#what should I wear when i kayak

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for lying to everyone and pretending I didn't have skin cancer?

I had a weird red spot on my shoulder that I got checked out for aesthetic reasons, but turns out it was skin cancer. I was really surprised because I'm only 27 and I'm italian and syrian, and I don't burn easily at all. But I am very outdoorsy; hiking, camping, kayaking, etc, and I don't always wear sunblock on my body besides my face, so I guess that's what did it.

When the dermatologist called me and told me, I had to schedule surgery. But I knew my boyfriend and mom would freak out, so I lied and said they were just removing it because it looked "suspicious" but wasn't cancer. I downplayed it as much as possible. My mom has horrible health anxiety and I knew she would lose it. I figured their stress would only add to my own stress.

My mom came with me to the surgery. I did want her there because I was nervous. I was hoping she wouldn't hear that it was actually cancer, but the doctors talked about it and she found out. Idk what I was expecting. She was super shocked. So here's where I may be double the asshole: I doubled down and said I had no idea, that I thought it was only precautionary. They didn't seem too bothered and just tried to calm me down and that "miscommunications happen". And I was obviously like "okay no worries :)" while my mom was freaking out.

The surgery went fine and I'm all good now, but I feel like a massive asshole for lying to my loved ones and then doubling down about my lie at the doctor's office. But I just didn't want to add stress to everyone's lives for something that was apparently super low risk and fixable with just one surgery. But be honest, was it justified assholery or should I have just been honest?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

[adore-laur]

PINK VELVET

— an italian getaway full of sunshine & surprises 💗

——

SALERNO, ITALY

Crystalline blue waters sparkling under the sunshine, ornate architecture standing high among the cliffsides, and mopeds burning rubber on the cobblestone streets — it's all pure, unadulterated bliss. 

To share that bliss with your boyfriend enhances the experience. Both of you have been staying at a villa rental for a few days already, and the surrounding greenery and stucco buildings on the precipice rocks of the Tyrrhenian Sea bring a much-needed sense of privacy. It's a getaway for your third anniversary with Harry, and while it's a more extended vacation than usual — two weeks to be exact — the mellow atmosphere makes you feel like you could stay in Italy forever.

Harry had said he plans on wooing you with the foreign language, having bought a book filled with romantic phrases at the airport's souvenir shop. You're dreading it because once he starts, he won't stop. 

It's four in the afternoon, and you're getting ready to kayak off the Amalfi Coast. The heat will be sweltering, especially out on the open water, so you put on jean shorts over your swim bottoms, leaving just your bikini top on. Harry is standing in the doorway of the master bathroom and tying the strings of his swim trunks. He's wearing a white tank top that you know will be taken off eventually. 

A cooler packed with snacks and drinks is by the front door. Once you reach downtown, the journey to the kayak launch takes about fifteen minutes, so you and Harry will drive in the vintage Cadillac he insisted on renting and park on the street before walking the rest of the way. 

"Ready?" Harry asks, giving your ass two pats as he walks by. 

"I guess," you say flatly. 

He smirks and steals a scrunchie from your makeup bag to put around his wrist. "That's enough outta you." 

You hoist the cooler over your shoulder, sling a beach towel over the other, and then stroll through the spacious villa rooms toward the door. When you open it, a blast of humid air immediately hits you. Harry brushes past you while jingling the car keys, a drawstring backpack on his back. You lock the door before heading toward the luxurious car you don't want to know the cost of. 

Harry swings the passenger door open for you like a gentleman, but you decide to mess with him by ignoring his gesture. You open the driver's side door and smoothly crawl over the console until you're in the passenger seat. Harry slowly shakes his head, reaching forward to pluck your bikini strap with his fingers and lightly snap it against your skin. He throws his backpack under the seat before sliding behind the steering wheel.

The engine roars to life. Harry's hand places itself on your headrest, his body twisting around so he can carefully reverse down the circular driveway. You take his hand and set your interlocked fingers in your lap. He glances at you and smiles, his hair blowing beautifully in the wind and the sun casting a golden hue over his face.

When you arrive downtown, Harry parks along a random street. He removes his hand from yours and claps once. "Okay, here's the game plan. I reckon we should rent one kayak for both of us. It'll be cheaper and more fun, and we can work together like—"

"Absolutely not." 

"Pardon?" 

"I'm sorry, but being stuck in a kayak with you sounds like my personal hell. You'll somehow manage to tip us over or get us lost." Harry can live in a world of his own sometimes. You really want to avoid ending up stranded in the deep, expansive ocean.

"Baby," he says, looking at you with wounded eyes. "What if I drift away and we lose each other? I need you. I'll do all the work while you sit back and relax." 

You can't possibly say no to him when he looks like a literal Greek god basking in the Italian sun, his lips irresistibly pink against his tanned skin. 

"Fine," you surrender. "I'm not letting you do all the work, though, because we'll probably end up in a different country. Also, I'm sitting in the front seat. Deal?" 

"Sì, amore mio," he says, passion dripping off his tongue. "And, um... I may have already paid for just one kayak when I booked the reservation yesterday. Well, singular ticket." 

"You're unbelievable." Stepping out of the car, you stretch your limbs while Harry puts his backpack on and grabs the cooler. You hold onto his free hand and begin walking to the beach. Many people are out and about — vendors selling gourmet cuisine, kids riding bicycles through the alleyways, and tourists stopping at attractions.

At the waterfront, kayaks are stacked on racks, shimmering under the sun. Since Harry booked a reservation ahead of time, he walks toward the man who appears to be running the operation. You watch them shake hands and converse. Harry knows enough basic Italian to navigate through any language barrier yet to come. 

Eventually, they both wander over to you, and the man caresses your hand and kisses your cheek. You smile and shyly mutter an Italian greeting. The man then excitedly leads you to the kayaks, taking a maroon two-seater from the bottom rack and dragging it toward the water. While following him, you notice only a few people are on the beach today. Only a couple of other occupied kayaks drift in the ocean, looking like mere silhouettes from where you stand. 

"You know the rules, yes?" asks the man as he pushes the front of the kayak into the shallow water. 

"Yes, I've done this before. I'll teach this guy," you say, pointing at Harry while draping your towel over the seat. 

Harry smiles mindlessly, placing the cooler and backpack between the two seats. The man briefly leaves to grab life jackets and oars, leaving you and Harry to get into the kayak. You have him go first since he's sitting in the back. As you grip the side so it doesn't rock, he removes his tank top and hands it to you before steadily climbing in and bending his long legs to fit in the restrictive space. 

You're next. Harry plants his foot in the sand to keep the kayak balanced and then offers his hand to grasp. Once you're situated, you sigh relievedly.

"This sucks," Harry mutters, nudging his knee against your back. "I can't even see your face." 

"You could've solved that problem if you got us two kayaks."

"Yeah, but I wanted to be close to you," he says, sliding his shoes off. "Just look behind you every once in a while so I can get my fix." 

You laugh, looking at the water that endlessly expands past the horizon. The man comes back with two life jackets, and you clip one to your body as sturdy oars are placed across your and Harry's laps. The man gives a thumbs up and slowly maneuvers the kayak away from the shoreline.

"Grazie!" Harry shouts, waving to him as the both of you drift further from land. 

"Ciao! Stai al sicuro!" he shouts back. 

The destination to the cliffs is a short one, their imminent height visible far out to the left of the coastal village. You begin paddling, alternating sides to stay on a straight path, while Harry opens the cooler to take out a package of crackers and a bottle of water.

"Please tell me you know how to properly paddle," you say, taking a break to sip some water while the kayak naturally rides the ripples.

"Obviously. I'm kind of the backbone of this kayak, so I know what I'm doing," Harry replies with faux confidence, still not picking up the paddle. 

"That's funny, considering I'm literally doing all the work right now. Get to paddling, or I won't turn around so you can get your fix." 

"Calmati, bellissima," he murmurs, snatching a handful of crackers before finally helping.

A comfortable silence ensues, only the sound of water splashing and the slight creak of the kayak that comes with each movement. Harry whistles a tune every so often. A content smile pulls at your lips.

However, it doesn't last long because if there's one thing Harry loves to do, it's acting like a child sometimes. He disrupts the long stretch of peace by pretending to tip over the kayak by rocking slightly back and forth in his seat, gasping like he's not doing it. 

"Harry, I swear to God," you say with a nervous undertone, holding on to the edge of the kayak so you don't actually tip over into the vast ocean infested with who knows what. "You're like a five-year-old!" 

He listens immediately, apparently noticing your anxiousness. He settles back in his seat, stretching his legs next to your body and nudging his foot against your thigh as a silent apology.

"It wasn't me. I think there's an animal under us," he says, playing with your hair to distract you. It doesn't help, because you know that there are probably massive creatures swimming below you. He knows one of your biggest fears is drowning, so he should feel like a jerk now after his little charade.

"Are you going to sit there and braid my hair, or can you help me get to our destination before it gets dark?" 

"Sorry," he murmurs, grabbing his paddle and helping you turn left toward the rock formations. They aren't too far away now.

"We're almost there," you encourage softly, dialing back your slight attitude. Harry is quiet, so you turn around to see him pouting softly. "Why are you sulking?"

"Am I being annoying? You sound annoyed with me," he says, avoiding eye contact and setting his paddle down.

"No, honey. I just want to get there as quickly as we can and swim for a bit. We have wine tasting after this, so we can't dilly-dally." 

"Dilly-dally," he repeats, laughing at your chosen phrase. "Okay, I'll behave. Kiss?" 

You capture his lips with yours, tasting the tomato basil crackers he's been munching on. He kisses you back and reaches his hand to push some hair behind your ear. Pulling away, you see the cliffs only about two hundred feet away. You both begin paddling again in serene silence. 

At the side of the cliff, you stop the kayak by a large, flat rock that peeks out of the water and appears safe to stand on. You hold onto it, the waves more active in this area, and tie some rope around the post provided. You assume it's there for other kayakers and cliff divers to take advantage of. 

Once you climb onto the rock, you offer your hand to assist Harry and pull him up. "We made it!" you exclaim, lifting your arms. Harry high-fives both of your hands and bends down to kiss you. 

You unclip your life jacket, then do the same for Harry. Free from obstruction, your arms naturally loop around his waist for a hug. He embraces you, his large hand cradling the back of your head. You stay like that for a while, watching waves crash against the rocks as the sun starts painting the sky with blue and orange streaks. 

"Wanna do something stupid?" you mumble into his chest before lifting your chin to look at him mischievously. He has more freckles due to hours spent sunbathing. 

Harry peers at you with furrowed brows. "What?"

"Let's jump off that rock," you say, pointing your finger behind him. 

He turns you both around, still trapping you in his arms. A tall, cliff-like rock surrounded by several smaller rocks makes it easy to reach the top. You don't wait for Harry's answer and pull your shorts down, revealing your cherry-red bikini bottoms. Venturing your way up, you glance back at Harry. He grins and immediately follows suit, walking behind you with outreached arms in case you slip. 

At the top, you both stare at each other with knowing smiles. This is exactly where you're supposed to be. 

Out of nowhere, Harry experiences a burst of spontaneity and quickly lunges forward, cannonballing off the cliff and into the water. He emerges after a few seconds, shaking his hair and letting out a loud holler, probably caused by adrenaline or the cold water. 

You shuffle toward the edge and get ready to jump. Harry's gaze never wavers as you daintily leap off, plugging your nose and closing your eyes on the long way down. When you hit the water, a powerful sensation rushes through your body. You glide to the surface and find Harry swimming toward you, drenched hair plastered to his skin.

The water is an uncomfortable temperature, so you move briskly to climb back up on the rock the kayak is tied to. Shortly after, Harry lifts himself up, droplets dripping from his body. You dry off with the towel, then hand it to him. Once he finishes, you take your phone out of the backpack and tell him to pose. He presents both middle fingers, sticking his tongue out with a smile. The breathtaking evening view in the background makes the picture ten times more perfect. 

"Let's head back," you say after soaking in the skyline. "The wine tasting is at six, and it's a little after five right now." 

Harry nods, and you both put your life jackets back on before situating yourselves in the kayak. You untie the knotted rope, push off the rock, and then head toward the coastline. He helps paddle the whole way there, kissing the back of your neck every so often. 

Bliss, bliss, bliss. 

—— 

After returning the kayak and packing all the stuff in the car's trunk, Harry says he's going to find a nearby bathroom so he can change into his outfit for the wine tasting. He hands you one of his sweaters out of the bag — a grey crewneck. It's your favorite and still smells like him, no matter how often you've worn it. 

You have no idea what outfit he brought; he manages to take it out and quickly runs into a shop while you're distracted by the lively village. Waiting with anticipation in the car, you cozy up, growing tired from the strenuous paddling and calming atmosphere around you. 

Five minutes pass before Harry appears, and you immediately laugh at the sight of him. Not because he looks silly but because his outfit is too fancy for less than an hour of wine tasting in some restaurant's cellar. 

"Harry," you say breathily, taking in his outfit, "I'm wearing a sweater, and you're wearing a suit. Where did you even get that?" 

It's a bubblegum pink suit left open over a plain white button-up. White dress shoes are on his feet, and he must've fixed his hair in the bathroom mirror. 

"Eh?" He spins around. "You like it?" 

"You look very handsome, but now I feel severely underdressed. Why didn't you tell me to pack a dress?" You obviously don't have the time to go back to the villa and change, but you're curious as to why Harry didn't say anything about the apparent dress code for tonight. 

"Wanted to surprise you, darling. Plus, I know you would be worried about spilling wine on something nice. It's a private tasting, so no one will see you but me and the chef I mentioned."

Harry had booked a wine tasting with a man he'd met when he last visited Italy, the friendly owner of a family-owned restaurant in the village. He has always been able to leave unforgettable impressions on everyone he meets, so the man gladly moved some things around so that he could have you two come to the cellar for an intimate experience. 

You sigh, realizing there's no point in arguing. They won't care, so why should you? You have no doubt that Harry will make you feel comfortable once you get there. 

"You're right. Hopefully, he doesn't care that I look like I just crawled out of a lake." 

"Basta. Sembri un sogno," Harry says, grabbing your hand and tugging you out of the car. 

You assume he said something incredibly charming. Your face naturally warms as you distract yourself by picking nonexistent lint off your sleeve before walking the bustling street toward a restaurant called Dahlia. The man Harry knows is waiting by the arched front door with a jovial smile.

