#i am postponing the moment I will have to deal with that article

[charlieworkz]

I'm slowly coming to terms with the fact that I lowkey dislike my degrees and career choices, that I dislike what I chose to do with my professional career, while having a minor panic attack.

Just the sight of the article i'm writting, my ex-coworkers' messages, my ex-advisor's messages, the publishers' messages, etc, makes me nauseous. Makes me want to bury my face in a pillow and cry. To go to bed and sleep the day away. Like, it's not that I hate my field of study. I love it. I really loved the valuable knowledge I collected and all the amazing things I was learning but, srsly, academia traumatized me. Being through the proccess of acquiring those degrees ruined me. I was already mentally ill when I joined those graduation programs, and they just made it 50x worse. The academic environment is vile, toxic and hostile. The shit I went through, my friends and fellow students went through, the shit I saw... honestly, it screwed me big time, when I was already very much sick. And so, here I am, having anxiety episodes, unemployed and broken. Honestly? I feel like I'm done with it. It's probably a waste, but I'm really considering not going on with an academic career and go do something else. Something very basic, very generic, that gives me money to live, and that's it. Take advantage of my diplomas and get a job through some selective proccess from some government agency that pays well and the end. Fuck, I'm so tired.

[cassiopeianoctis]

confused, hungry, and sleepy :)

I am going to be unserious here because I think I am overwhelmed by all the feelings I'm currently unintentionally processing. And I consider my self a writer, not professionally, more in a reflective casual unserious way. I warned you before, that this is very unserious that you probably won't learn anything from this article at all.

I turn 25 years old in one month and it's a big deal for me. First and foremost, 5 years ago I didn't know I would survive this far in life. Second, more than a decade ago I created an image of my 25 years old self that may or may not happen in factuality. The only fact I know, in one month, my brain's frontal lobe will be fully developed and I can expect less noise and unnecessary thought happening inside my head. If it doesn't happen, I blame the internet for that.

I am not terrified. I am excited. I am instead, in many ways, terrified that I am more excited rather than scared of facing this new important age. Shouldn't I be scared? I don't know. Friends who are older than me and are already there had told me many stories about the whirlwind of turning 25, 26, 27, and the journey of fully absorbing themselves into the real adulthood starting at this age. But I won't budge with what I was supposed to feel, and instead I will accept what I feel as it is. And yes, I am excited.

This may or may not happen because of certain things that had happened to me in the first half of 2023. On a more important note, I usually write self reflection article at the beginning of a new year. This year, however, I didn't. And to make up for that absence. I can say my first half of 2023 was a little bit of everything happened all at once. I was happy, I was depressed, I was excited, I was angry, I was sad, and back to square one, I was happy again. As a believer, I think it probably happened that way because god was giving me some kind of a test so all roads will bring me back to Him. And it worked.

24 is a messy age, for me. I'm doing a job that I'm not satisfied with. I have been holding on for a year, because I still think I have to ace this test--I have to learn how to be comfortable in uncertainty, dissatisfaction, and grow to become resilient. Until my mind and body just couldn't do it anymore--and I turned to god to pray for a way out. At 24 too, I was preparing masters that I fortunately will postpone to 1-2 years later. I am explaining this because this 2 things had become my only source of overthinking and anxiety for the past year. I was so scared of not excelling and not being where I want to be that I was chasing everything at the same time. Until I realize, life is not supposed to be this difficult. Why can't I just let it go? I am 100% sure it's not the right time and I don't have to force myself to do it now!

Anyway, 24 was a horse race. It was a car race. It was a heist. It was a car chasing moment between me and the uncertainty of the future. Then it hit me--I wasn't able to fully be dependent on god and trust in Him more fearlessly. I am highly spiritual and I should have mastered this a long time ago. But life happens and sometimes we go back to being human; which is forgetful and egotistical. Thinking I could solve everything. Thinking the answer is all within me. Sometimes, it's not. In most of the time, I don't have the answer.

At this age too I discovered that I am not the independent girl I thought I was. In terms of relationship, my codependency is uncontrollable. This is my highest dilemma too, because I value my devotion, my empathy, and my ability to love. I am selfless, I am loyal, and I am understanding. But, where do I draw my boundaries? I had my first ever relationship last year and it ended very recently. It broke me to a thousand pieces because throughout my life I had always thought once I have a boyfriend, he will be the one I marry. That's why I was never in a relationship. I was saving my heart and devotion to the one special person that I choose to open my heart to after long observation & consideration. I did it at 23. But again, life happens. Sometimes, it doesn't go the way you had planned it to be. Back then, it would be hard for me to process it, but now it's kind of easier for me to come to terms with acceptance.

One thing I learn about the whirlwind of my early 20s (those age before 25, I mean) is that all of these hardships had brought me to the other sides of me that I had never seen before. I know my self better because of these rage and tears. I never knew I was, in fact... whole. All this time I was sure that I was broken inside, that I always needed help, that I always felt miserable because something inside me is not right. But to be honest, that is the process--and that in many ways is definitely not the condition.

I am actually stronger than I thought.

I was broken when my parents got divorced 5 years ago. I was depressed and suicidal for several years. I really thought I was going to die when I felt like the whole world was against me. But today, I am very thankful for all of that. I earned a very valuable lessons. I became the strong older daughter that my family lean on to now. I became that friend who is willing to share everything she has and she knows so that everyone around me can take pieces of me that are positive to their growth--my existence is not a waste and I believe it now.

I am an independent thinker. I am an independent woman who understands her right to be whoever she wants to be. And I choose to be the kind of person who is not afraid to give. I was clammed up inside a seashell when I was younger. Because I knew I liked to give, but I was constantly getting disappointed by people's disapproval of my giving. I thought, I was just being nice... why can't you accept me and what I want to offer to you? Now I know, people have the right to accept whatever they want to accept. I have to be smarter on choosing who I want to give compassion and love to, and those are the people whom I call my close friends now. Those people who keep telling me and reminding me of my worth. And I think in terms of romantic partnership, that is the key quality that I seek too.

I value friends and romantic partner who can acknowledge my worth and never gets tired of seeing the best of me.

Talking about romantic partnership too, at 24 I witnessed a lot of my close friends getting married or finding the one and planning to get married next year. I am beyond happy for them, and I truly genuinely become happier too when I see their best smiles on their wedding day. I get to be close friends with their husbands and partners too, and I was somehow glad that all of my girl friends end up with good men. And of course, as a confused, hungry, and sleepy 24 years old woman...I often ask "When is it going to be my turn?"

A very unserious question that is, of course I know I will have my own time to shine, and of course knowing how highly I value my ability to love, it's going to be hard too to meet and choose my future husband. And me being picky is not an obstacle, it is a gift. I understand my value and I understand that not everyone has the ability to receive the kind of love that I have. When I love, I love hard. And so yeah, I am patiently just continuing my life while keep praying for the best to god. I am not a casual dater. And knowing the difficulty of life ahead of me, I truly wish that I will be engaged this year and get married sometime next year in 2024. I don't know. In terms of romantic partnership, this is my wish and I can't think of anything else.

It may seem like I am over-explaining my goals and personal confusions, but this is just my way of processing everything. Again, a very unserious article that you probably cannot learn anything from. I am simply just pouring out my thoughts so I can sleep well tonight (Fact: I have been having acid flux this week because I've been drinking 2 cups of coffee everyday because I was always sleepy during the day and it happened because I've been losing sleep every night!)

So this is my piece. I am currently just so excited counting down to my 25th birthday. I only started to feel excited for birthdays when I was 22. And I think it is an achievement for me, to finally not being ashamed of feeling excited about something, and also to finally being able to feel excited about something. I have been planning for travel with friends, hiking trips, road trips, deciding what to wear for Taylor Swift's Eras Tour next year, strengthening my faith through learning and practicing, planning for masters, and planning for my wedding that I don't know when will happen.

I am counting down to 25 doing all these things that I am excited about. Doing all these things that I never got to do before. And most importantly, I finally get to do these solely for myself and because of me. No one is there in the agenda. No one inside the frame that I intentionally try to impress.

For the first time in my life, I do these things for me and me only. I am finally a hundred percent content with myself and I am at peace.

With love,

Dea

[quotes121sworld]

The REAL reason David "Kochie" Koch is leaving Sunrise

The real reason David Koch is leaving Sunrise: The Channel Seven star reveals what he'll be doing next after 21 years on the show

By Mary Mrad for Daily Mail Australia Published: 18:56 EDT, May 28, 2023 | Updated: 7:09 PM EDT, May 28, 2023 --> --> --> Sunrise presenter David Koch shocked viewers after he announced Monday morning that he was leaving the breakfast show after 21 years.Following the surprise announcement, the 67-year-old explained he had decided to leave the show to focus on his own business and covering financial news.He also stated that he would like to enjoy more flexible working hours to spend time with his growing family."It's time for me to work during business hours." "Libby and I have a little more flexibility to enjoy our growing family, to travel and to focus on our family business interests at Pinstripe Media and the Ausbiz business channel," he told viewers."As everyone knows, I'm a financial nerd, so I'll still show up at RBA board meetings or covering other big financial news from time to time, albeit as a guest rather than a host."

The real reason David Koch is leaving Sunrise: The Channel Seven star has revealed what he'll be doing next after 21 years on the showKochie struggled to hold back tears on Monday as he announced he was leaving the show.The longest-serving TV presenter in Australia's history, along with his emotional co-host Natalie Barr, made the shocking announcement. "I enjoyed every minute of it and am incredibly proud of what we have achieved here over the past 21 years," Kochie told viewers. “I started here before Facebook, before Instagram, before Twitter and iPhones. I am that old I enjoyed every minute of it and am incredibly proud of what we have achieved here over the past 21 years.

David said he made the decision to leave the show to focus on his own business. He also stated that he would like to enjoy more flexible working hours to spend time with his growing family"I've been privileged to experience so many great adventures, meet so many different people, and document so many moments of the story as it unfolds."Barr told her co-host, "The show wouldn't be where it is today without you." "It's been a great ride and we're going to celebrate that over the next two weeks."The presenter has been a familiar face on Australian television screens since 2002, when he joined the Sunrise editorial team. Kochie said he would miss working with the entire Sunrise team, but gave special praise to co-hosts Natalie Barr and Mark Beretta, and producer Dave Walters.

The longest-serving TV presenter in Australian history, along with his emotional co-host Natalie Barr, made the shocking announcement of his departureBack in October, Kochie signed an extension deal at a meeting with James Warburton, CEO of Seven Network, and expressed his interest in stepping down.Warburton was able to persuade Koch to postpone his retirement plans, but agreed to work out a contract that would allow the longtime presenter "to take more breaks from the show depending on his needs," The Australian reported.David has hosted Sunrise with Natalie Barr since 2022 after his former co-host Samantha Armytage departed after nearly 10 years.He previously shared a desk with Melissa Doyle at the Brekky Central.On August 21, it was announced that Melissa was leaving Channel Seven after 25 years.

David has hosted Sunrise with Natalie Barr since 2022 after his former co-host Samantha Armytage (pictured) departed after almost 10 years Share or comment on this article: Read the full article

[vixenpen]

Caged Hearts

Pt.25 Hawks x Dabi

((Hawks x Miku ((OC))

(GIF by: @dendriticheep)

(Yo I’mma be completely honest, Dabi’s motivation for fucking up Keigo’s life is mad petty and the side story is flimsy as hell, 😂)

Miku was in Tokyo shooting a promotional photoshoot for her tour. She was excited to get started on what would be the first major milestone of her career, and couldn’t wait for her tour.

Of course she hadn’t told Keigo any of this. No, he was stuck getting his updates from Twitter stalking and her online interviews.

After a week of tracking leads all over Fukouka, Keigo still hadn’t heard from her. He was on his one hundredth unanswered call, and thirtieth unanswered text. And if he was being honest? He deserved it.

There was a pained tug in his chest when he saw the candid shot of her smiling and waving to the camera as she entered a rehearsal space. Most of her face was obscured by a huge pair of sunglasses and her hair was tied up in a silk scarf, but she looked good.

He exited the article to tap on her contact.

Keigo: Angel I hope ur staying safe. Can we please talk?

Before he could add any more, his feathers prickled from the sudden movement happening in the warehouse. His golden eyes lifted towards the old building. They were moving something. Something big.

He squinted against the moonlight to watch the five men hustling large crates out the back of the warehouse.

His deep red wings stretched and carried him swiftly and quietly from the adjacent building to the top of the warehouse to get a better look. He shot off a few of his feathers and smirked with satisfaction at when he heard the henchmen’s bodies thudding against the walls. His sharp feathers pinned three of the goons to the wall of the warehouse, but the other two guys were fighting hard against him.

He winced as he felt the heat of their fire quirks shooting back at them. Keigo detached a few more to give the other feathers back up.

The moment he pinned the last two minions, the air around him changed. His wings twitched against the cool breeze as he scanned the ground. The men were all down for the count.

That was quick.

“You gotta get some better henchmen, Dabi.”

“Well, good help is hard to come by now a days, Birdie.”

The familiar raspy voice made him shiver. He turned around, stone faced.

Aside from the undercut and new facial piercings nothing had changed about his ex. He was the same brooding, alternative asshole he’d always been. Difference was, Keigo didn’t find it attractive anymore.

Dabi smirked at the hero.

“Miss me, babe?” He teased.

“Bold of you to face me like this, you son of a bitch.”

Dabi clicked his tongue and stepped closer to Keigo whose wings flexed out defensively.

He scoffed. “You and that girl of yours really are birds of a feather. She did the same thing when I stepped to her. So flighty you avian types. How’s she doin’ by the way? Heard she’s having a concert pretty soon-“

“What are you trying to do, Dabi?” Keigo interrupted, ignoring the man’s attempts to get under his skin.

“The usual, Hawks,” he spat back, “trying to take down this fucked up hero system that you seem so determined to keep intact.”

Keigo didn’t know why Dabi was blabbering so much. Usually he did it to prepare his body for an attack so as not to over exert his powerful quirk—but he wasn’t trying to attack.

