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Help Me Get The Girl Part 3 (Grayson Mini-Series)

Description: Grayson seeks out your help to get your friend to fall for him.  In exchange for your help, Grayson promises to take care of your freshman brother when it comes to being bullied.  What you two didn’t know is that even though helping each other would ideally be beneficial, there would be a series of events that would make you two question whether this was a good deal or a disaster in the making.

Word Count: 2204

Warnings: Language.

A/N: Sorry this took a bit of time to get out.  I’m dog sitting a demon dog who is trying to destroy me.

Your POV:

“Okay.  Well, you got closer this time!” I encouraged Grayson as he plopped down on his bed. The shadow of defeat laid across his face, his hands working through his smooth brown hair.  “If you look at the bright side; this is the first time she didn’t completely friend zone you!  She didn’t call you friend or pal.  She just said, ‘thank you Grayson, you’re too sweet.’ I call that progress!”

It had been two weeks since we started working together to build Grayson’s courage to ask out Grace.  Two weeks of walking through different scenarios.  Two weeks of Ethan torturing Gray for his numerous fails and the proceeding to throw a fit that I spent too much time with Grayson and was forgetting about him.

“I was still shot down.  She just said it as if I was a fuckboy trying to get her number.” A groan escaped his lips as he launched his upper body backwards, hitting the mattress.

           “Grayson, you can’t make someone fall in love with you in two weeks.  It just doesn’t work like that.” My body was now next to his on the bed.

           He turned on his side to face me, “What do we do now, y/n? What do I do to make her think of me as more than a friend?”

           This whole thing was consuming him and I felt like I was running out of ideas.  We had gone through what she likes, what she dislikes, how to approach her, places she likes to go so that he could mention them.  I had managed to get them alone at perfect times!  I had done everything!  Not a day went by where we weren’t trying to get some sort of reaction out of her.  Nothing worked.

           I was starting to think that maybe this wasn’t going to work out.  Maybe Grayson was meant to remain just friends with Grace.  Either way I had to try to make it work out.  I had to hold up my end of the deal.  Since we started, Theo has had no troubles with his bullies. Each time one of them attempted to approach him, Grayson made sure that they didn’t even make it within 5 feet of him. And when Grayson isn’t there, the fear that he might show up is forever instilled in them.  They don’t even try.

           But there was one who still gave him threatening looks. One that always managed to get a bit closer to Theo than the rest.  He was the one who glared at Ethan and I the first day we saw the bullying take place. His name was Connor Eriks and he was the cause of my nightmares.  He was stronger, taller, more athletic than the rest.  He was about Grayson’s size with a sinister personality.  Each night I would dream that I was standing in the middle of the hall watching him torture Theo while my feet felt like they were cemented to the ground.  

           “Y/n!” Grayson pulled me from my thoughts.

           I jumped, my eyes flickering as I came back to reality, “Huh?” I responded breathlessly.

           “I said, what do we do next?” he repeated himself.

           That was a great question.  What were we supposed to do next?  What I wanted to do was take a break from it all.  What he wanted to do was work harder at it until he molded himself into being her ideal boyfriend.  I wanted to tell him that it wasn’t worth it to change himself for something that might not even happen.  And if it did, who’s to say that it would last?

           “How about this,” I lifted myself up, putting my weight on my arm, “Today we just take a break.  We go have fun and forget all about this Grace stuff.  Tomorrow I’m going to her house after school to hang out for a bit and I can see what information I can get out of her.  But, Grayson, I really just want to do something other than worry about this whole situation.  It’s consuming all of our free time.”

           “Okay.  I guess we can do that.  As long as you promise to talk to her about me tomorrow.” He held out his pinky.

           I hooked my pinky with his, “Promise.  Now let’s go!”

           I hopped up from the bed, moving to the door to slide my shoes on.  Grayson looked at me bewildered, unsure of what I was doing.  I gestured for him to get out of bed which he did reluctantly, but he still made no effort to move closer to me.

           “What are we doing?” he asked.

           I shrugged, “I don’t know.  But, we certainly aren’t sitting here.  Even Ethan is out doing something and you know he doesn’t do anything without at least one of us with him. That’s how boring we’ve become.”

           “One second.” He replied, walking over to his closet to grab a different pair of shoes.  “We should go on a walk in the park.”

