#I am a history buff and I have a degree in journalism

[werosmyss]

I've mentioned a little bit about writing on here, but it occurs to me that I haven't actually shared any of my writing yet. (Which is odd, because I don't consider myself an artist and I've already posted two little doodles.)

So I've been working a little lately on a period radiostatic fic (1930s-1950s). I'm thinking I might start posting it on Ao3, but I would love to gauge interest a little bit beforehand. All fic info + brief excerpt below cut. Would love to get some preemptive feedback and make edits before I go posting anything :)

No title yet; though I was inspired by the song Friendly Neighborhood Poltergeist by Rory Webley

Potential CW/TWs for the first arc: Alcohol, PTSD (Military flashbacks; WWII specific), Nazis, Period-typical racism, Period-typical homophobia, light violence/descriptions of death and gore. I don't write smut so there would likely be implied sex but no details. General TW for Valentino but he will be OOC from hellaverse (i.e. not abusive and rapey); Period-typical American patriotism; Police being Police (ACAB)

WIP Tags/Characters/Ships, etc.: RadioStatic; Chaggie; HuskerDust; Minor StaticMoth; Lucifer, Vox, Alastor, Charlie, Vaggie, Husk, Angel Dust, OCs used as plot devices/background characters (no major role in the story), Niffty, Rosie, Mimzy (Mentioned as of right now, not sure if she will be important yet), Valentino, Velvette.

Obsessive Alastor; Obsessive Vox; Demiromantic Asexual Alastor; Bisexual Vox; Protective Alastor; Human AU (kinda); Alastor Can't Control his Shadow; Alastor and his Shadow are different entities (but are still the same person); Possession.

(Can't think of any others right now)

Brief summary for what I'm going for: Vincent Olcott (Vox, though I likely won't be calling him that in this fic) gets home from the European front and wants nothing more than a shower and to curl up in bed with his beautiful wife, but he's rebuffed at the door and forced out on the street. Grappling with his demons, Vincent tries to move on and ends up with a job at the local paper. Just when his life is looking up, he's transferred to a neighboring state and forced to rebuild his life all over again. He catches his big break with a story on a serial killer, exposing police incompetence and helping to catch the person on the loose. But he quickly becomes more trouble than he's worth, and he's forced out of the paper. Vincent bounces around the midwest for a bit, chasing cold cases and selling his stories to the highest bidder, until he ends up in New Orleans with his biggest mystery yet.

Alastor Wiles is shot and ripped apart by dogs while disposing a body one evening in the muggy Louisiana summer. He doesn't expect to wake up, as one usually doesn't wake up from a bullet to the head. But awaken he does, with a new body and a whole host of powers to boot. It isn't long before the old house he's tethered to– his old house– is sold, and his first ever roommate is surprisingly easy to possess. With free rein of New Orleans once more, Alastor and his roommate team up to lure all manner of bad men to the cottage at the edge of the woods. Because who, really, would miss them if they were to disappear off the face of the earth? Tenants come and go. Some stay for longer than others, some end up buried in shallow graves just behind the treeline. It seems that even in undeath, a higher power is allowing Alastor to continue his righteous mission to eradicate the scoundrels and scum of the earth, and who is he to look a gift horse in the mouth? But his newest tenant is sticking his nose where it doesn't belong and threatening to unravel the tenuous house of cards that Alastor has only just erected.

Excerpt:

1945 - May

The war was over– well, the war in Europe was over. Vincent breathed a silent thanks to whatever higher power may be listening that he had been stationed in France for the past year and not the Pacific front. He’d heard horror stories through the grapevine about the kinds of things that were happening to the men over there, and he really didn’t want to find out if they were exaggerated. 

He had been all smiles coming home, picking up a bouquet from the florist almost as soon as he’d gotten off the train, and walking with the faintest skip in his step through the streets of Chicago. He could have hopped on a streetcar, but his house was only twenty minutes from the station and he was relishing in the smell of clean air and smiling faces in every window, American flags billowing in the wind.

An involuntary shudder wracked his frame as his gaze slid over a dilapidated row of brownstone townhomes. Shadows flitted across the darkened glass, ghosts of people he’d never known, voices he’d never heard crying out in pain. A sharp grin, a red armband, the glint of cold steel and the flash of gunpowder. The countless lives of the innocent occupied just as much space in his mind as his fallen comrades. 

