#Is this supposed to SCs healing process or what

[existingingrey]

백공죽 Extended Version

Sangcheol saving CNG from Ye Yeongsil's goons who came for the phone.

[ateezthings]

ATEEZ Reaction: S/O flinching during an argument

Anon said: “Hi um could I please request for an ateez reaction to their s/o flinching in an argument? Thank you so much if you do this!! Much love ❤️❤️”

Triggerwarning: This scenario could be triggering for some people as it deals with past (physical) abuse, no abuse will happen though. Take care of yourself and please seek help if you need it.

Genderneutral

Heavy angst (Writing angst is always emotionally draining but I love it so much, it means a lot more to me)

 Jongho

 You knew Jongho was strong. This didn’t help when he raised his right hand during the argument. You instinctively crouched down and covered your face with your arms. When you couldn’t feel any sort of punch, you dared to look at him again. The expression on his face scared the living hell out of you: shock, hurt, pain, disappointment.

“You thought I’d hi-hit you?”

At that point you realized you didn’t think, your body just reacted. Things, that happened in the past were screwing up your present, you had to start letting go.

“I do-don’t know, Jongho, I didn’t… I-You raised your arm and I thought-”

That’s when you broke down: knees giving out and tears starting to spill from your eyes, announcing that you were starting the self-healing process.

Sunken on to the floor, he slowly approached you, gently wrapping his arms around your body. For a while nothing could be heard except your muffled cries.

Holding you tight while you fell apart, he reassured you: “I would never lay a finger on you like that… please believe me, you are so precious”

After a moment of silence, he continued: “Do you wanna talk about what made you think that I could do that to you?”

With almost no energy left, you slowly shook your head no.

“It’s okay, I love you and I will always be here”

Wooyoung

 He has a good heart. But he is also very passionate and that sometimes scares you when he is in one of his moods, rants like there’s no tommorow and he doesn’t hear you anymore. You were trying to get a word in but Wooyoung was speaking louder and louder about how it wasn’t his responsibility to get groceries after being at the studio for 13 hours a day, even though you asked him to in the morning.

He got so worked up he puffed his chest and fitfully lifted his arms. That was enough to make you flinch. It was a short action but of course Wooyoung noticed. Immediately becoming silent, it looked like someone took the life out of him.

“Did you think… I was going to…?”

Scared of your own reaction, you were paralyzed for a moment. Wooyoung rushed to take you into his arms, his comforting arms.

“I’m sorry Woo”, your voice sounded exhausted, like you’ve never been before.

“You don’t have to apologize for it… I’m sorry for getting so worked up, I never meant to scare you… you know I will always protect you.”

Mingi

  You didn’t even remember what the argument was about. Mingi came home a little aggravated and you were tired from work so that’s when things went south.

“How many times do I have to tell you? I have the most important performance of my career that day, I can’t come visit your parents!”

“Mingi you never make time for me! It’s like your job is more important to you than me!”

Visibly frustrated, he quickly lifted up his arms in defeat. That’s when the flashbacks started in your head and you retracted back into your shell, shoulders and arms raised to protect your head.

“Y/N… I… Did you really think…” He didn’t need to finish.

The look on his face showed emotions that were beyond hurt, pain and disappointment.

You struggled to keep your composure: “I’m sorry Mingi, I don’t-”

He hurried over to you to take you into his arms.

“It’s okay… I could never do something like that to you.”

San

  He forgot your anniversary. That was it. You knew that it wasn’t that big of a deal, but little things like that were important to you. They mattered more than any big gesture or present.

You simply expected him to write you a sweet message during the day or something like that. But he forgot. Even when you went to see him in the evening he didn’t seem to remember. So, you wanted to confront him about how much that hurt you.

You didn’t expect it to develop into a huge argument though.

���San, what I expected was just a little reminder that our relationship is as important to you as it is to me, I just wanted my boyfriend to send me a text… but you couldn’t even do that!”

That was it for him. You doubted his ability to show love?

He took a step closer to you but after seeing the rage in his eyes that was enough for you to step back in fear.

That broke him. And you could see that.

“No no no, that’s not- you’re not scared of me, right Y/N?”

It all happened so fast you couldn’t think straight. When you didn’t respond he broke down in tears.

So it was you, who took him into your arms, even though you doubted his good nature for a split second.

You tried to keep him together with your hug while struggling yourself.

San would never ever hurt you. His reaction was enough to make it clear to you how much the thought of you being scared of him hurt him.

Holding each other close you both let out cleansing tears and haunting memories that used to be tucked away in a back drawer of your mind, ready to be dealt with now.

Yeosang

  He’s not the person to get angry audibly. Like twice a year you guys a conflict but it was never loud.

But this one was different; it was a much deeper conflict of values. He prioritized work. You knew he loved his work but did he have to ignore your needs while doing what he loved? You believed he could also pay a little attention to you, that’s what being in a relationship meant, right?

It was scary when he started to raise his voice but it was even more terrifying when he started to gesture wildly, trying to explain why you were wrong.

Naturally, you went into protection mode.

He stopped right in his tracks when he saw the terrified expression on your face.

“Y/N.. I wasn’t going to… I didn’t mean to scare you. I was just…”

You didn’t know how to explain yourself either. But you didn’t need to, Yeosang understood what was going on.

He carefully approached you and offered you a big hug. You let yourself collapse into him and allowed the tears to spill from your eyes, letting out all the pent-up stress and fear.

“I’m sorry my love. I will never forgive myself for scaring you…”

Yunho

  You were on edge the whole day, anxiety acting up again. Sometimes you could deal with it, but not today.

In the evening it got even worse when Yunho didn’t seem to notice you were more nervous and jittery than usual. He’s had a hard day too.

So, you decided to put aside your own troubles to ask him how his day went.

His eyebrows furrowed: “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“I just wanted to ask you how your day went, Yunho, and why you’re so pissed, I’m sorry”

He groaned out of frustration and turned his body away from you - a little too fast. That’s when something snapped in you and you got flooded with horrible memories of past situations that scarred you physically but more importantly mentally: You couldn’t help but protect your head from punches that might land on it.

“No, baby, don’t… I.. I didn’t mean to… I wasn’t going to…”

The look in his eyes was pure defeat.

“I’m so sorry” his voice was merely a whisper.

You were shocked when you realized you had thought he could harm you physically. He was your safe place.

So you let yourself fall into his arms, hoping you could comfort him as much as he comforted you.

Hongjoong

  In an argument Hongjoong could raise his voice, you knew that. What you didn’t know was that even small rapid movements of his could trigger a memory in your mind that you hoped to suppress forever.

He only ran his hand through his hair but your reflex was to immediately cover your face.

“What was that?... Are y-you scared of me…?”

Tears started to spill from your eyes as you realized that you had hurt him: ”I’m sorry Hongjoong, I don’t know what’s happening”

Taking you into his arms, he tried to calm you down with his touch: ”Shh, it’s okay, I’m here, Y/N”

After your tears dried up a little, you moved to cuddle on the couch.

“Do you wanna tell me what happened?”

It was painful but you decided to tell him everything you could remember.

He was sure to hold you especially tight during the parts where you didn’t think you could keep on talking.

 Seonghwa

  You guys fought about his job and how he was never home. He reasoned he loved what he did and that was supposed to make it okay. It didn’t. So, your dispute was going nowhere.

Out of frustration he turned away from you.

The action was so quick, but it scared a part of you, that you didn’t know existed: the part that was abused.

You couldn’t help but flinch. Of course, Seonghwa noticed.

“Why’d you…? Y/N are you sc-scared of me?” His eyes wide open, the corners of his mouth visibly drooping.

You sank down onto the floor, unable to hold it in any longer. It was useless to cover your eyes, tears already spilling like a waterfall.

Seonghwa was quick to hug you.

You were falling apart in his arms, but it felt good to let it all out. Neither you nor Seonghwa needed to speak.

 Let me know what you think in the comments.

[mywalkhispath]

Testing of Faith

In This World You Will Have Trouble…

Why, God?  Why me?  Why now? Why here? Why this?  Why am I in this valley of sickness, pain, suffering, shame, hopelessness?  God, why don’t you heal me from this thing?  Oh, how many times have I asked myself these questions as I traveled through one of life’s valleys?  I want to stay on the mountain top where I can see for miles, see where I’m going, live above the troubles of the city in the valley below.  But do I really?  Do I really want to stay where the winds are cold, the oxygen thin, the winter severe with troubles of its own, the terrain is rugged and a wrong step can be deadly?  How about the plains…the flat expansion of earth that’s not really a valley formed at the base of two mountains, but doesn’t have the rugged edges of the mountain top?  You know the easy place where life is predictable, the children are respectful and help with the dishes, husband and wives love each other with abandon, everyone is healthy, the bills are always paid on time….

We don’t live in this nirvana, we live in a broken world that is full of sin and suffering.  A world where our faith is tested daily, sometimes more severely, more painfully than others.  Sometimes we barely recognize the testing and passing or failing can have life long implications. 

Why must we go through this testing?  Much like the refining of metals to remove impurities and make it stronger, the successful testing of our faith makes us stronger and deepens our trust in God.  When others see how we respond to the difficult time in our lives it can affect their personal walk with God.  My cousin, Brooke, has been battling stage 4 breast cancer for several years now.  This is her second battle with this terrible disease and the aggressive nature of this battle leaves little hope for a complete remission.  Brooke has three elementary-aged children and works as the Women’s Ministry Director at a large church in Columbia, SC.  Her husband, Justin, was killed in a biking accident last August.  I am in awe of her strong faith and how she continues to rely on God in all things.  Through her social media posts, speaking engagements, and personal interactions I am sure she is strengthening others.  Her facebook page is here.  God has provided a strong faith-filled family and community of friends who help her manage her treatments and family obligations as she continues with chemo treatments to keep the cancer in check. 

There are numerous instances of the testing of faith in scripture.  Jesus was tested by the devil for 40 days; Peter and the other disciples were tested and martyred for their faith, Job was tested when the devil took his children and his earthly belongings.  They all came through with stronger faith, faith enough to die for what they believed in.  Jesus now sits at the right hand of God, the disciples at His feet, and Job was given even more than he previously possessed.  They were faithful during their testing.

