make that post lol everyone already hears this messaging from everywhere else. it's also irritating because it invariably presumes it's talking to an able-bodied audience, which, lmao. not that like, able-bodied depressed people need to be hearing this either lmao. anyway my opinion is that people who are suffering don't generally want to be suffering and are usually doing what they can to alleviate it. and sometimes advice is solicited and helpful, but there's a world of difference between that and just condescending to people and acting like their misery is their own fault because they didn't eat 5 different coloured vegetables for breakfast this morning or whatever. like get some historical materialism in here please

[oneatlatime]

The Crossroads of Destiny

Strap in folks it's finally finale time!

I'm getting a bad feeling from the 'previously on' segment.

*gasp* Song's bird horse!?!?!

Toph gets some serious speed with that earth tongue walking.

Ty Lee's flattery gets less and less subtle. I get the feeling that a lot of Azula's more worrying tendencies could have been curtailed if someone had stuck her on stage as a child.

Is Zuko taller?

The cuts between these scenes are getting ridiculous. Some of these scenes are maybe 15 seconds long.

Zuko knows what's up. He and Iroh have teamed up on that particular fire breathing party trick before.

"It's time I face Azula." Buddy. No.

"You're so dramatic." POT. KETTLE. BLACK.

The last time Iroh and the Aang Gang teamed up, it was also against Azula. She has a way of uniting enemies.

The longer I stare at this the more I giggle.

"Good inside him isn't enough. Why don't you come back when it's outside him too, ok?" Congratulations to Sokka for articulating one of the fundamental human truths. Intentions can go take a hike when all that's visible are actions.

I love that! Iroh says he brought someone along in a tone that very much implies that he asked for help from a friend! Then you go outside and see he kidnapped a dude! And then they just leave him there!

I see your fake meditation. No one as rotten inside as this guy actually meditates properly.

The Dai Li be like

Katara? Why are you ripping into Zuko? Why is Season one bitchy Katara back? I don't want season 1 bitchy Katara to come back.

"No offence." "None taken." Iroh loves his nephew, but Iroh knows his nephew.

The one time Iroh's advice is explicitly solicited is the one time his advice is corny crap. That sucks.

Ba Sing Se is a tel? That's neat.

Hey Toph? Now would be a great time for that new metal bending trick of yours.

Avatar inadvertently validating my fear of subway grates.

I know this is life or death serious and all, but isn't the Sokka and Ty Lee dynamic cute?

MOMO!

This episode's thesis statement boils down to "what happens when you cancel arts programs and theatre kids don't get a chance to monologue in controlled conditions."

Honest question: Is Azula actually so deluded to believe that Divine Right of Kings crap she just spouted, or is she saying what the Dai Li needs to hear to side with her? Usually I think everything out of Azula's mouth is a calculated statement for manipulating others, but the way the show framed that monologue makes me think she actually believes what she's saying.

This conversation between Katara and Zuko, aside from showing that Katara is as capable as Sokka at sticking her foot in her mouth, is actually showing Zuko's growth well. So many of the things that he waves away with an "it's ok" are things that would have made him explode back in season one. It's about time he redefined that scar of his too.

"Aang! I knew you'd come!" "Uncle! The fuck?" Zuko truly has a way with words.

Hey Iroh maybe save your heart to heart until after you've exited the prison?

Wait so this episode is named after Zuko's arc? It's Zuko's destiny this finale is dealing with? Poor Aang's not even the main character in his eponymous show's season finale? Dang.

What was I saying about waiting to chat until you're outside the prison?

So every word out of Azula's mouth here is definitely a lie. She doesn't need Zuko at all. She's got a whole army and already has possession of the throne. What does she need with someone she considers to be an inferior firebender?

Father's love? That guy who burns off faces? The audacity.

"You are free to choose." Is it really freedom of choice if choosing the answer Azula doesn't want to hear ends with Zuko in a crystal cage?

Gotta say I'm intrigued by how quiet Zuko's being for this whole episode. Compare it to the volume of his confrontation with Azula at the Spa place at the beginning of the season.

This is so awful. This is so skin crawly. This is so going to end badly.

Toph can turn doors into ping pong balls. I like that. And what does she need Sokka scouting for Dai Li agents for? She can sense people for miles.

I love the line read on the "I'm not leaving without Bosco!" But does this guy really think he's in a position to make demands, after all the stuff he's ruined in the last, what, two days?

This is a cool move. Full body air bitchslap.

Katara cut her hair! That's kind of like what she did to Pakku with the ice disks.

How has no one been knocked out yet? Everyone in this fight should have at least 5 concussions by now.

I don't know what to make of it, but when Zuko says "I have changed" he sounds more calm and confident than he has all season.

I love the dynamic between Sokka & Toph and Mai & Ty Lee. Everyone involved knows they're second string and no one's really that invested. So they're all kind of chill.