Vincent hadn’t realized he’d been staring at the cold and empty window until he was jostled forward by a passerby with a grumble. He didn’t realize he’d been crying until the tears dribbled off his chin and splattered against his navy blue suit. Shaking away the ghosts of his past, he set back down the sidewalk. The skip in his step was gone, his smile was fading. The stems of the rose bouquet in his hand had broken under his grip, but it didn’t matter. Eileen would want to cut them to fit her favorite vase anyway.

Inspo playlist [Spotify]

(its set to private since this is just for writing inspo. let me know if the link doesn't work)

[titanicfreija]

"Tell me more about these Warlocks."

"Alright, Warlocks are the floaty ones. Ikora is one, and most of the other ones... Oh wow, okay, so most of the famous Warlocks I know are really bad examples of guardians. About half were bad people."

"This does not, in any way, please me to hear."

"Nope! Okay, so, Ikora is and Osiris used to be, and Warlocks are "the smart ones", except some of them take the smart right on over to testing reality and forcing dimensional shifts and overall messing with stuff that has turned at least two of them that I know about right now into conscious non-human, non-physical entities that may or may not be even more immortal than usual and is definitely crossing some interdimensional lines."

"Your Eris was a Warlock?"

"No, actually, she's a Hunter who had access to the journal of one of the previously mentioned mad ones. And extremely bad luck."

"Hmph."

"But those are extremes. Your average one, Tower-dweller with virtually no real armor, they aren't like that. They're rumored to be lofty, dreamy, spacey, arrogant and uptight, dry, kill-joys, nerdy, chaste..."

"I cannot relate this to anything with which I am familiar."

"Scholars and scribes?"

"Vaalra. Bookish. Dry is a good word."

"Yes!"

"Ours were also warriors."

"So are the Warlocks."

"How much of their work is dedicated to technology?"

"Depends on the warlock."

"Ours are largely dedicated to history and technology."

"Ours can be technology, biology, history, math, chemistry..."

"These things are technology."

"I think that depends on if you use it to make stuff or just break it down to see how it works."

"Accepted distinction. Do the Warlocks have expected roles in combat?"

"Well, no? But yes? The stereotype is healer or other support. In truth, they have better capabilities with their Light in general, are better at calling on it and using it to greater effect, and this allows for deeper digging, but in a bunch of nichier things. So they can do anything really well if they push hard enough into it. The good ones in crucible are scary. Lightning fast, they'll skate right over your head with a fusion rifle, it'll take out our barricade and an ally with us. Fast and aggressive front line, cover fire from the back, healers and buffs in the heat, they can be real beasts."

"Can be?"

"Warlocks are born-- reborn-- at a distinct disadvantage with their power being so pressed into learning most effective use-- there's no backup, no substitute. Weapons work the same, but while a Titan can hold off the damage long enough to recover and Hunter can disengage, Warlocks need to be either preemptive or at least very good at planning ahead. Young ones die a lot. You have to get better at a fifty degree incline and hopefully you'll have a decent team to get you up on the way. Or at least this is what I've heard. So they're known to be the brains, for better and worse. Also clumsy, sometimes, because they're supposed to be graceful in the air, but landings and ledges can be rough. Bad shots which isn't true at all and in fact the solar ones can fly and shoot, I don't know where that came from."

"Do you know any?"

"Two are familiar-familiar, one is Freija's roommate, but he's a writer, a scribe. He's too busy wishing he was a Titan to be a Warlock. He's where I got most of that moping. They have a second warlock who is... Weird. She'll love this strand stuff, but she's kinda been on this kick with this thing we learned with Savathun and that mess. She's weird. That's another Warlock thing, actually, if you meet a particularly weird guardian, odds are high that it's a warlock. They just kinda seem to be off in their own world. She's not bad. Her ghost is also weird in a completely different way."

"Is Ikora 'weird'?"

"Ikora has written entire books, plural about circles."

"..."

"She's also why Shaxx is missing a horn, so."

"She bested the host of the crucible in the crucible?"

"With a shotgun."

"Hmph!"

~

Caiatl's Questions

"This Titan business is...?"

"Are you asking me what a Titan is or...?"

"There are three, I have noticed. You refer to yours as a Titan. Zavala is also a Titan. I rather like them, so far. There are also the smaller two, who are... Like Osiris, and...?"

