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falllingstyles · 4 years

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Spreading you open is the only way of knowing you

Y/N isn’t quite ready to be with Harry the way he wants, resulting in many nights of unspoken words and sweaty bodies.

2.5k words // TW: mentions of sex and minor mistreatment (can’t exactly call it abuse but it wasn’t love or an appropriate relationship)

The cacophony of noise from the city below was no match for what had echoed from the walls of Y/N’s flat for the past twenty minutes. She was sure she would be quite embarrassed to see her neighbors the next morning with the noises that were undoubtedly loud enough to be heard through the walls. She was even more embarrassed by the thought of them not even being phased anymore. But her discomfort was worthwhile as they all kept their mouths closed.

The sight of Harry Styles frequenting her front door was something they saw quite often, and the shock of a massive celebrity leaving out the same door the next morning had worn off over the past few years. Meeting the year of his second to last tour with One Direction, the two had grown close behind closed green room doors and over long phone calls. But it wasn’t until he left the band that Y/N had noticed a change between them. It was quite crazy to think of how that change let them to their position now.

Y/N laid on her bed, basking in the shadow that Harry’s body created, watching his chest rise and fall as he slowly fell back onto the sheets. Taking one last moment to right himself, he ran his hands through his hair, despite it being far too obviously unkempt to pass as simply bedhead. After seeing his hair look so many different ways over the years, his hair after her hands ran through it was easily the best looking, but she’d never admit it.

He looked down at her, finding her stare within seconds as he always did. His eyes had become such a comfort, that it was hard to picture a night without them roaming over her body like they had done for years now.

His smile, ever-present, was different. His eyebrows slightly furrowed, Y/N could tell he was thinking hard. Struggling to find the words he was searching for, Y/N simply ran her hands along his bicep, hoping it would bring him some solace.

“I’ve, uh, got to go to Bath next week to work on something I wrote a little bit ago.”

Y/N perked up. “A song! You’ve written a song!”.

He giggled a bit, “Well it is my job.” The nerves washed over him again, the song he had written wasn't something he really wanted to have to explain to her. The inspiration coming after a difficult night they had spent together while on a break from his first tour. “But, me and some guys found a great studio there and I think it’d be nice to hash it out with them.”

Y/N propped he head up now, closer to Harry’s lips than he thought he could handle. “For a second album?” She whispered, trying to hide her excitement at the possibility.

Trying his best to conceal the truth - behind both the prospect of a second album or the fact that it was entirely thanks to her - but ultimately failing, Harry nodded. Y/N didn’t even bother to cover herself up, leaping from her position under the sheets to straddle Harry, whispering about her excitement.

He lifted her off his torso and more onto his chest, with the anterior motive of not being able to handle another round of her body atop his waist, and basked in her excitement.

“That’s wonderful Harry, I'm so happy for you. How fun! A new album, more pretty suits, more touring.”

“Maybe you’ll come along for more of it this time”. He asked apprehensive, not being able to muster the courage to look into her eyes.

Y/N moved further from his body, letting out a small laugh. “Me?”

“Me?”

It was obviously not the response he was expecting to hear, such was evident in his rapidly falling smile.

“Who else?” He asked slowly.

“A real date?”, she asked.

“Yeah,” He said, his confidence from only a few moments earlier almost completely gone, “At the place Ben was telling us about.”

“That restaurant is always jam-packed with people, I don’t think-”.

“We don’t have to go to that restaurant, there’s a nice trail-”.

“A trail? Harry, I’m not quite sure I could...”

Fumbling over every word made the thoughts race through her head even faster. Not a single cohesive idea was around long enough before the fear of being seen shot it down. The cameras, the fans, the press. She could see the headlines now, ones calling her a slag and a gold digger, the posts making assumptions about her and her relationship with Harry. Comparing her to his past girlfriends, the girls with ultra-slim waists and perfect pouts.

“It’s alright we don’t have to do anything big, I just wanted to-.” He muttered whilst reaching out to caress her thigh. A nervous habit she noticed he had over the past two months since she met him.

“No, we can’t do anything.” She said louder, cutting him off again. Her breathing became heavier, and the feeling of his eyes on her was unbearable.

The ‘anything’ that he was referring to was a broad range, one in which they both were scared to breach the subject of. Admit that they had both thought of some sort of future together, in which all their worries melted away with a simple touch. A future full of late nights and hectic mornings, picking children up from school, eating a big dinner, and asking how their days went. A future that started with a date, and led to many many more.

After a long pause, filled only with the sound of their heavy breaths, he whispered; “You don’t want to go out on a date with me?

“I can’t”, Y/N choked out.

“You don’t want to be with me?” She could see the tears threatening to spill from his eyes.

“I do, I just can’t”. Just the same as she couldn’t tell him how deeply in love with him, that every beat of her heart was for him. She loved him, but what came with his heart wasn’t something she could carry.

“Nobody has to know, no one but our friends. I know you don’t like the paparazzi but-“

“What kind of relationship would that be! We just fuck in private and pretend we don’t know each other in public?”

Funnily enough, it was exactly what they ended up doing. When you researched ‘Y/N L/N’ online all that came up was her name and photo from the ‘about us’ page of the production company she worked for, just as she liked it.

If you really looked hard enough in the foreground of a few photos of Harry taken at restaurants or beaches you could spot her, but her face among their sea of friends wasn’t one worth recognizing. Despite Harry saying otherwise. He didn’t often pay attention to the people who called themselves fans of his when they picked apart the photos transpiring from invasive cameras with too bright flashes. But when some would pick up on a glance between the two of them, a grappling of hands, or a stolen smile he couldn’t help but dwell on it. He understood what simply being seen with him brought upon her, but is he too optimistic for thinking she’d ever be willing to endure it for him?

It was easy for Y/N to ignore the fact that their relationship, or whatever it was called, had become exactly what she didn’t want it to be. The moments in which she would look at him and wonder what it is they were doing would end as his lips would be on hers in an instant.

It wasn’t that they didn’t have anything else to do, they spent a very long time as nothing more than friends and they undoubtedly had fun. Being able to wander the halls of arenas, gorging on expensive foods in restaurant back rooms, and jumping off yachts. Until things became - complicated - they never doubted their friendship. There were no secrets that they hadn’t whispered to each other under the cover of a starry night. Or so they thought.

Y/N couldn’t believe what they had done, not that she could bring herself to fully regret it, but having sex with her best friend for the past three months - even after she turned him down - was something she could never have imagined. She had sat at his kitchen island many times beforehand, but never after having just been underneath him. She watched as he meticulously placed the cheese for his quesadilla at the stove in front of her. He had insisted he make them a small meal after she had mentioned hardly eating much of a dinner.

Harry had always taken very good care of her, but this was different. He always paid for meals no matter Y/Ns resistance, invited her to parties with his hot shot friends, and gave her gifts she never felt she fully deserved. But this wasn’t something she had ever really had before, this realization being so profound that she told him. He grinned, now focusing on chopping the onions. The sizzling in the pan filled the kitchen, filling the void of silence that Y/N was debating breaking.

“Ryan was never so … gentle with me”.

The sizzling continued, but Harry paused. After Ryan had broken up with Y/N she had spent the proceeding two weeks at his flat watching shitty TV and crying into his shirts.

“Ryan wouldn't have made you a meal…. after?” Harry asked, not daring to breach the subject of what they had just done.

“I mean, sometimes he would but I’m talking about … when we…” Y/N felt like a child, she couldn’t say it. Couldn’t say a stupid word. Harry’s head whipped to her, an unrecognizable expression on his face. “He didn’t like … do anything” referring to one of her worst fears “but … sometimes I wasn’t able to tell him to loosen his grip or slow down when I needed him to.”

Harry had done everything she had told him to. When she asked him to change positions, he obliged without a second thought. Telling him where to put his hands, what she liked, and how fast to go. But not only could she feel his consideration with every stroke, but something else as well. Something that they shied away from at every second except for in bed.

He didn’t expect her to laugh at his question, after having spent so many nights hyping himself up to ask it. Trying to remind himself that Y/N was his friend and that he would take a question like that seriously (because she’s always taken his other serious questions with the reaction he’s hoped for in the past). He looked into her eyes, a pair that he thought of in the moments before he fell asleep. She quickly realized the seriousness in his face and moved a bit further across the bed. Despite not being able to make it far considering the mass of pillows along the edge.

Harry wanted nothing more than to reach out to her, but it was obvious at this point, six years into their friendship and three years into whatever it was they were doing now, that there was no point. Not unless she was underneath him could he evoke the reactions he wanted from her. The careless smiles of absolute bliss were like a secret he could only be privy to at night.

“I… I’m sorry Harry, you know that I ca-“

“You can't do what!? Y/N? You can’t…”

Y/N’s suddenly felt every inch of her body that was touching Harry’s, his torso underneath her, her feet at his thighs. Every inch burned. The affection that had just been pouring out of her, both emotionally and physically to both their delights, had suddenly run dry. There was nothing but unsaid words and rumpled sheets now, the passion long gone.

Y/N could never tell if what they had been doing for months was ruining their friendship, or that their friendship ended the second that he leaned in and kissed her that night in New York all those years ago.

Y/N could never understand how someone could ever say that the magic to being in New York City could ever be lost. She had lived in her apartment for a few months now, and it was easy to say that she loved it. A space to herself, if you ignored her three roommates of course. It was only temporary of course, being needed back in London in six months, but there was no way she was going to sit idly by and let those six months slip away.

Making her extra grateful to have Harry come visit. Y/N had fixed the creases on her comforter at least nine times before she received his text telling her he was on her way up. Sprinting past her roommate's doors and into their well-decorated foyer she stood excitedly waiting for him.

The second Harry stepped in before he even got a chance to look around - there was Y/N running toward him - she had a hard blazing look in her face as she threw her arms around him. And without thinking, without planning it, without worrying about the fact that the roommates he had heard plenty about were watching, Harry bent down and kissed her. After several long moments, or it might have been half an hour (or possibly several sunlit days) they broke apart.

The grin that had been on both of their faces only moments before was still plastered on their faces but now covered with cherry red lipstick. Lipstick that Y/N rushed to wipe off Harry’s soft lips as she slowed her breathing to avoid the person attached to the footsteps that were steadily growing louder.

But with each kiss, they communicated just what they couldn’t say out of bed. The words that they could hardly even dare to think, let alone say out loud. So when it came to conversations in the space they usually used for sex, it became difficult. Leading them to one of their two usual answers. Have sex, and if they already did, have sex again, but ultimately to leave and pretend like it hardly ever happened.

So, when Harry watched Y/N slowly crawl off the side of the bed, he could hardly force words to come out. Only being able to push a final “Why can’t you? Y/N? please.”

The tension grew stronger with each article of clothing Y/N put back on. She took her time meticulously fixing the hem of her shorts to ponder his question. Why? Why couldn’t she? But, she was already two steps from the door. Leaving the room that fostered the only space Harry and Y/N would truly allow themselves to be open.

I’ve never written for Harry before so go easy on me please! I really do like this though, it was a lot of fun!

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currantlee · 3 years

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German Postillon articles about the US Election translated

@theeeveetamer sent me this post in which someone translated German Postillon headlines about the US Election. Der Postillon is a German satire website disguised as a newspaper, kind of the German equivalent to The Onion.

So, I translated one of the articles for her and it was really, really fun. So I thought I might do more and share it on my blog so hopefully more people can have a laugh!

But first of all...

Gotta keep the American Spirit on this blog everyone!

Before I continue though: Please keep in mind that the Postillon is a satire website! None of the news in this post are actually true, it’s just meant to have a good laugh. I am repeating this again: none of these are actually real! I also want to make clear that none of those were written by me, I merely translated them! Credit to all the original texts and pictures goes to the Postillon. Except for the American flag. Credit to flickr for that one.

Anyways, let’s go and hopefully have some laughs.

Experts are certain that Donald Trump is going to win the Election because 2020 has been a shitty year so far anyways

Washington D.C. – Joe Biden hopes to put an end to Trump’s presidency after four years: he is clearly ahead in the polls on this Election Day. Despite that, most experts are sure that Trump will win – because so far, 2020 has been a shitty year anyways!

“If you look at the average of the national polls, Joe Biden is currently more than 8% ahead of Trump,” politic scientist Marianne Waters from the renowned Princeton University explains. “This means that his lead is way greater than Hillary Clinton’s in 2016. Under normal circumstances, you’d say that he’s already won the Election.”

She pauses for a second. “But now, please think about what a fucked up mess of a year 2020 has been so far! And then, think again about whether or not the American people are that fucked up in their brains to elect this human catastrophic failure for four more years! We’re talking about a year in which a global pandemic is going rampant across the planet anyways, we’re seeing islamistic and nazi terror attacks at the daily and entire havens are exploding ‘completely by accident’! Is there anybody who seriously believes in a sensible result of this election?!”

At least, scientists aren’t fully ruling out the possibility of Biden winning the Election. However, because this is 2020, the chance of an asteroid hitting the earth five minutes after this has happened is nothing but small.

– Der Postillon, 3rd of November 2020 (Original title: Experten sicher, dass Trump gewinnen wird, weil 2020 eh schon ein Scheißjahr ist). Translated by Seaberry Siren

“Oh Shit!” – Putin completely forgot to manipulate the US Election

Moskow – How can one be so scatterbrained! Wladimir Putin just realized to his very own horror that he completely forgot to manipulate the US Election. Now, his candidate Donald Trump is in trouble.

“Bljad! {T/N: Russian for “crap”} I knew I forgot something really important!”, Putin says. “But due to all the inner politics, the corona virus and all the other countries our hackers need to manipulate elections in, I totally forgot about the United States! This is just great!”

He turns to his assistant. “Dima! USA! Can we turn something around there? ... No? ... Really?! And if we deliver arms to the... How are those guys called again... Proud Boys? WHAT?! They already have enough of those?!? Oh well.”

However, in the end, Putin puts up with the situation after all: “Ah, we’ll see. Maybe everything will turn out fine one way or another.” He turns to his assistant again: “Dima, make an appointment with Donald Trump jr. as soon as possible! I heard he is is just as dumb as his father and has political ambitions as well. We’ll survive Biden until 2024.”

– Der Postillon, 4th of November 2020 (Original title: “Ach Kacke!” – Putin hat völlig vergessen, US-Wahlen zu manipulieren). Translated by Seaberry Siren with help from Theeeveetamer

Employees of the Oval Office try to stop Trump from tweeting “CIVIL WAR!!!! Kill all Democrats!”

Washington D.C. – While votes are still being counted all over the USA, dramatic scenes start to unfold in the White House. Currently multiple employees are trying to prevent President Donald Trump from grabbing his smartphone in order to tweet the words “CIVIL WAR!!!! Kill all Democrats!”.