“And how do you think you’ll do that?” Keigo shot back. “You don’t have the power or the vision that Shigaraki had, and you damn sure don’t have the numbers.” He scoffed. “Your henchmen are pathetic, those little nomu experiments are weak—face it, Dabi, you’ve got nothing. You’re fighting a useless battle.”

Dabi’s smirk melted into a smile. It was intimate and soft and...familiar. It took Keigo back to late nights spent laughing and rolling around in warm, tattered sheets. Secrets and insecurities being shared behind closed doors.

“It’s cute when you do that.” Dabi practically cooed.

The avian squinted his golden eyes, but said nothing.

Dabi was so close to him now that only an arm’s length separated them. The villain reached out to grab Keigo’s chin. His touch was so gentle it took the man by surprise.

“You can’t change a system from within a system. That’s why I’m on your side, Touya.”

Keigo’s breath caught hearing those words. One of the many empty promises he had made to the man he used to love.

“But you lied, Keigo...you lied.” He shook his head, slowly, his turquoise eyes piercing right through the man. “And I feel bad for that girlfriend of yours. She doesn’t know half of what kind of man you really are.”

The hero remained stoic, despite the pang in his chest. He knocked Dabi’s hand away from his face, grabbing the man’s wrist and twisting it sharply.

Dabi’s unblemished skin pulled from his burned flesh at the force. The blood from his staples ran down Keigo’s gloved hand.

“What makes you think I won’t take you out right now?” Keigo ground out.

Just like that, the twisted smirk was back. “Because hero, you’re going to be a little distracted.”

Keigo’s brows furrowed, and before he could grasp the meaning behind Dabi’s words, the first explosion went off.

At that moment, Dabi’s quirk activated sending a fiery blast at Keigo’s face.

The heat was unbearable.

Fuck!

He stumbled back, disoriented.

“Well, babe, it was good seeing you again.” Dabi jeered as he walked backwards towards the edge of the building. “Bye for now.”

With that, he jumped backwards, leaving Keigo alone to deal with several burning buildings and a horde of winged dog beasts flying towards him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A pair of disdainful magenta eyes glared back at him. The curvy Latina glared at him, arms crossed.

“You look like shit.”

“I feel like it.” He replied, scratching his tangled blonde locks.

Konan appraised him a few seconds longer. It felt like minutes. Keigo averted her scrutinizing gaze. She tilted her head over her shoulder.

“Miku! Bird Brain’s here!”

She stepped out of the way to make way for Miku. Keigo felt her coming. Her heart pounded as she flew down the stairs. His own heartbeat sped up as well.

Finally, Miku stood before him wide eyed and disheveled as she looked him over.

“Keigo...”

He gave her a soft, rueful smile.

“Hey Angel.”

She reached towards his bandaged face tentatively then stopped, as if thinking better of it and dropped her hand to her side.

Keigo flashed her a cheeky grin.

“It feels worse than it looks. Trust me.”

She bit her lip, brows still scrunched in worry.

He sighed, shoulders drooping on the exhale. “I owe you one hell of an apology and an explanation.”

“Roof?” She asked.

“Roof.” He nodded.

The couple sat side by side, legs swinging over the edge. The weight of his Keigo’s confession about his sordid past and relationship with Dabi was wedged between them.

“There was no good reason for me not to tell you about Dabi. Especially knowing he was still out there, and that he could hurt you. I was ashamed. I’m a hero. I was supposed to know better than to fall for a villain. I’m the reason he’s still free. When we made the bust, I gave Dabi a way out. Like an idiot.”

“Like a fool in love.” Miku corrected. “Love makes people do stupid things, Kei. I’ll give you that, but-“

“But it’s not an excuse.” He shook his head, glaring down at the driveway below. “I indirectly put you in danger by lying to you. Knowing what I knew I had no right to get mad at you about you and Konan’s relationship-“

“Not necessarily true.” Miku turned to him. “You were right to be upset with me,” then her tone grew stern, “but you were also an absolute hypocrite...and an asshole.”

Keigo flinched, but nodded in agreement. “You’re right.”

“But, I am glad you’re honest to me now.” She added. He heard a smile in her voice. It was small, but it was there.

“Yeah,” he allowed a smile to creep through in his own. “I am too.”

Silence settled between them. It wasn’t awkward, but it wasn’t comfortable either. Sort of like the conversation.

“Miku,” Keigo started, she turned to him. “Is there any way you can postpone your tour?”

“No.”

He winced again.

“Baby, this isn’t a game.” Keigo pressed on. “You saw what happened in Fukuoka.”

The chaos of the fires and Dabi’s discount Nomu burned in the back of Keigo’s mind. By the time backup had arrived, his wings were whittled away to nothing trying to handle the situation, and the warehouses were crumbling beneath the blue flames. Keigo’s burns tingled at the memory.

“Dabi is dangerous, and he doesn’t fight fair.” He laid a hand on top of hers. It was the first contact they had made since he’d arrived. “Miku,” his voice cracked under the weight of his nerves, “Dabi would do anything to hurt me, and that includes hurt you. You need to be careful.”

She didn’t meet his gaze. Her eyes were zeroed in on his hand on top of hers, face screwed in contemplation.

“I’ll be more careful, but I refuse to put off my tour.”

He shook his head. “You’re being stubborn, Angel.”

“I’m not gonna live my life in a cage, Kei,“ she replied, clutching his hand in return. “I have a job to do and I’m gonna do it.”

“Angel...” he admonished. He softened his tone. “Please.”

Miku rolled her eyes.

She sighed, sounding like an indignant teenager. “If it makes you feel any better, I’ll beef up my security whenever I go out.”

Keigo chuckled in defeat. “That’s the best I’m gonna get out of you, isn’t it?”

“Yup!” She exclaimed.

“Dammit Angel.” Keigo fought off the smile threatening to ruin the disapproval he was trying to project. “Fine. I’ll take it.”

He plucked another feather from his plumage and handed it to her. “For backup. Please keep them on you at all times, and if anything happens—“

“Break them,” Miku interjected. “I know, Kei, I got it.”

He allowed his face to soften some.

“I miss you, Angel.” He confessed.

Her expression fell.

“I miss you too, Kei, but I’m still not-“

“It’s ok.” He cut in, gently. “You don’t have to forgive me.”

Miku’s gaze fell back down to their intertwined fingers.

“Just...give me time—and space. Ok?”

He nodded. His fingers danced beneath her chin. Keigo tilted her face up to meet his, and managed a smile.

“Deal.”

(Miku is stubborn😝 but I love her)

[gellavonhamster]

good people

gen || Montgomery Montgomery & Bertrand Baudelaire || pre-canon 

ao3 link eng  || ao3 link rus

Monty Montgomery learned about the deaths of Count and Countess *** somewhere about two in the afternoon, in the lobby of the Biology Faculty of Gerald Durrell University of Natural Science. He didn’t know them personally, and that day he could not even recall their faces when reading an article about their deaths, just as many years later he could not – unfortunately – recall the face of their son, whom he did know personally back in the day and had met as often as not. At the same time, he could remember in detail the moment he heard they were dead – the hum of voices in the vast corridors of the faculty building, sunlight glistening on glass in the frames of photographs and newspaper clippings hanging on the walls, the sound of his own footsteps. He was descending the stairs, almost hopping like a kid because he had just managed to talk a teacher into letting him submit the report a day later, and consequently was in a splendid mood. Few things can compete with the joy that a student experiences when the deadline for a paper that still exists only as a title page gets postponed for a later date. Immersed in happy thoughts, he went down to the ground floor, and was just heading for the exit when he suddenly saw a crowd of students and teachers huddled together and discussing something animatedly. One of the students was holding a widely unfolded newspaper, and several people at once were reading something over his shoulder.            

“Must be a change of government or something,” Monty thought as he approached them. Frankly, the prospect of writing a paper in two days concerned him much more at that time than a hypothetical coup. 

“Ah, Montgomery!” shouted one of those reading the paper, Professor Stein of the Herpetology Department. Stein was always shouting: he had hearing problems. Now, on the other hand, a raised voice was more than appropriate, for too many people were talking at once.  

“Good afternoon, Professor,” Monty gave him a nod of greeting as he joined the group. Getting closer to the paper was impossible – the crowd was too thick. “What’s the news?”

“A murder, Montgomery! A crime story at its finest; the whole city is going insane! Come read.” At that, Professor grabbed him by the elbow and pushed him into the middle of the crowd, so that Monty found himself right behind the left shoulder of the guy with the newspaper.

He took a look at the page, found the piece everyone was reading, and grew cold.

“Poison darts! With snake venom!” Stein exclaimed. Monty winced as if in pain. The loud noises around him were distracting; he wanted to read carefully, turn each word round in his head, persuade himself it was not what he thought it was. Coincidences do happen sometimes, after all. “And where – at the opera! Right during the performance!”    

“Yeah,” someone to the right of the newspaper chimed in, “straight out of Gaston Leroy.”  

“Leroux,” Monty corrected mechanically. He was suddenly overcome with fierce and helpless anger. He stepped back. “I’m sorry, Professor, I really have to go.”  

Walking quickly, even quicker than back when he was urged on by the unwritten report, he headed for the door.

Well then, La Forza del Destino. Poison darts. Snake venom.  

And his flatmate, who went to the opera yesterday and didn’t come back home.  

 ***

 Bertrand asked him to procure the venom about a week ago.

It might have been Thursday, or maybe Friday. Monty was writing a term paper then, one that he could not set about writing earlier because he was busy doing other things, from the tasks assigned to him by VFD to attending the parties organized by other volunteers, which in some cases seemed as important to him, even vital at times. VFD gave him time to deal with the exam period, relieving him from participation in any missions for the nearest future – the pursuance of science was highly valued among their ranks. Many volunteers flaunted some academic degrees, but not many of them got those degrees officially, even if they deserved them objectively. Some Doctors and Masters among them didn’t even hold a certificate of Bachelor’s Degree. Fighting the fires, both literal and figurative, took up a lot of time and energy, leaving virtually none of it for attending the lectures or even distance education. However, the VFD members had connections – Had Connections even, capitalized – owing to which many of them got the opportunity to call themselves professors or academicians, although all their scientific contributions, sometimes absolutely groundbreaking, remained hidden from the general public.      

At the Biology Faculty, VFD Had some Connections as well, and if Monty wished so, he probably could obtain the Master’s or even Doctor’s Degree without much effort, but he had no such wish. He desired recognition and respect from the people outside the organization, desired to make discoveries that he could tell the whole world about – desired for everything to be fair. That was why he had spent the whole previous week in a kind of a time loop. Every day looked like the day before: writing, writing, writing, leafing through the sources frenziedly after another bookmark gets lost, sorting the materials collected in the expedition, drinking gallons of coffee, and occasionally sleeping. And feeding Maturin, of course. As to Monty himself, it was Bertrand who had been feeding him, which was very kind of him, because Monty couldn’t even afford the time to heat some ready-to-cook foods. Bertrand simply used to come into his room, not even knocking anymore so that not to distract him, put a plate of vegetable couscous or spaghetti bolognese or something in front of him, and leave before Monty noticed that plate. The dirty dishes he used to take away in the same manner, unnoticed. Monty had to yell “Thank you!” for the whole house to hear, to which Bertrand yelled back “You owe me!” from his room or from the kitchen. He was joking, and Monty knew that, but still planned at least to stand treat at the pub after the exams were over.      

That morning, Bertrand knocked on the door again – first came in, then knocked. That meant he needed Monty to pay attention to him.

“Hello, hello, hello!” Monty exclaimed, turning on the chair, immediately knocked one his books off the table, and bent to pick it up. “I am listening to you attentively, o dearest neighbour.”  

“You’re going to the uni tomorrow, aren’t you?” Bertrand asked.

Monty nodded. “Yeah, to submit this Frankenstein’s monster. Only the bibliography left to do.”

“You’re a hero,” Bertrand praised him. Monty thought so too, in all honesty. “Could you do something for me while you’re at it?”

“Buddy, I would’ve wasted away without you here over the last few days. What exactly do you need?”  

“I need,” Bertrand felt for something in the pocket of his trousers, took out some scrap of paper, and gave it to Monty, “a vial of venom of this snake.”  

Monty’s heart lurched. He skimmed the note.

“Oh,” he said. “No problem. There are a couple of excellent specimens of this species at the City Herpetological Centre.”

“I know,” Bertrand replied. “I thought of asking N or S, but I don’t know them well. I wouldn’t like to shoot my mouth off in front of the people I do not trust completely,” he sat down on the edge of Monty’s bed. “Not these days.”  

Monty noticed that Bertrand was trying not to meet his eyes.

“I see. Tomorrow it’ll be done.”  

“Thank you,” Bertrand smiled slightly, still not looking at Monty. Instead, he was looking at Maturin, the turtle, which was chewing on a salad leaf in its terrarium. The turtle was undoubtedly remarkable, but it wasn’t hard to see that Bertrand was rather looking through it than at it. Sooner or later that was bound to happen, Monty thought. Sooner or later, each volunteer had to do something… like that. Not necessarily related to deathly poisons and what very logically results from their use, but still something that made it difficult to look one’s friends in the eye. Like it was now difficult for Bertrand.

“Who?” Monty asked in a hushed voice. “I’m not asking about the name, I’m asking if you know that person. Or were you just given a description?”

“A description,” Bertrand echoed. He smiled again, wider and brighter, but still somewhat stiffly. “Don’t worry about me. I am not a child, I’ll handle this.”  

 ***

 “And so he did,” Monty thought as he was unlocking the door to his flat.

Bertrand was already home; there was no need to call their acquaintances or go to Kit’s place. When Monty entered, his flatmate was sitting at the kitchen table and rubbing his knuckles on one hand with the thumb of the other. His face was calm, without any trace of either tears or smile. It reminded Monty of the kind of “Closed” sign that people put on the shop doors on Sundays.      

“There you are,” Monty said, peeking into the kitchen. Bertrand gave a start and looked at him.

“Hi,” he said, and offered Monty a faint smile. It didn’t look too convincing. “How did the report thing go?”  

“They let me submit it later,” Monty told him. He didn’t know how to ask Bertrand about what was really vexing him, so he asked another question that was, in his opinion, appropriate in any situation. “Would you like some tea?”