There are also examples in Scripture where the testing didn’t go so well.  Adam and Eve gave in to the serpent’s testing by eating the fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, resulting in their being banished from the Garden of Eden.  Moses killed a slave master.  King David had an affair with a married woman and tried to cover it up by having her husband killed. Still, God used them for His purposes and their names are familiar to both Jews and Christians.

In John 10:10a (NLT) Jesus says, “The thief’s purpose is to steal and kill and destroy.”  The thief wants to take our joy, to test our faith and see how strong it is.  How we respond is crucial to where our path takes us.  How do we navigate our valleys, and even the precarious mountaintop well?

Before your faith is tested, surround yourself with strong believers:

We live in a society where fewer and fewer feel they have the need or the time to attend church services, yet this is where we are most likely to find strong believers.  Listening to podcasts or religious music, watching services online, or doing online Bible Studies are great to expand our knowledge of Jesus Christ, but they don’t give us the benefit of  intimate knowledge and relationship found in community with other believers.  Church people are no more perfect than you are, made from the same dust, molded by the same God.

Other strong believers may be in your family or in your neighborhood.  Seek them out, discuss your faith and their faith.  Share your fears and joys.  Start a bible study in your home or at work and be willing to be vulnerable with the attendees.  Then you will know who you can turn to and trust when you are tested.

As your faith is being tested, get a team:

In March of 2018 my 10 year-old grandson was admitted to the hospital because he was having trouble breathing.  The diagnosis was asthma and atypical pneumonia.  After he was released and spent a week at home, he, his sister, and a cousin came to stay with my husband and I, over 500 miles away.  He did well - swimming in the pool, going to the zoo, and other area attractions, as long as he didn’t overdo it and had his inhaler handy.  Upon returning home to his parents and to school he began having even more trouble breathing than before.  Back to the hospital where a CT scan showed a 90% blockage in his trachea that wasn’t readily visible in the X-rays taken during his first stay.  He was air-lifted to a premier children’s hospital where the surgical team was assembled and a strategy for removing this growth without collapsing his lungs, suffocating him, or leaving  some of it behind was developed.  This season was probably the most I’ve had my faith tested in a long time.  “Faith over fear” became my unspoken mantra as I prayed for his healing.  During this time I felt the prayers of my team of friends, family, and church washing over my sweet grandson, his parents, and me.  A prayer warrior I’ve never met had a vision of Saint Raphael, the Catholic Saint of Healing, standing over my grandson…as a Methodist, the Saints are rather unknown to me, but the peace of mind this gave me is undeniable.  The surgery was successful and that child of God is able to run and play with his cousins and friends, not worrying about having asthma!  This team of prayer warriors helped strengthen my trust in God as the surgical team strengthened my trust in medicine.  Our struggles don’t have to be wrestled with in a vacuum.  Get a team!

As your faith is being tested, tell God how you feel:

Your prayers don’t have to be just about solving the struggle.  When I was a teenager I thought little of telling my parents when I didn’t agree with a decision or family rule or being grounded for ignoring said rule.  Yet, I have to remind myself that I can go to my Heavenly Father with my hurts, my frustrations, my anger at what I’m facing.  We serve a loving God who wants to have a relationship with us and open communication is key.  Yes, God is all-knowing and doesn’t need me to tell Him what’s going on in my heart and mind…But just like I know the answer my kids will give me when I ask how his or her day went, I still like to have the interaction.  Getting what I’m feeling out in the open helps me process, it sparks clarity, it helps me understand better why I’m in this situation.

After the testing, praise God:

I am currently reading “It’s Not Supposed to Be This Way” by Lysa TerKeurst.  Here is a link.  If you’ve read Lysa’s earlier books you know that she is very vocal about the struggles she has had during her life.  In 2008 Lysa revealed that she’d had an abortion 16 years earlier.  The faith needed for someone who is so visible as a woman of God to step out and own this action and the subsequent pain is unfathomable to me.  In “It’s Not Supposed to Be This Way” she discusses going through betrayal and two life-threatening health issues, yet she comes out praising God and the blessings she has received from these valleys…or in this life “between two gardens” as she likes to put it.  She praises God for the pain that kept her hospitalized until the doctors could find out what was wrong,  thus, saving her life.  She praises Him for the time she needed to sit and just be, and heal. 

My cousin, Brooke, praises God for each day, each moment, that she receives to spend with her children and extended family.  Would she have chosen this path?  Definitely not!  Is she modeling what a solid faith looks like even during extreme adversity?  Most definitely!

What the evil one intends to harm, to shame, to lessen our focus on our loving, faithful Heavenly Father, our God uses for good (Romand 8:28).  Lysa’s and Brooke’s stories encourage thousands of women.  The biblical accounts of Joseph (Genesis 37-50) and Ruth (the book of Ruth) encourage both men and women to place their faith in God,  knowing that He has plans for each of us, to prosper us, and give us a life worth living (Jeremiah 29:11).  In the second half of John 10:10 Jesus states, “My purpose is to give them a rich and satisfying life.”  Praise God, for He is faithful, He loves us, He promises to never forsake us!  Praise Him for loving us enough to see us through the valleys of our lives, to allow us to be challenged in a way that makes us stronger.  We live in a fallen world; let’s be thankful that God is with us each step of the way!

Why me, God?  Better yet… Why not me?  Jesus said, “I have told you these things, so that in Me you may have peace.  In this world you will have trouble.  But take heart!  I have overcome the world.”  Thank you, Jesus!

[starsailorstories]

Reasons I decided to make my aliens an all-feminine civilization, other than “we live in a post-steven-universe-tumblr-oversaturation world and I feel like I’m allowed to”:

Over the past few years personally with coming out & whatnot I’ve been realizing that spiritually I’m supposed to live a life centered around womanhood and femininity and writing something with no major male characters was a way of embracing that

Like I said in my post the other night, the pulp sci fi genre and pulp novels in general are haunted by the artistic stamp of the lesbians who found anonymous and secure work writing them. 

Even outside that history, all-female worlds/societies were once a staple of sci-fi and adventure stories, where they often existed specifically for the male gaze and as isolated curiosities. I’m having a GOOD ASS TIME with the idea of that kind of society as a morally ambiguous intergalactic superpower that patriarchal societies tenuously ally with mostly out of justified fear (although ultimately as the plot progresses, that dynamic becomes a criticism and exorcism of powerful women who experience sexism and yet play by patriarchal, domination-based rules).

We need to talk more about both the ways women oppress other women, and the ways women can heal and liberate one another.

Worldbuilding with a setting where no oppositional concept of a male gender role exists means imagining queer femininities/womanhood experiences & femininities that don’t conform to the patriarchal framework flourishing in total freedom. I hope women and woman-aligned people, no matter how they present, see the SC universe as their playground--a galaxy of Star Wars original trilogy-level diversity and depth, but with them and their identities at its core.

That said: talking about the struggles and prejudices of such a society is a way of addressing the need for feminist class consciousness and intersectionality. It also means I can express the emotional and spiritual process of realizing and attempting to heal from one’s oppressions within the world I’ve created for all the reasons above. Arguably there’s no analogue for, say, the umbralis relationship outside of traditional feminine gender roles in a misogynistic society, particularly as they’re experienced by wlw--but by taking that out of context I personally think you can see it more clearly. And that’s what allegory’s really about, at the end of the day.

I’m gay and I’m here to have fun

I took a class where I had to read Orlando, Toni Morrison’s Paradise, and Sexing the Cherry one after another over 3 and a half weeks and this is what happened

[a-splash-of-stucky]

I Know This Game | Four

Pairings: Bucky x Foster!Reader || Loki x Foster!Reader

Summary: You have some more epiphanies, after making some unpleasant discoveries.

Warnings: Language, sexting (mentions of). A N G S T

Notes: I didn’t really know what I was doing with myself for the second half of this part, so apologies if it’s a bit abstract and weird.

IKTG Masterlist

He’ll never stay, they never do

You go to Loki’s dresser to pull out one of his shirts and a pair of his boxers to wear as your pyjamas for the night. You don’t often stay over at his place, as you like to arrive at your office fairly early in the morning to squeeze in some paperwork, or prep yourself for the clients you’ll be seeing during the day. Because you don’t typically spend the night, you only have your bare essentials here — a toothbrush, some makeup wipes, your medication, things like that. Hence the need to borrow his clothes, although Loki’s penchant for buying particularly soft t-shirts may also contribute to that.

After slipping on your borrowed sleepwear, you head over to your side of the bed, feeling utterly exhausted after a long day at work and ready for sleep. You’re already cozied up under the covers when you remember that you’re supposed to be heading into your office tomorrow morning, as you have a rescheduled appointment with one of your patients. You’d need to get up pretty early, in order to have enough time to nip home and change into fresh work clothes. You look around the room for your purse, intending to retrieve your phone and set an alarm, before groaning frustratedly when you realise that you’ve left it in the living room.

“Loki?” you call, raising your voice so that he can hear you over the pitter-patter of the shower.

“Yeah, babe?” he replies, voice sounding a little echoey as it bounces off the tiled walls.

“Can I use your phone to set an alarm?”

“Sure, go ahead,’.

Loki’s phone is charging on his nightstand, so you roll over to the other side of the bed to get it. You hit the button on the side to turn it on, then punch in his password.

He’d left his last app open and running, so it’s the first thing you see when his phone unlocks. It’s a messaging app. You’re about to press the home button, not wanting to pry into the private conversations he has with his friends, when the last few messages catch your eye.

SC: We still on for this Monday, right babe?

LL: Yeah. Gf says she’s got clients the whole day.

SC: Sweet!! Can’t wait to see u xx

You wonder who the fuck this SC person is. And, more importantly, why they’re calling him ‘babe’. Surely that’s a pet name used more commonly between people who are…friendly with each other? The person talks like a woman, but you know better than to jump to conclusions so early.

Your gaze flickers over to the closed bathroom door. The shower is still running and, knowing Loki as you do, you estimate that he’ll probably stay in there for a good five minutes before coming out. You don’t want to snoop — you’ve never been that type of girlfriend — but something about the tone of these messages is making alarm bells ring shrilly in the back your head.

Another glance over those three messages only serves to heighten your unease. You have no problem with Loki spending extended amounts of time with his friends, but something about this seems shady and suspicious. You’d like more information, but are reluctant to stick your nose into his private affairs.