"I think the only Hunter you'd know is Crow. Osiris... Having lost his Light, he probably doesn't count, except he is still totally a warlock. Like, you know the, starts talking way too fast and like you're supposed to know what he's talking about? Not every warlock does that, but everyone who does that is a warlock. Titans don't do the rambling thing, they just do the thing and then look at you like you should've known to do that. Hunters just... Vanish. And then you find them again later. With pieces of explosives."

"Hmph!"

"These are all jokes, of course. The classes are different, obviously, but everyone just kind of is who they are and whatever thing makes them that class is there, but if you sorted them into three rooms, you'd only kind of be able to pick out which room was whose by how many Hunters you can still see and exactly what kinda fighting was happening."

"We have these jokes. Weapons preferences are said to indicate personalities."

"We have that one, too, but they also lean into classes."

[ashleesbookishadventure]

The Book of Lost Names by Kristin Harmel

*Disclaimer - this post contains affiliate links. If you click through and make a purchase, I may receive a commission (at no additional cost to you). Thanks for your support! Here’s a link to my full disclosure statement.

Eva Traube Abrams, a semi-retired librarian in Florida, is shelving books one morning when her eyes lock on a photograph in a magazine lying open nearby. She freezes; it’s an image of a book she hasn’t seen in sixty-five years—a book she recognizes as The Book of Lost Names. The accompanying article discusses the looting of libraries by the Nazis across Europe during World War II—an experience Eva remembers well—and the search to reunite people with the texts taken from them so long ago. The book in the photograph, an eighteenth-century religious text thought to have been taken from France in the waning days of the war, is one of the most fascinating cases. Now housed in Berlin’s Zentral- und Landesbibliothek library, it appears to contain some sort of code, but researchers don’t know where it came from—or what the code means. Only Eva holds the answer—but will she have the strength to revisit old memories and help reunite those lost during the war? As a graduate student in 1942, Eva was forced to flee Paris after the arrest of her father, a Polish Jew. Finding refuge in a small mountain town in the Free Zone, she begins forging identity documents for Jewish children fleeing to neutral Switzerland. But erasing people comes with a price, and along with a mysterious, handsome forger named Rémy, Eva decides she must find a way to preserve the real names of the children who are too young to remember who they really are. The records they keep in The Book of Lost Names will become even more vital when the resistance cell they work for is betrayed and Rémy disappears. When it comes to historical fiction, I am admittedly drawn to WWII. I wish I were more of a history buff but I’m just not, so most of what I know of history comes from historical fiction novels. WWII was such a dark time in our history and it covers such a broad amount of areas that the choices are endless. I had been wanting to read The Book of Lost Names since I first heard about it and it was everything I thought it would be and more.

I devoured this book. I was so caught up in the emotions and thrill of it all. I felt everything that Eva was feeling as she went against her mother’s wishes and conducted this outrageously dangerous operation, trying as best as she could to save as many people as she could. The turmoil she felt about her father being taken and how her mother basically held it against her was so strong. I cried during probably the last third or so of the book. It was an emotional roller-coaster. I was so worried about everyone’s safety and wondering what Eva would happen when she made her way back to Berlin to find the book. I could go on and on about my feelings about this story but instead I’m just going to say…GO READ IT!

The only part I didn’t love about the story was that I wish we would have been given an update on some of the children. Did any of the children she saved live? I wish we could have seen her reconnect with them in some way. A tangible closure to everything she went through and everything she did. Even without that little bit though, this is definitely a 5-star book. I loved it so much.

Kristin Harmel is the New York Times bestselling and #1 international bestselling author of The Book of Lost Names, The Winemaker’s Wife, and a dozen other novels that have been translated into numerous languages and sold all over the world.

Kristin was born just outside Boston, Massachusetts and spent her childhood there, as well as in Columbus, Ohio, and St. Petersburg, Florida. After graduating with a degree in journalism (with a minor in Spanish) from the University of Florida, she spent time living in Paris and Los Angeles and now lives in Orlando, with her husband and young son. She is also the co-founder and co-host of the weekly web show and podcast Friends & Fiction.

[darkmindsthinktwistedthoughts]

Enter the Kitsune - Prologue pt4

Warnings: Strong language

Masterlist

—

Prologue part 4

“I know. I’ve been expecting you.”

What the hell does that mean? I was led by the hand deep into the woods. The Ninja lowered his mask and turned to me allowing me to see his complete face.

“Do you recognize me now?”