"Ciao, Signore Styles!" he greets enthusiastically. "Ah, la tua ragazza. Benvenuto!"

Harry shakes his hand. "Che bello rivederti. Questa è la mia ragazza, sì. Cominciamo, va bene?" 

"Yes, yes. Seguitemi, cari." 

The two of you follow him through the small, packed restaurant and descend a narrow flight of stairs that leads to a wine cellar. Harry is behind you, his hands on your shoulders so you don't take a tumble. His dress shoes click against the polished wood with each step. 

At the bottom, you turn down a dim hallway. Endless wine bottles are meticulously stacked on shelves against the walls. There's a table and chairs, and two wine glasses and napkins are already set neatly on the surface. There's even a plate of bread. 

You sit, Harry doing the same. He immediately begins shaking the napkin out and placing it in his lap like he's done this a million times before. You cross your legs and angle your body toward him, admiring his features in the low, yellowish lighting from the antique wall sconces. He grins handsomely.

The man brings over two bottles of expensive-looking wine, and you think of your preconceived notion of what wine tasting would be like—rolling hills and vineyards in the countryside, getting wine drunk with middle-aged moms wearing patterned blouses, gossiping about their cheating husbands. 

Where you are right now is undeniably better. Who wouldn't want to be in a cramped room with their boyfriend who's wearing a pink suit and looking at you like you're the only thing that exists?

The man fills the wine glasses with an adequate amount of blood-red liquid, then stands back to observe your reactions. Harry spins it around in his glass and sniffs it, acting like he's all fancy. You want to laugh at him but keep it inside so you don't seem disrespectful. Instead, you bring your glass up to your mouth and take a small sip, tasting wild berries and a hint of an unknown aromatic herb. Harry sips his next, eyes locked on yours the entire time. He smacks his lips after swallowing and exhales, obviously pleased. You roll your eyes at him secretively. He's acting like he owns the place, and it's shameful that you find it attractive. 

You rip off a piece of the bread from the loaf in front of you and eat it, the buttery dough instantly melting on your tongue. Harry smiles at you, resting his hand on your chair as you rip some more off and offer it to him. He puts it in his mouth and mouths a silent swear, then picks up the entire loaf of bread and inspects it like he's Gordon Ramsey. 

"I need the recipe for that," you whisper humorously. 

Harry, of course, takes it literally. He beckons the man to come closer and places a friendly hand on his shoulder. "La mia ragazza adora cucinare il pane. Potrei avere questa ricetta per favore? Questo è sorprendente." 

"Ovviamente! Tornerò," says the man while hurriedly going upstairs. 

You turn to Harry with confusion, needing help understanding the exchange. 

"He's getting the recipe for it," he explains. "You can make it before we go home."

"Harry," you say with a sigh. "Stop being so nice. I could've just found an online recipe. What if it's a family recipe that's super important to him?" 

"Stop worrying, my love. He doesn't mind."

Before you can respond, the man returns with a tattered recipe book. He opens it to a bookmarked page and sets it in front of you. "Fai una photo, caro. Fammi sapere com'è quando lo fai," he says, pointing at the bread drawing — not a picture — on the weathered page. Was this recipe from medieval times? Goodness gracious.

You can't understand him, so Harry takes your phone out of your pocket and snaps a picture of the handwritten words on the paper. You can't believe this man you just met is so willing to give you a recipe from his own restaurant. 

"Grazie," you say shyly. Harry smiles at your sudden bashfulness, scooting closer to you and kissing your head.

Wine tasting continues for the next hour. Throughout the various sips of eclectic flavors, Harry amps up his lovable antics — slowly and dramatically reeling off flavors he gets from the wine and spinning the liquid in the glass so quickly that it spills onto the napkin in his lap. 

Anything to see you smile. 

After what feels like gallons of wine, you and Harry thank the man for his graciousness and ask if he could drive the car back to the villa since driving back yourselves while tipsy would be idiotic. Harry offers to pay a hefty amount for the favor, and the man happily obliges, saying he will drive it back when he finishes closing the restaurant. Harry hands him the keys before you leave, shaking hands and kissing cheeks with the other chefs on the way out. 

You're both wine-drunk—arguably the best kind of drunk—and stumbling on clumsy feet with cheeks that won't stop smiling. It's dark out now, and the streetlights guide you to the Corvette. Harry calls for a taxi, speaking in full Italian, which makes you weak in the knees. 

Harry removes his suit jacket after hanging up the phone, leaving the white button-up in all its glory, his tattoos and chest hair peeking out from the few buttons undone. You take your belongings out of the trunk, set them on the ground, and then stand beside Harry. You kiss his chest, nuzzling your cheek against it and closing your eyes. He rubs his hand along your back and begins swaying with you under the streetlight. 

You look up at him with glassy eyes and flushed cheeks, admiring his matching appearance. "How do you say 'pretty' in Italian?" you ask, getting lost in his gaze. 

Harry pouts, thinking. "Patatina," he replies after a few seconds. 

"You're patatina," you say lovingly.

He snorts at your cluelessness, smearing a kiss on your forehead. 

"What?" you ask, looking at him with confusion. "Is that not what it means? That's not nice, Harry. What did you just make me say?" You gasp. "Is it something dirty?" 

He's still giggling, crinkled eyes and deep dimples carving his face. You poke his ribs to get him to answer. "Sorry," he says, breathing out a final laugh. "No, it's not dirty. Patatina is a term of endearment I read about in the book I bought. It means little potato." 

You stare at him with a deadpan expression, thoughts about why you decided to date this boy running through your head. "Little potato... it's actually kind of cute," you admit, shuffling closer to Harry's warm body. "If you're a patatina, what am I?" 

"Cipollino," he murmurs, cradling your face. It translates to 'little onion .'The book said it pairs well with patatina, and we're, like... a pair." 

Your nose scrunches. "But an onion, out of everything? That's probably the least romantic vegetable. I want to be rhubarb or something, you know? They taste sweet, and I think... I think I'm pretty sweet. Right, Harry?" The wine is making its way to your dizzy head.

"Correct," he says. "And I'm patatina, not Harry." 

"Shut up." 

"Kiss me, then. Shut me right up." 

You don't question him, lurching forward to give him a searing kiss, fingers hooking in his belt loops. He returns the kiss with the same, if not more, passion. You can taste the residue of wine on his cherry-colored lips, opening his mouth with your tongue to suck on his. 

You suddenly hear tires rolling up and turn to see headlights shining on your figures. Great timing, taxi. You part from Harry's swollen lips, short of breath, and hastily pick up your stuff. You hope no one witnessed anything too wild.

Harry hands the driver a wad of cash before he climbs in the backseat. You follow suit. The vehicle drives off into the night, and your head rests on your lover's shoulder the whole way back.

—— 

The villa looms exquisitely under the starlit sky. You're relatively sure you fell asleep not even five minutes into the drive. Harry helps your sleepy body out of the car after grabbing all your belongings, then walks you up the driveway. He sets you on the outdoor sofa surrounding the fire pit before disappearing through the sliding door. The whispering breeze makes you shiver and burrow deeper into his sweater still clinging to your figure.

Harry returns with two wine glasses and a bottle of... cranberry juice?

"If I have any more wine, I'll puke. So, cranberry juice?" he offers, his voice rising to a higher octave. 

"Sitting by the fire drinking cranberry juice out of a wine glass with you," you say dreamily while scooting over to make room for him. "I can't think of anything better."

You soak up his company. When he went inside, he changed into grey sweatpants and a matching hoodie, and he looked like such a boyfriend. It's ridiculous. He's always so inviting and lovely. You find yourself wanting to touch him and absorb the warmth he exudes.

Sleep overtakes you again while tucked into his side. The next thing you wake to is silk sheets on the king-size bed. You instinctively curl up to Harry's body beside you. He must have opened the vast bay window that provides an impossible sea view because a beautiful breeze flows over your skin. It has you sinking further into the mattress. 

"Want me to get your pajamas?" Harry asks quietly.

You sleepily shake your head, perfectly fine with sleeping in his sweater. However, you do slide off your shorts and bikini bottoms. 

You're dozing again when Harry clears his throat. You blink open your eyes, feeling his heart rate speed up under your cheek resting there. 

"I have something special planned for our anniversary tomorrow. It's in the evening, so we have time to do other things. Just letting you know." 

"That makes me nervous, but I trust you."

"Tomorrow will be even better than today. I promise." 

"Can't wait." You yawn. "Goodnight. Love you."

"I love you more than anything," he says, lightly scratching your back. 

You grumble an incoherent response, drifting off to your dreams that always pale compared to life with the man next to you. 

—— 

The following morning's ambiance consists of Harry's snoring and glorious sunshine pouring through the wind-blown curtains. You must've slept like a rock because the bedside clock reads nine-thirty. You decide to abandon the soft sheets and let Harry get more sleep. 

You wrap yourself in your satin robe and pad down the hallway toward the kitchen. One glance at the oven, and you remember the bread recipe from last night. It'd be a pleasant anniversary surprise for Harry, considering his surprise for you is shrouded in mystery. Plus, making bread is oddly therapeutic—the kneading, the delicious smell, the endless possibility of flavors. Luckily, all the simple ingredients are in the pantry, so you can start making the dough. 

By the time it's in the oven, Harry is still dead to the world, and the time is nearing eleven. Some days, he'll wake up at the crack of dawn to go on a stupid run, or he'll sleep until noon on the weekends after a long week of work. There's really no in-between. 

While the bread bakes, you clean the mess on the counters before sitting at the kitchen table to aimlessly scroll through your phone. Another twenty minutes pass before you hear feet shuffling against the hardwood floor. You glance up to find a puffy-eyed Harry rubbing his face. He's wearing black swim trunks, and that's about it, except for the sunglasses on top of his head. 

He bends down and kisses your cheek. "Buongiorno, mio piccolo cuoco," he says, his voice as raspy as the slight mustache above his lip that seems to have grown overnight.

"More like good afternoon." You shut your phone off and set it aside. "Did you sleep well?" 

"Mm, the best I have in ages," he answers, scratching his stomach. He then smiles lazily, his eyes looking more awake. "Happy anniversary." 

"Three whole years. I don't know how I've gone putting up with you this long." 

"Hey. I can go back to bed if you want," he says, pointing his thumb toward the bedroom. 

"No, stay," you plead softly. "By the way, I'm making that bread recipe. It's my present to you for being an average boyfriend." 

"Being sassy this morning, are we?" 

"You love it." 

"Got that right," Harry mutters, nosily peering into the oven. He sniffs the bread dramatically and whistles impressively before shutting the oven door. The mouthwatering aroma reminds you of wandering the Italian streets yesterday.

"Going for a swim?"

"Yeah. Join me?"

"I will once the bread is done." You stand and send him on his way with a peck to his lips. "Go ahead. I'll make you a fruit platter."

"Dragonfruit, please?" he requests, opening the sliding door that leads to the infinity pool. 

"Got it. Don't forget to put sunscreen on!" 

He gives you a thumbs up, leaving the door open to welcome the pleasant breeze. You grab hot pads and take the finished bread out, setting it on the cooling rack before turning the oven off. While it cools, you change into a swimsuit, tie a chiffon wrap skirt around your hips, and then arrange a platter. 

You gather the cubed fruit you've both been eating the past couple of days—cantaloupe, watermelon, strawberries, and, per Harry's request, dragonfruit. He wanted to buy some after his wonderful mother grew it in her garden. Then, you precisely arrange the fruit in a circle on a floating breakfast tray that can go in the pool, keeping the middle open for slices of buttered bread. You sincerely hope it tastes close enough to what you ate yesterday. 

Lastly, you fill glasses with orange juice before carefully heading outside to keep Harry company. You see him floating on his back, arms open and eyes closed. You set the platter down on a table and tiptoe to the edge of the pool.

To hell with it. You're going to scare him to get him back for trying to tip the kayak yesterday. It's only fair, right? 

He's oblivious to everything around him, a peaceful glow on his face. You almost feel bad for deciding to disturb it — especially on your anniversary — but what good is a relationship without a bit of havoc? 

You mull over what you could possibly do to frighten him. Maybe throw a cantaloupe piece at him or pretend the car came back destroyed. These are two vastly different ends of the mischief spectrum, and ultimately, the latter is the obvious choice—and the most fun.

"Harry?" you say quietly, changing your expression to make it seem like you're distraught. 

"Yeah?" he replies, keeping his eyes closed. 

"Um, your friend from yesterday just dropped the car off. Harry, it's—"

His eyes snap open, picking up on your wavering and anxious tone. He stops floating and swims over to where you're standing by the edge. 

"What's wrong? Talk to me. Did something happen? Are you okay?" he rambles worriedly, his eyes darting between your face and body to check for any signs. 

"The car," you whisper, mustering up fake tears. Harry instinctively holds your ankle, his thumb rubbing soothing circles. "It's destroyed. It looks like it got in an accident. What are we going to do?" 

"Seriously? What the fuck? How— I don't—" He heaves himself out of the pool and begins walking around the villa toward the driveway. He looks like he's about to punch something, so you suppress your laughter and decide to end the game. 

You grab his wrist, spinning him around. He stares at you with panic, and now you feel bad. "I'm kidding, baby. I'm just messing with you. The car is fine. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you repeat, clasping his cheeks and laughing.

His jaw drops. "You're so mean." 

"I'm just getting you back for yesterday. Them's the rules."

"Yeah, but you've been quite sassy all morning, hmm? First, you called me an average boyfriend. Then, you didn't even kiss me good morning. That hurts my heart." 

"You were completely passed out. How would you have known if I kissed you good morning or not?"

"I can always tell. They bring me back to life." 

"Shut up," you scoff, grabbing the platter. "Here's some fruit and homemade bread as a peace offering. Take it or leave it." 

"Feed me in the pool, and I'll consider your offer." 

"Fine. I'm not getting in, though. I want to sunbathe for a bit. 

Harry dramatically rolls his eyes and dives back in. When he emerges, he swims to the edge. You sit down with the platter and let it float next to him before putting your feet in the tepid water. You pick up a slice of bread and hold it to Harry's awaiting mouth. He places your legs over his shoulders, his arms hooking around your upper thighs. 

Someone's needy today. 