I don't know what's going on in this fight, but Zuko is far too talented and Katara and Aang are both going down too easily.

And this right here is why this fight is only going to end badly for Aang. As soon as Azula's tired of playing, she'll call in reinforcements. Aang doesn't have those.

I hate Azula so much, which means I'm very annoyed to say that she and Zuko actually make a good fighting team. Did they practice drills together or something back in the day? They way they tag out and back in, and exchange fights, flows so well.

Jesus

Crap ok

She nerfed him in the power up sequence! That's not allowed!

So help me god if the writers hook these two up after pulling this crap I will riot.

Iroh could have been helpful if he'd been there earlier. Guess it takes a while to break out of crystals. Although I do like the detail that he stops fighting as soon as Aang and Katara are out & safe.

I was wondering why the magic water was randomly brought up earlier after disappearing for the entire season. I figured it had been lost in the desert with the rest of the stuff on Appa's saddle.

I'm so sorry, but the way Aang's arrow flashes once to confirm that Katara's saved him makes him look like an external USB device confirming successful connection.

I'm loving how immediate the regret from Zuko is. Proof that he has learned over the last two seasons.

"The Earth Kingdom... has fallen." AND WHOSE FAULT IS THAT? This King rubs me the wrong way. Consistently.

I'm fascinated by the fact that they managed to securely transport a bear on Appa's back.

Final Thoughts

Poor Aang has been demoted to secondary character in his own show. This finale was all Fire Nation.

Well done Azula. No matter which way you look at it, she won. If Azula was the main character, this episode would be the crowning glory series finale.

Sokka and Toph spent the whole episode running around putting out fires, only for five more to spring up in their place. I honestly don't know how they and Appa reconnected with the rest of the Gaang to fly out at the end. There's this feeling the whole episode of being consistently one too many steps behind, and I think it's most obvious in their incessant side quests.

Poor Katara went through about seventy billion emotions this episode. I take back my anger at her bitchiness. She deserved a vent session, although I don't think Zuko quite deserved to be the recipient of it. But he took it well.

Congratulations to Zuko for falling backwards into the only right choice for all the wrong reasons. This episode was only going to end with Azula victorious. She recruited an army and successfully executed a coup without breaking a sweat - that is not a level of enemy that Aang and friends has ever faced before, and not one they can realistically win against. Like with Long Feng, this is not a threat you can hit. You can't bend at ideologies and loyalties.

Zuko was going to end this episode siding with the Fire Nation as a free man, or in Fire Nation custody. This way, someone with an actual semi-functioning conscience now has access to the upper levels of the Fire Nation. This could be really interesting.

To be clear, I fully believe that Zuko chose to side with Azula because he swallowed her offer hook, line & sinker. For the guy who invented "Azula always lies" he sure does fall for her lies a lot, especially when she's saying exactly what he wants to hear. I believe Zuko believed her about getting his honour back bla bla bla, chose to follow her because of that belief, and has already realised at least some of what she said was lies by the end of the episode. Which is promising! It looks like there's potential for a Zuko mole next season!

I'm worried for Iroh. Firelords who burn their children's faces off with no shame don't strike me as the type to shy away from executing their brothers.

The Aang fakeout death at the end was not remotely believable unfortunately, mostly because kids' cartoons don't ever pull a Psycho and kill the nominal main character half way through. It probably would have freaked me out if I'd seen this episode as a kid though.

Azula hitting Aang during his power up sequence was inspired. A very well done subversion of expectations, which finally validates my frustrations with the concept of power up sequences in general. Few things bug me more than the mooks politely waiting their turn while the good guy does a quick wardrobe change.

So... is the war over? The Earth Kingdom's fallen, the Southern Water Tribe have been functionally out of the game for a while now. There's only the Northern Water Tribe left, which are only still standing because of a Hail Mary that I very much doubt Aang can pull off twice. So is next season's focus going to be defending the Northern Water Tribe from a final Fire Nation push? I think that's the only place that isn't conquered by the Fire Nation in name at least. On the bright side, this means the Gaang won't be returning to Ba Sing Se. Good riddance. I hate that place.

I've never seen a show with a finale that focuses so intensely on the conflict of someone other than the main character. I don't really know what to make of this episode. I think I liked the one before it better. To be clear, everything that happened made sense - characters were in character, events unfolded as expected (if you handwave an elite force of earthbenders preferring a 14 year old over their seasoned leader), but something about this episode is just a bit boring to me. Maybe they telegraphed it too hard in the previous episodes? I don't know. I'll have to chew on this one a bit.