“Oh my god, you’re the lab guy from the monument.” I couldn’t contain my shock as I took in the man before me. Apart from a change in attire, he didn’t seem altogether that much different.

“I’m actually a post-graduate physics student. But I’m glad you remember me. That makes things easier.” Sasuke seemed relieved that I recognised him. I meet you earlier today. I know I took a massive clout on the head since then but my memory isn’t that bad.

“You ended up back here too? This whole thing feels like a really weird sci-fi story… Are you a ninja? Actually, why are you a ninja?” Questions just tumbled out of me like water. I was face to face with someone who knew I wasn’t just telling tall tales of coming from the future. That feeling of acceptance had me babbling like an overly curious child asking a million questions at once.

“It’s easiest if I start from the beginning. My name is Sasuke. And just like you, I come from the present, or rather, the future.” He went on to explain what happened since our encounter. The whole thing made my already sore head throb as it tried to keep track of everything. Swaying on my feet a little I took a seat on a tree stump and looked up at him.

“So, when that lightning struck that monument it caused a warp in space and time around us and it dragged us both back in time?” I tried as logically as I could to walk through the step by step dummies guide to time travel my befuddled brain had compiled for me as it translated extreme science guy jargon. I can’t say I was a brilliant student in school. I mean I liked classes but I was always what they called an average student and clearly, this guy was not only in a different class to me but had slipped into a whole new realm.  

“Yes. That is a very simplified and condensed version of my current theory. We entered the wormhole at the same time. However, I arrived four years prior to you. In that time, I’ve learned that this Sengoku period, or Japan’s civil war, is different than the one we’re familiar with.” Sasuke was happy enough that I had understood his lecture. Four years? No wonder he asked if I remembered him. To be completely honest I’m impressed he remembers me.

“I’ll have to take your word for that. I’m not familiar at all with Japanese history, it wasn’t something we were taught in school … probably the closest I might get are things I’ve seen in movies at some point. Although I know they aren’t accurate reference material.” I admitted my supreme lack of knowledge expecting to see Sasuke react in some way. The reaction doesn’t come if anything he just seems more sympathetic.

“Indeed. In that case, allow me to explain a little more.” Sasuke talked about how his situation upon arriving in the past was similar to my own. He had found himself near a fallen samurai in need of help. That samurai was Kenshin Uesugi. Thanks in large part to his quick thinking and knowledge of modern medicine Sasuke had managed to save Kenshin. A man who was supposed to have died on that date in that time. That meant that according to Sasuke the historical records did not match with the ones from our time. Nobunaga and Kenshin were both alive but that wasn’t all. Shingen (tall guy from the cliff) was supposed to have also been dead by this time too.

“The fact that he is also alive when he shouldn’t be raises some questions about exactly what is happening. Parallel timelines? Multiple dimensions in space and time? Did we change the past?” Grasping the gist of the conversation I ended up with my mind wandering thinking of possible answers. However unbelievable those answers might be.

“To a degree. I do think we’re in an alternate Sengoku period, not the one we know from our time. Following on from your idea it is possible that because of fluctuations in spacetime we’re in a divergent timeline – one in which history will take a different course.” Sasuke thankfully didn’t think that my mainstream grasp on time travel from late night movies on tv was ridiculous. Time travel, alt-histories, timelines… this really is like science fiction. “I said that I was a post-graduate physics student. My major is in theoretical astrophysics at Kyoto University. I specialize in wormholes and am studying them for their potential for time travel. I’d created a method for predicting the conditions and patterns by which a traversable wormhole would manifest. That’s why I was at the stone monument that day. I was trying to verify my method.” I listened to Sasuke only taking in about a third of what he was saying as I was struggling to keep up with him. Ok clearly being a little different is not something monopolised by people born in this era. “I’ve been searching for you here, expecting you to have travelled back in time as I did. I hadn’t considered the possibility that you would arrive four years later.”

“When I came here, I was kind of hoping this was all a dream. Everything that happened so far has been the stuff that movies are made out of but it’s too real to be a dream or a movie.” I said remembering my experiences so far. The smoke in my lungs, how it burnt my eyes. The heat of that fire and the chill in the air when I was outside. How it hurt when I pinched myself and my heart pounding in my chest after I ran. It was all too real to be a dream.

“I can see why you would think so. There is also another anomaly that I have noticed in this timeline.” Sasuke’s stoic expression seemed to have an intense look about it as he looked closer at me in the dark.