He tosses the bread into his mouth, eyes rolling back like they did in the wine cellar yesterday. He borderline moans at the taste, jaw flexing with each chew. After he swallows, he leaves grateful kisses on your thighs. "Deliziosa," he murmurs, paired with more nipping and kissing. You know he's not talking about the bread. The 'a' he added to the end of the word makes it feminine. He's not slick.

Before you both get carried away — wanting to save your pent-up tension for later — you feed him a plethora of fruit before deciding to make both of you an actual meal. You're starving, so you'll catch some sun later. 

Harry whines at the loss of contact. You use your foot to push his chest until he's floating on his back again. He throws you a peace sign before you head back inside. 

As you whip up a quick breakfast, you watch your boyfriend from the door, appreciating his sunkissed body and tattoos. You smile and think about how time has flown by with him in the most remarkable way.

Three years and hopefully a lifetime more.

—— 

You're nervous. 

You don't have the faintest idea what Harry's surprise is. All he's said is to dress nicely and not eat anything yet. Maybe he's taking you out to dinner? Or perhaps you'll walk downtown together and stop at vendors. You're stumped. He's annoyingly good at keeping secrets. 

It's nearing seven as you add the finishing touches to your makeup. Harry is in the bathroom spraying cologne on his neck, looking casually handsome in a flowing, off-white button-up. He's paired it with matching cotton shorts and sneakers that need washing. You keep telling him to clean them, but he ignores your pleading and claims the dirt gives them character. 

A short cherry-colored dress with puffed sleeves adorns your body. Red lipstick to match. Hair loose. The necklace Harry bought you for your last anniversary glimmering against your neck. 

Harry comes behind you in the vanity mirror as you apply a final coat of mascara and starts soothingly scratching your upper back. He can probably sense you're feeling nervous, knowing you don't particularly like surprises. However, you think he looks undeniably handsome, his new tan and stubble pulling you back into his comfort. Somehow, just looking at him eases your nerves.

"Gorgeous," he whispers.

You smooth any remaining wrinkles out of your dress. "Thank you. I'm almost done." 

"Take your time," he replies, squeezing your shoulders. "I'll start the car." 

You make sure your makeup is smudge-free and then shut the bedroom light off on your way to the front door. Harry is waiting by the passenger side of the Corvette with a distracted look on his face. When he finally sees you coming, he opens the door for you. This time, you accept his gentlemanlike gesture. 

He drives to an unknown destination, taking the backroads. You can't even guess where you're heading since everything outside the villa is unfamiliar.

Ten minutes later, Harry slows down and turns right toward what appears to be a small seaside forest. He drives along the path leading through the trees until a hidden beach area eventually reveals itself. He parks the car while you're speechless at the sight before you. The only things on the sand are a round table with two chairs surrounded by tiki torches. 

No one else is here. If Harry tells you he rented the entire beach, you'll kill him. 

"I rented this portion of the beach for the night."

Of course.

"You're ridiculous," you say, taking in your surroundings. "Thank you, Harry. This is a wonderful surprise." 

He ducks his head bashfully. "C'mon, let's eat." 

You follow him to the table and sit on the wicker chair across from him. In front of you is a plate of stuffed ravioli with a side of roasted asparagus, cooked just how you like them. Harry has vegan fettuccine alfredo with peas--a lot of peas. A gagworthy amount.

"I'm floored right now," you say, overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness. "I can't believe you did all this without me knowing." 

"I'm a sneaky guy. There were lots of secret phone calls while you were in the shower or swimming in the pool. 

You take your sandals off and enjoy the cool sand between your toes. "Yeah, I bet. I'm not even going to ask how much it costs to rent this part of the beach." 

"It's not important," he says. "Let's eat, shall we? And talk me through this little outfit you have on. Why on earth haven't I seen you wear it yet?" 

Then, both of you eat, talk, and watch the waves glide on the shore. The sun is dipping past the horizon, turning the sky a violet shade with splashes of fading orange. You talk Harry's ear off about random stuff in your life and humorous anecdotes since the trip started. His body naturally leans toward you to give you his undivided attention. He listens the entire time, eyes on you with his chin in the palm of his hand, except for when he pops some spearmint gum into his mouth after finishing his truckload of peas. 

After you finish rambling, you wait for him to start talking your ear off. He usually can drone on and on about anything for hours, but right now, he's just sitting and staring at the sunset. 

"You're quiet," you point out, gently poking his arm with your fork. 

"Just thinking." 

"About what?" 

He sighs longingly before saying, "I know we still have more than enough time here, but I kind of don't want to leave. I love it here so much. This is the happiest I've ever been." 

Your heart melts. "I feel the same way. I could stay here forever and never get bored of it. Especially with you by my side."

Harry finally looks at you, his eyes holding something unreadable yet powerful. He stands abruptly and reaches his hand out. "Let's walk for a bit," he says with a tone that kicks your anxiety into high gear. 

You grasp his hand, and he leads you along the shoreline, your feet getting wet whenever the tide washes up. It's quiet except for the pesky seagulls, crashing waves, and salty breeze. Where you are right now makes you want to bottle up the memory so you can keep the feeling forever, replay this trip, and relive the most joyous moments of your life. 

Harry eventually stops, facing you with both hands holding yours tightly. He looks... pale. Are his hands shaking, or are you imagining things? Is he about to pass out from sunstroke? Did he eat too many peas? 

He clears his throat and visibly gulps, squinting at the sky and exhaling quickly. His feet shuffle nervously. An incomprehensible thought zings to the front of your brain. 

Is he about to do what you think he's about to do? 

"I might cry and possibly throw up, so please bear with me," he says, his voice shaky.

You just stare at him, unable to say anything. Then, he begins lowering on one knee, and you just about go down with him. 

He removes his hands from yours and takes something out of his pocket. It's a velvet ring box, pink and delicate.  

You gasp as Harry opens his mouth, his watery eyes trained on nothing but you. "I love you with all my heart. I'm weak for the things you do, and it consumes me to the point where I feel like I might burst from loving you so much. Every word you speak or smile you give me has me falling for you deeper and deeper. And... you love me back. You love me better than anyone. And I realized when we first met that you're someone I not only want in this life but need. You're the only one for me, and I'll take care of you, support you, and love you so thoroughly until you get sick of me. I'm rambling now, so I'll shut up and cut to the chase. I want to be your husband. Will you marry me? Please? Il mio cuore è solo tuo. If you want it, it's yours." 

Harry finishes his speech by opening the ring box to reveal a silver oval-cut ring that takes your breath away. A tear trails down your cheek as your lips wobble. You nod your head what feels like a thousand times. "Yes. Yes, I'll marry you. Holy shit."

He laughs beautifully, his eyes squinting so much that the captured tears in his waterline spill over. He stands and shakily puts the ring on the correct finger. It fits perfectly. 

You cup his cheeks and bring his face toward yours. "I love you," you say while kissing his flushed and tear-stained cheeks. "You're so sneaky. I wasn't expecting this until you looked like you were going to pass out in front of me." 

"Be glad I didn't throw up on your dress." 

"That's true." Suddenly, everything hits you. Harry, we're going to get married." 

He smiles with unbridled happiness, nodding before picking you up bridal style and running into the sea. The splashes he makes strike you with cold splatters, and you squeal, but it quickly turns into uncontrollable laughter when Harry spins you around and dips you toward the water. You squirm with resistance and manage to escape his arms. He stumbles from the waves but remains upright, then stares at you intensely for three seconds before kissing your lips like they're his life source. 

"My fiancée," he says, kissing down your face to your neck. "I adore you."

"Can we" — you whimper breathily — "go back to the villa and celebrate? Some wine, dessert, and... maybe some other things." 

He can't propose to you while looking this good and expect you not to jump his bones. 

"Sì, mi amore." 

—— 

At the villa, palpable tension lingers in the air and throughout your body. The adrenaline from what just happened is still coursing in your blood as Harry makes a beeline straight to the master bedroom. It's only right to follow with shallow breaths and a hammering heartbeat.

Approaching the bedroom, you see Harry already taking off his shirt. You walk over and lie on the bed, waiting for him to initiate the celebration. You're usually the one who likes to be in control, but being the sexually dominant type calls for preparation and the right kind of mood. Now, at this moment, all you want is to writhe in pleasure on silk sheets and feel Harry's touch everywhere. 

You're already impatiently aroused because of Harry's teasing on the drive back. His fingers were stroking the inside of your thigh, traveling up, up, up until they reached dangerous territory. He'd start to pull away after realizing how wet you already were, but you would trap his hand with your thighs, making him groan. Two could play at that game.

Now, Harry saunters over to you in nothing but his cotton shorts. His tanned skin looks tempting in the muted lamplight. The rest of the lights are off, and the moon is brightly shining in the indigo sky. 

"Ready for me?" he asks lowly, hungrily glancing over your body. 

You nod and bend your knees. Harry lies on his stomach and gets between your legs, his hands gripping your upper thighs with fervor. He must've put his rings on when you weren't looking. He knows you love the feeling of them. You're not picky as to where. 

"Gonna let me take care of you?"

"Please. Please, Harry." 

"Patience, my love. Let me see you." 

"I'm right here. Do something. Please, I need you." 

He shushes you with a soft timbre, scooting closer to where you need him the most. He lifts your dress, bunches the material up by your stomach, and then readjusts his grip on your thighs. His lips trail closer to your lace underwear, and he looks at you under his eyelashes. His eyes ground you, make you nervous, and leave you spellbound. Maintaining eye contact with him is hard when you know you'll come undone way too quickly from just his intense gaze. You're not giving him the benefit of that. Not tonight, at least.

Instead, you stare at the vaulted ceiling and gasp when his lips graze over your underwear. Soft, purposeful movements have you closing your thighs around your head as a reflex. Open-mouthed kisses over your wetness lace drive you crazy. You're clenching, internally soliciting for him to just do something. 

"Stop teasing," you say firmly, still not looking at him.

"Don't be bossy." 

"I'm not being bossy. You're my fiancé, so you're supposed to be nice to me." 

He moves your underwear to the side. "Yeah? My fiancée wants me to be nice to her? I'm always nice, baby. Always good for you, you know that." 

"You are, you are. It's true. The nicest man I've ever known. No one has even come close." You squirm with impatience. "Just take them off." 

Harry doesn't waste any time, propping himself up to slide the material down your legs. You lift your ankles above his head to fling them off, then plant your feet back on the mattress and spread wide open so he can resume. 

His mouth immediately latches onto your clit, sucking it, his nose fitting perfectly above it. You moan loudly, back arching and hands grasping his neck. You have to look at him now and watch him take care of you like only he knows how. When you do, it's a sight straight from heaven. His brows are drawn in, eyes shut, and pink lips bring you pleasure in the most intimate way. 

Harry continues sucking before soothing his tongue along your entrance. Without warning, he removes his mouth and replaces it with his fingers. He dives two of them in, curling them in a way that makes you inhale sharply. His mouth occupies itself with kissing the inside of your thighs, biting little marks so you can remember this experience. 

The sensations of both his fingers and mouth are overwhelming, and your hand can't help but involuntarily pull his hair. 

"God," he mumbles against your thigh. "Do that again, baby." 

You pull harder, and a deep, raspy moan leaves his mouth. He begins kissing along your body while his fingers continue bringing you to your peak. He adds a third as he nips your waist, his head exploring under your bunched-up dress. He props one arm up to hover himself over you. You look at him with lustful eyes, your mouth parted, soft moans escaping when he hits a particular spot. He smears a messy kiss on your lips, and you try your best to return it as his fingers thrust in and out of you.

An orgasm quickly forms in your lower stomach. Harry massages your clit with the pad of his thumb to bring you there, knowing your body and when you're about to let go like the back of his hand. He grinds against the bed to soothe his own arousal. He's been hard since your act in the car, having felt your thighs clench around his hands, his fingers so close to his favorite spot. He apparently couldn't help himself. 

When Harry hits that final spot that has you crying out, you arch your back and let go. Your eyes squeeze shut as you moan from the delightful pressure freely flowing out of your body. 

Harry places his mouth back on yours as you finish, removing his fingers from inside you and gripping your hips, leaving a coat of your arousal on the love bites left there. Your body is strong enough to lift yourself on your elbows and leave marks on Harry's neck. He grunts when you bite the sensitive skin below his earlobe and grinds against the bed once more, stilling and then shuddering through a fierce release.

Oh. He came from that one touch. 

He falls flat on the bed, cupping himself and breathing heavily. There's a damp spot on his shorts. It's a filthy sight.

"That was embarrassing. I'm sorry," Harry murmurs, his cheek pressed against the pillow. "I thought I'd be able to last." 

You brush some sweaty hair off his forehead. "It's fine. I don't have to do any work now." 

"Hilarious," he says monotonously. He suddenly jumps up from the bed and shuffles to the bathroom, confusing you. You hear him wash his hands and then turn on the jacuzzi. He returns with a clean pair of boxers and smoothly lifts you from the bed. Your dress covers your exposed state, yet it doesn't hide the slick feeling between your legs. The warm water will feel amazing. 

Harry gently sets you on the sink counter as the tub fills up. He grabs a washcloth and dips it under the faucet before cleaning you. It's comfortably silent, with only rushing water in the background. 

When the jacuzzi is adequately filled, Harry helps you stand and remove your dress. Once naked, you quickly go to the bathroom while Harry removes his boxers. He then leads you to the jacuzzi to sit down. When he climbs in, you cling onto him for a cuddle as sleepiness washes over you. Harry presses a button to turn the jets on. Everything feels so lovely.

"I can't believe you said yes," he says. 

"You knew I would. How could I possibly say no to you after a speech like that?" 

"Dunno. We're, like... together forever now." He rubs the ring on your finger. "Well, not yet. But when we actually get married, it's a lifetime with each other. It's wild to think about, but I want nothing more." 

"I get what you mean," you say, scrubbing the red lipstick stains on his neck with the pads of your fingers. "I want this with you too." 

When you softly rub around his lips, he kisses your finger and looks at you with disbelief. You pluck his swollen bottom lip with your thumb, then lean in to plant a truthful kiss there.

Everything with him is so simple. Every touch is meaningful. Every unspoken word holds the weight of a million said. Every laugh leaves you teary-eyed with a heart full of love.

He is pure love. What he gives so naturally is exactly what he is.