“No Mr. President!”, an assistant shouts as she holds Trump’s arm. “Don’t do this! I have a family! I don’t want a civil war! Jack, restrain him, damnit! Anna, don’t stand there and stare so stupidly, help us! Ian, put his smartphone as far away as you can!”

In the meantime, countless citizens of the USA are wondering why Trump didn’t tweet anything for more than seven hours.

“Leave me alone!”, Trump cries as he desperately tries to reach his smartphone. “They want to steal my election by letting every vote count! Even those of the Democrats! I WANT TO SEE BLOOD!!!”

Meanwhile, outside of the White House, more and more people are speculating that Trump could accept a possible loss due to his silence on Twitter.

– Der Postillon, 4th of November 2020 (Original title: Mitarbeiter versuchen Trump davon abzuhalten, "CIVIL WAR!!!! Kill all Democrats!" zu twittern). Translated by Seaberry Siren

Not that as well! Half-Blind 100-year-old man who counts all the votes by his own dies of old age

Harrisburg – Oh no! Everything is going to take even longer now! James Reed, the 100-year-old man tasked with counting all the votes of the US Election surprisingly just died.

“Maybe it wasn’t such a great idea to task one man of his age with the counting of millions of votes,” the chief of the Electoral Office stated. “Unfortunately, he was the only one with a license for this important job.”

After the closing of the polling stations, Reed, who was responsible for counting the votes since the 1970s, traveled from state to state in order to count all the votes.

“He took his job very seriously. He’d often take 20 minutes in order to count a single vote,” an election assistant recalls as tears of gried run over her cheeks. “But just after he counted 92% of the votes at Michigan, he suddenly fell from his chair.”

The doctor who was called immediately could only confirm the death of the 100-year-old man.

The worst part is that Reed didn’t get to name a successor before his passing. This is why the authorities are desperately searching for a new person able to lift sheets of paper, read printed letters, ánd count one by one at the same time. Due to the American education system, this is going to be a challenge {T/N: Germans throwing a bit of shade here when their own education system isn’t something to be proud on either}.

– Der Postillon, 4th of November 2020 (Original title: Auch das noch! Halbblinder 100-Jähriger, der allein alle US-Stimmen auszählt, an Altersschwäche gestorben). Translated by Seaberry Siren

US Election: Trump lies way out in front

Washington D.C. – A good chunk of the votes of the US Election have been counted by now and there seems to be a trend: Donald Trump clearly lies way out in front! As expected, the President of the United States is taking the lead in the traditionally Republican states. But even in the Swing States, he already sees himself as the winner, even if it’s only with very little sanity.

“Trump clearly lies way out in front,” the politics expert Dean Jefferson affirms. “As in: he stands in front of an audience and lies their heads off!”

Many didn’t expect that Trump could lie way out in front this comfortably at this point of the cote count. Other less optimistic individuals had predicted a neck-and-airhead race {T/N: in German that’s Kopf-an-Hohlkopf-Rennen, literally head-on-airhead race} from the beginning.

– Der Postillon, 5th of November 2020 (Original title: US-Wahl: Trump lügt vorne). Translated by Seaberry Siren

Damned mess of a US Election STILL isn’t over!

Washington D.C. – FOR HEAVEN’S SAKE!!! At some point, enough is enough, isn’t it? The damned mess of a US Election STILL isn’t over after three days of counting the votes because the people in some Federal States apparently can’t manage to count the ballots!

Seriously: can they even count at all? Didn’t they know that the voters like to turn their ballots in with a vote on them and that you have to count these votes in order to determine a winner?!?

An average election of the Federal Congress {T/N: they mean the German Federal Congress, also known as the Bundestag} is finished, predicted and decided one second after closing the polling stations {T/N: Yes, German elections are that boring}. An official end result is provided in the next morning at the latest! How in the world can the Americans be trundle as fuck like this?!?

Suggestion: we ignore the entire shitshow over there for the next few weeks until those idiots have punched their faces in and once the victor is clear, there is one short headline: “Winner of the US Election: [insert winner’s name here]”. Then this whole crap would... WHAT?? Biden takes the lead at Georgia by 900 votes? Wowowowow! Just a moment please, I’ll have a look at the livetracker. Did CNN already comment on this? Nate Silver already tweeted as well... This has to be it for Biden! Now it can’t take much longer!

OH MY GOD, HOW EXITING!!!

– Der Postillon, 6th of November 2020 (Original title: Verdammte Drecks-US-Wahl immer noch nicht zu Ende!). Translated by Seaberry Siren

“If I can’t have it, then nobody will!” – Trump sets the White House on fire

Washington D.C. – A victory of Joe Biden in the US election is becoming more and more likely. But the answer to the question whether the Democrat is really going to move into the White House could be decided by a completely different factor than the votes – because apparently, Donald Trump is trying to burn the White House down now.

“If I can't have it, then nobody will!”, the US President says as he spreads gasoline at strategic points while he starts laughing manically: “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”

Shortly after, the Oval Office is up in flames. “Let’s see how Sleepy Joe will rule from a burned-down ruin!”, Trump exclaims with a shrill voice as he adds more fuel to the fire. “AHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! Burn, my little fire, burn!”

Directly before publishing this article, Trump realized that this wasn’t the best idea as he cut off his own escape route with the last bits of the fuel. “Oh! So this wasn’t very clever... IVANKAAAAAAA!! The Democrats set me on fire! Rescue the best president of all time!!!”

– Der Postillon, 6th of November 2020 (Original title: “Wenn ich es nicht haben kann, soll es keiner haben! – Trump setzt Weißes Haus in Brand). Translated by Seaberry Siren

"Enough!” – The Queen reclaims the United States for the British Empire

London – She’s got enough of this nonsense! Queen Elizabeth II. announced the return of the United States to the British Empire. A new, freshly assigned gouverneur will arrive in Washington shortly and take over the government business.

“We have been watching this unworthy ham without doing anything for far too long,” the Queen declared in a fiery speech. “It is time to return the colony where it belongs: into the lap of the United Kingdom. The experiment is hereby ended.”

Shortly after, the British Navy occupied important havens at the East Coast. On friday afternoon, Baltimore, Boston, Philadelphia and Miami had already been seized.

Apparently months of the global pandemic, national economic instability and a tiring election campaign did the trick: a wide range of the US population greeted the British soldiers euphorically and vowed to be loyal to the British Crown. “Long live the Queen!”-chants echoed through the streets.

Washington D.C. is still in the hands of the rebels lead by Donald Trump. However, observers believe that the British troops will seize the capital next week. According to the Queen’s orders, Trump will be put into chains and brought to Great Britain by ship in order to spend the rest of his days in the Tower of London by water and bread.

– Der Postillon, 6th of November 2020 (Original title: “Jetzt reicht’s!” – Queen unterstellt USA wieder der Britischen Krone). Translated by Seaberry Siren

#Politics #Satire #Translation #US Election 2020 #USA #Donald Trump #Joe Biden #Wladimir Putin #Queen Elizabeth II.#German #German Humor #Humor #SeaSi translates

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growinggeek · 5 years

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Sam’s First Date

Looking up at the house, I gulp. This place is huge, not big, big doesn’t do it justice, I mean huge. While we were chatting online Steve hadn’t said that he lived in a fucking mansion. I check the address on my phone to make sure it’s the right place because a guy never wants to turn up for a first date at the wrong house right because that would just be a little embarrassing. My phone confirms that I am indeed in the right place, although a part of me doesn’t believe it, but I undo the gate and walk up the path.

Now I know what you’re thinking…you’re thinking why would I be turning up at a total strangers house for a date? Surely this is more one of those casual sex experiences, but it’s totally not. We have this great night all planned. I’m meeting him here, we’re going in to town for a meal and then we’re going bowling. I’m just meeting him here as I’m new to the area and he said finding his place would be easier than trying to meet in town. To be fair, he wasn’t lying. This place is so big I’m pretty sure Thanos could see it from Titan. You guys know who Thanos is right?

I knock on the door, and after a few seconds Steve answers. His profile picture doesn’t do him justice. In fact none of his pics do. We had been chatting online for about a month on a gay app aimed for local men. I hadn’t really expected to find anyone nice on there but was pleasantly surprised when Steve messaged me. He’s over 6 foot tall, athletically built with short cropped dark hair and a short well kept beard. He looks so cute in his white tight white t-shirt, blue jeans and grey hoodie. And his smile, oh wow.

“Hi, you must be Sam.” He says to me, his voice his deep but very seductive. I want to say Hi yes I am but I’m a bit awestruck and it comes out as “Hi, Sam am I”. He looks at me and laughs.

“You seem nervous there’s no need to be.” He gives me a hug, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me in. His body is so firm it’s clear that he works out. Unlike mine, I did try the gym once, but I swear the treadmill was trying to kill me and in the end while as much fun as a “Man killed by Treadmill” headline would have been to see, i’m not sure if I would enjoy the story being about me. Now I’m not saying I’m fat, because I’m not but I’m aware that I don’t have a rock hard abs or at least if I do they are hiding underneath a little bit of packaging.

“So I was thinking, I’ve had a bit of a long day at work and don’t really feel like heading out tonight, how would it be if we stayed in instead?” He asks me. Well that was not what I was expecting. I normally have a rule about not going into a strangers house on a first date. I have a lot of rules, I’m sure you probably think me a bit strange but they’ve kept me alive so far. “erm…” I stutter. Seeing my hesitance he jumps in with “honestly I’m not going to hurt you, I just want to spend some time with you and I love to cook.” He does seem like a nice guy and deep down I’m sure it will be okay. “Sure.” I say to him.

He takes my hand and leads me in to the house. Looking up, it’s certainly as grand inside as it is on the outside. Steve smiles again “The kitchen is through here, if you don’t mind watching me cook.” he says as he leads me through a door. “No I don’t mind at all.” I respond.

The kitchen is quite big, with a massive oven to one side, a sink under the window and a table in the centre. I instantly notice a chocolate cake in the middle of table. “I remember you saying you had a really sweet-tooth, so I thought I’d make you a chocolate cake. Hope you don’t mind?” Now here’s the thing with me, to say I have a sweet tooth is like saying the moon is made out of rock. One Easter Sunday I munched my way through 4 easter eggs before mid-day. I try very hard not to buy any sweet stuff now as would rather not put on loads of weight but when it’s right in front of me it’s hard to resist. “No I don’t mind at all.” I respond I can almost imagine i’m licking my licks and then it dawns on me that I may actually be licking them, that cake looks so damn good. “That’s great, let me cut you a slice.” Steve walks over to the cake, and cuts me the biggest slice I’ve ever seen. I mean like seriously, he might as well have just given me the whole cake, although I probably would have eaten it if he had and it probably wouldn’t be fair for him not to have any especially as he made it. “Go on then, try a bit, I want to see what you think.” He says as he places the slice in front of me. I take a bite of the cake and I swear to God it is the best thing I have tasted in forever. The chocolate hit is amazing and before I know it I’ve cleared the plate. “Wow you really do like your chocolate.” He says to me with a smile. I nod.

We chat for a bit about the random stuff people talk about when they first meet each other, music, movies etc and suddenly there’s a smell of burning getting stronger and stronger. “Shit!” Steve exclaims as he runs over to the oven. “I think I’ve burnt the dinner.” Now I’m no detective, but from the smell and the smoke that billowed out of the oven I would have to agree. “It’s okay. We can still go out to eat.” I suggest, feeling sorry that all the effort he’s gone to has come to nothing. “Nah i still don’t really feel like going out, how about I order us some pizza. You like Pizza right?” So first there’s chocolate cake, and now there’s going to be Pizza, this guy already knows me so well. “I love pizza.” I reply. “Great, I’ll go and order, give me a sec. Oh and help yourself to another slice of cake while I’m gone, dinner is going to be a bit later than first planned and I don’t want you to get hungry.” I look at the cake again and no that I shouldn’t have another slice, but it was so good the first time and I am feeling rather hungry. I cut myself off another slice and before Steve can even come back in to the room, I’ve finished it. Steve walks back in and looks at my empty plate. “Didn’t fancy another slice?” He says to me. “Oh no I did, but it was so good, I may have finished it already.” I let out a slightly embarrassed laugh. He looks at me. “I don’t believe you, nobody could finish a slice of cake that fast. But if you don’t like it it’s fine, you can just say you won’t hurt my feelings.” Now whenever anybody says something like that I instinctive think that hurting their feels is exactly what I’ve done. So I do the only thing I can do. “No honestly, I really loved it, i’ll even have another slice.” I smile and hope that I’ve reassured him. He brings the rest of the cake over and puts it in front of me. Now I didn’t really mean the rest of the cake, but he seems so pleased that I like it. But just to be safe, “Don’t you want any?” “Oh no, it’s fine, if you really like it please finish it, i prefer to bake for others rather than eating my own things anyway.” Within a couple of minutes the cake is finished and I suddenly realise I’ve finished the whole cake on my own. “Wow I can’t believe I ate the whole thing, I’m going to need to look in to reactivating my gym membership.” I say, hoping he won’t feel like I’m too much of a pig. He looks at me and simply asks “Why?” Now why, wasn’t the question I was expecting, actually I wasn’t really expecting a question at all so I ask him “Why what?” “Why would you want to re-join the gym?” he elaborates. “Well erm i’ll never have a body like yours, but if I keep eating like this and do no exercise this little belly is going to be a lot bigger.” I explain. “Would that be a bad thing?” He asks. Suddenly there’s another knock on the door. “Pizza’s Here.” Steve says as he disappears to answer the door. While he’s gone, still a little stunned by his answer I ask myself what he meant. Was he saying he liked my little belly and that he would want it to be bigger, It’s not the impression anyone else had ever given me but then again he had seen pictures of my belly while we were chatting online and always seemed quite taken by it. Eventually I tell myself that he’s just not shallow and doesn’t care about a guys size, within reason.