#atla #avatar: the last airbender #avatar the last airbender #the crossroads of destiny #a resounding meh

[ijuststareatstuffhereok89]

"Time & the Trickster" A Loki/Doctor Who crossover

Chapter 7: A Titanic Setback

As you begin to make your journey across the sea, the SS Stormbreaker fails to live up to it's mission as it begins to sink off the coast of Iceland. Meanwhile, The Doctor gets a visitor.

CHAPTER WARNING: thematic elements/peril

Previous Chapter · Next Chapter MASTERLIST

You were surprised to find that you slept better than you had in Boston. However, some choppy waters greeting you in the morning, and you’d slept only until 7am, as indicated by the ancient digital clock bolted to the wall beside the bed.

Loki slept beside you again, but after saving his ass in Boston, you’d given him what-for before accepting him beside you. 

“I really should make you sleep against the wall with Joey,” you snarked, pointing to the bunk beds bolted against the adjacent wall, so slim that Joey’s leg hung limply over the side as he immediately zoned out. “And he dribbles in his sleep worse than any dog I’ve met.”

He shrugged. “Would you really?” he dared, raising an eyebrow while simultaneously smiling with a mock innocence that only served to soften you. 

Ugh, damn you. 

“I guess not,” you muttered. “And, I guess I should thank you for the helpful advice. It freed us all.” 

He smirked as he crawled into the bed next to you, under the surprisingly soft sheets. “May I ask what you did to cause the distraction? Simply curious, it seemed to be quite effective.”

Your skin went cold. “I, uh…solicited some help, and to get them to go along with my idea…” you giggled, deciding that beating around the bush wasn’t worth it. “I flashed them.” 

“Flashed?” asked Loki, apparently unfamiliar with the colloquialism. 

You rolled your eyes and lifted your shirt for the briefest of moments, only to pull it back down and be greeted with a look of delight from your bedfellow. 

“Ah ha!” he replied, an odd grin spreading across his face. “Um…well done, Y/N.” 

Well done? Is…that all?

You chose to address the awkward silence by curling up and facing away from him, muttering a ‘goodnight,’ hoping he got the message. 

The next morning, you woke up sprawled like a heavy sack of groceries across Loki’s chest. His breathing was still shallow and regular when you came to, so you tried not to wake him when you rolled off, sparing yourself some embarrassment. The rough waters must’ve tossed you both about on the bed last night, especially being in the bow of what may as well have been a dinghy. 

You realized that his own hand was voluntarily on the small of your back as you began to turn. Having no idea whether to wait until he stirred to discover your compromising position, or to simply be extra-cautious as you slipped out of his grip, he began to rouse on his own. Fortunately, he’d moved his hand quickly, and you leapt off Loki before he regained full consciousness, much to your admitted regret.

I can’t, you thought sadly. I can’t let it go that far. I’m already playing with fire…

The sun was just starting to crack the eastern horizon, turning the indigo sky into a gradient of  violets and pinks. Your mind was flooded with conflicting thoughts as you emerged onto the deck, your nose instantly accosted with salty-smelling air. At least the wind had died down enough that it wasn’t chilly out on the open sea, and the waves were actually beginning to quell enough that the boat was cutting cleanly and smoothly over the surface at a decent pace.

Carrie was at the helm, looking at some technical readouts on the dashboard behind the wheel on the upper deck. Shane was catching some ZZZs below. Joey was also awake and sitting with his feet dangling off the port bow, his nasty sneakers and old socks piled behind him.

You quietly sat down beside him, removing your shoes and letting your calves swing over the side. Carrie shouted out from above. “You really shouldn’t do that! You fall over and you’re shark food!” 

Neither of you listened. 

“So…how was the conjugal bed last night? Toasty warm?” Joey said with a smirk and a wink. 

You didn’t respond, your mind still below decks and how the simple feeling of Loki’s chest against your cheek, and his arm on your back as if he needed you close to him, made you hot under your skin. 

“Sis?” Joey asked. “Earth to Y/N--”

“Joey?” you snapped back to. 

He smiled knowingly and looked out at the ever-backing horizon as the sun crawled upward and released more of its light. “Are you feeling ok?”

You sighed, willing to let it all out as long as it was just your brother listening. “No, I’m really not.”

“I knew you’d fall for him,” Joey said with a smile. “I knew you two would get close.”

“And yet you’re happy about it,” you mumbled bitterly. 

He laughed with a casual shrug. “My big sister gets to cozy-up to the guy she’s been crushing on for a decade. I’m not sure where the problem is!”

“Oh come on!” You groaned. “It’s not like we’re going to stay together! We’re literally dropping him off on the other side of the world, Joe. You said it yourself: he's got to go back, and we have to get him there." 

“But,” Joey said softly, “Did you ever think of the chance that this Doctor fellow is a fake? And there’s absolutely no way Loki could go back to his time and place? Where else would he go?”

No, you hadn’t. “I don’t think indulging in that luxury is a smart choice for me right now.”