           “Okay, grandpa.” I sarcastically replied, my eyes rolling.

           “Well, sorry! Sorry for making a suggestion!” he snapped.

           “It was a dumb suggestion.  A super dumb, boring suggestion.” I clarified.  “Let’s go on a quick hike to the pond in the forest off of the highway!  We haven’t done that in a while!”

           His eyes lit up, his frown replaced with a smile. “Now that’s what I’m talking about! Let me get my swim trunks.  You know I’m getting in the water once we get there.” He paused, “What about you?  Do we need to stop and get your suit?”

           I waved it off, “I think I’m just going to put my feet in the water.  But do you have a backpack so we can pack some waters and snacks?  A couple towels too I guess.”

           “Yeah, under my desk over there should be one.” He pointed, “Take your time because I’m changing my bottoms.  I don’t feel like changing there.”

“Just let me grab the bag and go before you do it!  Gosh!” I squealed, grabbing the bag and sprinting out of his room.

Once I got downstairs I went right to the kitchen grabbing a few water bottles from the fridge, some granola bars from the pantry, and then two apples from the counter.  By time I had gathered everything up, Grayson was at the bottom of the stairs waiting for me.

He had a backpack on also, explaining that he knew I would forget the towels so he just grabbed them for us along with his bluetooth stereo just in case we wanted to listen to some music while we were there.

“Ready?” I asked.

“Born ready.”

And with that, we were off.

——————————————————————————————-

We reached the pond easily.  We had walked through the forest so many times we knew how to maneuver our way through it without hitting any hiccups.  We were stood on top of the rocks that were only about 3 feet above the waterline. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Gray dropping his backpack off of his shoulders and pull his shirt off.

It was nothing I hadn’t seen before.  Sometimes I didn’t know if he and Ethan knew what shirts were.  He jumped down into the water, head dipping under, and immediately popped back up.  His hands pushed his hair out of his eyes, water dripping from his chin down onto his chest.

The pond wasn’t deep; it came up to his chest.  It was just a nice secluded area where we could get away from all of our problems.  We didn’t have to deal with classmates or the drama that came with them.  We didn’t have to listen to our parents nag about how we did nothing around the house.  We could just be alone and be ourselves.

“Come in the water, y/n.  You can’t just stand there on those rocks all day.” Grayson demanded.

“I’m not going to!  I’m going to put my feet in the water and splash water in your face!” I informed him as I kicked my shoes off, dropped the backpack and made my way down to the rocks that made it possible for me to do so.

The water was lukewarm from the sun, moving through my toes as I swished my feet back and forth.  Grayson started to move closer to me like the idiot he is, thinking that I wasn’t serious about splashing him.  Right when he came into range, I sharply lifted my feet, sending water straight into his face.  My laughs echoed through the open area as he made a face that looked like he had taken a bite of a lemon.

“Y/N!” He shouted.

“I warned you!” he tried to come closer and I did it again.

“STOP!”

“Then stop coming closer!” I giggled.  “I know you’re going to try to pull me into the water, but I also know that you hate being splashed.”

“Then get in!  I’m not going to stop until you get in, no matter how much splashing I must endure!” he threatened.

“I don’t have a swim suit.”

“Just go in your bra and underwear.”

“No.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“No.”

“I’ve seen you in a suit.  It’s really no different.” He did have a point.

I peeked down through the collar of my shirt to see that I had a simple black sports bra on.  Then my fingers pulled the band of my shorts out far enough to see that I was wearing plain black underwear also.  With both of them matching it did look pretty much like a swimsuit.

He raised his eyebrows at me, waiting for me to fulfill his request. As I stood up he started to float back further into the pond. I took off my shirt followed by my shorts.  Grayson made no effort to hide that his eyes were scanning me from top to bottom.

Lowering myself into the water I kept eye contact with him, moving closer and closer as he halted his movements.  As I was walking closer I was getting ready to throw a bunch of water into his face.  And right when I got to him, my hands started to lift up, but before I could do anything—I got a mouth full of water.  Shocked by what just happened, I tumbled backwards under the water.  I resurfaced to find Grayson’s head thrown back in laughter. As mad as I wanted to be, I couldn’t help but join him.  His laughter was too contagious.