He walks back in carrying 4 large pizzas. Now math was never my strongest subject but even I can work out that 4 large pizzas for 2 people is a bit too much food. “I wasn’t sure what type of Pizza you want so I ordered a selection.” He says as he puts the pizza’s down on the table. Now I was right in the room when he ordered them so he could have just asked but he paid for them and I didn’t want to appear ungrateful “Thanks.” I say to him and open one of the boxes. It looks like an amazing Pizza and it’s full of different meats with a few onions here and there. I take a bite and it is amazing. This guy has good taste in food I think. “So when you asked me if my belly being bigger would be a bad thing, what did you mean?” I ask him. He smiles that amazing smile again, “Exactly that, would it really be a bad thing if you put on a little more weight. It wouldn’t be like you’ve robbed a bank or murdered someone, you just put on a bit more weight. It’s not a bad thing.” I think about that for a few seconds as I’m taking another bite of pizza “If I get to eat Pizza like this more often it certainly wouldn’t be.” I say before I even realise I’m saying it. “See there you go then.” He says agreeing with me. “So you like fat people?” I ask, a bit surprised as although he’d shown positive interest in the pics I’d sent him, I never considered myself to be fat. “I like guys that don’t get hung up on their body size and are happy to enjoy life and their food. I think from the way you finished that chocolate cake you definitely enjoy your food and if you enjoy your food and it makes you happy why should your body size matter.” I look at Steve again, for quite awhile, he eats a slice of Pizza and then out of nowhere reaches of and pats my stomach. Suddenly a jolt of electricity goes through my body as a result of his touch. I shudder ever so slightly, but he notices and places his hand on my belly again before gently rubbing it. “A growing belly can also be quite an erotic thing.” He whispers in my ear. I’d never thought about it before but right at this moment I wouldn’t doubt him. He picks up another piece of Pizza which I’m expecting him to eat but instead of taking it to his mouth, he takes it to mine. And before I know it, he’s feeding Pizza in to me, one slice after another, never removing his hand from my belly. I can feel my shirt getting tighter and tighter from all the food, my belly solid and stretching the fabric, the buttons just holding out. He removes his hand from my belly and stands up. “You want to see how erotic it can be?” He asks me as he holds out his hand for me to take. I hesitate. “You trust me don’t you?” I nod, even though I’ve only met him in person for the first time tonight, we’ve been chatting for so long online that I feel like I know him.

He leads me in to another room and sits me down on another chair before placing a pizza in front of me. he doesn’t say anything but I get the impression he wants me to pick up the pizza. I go to grab it but as I do he grab my hands and before i know it he’s tying my hands behind my back and to the chair so I can’t move them. He then gets down on his knees and ties my feet to the chair so i’m totally trapped, yet strangely I feel safe, happy almost. I comment that I was looking forward to eating that slice of Pizza and he says “I can have it in awhile.” He then grabs some cans of soda and a funnel and sticks the funnel in to my mouth. I try and resist but with my hands tied behind my back i can’t do anything. He opens a can and pours it in to the funnel. I manage to drink it and then you he adds another one. I swallow as fast as I can, taking in all the liquid. “Is this okay? You feel alright?” He asks. I probably shouldn’t do, hell I should be freaking out, but for some reason it feels amazing. I nod. He pours in one more can of soda which I drink and he says “You’re doing really well” I groan a bit, suddenly feeling very bloated from all the fizzy drink and I let out a burp and groan some more. He then places a slice of Pizza in my mouth. It tastes so good, i surprise myself by asking for some more and suddenly he’s forcing the whole cookie into my mouth. I swallow it. You give me another slice and I eat it, it tastes amazing that I moan at the taste of it. “Can I have some more?” I surprise myself by asking. He gives me another slice and then another one. I burp again, and you quickly shove some more pizza in my mouth. The pizza is nearly finished and I’m starting to feel really bloated. He rubs my belly and it feels so amazing having him touching me there admiring it. But I’m so bloated. I ask to be untied, but Steve replies “There’s still more Pizza to go yet, do you really want to be untied?” I know I should do, but I shake my head. My stomach feels so full and while it is uncomfortable, it’s also incredibly amazing. I move slightly in the chair and my shirt can’t take the strain as a button flies across the room. My belly now poking out of the hole where the button used to be. Steve rubs it again and then places his head on it listening to all the noise it makes. I can feel my hard cock getting wetter and wetter as pre-cum drips down it. Steve picks up another slice of Pizza and places it in to my mouth. I chew it as quick as I can before another slice finds its way there. I moan, feeling so full and yet so turned on. I can feel myself reaching the point of climax.

Steve gives me another slice and says “here, just eat a tiny bit more.” I shake my head but he puts the pizza in my mouth anyway, as we both know that deep down I want it. “You should see your belly.” He says to me. “It’s so solid and fat it looks amazing, if you were to get fat this is what it would look like all the time and it’s so sexy to me.” I eat the slice and surprise myself by asking for another one. Steve pats my belly and give me another slice of pizza. I attempt to eat it but it falls out of my mouth and down my top. Steve looks at me and gives me a hug. “You’ve done really well, but I think you’re done now.” He says as he unties. I feel so bloated that I can barely move and just sit there. He takes my belly in his hands and tells me to look down at it. I do, and can’t believe how big it is. I’m shocked, yet amazing. I never thought having such a big belly would be so hot and suddenly i’m wanting it to be bigger. Imagining what it would be like in a few months time if I can keep doing this. I feel myself starting to come as the waves of ecstasy take over my body. Steve rubs my belly throughout my whole orgasm and when it’s finished whispers to me. “See being fat wouldn’t be bad at all, would it?”

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news-mashable-yahoopartner-blog · 5 years

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How SparkNotes' social media accounts mastered the art of meme-ing literature

Most millennials know SparkNotes as the ultimate no-nonsense study buddy, but today’s students not only receive help with schoolwork from the website, they get high-quality entertainment, too.

SparkNotes remains a crucial tool for text comprehension — full of study guides and supplemental resources on english literature, philosophy, poetry, and more. But over the past two years it’s also become a source of some of the internet’s most quick-witted, thought-provoking, and ambitious memes.

SparkNotes' Twitter and Instagram accounts have carved a unique niche for themselves online by posting literary memes that find perfect parallels between classic works like Macbeth, The Great Gatsby, Lord of the Flies, and Frankenstein, and present-day pop culture favorites like The Office, Parks and Rec, and more.

It may come as a surprise to those who once frequented the site for the sole purpose of better understanding Shakespeare plays before a final exam or catching up on assigned chapters of The Catcher in the Rye before the bell rang, but SparkNotes is cool now, and absolutely killing the social media game.

SEE ALSO: The magic of Book Fairies

As someone who spends the majority of her workday on the internet and splits her leisure time almost exclusively between reading books and re-watching episodes of The Office, I fell in love with the account's near-perfect meme execution after mere minutes of scrolling through posts.

In a world with so many bad brand tweets and tone-deaf memes, I felt compelled to seek out the well-read meme masters behind SparkNotes' social media to learn how it is they manage to make each and every post so good.

How SparkNotes' social media became LIT ✨📚

Chelsea Aaron, a 31-year-old senior editor for SparkNotes, is a huge part of the success. She started managing the site's Instagram in September 2017, and her meme approach has helped the account grow from 5,000 to 134,000 followers.

"When I first started managing the account, I tried a bunch of different things," Aaron explained in an email. "I ran illustrations and original content from our blog, and I also borrowed memes from our Twitter ... The memes seemed to get the most likes, so I started making and posting those on a regular basis, and now I try to do four to five per week."

Image: screengrab / Instagram

Aaron discovered the account's recipe for success by not only making memes about some of SparkNotes' most popular, highly searched guides — which include Shakespeare's plays, The Great Gatsby, and Pride and Prejudice — but by mashing them together with a few modern television shows that she's personally passionate about, such as The Office, Parks and Rec, Arrested Development, and John Mulaney's comedy specials. She's also known for hilariously retelling entire works (SparkNotes style, so, abridged versions) using the account's Highlight feature.

Image: screengrab / instagram

The brilliantly sharp, comical posts seem effortless, but Aaron explained the process takes some serious concentration. Essentially, she stares at a large collection of collected screenshots "in a state of panic" until an idea strikes. "It's wildly inefficient and incredibly stressful, but I haven't figured out another way to do it," she admitted.

Luckily, Aaron always has the SparkNotes Twitter account to turn to for inspiration, which is managed by Courtney Gorter, a 26-year-old consulting writer for SparkNotes who Aaron calls "a comedic genius."

Gorter has been managing the Twitter account for about a year and a half now, and joined the SparkNotes team because she utilized its resources growing up and wanted to help "make classic literature feel accessible" to others.

"I wanted this stuff to seem slightly more fun (or, at the very least, less intimidating) to the average stressed-out student who's just trying to read fifty pages by tomorrow and also has a quiz on Friday," she said. The memes definitely help her achieve that goal.

Scrolling through the SparkNotes Instagram account, you notice it generally uses a recurring but reliably satisfying meme format. Most of the posts consist of a white block filled with introductory text and a screenshot from a television show, like so.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by SparkNotes Official (@sparknotes_) on Apr 16, 2019 at 10:25am PDT

Gorter, on the other hand, ensures the Twitter account showcases a far more widespread representation of the internet. She posts everything from out-of-context screenshots, GIFs, and videos, to altered headlines from The Onion and trending meme formats of the moment, like "in this house" memes, "nobody vs me" memes, and more. The account is full of variety and gloriously unpredictable.

Hades: Orpheus I’ll let you bring your wife back from the Underworld, but if you turn and look behind you she’ll be lost to you forever. Orpheus: pic.twitter.com/FWD9P2nO0m

— SparkNotes (@SparkNotes) April 16, 2019

Normal heart rate: /\⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ /\ _ / \ __/\__ / \ _ \/⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ \/ The old man you just killed, whose heart lies hidden beneath the floorboards yet continues to beat: ⠀/\⠀ /\⠀ /\ _/ \ /\_/ \ /\_/ \ /\_ ⠀ \/⠀⠀ \/⠀⠀ \/

— SparkNotes (@SparkNotes) April 12, 2019

Gorter, who describes herself as "constantly on the internet" feels a lot of her ideas are the result of "cultural osmosis ... our collective tendency to consume references and jokes without realizing it just by being on the internet a lot."

"Sometimes I’ll be reading a book, and I’ll remember a joke I saw earlier that fits. Sometimes a new meme format will crop up over the weekend, and I’ll think, 'That could work for Macbeth,'" she said.

Though the two accounts are clearly distinct from one another, they both give off the same hip English teacher energy and running them has become a truly collaborative effort. "I constantly send her [Gorter] emails asking stuff like, 'Can I still say 'big mood' or is that over?' and 'What's the deal with this whole 'wired vs tired' thing?'" Aaron said.

Together, the two women spend their days discussing iconic works of literature, making pop culture references, and keeping up with the latest memes. (A dream job.) Their separate styles fuse together to make each other's posts the best they can be.

The meme approach works wonders

One might not initially think that Boo Radley and John Mulaney have much in common, or that Michael Scott could effortlessly embody Romeo, Julius Caesar, and Holden Caulfield if you simply alter your perspective. I certainly did not.

But Aaron and Gorter's work will convince you. Once you start merging the worlds of classic literature and modern television series, you won't want to stop.

The SparkNotes instagram is my favorite thing pic.twitter.com/FCc6sXjJly

— Jessie Martin (@jessie_martin97) March 29, 2019

Fun fact, the official Sparknotes Instagram account is probably the best one: pic.twitter.com/sIR6tsw7ZP

— Tommy (@tommy_jacobs92) February 28, 2019

When describing why the posts work so well, Aaron explained that Hamlet, Mr. Darcy, and Gatsby — three of her favorite characters to meme — have super relatable personalities, which makes the process so simple.

"They're dramatic, and awkward, and obsessive, which makes them identical to about 97% of the people on The Office," she said. "I've learned that you can use Michael Scott as a stand-in for pretty much any classic lit character, and it isn't even hard. (That's what she said)."

What wow the @SparkNotes Twitter is extremely good???? It all appears to be this good!!! https://t.co/PyEqTdQ3Ly

— Rachel Kelly 🥛 (@wholemilk) May 2, 2019

Why is @SparkNotes's Twitter so good it has no right to be this good https://t.co/eFBQpLMpe3

— Kelsey [Version 2019.05] (@flusteredkels) May 2, 2019

Gorter thinks the accounts are so appealing because they create a deep sense of community — an online space that isn't so isolating, rather a place where where bibliophiles, television enthusiasts, and meme lovers can all come together and geek the hell out. There's really something for everyone.

"When Steve Rogers said, 'I understood that reference,' I felt that deeply. I think people enjoy being in on a joke, especially when the source material (classic literature, for instance) isn’t particularly hilarious," Gorter said. "There’s a delicious juxtaposition there. I know that I personally get a secret little thrill when I understand something as contextually layered as a really niche meme, and a slight sense of frustration when I don’t."

Engaging followers and changing with the times

SparkNotes as a whole has come a long way since it was launched as TheSpark.com by a group of Harvard students in 1999.

What started out as a budding web-based dating service quickly transformed into a trusted library of online study materials, and over the years, as the publishing industry, technology, and the internet evolved, so did SparkNotes.

Like the social media accounts, SparkNotes' SparkLife blog — full of quizzes, artwork, rankings, advice, and trendy posts like "How To Break Up With Someone, According To Shakespeare" and "Snapchats From Every Literary Movement" — perfectly encapsulates the site's commitment to catering to its audience.

Whoever runs the Sparknotes twitter and Instagram pages deserves a raise

— louise🌻 (@_Fallxn_) February 21, 2019

SparkNotes does a remarkable job of shifting with the times to stay relevant and interesting in the eyes of its readers — and the quest to balance fun and education really seems to be paying off. Recently, the Instagram account tested out a post that called upon students and teachers to request custom-made memes by reaching out via email with the title of a book or subject they want meme'd, along with a message for the intended recipient.

"The response was amazing!" Aaron said. "We got almost 250 emails, and it's so great to see the genuine affection and admiration that teachers have for their students, and vice versa."

Thanks to the social media accounts, SparkNotes is not only helping students learn, but helping entire classrooms bond with their teachers. (And hopefully teaching educators who follow a thing or two about good memes.)

Print isn't dead, it's just getting some help from the internet

Aaron and Gorter are having a blast running the accounts, but ultimately, they hope their lighthearted posts will inspire people to pick up a book and read.

"I hope what our followers take away from this is that classic literature doesn’t have to be totally dry," Gorter said. "If our memes encourage our followers to engage with classic literature and be excited about reading, that's so rewarding," Aaron added.

The present-day approach to selling classic literature is undeniably unconventional, and the crossovers are absurdly ambitious, but they work so damn well. What's great about the memes is they're created in a way that doesn't diminish the literature plots, because in reality, one would have to have such a comprehensive understanding of the text to make such good jokes.

The memes are actually pretty high-brow when you think about it, sure to delight intellectuals with great taste in pop culture. I have no idea how the legendary writers would feel about their greatest works getting the meme treatment, but people online are definitely loving it.

It's refreshing to see a brand account succeed at such a genuinely funny level, but perhaps even nicer to see it thriving off of wholesome content that doesn't drag other accounts or get its laughs at the expense of tearing others down, as we've seen accounts do in the past.

SparkNotes social media accounts are genuinely just nice corners of the internet dedicated to making people laugh and hopefully igniting a love of literature.