You chew your bottom lip, deliberating over your little dilemma. Surely it can’t hurt to have a quick peek? But then again, you want to trust him. Relationships can’t function without trust, right? You desperately want to think the best of him, but the teasing, flirtatious undertone in those three short messages have created a yawning hole in the pit of your stomach that you just can’t fill with any amount of reason. Hopefully, you’re just overreacting, and reading too much into something otherwise insignificant. You pray that this is not what you think you is, but your gut instinct is telling you otherwise.

You register the time stamp at the corner of each text box. The brief exchange was made about an hour ago, so you would’ve been at his place at the time. What the hell was Loki doing, messaging another girl with you around?

Okay, maybe that thought was a little self-centred and dramatic.

You try to recall what the two of you had been doing at the time. It’s a difficult challenge — given the fact that your mind has been wandering off and focusing on other things this entire evening — but to the best of your memory, you think that you and Loki were probably chilling in front of the TV and having dinner.

The penny drops.

You remember telling Loki about your upcoming week at work, and mentioning something about having back-to-back sessions on Monday. His phone was in his hand at the time, so he probably sent it then. That in and of itself is not incriminating evidence, you rationalise. There’s nothing wrong with him texting or messaging other people whilst in your presence — in fact, he’s completely entitled to do so — but the whole situation just seems a little too sketchy for your liking.

Your thumb hovers over the screen as you hesitate. Do you really want to scroll up and read the rest of these messages? What if you don’t like what you see? What would Loki think if he came out and caught you snooping around his phone? Millions of questions race through your mind. Though you doubt yourself and second-guess your actions, you can’t deny the uneasiness gnawing at your stomach.

You scroll upwards.

You make several discoveries.

You find out that ‘SC’ stands for Sharon Carter. From the ease of conversation, it’s clear that Loki has known her for a long time. The playful banter being traded back and forth indicates a casual familiarity between them, like they’re more than just friends from work, or something.

(There are other pieces of evidence to suggest that they’re far more than just friends, but you aren’t ready to process them, just yet).

They’ve been messaging each other almost every day, often multiple times a day. You think that in the last week alone, he’s spent more time chatting to her online than talking to you in person. To your dismay, you find several messages of a similar nature to the first few you saw. Nearly all the exchanges between them are flirtatious in tone, dripping with innuendo and highly, highlysuggestive. Sharon is apparently a big fan of the kissy face emoji. There are multiple discussions of plans to meet up, all tailored around your work schedule. You feel slightly nauseous, knowing that your boyfriend is making arrangements to see another girl behind your back. Admittedly, it’s not the first time that such a thing has happened to you, but past experience doesn’t make thisany better.

Nothing could prepare you for the pictures.

They’re revealing, to say the least, although ‘revealing’ could be interpreted in a couple of different ways, in this instance. It is perhaps more accurate to say that you uncover several highly explicit photos, taken with the clear purpose of teasing the other person. She’s sent Loki several pictures over the past few weeks — ranging from nude selfies, to shots in the mirror, to snaps of her in various stages of undress. You lose all hope when you learn that he’s responded in kind, sending her a number of scandalous pictures of himself over the past month.

It’s sickening to see.

The pictures are not, in fact, the worst of it. What’s more terrible — the thing that really makes you want to hurl — are the erotic and lewd messages that accompany them. They’re such a blatant proclamation of his infidelity, you wonder how you haven’t noticed any of the other signs before.

You sigh heavily. Of all the things to happen tonight, the universe just had to screw you over again.

You feel like your emotional wounds — barely healed from your time with Bucky — have now been re-opened, the stitches harshly yanked apart. Metaphorical blood spurts from the gashes.

With the bitter taste of bile in your throat and your heart threatening to thump its way out of your ribcage, you set Loki’s phone back down on the nightstand, proud at the way your hand remains so steady. Suddenly feeling very much awake, you get out of bed and pad around the room, collecting your discarded articles of clothing. You strip out of his shirt and boxers, feeling more than a little bit disgusted by the fact that they’ve touched your skin, and change into your rumpled work clothes.

Loki comes out of the shower just as you’re pulling on your shirt, a towel slung low on his waist and dripping wet hair plastered to his scalp. Rivulets of water meander down his sculpted torso. There was a time where looking at that gorgeous, toned body made you weak in the knees. Now, as your eyes drink in the sight, you feel strangely emotionless, indifferent to it all.

He’s confused when he sees that you’re dressed. “You’re not staying the night?” he asks.

You say nothing, avoiding his gaze as you do up the last few buttons on your shirt. Sensing your discontent, Loki timidly steps towards you. “We’re good…right? What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” you echo, keeping your tone cool and detached. “What’s wrong is the fact that you and Sharon have a thing going on that you forgot to mention to me,” you say, placing your hands on your hips and jutting your chin out defiantly, daring him to deny your accusation.

His face goes deathly white. “How did you—were you snooping through my phone?!”

You shrug nonchalantly. “I asked to borrow your phone to set an alarm, didn’t I? I open it, and guess what’s the first thing I see?”

Loki sighs in frustration, scrubbing one hand over his face vexedly, before stepping towards you. “Look, Y/N, this isn’t what you think it is,” he says, reaching to take hold of your hands.

Furious, you snatch them away, and cross your arms over your chest defensively. “Like hell it isn’t,” you snarl, “I read those messages—,”.

“You had no right to!” he protests, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“Fine!” you exclaim, “Fine, I did something I shouldn’t have, I’ll accept that, but you—,”. You narrow your eyes and jab your index finger into his sternum, “I implore you tell me that what you did was less wrong than what I did,” you growl quietly, venom lacing your words.

Loki breathes deeply through his nose and presses his fingers to his temples. “Y/N, can we talk about this properly? In the morning?”

“We’re talking just fine, I think,” you spit, “Besides, it’s painfully clear to me what you want, and that is not me,”.

“Yeah?” he scoffs, levelling his gaze with yours so that you can see the barely-restrained rage in his eyes, “Well, you know what? No one would want you anyway, not with the way you’re obsessed with your precious Bucky,”.

Overcome by fury, fatigue and a whole host of other emotions, you crack the back of your hand across his cheek. Loki staggers back and clutches his fingers to the stinging skin, staring at you in disbelief. Your palm throbs, but it’s a kind of pain that makes you glower with pride.

“Don’t you dare speak about him like that,” you say sharply, your tone containing enough threat to make him take a step back. You step towards him and he pales even further, if that were possible. “Even at his worse, he’ll still be worth more than ten of you,”.

“See? Even after he breaks your heart, you still scurry after him like a lost puppy,”, Loki sneers, trying to look as intimidating as he can despite the fact that his cheek is still smarting. You see right through his facade, though; from the panic in his eyes, it’s clear that he is downright terrified of what you might be capable of.

“Stop making this about me!” you roar, getting right up in his space so that your words have the highest impact. He’s tall enough that you have to tip your head back to look at him when you’re this close, but you derive some twisted satisfaction when you see the flicker of fear in his expression. It pleases you no end to know that you can make a grown man cower under your gaze.

“How long have you been sleeping with her?” you ask quietly, voice coming out strangely calm and collected, betraying none of the sorrow clinging to your heart. Really, your tone is the exact opposite of what you feel like internally: a complete wreck, emotions descending into utter chaos.

“Look, Y/N, it’s nothing serious between Sharon and I—,”.

“No?” you interrupt, feigning surprise. “Sending each other nudes, and saying I love you or I miss you to each other every damn day, that isn’t serious? You do that with just friends, huh?”

He doesn’t have anything to say to that.

“I think I’ve seen enough,” you grit out, blinking your eyes rapidly to stop the sudden onset of tears from spilling out. You’re proud to have made it this far without falling to pieces, but know that your limits are being tested. Your tough-girl mask is seconds away from crumpling. “I’ll pack the things you’ve left at my place in a box and leave it at the front desk. Any of my things here, you can just throw away. Don’t call me, I don’t want to speak to you,”, you say briskly, adopting a business-like tone.

“Y/N,” Loki says desperately, sinking to his knees and trying, once again to take hold of your hands. You let him this time, but quirk an eyebrow up to signify your lack of amusement. “Y/N, please, please let me make it up to you,” he murmurs, green eyes searching your face for any hint of a possibility for redemption.

You school your face into a neutral expression. “I don’t know why you’re even trying to make things work with me,” you say, completely unaffected by his words or actions. “It’s clear to me that she’s the one you really want. I’m not even sad to see you go,”.

“Baby—,”.

“Goodbye, Loki,” you say curtly, “Have fun with Sharon. You deserve each other,”.

He nods dejectedly, recognising a lost cause when he sees one.

You take a page out of Maria’s book, turning sharply on your heel and striding confidently out the door. You make a quick detour to the living room to retrieve your heels and your purse, before grabbing your coat off the hook and leaving his house for the last time, feeling only the tiniest bit upset about it.

It’s not that late when you leave his building. A glance at your phone tells you that it’s just a little after nine. You should probably take a cab home, or maybe head over to the nearest subway station, but the night is clear, and you figure that taking a walk will probably do you some good. Loki’s place is not that far from the apartment you share with Wanda and Peggy anyway — it’s a journey that’d take just a bit under twenty minutes.

You walk at a brisk pace, hands shoved into your pockets and head bowed to the crisp night breeze. The rhythmic click-clack of your heels lulls your mind into reflecting about the crazy day you’ve had.

After several gruelling consultations, you’d received that infuriating email from Christine Everhart (aka world’s most notorious journalist-bitch). It had been a lovely surprise to receive a call from Jane afterwords, though. Talking to her had helped you to calm down somewhat, but seeing the boys in Bangkok on that news clip only served to bring a whole slew of memories front and centre in your mind. You’d hardly been able to stop thinking about Bucky this whole evening. Then there was the god-awful sex with Loki.

Your body shudders at the thought.

And now this? Discovering that your boyfriend has been cheating on you for who-knows-how-long? Yeah, the universe really does want to give you hell tonight. This whole day has left you more unsettled than you’ve been in a long time. All you want to do is go home, curl up in bed with a nice mug of tea and sleep for an eternity.