Once your skin turns wrinkly and the water becomes lukewarm, you and Harry get out and dry yourselves off. He retreats to the bedroom to grab pajamas. When he returns, you put on an oversized shirt and walk out of the bathroom after draining the tub, running toward the bed and bellyflopping on it like a kid. Harry shuts the bedroom light off and flops beside you, letting out a long and blissful sigh. 

"I'm hungry," he says.

You snort. "You ate a million peas not even an hour ago. How are you still hungry?" 

"Sex makes me hungry. And stop making fun of my love of peas. Hey, can you get the cantaloupe? I'm knackered." 

His rapid change of topics makes you laugh. "Anything for you, pea boy."

You hear him faintly whine at your new nickname for him as you stroll into the kitchen. You open the refrigerator to grab a bowl of cantaloupe cubes and then return. Harry's eyes are fluttering shut, and his limbs are spread out on the mattress. You climb over him, sitting against the headboard as he blindly reaches his hand for some fruit. He chews against the pillow, his cheeks squishing adorably. 

"Thanks," he mumbles with his mouth full. 

"Mm-hmm. I'm going to sleep. I'll put the bowl on the nightstand for you." 

Once you've moved the cantaloupe, you scoot down and lie on your back. Harry keeps reaching for the bowl without moving his head, sometimes missing entirely and waving his hand around to find it. You eventually close your eyes, a smile making its way to your face when you realize you'll wake up tomorrow as an engaged woman next to your future husband.

Harry finishes all the fruit in the bowl and then turns off the lamp. He tugs you against his chest, and you exhale happily, his warmth effortlessly pulling you under into a deep sleep. 

—— 

Two Weeks Later 

After situating yourself in the airplane seat, you pull out your phone and open Instagram. You and Harry are on your way back from Italy. It was an unforgettable two weeks together, and not one day went by without you making new memories. 

You had told only the closest people to you about the engagement—your parents and Harry's. No one else knows, so you decided to announce the news with an Instagram post. You wanted to wait until after vacation to worry about making phone calls and giving details about how it happened. 

Now, you start creating a post on the fourteen-hour flight to California. You already know what picture to use — Harry cutely holding a bottle of wine along the lusciously green countryside, ready for a picnic date in a park. Also, with an impressive mustache. Throughout the ten days after the engagement, Harry had decided to grow his faint mustache into a full-fledged one. You don't know how it grew so fast, honestly. You also didn't know how to feel about it at first, but you're accustomed to liking it now. It makes him look mature. 

How it feels between your thighs, well, that's a story for another day.

Harry has chosen to post a picture of the ring, gleaming brilliantly in the pink velvet box. And with him being the artsy, moderately strange social media poster, he had to add something extra to the picture — a paint swatch. Both of you spontaneously went paint shopping one day when you got bored in the villa. You had been talking to him for months about redoing the bathroom at the house, so you went to a local paint store to ogle at different options. Harry, being the sentimental and cheesy man he is, suggested painting it the color of the ring box he proposed with. You remember thinking the diluted pink would complement the white tiles and granite counter of the master bathroom perfectly. 

You couldn't possibly refuse the idea, especially since it would always remind you of that special evening on the beach.

You had searched with him to find a color that resembled the box, all while goofing around and laughing at the bizarrely specific names of the swatches. You had pointed to a light green swatch appropriately named peapod and told Harry he should paint the kitchen that color since he loves peas so much. He pouted at you and dramatically walked down another aisle. Typical. And so sensitive about his peas!

Harry is sleeping beside you, his head snugly settled on a pillow propped against the airplane window while soft snores escape his mouth. You'll wait for him to wake up so you can both post at the same time. As for now, you rest your head on his shoulder to also take a nap. Harry stirs and drowsily slaps his hand onto your knee to keep you close.

You'll miss Italy's golden sunsets, good-natured people, and ethereal views. However, the thought of going home and beginning a new chapter with your fiancé doesn't sound too bad. 

Bliss, in all its glory, takes hold once again.

——

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles fluff #harry styles au #harry styles #adore-laur #pink velvet

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Lilia Vanrouge - Beach Wear Voice Lines

When Summoned: It's summer! It's the beach! It's an uninhabited island～! We're going to have a blast on this little vacation, Stitch! (Stitch: Wheee!)

Summon Line: I can't believe I've gotten the awesome privilege of having such a fun encounter on this strange island. My excitement just won't go away.

Groooovy!!: Let's go, Stitch! We'll rule this summer! (Stitch: Yay!)

Home: Onwards towards the beach, Stitch! (Stitch: Oooh!)

Swap Looks: Even in summer I'm cute, don'tcha think?

Home Idle 1: I didn't expect him to be able to bring down a palm tree with one hit... Kufufu, Stitch is quite the rascal.

Home Idle 2: There's kayaking, beach volleyball, and scuba diving... Ah, whatever shall I do? There's far too much I want to do while here on this island.

Home Idle 3: Riddle has a tendency of being much too serious. Spending some time away from everything on this uninhabited island may do him some good.

Home Idle - Login: One must have the courage to enjoy yourself, especially when in a crisis such as this. See, Stitch agrees with me. (Stitch: Rock and Roll!)

Home Idle - Groovy: That Gantu fellow seems like he's real uptight. We're all out here on the beach during summer, we should all be enjoying ourselves!

Home Tap 1: Stitch is a really cute fellow. I find it so soothing to just look into his large, round eyes, and admire those stunning teeth... Ah, he just bit me!

Home Tap 2: Once, while travelling in a tropical country, I became entangled with some troublesome fellows. And let me tell you, they looked exactly like how Azul is dressed right now.

Home Tap 3: Don't you think my super summer style is slammin'? Come, come, don't be so shy, take a good look at me.

Home Tap 4: Ace and I played a game of Beach Flags just a bit ago. The result? Of course, it ended with my absolute victory.

Home Tap 5: I see there are frogs and lizards here, so we should be good on sustenance. What, you don't want to eat those? It's not good to be picky like that, you know.

Home Tap - Groovy: I never thought I'd ever be able to enjoy summer on the beach like this… But thanks to that strange book, I was able to have a wonderful experience.

Duo: [LILIA]: Ace, we'll bang this out and beat 'em all up! [ACE]: Lilia-senpai, ooh, you tryin' out my catchphrase?

Requested by Anonymous.

#twisted wonderland #twst #lilia vanrouge #ace trappola #twst lilia #twst ace #twst translation #twst lost in the book with stitch #mention: stitch #mention: riddle #mention: azul #mention: ace

[writing-rat]

Poe Cup Incident

Pairings: Enid x Wednesday

Content: Wednesday cant swim, Fluff, Wednesday is soft for Enid

Summary: Wednesday can't swim. Probably not good for the Poe Cup Incident.

It was the day of the Poe Cup race and Wednesday was rather excited for it. She was ready to beat Bianca again this year. She was currently in the tent with Wednesday and Yoko as they were getting dressed into the costume. This time it was going as dogs per Yoko’s request. Wednesday backed it up as well as Enid so there was no complaints from anyone. The ears were put on as well as everyone wearing the collar minus Wednesday. She didn’t want to and Enid was respectful of that. Everyone was eventually ready to walk out, Wednesday having that determined look on her face. “Should we get going now?” Yoko asked the 2 to which they were nodding. Enid was bouncing on her feet excitedly while Wednesday walked out calmly, ignoring the stares of everyone and glanced at Bianca. 

“Good luck fish,” she spoke to Bianca who glared at the shorter female. “Bad luck to you too, shortie,” Bianca retorted back before she was wandering over to her own kayak. Wednesday, Enid and Yoko proceeded to go into their own and was prepared, Thing hiding in the boat already. They would have the same tactic for Kent like last year. Wednesday was directly behind Yoko while Enid was at the front. Enid was the strongest due to her werewolf strength as well as her starting to work out. Wednesday was the next strongest but she thought she should go to the back to keep an eye on everyone. Enid agreed. 

Once the gunshot went off, everyone immediately started to row, Wednesday keeping going as she was glancing over at Bianca, knowing she was the main threat of everyone. Enid was glancing over at Ajax’s team, knowing they would be easy to beat, mainly because everyone was stoned. Wednesday held her own smirk as she was noticing that they were going as fast as Bianca’s boat, maybe even faster. She was preparing to allow the knives out once she noticed how they were going over. That was at least until there was an audible crack from under the boat. They were outplanned, Kent was sent to leave early and he had an axe it seemed. That was the last thing Wednesday saw before the boat was split in half and the water was stealing her away from Enid.

One thing she neglected to say to everyone was that she couldn’t swim. She was panicking slightly, not that she’d say. She was soon at ease, trying to swim up but was failing. Meanwhile Kent was distracted by Ajax’s team which were easily pushed away and destroyed. Wednesday soon closed her eyes, ashamed she was going to die in a mediocre way, and also when her last words to Enid were ‘we will win’. 

Meanwhile Yoko and Enid made it to the island coughing, before Enid noticed one thing. Wednesday wasn’t there. “Fuck! Wednesday?” She called out loudly, starting to panic. Yoko widened her eyes. 

“I think I saw her going to the bottom but I’m not sure,” Yoko admitted as she was rubbing her glasses and quickly put them on. “My eyes burnt, I’m sorry,” Yoko apologised. “It’s fine. I’m going to get her,” Enid reassured before she was quickly underwater again, keeping her eyes open. Meanwhile Yoko was on the side pacing when Bianca’s boat came. 

“What’s going on babe?” Divina asked immediately. “Wednesday is underwater still, Enid is going to get her,” Yoko explained. 

“Can she swim?” Bianca asked concerned suddenly, she didn’t want to hurt anyone, even Wednesday with their usual banter.

“I assumed she could,” Yoko spoke. Meanwhile Enid was swimming before she saw Kent. She was waving at him, to which he quickly swam over confused. He saw the urgency. She quickly went to get air as he followed behind her, helping her up. “What’s going on?” Kent asked almost immediately. “Wednesday is underwater still, don’t know if she can swim. Can you get her?” Enid rushed out, to which Kent widened his eyes and nodded. As soon as he nodded he was down. Eventually he was back up with Wednesday, who was unconscious. She was soon on the ground quickly before Enid was doing CPR, and mouth-to-mouth. The sirens meanwhile went to Larissa Weems to mention what happened and to bring medical help. 

Eventually Wednesday’s eyes opened as she was looking around dazed and confused, hearing beeping noises. Slowly sitting up, she looked around and yawned before she realised what happened and groaned, knowing people knew. That’s when she felt a gentle slap on her arm. “Why didn’t you say you couldn’t swim?” Asked a tired Enid immediately before Wednesday was hugged tightly. “I don’t tend to say my weaknesses,” Wednesday responded. “You know that mon loup,” Wednesday added on. Enid then hugged Wednesday tight, and was practically getting onto the bed. “You are so dumb,” Enid stated, letting her tears out. “I don’t ever want to lose you babycakes, you know that,” Enid added on more after a bit. Wednesday proceeded to grasp her chin, looking at her before she was kissing her gently. Enid proceeded to kiss back, holding her sides as she was rubbing them. Wednesday smiled more.

“You won’t ever lose me,” Wednesday stated. “Now sleep love, you need it.” Enid nodded, cuddling up to the shorter girl before soft snores could be heard. Wednesday could get used to this.

#ratboy writing #wednesday #wenclair #wednesday x enid

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

And Eat It, Too: Chapter One: Into the Fire

The voice gets under his skin. Is it pleasing or terrifying? Inside his head or out? Is it even real, or is his still-human brain just cobbling monster-sounds into something he can comprehend?

It’s impossible to get out of his head, whether literal or not.

Doesn’t matter, though, because the answer Michael gives is a terrible one, and ends the same way: Gertrude could protect herself, Jon can’t, and he’s going to die for her sins.

Chapter One, In which Jon escapes the Circus in an unexpected way, and makes a promise he may come to regret…

>>> NOW ON AO3!

Michael lives.

Each chapter diverges more from the canon. We're talking butterfly-effect chaos here, folks.

Tim lives, too. Kayaks be damned.

Warning for PTSD, because our boy Jon has been through it.

Warning for Elias, who is a bastard, and should be made to wear a neon-yellow safety jacket at all times.

Super-special thanks to @scifrey, who is willing to beta-read this thing for me even though it is HUGE.

(Masterpost including playlist)

*

CHAPTER ONE

Jon hasn’t breathed in a while.

He’s vaguely aware of it, aware his lungs feel tight and terrible, as if transformed into the wet leather that supposedly comprises Michael’s skin.

He can’t bring himself to care. He can care later, when the statement is done.

“To have your who torn bloody from your what, and another crudely lashed into its place,” says the thing that ate Michael, the thing that is Michael, and even though the Distortion’s experience was and is in no way human, Jon knows.

Pain without terror, shock without fear (because it is fear and cannot feel those things), but it is so much rage and all consuming and Jon whites out.

And then, Michael laughs.

It’s better than a slap. Knives in the ears, eyeballs straining as if pushed out by his swelling brain.

“That is what I am,” finishes Michael, and Jon thinks, Yes, headache and dizziness seem about right.

And Jon can breathe.

He’s still going to die. Still covered in layers of old, floral moisturizer. Still under threat of being skinned alive.

But he has so many questions.

What was it like to “become,” how much of human-Michael does he remember, did he pick up Michael’s tastes like ice cream flavors and preferred teas or only his rage, what happened to the map, why did the map matter, did Michael actually die with anger toward Gertrude or is that only Distortion-Michael’s thing –

And a question pops out, slips like a marble between his lips, too heavy and wet to stop and just as disruptive. “But you… you never tried to take revenge on Gertrude?”

And for whatever insane reason, Michael keeps answering him.

It’s like it really does want him to know.

If you’re going to die, at least you’ll do it on a full stomach, Jon thinks with rising hysteria, and almost laughs.

Michael’s voice is indescribable. Jon’s tried; started and stopped numerous tapes, tried to talk to Tim about it (once), tried to bring it up with Martin.

Tried with Elias, too, who just smiled at him and said nothing. Of course.

The voice gets under his skin. Is it pleasing or terrifying? Inside his head or out? Is it even real, or is his still-human brain just cobbling monster-sounds into something he can comprehend?

It’s impossible to get out of his head, whether literal or not.

Doesn’t matter, though, because the answer Michael gives is a terrible one, and ends the same way: Gertrude could protect herself, Jon can’t, and he’s going to die for her sins.