WATCH: Steve Carell to reunite with 'The Office' creator for Netflix's 'Space Force'

#_uuid:9b22ebd8-ea58-31ce-9978-8521a7e4e858 #_category:yct:001000002 #_author:Nicole Gallucci #_lmsid:a0Vd000000DTrEpEAL #_revsp:news.mashable

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rdclsuperfoods · 3 years

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Probiotic supplements aren’t just trendy, they’re ubiquitous. You can find bottles of probiotic pills, powders, and liquids for sale at any supermarket, each promoted as a cure for various ills: digestive issues, fatigue, weak immunity, brain fog, and more. While the evidence on these benefits is lacking, the marketing messages are working; the global probiotic market was worth about $49.4 billion in 2018, and forecasting experts estimate it will grow to $69.3 billion by 2023. Prebiotics, the fibers that feed probiotics, have been riding the coattails of this popularity for some time. Now postbiotics—the microbes produced when probiotics eat prebiotics—have hit the scene. They’re being sold as supplements and are starting to make the rounds on nutrition-focused corners of the internet.

The hype around all of these microbes makes sense. Yes, prebiotics, probiotics, and postbiotics can enhance health by positively influencing the microbiome, a term that refers to the multitudes of microorganisms that live within you, explains Carolina Guizar, a New York–based dietitian and owner of the nutrition-coaching platform Eathority. But as with probiotics and prebiotics, the postbiotic market is several steps ahead of the actual science.

While the microbiome has been a hot topic among nutrition experts (and amateur enthusiasts) for about a decade, microbiome research is still in the very early stages. A 2018 review of the literature published in the European Journal of Nutrition starts its conclusion with: “The role of the human gut microbiota in health and disease is beginning to be understood.” The authors tell us what we know, which is that the gut microbiome plays a role in mood regulation, cognition, immune function, and digestive health. But they also explain that the details are still unclear: we aren’t exactly sure what the benefits are, how the various microbes deliver them, and whether or not supplements offer any measurable benefits. Here’s what experts have to say about the state of the evidence.

It’s All Connected

We can’t talk about postbiotics without first talking about prebiotics and probiotics, because none of them stand alone. Probiotics are beneficial bacteria that live naturally in your microbiome. Your microbiome exists all over your body, but here we’re talking primarily about your gut.

Probiotics are powerful. A 2019 review in Future Science OA found significant evidence for the digestive benefits of probiotics and promising evidence for their potential impact on mood and mental health. But it’s not as simple as just taking one supplement and expecting something to happen, explains George Weinstock, a University of Connecticut professor and the director of microbial genomics at the Jackson Laboratory, a global nonprofit biomedical research institute. “Probiotics” is an umbrella term for a variety of different bacteria. Roughly 5,000 strains from 1,000 species have been found in the human gut microbiome, although not everyone has all of them. Each strain acts slightly differently and has different potential health benefits.

Probiotics can’t do their thing without the help of prebiotics, a type of fermentable fiber found in plant foods that feed probiotics and keep them alive. Tamara Duker Freuman, a New York–based dietitian and author of The Bloated Belly Whisperer, explains that when probiotics feed on prebiotics, they produce postbiotics, health-promoting by-products called microbial short-chain fatty acids. As with probiotics, “postbiotics” is an umbrella term that encompasses several different microbes, all with different characteristics and potential health benefits.

Skip the Supplements

“Microbiome research really only hit the headlines a little over ten years ago,” Weinstock says. Since then the market has exploded with supplements meant to improve the microbiome, and the public is increasingly interested in how food might affect it as well.

We know that a diet high in plant-based foods is key for the body’s production of prebiotics. “The main sources of prebiotics in the typical American diet are whole-wheat bread, onions, and garlic—but so many other foods contain them,” Freuman says. Many fruits and vegetables contain prebiotics, including apples, pears, mushrooms, artichokes, cauliflower, and jicama. Beans, lentils, barley, and rye also have significant amounts of prebiotic fiber. We need to consume prebiotic fibers regularly to reap their benefits—our bodies don’t naturally house them and can’t produce them. Since they’re so prevalent in common foods, supplements aren’t really necessary.

Probiotics are also present in our foods, primarily in fermented ones like yogurt, kimchi, sauerkraut, and cheese, and in supplements. But what many people don’t realize is that, generally speaking, probiotics from your diet don’t have a huge impact on your gut microbiome. There are somewhere around 100 trillion bacteria in your gut. “When you take a probiotic supplement or eat a food that contains probiotics, you’re introducing them to a habitat [your gut] that’s already densely populated with microorganisms,” Weinstock explains. A supplement may boast “one billion live probiotics,” but that’s just 0.001 percent of the bacteria already in your gut. Those one billion probiotics have to fight hard to colonize your already-packed microbiome and might end up just passing through your stool.

Weinstock also notes that although labels make it seem like probiotic supplements contain a huge variety and number of beneficial bacteria, this isn’t the case. Practically all probiotic supplements contain bacteria from just two genera: Lactobacillus and Bifidobacterium. The Food and Drug Administration deems them safe because they’re found in common foods that we’ve been eating for centuries, like cheese. So you’re not really getting any additional benefit from these supplements, because they only contain probiotic strains that are already in your diet.

Countless other potentially beneficial strains and species are being examined. This 2020 review in the International Journal of Microbiology summarizes recent studies looking into various probiotics for potential benefits ranging from diabetes prevention to HIV treatment. Remember, up to 5,000 strains have already been found in the human gut microbiome—but their effect on the body is not yet understood, so they’re not yet approved for sale or consumption. Even when other strains start being approved, you’ll only benefit from supplementation if you’re taking a strain that isn’t already present in large quantities in your gut.

“I don’t typically recommend probiotic supplements,” Freuman says. “There is such limited evidence that they do much of anything to change the microbiome in a meaningful way or contribute to enhanced gut health for most people.”

The evidence for postbiotic supplements is even more limited. “We don’t have enough information on the safety or efficacy of postbiotic supplements at this time,” Guizar says.

Freuman explains that a prebiotic-rich diet likely supports the existing probiotics in your gut, helping them to thrive. “If you are truly interested in diversifying your gut microbiome and increasing the abundance of health-promoting species, the research strongly supports that high-fiber diets that contain very diverse types of plant-based foods are a much more effective approach,” she says.

DIY, Don’t Buy

The short of it is that there’s really no need to think about postbiotics at all. “There is very little research as to whether taking postbiotics in supplement form does anything to enhance human health,” Freuman says.

That’s not to say that postbiotics aren’t beneficial. We know that these postbiotic microbes are health promoting. But why buy them in supplement form when your body is making them constantly? Part of the benefit of postbiotics likely comes from the prebiotic-postbiotic interaction—the breaking down of ingested prebiotics by health-promoting probiotics, which in itself can help you digest fiber more comfortably. You won’t reap this benefit from a postbiotic supplement. Weinstock adds that many postbiotic microbes are volatile and difficult to preserve on the supplement shelf.

“A much surer way to secure the health benefits of these postbiotics is to simply eat a healthy, diverse, fiber-rich diet,” Freuman says.

Sit Tight

If you’re excited about microbiome research and the potential uses and benefits of prebiotics, probiotics, and postbiotics, great. So are the researchers and clinicians who study them. But spending lots of time and money on supplements right now is jumping the gun.

“There’s this huge amount of work that has to go into studying our tissues, metabolites, microbes, all of that, to try and correlate them with all different types of diseases,” Weinstock says. Much of what’s being studied, like the effect of the microbiome on neurodegenerative diseases like Parkinson’s and Alzheimer’s, will take years to figure out, because these conditions manifest very slowly over time and have to do with things happening inside the body at extremely low levels. Weinstock is hopeful and excited about all of this. “We already have all of these microbes inside of us. We just need to figure out how to access them, how to use them,” he says. But it will take time before we can come to any real, actionable conclusions.

Ultimately, the vague potential of various microbes might be what drives such fanatical interest in them. “People want to feel like they have influence over their health,” Guizar says. No matter that probiotic and postbiotic supplements haven’t been shown to offer any substantial benefit for healthy people, or that the best way to get prebiotics is to eat the same nutritious diet that’s been recommended for decades. There’s so much we don’t know about these microbes. And for many, it’s hard to resist the idea that maybe, just maybe, a certain pill or specific supplement might have benefits beyond what the science currently understands.

via Outside Magazine: Nutrition

#IFTTT #Outside Magazine: Nutrition

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stokan · 3 years

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Meditations in an Emergency

(Ten years I had a cancer scare that triggered a mental health crisis for me. I wrote something about it but never felt like posting in anywhere. As I was getting my 2nd vaccine dose today I remembered what I had written all those years ago and it felt very relevant again, so I’m at long last putting it out there. Maybe you’ll find 2010 Andy relevant too.)

I beat death this week. I looked it in its face, right in the eyes, and told it to go fuck itself. And by “told it to go fuck itself” I mean “sat in my room crippled by fear, crying like a small child”. But in the end I won. Because that’s what winners do. But mostly because, as it turns out, death never cared about me in the first place.

Allow me to explain: Since November I’ve had a dull persistent ache in my side. Since it’s now July and the ache hasn’t gone away I thought it was time to perhaps see a doctor. Long story short I had/have an enlarged spleen and a low white blood cell count bordering on critical. If you google that particular combination of symptoms the possible causes that come back are, well, not good. (Lesson #1: Don’t ever google your medical symptoms). When you combine the things you find on google with a doctor at the Los Angeles Cancer Network ordering a bunch of tests in a serious tone of voice and having a long conversation with you about lymphoma your reaction would probably not be good. Or maybe it would be. But that’s the thing, you don’t really know until you’re faced with the situation. I would’ve thought that I would have handled the situation better than I did. Which is somewhat interesting considering that those close to me would likely describe me charitably as “very neurotic”. But the tough Texan in me always assumed that when faced with adversity I would rise mentally to the challenge. But in this case unfortunately my suspicions that I would have mentally lasted about 10 minutes in an actual crisis were irrevocably confirmed for me. “Needs to work on: mental tenacity, positive thinking” is a note now in ink on my evaluation. But maybe it’s on all of ours. Who truly knows what each other’s lives are. What another person is made of deep inside. All we really know about life is that it’s such a personal and individual experience that it’s ultimately unknowable, and it certainly can’t be fully shared.

You often hear about people divorcing after 30 years claiming they realize, in the end, that they never even knew who each other were. And you hear that and it seems absurd, but also, upon further reflection, a fair summation of the human experience. During the last week or so as I battled (read: ran in terror from) my deepest demons and fears, I was often out in public interacting with people, going through the motions of being a normal human being. And for those not in on the secret I’m sure they bought it. Externally, everything for the most part seemed fine I’m sure. Inside, it was like being underwater – sounds and colors and experiences were all murky and muted. I had a sense of disconnection from the earth. And the longer I stayed there the more I worried I might drown. Anyone who has ever experienced great tragedy or loss I’m sure knows the feeling. And anyone who knows that feeling knows that sad reality of just how isolating life truly is. Life is public, but yet the true experience of it is tragically and inexorably private, and I realized this week just how much time humanity spends hiding in plain sight. The demon is often just on the other side of the door.

And for me, in my life, there’s no bigger demon in my life than the fear of death. Its specter hangs over everything. Not necessarily actively, but always lurking in the background. Because in many ways it’s the only truly justifiable fear. Because it is one of the only things that we’re all guaranteed to experience. Birth and death – the two most primal and essential aspects of life there are. And there’s only one of the two we have yet to personally experience. And only one that we truly will, no matter how indestructible we all may often feel. We hear about tragedies, about deaths, about loss every day, and always think on some level that those things happen to other people. That they wont happen to us. But logistically speaking there’s absolutely no reason why they won’t. We have just about the same odds as anyone else of dying in a car crash. Of contracting cancer. Of being stabbed by person on the street. These things happen to people. Every day they do. Right now today is just a day, but at a moment’s notice, without warning it could suddenly become THE day. That’s the thing about being human – all options at all times are always in play. And what could be scarier than that?

Which is why we don’t spend time really truly deeply thinking about it. I’ve always thumbed my nose at the whole concept of “entertainment”. “Whats the point”, I used to think, “of distracting us from the very serious business of living?” (I’m fun at parties) I loved my entertainment as much if not more than the next person, but I always liked it the closer it came to “art” and the further away it veered from “diversion”. But I get it now. Life is too overwhelming to spend too much time in. We need frequent breaks from it. And sure if my thoughts before were obvious, now they’re just cliché, but this week there was almost no thought more important, no need more pressing. Distraction wasn’t a way out of life, it was the whole point of it. I found that I truly realized how pointless it was to care about who won or lost the game. I watched a movie with Oscar buzz and realized that I couldn’t care less about the very concept of awards shows (heresay I know). But I also realized that there was nothing I wanted more than TO care. To paraphrase the famous Onion headline, I yearned to care about meaningless bullshit again. Maybe distracting ourselves from our lives has become our lives, but like some Mobius strip there’s no way to determine where one ends and the other begins. Maybe the chicken and the egg both came together. Maybe the little things and the big things are one and the same. All I know is when faced with my mortality I didn’t regret not creating great works of art. I didn’t want to fight for life so that I could write the great American novel. I wanted more than anything to sit with my friends eating ice cream. My deepest wish was just to be normal. Just to care about who won the game. Just to experience random meaningless moments without being burdened with such a deep insight into the tragedy of life and the nature of existence. I saw a dog happily lapping up water from a puddle and I thought “that dog may sleep 20 hours a day and sniff its own shit, but at least it doesn’t spend weeks of its life contemplating its mortality.” “Fuck you dog” I thought “you have no idea how good you have it.” None of us do. But maybe now I do little bit more?

Oh, and as I mentioned up top, it turns out that I’m fine by the way. It was much ado about nothing. But also about everything. No one knows why I had the symptoms I had, but then do we ever? In the end though, ultimately, death was never even remotely looking in my direction. Apparently it doesn’t give a shit about me.

And I think it might finally be time to return the favor.

#cancer #covid #theend

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welllpthisishappening · 6 years

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Tripping Over the Blue Line (35/45)

It’s a transition. That’s what Emma’s calling it. She’s transitioning from one team to another, from one coast to another and she’s definitely not worried. Nope. She’s fine. Really. She’s promised Mary Margaret ten times already. So she got fired. Whatever. She’s fine, ready to settle into life with the New York Rangers. She’s got a job to do. And she doesn’t care about Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers. At all.

He’s done. One more season and he’s a free agent and he’s out. It’s win or nothing for Killian. He’s going to win a Stanley Cup and then he’s going to stop being the face of the franchise and he’s going to go play for some other garbage team where his name won’t be used as puns in New York Post headlines. That’s the plan. And Emma Swan, director of New York Rangers community relations isn’t going to change that. At all.

They are both horrible liars.

Rating: Mature Content Warnings: Swearing, eventual hockey-type violence AN: Happy playoffs! Happy flirting in the hallway post-game! Happy it’s kind of obvious how much Laura hates the Pittsburgh Penguins! I am still just constantly stunned by you guys and how fantastic you are, but just know that I appreciate it a ridiculous amount. This story would be nothing without @laurnorder, @distant-rose & @beautiful-swan. Also hanging out on Ao3, FF.net & tag’ed up on Tumblr.