“That would be nice, thank you.”

Monty went into the kitchen, took the teapot off the stove, shook it and made sure it was empty, filled it with water, ignited the burner, put the teapot on the stove. Having been in a hurry to check if Bertrand was home, he didn’t have time to take his shoes off, and was now stamping around the kitchen in outdoor shoes. “Gotta sweep the floor later,” he noted to himself. It came with experience – the skill of not forgetting about the dull everyday things like cleaning and cooking while your entire world was in a whirl and threatening to fall apart.    

“I saw the article in the newspaper,” he began as he took teacups from the dish drainer. Bertrand was still sitting at the table in silence, still rubbing his hands absentmindedly. “About the opera.”

“Yeah, I’ve already read it, too.”  

“You lied when you told me you didn’t know who the target was, didn’t you? When you asked me to get you the venom.”

“I did,” Bertrand agreed. He leaned back in his chair. It wasn’t hard to see by his eyes that he hadn’t caught even a minute of sleep last night. “Do we have any lemons for tea?”  

“Um?.. I think there must be some. Check the fridge. Why did you lie?”

“You had enough problems of your own. And you still do. I didn’t want you to worry about me as well,” Bertrand got up from the table, walked up to the fridge, and took out a bowl containing half a lemon. Having taken a knife and a board, he started cutting the lemon into very neat identical pieces. Everything Bertrand did was neat.  

“Yeah, you can want whatever you like,” Monty muttered. The teapot was still taking its time to boil, and just standing empty-handed and discussing the murder committed by his neighbour was unbearable, so he took a cloth and started cleaning the sink aggressively. That was not the first time he procured poisons required by other volunteers. Perhaps he hadn’t killed anyone himself – yet – but he suspected that in a sense he already was partially responsible for a number of deaths. It was scary, it was weighing down on him, it kept him up at night and made him drink and dance and party with a vengeance in the hope of forgetting himself – but that was him, and when it came to Bertrand, it was a hundred times more of a shame. Bertrand was a good person. Bertrand didn’t deserve to be turned into a murderer. Monty was hoping he could express that all in such a way as not to make it seem like his heart is aching not so much for his friend as for his own hurt feelings, but the right words just wouldn’t come.        

“You are one of the best people I know,” he finally began. Bertrand made a strange sound, something between a laugh and a sob. Monty turned and saw that he had already cut the leftover lemon and was now standing with an absent look on his face, clutching the knife. “Don’t hold the knife with the edge toward you. Fucking hell, B,” he raised his voice when Bertrand didn’t react. “Don’t hold the knife with the edge toward you, and put it down anyway!”      

The knife fell on the table with a thud. Bertrand closed his eyes, leaned on the tabletop with both hands, and lowered his head so that Monty couldn’t get a good look at his countenance.

“I keep remembering that he hit O several times when boozed up, back when O was a boy,” he spoke quietly. “He used to drink, you know – not every day, but he used to go on drinking sprees from time to time. O’s taking after him in that respect. I keep thinking back on it as if it makes an excuse for me, but it really doesn’t, you see? And she was innocent – I mean, the rational part of me gets that she wasn’t, I know who she and her husband used to finance and what they used to cover up, but all I can remember is that she was usually nice to O, and to B after she moved to the City too.” Now his voice was taut, his face burning with indignation, his former numbness gone without a trace. “How come this task was assigned to B, of all people? After they had basically accepted her as family?”        

Monty knew, personally and by repute, several Bs among their associates, but this time Bertrand didn’t have to specify who he was talking about.  

“I am angry they made you do this, you are angry they made her…”

“Because she didn’t deserve this,” Bertrand interrupted him. “Because she’s a good person.”

Monty realized that Bertrand was basically repeating word for word what he had been reflecting on earlier himself, and smiled sadly.  

“How willing we are to assure the others vehemently that they are good people,” he spoke. He was completely in agreement with Bertrand about Beatrice. She was not just fun, but also reliable, which was much more important. She looked after her own. She was vivid and loud and incredibly brave and incredibly loving, and Bertrand was right: she did not deserve this. “And never as willing to defend ourselves the same way. Perhaps that is where our hope lies? In our inability to turn a blind eye to our own faults?”    

Bertrand took off his glasses, inelegantly wiped off the tears that had broken out after all, and put the glasses on again.

“Monty,” he said gently, “you’re a good person too, you know that?”

Monty blinked, then blinked again, feeling that soon he might have to wipe off the tears too. Bertrand was one of the best people Monty knew, and he didn’t deserve to be turned into a murderer, and didn’t deserve to labour under such grave delusion about other people either – but the fact that someone still considered him a good person gave Monty confidence that despite all his wrongdoings, he still wasn’t a lost cause.  

He reached out and ruffled Bertrand’s hair.

“Sit down,” he told him. “The tea’s about to be ready.”

[travllingbunny]

Quarantine tag game

Thanks for tagging me, @sometimesrosy!

ARE YOU STAYING HOME FROM WORK/SCHOOL? I am staying home but not from work, because I work at home. Not just now, I always work at home, so there hasn’t been any change in that respect. The volume of work was the same as always during the last few weeks, too. I haven’t had any new work since Friday, so I’m enjoying a few days of rest, but I don’t know if this has anything to do with Corona. A few days of rest and no work has happened before. It will give me more time to clean my apartment.

IF YOU’RE STAYING HOME, WHO IS THERE WITH YOU? My two dogs and two cats. They are probably happy that they get even more time with me than usual. I think that some people don’t consider pets real company - probably people who don’t have pets - which I find funny. They are amazing company and I never feel lonely or bored. It’s never boring with them. Taking the dogs out two times a day, having to feed the cats 6-7 times a day or however often they start mewing and asking for food (especially the kitten - the young one is just 9 months old), having to stand guard to make sure dogs don’t steal cat food :D and all the petting and displays of affection.

ARE YOU A HOMEBODY? Not really? But I’m also not not a homebody? LOL Normally, I enjoy going out and meeting people; I have salsa classes two times a week, which are really fun; I go clubbing on weekends; and my favorites are the Language Cafe type events, which used to be up to 3 times a week before the Coronavirus situation started (these are events for people to meet and practice languages, where you can just come, choose the table with the language you want to practice, introduce yourself and join the conversation). I go to concerts, film festivals, public lectures/debates etc. 

But at the same time, I don’t mind staying at home, and I’ve had experience in having to stay for a week or two when I had a ton of work and tight deadlines. I talk to people a lot via phone, Viber, Whatsupp and social media, exchange memes and satirical articles about the current situation, etc. I’m online a lot, and I’m trying to finally catch up/check out some of the many TV shows, movies and books I have on my watchlist/readlist and do other stuff I never had enough time for.

AN EVENT THAT YOU WERE LOOKING FORWARD TO THAT GOT CANCELLED? I don’t think it’s been officially cancelled yet (?), but I doubt that the Tindersticks concert in early May is gonna be happening. I had already bought the ticket so I hope it gets postponed. I’ve also bought a ticket for a Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds concert in early June (it’s probably too optimistic to hope that will happen?) and a Pixies concert in early September (I don’t have to worry about that one, do I?)

WHAT MOVIES HAVE YOU WATCHED RECENTLY? Since the curfew started, I’ve watched just a few movies that happened to be on TV  - which were all very different, but I wasn’t impressed by any of them (Divergent, Ironclad, and Francis Ha). 

The last time I was in cinema was for the FEST film festival, which ended on 8 March, and I watched Jojo Rabbit on the closing night. I really loved it. Before that, at the same festival, I watched Apocalypse Now: The Final Cut, Blood Quantum (pretty good Canadian horror that’s a different take on the zombie epidemic genre, as it takes place in a First Nation reserve, most characters/actors are First Nation and it deals with social issues), Spanish period drama by Alejandro Amenabar  Mientras dure la guerra (During the War) about the Spanish Civil War and Miguel de Inamuno’s role in the events, The Lighthouse (really good, really dark psychological horror drama that can have a bunch of interpretations) and Dead Don’t Die (Jim Jarmush’s zombie comedy with some very on-the-nose social commentary).

WHAT SHOWS ARE YOU WATCHING? The list is pretty long! Some shows I’ve been watching on TV include: Peaky Blinders (really good!), Babylon Berlin (still in season 1), Penny Dreadful (I’m almost finished - I didn’t like season 1 that much but it got much better in seasons 2 and 3), Wynonna Earp (not great but it’s just a fun show with some cool actors/characters). I'm about to finish S1 of The Witcher and I want to rewatch it immediately to figure out the timelines. I’m finishing my rewatch of The 100 and I’m going to resume my rewatch of Agents of SHIELD (hopefully I can finish it by its premiere date, 27 May). Also watching Outlander season 5, Harley Quinn, Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist, need to catch up on Roswell: New Mexico, Prodigal Son and Stumptown and finish The Outsider, and have recently started The Plot Against America and Mindhunter (the latter because my best friend has recommended it). I’ve even checked out the pilot of Lucifer, which I may or may not continue soon, and I’m continuing with 12 Monkeys season 1. And I intend to check out Kingdom. Quite a mix of genres there.

WHAT MUSIC ARE YOU LISTENING TO? I haven’t listened to that much music lately as I used to, but my routine for putting myself to sleep is to turn on MTV Rocks (or the Rock Alternative radio channel) on my TV, in low volume, program the sleep function for 2 hours, and go to bed. It works like a charm. I always have trouble falling asleep in silence. 

Other than that, I’ve been listening to a lot of Haelos since I first discovered them when I heard their song “Alone” in season 6 of The 100, and I’ve listened to othe songs from The 100 and Tree Adams’ soundtrack for season 3.

WHAT ARE YOU READING? Before all this, I borrowed 3 books from the American Corner library: Toni Morrison’s The Bluest Eye and Beloved and Tea Obrecht’s The Tiger’s Wife.  I’m reading The Bluest Eye at the moment, but I’m also going to finally start reading GRRM’s Fire and Blood, which I had never found time for.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING FOR SELF-CARE? The usual stuff I do - a bit of exercise, nurturing bath once a week, regular skin care. But last week, I also had to make an effort to relax and try to lower my level of stress and blood pressure, thanks to something that happened last Sunday. 

Rant incoming....If you don’t want to read about my bad experience with the police and idiotic government measures, stop now.

Namely, the idiotic government of my country has imposed “measures” which are supposed to be against the spread of Coronavirus but mostly don’t make any sense - they are constantly extending curfew and changing the time of it, and have changed the times when dog owners are allowed to walk their dogs. At one point, it seemed like there was no allowed time for that in the evening or afternoon. You had to listen to the news all the time (and listening to news and the President’s speeches is one of the things that annoys me the most) to figure these things out. And the weekend before last was their first experiment in an extra-long 3 day curfew, which I wasn’t even aware of, when they actually had the police patrol and arrest people for just walking on their own (or, in one case, a young farmer in his tractor - two days after the minister of agriculture said on TV that farmers would be exempt from the curfew - they changed it). So I got manhandled, put in handcuffs and taken to the station for walking my dogs all on my own, with no one else around (which is endangering people and helping the spread of Corona - how exactly??!) where i had to sit for 2 hours while a cop was writing stuff down from the records, and about 60 other cops walked right by me, 10 of whom didn’t have masks, while 3 had but pulled them up/down, then in a police car with 3 other people they picked up - who can’t sit any further than half a meter from you as there’s not enough room, then about 1.5 hours more at the court, with a bunch of other people (and everyone was sitting right next to each other - I was the only one who was like “Nope” and stood a couple of meters away from the others), where they passed the judgment that I have to pay a fine of almost 450 EUR - the amount that’s prescribed for everyone. (And in Serbia, that’s about 1.5 of the minimum wage. I can pay my bills for 3 months from that amount.) Turns out, they arrested some 700-800 people that weekend, so I guess they’re gonna extort a lot of money from the people - if all of them are able to pay it within 15 days (which I doubt. I can withdraw the money from the bank, but I don’t think everyone can). My temperature, pulse and probably blood pressure went up immediately and took an entire week to come down - due to stress, a lot of anger and fear - I had my mask and gloves, but that was still the most close contact and exposure to a lot of other people, much more than I’ve had in weeks. I yelled and ranted and told them that they’re the ones putting others and themselves in danger of contracting Corona, and they probably knew I was right, but it makes no difference -  President Vučić is either an idiot who actually thinks the virus is lurking outside in the air to jump at people, but only during the hours he decides, or, more likely, he doesn’t care, but is a wannabe dictator who likes to act self-important and playact at imposing “strict but necessary measures”.

/end rant. Sorry about that. But that’s why I bought a temperature meter and blood pressure meter, because I was having high temperature, heart palpitations and pressure in my chest, which hasn’t happened to me in a long time (I was also starting to feel PMS, which added to it and didn’t help, but is normally nowhere near as bad when I’m not stressed out) so I needed a lot of self-care last week - which included tranquilizers, but mostly trying my best to relax and feel better. And I’m finally well now and close to how I was before the whole arrest idiocy.

Tagging @jeanie205 @kizo2703 @weareagentsofnothing @turtle-paced @wolfheartgirl @theatre-steph @selflessbellamy @mytly4 @katersann @linzzmorgan100 @immortalpramheda @iishallbelieve @misskittyspuffy @marshmallow-the-vampire-slayer @justbecauseyoubelievesomething @angearia @ladyofthefrostfangs - I know some of you have already been tagged, I’m sorry if you’ve already done it but I haven’t seen it, in which case I’look for it on your blog. Sorry to everyone I didn’t tag, too. 

[duncepatrick92]

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[amberess]

My Invisible Disease

Last summer I was diagnosed with fibromyalgia after many years of widespread symptoms and often long periods of extreme pain and illness. For the first time I am opening up about this topic and actually it is quite scary. You might have perceived me as a twenty-something year old hard worker with many goals and dreams, but now I am actually at my weakest point ever. The bad news is that there is no cure for fibromyalgia. The good news is that it is not life threatening.

What is fibromyalgia?

Fibromyalgia is a chronic disease, caused by a sensory disorder of the central nervous system, mainly resulting in extreme pain and tenderness over the entire body, as well as extreme fatigue.