Funny, that every single one of his failures just serves to highlight whatever Gertrude was, compared to him.

I should probably be more scared than just tired, he thinks, as if trying to summon a proper terror, but it fails. He is just tired.

Maybe he’s out of fear. Run empty, like a helium balloon gone flaccid on the floor.

(How did Gertrude protect herself, did she have some kind of object, was it another ritual like binding herself to Agnes—)

The questions don’t stop. They never stop. They are an avalanche, burying him beneath cold, white weight if he isn’t careful. But Jon supposes only one matters now, because no matter how much it all hurts, he doesn’t want to die. “Is there anything I can do to stop you from killing me?”

He can feel that the Eye wanted something juicier. Jon already knows the answer (No), and therefore learns nothing by asking it. Even now, the damned bloody Eye doesn’t care if he suffers or dies—only that it is fed.

Michael, apparently, did like it, and its tone transforms to horrifyingly sweet, to irreverently gentle, to delicately poisoned as it says, “I promise you will die far more pleasantly with me than with them.”

It sounds like it’s offering some kind of illicit spa-day, not an invite to the end.

Jon sighs. So, he thinks. Stay here and be skinned, watch bits of myself stuffed into mannequins, and die knowing they will be used to end the whole damned world…

Or get chased through madness-corridors by a pointy monster who wants me confused enough to eat.

Tears take his vision just for a moment. He doesn’t want this. Not any of this.

Elias said it, didn’t he? You never wanted this, no. But I’m afraid you absolutely did choose it. In a hundred ways, at a hundred thresholds, you pressed on. You sought knowledge relentlessly, and you always chose to see. Our world is made of choices, Jon, and very rarely do we truly know what any of them mean, but we make them, nonetheless.

Jon needs no powers to know that if Elias were here right now, Jon would deck him.

And probably break my hand, he thinks bitterly. Would be worth it.

The thing is, it’s not a choice, is it?

Stay for skinning, and the world ends.

Choose madness, and while that won’t save anything, it won’t lead to apocalypse.

Michael was right. Here Jon is, bringing about the Unknowing faster—unless he takes this deal.

So the universe loses a monster, Jon thinks, and means not hurting anyone but himself. “Okay.”

Michael snips the ropes with its knife-fingers and disturbing accuracy, leaving his skin and nasty, sodden clothes untouched. “Good. Right this way.”

Jon bristles right out of melancholy.

Michael sounds so pleased with him. Like Jon is a misbehaving child who finally got it under control. Like choosing how to end his own life (in pain or in pain) is somehow just ridiculous, and overwrought, and it’s about time he got back with the program.

Jon is scowling as he stands, ropes falling away. His limbs creak. His clothing sticks to him miserably; some of the lotion they used dried against the cloth, and for some reason, made the fabric stiff.

It scratches his torso as he moves, nauseating.

At least they left him clothed. Didn’t make plastic hands reaching under it to rub goo all over him any better, but dying naked sounds worse. Just worse.

“Open it,” says Michael in such a gentle voice, soothing, as if it’s merciful, as if it means to sing Jon to his final rest. “Open it, and all this will be over.”

The door is there. Yellow. Incongruous in this storage room filled with mutated mannequins and horrifying waxworks. “There’s no point to this,” Jon mutters, walking slowly toward the door. “They’ll just hire another one.”

“What?” says Michael.

Jon’s tone is as sharp its hands. “If you want to hurt the Eye, this won’t matter to it. It doesn’t care about me. Elias doesn’t care. They’ll just hire someone else. That’s all I’m saying.”

“That is a sentence,” Michael says, sounding oddly affronted.

And lunacy takes control. “Fine words from a fear-god undone by a damned scribble!”

Michael stares at him. The fake-human face is blank, as much a mask as the plastic things that have been slathering lotion all over him for who knows how long, but before Jon can ask (what’s wrong now, what DID the map do anyway, do you even emote naturally or is it all fake, were those Michael Shelley’s expressions or are you copying someone else’s), the Distortion spins away from him, dissolving into smeary, limp limbs and dark, static mist, stretching into a jagged and multidimensional thing that hurts to see as it lunges for its own door.

The door doesn’t want to open.

It’s slow. The monster of deformation and twisting strains to open it, snarling like a cut electric wire, and wrenches it free just enough for its cosmic-horror self to slip through.

And suddenly, Jon is alone. “What?” he says to an empty room.

The door is still there. It didn’t vanish. It hangs ajar, beckoning.

“What?” he says again.

“Go check!” Nikola’s voice flutes in from somewhere.

The cramped casket sings loud, but not loud enough to drown out screaming, Michael had said, and Michael sure had made some kind of sound there, and was this the goal all along, perhaps, to alert the Circus, to leave Jon helpless, to give him a smidgeon of hope and then abandon him to his fate?

Jon panics.

The door is stuck. It’s open about as wide as his palm, and Jon is a small man, but even he can’t fit through that.

Voices are coming, familiar and attached to large, rough hands, and Jon pulls at the door, panting, bracing his feet on the wall with all his might. It moves as if it’s never opened, as if it’s been half-welded shut, as if it weighs a million stone. Just a few more inches—

The storeroom door—so mundane compared to this thing, not even painted—slams open.

“OI!” shouts Breekon or Hope, but Jon is already through.

By some miracle, from the other side, it’s willing to close, and he slams it, clinging to the handle and leaning and trembling, sure they’re going to pile in after him and skin him anyway.

Then the Corridors do their thing, and he isn’t sure he’s holding a door handle.

Or if there was a handle at all.

He looks down, trying to confirm what he knows, but nope—he’s holding his own hands.

Wait.

There is no door.

There was a door. Wasn’t there?

Wait.

Jon shakes his head. It’s the Corridors. They do this. He stands within a physical manifestation of the Spiral. Disorientated is part of the fun.

He’s ready to die, but it’s somehow insulting that he has to be muddled while doing it.

He’s so tired.

Where is the bloody monster, anyway? “If you’re quite finished with your snit, or whatever that was, I’m here. Get it over with!” He closes his eyes, then waits.

Waits a minute more.

Nothing happens.

Jon peeks.

It looks like it always does in here: horrible. Swirling, weird wallpaper, faded yellow carpet, weirdly curving black rug on top of that. Lamps interspersed with paintings or mirrors, all showing this same Corridor, but slightly wrong.

Though now he looks at it, the Corridor seems wrong, too.

It’s subtle. The swirls on the wallpaper have smudged. The electric lamps flicker—not as if replaced by flame, but as if the current is disrupted. And the yellow carpet has darkened to a strange, rotten-fruit brown.

The Distortion is nowhere to be found. It’s not even chasing him.

After all of that, it’s just going to let him stand here?

“Michael!” Jon snaps, because good lord.

Nothing.

Behind him, the corridor turns right. Ahead of him, the corridor turns right. Both are lies.

And even here, the Eye nudges him: Go see. Curious. Want to see. What’s there?

But is it the Eye, really? How many times had he wandered off as a child, returned by police because he’d gone too far, unable to keep himself from doing it again? He always had to see more, to witness every inch of a place with his own eyes, even if he knew it would just be more dull old streets and smelly old pubs.

Is it really the Eye, or is it him?

Maybe it doesn’t matter.

He walks.

He looks forward and back, but they’re identical. He sighs, about to go it at random, when a movement catches his eye.

The pictures still show distorted versions of this place, but something is happening with the mirrors. There’s movement—thrashing. Wild motion, and it isn’t just the Distortion’s monster-form doing it. That’s—

No.

It can’t be.

He walks right up, rising to his toes to peer into the mirror.

“Helen?” he says, fogging the glass.

It is. She’s alive.

Helen, in the mirrors, shown from different angles and silently screaming, twisting, distorting, then shrinking into herself again, and Jon knows where she is.

He’s running before he can think, running without any plan, gripping this strange knowing with everything he has, lest it slip away. He turns right, then right again, then again, and on the fourth impossible twisting, he nearly trips over her.

Helen is on her knees, clenching a dirty piece of paper, and she’s stretching like salt-water taffy.

Screams contort her face, though there is no sound. She’s a nightmare, yawning eyes and too many teeth, but then she’s just her, again—looking gray and sweaty, gasping and lost.

“Helen!” He grips her shoulders, flinches back at the sponginess of them, then grips again and shakes. “Helen!”

She can’t see him. She isn’t aware of him at all. Her face elongates, twists, warps. Her eyes swirl like paint going down a drain.

He’s losing her.

No, no, no—he already lost her once, already knew the heart-dumping horror of her walking through the wrong door right in his office and his pitiful failure to notice, he can’t do this again—

Be usefully monstrous for once he thinks, and bellows: “What do you see?” It flames from his mouth, his heart, vomiting out with such force that it feels like he dumped his soul onto her head.

Her swirling eyes fix on him. “Y... you, you’re that man…”

Pity Elias isn’t here—he’d love the show, Jon thinks  hysterically, and grips her tighter. “Focus! Focus on me. You are Helen Richardsdon. You work for Wolverton Kendrick in Wimbledon. Focus on me, Helen, remember who you are!”

And he can feel he’s going to pay for this later, for the borrowing of weird power he hasn’t even grown yet, the current of his Entity shuttling through his mortal flesh. If he hadn’t fed on Michael’s statement, he wouldn’t have been able to do this at all.

It works.

Helen stills. Focuses on him, her body calming, human form solidifying. Then she starts to cry.

Clutches at him, clinging, with hands abruptly properly sized and a face no longer smeared like glue on a road.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” Jon lies, because he doesn’t even “got” himself, but what else can he say? He’s ready to cry.

He did it. He saved her.

He couldn’t save Sasha.

He’s lost Tim, for all that Tim is still alive.

He thought he lost Helen. But he saved her.

He’s trembling, now, weak as wet tissue, but there’s not much he can do about that. Not a lot of statements there, in the Circus. Not shared with him, anyway.

(And he refuses to heed the yearning/regret pushing through because he could have had statements and wouldn’t that have been wonderful?)

His knee crinkles paper, and he looks down.

The map. She dropped it.

He picks it up, folds it badly, and shoves it in his pocket.

Hoping that Michael will not skewer them together like a very smelly kabob, he looks around.

The extra wrongness is gone. The lights are steady. The color is yellow again, except where… fluid… of some kind has leaked out of Helen, staining her clothes, marking the floor. Best not touch that.

“Helen, I… I need you to stay very quiet. All right?” he says. “Very quiet. Don’t say anything.”

She nods, curls in on herself, clutches her arms as if to keep from exploding. She’s too thin, jacket hanging strangely. Her body odor competes with his.

At least hers isn’t floral-scented.

Dehydrated, he thinks, though he wasn’t—they wanted his skin soft, so they forced water—

He shakes the memory away.

Hellen had no sustenance in here, and nevermind that the damned Spiral kept her alive, regardless. She has to be close to dying.

He has to get her out of here. What did he have to bargain with? Not his life—that’s already given.

The map. Maybe.

This won’t work, he thinks, but he always thinks that, and so makes absolutely sure the map is in his pocket. “Michael. Please come out. I have something to discuss with you.”

“Do you? That would be a treat, Archivist. I was beginning to feel left out.” Michael is speaking from around the next corner. Out of sight.

Jon wonders if it’s damaged. He swallows, takes a deep breath. “I want to make a trade.”

Oh, gods, here comes the laugh.

It hurts, it always hurts, it pierces, it tilts things in a way that isn’t vertigo but somehow worse, because suddenly he’s sure the room was always at this angle and he’d just dreamed it flat.

Helen seems to have passed out in her slump, leaning against him, head down. Good. He hopes she stays there for now.

“Michael,” he says again.

And there it is.

Oh. It was hurt.

The “human” form is stiff, bruises under its blue eyes, the rest of its face hidden under long curls of golden hair. Hands too long, always too long, dragging on the floor.

It stands there, and the way it stands tells Jon this was a painful event. The map. The near-becoming of Helen.

He thinks about it wearing Helen’s face, using her voice, and shudders. Nausea chokes him, just for a moment. “I saved you, didn’t I? By pulling her out of that. Getting the map. Didn’t I?”

“That is a sentence,” says Michael, helpful as always.

Jon clenches his teeth. “Did that help you, or not? Because I can always give it back to her,” which is a ridiculous lie and a ridiculous threat, and Michael laughs again.

“Oh, Archivist… Did you think I would not know a lie, especially from you? Besides—she’s a gift. You were so upset at losing her last time.”

Upset enough to try attacking, and hadn’t that worked out well?

This wasn’t working, either. “I did save your life.”

“If she became me, I would still be me. You didn’t do anything, Archivist.”

Oh, to hell with it. “Let me take her to a hospital.”

It makes a surprised sound he cannot interpret, but certainly did not come from a human throat. “Why would I do that?”

“I’ll come back. I’ll walk right into your door in the damned A&E in front of everybody, I don’t care. Just let me get her to a hospital.” And the word sticks in his throat like a chunk of carrot, but he has to try: “Please.”

The thing tilts its head and the Corridor twists with it (no it didn’t, you were just wrong to think the room had angles like some fairy tale), and Jon sways, but keeps his eyes locked.

Instead of answering, it lunges.

Jon can’t help his reaction, shoving Helen out of the way and scrambling backwards and tripping over his own hands.

The thing pins him to the carpet, flat on his back, knife-hands on his shoulders and draped over him like suffocation.

It has a weight that makes no sense, like sacks of something rather than a living thing. Weighted blanket of madness, he thinks with rising hysteria.

“I am going to kill you,” says Michael.

“I know,” Jon snaps, because he is so done with all of this. “Just let me help her first! You said she was a gift, right? Why? Why was she a gift? For what purpose? And how does it count as a gift if you’re going to let her die, anyway?”

“That is a question,” it whispers, and doesn’t move.

Jon’s eyes water, but he won’t look away. He swallows. “Please.”

“What will you give me to delay your inevitable end, Archivist?”

Damn this creature. “I saved your—”  No, that obviously wasn’t working. “The manner of my death. How about that? If you want me to run, I’ll run. Scream like a child, whatever. Just let me help her first.”

That, apparently, was the best thing he could have told it.

Michael springs off him with a laugh that keeps him pinned down, and Jon has to cover his eyes and wait until the room stops undulating like a snake with its head caught under a log.

There’s a creak, and a splash of new light. Jon peeks.

A door to a street.