“Is there a reason you’re lurking in the corner?”

Killian’s head snapped up, smiling out of instinct as soon as he heard the question and the tone of her voice and Emma was staring at him incredulously, arms crossed over the front of yet another team-branded t-shirt.

“You’ve started quite a collection of my jerseys, Swan,” he pointed out, nodding towards the ‘C’ on her shoulder.

“This is a t-shirt.” “Semantics.”

Emma rolled her eyes and dropped onto the edge of the stool next to him, kicking her feet out slightly. “Come on, seriously. What’s the matter?” “Nothing’s the matter,” he said and it wasn’t a complete lie.

It wasn’t.

It was, just, as they say, all happening. And he was somewhere in the vicinity of excited and nervous and anxious and something that felt a bit like terrified – which was all kind of weird because Killian couldn’t remember the last time he’d been terrified of anything that had to do with hockey.

There’d never been quite so much riding on hockey either.

Emma’s lips twisted slightly and he could nearly hear the thought appearing in the back of her head, the flash of understanding in her eyes making him fall in love with her just a little bit more. Maybe terrified wasn’t the right word.

Maybe determined was better.

“Did you send out season-ticket blasts?” Killian asked, already certain of the answer. He was certain she’d sent out the e-mails and the announcements and the Facebook video celebrating the Rangers’ clinched Wild Card spot as soon as the buzzer went off.

“Are you kidding me?” Emma countered. She kicked at his leg again and he groaned dramatically when the toe of her heel connected with his ankle.

“Jeez, careful, Swan.” “Come on, you’re honestly asking me about work? We’re supposed to be celebrating. Easy playoff path and all that stuff.” “Who’s saying easy?” “Every newspaper in the greater New York City area and Yahoo Sports.” “You’re reading Yahoo Sports?” “Aren’t you?” Killian shrugged and Emma scoffed, tracing her finger across the bar. Of course he was. He didn’t normally – ever since Liam had gotten hurt, he’d avoided media reports like some sort of athletic-themed plague – but in the last few weeks, since they’d been just on the cusp of clinching, he’d found himself actually searching out stories and links and playoff projections. It was like he was actually trying to torture himself.

There was no easy path.

This was the playoffs and the Cup and everything from here on out was a very distinct type of challenge, but he was that mix of emotions and determination and he kept reading everything he could get his hands on.

The coffee table in his apartment was like a shrine to the National Hockey League at this point, a mess of sports sections and copies of Sports Illustrated he’d forced Ruby to get for him.

“You know,” Emma said pointedly, nodding in Eric’s direction when he left a plate of onion rings in front of her. “You left your Daily News sports section sitting next to the bed this morning.” Her bed. In her apartment. Several blocks away from his.

Not that it was a problem – it wasn’t. Really.

He wasn’t a complete ass. Killian really did understand why she’d gotten her own apartment and he hadn’t really been considering some sort of joint living arrangement until Emma had explained that there wouldn’t be one and Mary Margaret’s mom-disappointment probably extended to him as well.

The last month had been a back-and-forth schedule of nights in his apartment and her apartment and wrapping up the regular season and it was no wonder he’d left the sports section of a New York daily next to her bed because he could hardly remember where he had to be later that night, let alone putting a few sheets of newspaper back in his bag.

“If you were trying to make sure I didn’t find that story about what happens if you don’t win a Cup, you weren’t doing a very good job,” Emma continued, whispering the last few words so as not to draw the ire of an entire hockey team.

That got him to smile again.

“It was more just forgetting I’d left it there than any sort of overly dramatic attempt to get you to notice me,” Killian laughed.

His thumb traced over the bend of her knee and it wasn’t lost on him that they were back where they’d started – tucked into the corner of the restaurant with a very loud, very excited, team a few feet away and he didn’t care about any of them.

He kept staring at her.

It was the same spot as the set-up, but it couldn’t have been more different and he would have trekked back and forth between her apartment and his for the rest of the foreseeable future to ensure that Emma Swan kept looking at him like he was the best goddamn player in the league.

“That kind of seems like a problem,” Emma said. “Can’t score goals if you’re all distracted like that.” “Not distracted. Focused.” “On forgetting newspapers or what the newspapers are saying?” Killian’s thumb stopped moving and he gripped her knee a bit tighter. “I totally read the story,” Emma continued, tilting her head to the side as she ripped an onion ring apart.

He’d lost track of the number of times he’d read the story or the number of times Regina had told him about the story and, eventually, someone was going to just let him play hockey, right? He hoped so.

That might make this easier.

Emma leaned forward, balancing precariously on the edge of the stool and Killian’s hand moved to her waist out of instinct. “Jeez, Jones, relax,” she mumbled.

“I’m just making sure Eric doesn’t have to deal with cleaning up after you when you kill yourself from falling off this stool.”

She groaned, but she didn’t actually move his hand and the smile was still tugging on the edge of her lips when she sat up straight. The story was in her hand. “I think I’ve read it like a dozen times today,” Emma mumbled. “You’d look good on TV.” “Yeah, that’s what Regina keeps saying.” “Doesn’t surprise me at all.” It didn’t surprise him either – Regina’s promises that this was something to consider and, well, he’d already told the Av’s no and there was no guarantee any other team would sign him if the Rangers didn’t and they might have a playoff spot, but Wild Card wasn’t easy and...the list went on and on.

He could probably recite it verbatim at this point.

“The story seems to think you’d make several zeroes worth of money for your very attractive face,” Emma said and he didn’t think he imagined the way she leaned toward him, knee brushing against his and hand landing on the top of his pants.

Killian quirked one eyebrow and a slightly embarrassed Emma – the one who blushed just a bit when she’d been caught calling her boyfriend attractive – was something he was far more interested in than he realized.

“You telling me you think the TV people only want me for my face, Swan?” Killian asked, propping his elbow up on the bar and resting his chin on his hand.

She rolled her eyes. “I said no such thing.” “You did. You just said the story claimed I’d get several zeroes for my very attractive face.” “Slip of the tongue.” He widened his eyes and he was certain Emma’s face was nearly as red as the highlights in Ruby’s hair. “Oh my God,” she sighed. “Shut up.” “Your words, not mine.” She was quiet for a moment, lips pressed together tightly and Killian knew she was thinking exactly what he was – it was a good offer, it was a lot of zeroes, it kept him in New York no matter what happened this season.

His attractive face would, probably, look pretty damn good on TV.

“You don’t know that someone else wouldn’t offer after the run,” Emma whispered. “And this is the only time I’ve seen this story.” “It’s definitely true,” Killian said. “Gina thinks it’s some kind of fantastic back-up plan.” “Isn’t it?” He shrugged. It was. It made as much sense as Emma getting her own apartment.

Be prepared. Or something.

He didn’t want that. He wanted to win a fucking Stanley Cup. He wanted this to work. He wanted Emma to move into his apartment more than he’d been willing to admit to himself in the last month.

Emma narrowed her eyes and he’d never actually answered her question. He didn’t really get the chance – attacked, as per usual, by a seven-year-old whirlwind, decked out in head-to-toe blue and one of the fansite shirts that claimed the Rangers weren’t interested in easy victories.

“Hook,” Roland shouted, arms already thrust into the air so he could get pulled up onto the edge of the bar. “Oh, are those onion rings?” Emma laughed softly and for half a moment Killian forgot about the story and the playoff run and anything that wasn’t that sound and the look on her face when she tugged Roland towards her. “Come on, Rol,” she huffed and at least the kid tried to help her, pushing up on the balls of his feet before climbing up onto the bar himself. Eric only looked vaguely scandalized.

“Thanks,” Roland mumbled, mouth half stuffed with onion rings already.

“Slow down,” Killian said, tugging Roland’s hand away from the plate. He’d already eaten half the onion rings. “You’re going to choke and then Gina will kill me.” Roland shook his head and for a recently-turned-seven-year-old, he was deceptively strong, yanking his arm out of Killian’s grip. “Nah, she’s busy.” “Is she on the phone again?”

If Regina was talking to people without telling him again, Killian was going to break something. Or maybe throw something. Or maybe get two minutes on purpose in the season finale the next night. Probably not the last one.

Arthur would make him skate sprints if he did that.

“Not about TV,” Roland said seriously and Killian was momentarily stunned at that. Emma tried to turn her laughter into a cough.

“What about then?” “Henry.” “Henry?” Killian repeated and Emma’s eyes got impossibly wide. He glanced up, meeting her slightly stunned stare with one of his own.

Henry was, in fact, sitting a few feet away, legs stretched out at one of the tables in the corner of the restaurant with his arms crossed over his chest and he looked every inch like he belonged there, wearing his own playoff shirt and a smile that Killian was certain would never actually leave his face.

“What’s going on?” Killian asked, not sure if he was talking to Roland or Emma.

She bit her lip and he resisted the urge to mutter open book at her when Roland started babbling excitedly while trying to devour seven onion rings at once.

“He’s going to move in while you guys are in Montreal and Gina’s trying to make sure the house gives him all his stuff and he doesn’t have any stuff, not really, that’s what he told me, but Gina keeps calling and she’s using that serious voice she used when she talked about you going away, Hook and I asked Henry if that made him my brother and…”

Emma breath audibly caught and she was blinking quickly enough that Killian’s hand found hers almost immediately.

“Wait,” Killian interrupted and Roland froze with an onion ring halfway to his mouth. “Brother? What are you talking about?” Roland’s eyes got as large as Emma’s and his gaze darted between the two of them. He dropped the onion ring on his pants.

“Robin didn’t tell you,” Emma said. It wasn’t a question.

“He told you?” Killian asked.

“No, no, Henry did.” “When?” “A couple weeks ago.” Killian’s mouth hung open and Emma’s lips had all but disappeared behind her teeth, something in her expression that looked like an apology. “But it’s not final yet. They were still in paperwork then. It probably isn’t still. That stuff takes some time.” “Paperwork?” “I’d imagine there’s a lot of it if you’re going to adopt a kid.”

He’d been holding his breath. He hadn’t realized. And, somewhere in the back of his mind it made sense – everything about this whole night made sense – but it all hit a bit too close to home and no one had told him anything.

Old habits coming back to haunt or taunt or just be particularly annoying at the start of some kind of career-defining playoff run.

Killian ran his hand through his hair, desperate not to meet Emma’s worried gaze and this was what he’d been trying to avoid in New York in the first place. This was why he hadn’t wanted to come to that party all those months ago, the family that wasn’t quite his family and everything moving and changing and evolving around him.

And he just sat still.

“I thought Robin would have told you,” Emma muttered, squeezing his hand tightly. Oh, that was different.

Emma.

Emma was there now and she hadn’t let go of his hand and, well, Page Six wasn’t wrong. There was a reason he was staying in New York. And considering TV.

“Nah,” Killian shook his head. “You’re right though, probably didn’t want to jinx it or something.”

Roland looked distraught. “Dad didn’t tell you, Hook?” “It’s ok, Rol,” he promised, trying to take a deep breath. He smiled at the kid and tugged on the bottom of his t-shirt. “This is a good thing.” Roland beamed. “I’ve never had a brother before. And neither has dad and Gina doesn’t have any either and...” “And?” “And you and Uncle Liam are brothers.” Killian sat up a bit straighter, Emma’s hand gripping just a bit tighter than it had to. “That’s true.” “And you guys played hockey together and he taught you how to check somebody and, well, maybe Henry could teach me how to check somebody.” He hadn’t gotten enough sleep for this kind of conversation.

This was Robin territory. This was actual dad territory, not quasi-parental figure who let you eat more onion rings than you were supposed to as dictated by the Food and Drug Administration.

This wasn’t what Killian signed up for.

Roland, however, didn’t seem to care – eyes bright and expectations written on his face clear as day and Emma still hadn’t let go of Killian’s hand.

“You’d probably be the one doing most of the teaching in this case,” KIllian said, eyes flashing towards Emma. “Henry doesn’t really even know how to skate.” “What?” Roland shouted and he moved so quickly, he nearly flew off the edge of the bar. Emma only managed to save the plate of onion rings from crashing onto the floor. “We’ve got to fix that, Hook! How come he doesn’t know how to skate?” It was if the idea of not knowing how to skate was the most scandalous thing that had ever crossed Roland’s mind. It might have been.

“Not everyone grows up with an entire hockey team around them, Rol,” Emma explained. “Some of us just kind of fall into it.” Killian might have squeezed her hand at that point. God, the playoffs needed to start. He needed some kind of consistency.

“Can we do that, Hook?” Roland continued, undeterred by Killian’s soft exclamation when he tried to jump back towards the floor again.

“Stop, you’re going to kill yourself,” he muttered, pushing a grumbling Roland back into the center of the bar. “And you’ll have to ask your dad and Gina. Maybe after the playoffs are over.” “After you guys win a Cup?” Killian grimaced, but didn’t say anything, something about ancient superstitions sitting on the tip of his tongue. It didn’t matter – Will yelled it from the other side of the restaurant.

“You know the rules, Rol,” Will shouted, arm slung over Belle’s shoulders. She almost looked embarrassed. “We don’t talk about that.” “But you guys are going to win,” Roland argued. He tried to push himself up again and Emma laughed when she pulled the onion ring plate completely out of harm’s way, eating the last one for good measure.

“Well, of course we are,” Killian said evenly. Roland sat back down. “But we just don’t talk about it. Bad form.” “Is there form for that kind of stuff?” Emma asked. “Or just ancient athletic superstitions?” “Bit of column A, bit of column B?” “Yuh huh.” “And Henry said he’s going to wear your jersey during the run too, Hook,” Roland continued, seemingly undeterred by whatever Scarlet was still complaining about from the other side of the restaurant. “And once he gets his stuff in his room, Gina said we could get sticks and put them on the wall.” The whole restaurant froze – or at least the front line. Scarlet, at least, stopped yelling.

“Well, there went the secret,” Emma muttered. Killian shook his head.

Robin and Regina sprinted towards the corner of the bar, matching looks of dread on their faces when they skidded to a stop in front of Killian.

“It’s fine,” Killian promised. “Some would go so far as to say good.” Regina didn’t look convinced. She almost looked mad when she noticed the empty plate a few feet away from Roland. Robin looked a little nervous.

“You think?” he muttered, hands stuffed into his pockets as he rocked back on his heels.

Killian glanced at Emma again – and there was some kind of deeper meaning to that, that also might have been based in not-quite-reasonable superstitions, some kind of good luck charm or the force behind everything – and she barely moved her head when she nodded, smile tugging on the corners of her mouth.

“I know,” Killian said. “When did you guys decide to do this though?” “You really want to know?” “Why wouldn’t I?” Robin made some kind of noise in the back of his throat and Killian knew the answer to that question – because he’d been busy lying to everyone about going to Colorado and running away from every ounce of family that had ever existed in New York and turning down a considerable number of zeroes.

“Yeah, well,” Killian started, “that’s different now.” “Yeah?”