You’re in a pensive mood this evening, and the walk home provides you with the perfect opportunity to go back to examining your love life. The train of thought you were on at Loki’s place had been interrupted by the whole cheating episode, but now, amidst the hustle and bustle of the Brooklyn streets at night, you can finally go back to your musings.

And I, I know how to play I know this game It’s all the same

Your epiphany in Loki’s bathroom has given you a deeper understanding of your attitude towards love and relationships. Initially, you’d wondered whether your tendency to allow yourself to be ‘used’ by your partners was a result of your inner masochist deriving some perverted form of pleasure from being manipulated in that way. Now though, you’re more inclined to believe that you’re not so much willing to let yourself be trampled on, but rather, resigned to the fact that it’ll inevitably happen, because from your experience, that’s just part of the life cycle of a romantic partnership.

A couple is walking towards you, arms wrapped around each other’s waists, his head tilted in her direction. You see the smile flickering on his lips as he listens intently to whatever she’s saying. Watching them, you realise that that is what you love. You love the idea of love. You adore the so-called ‘honeymoon’ phase; being showered with gifts and attention, not being able to get enough of each other and of course, having a whole lot of sex. You get a thrill from playing the game of love, because every time you switch up the players, the game takes on a whole new dimension. It ensures that your life is constantly evolving.

What saddens you is the fact that although you enjoy playing the love game, you’re not actually that good at it, as evidenced by your string of failed relationships. The gambles that you take are never worth the risk, as they leave you feeling even more sorry for yourself than before you got into the relationship — a feat in and of itself.

You don’t know how to win at this game.

Maybe that’s because every time the players change, the rules change, so what you thought to be true in your last relationship may prove to be utterly false in your next one. Things are made even more difficult when the other player is a cheater, who doesn’t play by the supposedly ‘established’ rules at all. When they reveal their hand, you feel as if someone’s yanked the floor out from under your feet and left you flailing in midair.

When drops of rain start to fall from the sky, you turn up the collar of your coat and start to walk a little faster. You almost laugh out loud at how impeccable the timing is. The universe has literally decided to give you the perfect setting to complement your downcast mood.  

As you turn onto your street, you become conscious of the fact that your love life really is quite predictable.

You’ll find a guy you like in a bar, or maybe a coffee shop, give him your number, and schedule a date. The two of you will find a few things in common and you’ll feel mildly hopeful that this time, things’ll be different. Soon enough, you’ll engage in some hot and steamy sex, and a few weeks — or if you’re lucky, months — will pass whereby everything in your life is good, you’re happy with each other and you truly believe that this’ll work out.

Then, something will happen to burst your blissful bubble. More often than not, you’ll get cheated on; why do you have to end up with all the cheaters?

You chuckle mirthlessly. Even though you’ve been played so many times, you never seem to be able to spot the signs. In the aftermath of your loss, the power of hindsight will make all the signals glaringly obvious, and you’ll curse yourself for being such an idiot. Love really does make you blind, it seems.

The relationship will end in an unsurprising manner, usually with you confronting your boyfriend. The two of you will exchange some heated words, and then you’ll storm out the door. Textbook example: your break-up with Loki fifteen minutes ago. They always say the same thing, you realise, drawing more and more parallels between your past relationships. Why do they always say the same things? Usually, they’ll always include some version of “This isn’t what you think it is,” or “Just listen for a sec, okay?” and of course, your personal favourite, “Y/N, please don’t go,”.

You wince when you recall Bucky saying those exact words to you — how his bottom lip had wobbled and the corners of his eyes had brimmed with tears.

Bucky had been the one to break your trend.

You can’t help but think how different the rules were when you were playing this game with Bucky. Things had been a lot muddier then, your positions on the board far less clear because you had had a professional relationship with him before you took a leap of faith and decided to let him in romantically. Your relationship with him lasted far longer than any of your other ones ever had — you got well-past the honeymoon phase, settling down into a comfortable routine around each other. You’d ‘levelled up’ in the game of love, so to speak, and treading in this new territory was both exciting and nerve-wracking for you.

Maybe the fact that you let things get so far with Bucky was the reason why, when he pulled the floor out from underneath your feet, the fall was particularly hard. He’d taken you up so high, you’d lost sight of the ground. More importantly, you’d forgotten what it felt like to face-plant into it.

In the end, you muse, your break-up with Loki was to be expected. There was nothing new, or particularly novel about it. As you arrive at the main entrance of your building, you come to the same conclusion you made earlier, in Loki’s bathroom; all your relationships really are more similar than they are different. The features of the ending never change: heartbreak, regret and rejection, in addition to bucket after bucket of tears. True love really was only for Hollywood movies.

Even though Bucky had led you to believe otherwise.

—————————————— Tags are open, but I’m only accepting requests via asks or PMs. Tag requests from replies/comments will be ignored.

[tartareus]

                                                                          @ireforged​‘s  MISSY \\  general sc

          it starts with a tingle.          first in his hands, then his feet, legs and arms. it doesn't take long for it to spread across his body like wildfire. the irony of it all doesn't go unnoticed by the DOCTOR as the familiar, dreadful, sensation starts. in that moment he is light, matter full of atoms moving in askew directions ---- so full of potential; endless possibilities. in that moment, he feels ---- he feels so much ---- past and present meet, crashing like waves againsts rocks. he knows his fate is like the sea ( merciless, unyielding, ever moving ) && still, to have yet another taste of the start of the end leaves him breathless, panic arises and for a moment he wishes he could stop it. but alas, he is far too weak, far too old, for such juvenile notion.  instead, resignation takes over and the timelord accepts what he's given ---- taking another breath of life in midst his oncoming death.          he misses her ---- his old girl ---- more than anything else. what wouldn't he give to have her back; this entire process would've been easier with the TARDIS to aid him && protect him whilst he was vulnerable. perhaps he is nostalgic, but no one would blame him. despite the countless people he met during his existence, at this point ( perhaps one of the most important ones of this life ) he is facing an adventure alone. one last adventure, now in a dark, empty, alley ---- contemplating his life before a new dawn.          his insides squirm, changing, evolving, HEALING. time is but a word for him now && this new ( hopefully brilliant ) man would take his place. his only true SOLACE is that he knows, from countless past experiences, that at least his memories would remain in this new wired brain ---- a fountain of hope and dread at the same time. his muscles tense, every fiber of his body is warm, vivid light blinding his sight, and, without realising, the Doctor falls on his knees, leaning slightly. he supposed he should've gotten used to it, but everytime it felt like the first time. 

         the tingle finally stops, a sound is almost lost to him as his foreign eyes ( not ready yet to adapt to the world ) open and search for the source. a familiar sensation he cannot exactly pinpoint washes over him, sensory overload making it hard to focus ---- he wasn't ALONE, was he ?

          ‘‘ who's there ? ’’  the voice that leaves his body is croaky && his lungs feel like fire whenever he takes a breath.   ‘‘  reveal yourself !  ’’

.

[alphacrone]

the kind who asks you for a little sugar [zimbits neighbors au]

When Jack moved into the plain, white house on Maple Street, he wasn’t expecting much except the peace and quiet he needed to write his next novel. Most of the neighbors were elderly or wrapped up in their young-parent bubble, too busy to notice the quiet, serious man now living in the late Mr. Ripley’s house. And Jack preferred it that way.

Every house on the street seemed a part of the scenery to Jack, weathered and simple with neat yards and the occasional rocking chair or wind chimes on the porches. Every house, that was, but his next door neighbor.

The house to the left of Jack’s was a buttery yellow color, the yard divided between garden and eclectic statues of rabbits and butterflies and other ridiculous things. The mailbox was covered in painted sunflowers and a faded pride flag hung in the window. It made Jack uneasy, knowing his neighbor was probably some overzealous, middle-aged lady who owned several cats and healed her colds with crystals. With one last look at the house and the pie that sat to cool on the windowsill, Jack wrinkled his nose and returned to his own home.

Jack had not lived on Maple Street for longer than 24 hours when someone knocked on his door. Hoping it was the delivery of his new couch, Jack opened the door, and was surprised to find, instead, a handsome man holding a steaming pie.

“Hi!” The man greeted, grinning from ear to ear. “I’m Eric, I live next door.” He nodded toward the yellow house. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”

Very tentatively, Jack took the pie and grunted out, “I’m Jack.”

“Welcome, Jack,” Eric repeated. “Please let me know if you have any food allergies and I’ll whip up a new pie. The oven’s always running at the Bittle house.”

Jack nodded slowly, a bit overwhelmed. “Thanks,” he managed to say, staring at the pie like he’d never seen a pastry before. “Would you...like to come in?”

“Oh, no, I’m afraid I’m on my way out for the day, but rain check?” When Jack nodded, Eric continued, “Eat a slice while it’s hot--that’s when it’s the best. And I hope to see you around, Jack.”

And then he was gone down the steps, all but skipping next door to the battered Volkswagen Beetle that sat in his driveway. Jack watched, still shellshocked, as Eric drove off, pop music blaring from his car as he sped out of the sleepy, Massachusetts neighborhood.

Jack supposed there was always that neighbor, no matter where you lived. He shut the front door with a swift kick and deposited the pie on his kitchen counter, unsettled in a most alien way.

(Eric was right, however; the pie did taste best straight from the oven.)

It was a few weeks later, after a harrowing, draining meeting with his editor, that Jack saw Eric again. The man was walking his dog down the street, dressed in tight sweatpants and a cherry-red sweatshirt. Jack had to admit to himself that Eric looked good in red, even if he was loud and talkative and absurdly cheerful for someone over the age of thirty. Jack frowned as he gazed a little longer out of his study window, then returned to the paragraph he’d been struggling with. When he glanced out the window again, not a minute later, Eric and the dog were gone and Maple Street seemed a little darker.

Jack sighed, and decided to go for a walk himself, his bad knee cramping from sitting for so long. He took a moment to stretch it out, then headed out to the sidewalk, surprised at the chilliness of the evening. Though it made him shiver, the cold always reminded him of home, of the rink, of Quebec. Jack smiled, a little sadly, and picked up his pace, speeding past Bittle’s yellow abomination.

Jack circled back twenty minutes later, eyes struggling to adjust to the odd dimness of dusk. The soft, yellow glow of the windows along Maple shone like aisle lights in a theater, dotting along his way home. Music played softly in the distance, and, despite himself, Jack wandered towards it, entranced.