Joey snickered. “Give yourself five minutes to daydream a little and relax. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re kind of living in weird times. Maybe it’s possible…” 

He got up and decided to leave you to mull it over while he went to make a halfhearted pass at Carrie, despite the engagement ring on her finger. 

You used to be an avid daydreamer, to the point where it could be a liability, particularly in your school days. As you reached 30, the gift of randomly-sparked story weaving began to leave you behind as making rent and surviving became a more important pastime. 

Looking off into the spreading sunrise, you began to pose the question to the hidden recesses of your mind: what if Loki couldn’t go anywhere in the end, and that he was fated to live a natural, mortal life here with you? What would it look like? Would you return to Syracuse, or attempt to find a familiar face? Would you succumb to your growing feelings, and would he reciprocate? You rarely allowed yourself indulgences. You simply did not have time for them. Therefore, permitting a fully-formed romantic fantasy took some getting used to. You had to re-learn how to remove the what-ifs, and not-possibles.  

A tableau painted itself across your mind’s eye: a rainy clearing in a wood. The smell of petrichor radiating up from the layer of damp yellow leaves on the ground flooded your nose, replacing the sting of the salty ocean spray hitting your face. A quickly-smoldering fire in an outdoor pit lent the last dregs of smoke to the natural perfume of the air. The precipitation was warm and fat, and your ears could barely make out any sound beside the repeated pitter-pattering of each drop against the metal side of the large trailer in the center of the clearing. 

You were conscious of yourself and your place in the scene, standing quietly under a tree, waiting for the right moment to dash inside without getting wet. You wore an oversized cardigan and baggy jeans. They didn’t flatter your shape at all, but they were comfortable. 

The trailer door opened, and the figure inside was backlit, so you were hardly able to make him out. As soon as he opened the door, a baby’s wail boomed into the yard from behind him, shrill and persistent.

“Thanks Norns you’re back, Y/N,” Loki’s exasperated-sounding voice sounded. “Our daughter is hungry, and I’m afraid I lack the proper equipment to oblige her.” 

Even her high-pitched squealing didn’t remove you from the peaceful feeling in your veins or the tranquil, slow beating of your steady heart. 

Loki’s hair was tied back. He wore the most unremarkable white shirt and black jeans. He was completely mortal, and yet it became him more than his rich Asgardian leather vests and gilded armor. As you walked through the falling rain toward him, your smile became so wide that it stretched your cheek muscles. 

“Y/N!” he sighed gently. “Y/N! Y/N!” He held out a hand to greet you as you stepped inside, the sudden change of light blinding you…

“Y/N! Y/N!” 

“...Y/N? Are you alright?”

Loki was standing behind you as everything blinked out of existence, and you re-established your position perched on the edge of a pathetic little boat illegally crossing the Atlantic. 

You felt your cheeks burn. “Yes,” you said quietly. “I was just meditating.” 

“I’m sorry I interrupted,” he replied. 

“Don’t be, it was just for a moment,” you dismissed, allowing Loki to help you to your feet. 

“Carrie says we can make breakfast down in the hull,” Loki informed you. “We should probably mind our health right now. I was hoping you would perhaps help me whip something up?”

You sighed deeply, letting the tension deflate you as it left your body in the exhalation. “That sounds like a delicious idea.” 

It wasn’t delicious. At all. 

When Shane and Carrie had warned the three of you that food supplies would be scarce and satisfying, they hadn’t been exaggerating. “Minding your health” as Loki had put it, would be more difficult than you’d thought. 

Not to mention, a fifty-foot yacht didn’t provide much extra space to stretch your legs. Exercise would be virtually impossible beyond the hundreds of laps you could take from bow to stern and back. 

The only food supplies in the kitchen were a small cabinet of spices, a hot plate and pathetically-small pot, a large box of dry rice, and an icebox that went out of style in the 1950s, containing five eggs, three sticks of butter, a few various candy bars, and an empty milk carton.

“How is THIS supposed to last us the five weeks to London??” Joey had nearly screamed. 

“Um, we’re surrounded by the ocean, genius,” said Shane. “Like, ninety-percent of what we eat is caught. Come help me get the nets set up, Joe. Maybe we can get a big tuna for supper?”

Meanwhile, you and Loki had made up some of the eggs, but as neither of you knew your way around the hot plate, they ended up grossly overdone and smelling nearly too foul to swallow. Even the oddly-wide variety of spices you found couldn’t save them, but it was either eating the eggs for breakfast, or the sticks of butter. 

You did have a good laugh with Loki about it later, which made it all worth it. Still, when Joey began shouting gleefully around 1pm that he’d caught something, and it ended up being  swordfish nearly as long as you were tall, you were more than grateful. That first full day at sea, you feasted on fish steaks and rice, which took a hell of a long time to fry up on the dorm-sized hot plate and skillet.