Emma was blushing again. It was lighter that time, just spots of red on her cheeks and eyes trained on Roland and Regina and Mary Margaret had showed up at some point, probably responding to some kind of Emma sense that just knew when there was something potentially emotional about to happen.

“I guess so,” Robin said, answering his own question as soon as he looked at Killian.

“If you’re going to get sentimental on me Locksley, I swear, I’m going to leave.” “Nah, that’s a waste of time when you’re there already.” Killian scoffed and there was a small crowd around them now – Scarlet and Belle and Henry had his own stool and even David had moved as well, hand landing protectively on Emma’s shoulder like it was a flashing neon sign regarding sentimentality.

“And since the break,” Regina said suddenly, not even turning to look at Killian when she spoke. “No one wanted to tell you because you were being stupid.”

“Always so good with words, Gina,” Killian mumbled.

“Stop feeding my kid an obscene amount of onion rings and I’ll be nicer to you.” “Ah, but now you’ve just set yourself up for even more disappointment, because you’ve got two kids and that’s just more onion rings to spread around.” She did turn around at that, eyes narrowed and glare plastered on her face and Killian smiled in response. “I wish you’d left when the Av’s offered,” she said, but the words didn’t quite ring true.

“That’s just rude.” “Control the onion rings then.”

“Big job.” Regina groaned, but there was almost a smile on her face and Killian felt something settle in the very center of him – or maybe resettle. Like he’d found something all over again.

Emma moved off the stool, squeezing Henry’s arm once, before she took a few steps towards him, fingers finding the back of his hair and Killian’s hand was around her waist before he could stop himself, pulling her closer to his side.

Maybe he’d consider TV. Maybe it was good to be prepared.

Maybe he was hedging his bets to keep Emma pulled up against his side.

“Will you two stop arguing,” Ariel hissed, cutting into the conversation with practiced ease. Eric sputtered when she moved behind the bar, grabbing the remote out of his hand and Killian was a mix of impressed and vaguely intimidated. “Some of us are trying to see how this all shapes up.” She changed the channel and the restaurant went silent again – a dozen pairs of eyes trained on the TV screen and the Penguins game and she’d timed it almost perfectly because there were only a few minutes left.

“That was impressive, Red,” Killian said and she just stuck her tongue out at him.

“Shut up and watch the game. And then show up on time for PT tomorrow.” “Are you not showing up on time for PT?” Emma asked sharply, pushing on his shoulder like that would get him to follow the final-day-of-the-regular-season-schedule he was all too aware she had.

“She’s making that up, Swan,” Killian answered. “I was no less than two minutes late for PT yesterday and I made a fist, at least, a dozen times. She’s just greedy.” “I am doing my job,” Ariel argued, still staring at the TV. The whole group groaned when some third-liner scored an empty-net goal for the Penguins. “Ah, there it is.” Emma slumped against his side and Killian, head resting on his shoulder and, Ariel was right. There it was.

The Pens won the President’s Trophy.

“God, I hate them all,” Will mumbled and Belle clicked her tongue in reproach as a line of gold and black skated to center ice and the obligatory post-game celebration.

“Why are we watching this, exactly?” Robin asked. “We knew they were going to clinch tonight.” “Well, to be fair, they could have done it tomorrow,” Killian said, trying not to actually sigh too loudly when they brought the trophy out onto the ice to the sounds of a crowd that had, just recently, won a Stanley Cup. “God, this is depressing.” “Which brings me back to my original question.” Ariel huffed loudly, rolling her eyes as if she couldn’t quite believe any of them were still talking. “Are you guys serious? This is motivation!”

“I don’t think we really need that,” Killian said.

“Wild. Card.” “Which seems like plenty of motivation to begin with.”

“Ugh.” “Did you just say the word ugh out loud? That’s your argument right now?” “Show up to PT on time, Killian!”

He laughed softly, hand still lingering on Emma’s waist and she’d started tugging on the front of his jacket like it was an old habit she couldn't quite shake. “You’re going to drive her insane, you know.” “Nah, she’s used to it by now.” Ariel stuck her tongue out at him again, but Killian barely registered it, eyes flashing up to the screen when the crowd started to cheer again and a collective ooooh moved across the restaurant.

“Oh, well, they’re totally fucked now,” Will said, immediately chastised by everyone over the age of twelve. “Right, right, sorry, we’re a family team.” “That’s bad luck,” Robin muttered and Killian was somewhere in the realm of almost hysterical at this point, head thrown back as soon as Soyer’s hands landed on the trophy.

“See, Red,” he said, nodding towards the TV as the entire Penguins roster passed the President’s Trophy down the line. Some of them kissed it. “We don’t need any motivation. Not when they’ve already broken the rules.”

She didn’t argue immediately – and that felt a bit like a step in the right direction. “I can’t believe they touched it.”

“Too confident.” “You think?” Killian shrugged. “Certainly looks that way, doesn’t it?” “What a bunch of idiots,” Emma mumbled. “Look at them. They’re all posing with it like they’ve already won the Cup.” “This anti-Pittsburgh side of you is fun, Swan. I like it. Keep going.” Emma yanked on his zipper again and he fell forward dramatically, huffing out the air in his lungs like he’d been punched. “They’re not going to win again,” she said and Killian nearly forgot there was an entire hockey team standing behind them.

“Of course not.”

“Plus,” Will added, nearly pushing his hand in between Killian and Emma. “We’ve got to win so Cap doesn’t get screwed over by the entire franchise.” “The soul of tact, Scarlet.”

Will hummed in the back of his throat, grunting slightly when Robin hit against the back of his head. “What? I mean that’s true, isn’t it?”

“Shut up, Scarlet,” Emma said and it sounded a bit like a threat. Her hand was flat on Killian’s chest, eyes tracing across his face like she was waiting for the blow-up in the middle of the restaurant. It wasn’t going to happen.

“We should toast,” David said suddenly and, it appeared, a bit out of his own control as Mary Margaret pushed him a step closer to Emma again. “Um, I mean, well you guys did it at the start of the regular season, right? We should do it again. For symmetry.” “Nice save,” she muttered.

“That’s a good idea,” Robin agreed, nodding towards an expectant Eric behind the bar. He handed out glasses and alcohol and soda and cleared his throat when David didn’t immediately start talking. “Your move, Detective.” “Oh, oh, right,” he sputtered. “Well, there’s no sense in talking about how long we’ve all waited for a run like this or a team like this. Everything is there and not just because that’s what the reports say. Because you guys, and well, all of us, are certain of it. No extra motivation needed. To the postseason.”

“To the postseason.”

The alcohol burned the back of his throat and landed in the pit of his stomach with an almost audible thump, but Emma hadn’t ever moved, head back on his shoulder and shot glass in her own hand and that very specific type of smile on her face.

That was more than enough motivation.

The first three games hadn’t been particularly easy.

He wouldn’t say that. This was the playoffs – nothing was easy. It was do or die and every sports cliché Mrs. Vankald could come up with was one-hundred percent true in situations like these.

There were no easy games, no easy shifts, every single hit hurt just a bit more and the bruises on his left hand were a testament to that.

It wasn’t easy. Hell, they’d nearly lost game three and Arthur’s whiteboard casualties were starting to get even more violent now, hitting them up against the boards and using them even after he’d cracked them, the lines tracing across them making it difficult to actually work out the plays he was trying to draw up.

The game’s hadn’t been perfect and Killian’s hand was black and blue and he hadn’t actually scored in the series, but he woke up with hair in his face and a smile on his lips and they could clinch that night.

He shifted slightly, breathing in slowly and maybe that had been a mistake because he breathed in more hair than he’d been entirely ready for and his whole body shook when he started coughing and Emma grumbled when she woke up.

“God, what are you doing?” she asked, voice scratchy from sleep and fingers splayed across his hip.

“Trying not to suffocate on your hair.” She scoffed and opened one eye, keeping the other squeezed shut and that might have made it even more difficult to breathe. Or it might have been the team-branded she was wearing, oversized t-shirt and not much else, legs twisted up with his and there’d been no conversation about coming back to her apartment after another home win, just an expectant smile on her face when he slung his arm around her shoulders in the back corner of the restaurant.

“Did you know that the reason they call the Canadiens the Habs is because of Madison Square Garden?” Emma asked.

“What?”

She nodded. “Yup. Tex Rickard, who owned the Garden in 1920-something, said the ‘H’ on the jerseys stood for Habitants. He was probably an idiot, but Habitants, Habs, it stuck.” “And why was he an idiot exactly?” “It stood for hockey.” “Ah, well, obviously.”

Emma grinned, pushing her hair back behind her ear and she did something with her eyebrows – or at least tried. Killian was paying more attention to whatever it was her fingers were doing, tracing out a circle with her thumb and she laughed when his breath actually caught, shoulders rolling back into the mattress.

“You know,” she said slowly, hand still moving and he wouldn’t have moved even if he wanted to. He didn’t want to. “You can clinch tonight.” “A fact I’m very much aware of, Swan.”

“Step forward and all that.”

“Also true.” “The tabs will have a field day if you sweep.”

“When,” Killian said instinctively and he wasn’t certain when he’d started being so positive, probably somewhere around the time the tips of Emma’s fingers found their way underneath the edge of his boxers.

He must have let out some kind of strangled Swan because she actually laughed, teeth tugging on her lower lip and that wasn’t even fair.

“Ah, that’s true,” she amended and he moved immediately as soon as she started pulling on fabric. “I just didn’t want to jinx it.” “You couldn’t do that, Swan.”

The words kind of felt like they were choking him, not quite as easy as the three games they’d won already and it was absolutely because of the look on her face and the feel of her next to him and if they did clinch that night, then Killian was half certain it was only because of how desperate he was to stay in this moment.

“I thought there were rules,” she challenged. “God, you’ve got to take these off.” “What are you trying to do exactly?” He knew exactly what she was trying to do – was halfway on his way to ensuring that she got to do it several times before either one of them had to get on the downtown one.

“Have I not made that clear?” “You’re not exactly talking, Swan. Except for some very early-morning facts.” “That was just my lead-in, get you interested with pertinent hockey facts and then keep you appropriately distracted with...not hockey facts.” Killian chuckled, but it might have turned into a groan when Emma’s foot found its way in between his legs, trying to push boxers into blankets and there was absolutely no need for a lead-in.

He should have said that.

He’d lost the ability to think. Or speak. Or do anything that wasn’t kissing his girlfriend a few hours before they could clinch a berth to the next round.

Emma gasped softly when they moved, her back on the mattress and Killian hovering just above her and his hand worked its way up underneath the fabric of the shirt she still had on. He’d probably think about that sound for the rest of the day.

That would probably make morning skate weird.

And if these last three games had been some kind of easy sweep, then this was even more simple. This – over-eager mornings and hockey facts and not-hockey facts and waking up with hair in his face – was as simple as breathing or stick-handling in between two defenders.

That wasn’t quite as romantic as Killian had been hoping for.

It hadn’t been some kind of straight line to this, had hardly been the stringent blue line he’d been certain had shaped his entire career and what he was allowed. It had been a criss-cross of emotions and feelings and finding and if he’d been looking for some kind of family and some sort of home somewhere, then he was positive he’d found it in Emma Swan and that sound she kept making whenever his lips found hers.

Emma’s hips hit his and then he was the one making that noise, sighing against her mouth and the hands that kept holding onto him like they were trying to make sure he didn’t go anywhere.

Not anymore.

Not ever again.

Not for a ridiculous number of zeroes or even after she’d gotten her own apartment or whatever happened in the playoffs.

He wasn’t a fool.

He knew it wouldn’t always be easy and they might sweep, but there were still three more rounds and his hand would probably be perpetually bruised by the time all of this was over.

Killian didn’t care. And for the first time in his entire career, he was ready for all of it, no matter what happened at the end.

“You didn’t have to have a lead-in, you know,” he mumbled, tracing down her jaw and there were goosebumps on her skin. He smiled at that.

“No?” “No,” Killian promised. “Although I am consistently impressed by how many facts you just have at your disposal.”

His fingers traced along her thigh and he could hear Emma’s breathing pick up, smile inching across his face at that and he was some kind of reaction hoarder now because he was documenting every single one of them.

“Good, that’s...good to know,” she said and it came out a bit like a sigh when he moved his hand again. “Are you teasing on purpose or just because you’re the only one who actually took their clothes off?” “Swan, are you suggesting you’d like me to take your clothes off?” “You’re infuriating, you know that?” “I choose to see it as endearing. I seem to remember someone once saying it was charming. Too charming, if we want to get technical.” “I must have been delusional.” “Ah, somehow, I doubt that.” “So confident.” Killian hummed and Emma’s hips were moving again, chasing after exactly what she’d had planned with the lead-in and there was something to be said for waking up early if this was how it ended up. It seemed to end up like this more often than not.

He moved again, fingers tracing out patterns on the inside of her leg and he was only vaguely concerned with the amount of damage she was doing to her bottom lip. The rest of him was very focused on the way her chest kept moving, like she was trying to catch her breath and couldn’t quite get there.

He loved her an absolutely ridiculous amount.

“Killian,” Emma sighed, her grip on his hips tightening.

“What, Swan?” She tried to glare when he started smirking at her, eyebrows moving quickly and hand slowing until he was barely moving. “I’m afraid I don’t know what it is you want. Exactly.”

He swiped his tongue over his lips when her eyes met his and something flashed across her face at his words. It looked like determination.

Emma Swan knew what she wanted – always.

And it might have been him.

That made it difficult for Killian to breathe.

She grabbed his hand, fingers wrapping around his wrist and yanking him forward until he was balancing on one forearm so he didn’t fall on top of her.

“Still not being very descriptive, Swan,” Killian muttered and if this was some kind of game, he was almost enjoying himself too much.

“Visual learner,” she challenged, shifting again and he didn’t care about anything outside of that apartment when his hand moved in between her legs.

Killian groaned, determined not to actually collapse and Emma squeezed her eyes shut and if he didn’t love her more than anything then it was the biggest lie he’d ever tried to tell himself.

He lost track of time at some point, far too focused on everything else and that database of sounds he was, apparently, collecting. And he might have mumbled a handful of promises in her ear, everything he’d been thinking for the last month, but had never been willing to give credence to.

She didn’t say anything back, just kept her hands on his back and fingers in his hair and when he, finally, moved again, she seemed to breathe him in and it was easy as that. It was as easy as breathing.

This made more sense than anything else ever had.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Emma asked later, head on his shoulder and arm flung over his stomach and he’d been tracing across the back of her hand without even realizing he was moving.

Killian lifted one eyebrow and she groaned, burying her face against his chest. “God, not that. Jeez.” “What do you want to talk about, Swan?” She tapped her fingers against his side for a few moments before answering and Killian couldn’t see her face, but he would have bet a fair amount of money he maybe didn’t have that she was biting her lip.