My body aches from the moment I open my eyes in the morning until I go to sleep, and even during the night I often wake up in extreme pain. During the day, I am lucky if my pain feels acceptable and if I am able to perform normal, daily tasks. Sadly, there are days that I am forced to spend my days in bed, either doing nothing or sleeping.

There is a lot more to it though. I deal with ‘fibro fogs’ on a daily basis, meaning periods of unclear and vague thinking or failing to process normal stuff. For example, I cannot follow an easy conversation between family, let alone remember what they said afterwards. Luckily, I am fully aware of such brain fog, which causes me to postpone important decisions for example. Unfortunately, postponing decisions is not possible when I am driving my car for instance. Sometimes I feel like I am putting myself at risk whenever I am ‘in the real world’ during a fibro fog.  

A brain fog is just one of many symptoms on the list, aside from the extreme pain and fatigue experienced on a daily basis. Fibromyalgia is complex and touches many areas and functions of the body. Therefore, it cannot be easily explained.

Everyone might think I am perfectly fine but...

I am struggling. Don’t get me wrong, I am a very happy human being, surrounded by lots of love from my partner and friends, but I am always suffering from pain all over my body. To other people I look fine and healthy, sometimes a little bit tired maybe, but no one would see the gravity of this condition. It is an invisible disease.

Confusion and incomprehension comes with the invisibility of this disease. I experienced that it is really important to talk about fibromyalgia and let your family, friends and collegues know how it is affecting you. It is the only way to comprehension and happiness.

Living with fibromyalgia is hard work

When I was diagnosed, my first reflex was to ask the doctors how we are going to fix this. The response was quite harsh, namely that up to this day, there is no cure for fibromyalgia. No medicine on the entire world would give me my health back. That was hard to deal with. The only thing doctors would say, was that you needed to find a way to live with the consequences of this disease. Honestly, I could not feel more let down. When I got over feeling powerless, I was ready for action, meaning finding a way to put up with this disease. My desire to stay happy, my (career-oriented) ambition and need to become healthier, motivated me to search for things to feel better.

Fibromyalgia is a freaking labyrinth with a million paths to choose and just one path that leads to a desirable outcome. You can choose many different paths, from heavy pain medication like morfine to no medication at all, from bed rest to intense work-outs, from physiotherapy to psychological help and so on. Doctors have no clue what the right path is for this disease and every path is one of ‘trial and error’. So there are a million possibilities, but in the end the fact is that there is actually no real cure.

That does not mean that there are no solutions to, at least, feel better. I have found some medications, recommended by my doctors, and some therapies that work for me. If there is some interest in this matter, I will definitely write another post about it. Let me know in the comments. I am definitely not ‘there’ yet and I am still looking for ways to improve my daily life. If you’ve got any tips and tricks, feel free to share them!

I hope you have a great day! Thanks for reading.

This article aims to start the conversation about fibromyalgia and encourages comprehension for this condition. Feel free to ask me whatever you want to know about fibromyalgia.

For more information about fibromyalgia, go to:

https://www.gethealthystayhealthy.com/fibromyalgia

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=et2yca1g0sM&list=PL90J4uXAnjlg4B5TPR0VtXw1jq0dP7rLD&index=2&t=0s

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NnXh9dnzYgE&list=PL90J4uXAnjlg4B5TPR0VtXw1jq0dP7rLD&index=2

[lilacmoon83]

A Darker Curse

Also on Fanfiction.net and A03

Chapter 21: Fallout

The stares and whispers this morning in the bank, his bank, had been bad enough. So bad that he had sequestered himself in his office, but nothing could get him to concentrate on work. He had been all prepared for the mid-morning board meeting, but had received an e-mail from one of the leading board members that they were postponing the meeting until further notice. It was unsettling, to say the least and all because of a scathing article in the Storybrooke Mirror this morning.

Lewis Dior was not at all accustomed to being the subject of such scandal. He was a very rich man and had always had the means to buy discretion when it came to his business deals. But the tides, in a town where he owned all the leases that Mr. Gold didn't, had just turned. His money had failed to protect him this time and his daughter.

Kathryn hadn't even bothered to come to work yet, but he wasn't surprised. The article shredded her as well. So badly that he would be surprised if she dared to show her face anywhere. If he wasn't the only bank in town, he might have been worried about losing business, but fortunately, there were no other choices in this small town, with the exception of Mr. Gold and no one usually made a deal with him unless they were desperate. Still...the damage to his reputation was already considerable and he had no idea what consequences might be coming at him. And strangely, he had no idea how to handle any of it.

Under the Mayor-ship of Cora Mills, he had never even had to entertain the possibility that something like this could happen. He never thought the possibility that she could lose her office was even on the table. He had never worried about anything at all and had always enjoyed a life that only a pure elitist knew. But one article and Cora's ousting had brought it all crashing down. Needless to say, he was at a loss. He crumbled his copy of the Storybrooke Mirror up and threw it in the trash, as he stalked out of his cushy corner office that he enjoyed as CEO.

The stares from customers were unnerving to say the least and even his employees couldn't help themselves. The words in the article had effectively torn him to smithereens and he stormed out, as he made the short walk to the Court House.

The looks were worse there. These had even more disgust in them and some were even smug, like they were enjoying his fall from grace. He couldn't believe people were actually rooting for his low class, disgraceful soon to be ex-son-in-law.

"Have you seen this trash?" he hissed, as he walked into Albert Spencer's office.

"Of course I've seen it," Spencer spat irritably. Obviously he had been experiencing a morning much like his own.

"Cora would have never allowed this to see the light of day," he complained.

"You're right...which is why it's a very good thing that my Mother is no longer the Mayor," Regina said, as she now stood in the doorway with a smug smirk.

"I see you've come to gloat too, Ms. Mills," Albert spat.

"Mayor Mills...you better get used to it," she warned.

"Or what? Not even the Mayor has the authority to fire a district attorney," Spencer challenged. Regina smirked.

"You're right, but if you go to jail on human trafficking charges...I won't really need to fire you, now will I?" she cooed in response. The color drained from his face.

"You...you can't seriously be thinking of pursuing charges against us. David is an adult...he could have refused the marriage," Albert claimed.

"You could make that argument, but money exchanged hands when he married Kathryn. Trust me, a jury isn't going to see it your way. But there may be a way you can avoid prison," she replied.

"And that is?" Lewis asked with interest.

"Flip on my mother. I know you must have incriminating evidence on her dealings during her time in office. She's the one I really want to see behind bars, so if you give up the goods on her, I'm sure I can convince the Sheriff to cut a deal with you if it means he gets a bigger fish to lock away," Regina replied.

"Betraying your own mother?" Lewis asked in horror.

"She was never much of a mother," Regina retorted.

"No deal...Cora still has more power than you know. Betraying her would be suicide," Albert refuted. But Lewis looked uncertain.

"Lewis...don't do this," he warned. Regina smirked.

"Think about it. I'm a reasonable person and I'll give you a day. If you don't, I'll be sending the Sheriff your way with arrest warrants," she replied, as she walked out with a smile. That was fun. Her only regret was not bringing Snow and David with her so they could enjoy it. She decided she'd head to the diner though to tell them all about it.

~*~

Graham flipped through some of the paperwork and finished a few reports. Patrol had been quiet this morning and was allowing him to get a bit caught up. Emma would be in soon and he would let her take the afternoon patrol. As he started on the backlog of filing, three people walked into the station and he didn't recognize any of them.

"Can I help you?" Graham asked.

"Are you the Sheriff in this town?" the man asked.

"I am," Graham answered, watching as the man flashed his badge.

"I'm Detective Michael Bishop from the Portland, Oregon police department," he said introducing himself. Graham looked surprised.

"Oregon...that's a long way to come. It must be for a good reason," he said.

"It is...I'm not sure if you're aware, but you have at least one fugitive in your midst, possibly two," he replied. Graham approached him and opened the first file, as the detective handed it to him.

"Oh...Neal Cassidy, he's new in town and the son of the local pawn shop owner," Graham said, as he opened the second file and his eyes widened.

"No…" he uttered.

"No...you must be mistaken about Emma. There is no way she is involved in anything nefarious," Graham refuted.

"So sure?" the woman asked.

"And you are?" Graham asked in return.

"Detective Tia Bellum. It's well known that Emma Swan and Neal Cassidy were involved. Word has it that they even have a kid together," she replied.

"That doesn't mean that Emma helped Neal in any larceny," Graham argued.

"You seem close to this Emma Swan," she observed.

"She's my deputy, so I know she's not involved in this," he admitted.

"Be that as it may, we can't take your word for it. We need to arrest Neal Cassidy for sure and at least bring Emma in for questioning," Michael said.

"Did they really send three detectives here for two possible fugitives?" Graham questioned.

"Oh, I'm not a detective. I'm Greg Mendell and I work for the District Attorney's office in Portland. I'm here to handle the legalities of extraditing Neal Cassidy and possibly Emma Swan back to Portland," Greg clarified.

"It's in your best interest if you just take us to them if you know where they are," Michael added. Graham sighed.

"Yeah...I know where they are, but this is my town, so you'll follow my lead," he said sternly.

"Lead the way," Michael agreed.

~*~

As they entered the diner, hand in hand, all eyes were on them. It wasn't terribly unusual, as they had been attracting a lot of attention. To David, without his memories, it had been a bit unnerving. These were the same people that had always been too afraid to lift a hand to help him when he was being abused by Kathryn, but now they were taking an interest in his life? He had scoffed at that. Now with his memories returned, he knew that it wasn't truly at their fault. He knew if Granny hadn't been cursed, then she would have been in his corner. Same with Ruby and many others.

Now seeing the looks and interest in them with his memories was just funny and he felt like riling a few people up.

"Wanna make a bet?" he whispered to her.

"Depends on the stakes," she retorted.

"If I kiss you right now, I bet we get no less than three gasps, some hushed whispers and maybe even some furious texting," he joked.

"Behave…" she teased.

"Oh come on, you know how much fun it is when we wager and how much fun it is for the winner and loser for that matter," he replied. She eyed him with a sultry look, which she was sure was getting plenty of buzz from the nosy patrons in the diner.

"Baby...if you want to tie me up in bed, all you have to do is say so. I have some scarves we can use or we could always swipe a pair of handcuffs," she whispered to him, before winking and going to join their family. He grinned at her and then slid into the booth beside her, kissing her soundly. There was hushed chattering at that.

"I'm going to take you up on that," he whispered. She gave him a naughty smirk.

"You better," she agreed, as Ruby took their orders, before they turned their attention to Emma, August, Neal, and little David, who was eating tiny pieces of pancake that Emma had torn up for him and placed on his tray.

Emma had finished her pancakes and bacon, as well as fries they were all sharing and Ruby deposited another basket on the table.

"Fries for breakfast?" Snow chided them.

"I prefer to call them breakfast potatoes. They aren't fries until eleven," Emma reasoned. Snow rolled her eyes.

"No question where she got her sense of humor," she said, as she looked at her husband, who was eating fries too.

"She has a point...they are potatoes and it is still breakfast," he agreed. She pretended to roll her eyes, but her insides were melting, for they grinned at each other, same smile and thick as thieves. It was everything she had always wanted and she was screaming for joy on the inside that they finally had each other.

"Well, I don't know if I'm enjoying all the looks or scrutiny, but your article certainly made waves, honey," Snow mentioned.

"Enjoy it, Mom...some people deserve to be knocked down," August replied. David nodded in agreement.

"I agree and maybe we poked the bear, so to speak, but we know Cora. She is going to retaliate, even if we did nothing," David said.

"Dad's right...she's been trying to destroy us the moment we walked into town and the situations she forced the two of you into...all of us really...we can't let her get away with any of it," Emma said.

"Emma's right...I know revenge has never been your way, but if anyone deserves it, it's you and Mom," August added.

"Plus...everyone else deserves to be freed. I mean...I don't know Abigail, but she doesn't seem to be herself exactly," Emma mentioned. David shook his head.

"She wasn't like this...not even close. She even helped me escape George when I called off our wedding and encouraged me to find your mother, even when I thought she didn't feel the same," David said, as he looked at his wife and Snow squeezed his hand.

"She'll be horrified by what Cora has cursed her to be," he added. Snow put her head on his shoulder.

"Maybe now that the curse is unraveling, she'll start to come to her senses. I mean...you did say that she seemed more confused than angry the last time you talked to her," Snow said, as the diner door opened and Kathryn walked in, before slamming the door closed.

"Yeah...something tells me that dying fire in her just got stoked again," David replied, as the blonde stormed glared over at their table. The look on her face was one that would have made his cursed self cringe and he could still feel the fear that she used to cause in him. He hated it, but she had done some terrible things to him, even if it wasn't really her fault. She was just a vessel that Cora had been driving. She was the true abuser, but it was still hard for him to look at her, especially when she was in a full blown rage like this. She stormed towards their table and Emma plucked her son out of the highchair.

Kathryn slapped the papers down on the table.

"Did you sign them?" David asked and she gave him a furious glare.

"No, I didn't sign them and I'm not going to!" she screamed and all eyes were on them. He sighed.

"Kathryn...this is getting pathetic. Just sign the damn papers so we can both move on," he said.

"Oh, but you already have!" she shouted, as she gestured to Mary Margaret.

"You've walked out on your marriage and you're sleeping with a woman that has a son your age, but you want to talk to me about pathetic!" she snarled.

"This is between you and me. Leave Mary Margaret and her kids out of it," he said sternly.

"She's the reason for all of this!" Kathryn said, as her rage turned to the raven haired beauty that had stolen what was hers.

"Everything was fine, until you came into this town and wrecked our lives, you evil tramp!" the blonde ranted. Emma and August were ready to jump in to defend their mother, but they wouldn't have to, as David practically flew out of his seat.

"Fine?" he growled.

"FINE?" he roared.

"Nothing about our marriage was ever fine or good for that matter!" he shouted, as the entire diner was eating up the scene.

"Oh yes, poor abused David! I've heard it before. You told your entire sob story to Dr. Hopper and anyone that would listen lately," she hissed.