“Glad you like it,” said Carrie. “Because it’s the daily special for every meal for the next five weeks!”

The days were long, especially as the summer solstice drew near, but Shane and Carrie advised you to create a routine to see them by. Indeed, it helped to pass the long hours once you, Joey, and Loki settled into your places on the boat. 

Joey quickly took to fishing, and he’d wake up at dawn every morning (weather-pending) to catch the day’s meals with whoever wasn’t at the helm when he awoke. You usually woke up with Loki after the sun was fully risen, and you both usually took your time getting on your feet.  You usually shared the cooking duties in the morning, but Carrie preferred making dinner for everyone herself. 

Days were lazy for the most part. You and Joey learned the basics of steering and navigating the yacht so that there would be more people to cover for Shane and Carrie while they rested. Whenever you took over the wheel, Loki sat behind you, reading aloud from one of the waterlogged old volumes he’d dug up somewhere down in the hull. One was a volume from an outdated encyclopedia (for letters XYZ), another was a decaying copy of Flowers in the Attic, (you’d warned Loki to skip over that one), and the third wasn’t in English. So, he read to you from the textbook as you steered. 

You had to admit that you didn’t mind spending the afternoons listening to his buttery baritone describing the different uses for yak’s milk. 

After a sunset supper, you and anyone else who cared to would sit in a circle on the upper deck under a string of Christmas lights that had been string across the awning. You chatted well into the night, admiring the unblemished night sky from horizon to horizon. Usually when it was midnight, all of you would turn in, aside from whoever was steering through the latter half of the night.

Every night, the last thing you did was bid goodnight to Loki, then wait in the stagnant darkness to hear his breathing regulate, indicating he slept. You couldn’t help but make out his slumbering form. Six times, you’d gotten brave enough to trace his outline with your finger, so softly your fingers barely make a wrinkle in the blanket. Once, you scooted so close that your noses nearly touched by the time you drifted off. Loki seemed ignorant to these moments, but they were for your own benefit, as if making yourself a promise that this was all real, and that you would wake up to find him still beside you. 

A week went by in this pattern, then another five days. On the evening of the fourteenth day, just as you were about to hand off the wheel, Shane appeared, cursing to himself and red in the face, 

“What’s going on?” you asked as he climbed the ladder up onto the top deck. 

“I went to check our gas inventory this morning, and we’re down way more than we thought,” he grumbled. 

“Meaning?” you goaded him to go on. 

“We have to make a pit stop…in Iceland,” said Shane with heavy reluctance. “And please don't yell, Care’s already covered it.” 

You fought every urge to groan loud enough to frighten the whales. “What does that mean for us?”

“We’ll contact a private dock in Keflavik. It’s on the southwest shore and not far from Reykjavik, but far enough away to prevent unwanted attention. Probably won’t take more than a day or two to get back on track.”

A day or two? That’s not too terrible.  

“Just have to be careful of rocks as we get closer to the island,” he said. “Carrie and I can handle it.” 

Just then, you began to hear guitar music. Confused, you looked over your shoulder. Joey was playing an old instrument that looked like it was out of date when Hendrix played Woodstock. The strings, however, were perfectly tuned. 

Shane chuckled. “I hope you asked Care before you took that thing out.”

“What’s she gonna do, take back the song?” he laughed, playing louder, adding a hint of defiance to his attitude.

Loki was following Joey onto the deck. He seemed in a jovial mood. “Well, at least this realm has music,” he said, his tone upbeat despite the bitter admission that this world was dull. 

He came right over to you, hand held out. “Does this mean there is dancing as well?”

You bit your lip and quickly rejected his hand. “I don’t really dance well.”

Loki didn’t listen, taking your hands instead and quickly throwing them over his shoulders, pulling you impossibly close. You could smell his breath, it was cool and sweet. 

“You will after my lesson, Y/N,” he said quietly. 

As Joey played, you did everything you could to mirror Loki’s steps, which created an odd pattern on the floor, nothing like you’d ever seen in films or on stage. “It’s an Asgardian step,” he explained. “More about the ankle work than the foot placement. Asgardian dances are all about showing off.”

“I have to admit,” you said softly, “I never thought the Prince of Mischief was a twinkletoes.”

He laughed heartily and spun you around. “You cannot believe a royal prince would be educated in the arts?”

“I guess it is a bit difficult to picture you in finishing school, yes,” you retorted as Joey began to slow down the music. 

“I assure you, my friend, I was trained in every possible ballroom quadrille, ballet step, theatrical art, and musical instrument you could fathom,” Loki continued. “You know, you might find the step a little easier if you stopped watching your feet and looked at me instead.”