Both surprisingly and utterly unsurprisingly, Jack followed the melody’s trail back to Bittle’s house. In the orange-blue evening, the house seemed warm and golden, and the smells coming from the open window were sweet and buttery and tinged the air with a cacophony of spices.

Curious and possibly a little lonely, Jack walked up the porch steps and knocked on the door.

It took a moment and quite a bit of muffled shouting before the door swung open to reveal a flour-caked Bittle grinning in surprise.

“Jack!” He cried, already ushering him in. “Goodness, it’s chilly out- and where is your coat, mister? Come in, come in, I’ll put on a pot of decaf.”

Despite that now-familiar overwhelmed feeling Jack got around Bittle, Jack was content to let the man herd him into the kitchen. The walls were papered in an old-fashioned style, yellow and pink flowers climbing upwards in a beautiful pattern, and the cabinets were all painted a soft, cream color.

“Texas Pecan or Cinnamon Hazelnut?” Bittle asked, holding up two tins of coffee. Jack opened and closed his mouth a few times, uncertain what either of those things even tasted like.

“Surprise me,” he eventually said, and this didn’t seem to dampen Bittle’s spirit in the slightest.

“Pecan, then,” he said, putting on tin back in the lower cabinet from which it came. “It’s less sweet, which will pair nicely with the mini coffee cakes that’re baking right now.” He grinned at Jack and began scooping grounds into the small coffee pot on the counter. “I’m making ‘em for Mrs. Lowry’s PTA bake sale--but don’t tell Moira Jones, she’s such a busybody--and Julia--Mrs. Lowry--needs to win the approval of the other mothers so she can run for president of the education board.”

Jack nodded weakly, unsure of who any of these people were. He thought maybe the Jones family lived a few doors down, but hadn’t really talked to many people on Maple street other than Bittle. Bittle, it seemed, knew the entire neighborhood.

“-and I’m sure Julia won’t mind if we steal a couple,” he was still saying, now pouring water into the pot and flipping the switch. “I made so many anyway. So!” He clapped his hands together, a small cloud of flour billowing up in front of him. “What can I do you for? Or did you just come by for a visit?”

“Oh.” Jack swallowed roughly and shrugged. “I heard your music while I was out walking.”

It was a terrible explanation, but it made Bittle smile wide. “Are you a Beyonce fan, Jack?”

“Not really,” Jack admitted. “But it’s...nice.”

“Nice, he says,” Bittle teased, wiping his hands off on a towel. “She’s everything.”

This startled a smile out of Jack, a rare occurrence. “Everything, eh?”

“Of course,” Bittle said simply. “Oh, there you are, Peaches.”

The dog Jack had seen Bittle walking earlier wandered into the kitchen, staring at Jack and quickly skirting around him to hide between Bittle’s legs. It was a goofy-looking creature, one of those corgis Jack could never understand. Peaches was, admittedly, pretty cute, with his wiggly butt and happy face. Jack knelt down and let Peaches approach him slowly, sniffing at his hand. Eventually it got close enough for Jack to pet, and all but melted under his fingers when he began scratching between its ears.

“She likes you,” Bittle said happily. “That’s a good sign. She hates those Phillips boys down the street and they both recently got suspended for vandalism; Peaches has impeccable instincts.”

“I’m sure,” Jack said, grinning down at the ridiculous creature. “Hey there, little bud.”

“Whore’ you calling little?” Bittle asked, laughing. “Peaches is above-average size for a corgi.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Jack said and, in a moment of surprise and near-panic, realized he was feeling...happy. Not just content, but happy. Maybe self-imposed solitude in a random Massachusetts suburb hadn’t been the best plan. (Or maybe he’d needed it, but in an unexpected way.)

“So, Jack, what do you do?” Bittle asked, rushing to turn off his rabbit-shaped timer as it signaled the end of his baking time.

“I’m a writer,” Jack said as Bittle pulled two large muffin trays from the wheezing, old oven. The scent of nutmeg and cinnamon filled the kitchen like a flood, so much stronger than before. “Mostly historical fiction, though I’ve been working on a manuscript for a more contemporary mystery novel lately.”

Bittle gasped in excitement at that, depositing the trays on trivets so they could cool. “A writer, how interesting. My friend, Derek, he’s a poet, but his day job’s as a professor in Boston. You’re a full-time writer? Those still exist?”

Jack nodded, amused by the reaction. “Yeah, we do. It’s not glamorous, really, but it’s a quiet life, which I like.”

“Oh, I don’t think I could work such a solitary job,” Bittle said, shaking his head. “Or one that requires sitting still for so long. I own the Haus chain,” he added, whirling around to grab two mugs from the cabinet. “Those restaurants around town? The original was just the Haus, and then there’s Full Haus, the larger brick-and-mortar over in the Faber shopping center, near the Target, and Haus and Home, which has the attached home goods shop. We’re opening a location in Worcester, but I haven’t decided on a name for it.”

Jack nodded through the whole spiel, accepting the coffee gratefully. Though it was a lot to process, he found he liked Bittle’s rambling. It filled the silence easily and Bittle never seemed to expect Jack to say much in return. He sipped at the coffee, surprised by the nutty smoothness of the blend, and finally let his guard down completely, soaking in this simple moment with his new neighbor.

Jack didn’t leave for another hour and when he did it was with several cakes tucked away in tupperware and a promise to get together again soon. Jack returned to his house with dog hair on his jeans and an uncomfortably full belly, and he slept hard and soundly with the taste of pecan and spices lingering at the back of his mind.

The following weekend found Jack at the farmer’s market held at the local elementary school. It wasn’t huge, but he still loved the feeling of it, the smell of fresh vegetables and cooking treats.

To his surprise, one of the booths proudly read “The Haus” and was manned by two bored-looking young men. “Sample?” One of them asked Jack, holding out a tray of chopped-up schnitzel. Jack shrugged and took one of the toothpicks.

“Oh, this is good,” he said. “This is Eric Bittle’s restaurant, right?”

The man nodded. “Yep! Mr. Bittle’s here today, actually, though not to babysit us,” he added, face growing serious. “He’s just also here while we’re here. We’re perfectly capable of running the stand alone, the incident with the pig was a long time ago-”

“Tony, chill,” his friend said. “Mr. B’s buying fruit and shit for himself. One sample per customer.”

Jack nodded and tossed the toothpick into a nearby trashcan, thanking the men. He didn’t know why he felt so include to find Bittle, but he started scanning the crowd for that familiar blonde hair all the same.

Jack eventually found Bittle at a beekeeper’s stand, examining honey. “Oh, Jack!” Bittle said as Jack sidled up next to him. “I’m thinking of making baklava for my friend’s engagement party. Here, try this honey, it’s divine.”

Bittle took a tester spoon from the beekeeper, who seemed to know Bittle and made no fuss, and held it up to Jack’s lips. Uncertain, Jack took the spoon into his mouth and sucked the honey from the plastic, delighted by the simple sweetness of it.

“That’s really good,” he said, licking at his lips. “I may have to buy myself a jar, for toast.”

“Mm, butter and honey on toast sounds fantastic right now,” Bittle said, examining the price board. “Oh, and with chamomile tea. Here, I’ll take these two,” he said to the beekeeper, pulling out his wallet.

Acting quickly, Jack grabbed another jar and placed it with Bittle’s, then handed the man a wad of cash before Bittle could protest. “My treat,” he said. “And maybe we could go have that toast and tea?”

Jack hadn’t actually expected Bittle to be a blusher, but he did, splotches of color dancing up his hairline. “That would be nice,” he finally said, as close to shy as Jack had ever seen him. “I’m finished here if you want to head back now.”

“Yeah.” Jack nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets. He hadn’t felt this giddy or this nervous since he was a teenager.

“Well, then,” Bittle said, loading the honey into his canvas sack and taking Jack’s arm with an uncertain smile. “Let’s head home.”

This thing with Bittle wasn’t clear to Jack. Were they dating? Still in the flirting stage? Just friends who spent long hours at Bittle’s kitchen table together, curled over steaming mugs and decadent sweets? Who knew?

But as Jack’s novel started growing absurdly romantic, to the point of his editor ranting at him for half an hour, bewildered by this uncharacteristic turn of events, he decided it was time to clarify. Though outright terrified of Bittle’s rejection, Jack was no quitter. He put on his favorite henley and cleanest jeans and headed over the eclectic house next door and knocked on the door, suddenly wondering why the hell he hadn’t thought to bring flowers.

“Jack, just the man I wanted to see,” Bittle said as he opened the door. “I’ve got a pot of peppermint tea steeping and shortbread cookies in the oven. Peaches!” He called, all but pulling Jack into the house. “Your favorite person is here!”

Peaches wobbled into the room, jumping up paw at Jack’s knees. Jack knelt down to pet her, but didn’t linger as Bittle headed back into the kitchen. The dog could wait; Jack was on a mission.

“So, euh, I wanted to talk to you,” Jack said, wringing his hands together as Bittle pulled mugs from the drying rack and checked the strength of the tea. “About...us.”

“Us?” Bittle looked startled. “What about us?”

“Well, um.” Jack swallowed loudly and took a deep breath to fortify himself. “I really like you and I thought maybe the things we were doing qualified as dating but I wasn’t actually sure and I want it to be dating but not if you don’t want to and I’m sorry if I’ve just made things awkward, I really like being friends with you and that’s enough if that’s all you feel-”

Bittle cut him off with two fingers pressed to his lips. “You silly man,” he said quietly, smiling warmly up at Jack. “Of course I want it to be dating, too. I thought it was. Explains why you haven’t tried to kiss me yet.”

Jack let out a quiet, relieved laugh. “Then why haven’t you kissed me?” He asked, grin growing wide as Bittle stepped closer, hands resting on Jack’s chest.

“Because I’m a gentleman, obviously,” he teased, close enough now that he had to look straight up at Jack. “And I was nervous.”

“Well, then, I guess I’ll have to do something about that,” Jack said, and he leaned down to kiss Bittle soundly, hands cupping Bittle’s cheeks. They broke apart just as Bittle’s rabbit-shaped timer chirped at them.

“Guess I should get those cookies,” Bittle said, chewing on his bottom lip. “Don’t you move a muscle.”

And Jack didn’t. He knew there were greater things than cookies waiting for him when Bittle hurried back.