"Well, sign the papers and you'll never have to hear my story or from me for that matter ever again," David said in exasperation. She yelled in rage and it was truly scary, as little David started to whimper and they all stared in shock, as she kicked the highchair away. It tumbled to the floor and broke to pieces.

"Dammit David...you need to listen very carefully. I'll speak slowly so you can comprehend what I'm saying in your tiny brain," she said.

"David is not stupid and you need to leave him alone...now," Mary Margaret growled, as she stood up. She knew that Kathryn was cursed, but there was only so much she'd allow her husband to take from this woman without stepping in to defend him.

"You...you're the reason for all of this!" she cried, as she held her head like she was in agony.

"You and your bastard son! Do you know how humiliated my poor father is?!" she raved.

"Your poor father?" August asked, looking at her like she had grown four heads.

"You mean the guy that could probably fill a swimming pool five times over with money and swim in it?" he asked incredulously.

"Your father is an entitled, disgusting person that thinks he can just buy whatever he wants. Even people. Whatever humiliation he's getting is well deserved," August said coldly. Kathryn glowered at him and ripped the divorce papers to shreds.

"The only way you're getting a divorce is over my dead body," she spat, before storming out and nearly running over their newly minted Mayor. Regina watched her go and then looked at the floor.

"That's a lot of rage…" Regina said, as she saw the shredded paper.

"We're trying to remember that it's not all her, but she's making it difficult," Snow said, as her step-sister sat down.

"I hope you have another copy of those," Regina said to David. He shrugged.

"Gold says he has as many as we need, but at this rate, I'm thinking we really will have to have a Judge force her to sign," he replied.

"Or we could just break the curse already," she muttered.

"And I'd love to...but no one seems to know how, except that I'm supposed to do it," Emma said.

"And you will, honey...we don't mean to pressure you," Snow soothed. She nodded.

"I know...I'm just anxious to do it too," Emma replied.

"You will...you're strong and amazing, just like your mother," David told her, bringing a smile to her face.

The diner bell rang and Graham entered with three people trailing behind him.

"Hey...you're white as a sheet. Is everything okay?" Emma asked.

"I'm afraid not," he replied, as his eyes went to the people with him.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"I'm afraid I have to arrest Neal...and ask you some questions," Graham replied. Neal sighed.

"Where are they from? Portland or Phoenix?" Neal asked.

"Portland P.D., Mr. Cassidy and you're under arrest," Detective Bishop announced. Graham turned to him.

"This is still my jurisdiction, so this is mine to do," he argued.

"And if you don't cooperate with the extradition, your department is going to be in a lot of trouble," Greg chimed in.

"Who are you people?" Snow snapped, as she stood up and David held her trembling hands.

"And you are?" Tia asked.

"I am Emma's mother," Snow answered.

"Mr. Cassidy is a wanted man and we got a tip that he was here in this town," Michael said.

"A tip? I just bet you did," David muttered in disgust.

"And your daughter is going to have to answer some questions. We have reason to believe that she was privy to some of Neal Cassidy's crimes," Tia said.

"She wasn't…" Snow hissed.

"Then you should have nothing to fear in our questioning," he replied, as Graham cuffed Neal and Emma looked at her mother.

"I've got him," Snow said, as she took her grandson from her.

"My papa...he's going to flip out," Neal said, but David put his hand up.

"We'll get him and be right there," he assured.

"Don't say anything until we get there," Snow called, as they were led out of the diner. The whole place was abuzz now, earlier with the confrontation between David and Kathryn, and now this.

"I thought Storybrooke was hard to find?" David questioned.

"It is...there's no way they got here without help," August replied.

"This has my mother written all over it," Regina growled.

"And I'm going to kill her," Snow said, as she stormed out and they hurried after her.

~*~

Cora smirked deviously, as she hung up her phone. Sidney confirmed that Neal Cassidy was just arrested.

"It seems my plan is in motion," she said, as she got up with the intention of leaving to go to the station. These were fireworks that she didn't want to miss, just as Kathryn stormed in.

"Let me guess...David continued to refuse you?" she questioned.

"He did and he has the audacity to sit there and kiss that woman in front of the whole town! He has humiliated me for the last time!" she growled. Cora smirked.

"I may have something that will lift your spirits," she said.

"I doubt anything could do that right now," Kathryn lamented.

"Even seeing Mary Margaret Swan lose her precious daughter?" Cora questioned. The blonde looked at her.

"What are you talking about?" she asked.

"It would appear that Emma's baby daddy has had some trouble in the past. He's a wanted man and I called in a little tip. Now there are some people here to take him back to Oregon to prosecute him for his crimes," Cora explained.

"What does that have to do with Emma?" Kathryn asked.

"Oh I'm quite certain that Emma Swan was privy to her ex-boyfriend's misdeeds, which means there is a very high chance that she is going to be extradited to Oregon as well, even if they end up not charging her. She'll have to leave Storybrooke to clear her name before the court and if I haven't lost my touch, I'm going to do my best to convince the detectives that she deserves to face the same charges as Neal Cassidy," Cora replied. Kathryn smirked.

"This is happening now?" she asked. The former Mayor nodded.

"Yes and if we don't hurry, we might miss the moment when Mary Margaret Swan has her precious baby girl ripped away from her," Cora replied. Kathryn smirked.

"I'll drive...because I'm not missing this or the opportunity to rub salt in her wounds, while I figure out how to make David pay," Kathryn said.

"Don't worry dear...I can assure you that hurting his precious Mary Margaret and her daughter will hurt him far more than you can imagine...perhaps even more than anything we can do to him directly," Cora asserted.

"Then I can't wait to witness you twist the knife in that little tramp and revel in her misery," Kathryn said, as she followed the other woman out. Revenge would still be hers and they would rue the day they decided to cross her...

[fucknofortunato]

A Real Long Rant about Goals or Andrew Talks Forever About His Past

I absolutely love playing Dungeons & Dragons and I really really enjoyed working at the Disney Theme Park. I think my love for both of these things comes out of the fact that they are the closest I’ve come to voice acting. Dungeons & Dragons combines my two aspirations in life which is to write and voice act, resulting in a usually somewhat fun experience of a game and getting to express myself in the ways I truly want to. I get to craft a story and get real-time feedback on it as the players either get invested or look for other things to do. But alas, this is not about Dungeons & Dragons.

The thing with Disney was that I didn’t want to be the carnival barker. It was a scary thought that I wanted to avoid and tried to just end up being a cashier. Being a cashier was my comfort zone, but I soon found that being a cashier inside a theme park was a far far different experience than what I had done before. My comfort zone was more so just an uncomfortable area where I was pretty aware of what needed to be done. Then they put me out on the carnival barker area and almost instantly, everything I feared faded away. I just had to be silly, shout out to people, and announce what was going on. This was essentially voice acting out into the abyss, where every so often someone catches wind and comes along.

As time moves on, every day I feel I am either distracting myself or locking eyes with the fear of failure. This fear glares into my very soul and paralyzes me, making me feel truly inadequate and unsure of what I should do next. If there are several options before me, which one do I actually choose? Will someone help me? Have I already chosen wrong?

Almost my entire life has been feeling like I’m racing the clock. Many of my dreams have been cast to the side now and it’s steadily feeling like I’ve given up on so much more. I’ve written about this before, but I feel like I’m standing before a tree bearing fruits that show my future. It was a theme explored in Aziz Ansari’s Master of None show on Netflix. Except, I’m constantly feeling like I’m misreading the fruits. They show a potential future for me if I choose to pluck out and grab it, but I don’t think I can actually grab it. When I was young and plucky, this tree was full of so many fruits. Drawing comic books, writing cartoons, being an astronaut, being a pilot, becoming a star chef, travelling the world, being an actor, being a voice actor, and probably more that I’ve since forgotten. Several times I’ve written out little guides at 3am in the morning, unable to find the respite of sleep and turning to my computer to try and map out a path to follow to achieve as much as possible.

For those of you that are reading this and know that feeling all too well, you’re probably aware that it’s essentially the New Year’s Resolution but set at any point of the year. In about a week, or god forbid even the next morning, that entire train of motivation has run out of stream and stopped short on the tracks. I’ve since learned that I don’t truly have the motivation to cultivate my hand at art and nor do I have the skill to consistently draw. I wanted to illustrate and make comics, but I’ve come to learn that I just enjoy the story crafting of it more. Writing has become a hobby that I barely touch, if but only because it should be a craft I love and not a device to become famous. I’m not particularly talented at writing up articles or on a moment’s notice. I leave many projects unfinished and start Writing Prompts only to never finish them unless given a deadline. Even then, that shorts out after a bit. I love the feeling of being on a plane and enjoy being up in the sky, but being a pilot isn’t necessarily on my list anymore. Being a flight attendant still sounds nice, but that’s supposed to be my fallback. It’s a dream job for travelling and something I truly want to do, but there’s something I want to do more. A craft I really love and would love to keep doing. I want to Voice Act.

I still want to express my voice and give life to characters. A long long time ago, my friend was talking about the people in our group of friends that did Dungeon Mastering. He said that I might not have the greatest battles or dungeons, but when I spoke, I brought my characters to life. That they enjoyed the menagerie of people I would present them with. That’s something I’ve always held close to my chest and probably the time I realized that DMing was just an outlet for me to practice Voice Acting.

I went through a long stint of no longer playing D&D. Friends moved on to a better dungeon master, I moved away (not far, but an inconvenient distance), and had a job that conflicted with my scheduling. I found a new group online and found that I was now entirely limited to express myself only by voice.

Alright, I kinda rambled a bunch of stuff there and the steam of it is starting to fade, but the point of the matter is that I’m back at that tree again. Every year I feel like I’m getting incredibly close to the hourglass running empty. I wanted to try and break into Voice Acting in my early 20′s and I had a plan to run off and give it a shot. Of course, in the end I chose not to and I did it for the dumbest reasons. I was going to join something called Americorp, which would have sent me across America and helped communities. More importantly, it would have made me deal with all sorts of people and truly expand my network of those I know. The plan was to try and join the military, a third attempt, afterwards to see if I could finally get in, have a potential career path, and pay for college.

At the last minute, a combination of abandoning a crush and the joy of getting my first apartment with some friends caused me to abandon the idea. It felt like a tough decision and I knew I had weighed it improperly. I had been approved and all I had to do was say yes and it would have been about a year of work. There’s an age limit to Americorp and I had literally just squeezed in under it. So I chose not to and now I’ll never have an opportunity like that again. But it’s okay because there’s so many people out there that have never done it and never will and they get along fine. Living on regrets is not a way to live.

After a year in the apartment, I further discovered it was truly one of the biggest mistakes I’ve ever made. I made a new really good friend, but I lost an older good one and found out a whole group of the new friends I had made weren’t true friends and were very temporary. I found love out of the situation at least and that made me a little more happy in this future to settle with. I decided to abandon my dreams of escape, a combination of fear and keeping the status quo.Yet as time went on, I constantly found myself at the crossroads. This time, every decision meant leaving the tree and standing before the tree itself was now a choice I hadn’t considered. I thought maybe I could still stay here and find something that spoke to me. I thought maybe I could live here and still travel out to another job, that being a flight attendant could do it.

My ego would be struck a fatal blow as I finally put as much effort as I could muster into it to discover I don’t have what it takes. All the flight agencies were taking on new Flight Attendants but I was no longer desirable, if I had ever been. My age was catching up with me. My mistakes were haunting me. I am once again at that tree, but now I’m starting to see I’ve taken roots. I need to break them.

I need to break my roots, I need to break free, I need to take risks, I need to stop writing about what I need to do and I need to just do it. I need to decide if I want to go into the Military if this time works. I need to decide if I want to just up and move to the middle of nowhere to try and make new roots and just go full blown non-stop machine pursuing that career of voice acting. I still want to go to college, but do I have time? Can I postpone it another 4 years? Can I go to college in California, Washington, or New York? I need to practice, I need to make demos, I need to network and watch for openings. I need to do something and I need motivation. How do you gain motivation?

I feel like I don’t know what to do because in life there are no right answers. I mean, at some points there were right answers and I chose wrong. I waited way too long to truly wake up to what I’ve been sitting on. At this age, can I escape my burnout? No solution is a happy solution. I hurt myself or I hurt others, there’s never a scenario that hurts no one. I hate being on a plan when I’m never solid in what I want. Except to Voice Act. I may have given up sometimes, but not because I don’t want to Voice Act, but because I feel like I can’t professionally. I don’t want to make a ton of money, I just want to enjoy making art and doing voices and have a place I can comfortably call home. I want to belong somewhere. I need my motivation to stay alive. I need to practice and not worry about other people seeing it as something to be part of. To jump in and bother and subtract from what I’m doing. I want to just speak aloud. Like when I play D&D.

[watchmegetobsessed]

Shawn Mendes // Boundaries Part 11

HAPPY EFFING 2019 YOU GUYS!!! hope yall had a great night, mine was pretty chill but honestly i loved it haha. anyways, here is part 11 to celebrate the new year!

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9  - Part 10

Going home the next morning feels like going to my own funeral. Everyone is so quiet, no one dares to say a word to us and I guess this has something to do with how we look and act.

On our way to the airport we are basically inseparable, we never let go of each other’s hand, I’m so clingy normally I would feel ashamed, but Shawn is the exact same. I’m constantly on the verge of crying, but I’m trying my best to look tough and I also don’t want any photos of me with red and puffy eyes. We have to make it look like we are more in love than ever, which is kinda true, but also, we only have hours left together.

Shawn doesn’t try to change my mind though I really thought he would at least make an attempt in the morning hoping I softened through the night, but for my biggest surprise, he says nothing. Instead, he is trying to use our final hours together wisely just like me. Neither of us sleeps on the flight, we share a seat and watch the clouds swimming under the jet in silence, we share kisses from time to time, but it’s mostly just us silently enjoying having the other one close for the last time.

Shawn cancelled on our last appointment on Sunday, he called Andrew and told him he isn’t feeling too well so the interview got postponed to a later date. I’m happy I don’t have to see him once more, saying goodbye is already hard enough, I don’t know if I would have enough strength in me to spend one more day with him without breaking down in tears.