He scooped your chin and raised your face to meet his. You felt your legs become jelly, your bashfulness returning. In a moment, you came to a still position, hands still placed just-so on his shoulders. He smiled weakly. “You look a little lightheaded.”

“It’s all this spinning,” you said casually, feeling your flesh tingle as you noticed the tender way Loki was looking at you.

“Maybe we should stop, then,” he suggested with concern.

“...we have stopped.” 

Off in the distance, you could suddenly hear the sounds of splashing. Looking over in that direction, you and Loki caught sight of a small pod of blue whales breaching and playing off in the distance, against the sunset. It was the single most beautiful sight you’d ever seen. 

You weren’t positive, but you thought you felt a hand on your back, gently pulling you closer to Loki’s body. Your heart threw itself against your ribcage with all of its weight. 

“Loki?”

“Yes?”

Joey’s comment from your first morning at sea came to the head of your mind as you waited to speak until after a long, low whale call subsided. “What happens if this is all for naught? If you’re stuck here forever?”

He scoffed, clueless. “I can only hope that doesn’t occur.” 

“But would it be so terrible?” you asked, turning to look him in the eye. “You could stay here. I could teach you everything about being a mortal.” 

“But the timelines would eventually ensnare and implode, and you all would perish,” he reminded you. “I have no choice.”

“Maybe not,” you shrugged. “I guess I just…” 

Loki’s look grew to one of concern. “What is it, Y/N? Have I said something?” 

“Loki,” you paused to gather your thoughts, “What is it you’re supposed to do when you get back to the DMV?”

“TVA.”

“Right,” you dismissed, rolling your eyes, “Please answer me.” 

He took a moment to consider what to say. “I…simply must do what must be done.”

You groaned and gently pushed him away. “Are you supposed to kill yourself or something? Why won’t you tell me anything else? ”

“Because it’s not your concern--”

“--yes it is!” you blurted out. “Loki, I can’t stand you. I can’t stand you because you somehow manage to be both so intimate with me and distant at the same time! You talk about getting back to meet some glorious destiny, but sometimes when you…get this close…I think you…I…”

…I think--I hope!--you want to stay with me…

However, you couldn’t say anymore without losing control of yourself. Frustrated, you felt tears forming, and you spun on your heels to go inside instead, concealing your feelings at the last moment in order to prevent anything from getting even more complicated than it already had become. You threw yourself onto the bed, starfishing yourself out over the mattress so that Loki would take the hint later on whenever he came to bed.

Meanwhile, Loki stood on deck, dumbfounded as the others attempted to pursue you. 

Norns, she’s fallen in love with me…

You were thrown violently from your bed hours later. Knocking your head against the bedside stand on your way, it took you several seconds to reorient yourself, looking around, fumbling in the complete darkness for the light switch, which you knew had to be nearby. 

“Fucking hell!” you muttered as shouting began to ring out from above you. 

“FUCK!”

“Where’s Y/N?”

“We have to get in the lifeboat!”

“No, we’re close enough to land her!” 

“Like hell we are, moron!”

“I’m getting Y/N--”

As you stumbled to your feet (difficult to do with the violently-rocking boat), you became conscious of your wet pajama pants. Your behind and legs were soaked in cold ocean water. 

“Oh my god,” you felt your heartbeat rise into your throat. “LOKI!” you shouted. 

It was so dark below deck that it made finding the steps a treacherous task. The water continued rising until it hit your knee. “Help!”

You were able to make out the sounds of frantic feet on metal stairs. “Y/N! Follow the sound of my voice!”

“Loki!! We’re sinking!” you called out. 

“Yes, we’ve figured that part out, now you can do this!” the god encouraged you. The stress of your emotional moment from six hours before was gone, replaced by pure adrenaline as your brain  descended into survivor mode. 

You let go of the wall and followed Loki as he continued to praise your courage. “You’re being so brave,” he said tenderly. “You’re almost in my hand…”

The minute you felt his skin on yours, you gripped his hand for dear life, and the pair of you hauled yourself on deck, which was beginning to list starboard. 

Carrie was readying the small motorboat tethered to the stern with professional swiftness, while Shane was still at the wheel, trying to steer toward what appeared to be a thin, faint line of lights in the far distance. 

“Asshole! We won;t make it! She’s already tilting too far!” Carrie called. “Abandon ship!”

“How will we get it back?” asked Shane. “We can fix it if it’s just a gash!”

“It’s not far to shore, we can retrieve it,” Joey suggested, his bag slung over his shoulder as he waited by the lifeboat with an obvious sense of urgency. “C’mon!”

He saw you and Loki approaching the boat hand-in-hand, and he looked relieved. “Sis, we hit a big-ass rock! We have to get to the beach on this.” 

The ship jerked again, sending you all spiraling to the deck, tilted so far to the side you could use it to slide into the water. “All aboard! That means you, Shane!” called Carrie. “We’re out of time!” 