“You thought I didn’t see what you were doing?” he chuckled.

“It was worth a try.” I said as I swam past him.

“Hey, y/n.”  I stopped and turned back to him.  “Thank you for helping me with Grace.”

I smiled, “What are friends for?  And also, you are protecting my brother so it’s the least I could do.”

“So,” he started, “Do you like anyone?  Like… do you want me to talk you up to anyone?”

“NO!” I shouted, my hands up in the air.  “No, I don’t like anyone.  Don’t do anything.” My voice deepened.

“What about Ethan?” he mocked curiosity.

“Just friends.”

“Friends who fuck?” he spat.

“Friends who fucked.  Past tense.” I tried to lighten the mood that had taken a quick dive for the worst.

“How come you’ve never had a boyfriend before or at least gone on a date?” this time I could tell that his curiosity was genuine.

I bit my lip, “No one’s asked me on a date before.”

He furrowed his brows, seeming to not believe me.  But, I was telling the truth.  I’ve had crushes here and there but nothing ever went anywhere.  I tried flirting, I tried casually bumping into each other in the hall, I tried dolling myself up more than usual.  But nothing ever happened.

“One day someone will and I hope it’s the first date that you deserve.  Whoever it is, better make it special for you.” He put his hand on my shoulder.

The warmth of his palm made me feel like my whole body was on fire.  The way his eyes bore into mine made me want them to be the first thing I saw when I woke up.  His presence was making me feel something foreign to me.  Something I couldn’t quite comprehend.  So instead of thanking him, my emotions and my heart built up their wall and went into defense mode.

“Please don’t touch me.” I said quietly, drifting away from him.

“Y/n, what’s wrong?” he took a step forward.

“I just don’t want you to touch me.” I snapped.

“Did I do something wrong?” Grayson asked.

I was acting out of character and he knew this.  I wasn’t one to get mad over something so small.  Normally it took a lot for me to truly get angry, but the thing was, I wasn’t angry.  I was scared.

“No.  I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.” I faked a laugh.  “Whatever. Mood swings.  What can you do?” I tried to shake it off.

“Yeah…” Gray still sounded unsure.

I clapped my hands together, “Race you to the log over there!” I changed the subject before taking off.

——————————————————————————————-

Part 1

Part 2

Burn (Chris Evans x Reader)

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Summary: Morning routine. You climb out of bed before your boyfriend and find yourself sharing pancakes with Dodger before he finally joins you, joking around with you, laughing together. Then Dodger interrupts something.

Word Count: 1640

Warning(s): implied sexual interactions

A/N: again, sorry for waiting. i appreciate anyone still around at this point lmao

Prompt: anonyomus request from anon. you’ll see why




It’s the first thing you grab when you finally force yourself from the entanglement of the now slightly dampened sheets. You could have taken a few more steps, picked up your own shirt, and slipped that over your head, but like always, you’re drawn to the t-shirt next to yours, thrown so carelessly onto the ground amidst the morning wake up call. You pull the white cotton tee over your head and yawn as the fabric falls and brushes your mid-thigh before slipping back into your underwear and taking one last peek at your boyfriend passed back out in your bed. Then it’s padding across the hardwood floor into the kitchen where the sun is shining through the windows of your Boston apartment from its highest peak in the sky.

Since the first craving of the day was already satisfied, the next thing on the list is pancakes. And you sure as hell know that the scruffy man down the hall isn’t going to complain if you make some for him, too.

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(Scroll down for English)

“Mình nhớ khi đó da ảnh siêu trắng, môi thì cong cong hồng hồng, người thì thơm nữa, con trai thời đó chỉ cần có vậy là thành hotboy rồi. Lần đó đám bọn mình làm 1 quầy bán hoa trước trường dịp 20-11 hay 20-10 gì đó, chỉ nhớ là trời lành lạnh, mưa lất phất. Ảnh qua phụ lặt vặt, dọn dẹp và treo bong bóng. Bạn có biết cái khoảng hở từ giữa rốn xuống cạp quần mỗi khi ai đó với tay lên cao, không quá lộ liễu nhưng đủ cho thấy thiên đường là gì không? Đúng rồi đó.