Arriving back to New York Shawn puts on his best fake smile as he takes selfies with the fans waiting for him while I go straight to our car. Ten minutes later he follows and we are on our way to my place. My stomach is in a knot, my throat is dry as I’m staring out of the window, Shawn’s hand still holding mine and I’m thinking about what I should say to him before walking out of his life. I’m cursing myself for making it this hard, I should have been smarter.

When the driver stops in front of the café, our usual spot he suddenly gets out of the car and stands next to it as Shawn turns to me. I guess he asked him to give us some privacy beforehand.

“I guess this is our goodbye,” I mumble under my breath, already feeling the tears dwelling in my eyes.

“I want you to promise me one thing,” he starts looking into my eyes and I nod. “Call me if you need help. With anything. Even if it’s the slightest problem ever, I want you to know that you can always count on me, okay?”

Feeling a tear rolling down my cheek I smile at him sadly as I nod.

“Okay,” I whisper.

“And… if you change your mind in the future… about us… just call me,” he adds and I can’t help but chuckle. He did try for one last time after all.

Cupping his face I pull him into one last kiss and it turns out longer and more passionate than what I planned, but I don’t mind. I let his tongue dominate mine, he is nibbling down on my lip gently and I moan into his mouth, all kind of emotions mixing in me at the same time.

“I love you,” he whispers to me once we part and he rests his forehead against mine. I’m shutting my eyes closed tight and I fight the urge to say it back immediately. If I say it now, I feel like I won’t be able to get out of the car and leave him behind. “It’s fine,” he smiles at me when I open my eyes. “I’m happy I got to meet you. Take care, Naya.”

“You too, Shawn,” I smile as I reach for the handle and using everything in me I turn away from him and get out of the car.

I avoid looking at him one more time, I just start walking. I hear the driver getting back into the car and when I hear the car’s engine starting again I turn around and watch the black Range Rover drive away and then disappear from my sight.

My days without Shawn are just one dark blur from the moment I get home after Paris. All my stuff gets delivered to my place and he even let me keep the dresses I wore to the fashion shows. I want to call him to say thank you so badly, but I decide not to.

The next Friday we have the Assembly, everyone gets their new deals and clients, except me. Joshua explains to me that I need to lay low for a while, so I get signed up for shifts in the Nook as a hostess and I’m honestly happy I don’t have to get back to my usual work. I don’t think I would be able to work with another client so soon.

I spend a lot of time with Elisa and the kids. I volunteer to babysit as much as possible, and when Riley asks about Shawn my heart breaks every time. I tell her she’ll meet him again soon, and I hate myself for lying to a kid, but I guess these lies are making me feel better as well. Playing with the thought of seeing him again occurs to me often and it’s soothing to think about possible alternative universes where we are still seeing each other.

But no matter what I do, how hard I’m trying to keep myself occupied nothing really eases the numbing pain I constantly feel in my chest. I spend all my freetime in my room, mostly sleeping, because this is the only time I can avoid thinking about Shawn, but sometime my brain finds a way to torture me in my dreams too, because I often wake up in the middle of the night looking for him besides me only to find no one in bed with me. I usually can’t fall back to sleep when this happens so I just lie in bed awake, staring at the ceiling until the Sun comes up.

The money gets transferred to me on Monday, after we parted and in the following days I do what I’ve been doing for months. I transfer almost the whole amount to different accounts that belong to people that I owe to. When I finish I have just the right amount of money to get through the month, but at least I have the thought that I took a huge step closer to my freedom with this money as I was able to pay back a lot more than I usually am capable of.

It’s the third week now and I’m somehow feeling more… normal. Everyday things don’t take as much effort as they did in the past weeks. I’m on my way to the Nook for my night shift, Elisa is with her client tonight and I’m just hoping Josie is in tonight so I can hang out with her in my breaks.

The dim lighting and loud music with a chest banging bass feels like the best place on Earth tonight. I woke up a bit dizzy today, felt like I was about to throw up, but I’m pretty sure it’s because I ate a whole pack of salty crackers before going to be and my stomach just couldn’t deal with it properly. But now I’m all good.

I put my stuff down and get changed before sitting in front of my mirror to put on some more makeup and my black pixie cut wig that helps me keep my identity hidden and no one recognizes me as Shawn’s mystery girlfriend, who is by the way very much missed lately.

Yes, I kind of got obsessed with reading gossip sites since we parted our ways, I’m very ashamed of it, but I couldn’t resist. We went from one hundred to zero pretty quickly and I needed a daily dose of info about him to keep me sane, this is when I started browsing these sites and searched for his name. I read articles about him, saw paparazzi photos of him and the guys leaving places, he apparently spent a lot of time with them after our split and I checked his social media profiles regularly. Every time I saw a new post from him my heart started racing and stared at the photos he posted for an hour at least. I’m not proud of the way I’ve been acting, but I think I’ve been doing better in the past couple days and I can actually see a time when I’m not thinking about him for an entire day.

“Honey! I didn’t know you’d be in tonight!”

Josie’s chirpy voice snaps me out of my thoughts as I see her in the mirror, standing behind me in her neon pink dress that she paired with blue thigh high boots and a pearly necklace. Honestly, I have no idea where she gets these stuff.

I smile at her putting the eye-pencil down and turning around I get up to give her a hug.

“Hi J, I’m glad to see you.”

“You are looking better tonight, Sweetheart. How are you?” She gives me a knowing look and I just shrug my shoulders.

After the Assembly I stayed for half a shift at the club, but I wasn’t feeling too good. Josie found me crying in the bathroom and I told her everything. She listened to me whine about how much I’m missing Shawn and that I don’t think I’ll ever love someone the way I love him. I cried for long minutes choking on the words and cursing myself for being so stupid. When I was finally breathing somehow normally Josie gave me the best pep-talk of history. She didn’t try to tell me to just forget about it and stop thinking about him, because it’s obviously the shittiest thing to say. She sat with me on the floor and told me:

“I know how much it hurts. It will hurt, for a long time, but you are strong enough to put up with it. Breaking doesn’t mean you will never feel better, it’s just a temporary thing now. Cry for as long as you want, scream or shout, whatever makes you feel better, but also be patient with yourself. You will get through this and if in weeks you still feel like you can’t get over him, we will figure something out. But time can heal everything and I believe you’ll feel better soon.”

She covered for me for another hour until I somehow covered my puffy eyes and stopped crying. I knew she was right and I just did what she told and I decided to be patient with myself. Three weeks into my No-Shawn life and I’m starting to feel better, just like she told me I would.

“I’m doing okay,” I say as I let go of her and she fixes my wig a bit giving me a proud smile.

“Good. You look stunning, I’m sure you’ll break some hearts tonight.” She winks at me giving my arm a squeeze.

Half an hour later I’m out with my best fake smile as I serve cocktails to a group of men sitting in the VIP section in their expensive suits. I let my mind go blank, I only focus on the music that’s blasting through the place and when I’m not talking to a guest I’m just staring at the stage, watching the girls perform.

It’s around 1 am when the suited men order fruit flavored shots and I walk over to the bar. The bartender places ten shots on a tray and the deep red liquors dance in the small glasses as I’m walking over to their table. When no one is watching I lean closer and sniff at one of the glasses. I love the sweet smell of the syrup we use to make these shots, but this time, when the smell hits my nose my stomach takes a double flip.

I stop for a moment as I feel like I’m about to throw up. The tray almost loses balance on my hand but I quickly recover and catch it from falling. I close my eyes for a moment taking a deep breath as I feel my stomach growl in disagreement.

I serve the shots and rush to the back as fast as possible. As I’m on my way to the bathroom Josie steps out one of the dressing rooms.

“Honey, everything alright?” she asks, but I just shake my head and run past her, right into the bathroom where I barely reach a toilet before throwing up.

I hear Josie coming in and a moment later two hands reach for my wig and she is keeping the hair out of my face while I put everything out from me. When it seems like I’m done she disappears for a moment only to return with a glass of water and some paper towels in her hands.

“Thanks,” I choke out wiping my mouth and flushing the toilet.

“What happened?” she asks with concern all over her face. I’m sweating and I need a few more seconds before I find my voice.

“I don’t know. I smelled one of those fruity shots and just… lost it,” I breathe out still panting a bit.

“Have you been feeling nauseous?”

“In the morning yeah, but I didn’t throw up. I thought I just ate too much crackers before going to bed.” I finally get up from the floor and walk to the sink to wash my hands and mouth. My throat is burning and just the thought of throwing up makes me want to vomit again, but I keep it under control this time.

“Honey, I hate to ask this but… did you use protection with him?”

I freeze the moment these words leave her mouth. She is standing behind me, the water is still running from the tap as I lock eyes with her through the mirror. My stomach drops and my heart starts beating crazily as my thoughts drift back to Paris.

He did not use a condom, because I told him not to. Because I told him I would get a morning after pill, which I had in my purse, but with everything happening between and around us… it slipped my mind. Therefore, we had unprotected sex and I forgot to take the pill afterwards, meaning…

Meaning I now have a chance of being pregnant.

 My hands are shaking, I feel like I’m about to throw up again but I’m ready to swallow it back as my unsteady fingers flip through my small calendar I usually keep with me. Josie is standing right behind me as we are standing in the corner of the room, girls are chattering happily in the back not even knowing what is going on here.

When I finally find the right month I look for the red marks, I’m clinging onto the last straws of hope, but when I find them, I almost start crying.

I mark the days when I should start my period with empty circles and then when I actually get it I usually just fill them in so I know which day is the first of my cycle. The damn circles are staring back at me from the previous week, meaning I should have gotten my period eight days ago. Sometimes I’m late, but only with maximum two days. Never eight. Never.

“Is that what I think it is?” Josie whispers and I can’t speak right now, I just nod my head. I close the calendar and show it back to my bag turning to Josie as I feel like I’m on the verge of a mental breakdown.

“What do I do now?” I ask with wide eyes. The thought of being pregnant is so foreign me at this moment and I think my mind hasn’t really processed what this means.

“You have to make a test or go to the doctor. Being late can mean a lot, maybe it’s just the stress.”

I nod my head think about it. She is right, I’ve had some pretty stressful weeks behind me, it wouldn’t be surprising if my hormones were all over the place and make my period late somehow.

Josie tries to convince me to tell Joshua that I’m not feeling well, which is true, but I choose to finish my shift. When I get off at three am I’m already a mental wreck, but there I have to face some more waiting since nothing is open at this time.

When I arrive home Elisa is sleeping in her room, she has a morning class tomorrow. I take a quick shower, put on some clean pj’s and crawl into bed with my phone. I open the contacts and I start scrolling down until my finger lingers through a name. The urge to call Shawn is tempting, I almost press on the button, but not even knowing what I would tell him I lock the phone and put it to my nightstand. I can’t talk to him until I find out for sure.

For my biggest surprise I sleep pretty okay. I set an alarm last night so I can go to the pharmacy in time to get a pregnancy test and do it while Elisa is in school. I keep my cool as I run to the nearest pharmacy and try to look as unbothered as possible when I pay for the test. I hide the box in my bag and I’m dying to finally get back home and take it.

   Time has never went by slower than at this moment as I’m sitting on the floor of our small and messy bathroom. I watch as the numbers change on my phone’s screen and I almost start thinking time has stopped, but I know it’s just in my mind.

I turn my head trying to make myself busy, so I pick up a set of false lashes from next to the bathtub and hold it up in front of my face. It can be mine, but I think it’s Elisa’s. It’s longer than what I usually use. Setting it to the edge of the tub I stare at it as if I’m waiting for it to start talking to me and tell its story. Waiting is really making me go crazy.

I stand up, carefully not looking at the stick at the edge of the sink as I throw the lashes into the small trashcan and I start sorting all the makeup products that are everywhere. I already know what’s mine and what’s Elisa’s, we have lived together long enough to get used to each other and know what we use. I was always afraid that if I live with another woman we will start using each other’s stuff, like in the movies. I always thought it’s weird. I mean, it’s fine a few times, but not all the time. It’s not too sanitary and budget friendly. It’s better if everyone sticks to their own things. Elisa thinks the same. We are happy to help each other out if one of us runs out of lipstick, or needs a specific color of eyeshadow. But we never touch what’s not ours without asking first. I think this is one reason why we are so good together. Another one is our shared history, I guess.

I check the time and it’s the last ten seconds, finally. I take a deep breath and hold it as I watch the numbers change on the screen until it hits zero. I switch the alarm off, but I don’t do anything. I stand there like a statue, my limbs feel like rocks and I don’t have the energy to lift them up. My throat is so dry, I could drink a gallon of water at once.

I look at myself in the mirror and furrowing my eyebrows I tell myself that I can’t just ignore this. I have to find out the truth so I can carry on or… or find a solution if the result is what I was afraid of.

I blow out the breath I was holding and glance down at the stick that’s lying face down. I slowly reach for it and take it between by pointing finger and thumb. It’s now or never.

I turn it over and when I see it I forget to breathe for the longest second of history. I freeze and my eyes are glued to the two little lines on the stick that means one thing. The one thing I was so worried and the one thing that is now freaking me out to the point where I feel like I’m about to pass out.

I’m pregnant and I have no idea how I’m going to deal with this situation. I’m twenty-one, practically a child myself, I can’t take care of a baby, not with the way I’ve lived in the past two years, it’s impossible. I can’t do this alone and even if Elisa helps me out it’s still not enough. I have only one choice, the person I never thought I would see again and I promised not to think about ever, but I have no choice. I wasn’t alone when this baby conceived and as much as I would love to figure it out on my own, he deserves to know.

I wipe away the warm tears from my cheeks and reach for my phone, still holding the pregnancy test in my hands. Opening my contacts I scroll down and I stop at his name. Biting into my bottom lip my thumb linger over it as I hesitate and try to think about what I want to tell him. But I slowly realize that it’s not something I should tell over the phone, so instead of calling I open a new message.

To: Shawn Mendes Hey. Can we meet? We need to talk about something.