A year later, Jack packed up his belongings and moved from the plain, old house on Maple street. Nextdoor, in the bright yellow abomination, Bittle opened the front door to help him carry in boxes and bags, Peaches at his heels. Jack smiled, and decided he could get used to all the color as long as it meant Bittle was there, too.

[My incomplete writing masterpost]

[My online novel]

[dickganseywrites-blog]

this has been a very terrible drabble, apologies to @rxpunzelwrites, @furillowrites, @clarkentwrites, and @wellickwrites for any possible slaughter of characterisation. i tried to keep it to my own characters so truly i am sorry.

not that anyone has to read this mess, i’m just very bored ok.

“Fiver says he won't do it.” Seth's smile was smug as he stared at Caleb, who was currently hoisting himself onto the bannister of the Messina stairwell. “He's just bluffing.”

Katie didn't look so sure, however, and she was currently frowning at her... best friend? Boyfriend? Caleb had no idea what they were, but he didn't think now was the time to find out. He had work to do. Kevin, who was standing beside Seth, the pair of them towering over Katie in all of their unnecessary height, was giving him an encouraging nod. Caleb could practically see the cogs in his brain working away, the tiny devil on his shoulder that looked just like his friend whispering 'do it'. The angel on his shoulder, all broken wings and a scowl on her face, somewhat resembled Lux, who was glaring at him and telling him that he's an idiot, but Caleb ignored her.

“Oh, i'm gonna do it,” Caleb grinned, lifting the remainder of his weight onto the bannister, his feet now angled dangerously on the perfectly rounded wood, the soles of his trainers tipping random, flaky bits of paint over the edge. All he had to do was raise himself to maybe half of his height, steady himself, and sorta surf his way down to the lobby. It couldn't be that hard, and he was only on the first floor so it wasn't like he had very far to go.

Katie, however, was rolling her eyes and shaking her head, and he was pretty sure he'd just heard her call Seth a pillock. He didn't even know what that meant, but he found himself chuckling along and nodding in agreement. Not a wise move on his part, he realised, as his body trembled beneath his own laughter. Stretching his arms out a little to steady himself, he glanced back at Kevin to catch a glimpse of that ever approving stare, before kicking one foot backwards and setting off on his venture.

Sliding down the bannister really wasn't quite as terrible as he'd anticipated, and he wasn't really all that sure what the fuss was about. Roaring with laughter as he travelled a few feet further down, he heard the unmistakable cry of a bloody hell emit from Seth's mouth. If the rush of adrenaline coursing through him wasn't enough, he felt a strange thrill at knowing that he'd just scored Katie an extra fiver, though he doubted the English girl was interested in the money.

His heart pounding with the sheer rush of the situation, pure, unadulterated glee coursing through his veins, he felt as light as air, and the really stupid part of his brain pondered over why he hadn't ever tried this before. It wasn't until he reached the bend in the stairwell that he found the answer to that question, his foot dipping ever so slightly, catching on the edge of the rail, and catapulting him straight off of it. As his body collided with the stairs, tumbling down and hitting each one in the process, he coiled into himself as much as he could, trying hopelessly to lessen the impact. Rolling his way down the steps, he found himself colliding with other people in the process, the occasional what the hell and loud, frustrated grunts meeting his ears as he barrelled his way into unsuspecting people. He heard the unmistakable cry of none other than sweet little Tara McIntyre as she called out in horror, and he could still hear the concern in her tone echoing its way after him. He was sure that, should he actually survive the fall, he'd find some way to apologise to the many residents of Messina that he'd so carelessly plummeted into, but for now he was more concerned with the whole not dying thing.

Somehow, he'd managed to bring his two hands up to wrap them around his head, hopefully protecting his skull from any additional damage (in comparison to whatever damage had already been done to it, if the severe lack in brain cells were anything to go by). He finally came to a very abrupt stop as he reached the final step, his body skidding along the shiny, well polished (thanks, Dixie!) lobby floor. As he laid their, aches and pains shooting through every crevice in his body, the world spinning rapidly around him, he heard the sound of frantic footsteps pounding down the stairs that he'd just came crashing from. He figured they must surely belong to Katie, Seth, and Kevin, though he had no doubt that more of his neighbours were eager to catch a glimpse at whatever buffoon had thought bannister-surfing would be fun.

Groaning to himself he laid as still as he could while he waited for his vision to clear. He was sure the pounding in his head wasn't going to cease any time soon, and that the strange snapping noise he'd heard emitting from his ankle hadn't been a figment of his imagination, but so long as he could see, and he was alive, that was what mattered most of all.

Will – handsome Will, and his shy, and often somewhat timid, disposition – was now leaning over him, a look of terror evident in his eyes. He looked horrified at Caleb's display, and if only the strange ringing in Caleb's ears could just stop he might be able to work out what the doorman was trying to say to him. No such luck, however, and he merely grunted back at him, lifting his hand and offering a very shaky thumbs up. That seemed to be enough for the boy, who scurried away at an alarming pace.

By now a crowd was starting to gather, and after a moment Caleb realised that Katie was now kneeling at his side, pulling his hand into her own and saying... um, something. Kevin, who he could see just over Katie's head, appeared to be laughing, which only made Caleb want to laugh, while Seth was – Oh Jesus, what was Carswell doing? Caleb might have been having a difficult time hearing, but there was no mistaking the way that Seth was frantically snapping his fingers at him, as though that were going to make things better. Yep, well done Carswell. Hearing cured, bones healed, everything's just dandy. It was no wonder Katie was always calling him names.

Slowly but surely, as the minutes passed, Caleb regained the use of his ears, sound piercing through him like a knife. The loud bustle of the lobby now practically only worsening the current pain in his head. He could tell that some people were trying to be polite as he caught snippets of the hushed – though still hurried – whispers of many. Others, however, weren't quite so tactful, and he heard Dan Sledge recounting his version of events to his roommates, and Caleb fought hard to suppress a laugh when he heard the mechanic ask; “Hey, Cull, you think we should get Dalton to try it? Indy can snapgram it. Or instachat. Whatever it's called.”

Katie, who had been keeping a very watchful eye on him, immediately caught onto the fact that he was evidently back with the land of the living, and shot him a disapproving stare, before gently brushing a hand through his hair. Heart of gold, this one, but still tough as nails. It wasn't hard to see why Seth was so smitten with her, even if Seth couldn't fucking admit it himself.

“Will's called an ambulance, it won't be long, alright?” she told him. He wanted to protest and tell her that he was fine, that he'd just walk it off, but the pain searing through his ankle told him otherwise. And, honestly, even without the possibility of a broken or fractured ankle, his entire body felt stiff, and he had been sort of contemplating just laying there for the rest of the night.

Minutes passed, and before he knew it Caleb was once again surrounded, only this time by a whole new set of familiar faces. Ah, yes. Adam, the hot EMT that he'd become all too well acquainted with. Offering up a weak grin, he allowed himself to be lifted up onto a stretcher, and wheeled outside and into the ambulance. With Katie promising that she, Kevin, and Seth would follow suit, it became all too clear that none of his friends had any intentions of actually accompanying him inside the ambulance. Great, whoop-di-fucking-doo. Ah well. Just him, Adam, their driver, and a bunch of machines that beeped a little too loud for his liking.

The drive to the hospital was quick, over much too fast for Caleb's liking, and he was whisked away from Adam. It wasn't all bad, though, as he now found himself in the very capable hands of his favourite med-student; Doctor Shane. Or, Doctor Harvelle, as he was supposed to refer to him. He'd gotten to know practically every doctor, nurse, and anything in between, that worked in Wellington's local hospital, and Shane Harvelle was shamelessly one of his favourite parts. He was cute as fuck, and he had a tendency for calling people honey, which made even Caleb blush. Allowing Shane to guide his gurney through the hospital corridors, he forced himself to withstand the absolute agony that ripped through him now as he angled his head to stare up at the other man.

“So, Shane,” he started, though the efforts alone sent a shock through his system. Shane only glanced at him, a disapproving glare gracing his otherwise pretty face, and Caleb figured that was probably his cue to shut up. No such luck for Doctor Harvelle, of course. “You excited to see your favourite patient back in your loving arms?”

He followed up his question with a laugh, which soon dissolved into a cough, and before he knew it he was spluttering under the pressure, his lungs evidently not feeling too up to it today. Fine, whatever. His question could wait until they relieved a bit of the pressure, or whatever it was they were meant to do.

Finally coming to a stop, Shane hit the safety on the gurney, locking him into place so that he wouldn't roll away. Putting on what Caleb could only assume was his absolute best Doctor voice, adopting an impressive air of professionalism, he called on some of his peers to help. Various people rushed forward, several of them scoffing, or rolling their eyes, when they saw just who their patient for the day was. One of them in particular, however, caught his eye. She was blonde, very pretty, and she had a cute little bow tucked into her dishevelled locks. She was familiar, he was sure of it, but not from the hospital. While Caleb spent a lot of time being carted around Wellington's A&E, he was sure he knew her from somewhere else. It was possible that they had gone to school together, as she looked to be about his own age, but a part of him wondered if maybe he'd seen her at the bar. Maybe she knew Luxie? Luxie had plenty of friends he didn't know, and he figured it was altogether possible that this girl happened to be one of them.

Cringing and wincing as the surrounding doctors tried to gather a catalogue of his various injuries, firing questions at him and trying to get a rough recap of exactly what had unfolded, he was vaguely aware of someone mentioning morphine. That sounded about right, he figured. It only made sense that they'd probably have to put him to sleep, given the abundance of injuries he'd managed to endure, especially if they'd have to operate on his foot – which he had no doubt they would; No more soccer for a while, then.

Letting his head loll to the side, his cheek falling into the pillow beneath his head, his eyes wandered lazily to the blonde. She had a very pretty face, and she looked so focused, her brow furrowed in concentration. His eyes begun to flutter shut, the effects of the morphine already setting in. Just as he was losing himself to unconsciousness, his eyes flitted open and landed on her name tag.

“Sawyer,” he whispered, his lips pulling into a  soft, weak smile. The last words he recalled uttering before the darkness finally took a hold of him were; “Huh, pretty.”