And that’s the Chelsea and Westminster hospital.

Jon knows it chose a place right down the street from the Magnus Institute to see what he would do.

He glares at Michael, is what he does, then carefully pulls Helen to her feet.

She’s feverish now, visibly dazed, but at least she’s able to walk. Please don’t be too late, he thinks, and is grateful that she can help get through the door because he absolutely could not carry her.

He’s sure he’s on a dozen cameras right now, dragging a clearly tortured woman across the street, but that’s too bad. It’s not like the police could prosecute a dead man for presumed kidnapping, could they?

He gets her to the front of the building where someone in scrubs comes running over.

Jon hands her off, says, “Found her this way,” which is true, and leaves before they can clock his own exhaustion, his own lack of food and hollow cheeks, the fact that his clothing is alternately crunchy and oil-thick and reeks abominably of flowers.

Back across the street. Someone shouts, “Hey!” just as he gets through Michael’s door.

That took more out of him than he’d expected, and he sinks right to the carpeted floor.

The door is gone. He doesn’t need to know to know it. Dark anticipation has thickened this place, thrums through the walls and pulses in the floor like an excited heartbeat, and he’d find it absolutely hypnotic if he weren’t about to die.

The good news is his adrenal spike is most definitely depleted.

He can’t be afraid anymore. Not really. Not this tired.

And… she’s safe.

He barely knew her, but that wasn’t the point. He saved someone he thought he’d lost.

Saving them is the only damn thing he’s been trying to do since the beginning of this mess, no matter what Elias says.

If he were alone, he’d cry.

“Archivist,” Michael sings at him.

It’s almost over.

Jon exhales. “No rest for the weary? Fine, fine. I’m coming,” he mutters, the soul of good grace, and pushes himself to his feet. “What do you want me to—”

Michael slams into him like a lion and pins him against the wall, hard enough to knock out his breath.

So, Jon was wrong. He can still be afraid. Horribly.

Michael laughs.

Jon whites out again, just for a moment.

It’s almost pleasant. Pressed there, compressed, hidden from the world. Unable to think if only and not enough and too late. So what if he doubts his senses? It doesn’t matter.

Though, if it wants him to run, it’s going to have to put him down.

Nothing happens.

He peeks.

It’s not wearing its human face. Looking into that non-face, into a thousand teeth and none, into boneless power and torsioned physics, is too much, and he closes his eyes again.

“You’re right, you know,” it says, and drops him.

He wasn’t prepared. Stumbles, falls to his knees. Blood-sugar facts scroll behind his eyes like ticker tape. “What?”

“This is a conundrum, Archivist,” says Michael.

“How awful for you,” he drones, and flinches through its laugh. Fingers like knives cup his chin, and he looks up quickly, not risking the cuts, even though he’s going to die and this is stupid.

“You have surprised me, Archivist,” says Michael. “Humans are so often wrong, deluded by their own certainties, fooled by memories they think they can trust. But you are right.”

“What? Which part? About what?”

“Leave,” says Michael.

Another door.

Through it, Jon sees the steps of the Magnus Institute. “Wh… what?”

In response, Michael waves gracefully at it, long fingers chattering against one another and juddering his reality with each click.

Jon stares through the door, looks up at Michael, back at the door.

Is it a trick? Will it kill him once he’s out, in front of someone? Will it just let him go for a while, then scare him to death in the middle of the night?

Michael looks human again, but it doesn’t smile. “Leave. Before I change my mind—and I am wont to do that, Archivist, quite often.”

Jon bolts out of hope more than fear.

He knows it’s going to kill him, anyway. If not it, something else. But maybe—

He’s through the door and tripping up the stairs, some part of him screaming not TOWARD the institute you absolute PILLOCK, unable to pull himself from the utter magnetism of home home home even though this is not his home and never could be but oh gods it really is.

The door slams shut behind him, so loud that it echoes down the street, so loud that he doesn’t realize Elias is at the top of the stairs, and Jon barrels into him and nearly knocks them both over.

“Well,” says Elias, who stabilizes them before Jon can fall and smash open his face. “That was dramatic.”

Jon tells Elias to go do something biologically impossible to himself, and then sinks into the dark.

(part two)

#jonmichael #jonelias #tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #tma fanfic #tma au #jonathan sims #michael distortion #tma michael #monster!jon #monster jon #angst #drama #the usual #and eat it too

[goldemas1244]

Kastiya Mas Dating Headcanons!

(Note: Separate list from the initial headcanons post! He's got such a way to date I love him so much! @kikiwooo I love the attention you've given him so HAVE AT YOU!!!)

He's slightly problematic. I mean his parents and friends are all blown up so really he's got a lot of trust and attachment isues. Do take note.

Dating KM is a fun adventure no matter where he takes you! From kayaking to dinners, he has an extensive bucket list of places to go and you'll both love it!

If it's a more relaxed date he'll wear something formal. He likes dress-like outfits a lot. His favourite restaurants are shellout restaurants. The lobster is a must-have. He'll take you out to a restaurant on your first date, classic.

If it's an adventurous date he'll look like his normal nude self. He'll bring a fanny pack with him though. You can never go wrong with a few spare energy bars! He'll start out with the more chill ones of course, like walks in the park.

If he doesn't know where to go he'll ask you. Just make sure to tell him two days in advance, he has a very horrid sense of time.

If you want to Netflix and Chill well then that's all the more better! He gets an excuse to stay at home and show you the ungodly amount of media he's pirated. He's gonna put on the Pirates of the Carribean movies at least once.

He likes movies with strong orchestral soundtracks, but he's not against rom-coms. He has a collection of CDs with old-timey movies in them and he soaks them all up like a sponge. His favourite is My Fair Lady.

When he watches with you expect a lot of physical contact. He'll rest on your shoulder, hold your hand, snuggle up close to you, steal your nachos (he's allergic to popcorn), maybe even sleep on you if he's tired. He likes it when you wear cologne too.

When you take it to the bed, the first nights are always nice. Cute hugs and snuggles, spooning, AC on and blankets thick. He relishes in the warmth. He's a bit of a night owl though so you really should help him sleep earlier. He'll sleep with his back towards you before he gets more comfy and uses you as a stinky pillow instead.

Mating session! He's very inexperienced so do start out slow. He likes knowing he can trust you with the next step. Aftercare is always on his budget and he'll spare no expense to make sure you feel comfortable enough for bed.

But of course as time passes on things can get a little rougher. When he lets you take full control that's how you know you've truly sealed the deal. There is no way out except either a permanent relationship or first-degree murder. No going back now, he's letting you raw him. That's a privilege right there.

Bath time is usually solo. But the more comfortable he gets with you the more he'll let you get closer. Until eventually of course he'll stop using the shower curtains and shooing you out, altogether ending up sharing the same shower AND towel.

He likes to go out shopping too, but he usually window-shops. No, what I'm saying is, take him to a bakery. It's cheaper than a new shirt AND the bread's gone in three days or less. Make sure your wallet's loaded, he's a beast when it comes to chocolate buns.

Sick days are best spent alone. It's no good if both of you get sick. Screentime is limited. You'll have to help him manage his Twitch content. But if YOU'RE sick he'll spare no potato. He'll force feed you bread and chicken soup until you get better.

Gaming dates are always fun. You get to game together and boost both your accounts! He's not the swear-y type of person though and mostly watches his language on-cam.

He likes to give and receive trinkets. Little keychains, fancy lighters, you name it he'll buy it. He'll remember the most minute detail you've mentioned and then buy you it on your birthday.

Birthdays! Pizza party instead of cake, he hates icing. He likes being fed though so treat him like a prince.

If it's been a sad day make sure to be there for him. He doesn't want advice. He just wants to know you're there for him. And he'll treat you the same way. It'll take him a while to open up to you but once the tears start to flow it means he's begging you, praying you're not like the others. You've also got to be thick-skinned though. He's very violent when he's breaking down.

Your first kiss with him is also his first kiss. He loves it when your two lips meet. He'll want another one after the first one. And another one. And another one. And so on and so on. Until there's nothing left but kisses all over, may or may not escalate.

As a Kastiyan, his moral code is a... tad skewed. Meaning if you dare enrage him he will not hesitate to shut you down no matter how much he really truly loves you. So unless you're very good at fighting and calming him down, consider yourself dead. He'll stay indoors for a grieving period of about three months. You'll stay seven feet under for the rest of your life.

He doesn't understand social cues all that much so you should help him. He can act a bit childish at times so be patient with him. Don't tease him if he makes a mistake, he's got a sensitive heart.

He likes anybody really but he's more oriented towards men. He finds a strange sense of comfort in their tummies.

He has a tendency to bite. You. No chew toy can suffice the need to severely pin you down and rip off chunks of your flesh. It's a repressed instinct. So just... let him nom on you cutely. He won't go that rough usually. Usually.

He owns a pat cat who can run on two legs. No his house isn't haunted BUT IT SURE DOES FUCKIN FELINE IT. (Get it? Feline? Feel like? Wordplay? No okay I'll see myself out-)

If he suddenly asks you if you love him, that means he's starting to feel down. Hold him by the chin, look into his eyes, say clearly that you love him, and give him a hug. And maybe opt to book a psychiatric appointment for him.

He's terrified of losing you. So within a year or two of you two dating, he'll pull the ring on you. If you're not ready, he'll try next month. And so on and so on. He's lost so many people dear to him, so you'd better not be his latest (and probably last; who knows what he'll do to himself if he loses you...).

#kastiya #kastiya mas #kastiyaposting #mlbb oc #headcanons

[melodiousmonk]

LAURIE ANDERSON on her life with LOU REED:

′′Lou and I played together, became best friends, and then comrades, we traveled, listened and criticized each other's work, studied things together (butterfly hunting, meditation, kayaking). We made ridiculous jokes; quit smoking 20 times; fought; learned to hold our breath underwater; went to Africa; sang opera arias in the elevator; made friends with unlikely people; followed each other on tour when possible; we had a sweet dog playing piano; shared a house that was different to our respective apartments; we protected and loved each other. We often went to see art, music, shows, theatre and I watched how he loved and appreciated other artists and musicians. He was always so generous. He knew how difficult the environment was. We loved our West Village life and our friends; and we always did everything in the best way we could.

Like many couples, each of us has built a way of being: strategies, sometimes compromised, which allowed us to be part of a couple. Sometimes we lost a little more than what we were capable of giving, or gave in a little too much, or felt abandoned. Sometimes we really got angry. But even when I was out of my mind, I was never bored. We learned to forgive each other. And somehow, for 21 years, we've intertwined our minds and hearts together.

It was spring 2008. I was walking down the street in California feeling knocked down and talking on my phone with Lou. ‘There are so many things I never did and want to do?’ I told him.

′′ Like what, for example?"

′′ I don't know, I never learned German, I never studied physics, I never married ′′

′′ Why don't we get married?" he asked. ′′ We could meet halfway there. Arriving in Colorado. How about tomorrow?"

′′ Uhm... don't you think tomorrow is a little early?"

′′ No, I don't think so ".

And so the next day we met in Boulder, Colorado, and married in a friend's garden on Saturday, wearing our normal Saturday clothes, and although I had to play a show right after the ceremony, Lou was ok with it. (Musicians marrying is like when two lawyers marry. When you say ′′damn I have to work in the studio until 2am,” or cancel all your appointments to close the case. You know exactly what it means and you don't necessarily jump for joy).

I guess there are many ways to get married. Some people marry someone they barely know, which can even work. When you marry what's also your best friend for several years, there should be another name for it. But the thing that surprised me the most about getting married is how time changes. And also how it somehow adds a tenderness that was, in some way, completely new. To paraphrase the great Willie Nelson: ′′ 90 % of people this way end up with the wrong person, and that's what still makes juke boxes play." Lou's Jukebox was full of love and many other things : beauty, pain, history, courage, mystery.

Lou had been sick for two years now: first for interferon treatment, a series of vile but often effective injections to treat hepatitis C which is equipped with a good series of annoying side effects. Then a liver cancer took over, which was added to an advanced form of diabetes. We achieved good results in the hospital. He learned everything about these diseases and their treatments. He continued to do Tai Chi every day for two hours plus photographs, books, recordings, his radio broadcast with Hal Willner and many other projects. He loved his friends, and called, texted, emails when he couldn't be with them. We tried to understand and apply the teachings that our master Mingyur Rinpoche imparted; especially the most difficult ones such as ′′ you must learn to master the ability to feel sad without actually being sad ".

Last spring, at the last minute, he received a liver transplant that seemed to have worked completely and instantly regained health and energy. Then even that started working badly, and there was no escape. When the doctor said, ′′ It's over. There are no options anymore ", the only part Lou heard was ′′ options ". He didn't give up until the last half hour of his life, when he suddenly accepted it: suddenly and completely.

We were at home. I had taken him out of the hospital a few days earlier. And even though he was very weak, he insisted on coming out in the morning blinding light.

As people used to meditation, we were prepared for this: how to move energy from your belly to your core and then push it out of your head. I've never seen an expression as full of wonder as Lou's when he died. His hands were doing the shape 21 of Tai Chi, that of flowing water. Her eyes were wide open. I was holding in my arms the person I loved more than anything in the world and talking to him while he died. His heart stopped beating. He wasn't scared. I was able to walk with him to the end of the world. Life - so beautiful, painful and spectacular - can't give anything more than this.

What about death? I think the purpose of death is to free love."