“TV,” Emma mumbled.

“No,” he said immediately and, perhaps, a bit sharper, than he’d intended. “I don’t.” “Oh.” He sighed and Emma propped her head up on her hand, staring at him expectantly and a bit more nervously than he would have wanted, all things considered. “It’s awfully greedy, don’t you think?” Killian asked and maybe this conversation would have been easier if they were in his apartment.

Home ice or whatever.

“What is?” Emma pressed.

“Wanting everything.” Her smile almost looked sad and for two people who were just a few hours away from moving on to the next round of the playoffs, this conversation had taken a decidedly negative turn. Maybe they should just start kissing some more.

That seemed like a distraction.

“That’s not true,” Emma said and there was a determination in her voice that caught Killian off guard. “No?” “No,” she repeated, shaking her head. Her hair almost hit him in the face again. “This team is...it doesn’t make any sense. You have a restaurant that you’ve claimed as your own and everyone knows everything about each other and, God, the Locksley's are going to adopt Henry. We should be featured on some sort of SportsCenter special.” “E60, definitely.” “A 30-for-30 at least. Multi-parter” Killian barked out a laugh and some of the tension that had taken up residence in his shoulders and his slightly bruised left hand dissipated at the look on her face. “You said we again,” he pointed out.

“Aren’t we? Like a mini team or something.” “As in you and me?” Killian asked, hand moving again and there were goosebumps on Emma’s arm.

“Yeah.”

“Absolutely.”

“Then no,” Emma said, smile wide and Killian would have sworn he could feel it settle into the very center of him in the middle of that bed. “That’s not greedy. You deserve this, Killian. A playoff run and a max deal and another picture on the side of the Garden. No one should have that more than you.” It wasn’t very often he didn’t know what to say – they’d been given media training after they got drafted and Killian could answer questions as easily as anything, even if he sometimes did his best to avoid him – but he wasn’t quite prepared for the certainty in Emma’s voice or the palm pressed flat against his chest like she was willing him to get her to believe him.

“Careful, Swan,” he mumbled, wrapping his hand around hers and dragging his lips over her knuckles. “That was bordering dangerously close to a compliment.” “Ah, well, maybe I’m just feeling generous. Make sure you’ve got some positive thoughts heading into a clincher.”

“I’m not going to take the TV deal.” “I know you’re not,” Emma said. “I wouldn’t expect you to.” “Why?” “Easy. You’re going to win a Stanley Cup.”

“I love you, you know that?” Emma nodded, smile still on her face and laughter ringing in his ears when he tugged her flush against him. “Weird, I wasn’t picking up on that at all.”

He kissed her and it wasn’t a distraction or even an attempt at a distraction, it was just that want he’d been talking about before and it would have been somewhere in the realm of perfect if the front door to her apartment didn’t swing open at the same time.

Emma yelped, eyes going wide and hand desperate for blankets and Mary Margaret looked like she was going to pass out.

“Oh my God,” she sputtered, face flushed and mouth hanging open. Killian laughed, but it turned into a groan when Emma smacked at his shoulder.

Mary Margaret appeared frozen.

“Jeez, Reese’s what are you doing?” Emma asked, blankets pulled up over her shoulders. “Didn’t we say noon?” “Yeah, yeah,” Mary Margaret said quickly. She was staring at the ceiling. “But it’s almost noon. I just figured…” “What?” “Shouldn’t you be at morning skate?” “I don’t have to be downtown until two,” Killian explained. “Morning skate is more mid-afternoon skate when you can clinch.” “Oh, yeah, that kind of makes sense.” “Kind of.” “Reese’s you’ve got to go back outside,” Emma implored and her face was red as well. Killian did his best not to laugh again.

“What? Why?” “Oh my God. C’mon Reese’s don’t make me actually spell it out for you.” Mary Margaret’s eyes, somehow, managed to get even wider and she nearly dropped whatever it was she was holding – what appeared to be several containers filled with food. She wavered for half a moment, eyes darting towards the refrigerator and Emma and back up to the ceiling and she nodded once before nearly sprinting out the door.

Killian laughed loudly as soon as she was gone, body shaking and Emma punched against his side. “You’re going to hurt me, Swan,” he said reasonably, grabbing her hand and grinning at her.

She huffed, falling back onto the mattress. “God,” Emma muttered. “She wasn’t supposed to be here until noon.” “Well, it is, apparently, almost noon.” “We had a schedule, though.” “Somehow I think we’ll survive. Is she just trying to feed you?”

Emma hummed, arm thrown over her face. “She thinks I’m starving. Something about having nothing in my fridge and I’ve got my own apartment, but no time to really make it mine. Just, you know, normal mom stuff.” “That’s not a bad thing, love.” “No, no, it’s not. And if she’d shown up at twelve it would have been totally fine.” “That embarrassed to have Mary Margaret see me?” Killian asked, pulling Emma’s arm away from her face. “I think she’s already aware we were doing this before.” She pressed her lips together and open book had never been more obvious. “What?”

“I wasn’t embarrassed by that.”

“What then?” “I’ve never brought anybody back,” she said quickly, refusing to meet his gaze. “I mean, you know, to my place or whatever. Reese’s did and David basically lived in our apartment in Boston and then, obviously, here. But when I was in Vancouver and LA, I didn’t do...this.” “This.” “Yeah. I had my space and they had their space and I was cool going to them, but not so much vice versa.” Words, it appeared, were becoming more and more difficult the longer Killian spent in that bed. Emma squeezed her eyes shut and made a noise in the back of her throat. “Anyway,” she said, trying to brush over his lack of response. “That’s why. She was probably just surprised you were here. We should probably get dressed though.”

She moved, half sitting up and Killian wrapped his fingers around her wrist, pulling her up short. “I’m glad I’m here,” he said and Emma’s eyes widened slightly.

“Yeah?” she whispered.

“Always.”

Emma nodded once. “Put some clothes on, Cap. We can’t afford to let Reese’s leave here totally scandalized.”

Mary Margaret hadn’t let him leave without, at least, taking ten minutes to eat and he’d have to tell El that someone else was giving her a run for her mom money. And morning skate was as easy as Killian had promised it would be, hardly anything more than taking a few shots at an empty net and Jefferson hadn’t even bothered putting on his pads.

They were going to win – Killian was certain and he was mostly just anxious for the game to be over so he could get back to his apartment or Emma’s apartment and wake up with hair in his face again.

He could hear the cheers already, the pregame noise and he shifted his weight between his skates, tapping the end of his stick on the floor.

“Relax,” Robin muttered a few feet behind him. “It’s going to be fine.” “I know,” Killian said easily, glancing over his shoulder. Robin looked the opposite of fine. “What’s the matter with you?” “Nothing.” “Locksley. You’re doing that thing with your eyes.” “That thing with my eyes?” “Yeah, like you’re trying to look in two different directions at once.” “That’s impossible.” “What’s the matter with you?” Will groaned loudly at the other end of the line and it sounded like he was hitting his stick up against the wall. “Are you two really going to do this now? Right now? They’re literally about to drop the puck.” “Well, to be fair,” Killian argued. “I have no idea what we’re doing because Locksley’s got that thing with his eyes.” “I hate that thing. It’s unnatural.” “See,” Killian said, staring at Robin and this couldn’t have been good for his neck.

Robin glared at him, but his shoulders sagged and they were, apparently, doing this right now. “You’re really ok with this?” “Clinching a first-round series? Yeah.” “That’s not what I meant.” “Be more specific then.” He took a deep breath and his gaze was heavy when it landed on Killian. “About Henry,” Robin sighed. “You’re really ok with that?” “Why wouldn’t I be?” “Cap. For real?” “Don’t blame him, Locksley,” Will shouted. “He’s been spending all that time at Emma’s apartment. His mind’s not totally focused on anything else.” “Shut up Scarlet,” Killian muttered, not looking away from Robin. “Seriously though. Why wouldn’t I be? This is a good thing.” Robin made a face. “No, no, it is. I just…” “You were running away before, Cap,” Will finished. “And you were all anti-this and all of us interfering and Locksley’s terrified his painfully adorable family is going to scare you off again.” Ah.

He really had almost fucked up everything.

Robin’s eyes were going to bore a hole in the Garden floor. “No,” Killian said. “It’s not.”

The music in the Garden was ridiculously loud and they’d already started Potvin sucks chants. It would have been impressive if Killian didn’t feel like he was waiting for something.

“We should probably buy Emma something,” Will said and it lacked his usual sarcasm. “Like a thank you or wait, what’s she always drinking? Hot chocolate, right?” “We could show up at her post-game thing,” Robin suggested and the lights at the end of the hallway were starting to flicker. They needed to get on the ice.

Killian wasn’t certain how anyone would expect him to skate after this.

“What do you think, Cap?” Will continued. “You think we’d start some sort of riot if we showed up at a fan event in midtown?” “I don’t think we’re that famous,” Killian said. He didn’t fall over when his skates hit the ice. That probably meant something. “And it’s during the game, anyway.” “Ah, well that’s dumb.” “I’ll be sure to mention that.” “Don’t be an ass.” “But you make it so easy.”

Will grumbled, skidding to a stop next to him on the blue line and Robin was still staring at him like he’d never quite seen him before – it probably had something to do with the smile practically plastered on Killian’s face at this point.

“You’re right, you know,” Robin muttered.

“About?” “This is good.” Killian didn’t answer – notes of the anthem filling the arena, but he didn’t stop smiling either.

They won.

A series sweep in the first-round and a 2-1 victory and Scarlet would probably never stop talking about his game-winner. There were cameras everywhere and reporters and phones pushed in faces, all of them a bit desperate to get thoughts on the win and who they’d face next and whether or not they heard the Penguins had won that night too.

They had. The reporters made sure they had.

“It was just all instinct,” Will said, grinning into half a dozen cameras with that stupid hat on his head and it was all so different than it had been a year before.

Killian rolled his eyes when Will kept talking about reading a defense and how he knew his shot would come if he waited for it and Robin didn’t even try and mask his laughter. “Idiot,” Killian mumbled.

“He hasn’t had a game-winner all season,” Robin reasoned. “Leave him alone.” “Sure thing, Dad.” They were definitely breaking some kind of fire code, bodies packed into the locker room and there was barely enough room to move, let alone hear anything, but it would have been impossible to mistake the voice shouting for both Killian and Robin when she marched towards them.

“Ten-hut or whatever,” Ruby said, arms already crossed like she was ready for a fight. “Time for your post-game reaction.” “We did post already, Lucas,” Robin countered.

“Fan videos. Emma’s in the hallway where it’s at least, kind of, quieter. And you guys can talk about how psyched you are for the next series and how great Scarlet’s goal was.” “I’m not talking about Scarlet’s goal,” Killian said immediately, already halfway out the door.

“Too bad. Game-winner is a game-winner. Talk about it, Cap. And, speaking of talking, any reviews on Mary Margaret’s macaroni and cheese?”

“You know gossipping is a very unattractive habit.” “Luckily you don’t have to be attracted to me. Go help your girlfriend do her job.”

Killian saluted and Ruby made a face, heels echoing behind him as he made his way down the hallway.

The team-merch from that morning was now a dress and a blazer and Killian was only vaguely frustrated by Ruby’s gaze flitting between him and Emma, that expectant smile on her face like she was about to take credit for even the idea of them being happy. Emma’s head snapped up when she heard them, eyebrows pulled low and she tugged her hair over her shoulder.

“You’re not Scarlet,” she said.

“That’s true,” Killian agreed. “Should I be?” “Well he did score the game-winner. Fans were kind of clamoring for him. You guys’ll work though. Just, you know, talk about Scarlet’s goal. That’s all people care about.” “God, don’t tell him that, he’ll never shut up about it. How’d your in-game stuff go?” “Good,” Emma said, taking a step towards him and Ruby made some kind of gagging noise when her hands pulled on the front of his shirt. “Ridiculously good actually. I think Rol’s a bad influence on Henry now, by the way.” “What, why?” “They’ve fine-tuned some kind of round-robin cheer that incorporates both the goal song and Let’s go Rangers and it’s both the most adorable and annoying thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life.” “It’s definitely annoying,” Robin muttered, feet crossed at the ankles as he leaned back against the wall. “They were practicing the entire car ride home last night.” Emma laughed softly and something felt like it stuttered in Killian’s chest or maybe in his pulse. “They going to let you go to Boston?” he asked, fingers lacing through Emma’s.

“Yeah, actually. Since it’s so close. I won’t be able to go to the Garden, which kind of sucks, but we’ll do some Rangerstown stuff when you guys are there.” “She’s been e-mailing some hotel bar since the second intermission,” Ruby added and there was no mistaking the pride in her voice.

“Second intermission, Swan?” Killian asked. “We weren’t winning yet.” She clicked her tongue. “Film your post-game thing, Jones.” “You know, love, I think this is what some people would call evading the question.” “Was there a question?” “You started making phone calls to a hotel during intermission. Before Scarlet’s game winner.” “Just being prepared,” Emma muttered, nodding towards a Rangers backdrop he hadn’t noticed before.

“Good at your job.”

“Was that a compliment, Captain?”

Her eyes flashed up to him and the smile on her face was enough to warrant turning down all those zeroes – from TV and other teams and this was the year. It had to be. Killian took a step towards her and he could feel the turn of her lips when he kissed her, hand tight on her waist as she moved her arms around his neck.

They might have been there for days or weeks and maybe they’d won the Cup already. Ruby coughed loudly and Robin laughed under his breath when they finally moved apart.

“God, don’t come to Boston, Emma,” Ruby sighed. “This is gross.” “The worst,” Emma laughed, twisting when Killian kissed the top of her head. “Come on, film your stuff and then we can go eat, I’m starving.”

The video went out to fans just a few minutes after they filmed and there were more reporter questions and desperate cries about deadlines and Killian walked out of the arena with a smile still plastered on his face and Emma’s hand tied up in his.

And it was good and perfect and everything it hadn’t been at the same time last year – or it would have been if either one of them had noticed the cameras.

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stars-inthe-sky · 6 years

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11 Questions Meme

Rules: always post the rules. Answer 11 random questions posted for you. Create 11 new ones and tag 11 people. Let the person who tagged you know that you answered.

I was tagged by @vextant!

You’ve just won an all-expenses-paid weeklong trip! Where are you going? Bolivia’s Salar de Uyuni

If you could learn any language - modern, dead, or otherwise - what would it be? Spanish seems like it’d be the most useful, although I would also kind of love to be able to sign in ASL. Hebrew/Yiddish competency would also bring me joy.

Are you a writer? A reader? What’s your favorite thing to write and/or read? Born this way, baby. And, um, everything? But also, science fiction.

Do you agree with what your astrological sign/MBTI says about your personality? I’ve never paid a lot of attention to what being a Taurus means, but I totally buy my ISFJ identification.