“Another?”

“Are you aware you are speaking perfect Japanese? Not just speaking it but obviously also understanding it. I Don’t suppose you could, before could you?”

“What? Err, no I… Seriously I’m speaking in another language?” Sasuke’s words suddenly hit me with something I had yet to realise. I was so wrapped up in everything else happening I hadn’t even noticed.

“You didn’t know?” His brown eyes widened slightly.

“Well no I didn’t. although I suppose that makes more sense than everyone from 15th-century Japan speaking perfect English. How could I be--?” My voice trailed off, swallowed up by the quiet stillness of the forest.

“It is only an idea and I would hesitate to provide a diagnosis as I am not trained in medicine but I think you might have developed a rare form of something like foreign language syndrome.” Sasuke spoke calmly as if he was recalling some distant memory.

“What is that?” I was curious. It was a bad habit that got me in far more trouble than I would like, but at the same time, it was never something I had been able to change since I was a child.

“Well, it is something that can occur after a trauma has taken place. You develop a shift in your accent to sound as if you are a native from a different country. There have been cases where the stored vocabulary banks of the mind have also been affected and people have been known to speak fluent alternative languages as a result. As I say the cases of such things are very rare phenomena, I wouldn’t be able to go into great detail on it other than to say I believe I read a medical journal at some point that said that patients with this could possibly return to normal after the trauma is healed and with the help of relearning their native language.” Sasuke’s gaze was looking through me, settled at a point that was both where I was and also where I wasn’t. He clearly had the ability to recall even vague information in detail.

“So, the bang on my head was bad enough to knock the English right out of me?”

“You seem to be very good at summarizing. But yes, that would be my working theory at the minute. I realise it’s a little unbelievable--.” Sasuke lowered his eyes a little as he spoke.

“But… Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.” I don’t know why but sometimes my mind just makes random connections to things and I end up blurting out references and quotes to things that generally just leave others confused.

My friends in college took great delight in making up their own game where they would ask me quick-fire questions and see if I could answer them using only quotes and general trivia. That small memory had me cringing as I waited for the same look of confusion to appear on Sasuke’s face, but that never happened.

“Nice use of reference. I must admit I enjoy a good mystery novel from time to time myself.” Sasuke’s eyes seemed to brighten as he recognised the Sherlock Holmes quote. He not only understood that he liked it? “To get back on track if I may. With reference to your idea of this not being a dream, you could say that this is, in fact, a dream situation for me. I get to see and meet the famous men and women of the Sengoku with my own eyes.”

“Well, I’m glad one of us is enjoying themselves.” Looking at him it did seem to be true that he was actually in his element right now. I was confused and not very happy with my own situation but I was still happy enough that someone else was at least having fun.

“My parents were huge history buffs. I got my name from Sasuke Sarutobi, who was a legendary ninja that served Yukimura Sanada. Being a ninja of legend also meant he is fictional. So, I have assumed his “place” in time in order to avoid damaging the historical timeline further than necessary.” Sasuke almost appeared to be more animated as he elaborated. It was probably the most expressive I had seen him since I’d met him, even if his face still seemed to be devoid of movement.

“Did you pick up your job here as a ninja while you were waiting or were your parents ninjas as well as history fanatics?” I asked mirroring a little of his enthusiasm. When someone speaks so happily and passionately about something it's hard not to get wrapped up in the moment.

“I studied that here. It seemed useful to pick up a marketable vocation.” Sasuke said as he pushed his glasses back up securely on his nose. Ok well, a scientific history fanboy turned historical ninja is an interesting plot twist. Talk about thinking on your feet. I may have to take a leaf out of this guy’s book on fast adaption aiding survival. Sasuke indicated the path we had just taken to get here. “Right now, I’m employed with the men you saw earlier by the cliff. I would like you to come with me. I promise I’ll find a way to return us both to the present.” He offered me his hand waiting for a reply.

For the first time since arriving here, I found myself properly thinking about where I had come from. The job I had worked hard to gain experience and recognition in so I could get into the department I really wanted to be in. My small apartment that was a little rundown but I loved it all the same. Then there was all the people, the ones I worked with, family, friends that meet up with me once a month just to grab drinks and hang out.