Đang ngắm thì á một tiếng, ngón tay ảnh bị gai đâm chảy máu, mình chạy lại xem có sao không thì ảnh rút mạnh tay ra, đi tới đứa bạn của mình rồi cả 2 xuýt xoa. Mình lấy xe đạp đi về luôn.

Ngày xưa làm gì có dàn âm thanh stereo hay tai nghe bluetooth này nọ, nghe nhạc vcd hay cd gì thì cũng nghe bằng loa TV thôi. Mà mỗi lần nghe như vậy thì TV phải bấm qua chế độ video màn hình xanh lè rất nhứt mắt. Mình nhớ là mình mặc bộ đồ đồng phục ướt mưa, nằm xuống sàn nghe nhạc, cái TV thì xanh tràn căn phòng, xanh luôn lên mình.

Tới lúc đó mình mới khóc.”

Translated by @Huyen Anh

“I remembered his rather pale complexion, his pink curvy lips and his pleasant fragance - he had all that it took to be a "hotboy” back then. We were setting up a flower stall at school for November 20th, October 20th or something of the sort (Vietnamese Teachers’ Day and Women’s Day respectively - translator’s note). I only remembered the cool freshness in the breeze and a gentle drizzle of rain. He was helping us out with the little chores like cleaning up and hanging some balloons. Do you know that gap between the belly button and the waist line which appears whenever someone tries to reach up, not too revealing but enough to show you a fallen piece of heaven? Yep that was it.

I was enjoying the view when “Ow!”, his finger was punctured. I ran up to him to check if he was fine only to have him forcefully free himself from my grasp and instead went to my friend where they both nursed the wound. I just grabbed my bike and went home.

Back in the days, there was no such thing as stereo, headphones nor bluetooth. The only way to listen to music was via TV speakers. With no video feed, the CRT shows a blue screen that would sting my eyes. I remembered lying down with my soaking wet uniform, listening to music, the blue of the screen engulfed the room and I with it.

And it was only then that I cried.”

delaynewrites  asked:

Prompt #4

Prompt #4: “Is… that my name?”


Waverly’s eyes shimmered as she looked at the official letter in her hands. She read the text over and over again, just to make sure it was real. To make sure it wasn’t a dream, and the ink wouldn’t suddenly dip and slide off of the page like rainwater off a fig leaf.

Her entire life, Waverly had only wanted to belong. To something. Anything. A family. A higher purpose. Something where she could say with certainty “This is me, and who I am, and what I am - and no one and nothing can take that away.”

True, Waverly had been raised an Earp. And truer still, she was definitely Wynonna’s sister if in spirit only and not by blood. But the larger part of her had always felt ‘othered’ and distant. Even as she tried, when she was younger, to claim the Earp legacy as her own - researching, learning, earning degrees for the purpose of shouldering the burden and the honor - there was a point where, no matter what, it was always grasping at straws. She could carry some of the weight, but only as an ally and never as the force.

But here, in her hands, was everything. Proof that not only was she someone, but she was a part of something. Something bigger than herself. A whole that was equal to the sum of its parts and whose sacred bond stretched eons in all directions. An inevitability of connection. Waverly was proud to call this truth her own. Here in ink, despite the chaos of the universe, was a moment of perfect stillness and alignment.

Waverly was so caught up in the document before her, that she failed to hear the door of their home open and shut, and jumped slightly when a soft voice disturbed her reverie.

“Sorry, baby,” apologized Nicole, “I didn’t mean to scare you.” She looked at Waverly’s face and the tears threatening her eyes. “Are… are you okay?” Nicole watched as Waverly nodded, her eyes still glued to the page. “What is it,” she asked, peering down to the sheet. Her eyes went wide. “Is…that my name?” Nicole’s voice was barely above a whisper.

“Our name,” Waverly answered, looking up to her wife with a watery smile.

“I wasn’t sure you were going to change it,” said Nicole, her tone laced with wonder and gratitude.

“Of course I was,” said Waverly, turning herself in toward Nicole’s body and resting an arm across her low-back, her other hand still holding the official letter.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” Waverly replied. “Is… is this okay? You’re okay with it?”

“Baby, are you kidding me? This is amazing!” Nicole hooked her arm around Waverly’s back and pulled her up slightly as she dipped her head to kiss her deeply. After a moment they rested their foreheads together. “How did you manage to get the form without me knowing,” Nicole asked.