I press send before I can change my mind and I finally walk out of the bathroom. I walk through our small, but cozy living room and don’t stop until I’m in my room. First, I hide the test into one of my drawers and then I check the time. Elisa will be home in an hour from her class to get ready for work, there is no way I can face her right now, so I better not be here. As I’m gathering a few stuff my phone buzzes from a new message. It’s from him.

From: Shawn Mendes Somewhere private or do you want to have drink somewhere?

I could use a drink right now, but then I realize, I won’t taste any alcohol in the upcoming months. And a private place would be the most ideal for this conversation.

To: Shawn Mendes Can we meet at your place?

His reply arrives a few seconds later.

From: Shawn Mendes I’ll send a car for you. Where do you want it to go?

I text him to pick me up at the usual spot at the café and he assures me that a car will be there to pick me up in thirty minutes. Perfect, this way I won’t meet Elisa. I grab my bag, put everything I think I need in it and leave the place, but before I could step out, I stop at the mirror that’s right next to our front door. I see myself in an entirely different way than how I did when I arrived home, though I was already suspicious back then. But now I know that somewhere under my oversized black sweater there is a baby in my stomach. I’m not alone anymore, not even when there is no one around me.

I slide my hand under my sweater and touch my lower belly, but I don’t feel anything yet it’s so different. Nothing will be the same from now on and it frightens me so much I can’t even describe.

I shake my head, fix my clothes and switch the lights off before leaving to meet the father of my unborn child, Shawn Mendes.

-

taglist:  @damnigotadime @jrock-1987 @dacutiehart @ricchhelle @shar-is-my-name

[xxxdragonfucker69xxx]

Imaginary Cartography

Cities, like dreams, are made of desires and fears, even if the thread of their discourse is secret, their rules are absurd, their perspectives deceitful, and everything conceals something else.

-Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities

'Is it not worthy of tears,' Alexander said, 'that when the number of worlds is infinite, we have yet to become masters of a single one?'

-Plutarch, Moralia

Close your eyes. There, in the landscape beyond the darkness, under strange stars, a caravan of travelers rests around a campfire in the desert. You have caught them just in the moment as they pass between cities, in the space which is meaningless without a name or a mayor. The mendicant has just finished speaking of Caducine, the city of her birth, and now the soldier will tell us how he wishes to find love in Radadesh.

Imaginary Cartography is a road trip between cities that do not yet exist. Each player plays a wanderer, a traveler in the same caravan as the others. Each traveler has their own goal, something they are looking for in a city. As they travel between cities, the travelers will talk about that city, telling the stories they have heard, constructing it in their minds; almost inevitably, they will leave the city disappointed, looking to the next city. The game of Imaginary Cartography is the act of telling those stories.

Before the game you should assemble a map with geography but no political boundaries, either of the real world or created in a mapmaker program, etc. You will map your journey onto this map. A game is split into several chapters, with each chapter separated by an interlude in that city. A chapter consists of several scenes over the course of several days. At the beginning of each scene, whichever traveler spoke last must request this of another: "Tell us about the city to come." Then that traveler will oblige and speak about the city they are fast approaching. This repeats until every traveler has had a chance to speak, and then they reach the city, marking it on the map. A city is never narrated; at most, the travelers express their delights and disappointments when they have left it, or reference it when they speak of other cities. Each city is dictated according to a theme from the list below:

Cities & Memory

Cities & Desire

Cities & Signs

Thin Cities

Trading Cities

Cities & Eyes

Cities & Names

Cities & the Dead

Cities & the Sky

Continuous Cities

Hidden Cities

There are several different types of traveler, and each class is qualified to speak about a different aspect of the city's life. They and they alone hold the final authority in that matter; another traveler may interject to ask whether such and such is true, but it is the speaker that may say 'It is not so,' or 'Yes, and furthermore...' If there is debate about whether a matter is within someone's sphere, authority defaults to the current speaker. For example:

The Noble is traveling for pleasure, or else for diplomacy; there is a deal they must strike or a hand they must kiss in some distant land. They know all about high culture and higher society.

The Workman is looking for work that will suit them, drawn onward by promises of prosperity. They know all about the common man, the tinker and tailor, and about the crafts they produce.

The Scholar is looking to verify a theory, or else to produce one; there is some idea they have, yet unformed, that they wish to solidify. They know all about the history of the city, its architecture and its academia. If ghost stories abound, they are also qualified to comment.

The Soldier was hired to protect the caravan, maybe, but really they're running from something. Why else would someone with such valuable skills be out here in the middle of nowhere? They are familiar with the arts of belligerence and violence, with all the unsavory things people do to each other.

The Pilgrim is seeking an article of faith, whether religious or otherwise: there is something they believe in, or wish to believe in, and they are looking to confirm it with their own eyes and their own heart. They are familiar with the virtues of a city, of what it holds highest or dearest to its heart.

The Lawman goes from city to city righting wrongs and dispensing justice; their duty is in fact to revolve their circuit endlessly, but their aim is to be promoted to a local judge by resolving some great crime. They are familiar with all matters of the law and governance.

The Scoundrel is up to no good: a drunkard, lecher, and probable thief. They want to indulge in mischief or vice; but what they are really looking for is something that will fulfill them. They are familiar with everything shocking: grisly murders, ribald tales, and ghost stories.

The Child is, well, a child; one of the other wanderers is their guardian, and their only wish is to remain close to that guardian. They alone may speak on whatever subject they want, but the other wanderers are advised that these are flights of innocent fancy, and may choose to accept or disregard them as they please.

No wanderer's goal is ever within their own sphere, of course, or they would have attained it long ago. With that said, once a city has been constructed and arrived at, each traveler may decide for themselves whether they have attained their goal. If they have, they remain in that city, and a new wanderer joins the group as they leave. Only once a city is constructed to fulfill every heart's desire can the game truly end; nevertheless, once every traveler in the original caravan has left for a city, it is considered a new game, and you may choose to postpone its beginning indefinitely.

Perhaps I am afraid of losing Venice all at once, if I speak of it, or perhaps, speaking of other cities, I have already lost it, little by little.

continuing my grand tradition of ridiculous intros

i dont know if it was homestuck or what that put the love of significant initials into me

i could go on forever about wanderers but (also i misspelled it as wonderers a couple times and that was something)

you ever read the canterbury tales? some fuck shit in the canterbury tales

[etraytin]

favorite cj/danny headcannons?

Okay, I admit, this one is jumping the queue because I want to write about CJ and Danny today. I am a capricious yet benevolent bestower of headcanons, what can I say? 

Danny started following CJ around on the campaign trail for the first campaign, but she never gavve him the time of day. She was way, way too busy establishing her bona fides as somebody who could be respected as a mouthpiece for the campaign, and doing anything with even the most charming of reporters would've torpedoed that immediately (Also Danny was not exactly the most charming of reporters, tbh, though he did have a certain offbeat something about him.) Danny had more access than most to the campaign because he was writing Abbey's biography and he was willing to listen to large quantities of trivia from Governor Bartlet, but at the end of the day, he was still a reporter and still an opponent. But man, was he tenacious!

CJ came the closest she ever did to giving in and dating Danny when he came back at Christmastime in the Santa outfit. Things had been hard for such a long time, and though she wasn't actively grieving Simon anymore, she still spent a lot of time thinking about what might have been if she hadn't wasted time on wondering what other people would think. Old CJ would never have kissed even Santa-Danny on the press podium, but she'd had a lot of time to think about what she wanted. Unfortunately, Danny had ulterior motives in mind when he came back to the White House, and within hours they were more on opposite sides of a line than they had ever been before. (I actually wrote a fic about this particular moment, check out In Sin and Error Pining.) By the time the whole mess with Shareef was finished and aired out, CJ had put her reputation and her job on the line to preserve her own integrity and leak the story to Danny. By that point their relationship was hopelessly tangled between the personal and professional and there was just no way through it for either of them.

Danny did keep in touch with CJ sporadically during his time away from the White House. Sometimes it was useful work stuff, tipping her off to something she might want to keep an eye on that he'd noticed in his travels. Sometimes it was silly stuff, a video of baby flamingos or an article about how redheaded men make better lovers. And sometimes it was just a few lines of text about what he was doing lately, and that he was thinking of her. CJ rarely replied; she had good intentions but never knew what to say, and an email postponed is an email unsent in her busy inbox. Occasionally she did though, sending him a clipping of the reviews of his latest book or a picture of Gail, or a harmless story of something that had happened in the White House. It wasn't a lot, but it was something.

Danny emailed CJ during the MS scandal, after the debacle with "relieved" in the press room. He told her not to quit, and though she had no idea how he was so sure she was considering it, she took his words under advisement.

CJ didn't meet Danny's family in person until after the administration, but she got a deluge of phone calls and emails basically the moment Danny said he was dating somebody at Christmas that year. Nobody else in Danny's family had much interest in politics, so CJ being Chief of Staff was much less intimidating to them than it might have been to others. Margaret had to develop a very sophisticated call-screening process to avoid offending anybody while still letting CJ do her work and keep her sanity. By the time CJ actually met the whole family, it was no surprise at all to see how similar they all were to Danny in both looks and personality.

After the end of the administration, Danny doesn't pick up a steady gig for awhile. He's got a book contract and another couple of ideas kicking around, and he sends in columns from time to time to keep his hand in, but he's got other responsibilities to deal with. CJ is his full-time job for the first little while, until she finally breaks the surface of exhaustion and burnout enough to notice his subtle hovering and wave him off. Once she starts with the Hollis Foundation he devotes more of his time to writing again, something that isn't quite as exciting as political reporting, but is much better for his blood pressure and his relationship. As a side benefit, writing a Bartlet biography gives them plenty of reasons to visit New Hampshire and let CJ continue the slow process of rehabilitating herself after a decade in the most intense and painful levels of national politics.

Although Danny basically proposed the night he told CJ they should think about jumping off a cliff together, it's nearly eighteen months into the Santos era before he coughs up a ring and pushes his courage to the sticking point. Even for him, maybe especially for him, it's hard to know how CJ will react to certain things. He keeps it private on their own veranda, just in case he's misread the situation, but as it turns out, her first question is "What the hell took you so long?" which of course starts another playful argument. Eventually they double back around to the part where she actually says yes and they get the long romantic kiss and glasses of champagne.

The talk about kids is a little weird because neither CJ or Danny are quite sure whether or not they actually want one, but it feels like a conversation that should be had quickly or never, given their ages. Danny puckishly suggests just leaving it up to chance like all the best Catholics do, and CJ laughs and agrees, figuring that at her age, nothing at all is likely to happen. She throws up for the first time in an early-morning board meeting three months later. They both decide that God is obviously some kind of comedian, but both find themselves warming to the idea of parenthood quickly. Neither of them would've ever been in the position to parent at any earlier time in their lives, but right now it actually seems doable. It's not a great pregnancy and it ends precipitously a couple of weeks early with an emergency C-section, but CJ and the baby both come out okay. The kid, a girl, is named Josephine because Josiah is a little weird for a girl's name.

CJ is absolutely done with politics after her stint in the White House (or so she claims) but Danny's fascination is lifelong. After the Bartlet biography he starts writing the story of the Bartlet presidency, using his wife as his best resource. Her friends are also quite helpful, especially after a few drinks. The Cregg-Concannon family settled on a spacious home just outside Santa Monica and often invite friends to visit from all over the country. This is especially easy during the winter months, because most of their friends still live in DC, which is terrible. CJ takes trips to various African countries and Danny goes on a couple of book tours, but for the most part they are homebodies, enjoying the chance to stay in one place most of the time. It's nice to be able to make that choice, very peaceful. When Josh and Donna get out of the White House, with Josh just about as burnt out as CJ ever was, their first stop is in California to get some advice on how to live like real people again. CJ and Danny are happy to give it.

[lemonsandstrawberries]

The Pitted Olive, part 2

fandom: Stony (Steve x Tony)

universe: Draq Queen!AU (Tony Stark as a drag queen)

summary: Steve gets the courage to ask Red Velvet to meet with him and finally sees the man under all that makeup.

length: 3 240 words

disclaimer: this fic is written strictly for entertainment. I am not a specialist on drag and my whole knowledge comes from mainstream media. if there is something you will find incorrect or offensive in any way, there is always an option to contact me and politely voice your thoughts instead of flaming. thanks! expect references to Ru Paul’s Drag Race.

a/n: so, after over a month, here is part two. still a work in progress, but for sure there will be more chapters. likes, feedbacks and reblogs are welcomed and needed! hope you will enjoy it!

——————–

The Pitted Olive, part 2 

(part 1, part 2, part 3)

Steve was sitting with opened, alert eyes. He was trying to calm down his pounding heart and pull himself together, but his body didn't listen. As sad as it sounded, Steve was slowly getting used to living in stress. It didn't mean, that he was any better at controlling and dealing with it.

He closed his eyes, breathing in the invigorating smell of coffee and maple syrup. It was early afternoon, and he was sat in an unknown diner, at the counter, waiting. 

Waiting for Red Velvet.

It was a moronic move on his part and he still couldn't believe that he did that. Scratch that, he couldn't believe that Red Velvet actually agreed to meet with him. He closed his eyes going back once more to that moment.

"See you later!"

"Bye, Sam!"

Steve waved to his friend, walking out of the Olive. It was chilly outside, and he put his collar up, needing to rush back home. Staying up late on a work day was never a good idea, especially if you had a morning shift the next day, but it was so worth it. Red Velvet performed twice per week, sometimes three, and Steve never missed a show. Sometimes he felt that he was living from one show to the other, and maybe it sounded pathetic, but it gave him something to look forward to. It was dark outside, and street lamps illuminated his way when his eyes stopped on a person in the alley and he almost walked into the nearest street pole out of sheer surprise.

It was Red Velvet.

She had a long coat pulled over herself, yet he saw the red sequins of her dress sparkling in the dim New York evening glow. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold and she held a cigarette between her lips, the tip glowing with orange and smoke spiraling out of it. She looked as in hurry, like a teenager trying to smoke before someone would catch her.

CLANG!

And so Steve collided with a street pole.

In his dazed state, he heard a small, high pitched giggle, changing into a concerned "are you okay?"