~Laurie Anderson~

#laurie anderson #lou reed #meditation

[dlnj]

I love that I was diagnosed with nocturia was always a dream of mine to be diagnosed with some kind of incontinence. Right now officially I’m medical records I am a chronic bed wetter who also has mixed incontinence during the day as well. I have doctors orders to wear diapers at night every single night for the rest of my life and/or any other time I think I’m going to need them. Since then I have let the over active constant bathroom break problem of mine go, if I have to go I don’t try and stop the leaking and will still head to the bathroom but the whole time I am secretly hoping I won’t make it. This has happened pretty often lately . I have become very brave I think, being completely ok with loosing all bladder control and making it so. I don’t think it’ll be a hard jump considering I do leak when I caugh, laugh , run , jump or what ever, I do have sudden urges to go, I always leak a little after I go I never fully empty and then sure enough a few minutes after going to the bathroom I always end up peeing on myself a little bit. At this point since I made the decision to tell my doctor and become diagnosed I am loving having these issues and am completely ok with being embarrassed in public when I accidentally wet my pants because I do have real forms of the incontinence I have listed , just not as bad as I said , my hope is that it will be and worse so that I can have zero shame about having accidents in public , and then being in diapers 24/7 on doctors orders for the rest of my life. It’s very much a good exciting and not for nothing I never knew how enjoyable it actually is to have an accident in public where you just completely wet your pants to the point that there is a puddle on the ground or floor. Most recent I held it and held it and didn’t think about having to hold it, I just held it til I couldn’t hold it any more and my body decided it was time to go. I knew I would end up wetting my pants in public I just wasn’t sure when it would happen. I was out fishing and had had to pee since before I put the kayak in the water and was out for a couple of hours before I went back and was unloading my kayak and then reloading all my gear into the truck when I had a couple little leaks when extending to do something or lifting the kayak (only 44 pounds but with some stress incontinence it was more than enough for a couple good leaks lol) then as I was lifting my kayak onto my little suv I felt it coming , I was able to get it strapped down just as I felt myself completely wet my pants , and there was someone right there just sitting in a lawn chair watching me load up then have an accident with a huge puddle forming at my feet. That was awesome and very authentic. I think I’m going to keep it up til I have absolutely nothing to do with it and it just happens . Then maybe my wife will ask some employee somewhere if we could use the bathroom in order for her to get me cleaned up and into a diaper. I’m actually really excited for that day in public when she asks to use the family room in order to change her husbands diapers. I just think it would be the best to be able to be so free and open with it. I really think we should be coming out the closet a little bit more than we are. The LGBTQ community is out there why can’t we be? Or maybe they can add us in on the letters maybe?? LGBTQ,ABDL . We should really bring ourselves together a bit more and have more events maybe even ABDL pride parades . I would be right on the front lines for that even though I won’t be only a diaper lover at that point but a diaper dependent incontinent diaper lover . ABDL for ever and always . Can’t wait til I am 100% incontinent , yes I do like to mess my diapers now and again but no I wasn’t planning to be fecal incontinent also , however if that’s what it took for me to be diaper dependent was for me to need them for everything or not need them at all , then I guess sign me up for wet and dirty diapers for the rest of my life because I am very committed to it, feel like I was never supposed to be taken out of diapers to begin with.

[pbandjesse]

I wish I did more today. But even though I slept a lot and felt good when I woke up I would slowly feel dizzy throughout the day. Hate that.

But it was a good day still. I slept really well. I had gotten very upset last night and my shoulder hurt a lot. But I was in a better mood today. James had already left for work. But I got up and made the bed. I took a shower and felt alright.

I really loved our my shirt looked but it was not very comfortable to wear. The torso has no give to the fabric and is not comfy. The sleeves are so cute and I even picked up the neckline to make it more flattering. But the torso just doesn't feel great when you sit down. At least I look cute.

I decided I would go out. I did a few little things around the apartment. Did two lines of knitting. But I decided I just wanted to go for a drive.

I was committed to getting chipotle today. I decided to go out to Towson so I could walks round the five below and get lunch. Before I did that I stopped at the goodwill. That one isn't great but it was fun to walk around.

And then when I got to the shopping center there was an off brand Halloween store. And I had fun looking around. Their prices were way better then spirit.

I got candy and these bead rings at five below. And then after I dropped off my purchases at the car and got my drink I had brought with me, I walked over to chipotle and had an excellent lunch.

I listened to my podcast and had my food and people watched. I had half of my bowl and a few chips. And then I was off again.

I went to the savers I normally go to. And I mostly was there to look at stuff. I was specifically looking for a skilly shelf and I found one! $5! So the studio closet can be so much more organized. I also got a new little purse. And I am so excited about it. It's such a good shape. And it's all leather. $7.

I was a little overheated and uncomfy when I left there. I really really wanted to go home.

The drive home wasn't horrible. I was just to hot. And there was a bunch of broken wood in the road and people were driving really slow going around it. But I got home and things felt a little better.

I got changed pretty much right away. I had walked over to mail my application for another street fair. And put away my leftovers and took the tags off of everything else. Sweetp was very cuddly. And I was not feeling my best.

But I wanted to get something done. I grabbed some big sheets of paper. Yes it was tracing paper because that was the first thing I grabbed. But I started writing out a larger to do list and lists of what we need to bring for the wedding and stuff. It's not perfect but it's a start.

James ordered our wedding cake today. And that just felt so special. We are getting my favorite cake from my favorite bakery and they are letting us bring Oreos to replace the decorative chocolate chips (because those hurt my teeth, and Oreo cake is special to me and James). That was good to get that off the list.

I would do some more knitting. And the decided I would finally start sewing in all my edges and it looks so much better. I only got the first 3 months done but it looks great and I can't wait to see the whole thing sewn in. I shouldn't have waited and instead done a little every month but that's okay. I'm still thrilled.

James got home and we looked at the to do list. And made some plans.

I had some toast for dinner. James fixed their bike. I kept sewing. And eventually I decided we should clean out the studio closet.

James helped take everything out so I could get the new shelf in there and that really helped make everything look so much better and now things are actually accessible. It's not perfect. And I think I'll mess with the top shelf more so I can get stuff like our kayak up there. But I'm really pleased.

After we cleaned up I did some fixing of one of my bags. And folded all my costumes to store in the bedroom closet where I have made space. And then I got in bed to watch videos. James joined me and it has been a relaxing night.

I am really tired now though. I am going to go take a quick shower and get some rest. Tomorrow I have some work to do on lessons and proposals and maybe I'll do some art. Well see. I hope you all have a good night. Take care of each other!! Love you!

[yanangin]

Places that I have visited

This blog is a review of the places that I have visited.

HONG KONG

WHAT I LIKE

I enjoyed visiting Disneyland and Ocean Park.

The rides there was fun.

I really like the parade in Disneyland and theater shows with Olaf.

CONS

There are A LOT of walking needed.

I don't like the airplane ride because my ears hurt.

I was young then.

LOOC FISH SANCTUARY

WHAT I LIKE

I like that there are many fishes.

I enjoyed feeding the fish.

I also like the boat ride.

CONS

I don't like the swimming part, I was bitten by a fish.

I don't like the corals, I am afraid of it.

BIL-AT POINT, FERROL

WHAT I LIKE

I really like the view.

The ocean was clear.

CONS

I didn't like when we don't know where it is.

It is so far.

There is not so much to do.

MANILA

WHAT I LIKE

I like the Lunar New Year celebration.

I really like the food there.

I like when I spend time with my cousin there.

CONS

I did not like when me and my cousin got lost.

I did not like when we don't know where to go.

BORACAY

WHAT I LIKE

I like the crystal kayak there.

I like the when we did Land Tour.

I like the beaches there.

CONS

I didn't like when sand was in my shoes.

I didn't like when it was raining and we cant go home.

I didn't like when we cant find a E-Bike to ride.

RECOMMENDATIONS

When traveling you should wear comfortable clothes and shoes. Take more pictures and enjoy the view.

-YANAangIn

[newportfuntourspro]

5 Questions To Ask When Kayaking In Newport Beach

Kayaking in Newport Beach is an exhilarating experience that allows you to explore the stunning coastline and witness the beauty of the ocean up close. Whether you’re a seasoned kayaker or a beginner, asking the right questions before embarking on your adventure can enhance your experience and ensure your safety. To help you make the most out of your kayaking trip, here are the top five questions to ask when kayaking in Newport Beach.

What are the ideal weather conditions for kayaking?

Weather conditions play a crucial role in determining the success and safety of your kayaking trip. Ask about the current weather forecast and inquire about any potential risks such as high winds or rough seas. It’s essential to know the ideal conditions for kayaking to avoid any unnecessary risks and make the most of your time on the water.

Are there any specific routes or areas recommended for kayaking?

Newport Beach offers a variety of kayaking routes and areas to explore. Ask the experts at Newport Fun Tours about the best spots for kayaking, taking into consideration your skill level and preferences. They can recommend picturesque locations, wildlife hotspots, and even hidden gems that will make your kayaking adventure unforgettable.

What safety measures should I be aware of?

Safety should always be a priority when kayaking. Ask about the necessary safety measures, such as wearing a life jacket and how to handle emergency situations. Newport Fun Tours may provide you with valuable information on local regulations and safety guidelines to ensure a safe and enjoyable experience.

Can I rent kayaking equipment?

If you don’t own a kayak or the necessary equipment, inquire about kayak rentals. Newport Fun Tours often provides kayak rentals that include all the essential gear, such as paddles and life jackets. Knowing the availability and cost of rentals beforehand can help you plan your trip accordingly.

Are there any guided tours or lessons available?

If you’re new to kayaking or simply want to enhance your skills, consider asking about guided tours or lessons. Newport Fun Tours may offer expert-led tours or instructional sessions to help you navigate the waters with confidence. These guided experiences can provide valuable insights into the local area and wildlife, making your kayaking adventure even more informative and enjoyable.

Conclusion

Asking the right questions before kayaking in Newport Beach is essential to ensure a safe and memorable experience. Newport Fun Tours is your go-to resource for all your kayaking needs in Newport Beach. By asking about weather conditions, recommended routes, safety measures, equipment rentals, and guided tours, you’ll be well-prepared for an exciting and enjoyable kayaking adventure along the stunning Newport Beach coastline.

#kayak rental

[uncovering-sumac]

Another one of Pat's old articles. I figured we could rerun it since the mayor wants more stuff about the lake, but he stepped in at the last minute and pulled it. His advance copy came back oozing with red ink. I'm gonna post the whole thing here because 1) I had to work late on a Friday to redo it so fuck him, and 2) why does he want this stuff cut out? It's a little weird, sure, but nothing inappropriate. Why doesn't he want the town reading this?

Candor Lake: An Inside Look, by Pat Davies

(text cut by the mayor is in red)

It's the first day of summer and the outdoors are calling! With Black Cedar State Park in our backyards, we are incredibly lucky to have a wealth of natural beauty and recreation at our fingertips. To make sure we stay safe and get the most out of our summer adventures, I sat down to chat with Ranger Bryn from the NYS Department of Parks, Recreation, and Historic Preservation. Pat: Hi Bryn! Thanks for chatting with me today. What are you most looking forward to this summer? Bryn: Of course! I'm really excited to get out on the hiking trails. We've just repaired the Orange Trail, my favorite, and it's now open to visitors!

Pat: That's wonderful. Do you have any safety tips for those hitting the trails with you?

Bryn: Make sure to wear bug spray and check yourself for tics after you hike. Stay on the trails and only hike in the daylight. And please, if you come upon any building ruins, don't climb inside to explore.

Pat: I'll have to second that. When I was younger, I went exploring in the old Cayhill mansion and cut my arm open something awful!

Bryn: Right. I know how cool the old houses look, but they're not maintained or safety tested. So just think about whether that selfie's worth a broken ankle or a tetanus shot. Pat: One area of the park that we expect will receive a lot of traffic is Candor Lake. Do you have any advice for someone visiting the lake for the first time? Bryn: Yes. Uh- please don't run away. (Laughs) I think people are put off by its appearance when they first see it. But it's actually a really unique piece of nature. We've known about the lake water's qualities for a long time, like when people used to take it therapeutically to clear their airways and soothe their muscles. Animals are smarter than we give them credit for, and they come to the lake to soak their injuries or to relieve pains when they're dying. And so you end up with a lot of dead animals. It's perfectly natural. Pat: That's fascinating. Animals really do know better than us sometimes, don't they? Long before we knew about depletion, they were already avoiding drinking from the lake. Bryn: Yep. That's an example we should all follow. When the water drops below a certain level, Candor Lake isn't able to support a healthy community of fish, amphibians, and other creatures. The ripple effects spread to the whole forest. The best thing you can do to take care of our environment is to leave the water where it is. Pat: Thanks for the reminder! We all need to do our part. What are some healthy activities you'd recommend at the lake this summer? Bryn: Swimming for 60 minutes or less is a great way to cool down on a hot day. You can catch bugs and tadpoles by the shore as long as you release them, and you can fish with a permit or go kayaking. You'll find lots of cool species that have adapted to the lake's unique environment. I also love to walk along the shore and identify bones. I do it with my little niece a lot, and she's already becoming an expert! Pat: Adorable. A new ranger in training! Bryn, thank you very much for your time today. I hope our locals and tourists alike will learn a lot from what you've told us. Have a great summer season!

#sumac ny #candor lake #unfiction

[dandelionsfluff]

Friendship

It's in the name - friendSHIP. A friendship is a relationSHIP.

A ship is built, and then sets sail. If it's watertight, it floats. If it's weather tight, it lasts through the elements. The elements wear things down. Without proper maintenance, the ship will deteriorate. It's a law of nature. Then, when a storm comes, the ship will not hold; and the passengers suffer - get severely injured, perhaps die. We can't do anything about the elements. Wind is just wind - it can fill our sails/provide power, cool us down. Rain is just rain, it gives us drinkable water so we can live. Wind and rain together is a storm and, depending on the severity, can cause damage. But damage can be repaired if the crew works together to get it done. What can't be repaired is total destruction - a shipwreck. Sometimes when there's a shipwreck, parts of the ship can salvaged. But it will never be the same ship again. To build a new ship, parts of the old (wrecked) one can be used, but new parts are needed and it takes time to build back up. If the crew is unwilling or disinterested in building a new ship, they can choose to take the salvaged pieces and make something completely new - like a canoe, a house, or a fence - on their own, or with someone else. One crew member cannot build the ship back up on their own.

When building, or thinking of building, a ship we should consider some things. Like what materials we use. Am I able to make this, shape this, into a ship? I'm not an expert, but there are some types of wood that are very dense and not easily shaped. There are types of metals that are pretty but unwise to use for making the hull of a ship. It's not their fault, that's just how they are. Is this buoyant enough for the weight of my intended ship? A kayak is not meant to carry a growing family. A two-person canoe is not meant for open ocean/deep waters. Have we filled the gaps with the proper substance? Leaky ships do not last. We should also consider where we want the ship to go and what we want the ship to do. Do we want to be able to travel the world in it? Paddle around the lake? Deep sea fish? Be a party boat in the bay?