“Lonnie gave it to me. Well… first he gave me a pet license application - but then he got me the right one,” Waverly grinned.

Nicole giggled joyfully and lifted Waverly’s hand to look over the official confirmation of name change once more. She sighed happily and held her wife even more tightly to her. “Well, Waverly Haught–”

Mrs.,” Waverly interrupted with emphasis.

Nodding seriously in agreement with the correction, Nicole repeated, “Mrs. Waverly Haught, what shall we do with the rest of our day?”

“I’ve got a ‘to-do’ list a mile long,”  Waverly responded. “I have to apply for a new social, and call the bank to change my name on the account, and get a new license and–”

“And…,” Nicole cut her off, “all of that can wait… for a day.” She kissed her wife again, deep and open-mouthed.

Waverly’s hand fell to her side, the paper falling and floating to the floor. She moaned lightly against Nicole’s lips, reaching up and caressing her now free hand into soft red curls.

“For now,” Nicole husked against her lips, “I’d like to celebrate.”

Pressing her body firmly into Nicole’s, Waverly looped her arms up around her neck and drew her in for another kiss, this one fiery and passionate and full of unspoken promises. She squeaked and giggled when Nicole swooped her up, bridal style, and started for the stairs.

“I have a feeling it’s about to get very 'Haught’ in here,” Waverly joked.

Groaning, Nicole rested her forehead against Waverly’s again. “Get it out of your system now, baby, because believe me, the puns get old fast.”

“I look forward to finding that out for myself,” Waverly grinned.

Nicole’s eyes softened to an umber glow. “I love you, Mrs. Haught.”

Waverly smiled so widely her eyes almost crinkled shut. “I love you, Mrs. Haught.” Nicole started for the stairs again. “Baby, hold on a second.” Waverly started to shift in her wife’s arms, reaching into her back pocket and pulling out her phone.

“What are you doing?”

Tapping and navigating quickly across her screen she found whatever it was she was looking for, and then tucked her phone away again as the sound of a steady drumbeat suddenly started playing from the bluetooth-enabled stereo-system. “Just providing some mood music.”

Nicole almost dropped Waverly as she started belly-laughing to the sound of the familiar synth piano playing the immediately recognizable intro to Donna Summer’s “Hot Stuff”.

Re-adjusting her grip under Waverly’s thighs, she continued up the stairs. “You are so in for it now.”

“I certainly hope so,” Waverly replied, anticipation heavy in the husk of her voice, “Haught Stuff.”




Pick a Prompt!

anonymous asked:

I was wondering if you might be able to share some advice on being a content creator while living with anxiety-type mental illness. How do you maintain consistent dedication to your practice alongside life obligations during times when your illness makes you feel especially paralyzed, sometimes for long periods? If this question is too personal to answer, no worries & thank you for all the great work you do :)

No worries, I’m completely happy to talk about this stuff, although as always with the caveat that anxiety is different for everyone, and this is just me talking in the context of my own anxiety (and depression) and its patterns.

For one thing, I’m not actually that consistent. I was out of fandom for a good five years prior to YOI, for various reasons which definitely included the fact that I was working, trying to do a PhD part-time, and attempting to have a serious romantic relationship, and I was super exhausted a lot and not really in a frame of mind to write. If you know that your mental health limits your capacity to do stuff, then focus that capacity on a) things that will keep you and any dependents fed and housed and generally alive, b) things that do not make your health worse. Sometimes writing is a stress-reliever, and sometimes it’s the exact opposite. Writing fanfic is not an obligation, it’s a thing you do for fun, and if it’s not fun then you are 100% within your rights not to do it.

Also remember that even when you’re not actually actively writing, the things that you do and the experiences you have are still developing you as a person and a writer. I didn’t post any fic between February 2012 and January 2017, but what I did do in that time was finish a Masters degree, have my first serious relationship, privately rent a place alone for the first time, work on a PhD, go through several jobs, get dumped, get evicted, and have a nervous breakdown. I could not possibly have written Blackbird in 2012; so much of the past five years went into it. If you’re not able to write for a period, that doesn’t mean that time means nothing to your development.