Loki hopped aboard first in order to help you up. That was when the yacht hit another rock, this time with more force of impact than the initial strike. 

You lost your balance and tumbled overboard instead of into the lifeboat. The drop wasn;t far, but the shock of falling had stunned you, and you felt the sensation of gently sinking downward. You couldn’t move your arms, but you did begin to kick frantically in an attempt to reach the surface. 

Instead, you hit your head on another rock, and the last thing you saw before passing out was Loki doing a butterfly stroke in your direction, his swimming silhouette growing larger against the emergency lights of the yacht. 

He grabbed your limp body just as you fell unconscious, scooping you under his arm and quickly resurfacing just as Shane and Carrie lowered the lifeboat onto the ocean. Joey was panicking, throwing a life jacket around his shoulders like a winter parka and bundling himself in it. As he got you to the boat, he easily lifted you in with his godlike strength, and Carrie quickly made a pillow out of another life preserver, laying it under your head. 

Shane asked Joey to take the rudder as he began steering toward shore. The SS Stormbreaker ceased its watery descent, stuck between several rocks. She was marooned. You all were. 

It took hours until Shane and Joey were able to manipulate the lifeboat around the minefield of boulders. Loki and Carrie tended to you as you slowly began to come around, your head roaring and your stomach lurching. Carrie used a t-shirt to clean your bloody forehead while Loki refused to let go of your hand. 

You made landfall just after midnight, on a remote, rocky beach with only a few waterfront cabins to light the area around you. You were capable of sitting up and walking with support, but your head was still throbbing. 

“Thank Norns you’re alright,” Loki said quietly, turning you around and examining your face and body for any further signs of trauma. He looked distressed, perhaps traumatized himself from the event. “Y/N, If I’d lost you--”

You stopped his thought with a thankful kiss. 

Your kiss was different from the two quick, awkward pecks you’d shared with Loki before. Your lips danced a pas de deux that sent your heart shooting into space. You laid your hands across his cheeks, keeping his face against yours as you slipped your tongue into his mouth. He didn’t argue with the somewhat sensual turn of events, choosing to accept it instead and respond by holding your body closer to him. 

Joey shuffled his feet awkwardly nearby, his back to you. “Uh…guys? C…can we get moving now? Are…are you done, Sis?”

The Doctor’s impasse was not helping him sleep. 

He wanted to be awake and alert in case the TARDIS tried to speak to him again. He set up a hammock under the console where he spent hours either reading or staring blankly up into the steel grid above him that comprised the floor. 

Truly, it didn’t make any sense that she was only allowing him to see the inside, while simultaneously taunting him with the occasional flash of green and revving noise before going silent again. He couldn’t prove to anyone in this reality of who he was without the TARDIS flashing her goodies for these human naysayers! 

At least it seemed that for the lack of resources on this Earth, there weren’t any alien conquests either. It was remarkably dull. The Doctor would have preferred being trapped in a two-second time loop for ages than to be stuck in this un-wibbly world, useless and ordinary.

For the near-millennium of his life, he’d never seen anything like it. This was not a trick that the Daleks, nor the Master or Cybermen, were capable of. No aliens, no TARDIS, no hope. 

He’d tried to seek out his doppelganger, the silly lad who played him on television. He liked that actor, but wanted to give him a few pointers. Of course, he hadn’t expected the bodyguards (and a very confused Georgia Tennant) to chase him off before he came within a hundred meters. 

The Doctor’s eyes were just starting to get heavy when the TARDIS spoke again, sending him jolting to his feet. 

But this time it was different. Instead of a strong, deep single rev from the box, it sputtered and coughed for several seconds, a gray, foggy light blinking repeatedly. Something different was happening…or perhaps…coming…

He bounded up to the console, fiddling with every level, button, and trigger he could toy with in an attempt to get an answer. He quickly looped a stethoscope over his neck, plugging his ears with them and attempting to listen to the heart of his ship.

That was when there was a knock at the door. 

The Doctor paused and went deathly still. 

The door knocked thrice more. 

“No….oh wait….yes!” he muttered, a thrilled grin spreading across his face as he nearly flew down the steps and threw the door open. 

Someone stood there, looking as lost as he was. It was a woman, diminutive in stature, but with a hard, defensive gaze hidden under a blonde haircut that seemed a little out of its time period.  She held a small pebble in her hand, and it was pulsing gray in tandem with the TARDIS’ weak sputters. 

“Oh hello!” The Doctor said merrily, not thinking about coming on too strongly. “Who are you? I’m The Doctor!” 

The woman’s face didn’t crack. She peeked over The Doctor’s shoulder, looking inside. “Is…is that a dimensional discrepancy of some sort?”