[96thdayofrage]

The eighteenth-century English poet, Alexander Pope, said: “to err is human, to forgive is divine.” It seems Black America has been seeking divinity for centuries. From the earliest days I can remember, my grandmother and the ‘saints’ in the Pentecostal church I grew up in taught us the importance of forgiveness. One of the most emphasized verses in the venerated Lord’s prayer was, “forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us” (Matthew 6:12). We were taught that it is our Christian duty to forgive people, regardless of how they have wronged us. After all, Jesus forgave those who murdered Him. Thus, we’re supposed to love and forgive the most vile, racist white person because “they know not what they do.” Life has taught me that they know exactly what they’re doing.

As a minister, I believe in biblical teachings regarding forgiveness, however, I also believe they have been misunderstood and taught in a manner that makes Black folks believe that unless we immediately forgive those who have invested in our terror, murder, and dehumanization, we risk becoming the same heartless, immoral creatures they are. There is a need to comprehend and rationalize trauma before we can jump knee deep into forgiveness, which psychologists say is a five-step process. One important step in that process, according to clinical psychologist Dr. Roya R. Rad, is to “let the feeling be felt.” In other words, feelings attached to the damaging behavior must be brought to the surface and processed. This includes dealing with anger, grief, anxiety, frustration, and trauma. Remember, this is only step two.

According to comicbook.com, an original sketch of Donald Duck drawn and signed by Walt Disney himself has recently sold at auction for a huge chunk of change.The pencil drawing was sold by Nate D. Sanders Auctions to a unnamed buyer for $12,000.The drawing features Donald, as drawn by Disney in the early 1930s wearing his signature sailor hat. Disney's block-style signature is prominent in the drawing and both the sketch and signature were authenticated making this drawing an expensive piece of Disney history.

Yet, somehow, Black people are expected to immediately forgive violence done to them by the state, government, or individual white people. America disallows the full humanity and emotions of Black people and demands that our suffering be done phlegmatically so the expression of our despair does neither offends the sensibilities of white folks nor sparks their guilt or fragility. Our instantaneous forgiveness of racial violence perpetrated against us is white America’s unearned expectation. To do anything less would be callous and victimizing to our oppressors.

When Denmark Vesey planned a major slave revolt in the city of Charleston, SC in 1822, he and his co-conspirators were tortured and executed. A white mob burned down the Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church, where Vesey was a member. In 2015, after white supremacist Dylan Roof murdered 9 people in that same church, the victims' families were asked to forgive the white racist terrorist. The ritual of instant declarations of forgiveness for racial violence and injustice only serves the interest of white supremacy. Black rage is warranted, justified, and needed to express the full humanity of Black people and to shock a system of anti-black bigotry coasting along on cruise control.

After 9-year-old Jeremiah Harvey was falsely accused of sexual assault by Teresa Klein, a white woman, she offered a half-hearted ‘apology’ because video evidence proved that Harvey’s book bag grazed her in a corner store in Brooklyn as opposed to him grabbing her buttocks as she feloniously reported to the police. Klein neither bothered to learn Harvey’s name nor apologize directly to him, stating in a television interview, “Young man, I don’t know your name, but I’m sorry.” Yeah right.

When asked if he accepted her apology, Harvey boldly declared, “I don’t forgive this woman, and she needs help.” After mounting pressure, young Jeremiah, seemingly being coached by his mother, had a change of heart two days later, answering, “Yes. Yes I do” after being asked if he forgave Klein on Good Morning America. How shameful that Jeremiah was forced to declare forgiveness a mere five days after being falsely labeled as a sexual predator, one of the most traumatic experiences in his young life.

Forgiveness, as taught by the Black church should include all the time needed to endure the difficult process from the moment of trauma to the moment of healing. It should be a meaningful and genuine expression of restoration on the terns of the aggrieved and not a cheap means of self medication to cope with the commonplace struggles of Black life in racist America. It most certainly should never be used to foster passivity and dilute a justified expression of righteous indignation in the face of white supremacy and injustice. Malcolm X said, “The greatest miracle Christianity has achieved in America is that the Black man in white Christian hands has not grown violent. It is a miracle that 22 million Black people have not risen up against their oppressors in which they would have been justified by all moral criteria and even by the democratic traditions.”

Forgiveness should never be used to salve white fears that justified Black anger will hold them accountable for their long and treacherous history of beating, raping, murdering, burning, imprisoning, dehumanizing, and denying basic rights to generations of Black Americans. I’m looking forward to the day when an aggrieved Black person suffering unjust pain and loss at the hands of a racist cop or white supremacist slaps the microphone out of their face and walks out when a reporter is dispassionate enough to ask them the asinine question they wouldn’t dare ask a white person in the immediate hours after a traumatic experience, “do you forgive.”

[uclaradio]

Interview with Nyallah Transcription (12/1/18)

Interview and transcription by Princess Amugo

Princess: Discussing her career and her new single. But would you like to introduce yourself to the people?

Nyallah: Yes hey friends my name's Nyallah I am a vocalist, songwriter, from Los Angeles, I don't go to yalls school. I'm actually from rival territory, but I don't have beef with y'all. I think yall cool, so it's all good. If you have beef that's fine, throw hands.

P: Post up *laughter*

N: right, what's good. But yeah my name is Nyallah, I'm 20, I'm a vocalist, writer, I do like R&B, soul, hip-hop music, influenced music. I've been working on a project called 'Reflections' that is scheduled to drop in December. I am super excited as Princess said earlier, I have a single called 'Growing Pains' that I wrote ages ago but is still relatable content til this day. Omg there's a jam playing...

*Nyallah gets super flustered because my roommate started playing her song during the interview lol,*

But yeah I'm from LA, I study music at SC, I also curate events. I love culture, stuff pertaining to black culture, stuff pertaining to advancing Black culture and advancing knowledge and all that beautiful to black folks and accessibility and things. I think its important as artists that we do that shit and that take the time to give back to our communities that are less fortunate, not less fortunate, but in the terms of white people, yeah less fortunate to everyone else. Y'all should run us some coin lol

P: Right off the back, I, idk I could feel it through text. I loved her energy and I could tell through text that she was a genuine person. Just to start off, we can first talk about your single and then we can branch out. I just wanted to know what was one of your inspirations for writing this song (i.e Growing Pains)

N: So yeah, Growing Pains I started writing in 2017. It's the 3rd song that I wrote that I then put on the project. I wrote it during a time when I was just really sad and really depressed and just really going through it. I had just gotten out of a relationship and I had a whole 360 with my friend group. Spending time with folks that I thought I was gonna be with forever and then that changing. It was just a really tough time, there were also just things at my personal level, like it was a lot of growth and a lot of difficulty. Growing Pains was the song that I wrote kind of thinking 'oh ok so like imagining' Me imaging myself 6 months from now like being healed and fine, I was like ok 'what would I tell myself right now'. And so I kind of wrote it in that sense. And its kind of funny, because for a while Growing Pains felt sad because I'm talking about myself not falling back to the past but it's hard for you to be like 'don't do that`if I'm literally actively doing that. Now I am in a place where I can sing the song or I can listen to the song and its so light and its so happy and its a lot more different because the intention and the meaning behind it has shifted due to my own growth as a person and my own growth in terms of the relationship with the song. But yeah pretty much that is the premise behind it, it was me writing affirmations to myself to remind myself that everything would be good. That's like kind of how all my music is like honestly, it all kind of sounds like affirmations or conversations with self. They kind of feel like journal entries like poetic journal entries that rhyme, that have some riffs and have some really cool background shit. But yeah that's the premise behind 'Growing Pains'.

P: Sounds like Growing Pains acted like a time capsule of emotion that you opened up later on as you grew

N: Yeah, I think the emotion behind it changed, because the first time it me crying out to myself like 'don't fall back to the past' 'don't do this' beating myself, you can't do that, you can't do this you know like a little kid, slapping them on the wrist and then as time passed and as I started writing more of the project growing into myself and just really embracing everything about my identity, about me as a person, not surface level but me as Nyallah and then me as Nyallah black, queer femme. And then me as black queer femme who is a vocalist and an artist and a content creator and all these different things and yeah. I was in a place where I was at the beginning of that journey and now I am a little bit further along that journey, I don't think I'm done, I don't think the journey is ever done but I am very much further along in that journey. I have a very different perspective on things now and I needed to go through that really dark time of feeling straight up alone even though I wasn't really alone. There were people in my life that still cared about me, I had to go through that process of 'dang nobody gives a fuck about me' and feeling like 'so many people who were close to me you just turned on me' people who I known for years...there are certain situations that you think its not going to go that way but it does and that's life. With this project, Reflections, the whole reason that it is called reflections is because it’s like me looking at the mirror and being like this is all the shit that I have learned and experienced within the last year, this is where I am at. It's like me being like, hey guys hows it going my name is Nyallah. Here is where I have been for the last 2 years and I know you've all been curious, I'm a Capricorn I don't say shit so yall don't know what really is going on. But here enjoy. That is what the intention of it is was. I wasn't the writing the project to write a project, like I was just writing to write and then eventually I was like 'oh I have enough stuff where I could make a project like I could tell a story, I could really go into some stuff and unpack my shit.

P: Speak your truth and things.

N: Exactly because that's really what music is for me. Its healing and unpacking and releasing. If I'm able to do that for myself and then do that for other people through my music like me get that therapy and then also be able to inspire others and get people through tough times like that is a blessing cause it's not all about me or any of us, its just all about the collective. And I think that the more we recognize that and the more that we actively work with that in mind things are a lot easier. I learned that, and I'm learning that now because of all that I have experienced you know. Like I said I had to go through times of feeling like dang I'm really alone, I don't think this will ever get better like oh I'm black and queer and femme and the whole world is essentially out to get me like I am not the norm. I am the polar opposite of what is the norm which is upper-middle class, cis-hetero white male total opposite. This world, in America, but the world at large the world at large is built to not support me, to not allow me to exist but me learning to be like with that all in mind still choosing love, still choosing to focus what I can do for my people, in the moment....I had to experience all of that in order to understand that...

P: Wow I loved your answer. I guess you already answered this question in a way but I was going to ask now that you have this mindset, how do you now navigate through the world as an artist as a black queer femme.