And if you do want to write, you feel it will be good for you, but you feel like you just can’t get off the ground? Something that learning to code is really hammering home for me is that there is no task, no problem, that can’t be broken down into smaller and less intimidating components. This isn’t to say you shouldn’t have an overall scheme in mind- I think it is very hard, if not impossible, to write a good story if you don’t know before you start how it’s going to end- but that any grand narrative can become smaller and more manageable chunks that each contribute their bit towards the end goal.

With Blackbird, I started with a big, vague idea- ‘I want Victor to betray his country for Yuuri’. I sat with the idea and played around with options until I’d refined the rough shape of it- they would fall in love as allies, during WW2, and then meet again as enemies, in the early years of the Cold War, and then there would be a conclusion (I had the closing shot, kissing in the falling snow, locked in from very early on. Priorities!). So I had two defined blocks of the story. I left the London arc with a rougher idea of its outline and focused on Berlin. What were the key events? They had to overcome their apparent enmity, they had to become emotionally invested in each other, and they had to be separated. Okay, so focusing on the first event, what scenes do I need to establish their starting point and what scenes get them from the starting point to the detente at the boarding house (which was the first scene I wrote, as a sketch to play around with the concept)? And there was my structure for chapter one.

It’s very, very hard to say, ‘I want to write a 100k historical novel in which Victor and Yuuri are spies who end up running away together’. It’s relatively easy to say, 'I want to write a 2k scene which establishes that Victor is a Soviet agent undercover in Nazi Berlin’, or 'I want to write a 2k scene in which Yuuri discovers that Victor is a spy’. Nobody can solve a hard problem. Nobody can write a novel in one go. But most people can solve a simple problem. Even people who don’t write and aren’t very good at it could probably write a basic scene in which a character does x and y.

So allow yourself to write the small thing. Allow yourself to write the crappiest, most comma-heavy and repetitive version of a scene that nevertheless accomplishes what you need it to in the context of the whole story. And when you’ve done it, congratulate yourself! You did the thing! You got the words on the page, no matter how much you might hate them- words you hate that are there beat the hypothetical amazing words that only exist in your head. 

In software development this is what we call the ‘minimum viable product’, and my course tutor made a great analogy about this. If you’re trying to invent the car, you don’t start by building a really amazing and beautiful car door. That’s useless- no matter how pretty it is, it doesn’t do anything. You start by building a skateboard. It might not have an engine, or seats, or a bluetooth-compatible stereo system, but it’s got four wheels and it moves and you can have a go on it. Build the shittiest thing that works; once you have it, then you can make it a good thing that works.

I’m not saying that I’m necessarily very good at any of this myself. I have wasted hours agonising over comma placement and sentence length, I spent ages googling useless period trivia just so I could reassure myself that things 99% of readers would never even notice were nevertheless accurate. Some of that stuff is important for your craft, but some of it is just stupid anxietybrain being stupid. But getting the hang of recognising that something you don’t like that exists is always better than the perfect hypothetical in your head, and learning to be happy about every small step, every little increment towards your goal, will get you a long way.

Wrote a sentence? Awesome! Wrote a paragraph? High-five your dog! Wrote a scene? Do a victory lap around the room! Something is better than nothing. Everything you do is valuable, no matter how small, because it’s still more than you had before you did it.

And again, remind yourself that if writing is just making you miserable, you do not have to write. There are enough shitty things in life that we nevertheless have to do, like waking up on time for work or doing the ironing. Your health is more important than fanfic. Nobody ever died from an abandoned WIP.

Simplicité - Chapter 4.5

Happy Simplicité Saturday! (Or Sunday, idk what time it is where you are) Sorry that I’ve been so off schedule lately, but I’m gonna try my best to stick to Saturdays (feel free to yell at me if I don’t). Yep, it’s another inbetweener. I felt like there needed to be more info about the aftermath of what happened at Bianca and Adore’s. I promise this chapter is worth it. Thanks to @veronicasanders for being a fucking genius and helping me out a ton with this chapter. ❤️ TW: Angst, eye fucking, cursing. No Bianca this chapter, I’ll be saving her antics for Chapter 5. Enjoy! Have a great weekend everyone!