Rubbing his forehead, Steve looked at the woman, blinking rapidly. Maybe it was still the shock from bumping his head, but Red Velvet suddenly seemed bigger. And closer. And touched his forehead.

She touched his forehead.

"Hm, that might leave a bump," she said gently, examining the damage, and Steve's heart did a flip when he noticed that she was towering over him, and dang, that didn't set his mind on fire. He smelled her perfume and felt her warm hands and smooth skin and it easily marked as one of the best moments in his life. Red Velvet took another swig of the cigarette and blew the smoke, her red lips forming a perfect o shape as she turned her head away to not fog Steve. "Better press something cold to it, once you get home."

Steve nodded, feeling breathless. He was completely stunned.

Red Velvet looked at the stranger with some sort of amusement. Like if she knew why Steve was so quiet and took pleasure in it. She took another swig, almost finishing and made a step back. "Maybe you should order a taxi. It's better to not drink and drive," she said as she began walking away.

"I would never do that."

Steve immediately bit his tongue. That was what made him talk? Not her tenderness, her concern, her being next to him, but an offset reminder about road safety rules?

Red Velvet's lips twitched into a brief smile at the answer. She turned around, her long black hair swooping with the movement. "Glad to hear that."

"Um, can I ask you something?" Steve blabbed out, feeling that if he won't take this opportunity, he would regret forever.

Red Velvet tilted her head to the side gently, looking amused again. "Sure," she murmured in a low voice which sent delightful shivers down Steve's spine.

"Can I --- Can I ask you out?" Steve said in one breath, and wow, that didn't come out awkward at all. "For a coffee?"

There was a pause. Red Velvet raised her shapely eyebrows and looked at the entrance to the club, and Steve felt a note of panic, thinking that she was searching for the bodyguard. Of course, he probably wasn't the first one to chase after her.

"I am sorry, sugar, dating is not good for the business," she said, spotting the bodyguard and making a move to call him over. Just in case if things got ugly.

"Not a date," Steve said quickly. Red Velvet lowered her arm, although the move already attracted bodyguard's attention who pointed his eyes at them. For the moment, he chose to stay at the entrance until Red Velvet would call him over. "I am sorry, that came out wrong," he said, putting words together as he talked, "I a journalist and I am writing an article about the nightlife of New York and wanted to do a column on this bar. If I could interview you, that would help me a lot."

Red Velvet, smacked her lips together with a wet sound, sending Steve a calculating look, as if not buying the story at all. He started to lose hope when he still didn't get an answer when Red Velvet opened her mouth.

"For what paper are you working?"

Oh, shit.

"Entertainment Hour," Steve answered quickly, trying to make his voice sound steady, as he remembered the title of one of the gossip magazines with the most colorful covers, standing out on the background of grey newspapers.

"A-ha," Red Velvet said in a monotone, seemingly not finding it impressive at all. It wasn't the most respected magazine in the city.

"Did I say Entertainment Hour?" Steve backtracked, feeling that he made a mistake. "I meant New York Weekly," he said, having in mind one of the grey newspapers this time.

"Oh," Red Velvet face smoothened. Seemed she approved more of a reliable news source than colorful magazines.

"Sorry," Steve apologized again, "I used to work for Entertainment Hour, but then I quit. Didn't approve of their work policy," he continued to lie, feeling more sure of himself when Red Velvet nodded to his words.

"I should still talk this through with the club manager…" Red Velvet said, twirling a strand of silky black hair between her fingers and looking back at the club entrance. The bodyguard didn't let his eyes off them even for a second and Steve gulped nervously waiting for the verdict.

"What the heck," Red Velvet looked back at him and smiled gently. "Let's meet. But I will choose the place."

"Of course," Steve immediately agreed, relieved that his plan worked. He watched Red Velvet take another swig and finish the cigarette.

"Two blocks away from here is a small diner, called Phil's Place. Let meet there at noon, next Wednesday. Okay?"

"Yeah," Steve nodded, holding back a victory dance. Not the time yet.

"Do you have a business card?" she asked and crap. The victory dance should be postponed for much later.

"I actually didn't receive one yet," he lied again, surprised how smoothly it came out of his mouth, "just started working there. But I am Steve Rogers."

"Steve Rogers," Red Velvet repeated and Steve's knees almost bent. He didn't mind his name, considering it quite ordinary and plain, but Red Velvet made it sound charming and mysterious. Probably because she was charming and mysterious. "I will meet you there, Steve Rogers," she said with a small smile, and walked away, round hips swaying with every move and heels making gentle click sounds on the pavement.

Steve watched mesmerized, totally forgetting his tongue. She was already too far away to call his goodbye, and the bodyguard still looked at him, stoic and focused, as if daring him to make one step after her and not hesitating to pound him into the ground if he did. So, Steve turned away, trying to contain his joy and emotions, until he was at a safe distance and had to sit on the ground for a few seconds to process what had just happened.

He had a date. A meeting. A faked interview.

With Red Velvet.

With Red Velvet.

And that's how he ended here. Waiting and growing more nervous. Red Velvet agreed to meet with him, but there was no guarantee that she would show up. He only hoped he didn't appear creepy to her and she agreed just to get rid of him. That won't make things awkward at all.

"Hi. Double espresso, no sugar, please. And for you?"

Steve opened his eyes. The voice was deeper and less husked out, but he recognized the intonation. He snapped his head to the side, eyes widening. She came---

She?

Next to him, was standing a guy, looking back at him. Steve never saw him before. He looked casual and smart, in a fitted steel gray jacket and dark blue t-shirt underneath with a v-shaped neckline, pants matching the jacket and sneakers which gave the whole set a sporty look. He was tanned and had a dark goatee in a style Steve never saw before, and brown hair with a jagged top. But it wasn't until the moment when the stranger took off his sunglasses, showing eyes in the warmest shade of brown, like melted chocolate. He might look different, but it was the shape of the eyes that made Steve sure.

"See, this is my favorite moment," the not so stranger grinned, putting the sunglasses into the breast pocket of the jacket. "The realization. I will take my coffee at my booth," he turned to the blond waitress behind the bar, "anything for you?" he turned back to Steve, "they have really good pastrami sandwiches."

Steve only blinked.

"He will take the pastrami sandwich. And give him a refill, please," he turned back to the waitress, moving from the bar area and taking Steve's wrist to guide him. Steve followed, completely stunned. Hips swaying. Round butt. There was no mistake.

They both sat on the facing sides of the table in a booth, and the guy kept looking at Steve. The same sort of amusement he knew so well.

"You are Steve Rogers, right?" the guy asked, growing weary of the silence. "Please don't tell me I made a mistake and just grabbed a random stranger."

Okay, time to snap out of it.

"It is me," Steve said, blinking more rapidly. "Steve. That's me."

The guy smiled. It was a wider smile than the one he used to see on Red Velvet's face, showing some laugh lines. Maybe that's why Red Velvet's smile was subtler.

"Good to know," he said, "thanks, Beth."

Steve was taken by surprise, when a pastrami sandwich and a glass of orange juice appeared in front of him, while the guy received a small cup of strong coffee and a glass of water. The sandwich looked and smelled delicious, with coleslaw and pink pastrami neatly stacked inside on a thin layer of yellow mustard and a side of cut gherkin, yet he still kept staring at the guy in front of him.

"Are you sure you don't want to eat anything?" the blond waitress, Beth, asked looking at the man with some kind of worry.

"I am sure, you know I don't eat before the show," he replied with a carefree smile.

"That can't be good for you, Tony."

The conversation continued, and there was some scolding and deflecting the reasonable arguments, but Steve spaced out again. Tony. Tony and Red Velvet. Red Velvet was tall, had long dark hair, and milky white skin and icy blue eyes. Tony was more or less Steve's height, had short brown hair, tanned skin, and warm, brown eyes.

He wasn't only a stunningly attractive female, but a crazy handsome male. Steve couldn't wrap his head around that.

"Sorry if this isn't what you expected," Tony turned to him, when Beth was gone, losing the battle over if Tony should or should not eat, and Steve blinked in confusion. Expecting what? The mouthwatering sandwich or the mouthwatering man in front of him?

"I don't go in drag during the daytime," Tony continued, and Steve noticed he lowered his voice a bit, "I don't think I am ready for that yet."

"Oh," Steve said, nodding in understanding. "It is fine," there wasn't anything else he could say to that.

"Good," the guy smiled. "Let's start this again. I am Tony Stark," he said, extending his hand to Steve and Steve shook it. Softest hands ever. "But I would prefer if you didn't mention my name."

Steve blinked again, already repeating Tony's name in his mind over one thousand times, wanting to remember it forever. Wanting to remember the person forever.

"Why?" he asked, fearing that their meeting would end while it just started, and the word came out sadder than he planned.

"In the interview," Tony smiled again, and Steve felt like something slapped him in the face. Right! He got so busy with looking and admiring, he completely forgot about the fake part of the meeting.

"Of course," Steve said quickly. "I will use your stage name," he assured and Tony nodded, taking a sip of his coffee.

"So… what do you want to know?"

Everything. Except he couldn't say that. Steve put a hand into his pocket and took out a small sketchbook he used to carry with himself, where he scribbled some questions in earlier and to make notes.

Tony eyed his set with amusement. "Oh, an old-school journalist," he laughed gently, leaning into his seat, and Steve couldn't see it, but by the movement, he was sure that Tony crossed his legs for a more comfortable position. "I don't see that often anymore."

Steve gave a fake laugh, feeling hot under his collar. He should have forked out some cash for a dictaphone, but honestly, it slipped his mind. Who would have thought that being a fake journalist was such a tough job?

"If you are ready, we can start now."

Tony gulped down the coffee and reached for the water. "Go ahead."

The interview started a bit stiff, but it was all on Steve's part, who couldn't shake off his nervousness. Tony was open and relaxed, answering the questions the best he could, why still keeping some mystery aura around himself. Steve found out, that Tony's love for drag came out from love for fashion and makeup and how it was considered a forbidden fruit in the environment he was growing up, with a strict father and a loving mother. His father planted in Tony a love for engineering and cars and machines, while he used his mother's vast wardrobe and makeup supplies, and the first time he tried on high heels was a magical experience, even if a second later he face planted into the floor as he had tripped himself over. It was tough to find a balance between his male and female side. He never came out to his parents and then, when he turned twenty, he was deprived of the occasion by a careless driver and a head-on collision with his parents' car, left with regret and unknown. And then he found a new family. A family that supported him, taught him tricks of the trade and polished his makeup skills and sense of taste, and out of it all, a new person was born, the part Tony tried to suppress for years. Red Velvet came into existence.

"You are performing drag for how many years?" Steve asked, scribbling intensely in his sketchbook. His hand was starting to hurt, but it would look suspicious if he suddenly would stop making notes.

Tony smiled, a cheeky little smile, "a woman never gives her age," he answered smoothly, "but I am something some would call a seasoned queen."

Oh, that reminded him. "What kind of drag queen would you describe yourself?"

"Ummm," Tony thought for a bit, blowing a raspberry with his mouth. "I personally don't like the term, but I guess I fall into a category of a fish drag."

Steve stopped writing. Did he hear right? "Um, sorry, fish?"

"Fish," Tony confirmed with a grin. "It means that I try to look as much as I can as an authentic woman," Steve nodded, experiencing that first-hand, "it is kinda weird, seeing that my mother was a camp queen."

"Your mother?"

"Drag mother," Tony's smile dimmed into something warmer. "Man, she is terrible."

"What?" Steve asked, not able to control the smile. The comment contrasted so much with the fond smile.

"She was always brutally honest towards me. When I was growing up my dad said to me 'they say sarcasm is a metric for potential, if that's true, you'll be a great man someday', but she brought it a whole new level. She had a softer side too, but not many know about it. And had the biggest smile and the biggest fake eyelashes I ever saw. She taught me how to take care of wigs."

"Sounds great," Steve said, liking the fond tone of voice Tony was using. It had to be great memories.

"Baloney!" Tony gruffed out suddenly, and Steve's shoulders jumped at the harsh tone. "Sorry," Tony giggled, back to his own voice, "that's what she used to yell at me whenever I was trying to be smarter than her."

Steve laughed in relief. He liked this side of Tony. He was feeling they were getting somewhere when Tony looked at the clock and clicked his tongue.

"Well, that was fun, but I have to skedaddle," he said, reaching into his pocket. "I have a show tonight and need to get prepared."

Steve frowned, of course, knowing that. "But it is just 3 pm," he said, not wanting Tony to leave yet. The show was supposed to start in six hours.

"Yeah, but I need time to get in drag. Told you, I am a fishy queen," Tony hummed, taking out his wallet.

"No, please," Steve rushed in, and Tony paused. "Please let me pay. You found time for me, this is the least I can do."

Tony's lips twitched into a little smile. "Alright, thanks. So, I guess I will see you around? I hope you will let me know before the interview will be posted, I'd like to take a look at it before printing."

"Sure," Steve lied, standing up. They said their goodbyes and he watched Tony leave, just to see him as Red Velvet this evening. Or…

"Tony!"

"Yeah?" Tony stopped and turned around.

"Can--- can I come with you? For, you know, interview purpose?"

Tony narrowed his eyes a bit and Steve tried to not crumble under the look. That was a ballsy move on his part. But wasn't everything he did today out of his comfort zone?

"Sure," Tony finally said and motioned for Steve to follow him. "Just don't write down all of my tricks, some things should remain a mystery."

"Okay!" Steve called, way too enthusiastic than he planned to and left some bills on the table, gaining on the brunet, his heart pounding with excitement.

Watching Tony transforming into Red Velvet… That was something Steve didn't know he needed in his life, but he couldn't wait to see it.

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[cardioclear7care]

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[sofacleaningwaterlooville]

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We only got a brand new sofa, and I am absolutely devoted to keeping this one properly. Despite having two children, who're especially keen on bouncing, I want this sofa to place some time in. So I'm willing to place my time in to provide it a hand Sofa cleaning Waterlooville .

Our last one was vile. In the end it had been uncomfortable and I'm pretty sure it had been dust holding it together, as opposed to its structure. It'd served its purpose far more than I was expecting it to, so I should speak ill of it!

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