You know that scene in The LEGO Movie where the Master Builders and Emmet had to get away so they built a ship, but they all did their own thing, and didn't communicate anything other than what they were going to do/build, and they didn't listen to anything anyone else said, so there was no coordination, and it fell apart? If you didn't build the same kind of ship as your crewmate(s), and there's no communication between you, it will fall apart. If you DID build the same kind of ship as your crewmate(s), but there's no communication between you, it will fall apart... just maybe at a slower rate. Honest communication really is key.

#writing #prompted writing #365 days of writing #day 10 #friendship #relationships #thoughts

[conniemolina]

Vote Yourself Off Sometime Island

Indeed Sometime in the not so distant future! I will do that Sometime in the not so distant future! I hear "Sometime in the not so distant future" constantly. Sometime I will get in shape (I use to say that each New Year). Sometime I will begin my business. Sometime I will leave my place of employment, venture to the far corners of the planet, quit smoking, compose that book, sing in front of an audience... experience my fantasies. I know "Sometime in the future" I used to live on Some time or another Island.

I planned to sometime play proficient football. I was a capable 5'10" 246 pound fullback who ran a 4.56 40 yard run. In 1995 that was cracking astounding. I could obstruct, catch, and run. Triple danger running back. Perhaps you knew about me? Try not to look I never played after secondary school. Be that as it may, some time or another I would have been a star competitor. Tragically, I was living on Some time or another Island.

Could it be said that you are living there now? It's said that the street to some time or another prompts the town of no where. Long island SEO You really do wind up some place simply not where you needed. Some time or another never appears. Assuming your objectives are dependably around the bend you won't ever arrive at your objective. Wear 't stall out on Sometime Island.

The Island Of Reasons

Sometime Island likewise has a moniker and it's known as the Island of Reasons. The street to average is cleared with expectations. 95% individuals with goals get tainted with an infection called "Excusitis". There marriage is terrible, their folks didn't adore them, they went to some unacceptable school, they were excessively fat, excessively tall, excessively thin, to short, or to _____ fill in the clear.

Failures gain pardons victors gain ground. The island isn't abandoned. You have companions, family, and collaborators there. More often than not you share your reasons. It feels significantly better and despairing people tend to be desperate for kindred spirits. There are a lot of ways off the island however you never adventure towards the shipping bays.

On the off chance that you need more deals in your business, a greater rundown, more grounded group, and more income you need to cast a ballot yourself off Some time or another Island. Advance toward the shipping bays and load up that kayak, boat, pontoon, boat, plane, or helicopter. Try not to tell anybody. They will toss you a stay on the island party or attempt to obliterate your transportation.

The following are 4 activities now to Cast a ballot Yourself off Sometime Island

1.Develop Self-control - I just completed the book, No More Reasons, by Brian Tracy. He gave 21 moves toward foster self-control in your business and individual life. Except if you have a rich family member or just won the lotto there is no boat coming to monetarily save you. The best way to get away from the island of normal is with work, ingenuity, tirelessness, and everyday reliable activity. Normal individuals can't stand those words.

Self-restraint is the way to progress. You realize it yet could you at any point practice it on a regular basis. Self-restraint is the capacity to do what you ought to do, when you ought to get it done, regardless of whether you like it. It's the eagerness to rehearse the essentials of your business ordinary. You don't get exhausted with the basics.

Competitors train for quite a long time to get to the Olympics or to come to the masters. Specialists and attorneys keep on going to class and should rehearse their calling. Performers put in the hours practicing. You really want a similar discipline in your business.

2. The Easy way out - Individuals bomb in their self-start venture since they generally follow the easiest course of action. It requires investment to become familiar with a promoting system. It takes persistence to test your catch pages, pipes, and follow-up frameworks. Sorry there are no press button achievement frameworks that guarantees you abundance without the work. The easy way out baits you in yet it will constantly prompt disappointment.

Indeed, you can purchase traffic and leads the entire day. In any case, could you at any point change over? Are you ready to get familiar with a showcasing procedure and have it make your business productive. Individuals search for the simplest way as opposed to learning Web optimization, PPC, Email Advertising, or post office based mail. Pick 1-3 showcasing methods and expert them.

3. The Practicality Element - The sister of the easy way out is the convenience factor. Individuals look for the quickest and the least demanding method for getting the things they need, presently, with almost no worry about the future results of their way of behaving. Quit worrying about the normal laws of planting and harvesting.

Normal individuals do what is generally convenient and the best time. Not what is vital. To this end you see individuals escape, switch groups, or switch organizations since they don't have the self-restraint to fabricate their business.

4. Time to get Off Sometime Island - Discipline is the way to get off and remain off Some time or another Island. Plan your departure now and don't let the influxes of the typical drive you back to shore. Find these ways to cast a ballot yourself off Some time or another Island:

Get clear on your vision of how much cash you need to make

Focus on being in the top 20% of pay workers in your industry

Put 3% of your pay into self-awareness and showcasing preparing

Focus on Discipline

Gain ground not pardons

Activities Beat Goals Ordinary

Activities beat goals ordinary. Activity won't ever fall flat. Self-restraint requires everyday activity and day to day activities is the best way to cast a ballot yourself off Sometime Island.

Charles Fitzgerald Steward, is a business visionary and master in web showcasing. Charles has an enthusiasm for aiding individuals start and run fruitful self-start ventures. You can join forces with Charles and begin fabricating increase revenue streams from your home. Charles will likely assist all who join forces with him accomplish income and benefits from their business.

[indigo474]

91022-full moon vibes-

i did not sleep well last night. i took an edible-pill- supposed to relax- it's called relax- way to strong for me. i was up all night incredible high watching-laughing at youtube videos. i wasn't worried because i knew i had off today. i am tired today. i went kayaking today and I enjoyed it immensely. something i can do by myself. i don't think i can transport a kayak with Luigi- fun- would do again.

i went to the park to run but did not finish- sometimes it be like that. i am learning it's ok to have off days- days when it just doesnt feel right or i don't do run as far ans fast as whatever as i think i should. doesnt make me a failure - makes me human. nothing is perfect- including me. although i am pretty fucking awesome.

late last night i got a message from a man on tinder asking me if i was dtf.. so discouraging. i want nothing more than to have a lover. my soul can not tolerate one more man using my body to masterbate.. just no. the sad reality is-- i may never have sex again. i missed out on that too.. having a fulfilling sex life. it's just me and my toys. i hope and pray the universe surprises me with a good man. someone who wants to know me and be my friend and lover.. i love surprises.

i got the invite to marci's brunch party- im nervous as hell and its not until Nov. i'll be ok. i have a while to decide what to wear and what to bring. it is exciting for me to have an actual friend. i trust marci- when she says she is going to do something- she does it. her words mean something. it's nice.

the night before last i was having a dream fest. i can't remember what- but my kids were in them.

im starting to get smile lines- im thinking of getting botox/

a girl in work told me she was raped. another one told me she suffers from anorexia. everyone has a story. i feel most would break my heart.

[theartofwholeliving]

Take the trip.

On a return flight from a recent family vacation to Quebec, Rob asserted it was his “favorite trip we’ve ever taken.” And while I agree we had a lovely time, we’ve been to more exotic locations – without the responsibility of our kids – so I was notably puzzled by his statement. Does Montreal really rank higher than Paris, Havana, Rome, Lisbon, Madrid, Marakesh? Was it the food? The weather? The company?

Admittedly, Rob said he’d had better experiences in our travels together – swimming with sharks in the Bahamas, kayaking through bioluminescence (aka: glitter) in Puerto Rico, hiking Mombacho Volcano in Granada, or visiting the jaw-dropping La Sagrada Familia in Barcelona – but as far as vacations go this one was tops. Maybe cruising the Saint Lawrence actually does surpass sailing the Seine. But it made sense. Seeing the world through your kids’ eyes brings a whole new perspective to travel and it’s pretty amazing to witness.

That’s not to say that traveling internationally with two small children is an easy task. On this latest rendezvous we had our ups and downs (and ups and downs, again). There’s also a new level of preparation and care that goes into a “family” vacation. Packing for instance, takes on a whole new meaning. My secret weapon, save a kids’ packing checklist on your phone and share it with your partner to reduce the stress of forgetting something. Works for us.

With a little planning, and a lot of patience, traveling with kids is possible. And so, so worth it.

I returned from our trip abroad as one should, but doesn’t always manage, after some much needed time away. Refreshed, energized, optimistic. So, with all these good vacation vibes still fresh, I thought what better time to document and share some traveling-with-kids tips (!!) in hopes that someone who reads this will heed my advice, even if the very thought gives you sweaty palms and a racing heart. Ready?

Tip 1. Pack light

This one might feel counterintuitive. I just told you packing for a family vacation is next-level. But hear me out. We know that kids, especially the babies, require a lot of … gear. Car seat, stroller, Pack n’ Play, bouncy seat, highchair, not to mention formula, diapers, sound machine, baby monitor – is your blood pressure rising just reading this? The good news is lots of families have figured out how to travel with kids long before us and there’s a whole industry dedicated to renting you this essential gear so you don’t have to lug it across the airport, across the country or across an ocean, if you don’t want to.

I also find that consolidation is key. For instance, on a 2-week trip, we would check two large bags with all of our items combined, mom, dad, kids, not to exceed 50 lbs. (that last part always my greatest challenge). If possible, make sure wherever you stay has washer / dryer access so you can further lighten your load by planning to wash and re-wear your favorite outfits on the trip. You already know with kids you’ll need to do laundry so go ahead and plan for it.

Tip 2. Live there

Something Rob and I share in our traveling styles is a desire to immerse ourselves wherever we are. No matter the length of stay, we like to feel like we live there, like a local. We prefer Airbnb to a hotel. We like to cook some of our food and generally appreciate the comforts of “home.” This is only amplified with kids. We’ve added criteria and amenities to our “places to stay” wish list – kid’s toys, bathtub, some sort of outdoor space, located close to a park or fun activity, easily walkable, do they have any of that essential gear we talked about leaving at home? All these things can help make everyone more comfortable and frankly, make things easier for you.

When the newness wears off – and with kids that’s what, like 20-minutes? – they’ll be more familiar with their surroundings and even get used to going to sleep and waking up in the same environment each day. You’ll likely spend more time “at home” than you would on an adults-only vacation, too. Pro Tip: If your place doesn’t have a Smart TV, pack your iPad and portable speaker to re-binge watch one of your favorite shows with a glass (or a bottle) of wine after the kids go to bed. Newsroom is a favorite of ours and has been viewed numerous times, all over the world.

Tip 3. Enjoy the ride

The definition of travel is literally to go from one place to another, typically over a distance of some length. So, it makes sense that while traveling, you’ll spend a fair amount of time in cars, on planes, riding buses, trains, maybe even biking or boating. These activities are not always enjoyable and usually seen as a necessary evil to deliver you to your destination. But what if you change your point of view? What if you make the “travel” an intentional part of your experience, not just a vehicle (literally) to get you from point A to point B?

No one was more excited than 4-year-old Hannah by our various modes of transportation in Montreal. I’m convinced her favorite day – the day she shared with her teacher and all her friends when we got home – was the day we rode not only in a car, but also on a bus and on a boat. What a thrill! Seeing her light up in the subway station as the train approached, or watching her as she watched planes take off and land during our layover. It was like magic to her. Some of the simplest, and even some of the more mundane or frustrating parts about traveling can create lasting memories if you allow yourself to sit back and enjoy the ride.

Tip 4. Help wanted

For us, one of the biggest differences of traveling with and without kids are the number of “nights in.” When your kid-less and on vacation, you might dine later in the evening, find some live music, grab a drink. There’s really no curfew and if you’re lucky, no alarm clock the next morning causing you to regret any decisions from your late night shenanigans. On the flip side, when your kids go to bed at 7:00 p.m. (and wake up at or before 7:00 a.m. – cue alarm clock), that tends to lead to either (a) early-bird-esque dinners with the whole family or (b) cooking or ordering in after the little people are asleep. No music venues. No bar hopping. Lots and lots of re-binge watching Netflix (see Tip 2). But there is an option (c).

I knew with kids in tow it was going to be an energetic vacation. Not as much relaxation and quiet time as I’m used to on our adults-only trips. It was important to me to still spend quality, one-on-one time with Rob, ideally enjoying the local flavors or a resident hotspot, and also ideally, at night. So I set out to hire a babysitter. Yep, in another country.

I did my research. I interviewed several nannies I found on a reputable in-region website (think care.com in the US). I checked references and did background checks, I made sure they were CPR certified, and we brought our Wi-Fi monitor so I could periodically check in (just like I do when I hire a babysitter at home). We were so pleased with the woman we hired, we booked her for a few nights on the trip. She kept great communication, sent us pics while we were out, the kids got to know and enjoy her, and mom & dad got a few hours to ourselves. Highly recommend.

Tip 5. No expectations

This is my favorite tip of all.

We all know kids can be a lot. They’re a lot of work, a lot of energy, a lot of emotion and there’s usually no in-between. They’re extreme and they can leave you feeling the highest highs or the lowest lows. When it comes to planning and then actually going on a family vacation, there can be a lot of mixed emotions and anxiety – and now I’m talking about me, the mommy. I think sometimes we set ourselves up to fail, or if not fail, we set expectations low because “kids will be kids” and there’s no way this particular trip will be “perfect.” We tell ourselves something is going to be hard, and then it is. So we were right, but what if we let ourselves be wrong?

Imagine removing all expectations of your kids, the trip, the sites, the weather forecast, everything and just being in the moment? I truly believe other people feed off your / our energy and the little ones are no exception. If you don’t expect them to misbehave, maybe they won’t. If you don’t expect they’ll cry the entire duration of the flight, or they’ll be unruly in a restaurant because their afternoon nap was cut short, maybe they won’t. Remove expectations and your kids may surprise you. I know mine did!

Exhibit A: Turns out Hannah has a serious oyster obsession and love for vaulted windows where she happily perched and greet every passerby in Quebec City, "Bonjour!" on a rainy morning we were stuck indoors.

Exhibit B: Henry became visually excited to be put in the baby carrier, I think because he started to recognize it meant we were going somewhere. Even just walking the treelined streets in our neighborhood. It was all new to him and he would smile, wave, coo. Never fussy, just content.

So there you have it. Take the trip. It’s not a novel idea, but my advice does come with a twist: Take the trip. With the kids. And who knows, it might become your new “favorite trip you’ve ever taken.”

Photo credit: Francis in Quebec City for @flytographer