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Submitted by Nathan Beers

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I am a home-based analyst, and most days I walk or ride my motorcycle down to a park or coffee shop to work. I have everything I might need in this bag for work or play and it all weighs in at less than 13 lbs. A few notes on these items: -I ALWAYS have the Architect Wallet (with Space Pen and Moleskine notebook), iPhone with case, and Leatherman on my person. The rest still comes with me everywhere I go, but could be 10-15’ away at any given time. I have Tile locators on my bag, bluetooth speaker, and glasses case (this last one has been a real lifesaver!) -I searched for years for a bag to replace an old satchel I’d sewn back together half a dozen times over the past 10 years and finally settled on this Bluboon Backpack. I love the style, it’s fairly small while still able to carry everything I need, and it cost less than $40! I have had to strengthen a few of the stitches, but it’s worth it! -The Maxpedition Micro Pocket Organizer contains toiletry and first aid hand items. -The 145g Discraft is by far the best small size frisbee I have ever used. It flies as well as a regulation size 175g disc, but saves space in my bag. -The Eno Sub7 is a new release hammock that weighs just 6.9oz, less than half the weight of their Singlenest. It’s perfect for a go bag! -The Matador is another new find. It’s a super compact picnic blanket. Perfect for keeping in my bag and throwing out on some damp grass. -I’ve hacked the car keys and mounted a transponder on the steering column so that I can use a plain metal key without the plastic head. This allows me to fit my keys into the super compact True Utility Key Shackle. -I’ll often throw in my AEO Vintage Denim Western Shirt which works great as a stylish and comfortable extra layer when needed. -Any recommendations on a more compact umbrella?

Donny Johnson Shares His 1965 Chevy C10 Stepside That He Has “Owned since 1968. This is the 3rd restoration of my truck. Total frame-off keeping original frame and cab, replaced everything else. JEGS-purchased LS7 crate motor and 4L70E four speed automatic overdrive transmission. Intro VRod wheels with satin spoke finish, Classic Instruments gauges, bedwood and parts curly maple wood, Master Power Brakes 14” rotors and 4-piston caliper disc brakes with RideTech air ride suspension, Vintage Air, Inc.. Custom touch screen stereo with, Bluetooth, navigation, weather radar capability and rear camera. Custom radiator and sleek engine compartment with re-fabricated inner fenders with no visible wires, re-fabricated hood latching system and re-fabricated swing rear tail gate.“ #trucktuesday #toocooltuesday #toolowtuesday

fitzsimmons-is-forever  asked:

For the fitzsimmons prompts- fitzsimmons arriving at Seychelles and Simmons being a dork over all the fish

Anniversary Ficlet 8/10.
Rated PG-13.

“Oh, Fitz,” Jemma breathed, dropping her carryon to the mahogany floor. “It’s perfect!”

Closing the door to their beach-adjacent cabin behind himself, Fitz had to agree. The main room was small on floor space but the furnishings were luxurious in reds and golds, and the four-poster bed was hung with mosquito netting, making the room look fit for royalty. Which Jemma might as well be, in his personal opinion. His eyes wandered from the supplied Bluetooth stereo to where Jemma was trailing her fingers over the freshly shined wooden dresser and peeking through the curtains. She let out a small squeal of excitement and hopped over to the wall-length windows.

“Fitz, the hot tub!”

Coming up behind her, he rested one hand on the small of her back as he peered through the curtains at what was, indeed, a private hot tub. The fence seemed to have hinges, probably to allow guests to open it should they wish to overlook the ocean while lounging in the steaming water. Impressed, Fitz nodded.

“Very nice.”

“Nice?” Jemma twisted up to look at him, aghast. “Nice?! That’s all you can say?!”

He tried to think of something more descriptive, but kept getting distracted by wanting to kiss her. “D’you think monkeys will play in the hot tub? Or will the chlorine chase ‘em off?”

Keep reading

Your Love

A/N: Typed this before class and I’m just…. yup.

Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1180

Warnings: None I don’t think 

Your friends all knew that once you went home, it would be hard to ever get you out until the next day. You liked being in your apartment, especially since College sucked the life out of you the second your last class finished. While you were known to be someone who had fun, you were also known to be an introvert and would have just as good of a time on the couch watching episode after episode of your favorite show.

Today was no different. Midterms had kicked your ass and all you wanted to do was lay down on the couch with a bottle of cheap wine in nothing but your boyfriend’s t-shirt and some lace panties. Your friends were going out to celebrate the fact that they survived the week and you just didn’t have it in you to go out; especially since you hadn’t seen your boyfriend in over two weeks and had a few more days to go.