“Ah…what do you know of dimensional discrepancies?” asked The Doctor, choosing instead to grab the woman by the wrist and yank her inside the TARDIS, slamming the door quickly so as not to let this wonderful new development get away. “Who are you? What is that?” he pointed down at the gem in her hand. 

“I’m looking for someone,” she said firmly. “Can you help me?”

The Doctor looked skeptical. “Not sure I can, I’m in a bit of a bind myself. But…you’re not from this reality, are you?” He grabbed for a 17th-century spyglass standing on the console, and comically stepped back to observe her through it. “Who are you? Where are you from? How did you get here? Is there a time rift here after all? If it’s not in Cardiff, then where--”

“--I need to find a runaway,” she said, interrupting him. “He’s running from something very important, and I’m here to bring him home. I’m afraid he’s lost.” 

“Ahhh, alright then,” said The Doctor. “Perhaps we can help one another.”

He offered his hand, and the visitor shook it. She finally smiled, though it still had all of the warmth of a frozen steak. 

“The Doctor, was it?”

He nodded enthusiastically, this new development giving him boundless energy. “Yeah!”

The woman introduced herself at last. “I’m Sylvie.”

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[thewertsearch]

CEB: wait… CEB: are you saying that vriska is interested in me? CEB: like, romantically?

I think she thinks she likes you, the same way she thought she liked Tavros. In her eyes, you're a potential replacement for him, which is a dangerous position to be in.

In short: yes. But watch out!

CTG: do you like her CEB: well, like i said, i thought she was pretty cool… CEB: kinda bossy! but also pretty friendly. CTG: yeah ok CTG: but i mean CTG: anything more than that CTG: like CTG: if earth wasnt destroyed and she werent in some other universe on a planet full of unspeakable frothing dipshits CTG: and she was on earth visiting your town or something CTG: would you want to ask her to go see one of your dumbass movies

Dave is actually helping John talk through his feelings, which is sweet as all hell. His instincts around this are surprisingly good, too - it probably would help John to separate his feelings about Vriska from his current situation.

Try to divorce yourself from the session, just for a second. You're not John the Player - you're John the teenager, and a girl likes you.

What do you think about her?

CEB: i don't think i have ever actually liked a girl before in that way, so i am not really sure what i am supposed to feel or do…

Grew up in a small town in Suburbia, USA.

Raised by a single father who struggles to relate to him.

No extended family to speak of, unless you count the ecto-sister he learned about an hour ago.

Has a social circle consisting of three online besties, and never mentions any IRL friends.

Uses stilted phrases like 'not a homosexual', and is so confused by his own feelings that he can't identify a crush.

John Egbert is a very sheltered kid, is what I'm getting at. I wouldn't be surprised if Karkat and Vriska were the first people who ever had crushes on him. This is all completely new to John, and I don't think has the slightest idea how he's supposed to respond.

Dad's great, but if John asked him for relationship advice, he'd tell his son to get a decent aftershave and a well-pressed suit. He's flying blind, and things will only get more complicated from here on in.

CTG: did one of the human ladies reject you ?CG: OF COURSE NOT. CTG: how did it go did you stand in a quadrant like you were playing four square CTG: holding a bucket full of flowers or slime or whatever and jade was like no thanks bro

I mean, he might have started with John, but he seems to hate Jade quite a lot, too.

We now know this was after his confession to John. Maybe it was a rebound?

CTG: or maybe it was a guy who rejected you ?CG: FUCK OFF. CTG: haha wow bingo CTG: see how i look right now thats a poker face might want to take some notes ?CG: I SEE NOTHING BUT A COWARD BEHIND DARK EYEWEAR CLEARLY DESIGNED FOR WOMEN AND A PAIR OF IMPUDENT LIPS PURSED SO TIGHT IT'LL SOUND LIKE AIR SQUEALING OUT OF A BALLOON WHEN I PUNCH YOU IN THE GUT.

Pursed lips?

Karkat. No, Karkat, look at me. Do you have a little crush on all the human kids?

You do, don't you. Oh my god, you do. Just stay away from Rose, or Kanaya will chainsaw you in half.

?CG: AND JOHN, PURELY HYPOTHETICALLY, IF ONE OF US IN THE FUTURE DOES MAKE SOME SORT OF SOLICITATION YOU DON'T QUITE UNDERSTAND… ?CG: BECAUSE OF PERHAPS SOME CULTURAL DIFFERENCES ?CG: I MEAN NO ONE IN PARTICULAR HERE ?CG: MAYBE TRY TO UNDERSTAND THAT PERSON MIGHT NOT BE THINKING TOO CLEARLY AT THAT MOMENT

Karkat, you're killing me here. I'm dying. You don't get any Boondollars from killing a liveblogger, Karkat.

#homestuck liveblog #full liveblog #act 5.2 #s69 #2790