The ghost of a historical figure knocks on your door, asking if you’re coming to brunch. Who is it? It has been Susan B. Anthony since I was 10, and fuck those dinosaurs who use her for anti-choice rabble-rousing.

Have a pet? Tell me about them. If not, tell us about the pet(s) you’d like to have. I do not have a pet. I want a dog, but my husband needs to get on that train because I don’t want to single-parent a dog. (He wants one long-term but doesn’t want to deal with pet care while still in grad school; we’re also still debating breeds because he has allergies and I don’t want a poodle hybrid.) Please point me toward a Samoyed, though.

What fictional character do you adore but know you would never get along with? Why? Honestly, I think almost all of my faves would totally terrify me in person, starting with Sarah Connor.

You’ve acquired a time machine that bypasses all the typical shenanigans so you can observe without consequence. When do you want to visit? I’d like to bop around the 1960s in the U.S. and see to what extent it actually feels like today, with the civil rights and related movements and the threats of nuclear annihilation and so on. Also, I could see the original production of Hair while I was there.

What do you not like about a favorite movie/book/game of yours? How would you fix it? How about the Deathly Hallows epilogue reads like something other than bad fanfiction? There’s so much fic that does it better.

Do you have any OCs? If so, who’s your favorite and why? Not really, but I did explain recently why I feel like I have some ownership over TSCC’s Savannah Weaver and why I will always adore my version of her.

You’ve been asked to be a voter for a new awards show. What’s your submission for Best Meme of 2017? I had to Google to figure out what the nominees might be, but I think I’ll go with “This Is The Future Liberals Want.” Real talk, though, I still love the text post/Onion headlines/AO3 tags/TFLN over screencaps thing.

Tagging the following 11 people in no particular order for the following 11 questions, also in no particular order:

@fulltimeprocrastinator, @iloveyouandilikeyou, @code-name-duchess, @sullenaquarian, @scullyseviltwin, @needalittleoldfashioned, @mediumsizedfountain, @running-rabbit, @awkdinosaur, @mhalachai, @clubgetright

Bearded angsty Captain America or bearded angsty Superman?

Favorite fictional starship?

If you write fic, what fandom/plot bunny got you into it? If you don’t, what might it take?

Are you now or have you ever been a picky eater?

Does jogging keep you healthy? If so, God, at what cost? If not, what’s your preferred mode of exercise (and in what weird ways has it messed up your body)?

Strangest alcohol you’ve ever encountered?

Best pun you’ve heard recently?

Would you say you’re a good swimmer? Why or why not?

Describe your ideal calendar date, without using the Miss Congeniality gif.

What aspect of your day job do you most have trouble believing someone actually pays you for?

Which U.S. state would you least like to visit and why?

#about me meme #ask meme #question

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dontcallmecarrie · 7 years

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Running into a wall re: That One Part I Really Need To Get Through, plus a rash of...not bad days, but close, so my brain decided to take a break via derailing everything I came up with via crack.

Specifically, a commenter started talking about something that may or may not come up later in this fic [That Awkward Moment when Thanos is the one to clue Tony in], and what happened afterwards. And, since I’m aiming for this fic to devolve into crack [because this fic’s a good chunk of my stress relief from life in general], the aftermath came up. And my brain decided to take something and run with it, as per usual.

More specifically, How To Make Sure You're Not Accidentally Shadow Government In 10 Easy Steps, a pamphlet by Tony Stark.

Not sure if it’ll come up much [if at all] in the main fic, but here you go anyway.

It’s surprisingly popular with people from other dimensions, and he’s taken to carrying a few copies with him in case someone screws up when playing with space-time again. [Geez, this Reed Richards character seems to be a major pain in the neck, and stop laughing, Strange!] Plus, once the media got a copy of it, it went viral and of course more memes are flying around. Of course. [Tony is So Done with everything, honestly. How is this his life, where did he go wrong in his life choices?]

Tony hadn’t planned on making it, but after the third time an alien entity rocks up and tries to commiserate about being the head honcho of...whatever, Tony ended up drafting a set of arguments, and the second time some poor schmuck from another dimension panicked when seeing “AI Overlord” in the headlines [thanks for nothing, The Onion], he found it was much easier to just bring the pamphlet out rather than try to explain that no, he hadn’t planned this, and no, he had no intention of being a supervillain when he’d started, and that meme was just a coincidence, honest.

And, after the inevitable laughter once people read the title, things tended to go more smoothly from there.

The villains that get their hands on a copy are stuck on Step 1: Make Sure JARVIS Knows You Don’t Want The Gig And Don’t Scare The World Government Into Pushing You Otherwise; He’s Still So Grounded Here Because Of That Thing With The Nukes.

The Avengers tended to have the funniest reactions, for certain. There tended to be a lot of laughter, and teasing, and banter, after the initial shock [and if Tony sometimes wondered what would have been, if the original initiative hadn’t crashed and burned, if they could’ve been a family like the one he saw whenever this Richards guy kept screwing up, that a secret he was taking to his grave]. A conversation that happens relatively frequently is:

“is this the one where Tony took over the world?”

“HEY!”

“Always knew you had it in you, bro”

“Don’t know what kind of hell universe this is for some version of me to want so much responsibility. Or paperwork.”

“You don’t say,” AccidentalOverlord!Tony wearily hisses from his corner where he’s going over damage reports and the latest draft of a peace treaty and ignoring Strange’s laughter in the distance, “you don’t fucking say.”

...don’t be surprised if you see more in this vein, I default to crack when stressed and life’s decided to up the ante [yet again fml]

#How To Make Sure You're Not Accidentally Shadow Government In 10 Easy Steps #behind the scenes #bonus content #canon went screwy years back here's my attempt to fix it #now the time is here for iron man to spread fear #if you're going to be evil might as well do it right #The War is Far From Over Now #major spoilers for TWiFFON #TWiFFON spoiler

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bryonysimcox · 4 years

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Thoughts on Mindfulness, Onions and Jealousy: Week 10, Spain

It’s hard to fathom that we’ve entered double digits as I count the weeks we’ve been living away from the UK, and even harder to fathom the coronavirus crisis that the world continues to face. This week, I explore mindfulness, barbequed spring onions and the evils of jealousy.

The last week of March has brought both sunshine and rain here in Catalonia. Sunday was glorious, and the warm rays of sun felt like nature’s invitation to take the afternoon off from film editing and staring at screens. Even I, who usually finds it hard to ‘just’ chill out, responded to this invitation and slowed right down, sipping cheap Spanish lager and whiling the day away with a good book. By contrast, there have been numerous days of solid rain here too. Temperatures have dropped and George and I remain huddled inside, wrapped in layers and eternally grateful to have a house to stay in throughout lockdown.

It looks like the weather in the UK has been pretty glorious. It’s sod’s law that after a long winter, when Brits are finally ready to get out and about, everyone is required to stay at home and can only see and admire the sunshine from afar.

This state of lockdown is undoubtedly a reminder of our need to access nature, especially for those who are living in urban areas and apartments.

The flipside to the restrictions, of course, is that reduced travel and activity means reduced carbon emissions and pollutants. Like many others, my heart has been lifted by photos of Venice’s canals which now run clear, satellite imagery and data showing dramatically reduced air pollution in major cities, or sound recordings of magnificent birdsong made audible thanks to minimal traffic. Similarly, whilst I’m not a huge fan of the rain, it’s a real blessing here in Catalonia, a region which is often very dry. The land around us in the cottage is looking more luscious than ever, and the rain is doing wonders for the green beans, olives, herbs and spring onions (or ‘calcots’, but more on them later) which grow here.

(images) Mother nature’s gifts.

I’ve been feeling infinitely more connected to nature while living in lockdown. Not necessarily because we’re staying in the countryside, though that helps, but perhaps because I’m increasingly aware of my dependence on it. The natural world (which we often forget were a part of) provides us with the sustenance we need to survive, and I can’t help but feel like empty supermarket shelves in the UK are a symbol of how disconnected people are to where food actually comes from, and the supply chain which starts with mother nature.

Nature is not only essential as a source of food but as a source of energy from which we nurture our minds.

The alarming spread of coronavirus and its devastating and far-reaching effects threaten to overwhelm me. As I mentioned in last week’s post, I constantly feel at the edge of this overwhelm, ready to be swept under by the noise and chaos of news headlines which just keep getting worse. In an active effort to address these feelings without adopting a ‘keep calm and carry on’ approach of outright avoidance, I have started to practice mindfulness, using breathwork techniques from Gaba Podcast’s daily sessions.

Nature has become a central part of my amateur mindfulness practice, as it provides a constant calming presence in the now on which to focus. Simple things in the natural world have proven incredibly grounding, like the cycle from day to night, the passing of clouds across the sky, the sound of little birds scuffling across the roof of the cottage and the fresh aroma of soil after it’s rained. Of course these elements don’t erase the existence of Covid-19 and the lives it is both threatening and taking, but they provide a counterweight to the noise and anticipatory grief that I’m experiencing.

(images) Stuff can get pretty overwhelming at the moment, so the natural world has become a steadfast element on which to rest my focus.

I have also been thinking about the way in which nature is not just a resource to be taken from, for our wellbeing and our existence, but something to give back to. I’ve been inspired by so many people I follow online, and their mutual apprehension that this could be a pivotal point of change for the world. Their shared thoughts and musings suppose that we might move away from our addiction with consumption and competition, and towards more regenerative cultures. Friend and ex-colleague, Adam Russell, has written a fantastic summary of ten books worth reading if you’re interested in regenerative cultures and living in harmony with the planet. The summary can be found at the Saltbush Projects website, which documents the pretty cool journey that Adam and his family are taking in suburban Australia, of growing food, making things and living more simply. Adam’s project is one of a few which are inspiring George and I to shape up our own dreams for a self-sustaining lifestyle and off-grid house.

Amid panic, paranoia and overwhelm, I am optimistic about a different future in which equality, sustainability and community emerge as the shared values by which we live.

Unlike the accounts of our adventures before lockdown, I don’t have much to report on a day-by-day basis. Back during our time in France and our initial month in Spain it felt as though every day was rammed with new experiences and places that George and I had visited in the van! Now though, the days start to merge into one, and I have lost my usual motivation to spring out of bed and into action. I try not to beat myself up about it, and in fact have leaned into the ‘not-knowing’ of the future and the monotony of the present. I trust that one day, somehow, our travels will continue, and try to reaffirm the motto “I’m exactly where I need to be” even when it can feel super frustrating that all life plans are on hold for the time being.

(images, left to right) Layered up in lockdown as it rains outside, watching a live stream DJ set from England complete with visuals created (live, too) remotely by my brother in Scotland!, and slowing down and soaking up the sun on Sunday.

The monotony of the present has also allowed for me to reflect inwardly. I think a crisis of the magnitude that the world currently faces puts certain things into perspective, and after another week filled with skype calls and catch-ups, I don’t think I’m alone in my increase in philosophical thoughts. The insecurities of weight gain, obsessions with career progression, anticipation for planned holidays, fixations with buying new things and other everyday thoughts shared amongst my friends and I now seem like petty hiccups in the grand scheme of life.

Food, friends, our health and shared prosperity feel like the only things that matter anymore.

On that note, I’ve been thinking about jealousy - a strange and ugly emotion that I have grappled with for years. In last week’s post I talked about my shifting relationship with social media in recent weeks, and the possibility that sharing things like photos and status updates can be perceived as insensitive, and perhaps even trigger jealousy. Whilst it could have seemed that I was referring to jealousy induced by the things that I post, I have also been thinking about my own jealousy, and taking a tiny step back from Instagram and Facebook has been part of that.

As a child, I remember being preoccupied with other people’s looks and achievements. I think at one point I even claimed to my mum that I wanted to be my best friend! That jealous streak is something which has filtered through my life, and it’s probably only in the last five years that I really feel like I’ve faced up to it. Jealousy is horrible for so many reasons, but for me, not only did it make me feel rubbish but it also impeded my ability to be happy for others. Instead of relishing in shared pride for a friend or family member’s success or good fortune, that success would become a cruel tool to devalue myself. It would push my focus away from them, and back onto me, leaving me both as a crap friend and a selfish individual.

(Image) I’ve grappled with jealous over the years, a muddy and confusing emotion that threatens your ability to reflect on yourself and others.

This period of lockdown feels like a closing chapter for me in addressing jealousy, which is perhaps why I’m sharing it even if it seems personal, in the hope that it may be of use to someone else.

When I say ‘closing chapter’, it’s not as though jealousy will never rear its ugly head again, because of course it will. But the common cause of tackling this horrible virus has been a trigger for me to consolidate what I’ve been practicing these last five years: to turn jealousy around into more constructive feelings, like pride and admiration for others, and aspiration or contentment for myself. All that said, it is really hard to find coherent words to explain my relationship with jealousy, and I do not at all profess to be immune to it! I only hope that I can continue to address it head on, rather than suppress it and let it eat away at me.

On the topic of eating, food has become a crucial part of mentally surviving lockdown! George and I have been cherishing the opportunity to take longer to cook, to experiment with new recipes, and even new ingredients (if we can find them in the tightly controlled supermarkets). I know we’re not alone in this, and have heard stories of friends’ first homemade loaf of bread, experiments with pickling and fermentation, making pasta by hand and brewing beer at home. By cooking and eating more slowly, I think we are also showing our appreciation to nature, and re-assigning value to a ritual intrinsic to humanity.

Calçots, as I mentioned at the start, have been a magical little food discovery for the two of us. A type of green onion renowned in Catalonia, calçots are best cooked on an open fire. After letting them crisping up for five minutes, you peel the blackened outer skin off to reveal a sweet and juicy inner, which when dipped in romesco sauce, is absolutely delicious.

(images, left to right) Calçots in the garden, roasting over a fire, and ready for dipping in sauce.

The sauce, known as ‘Salsa de Calçots’, can be made at home with blanched almonds, hot peppers, garlic, tomatoes and olive oil, but we actually picked some up in the supermarket. A few nights this week, we’ve had the pleasure of cooking calçots like this, and not only do they taste incredible, but they’re messy, fun and super simple.

While it could sound ridiculous, small experiences like cooking fresh spring onions on an open fire have transcended into special, almost spiritual moments of communion for me. I believe we need these glimpses of normality and conviviality to survive what is an extreme and scary time.

As it sinks in that we could all be living like this for a while now, let’s not forget to look after ourselves and others. Rather than settle for judgement and jealousy, I am trying to equip myself with kindness and compassion, a choice inspired by the nurses and doctors, farmers and supermarket workers, respirator-makers and scrubs-sewers, soup kitchen volunteers and careworkers, newly-appointed homeschoolers and online mindfulness coaches.

These people give me hope.

#traveldiaries #SuziTheVan #BryonyandGeorge #digitalnomads #lifeinlockdown #covid-19 #coronavirus #estadodealarma #overlandadventures #vanlife #hiacevan #toyotahiace

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