My options in this situation are definitely limited. I had no doubt that I wanted to return, there was nothing for me here after all. If there really is a way to get back then my chances of doing so have to be increased by hanging out with the guy who can work out space-time stuff. Great now I have the theme for Doctor Who playing on a loop in my head… that is so not helpful right now. Ignoring my inner radio station that clearly took just as much of a bump as my skull did upon entry to the Sengoku. I was about to take his hand when our private moment was interrupted.

“Aerion! Where are you!? Come out!”

---

[the-canary]

Pastel Colors - B.B (1/15)

Summary: If only the cute teacher would stop pestering you for a pen. (Library/Teacher AU! Reader/Bucky Barnes)

Prompt: you’re always asking me for a pencil because for some damn reason you don’t know that there is a whole store for stationery—happy birthday here’s a gift card to that store. wait, you work there? what the hell?

Word Count: 784

Materlist

A/N: This is for @bithors writing challenge. New challenge, I know that the prompt reads a little differently, but I will tie everything together well. I am looking forward to this story, so please enjoy! I am also using my state’s educational state stuff, so it might seems a little different for some people depending on where you are from. 

Feedback is always appreciated.

Warnings: School. 

Wednesday, 1:30 P.M

Wednesday, 1:30 P.M

It isn’t supposed to be a day and time you should be dreading so early in the school year as the librarian. It usually meant the kids would be let out early and you had a little free time to yourself before closing the school library. All the teachers would have to stay an extra two hours for their developmental meeting, in accordance with state law. You weren’t needed in that aspect of the school, you weren’t part of the creation of the curriculum between all the teachers, the principals, and guidance counselors. You usually just received what books needed to be ordered and took in those “delinquent” students during lunch and after school. After nearly 3 years of being in the dark, the new Principal, Mrs. Potts-Stark, had decided to change that for you in the beginning of July.

“Since I am going to be taking over this new school year, I would like to get to better know the staff and their roles within the school,” she gives you a steady, business-like smile from behind the desk and she’s seemed to pop out of the beige walls that surround her soft blue business blazer and skirt. You nod and fidget a little. The room is humid due to the air conditioner being fixed and upgraded during the months school is out. From a moment, you wonder If she is related to the man the funds most of the school before answering her question.

“I became Head Librarian a year ago after Mr. Philips retired,” you answer while playing with the hem of your short-sleeved blouse, “Outside of maintaining the library, I help with detention every once and awhile.”

“Is that all?” she frowns with her question, as you shrug, “No interactions with any of the teachers? Book fairs?”

“Some teachers bring in students for end of the year projects,” you do your best to explain, “But most of them go to the computer lab and get help from Ms. Romanoff. We hadn’t had a book fair in some time.”

She gets am excited flicker in her eye, and you wonder if you have stepped into a spider’s trap. Mrs. Potts-Stark gets up from her seat and you follow suit, as she puts her hand in the middle in the sign of a handshake.

“Well, we’re going to change that.”

That’s how you got into the plan of the complete redevelopment of the library with new books and updated literature and technology. While, it was never going to be the computer lab, it could be a place where the students could go and research through both methods, as one way to prepare them for university. You would be preparing classes to teach basic research methods as an optional course and planning different ways to integrate library usage through some way in most of the classes.

Thus, your summer had been filled with taking computer classes and familiarizing yourself with the latest academia regarding Library Studies (Finally putting that degree to use again, Wanda –your roommate- laughed at you). There was even going to be a book fair. Now, on the first Wednesday of the new development meetings you were supposed to present yourself and the library to the teachers that had only been told to add more library trips to their development plans back in the summer.

Now, you were sitting in the back of the room, waiting for the principal to tell you when you would come up front. You took a deep breath and glanced at the table where all the teachers were listening to the changes of Mr. Fury’s history curriculum when it came to WWII, but it only seemed like Mr. Rogers was paying attention. Maybe, the art teacher was a secret history buff?  Nevertheless, the talk caught your attention, but as you proceeded to look for a pen to make some quick notes in your journal. The thing is you can’t find the one you sure you had brought along. You try to rummage into your bag as quietly as possible, and you have to question where your head was this morning if you forgot your pencil case – because you always carried it everywhere.

So, on shaky knees you go to the person closest to you, who seems to be holding their hand underneath their chin in order to stay awake. Dark brown hair and a white dress shirt that is rolled up to their elbows. You gain a little the courage to tap their shoulders, and you bite your bottom lip as blue eyes turn to look your way.

“I’m sorry, but do you have an extra pen I could borrow?”      

Part 2