Somehow, one of the best mechanical engineering students at your University became interested in you a mere two years ago. Dean Winchester: the man who could make anyone and anything fall in love with him – you being no exception. In your small college town, Dean was revered for his kind nature as well as ability to fix anything. The University never failed to recognize his skills and talent. And one day in your Women’s Literature class, the handsome devil walked into the class with an air of confidence, which was odd since he was the only male in that class. With a wink your way and him accidently spilling his coffee all over your old favorite sweater two weeks later – studying turned into coffee dates which turned into movie nights which turned into Classic Rock night drives which eventually turned into becoming a couple.

And you couldn’t be any happier. The green eyed man was from your wildest dreams. He was everything you had desired and more. And somehow he had thought that you were the same to him. That you were everything that he had hoped for.

“Home sweet home,” Dropping the keys on the nearby kitchen counter and throwing your bag by the door, the stress of the past week was slowly being forgotten. You slipped into one of Dean’s black t-shirts, letting your hair fall down your back as you pulled the ponytail holder out of it before heading towards the living room. Dean had insisted on buying a large Bluetooth stereo setup in order to listen to his music from anywhere in the apartment. While at the time you thought it was ridiculous, you quickly warmed up to it on the nights you spent by yourself and got to dance as much as you wanted.

Selecting the song you wanted was easy enough.

‘Night Moves’ was one of Dean’s favorite and an amazing song to get drunk to. You missed your boyfriend too much, and it showed as soon as you opened the liquor cabinet and instead of the red wine like you had planned, you grabbed the half full bottle of whiskey and quickly took a swig.

With a sway of your hips you made your way towards the couch in the living room, the music making you feel slightly sluggish. Shutting your eyes, your tense muscles on your shoulders lessened as you listened to Bob Seger croon throughout the room.

Dean had managed to make it home early from the conference the school had sent him to in NYU. It had been a full two weeks of constant discussions and being this intellectually competent person all day, every single day. Dean just wanted to relax and just wanted to kiss you senseless in appreciation for loving every side of him – especially the laid back, carefree personality that took over whenever he was with you. He hadn’t told you that he would be coming home early, and was giddy at the thought of seeing your expression as he walked through the front door.

What he didn’t expect was to find you dancing on the top of the coffee table that was in the middle of the living room. An empty bottle of his whiskey and you screaming how it was funny and strange how the night moved. He leaned against the bookshelf that allowed him to watch you perfectly. The small flush of your cheeks made him chuckle as your hands reached up towards the ceiling. His heart pounded fiercely as he ran a hand over his face, secondhand embarrassment as well as amusement never having been more present. The wide smile refused to leave his face as the song ended.

“Thanks for the show, sweetheart.”

An audible gasp escaped your lips as you turned towards him. While you weren’t completely drunk, you were tipsy enough that moving your legs was a bit of a struggle. Stumbling towards him, giggles refusing to stop falling from your lips, you throw your arms around his neck and planted a large and sloppy kiss on his plump lips.

“D! I missed you so much and I was so sad and now I’m happy because you’re home!” With a low chuckle he scooped you into his arms without breaking a sweat and led you towards the shared bedroom.

“I missed you too, Y/N. Next time I’m taking you with me, no matter what. Nice shirt,”

“You like? I stole it from you but shhh you don’t know.”

Tipsy you was always entertaining. You so rarely lost control and let yourself be …silly. And a small part of Dean was too shy to admit that he liked being able to take care of you and let you just talk. The sound of your voice his muse as he would usually lay there and let you talk until you fell asleep on his chest. Tonight being no different.

“Can I tell you something, D?” The innocent tone surprised him as your fingers traced patterns onto his shirt.

“You know you can tell me anything, princess.”

He thought you had passed out on him when there was no immediate answer but as soon as he set you down on the large bed, your hand clutched his shirt tightly forcing him to hover over you. You quietly traced his face, memorized the placement of his freckles. His brow furrowed as he watched you, his breath shaky at the sudden show of tenderness. He leaned into your palm, kissing your wrist lightly and awaited for whatever it was that you wanted to say that shifted the mood so drastically.

“Your love is the best I have and will ever have, Winchester.”