N: Just unapologetically as fuck. I've gone through the process of 'omg I'm going to silence myself, omg I'm going to do this, oh I need to make it so I'm palatable, omg I'm super femme but I'm not here for the male gaze but I think I need to do this for the male gaze so that I can get---I don't give a fuck. Like I don't care anymore because the fact of the matter is, this whole thing is not made for me so I'm not supposed to succeed in it anyway even if I do do all that stuff so I'm just gonna do what I need to do, what feels comfortable, what feels safe, what feels rational for me. In order for me to get through and like that's not playing into these norms or these stereotypes and these expectations `and all this fuckshit that has been put on us by white supremacist society. I think that it's really interesting because people ask me this all the time "how do you navigate spaces" and I'm just like I come in with my bright colored hair I'm dressed however I'm dressed and I do what I have to do. I mean, I always feel that because I'm black and because I'm a woman I just deal with hella sexism and hella racism and then the intersectionality of that. Dealing with white men not acknowledging your existence and like your voice being silenced by white men, by black men, by white women, by this by that until they need something from you. I have always dealt with high expectations. I have really high expectations, that's why I have anxiety. A lot of my anxiety is because of shit I've normalized that's really just something that society has taught me like....being in these spaces where you're doing that work you are doing above and beyond but yet you're seeing your white counterparts doing a quarter of the work and getting triple the praise for shitty work...I think knowing that we did all of this, I'm not an egomaniac. I think its really easy as black people to get trapped up in the cycle of white supremacy and of capitalism and all that shit. Where we think that we need to have all these cars and all that stuff on the class level but also in the terms of 'I need to look a certain way, I need to detach from my blackness' I'm not going to use any examples 'I'm going to detach from what feels comfortable to me' because blackness is so fluid. It's the gang bangers, its the crips and bloods doing ay and z but its also the Afrocentric folxs doing drum circles its all these different things. Its the black folks going to school and trying to be doctors and lawyers, it's the black folxs that are change makers in public policy, it's the black people doing curation and creative work. WE are so fluid and I think as much as they have tried to shove my blackness in my face, it's just helped me loved my blackness more. It makes me realize, I have something that y'all don't have and it makes you mad and I don't know why you're perfect just the way you are, you don't need any of this just like I don't need any of your shit, but that's your battle that you have to fight um and if you keep trying to project on me you can but I'm going to keep being unfazed and just doing what I need to do and focusing on myself..What I have learned going to a PWI in the music program, especially being black and queer you experience people wanting to pimp you out but they also want you to sit down and take their shit and to be shat on over and over again...Its interesting to see the dichotomies...its crazy because you're in the middle of this intersection and you have people constantly telling you that you need to ignore this part of you, this is what you are and its so fucking annoying and I've just learned how to just silence most of [the bullshit] but I think I've gotten good at being like that's how yall feel but this is where I'm at, this is what I'm feeling, this is like what I stand for and that's like made it a lot easier. Remembering this is all us, like we did this, that always makes me feel really good...Being in the music program I've dealt with [violence, manipulation, the most malicious shit], but I can't sit and be malicious too because its a dumbass cycle and that is what you want, you want me to vibrate lower, be bitter, to step out of my zone and step out of focusing on myself and focusing on putting the people forward to focusing on your petty shit, I don't give a fuck. I've learned so much about detachment within my program, I navigate spaces and relationships differently....learning how to do the work even when that person doesn't fuck with you and makes it point to make it difficult. I've matured so much. Its eye opening because as a black, queer woman you see damn yall all made childish, you have to mature so quickly....I've learned to love myself more and grown into myself more...cause I've tried conforming and not conforming and I'm like you don't like that still because there will always be something wrong with me [in their eyes] because at the end of the day I still look the way I look, I still have the history I have and at the end of the day you don't like what you see because of your own personal things...that's why I don't care about white people...because I have encyclopedia of receipts of yall. My identity, in relation to my program, has taught me how to focus on myself at the end of the day I just have to focus on myself....

P:...You just hit the mark on everything...I wanted to ask what other mediums do you do?

N: Music is my main thing that I have done the longest to go back to prior to college, I did musical theatre all of high school. I started doing theatre in 8th grade and then I just started doing musical theatre and stuff. I did my first straight play Senior year, I did Joe Turner's 'Come and Gone' by August Wilson. Black, black, plays. It's really good, it talks about the slave trade, it actually talks about intergenerational stuff. Like that's literally my whole thing. I feel like the universe brought me here in part do intergenerational work and shit. So I've always done music and I joined a choir in the fourth grade and I started learning how to play piano around the same time. In elementary school, I played violin for a little bit, clarinet for a little bit. Violin for like 2 years, Clarinet for like a year.  Then in middle school, I did choir still, I was given awards in talent shows and shit. Then I did a play in the 8th grade and then I could write. That's when I realized I could write like I could write plays because I always wrote poetry in like stories and tried to write a song but I just didn't. For some reason it was really hard, I was a good detailed writer but I couldn't put it with the music, it was always really hard, it would always be too many words, not enough melody or something. It was always something. I honestly just needed to refine it. It was always in the back of my head. Then I went to high school, I went to Hollywood High for 2 years and did show choir there and choir and plays and stuff, musicals. Then I started my first musical In the Heights my sophomore year and Abuela Claudia that shit was hard, she be sanging lol. I did a musical twice, I did it my sophomore year, junior year, when I switched schools we did it again. So I've just always done chamber choir, show choir, musical theatre, plays, I did photography. Like I was always writing. Writing and music is what I've done the longest and photography. Photography I started in 9th grade, summer of 9th grade. I was doing that and then stop. I always would stop and go with cause I feel like with photography, I loved the visual, I think it's important, I love the snapshot of just a moment and being able to curate that moment exactly how you wanted it to be or capturing what is. I'm always dating visual artists because I just love how their minds work. I love how they can see the world and they see it completely different from how everyone views it but they can still merge their shit into another thing that's dope. But yeah I was doing all those different things and then I did Grammy Camp the summer before my senior year of high school and that's when I was like 'oh dang I can study music' because for the longest time, I was like 'I'm just gonna be a writer, I'm going to study English, I'm going to study film and its fine and it's fine because people kept telling me that you can't do music, everyone wants to do music. But then when I went to Grammy Camp at USC I was like 'oh there is a contemporary music program that is not just Jazz or Classical' because I knew that I wouldn't be able to get into any of those programs because I wasn't classically trained and I wasn't jazz trained, I hadn't been doing that for years. So I just knew that and I was like 'damn how the fuck was this gon work' and yeah I applied to USC I also had really good grades. They always knew that I would get into any school I applied to, they were just like 'you need to figure out what you want to do' you're smart, but you don't need to read for the rest of your life. That's already going to be something to do. I applied to USC got in the first time, didn't get into the Music Program but I got in for English and then after that, I got into the School to transfer. So I've been doing the program for three years and not four which means I have to take more classes at once and it's jam-packed. Its kind of hard, but I'm almost done yknow I have one more semester after this, I'm thankful I've gotten through this one. I'm literally like damn I'm almost finished....I was always just doing different things. But now I do music mostly I write as well. So I sing and I write but I also take photos still. I'm trying to add more photos onto my feed but I keep having a conflict of interest with it because its like oh I'm an artist, I'm a musician so all my stuff on my feed should be my music but then its like naw if I wanna post all that---its just kind of hard, I keep going back and forth with stuff. I'm gonna just starting being more fluid with it. I do photography, I write poetry but I put that on the same line as the music, but I write. Poetry helps me how I write out lyrically...I do content curation. I started this series called the loft sessions my sophomore year of college, I'm a senior now. We've been on a hiatus because I needed to finish my EP Reflections. But now that's almost done, I want to regroup and figure something out. I want to do some stuff and what else. I love doing events. Loft Sessions was kind of cool because it was a quarterly event series centered around black artists, for black artists, by black artists. I started it because I was tired of going to all these events that were school funded and there were no black artists, we weren't at the center. Or feeling like damn ok if my music isn't this, this or this, it's not gonna work, it’s not gonna sell. So I started Loft Session, it was actually in collab with some UCLA folxs so a lot of my friends at UCLA and USC came together and they helped me put everything together. I would curate everything like the lineup and do it in my loft, in the loft I lived in. We would sell drinks and whatnot and showcase so many different types of artists. We'll have black visual artists, photographers, I wanted to do filmmakers at one point. I wanted to live painting and different stuff like that, they would showcase like that and then we would have live DJs, bands, rappers, singers etc come in and perform. I was really cool because it was just a space where everybody black was able to behold space, have fun...supporting black artists and meeting new people. Just having a good ass fucking time. But I want to focus more marginalized voices in the black community because we had a lot of men and I had different rules that were disrespected...now that I have more time I understand how to navigate that differently. We didn't turn away anyone who wasn't black...it was nice that we were at the center. I want to plan some things over winter break and over the next year. I want to plan shows, collaborative things, identity focused-caused focused events because those are important...I want everyone to get that representation because it's long overdue. Other than singing, writing songs poetry stories, event curation and photography. I want to do more creative direction. Like with my project I want to more directing but I'm scared. I want to find a filmmaker that I can vibe and we can collaborate and ....I want to be as active in my process as possible I'm not tryna be idle. I like to cook. Spirituality, holistic healing. I'm a crystal wearer...

P: You've already answered this, but I was going to ask, what should we be looking for in terms of like what you're going to be putting out in terms of projects. You've already answered this with curating, creative curation, all of that and of course your EP coming out "Reflections"

N: I can reiterate

P: Yeah for sure

N: Well Growing Pains is out right now, that is on all streaming platforms, Spotify, Apple Music Tidal, Youtube, SoundCloud, Amazon Prime, etc Listen to it add it to your playlist, share it with your mommy your aunty your grandma everybody. Share it with your cousin the girl that you were into, send it to your friends like they were going to get through these finals yall need to get through these finals, we going to get these degrees. We're going to get this bread, whatever that bag is for you were going to get this bag. Number 2  Reflections is set to be dropping this month. Keep an eye out for that. Honestly, y'all should follow me on Instagram, I should activate my Twitter. I have to figure what worlds I would be in twitter..but yeah follow me on Instagram. I post all my updates there, I also post a lot of good informational stuff about spirit and yknow numerology in addition to blackness, everyday news, queerness, and other marginalized communities. We just discuss shit, we like to talk about shit lol. Follow me there like I said n.yallah on Instagram.