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bffsoobin · 4 years ago

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This Time Around

➤ idol!yeonjun x non!idol/ex!girlfriend reader ft. same reader x jungkook (mostly platonic), fluff, angst, lots of messy feelings, other txt members make appearances/are mentioned

↳ weeks after your chance reconnection with Yeonjun, you book a flight to Seoul under his encouragement. When you arrive, you’re not only overwhelmed by the lifestyle of an idol, but the new people you meet. Will you and Yeonjun be able to hold on to each other this time around?

word count: 9k

requested?: yes! (thank you for this great idea, anon)

warnings: this is largely angst. crying, arguments, swearing, feelings of betrayal and confusion, Yeonjun is kind of an ass, self-doubt (in both Yeonjun and reader), messy feelings and relationships all around, this does NOT have a happy ending so don’t go in expecting one lmao also disclaimer (?) that I a) have no idea what the BH building looks like inside b) don’t think that either Yeonjun or Jungkook would act this way...we are here to write fiction, after all.

A/N: This is a sequel to Just One Day! I won’t be making too many explicit references to the content of that fic but reading it first will help with storyline clarity! I also don’t explicitly state this but the reader in this case already knows Korean, she just has never been to the country before- it was simply easier for storytelling. I really hope y’all like this. I was very inspired by this request especially since I was in the mood to write both angst and a sequel to one of my older pieces! (also this gave me a good excuse to write about koo without feeling bad for straying from TXT content lmao) ALSO this is not proof read or edited, as usual for me :)

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“I think it’s a good idea,” Yeonjun’s voice, velvety and heavy with sleep, seeps through the speakers of your phone. You glance at the time displayed on your computer and do the mental math which proves it’s a crisp 2 am in Korea.

“Go to bed, Junnie,” you half-scold, knowing that you wish for nothing more than for him to stay on the line until he eventually falls asleep in the middle of the conversation. He sighs through the phone, and you imagine him stretching his arms above his head to eliminate the fatigue creeping through him.

“Not till you promise me you’ll come,” he counters smartly. Your stomach flips wildly at the words. It had been almost three months since you spent the day with him, and not a single day had passed where he hadn’t been on your mind. Whether you spent your time talking to him or indulging yourself in your newfound kpop guilty pleasures, Yeonjun was almost always on your mind. Staying in touch proved to be harder than expected, due to both time zones and your equally packed schedules. Since he had flown back to Korea, you’d begun your first big girl job in a serious office that required constant business attire and piled the paperwork onto you, the newest and youngest hire.

“I’d love to, but you know how it is at work. I think my boss would combust if I told him I was taking a week’s vacation.” Talking about work made your head swim, as you recalled the stack of paperwork currently residing on your bedroom desk that needed to be finished before you showed up on Monday.

“That’s exactly why you deserve a vacation, Y/N. Look, if you fly into Seoul I promise I’ll make sure you don’t think about work for a second. I know you have time to take off, so take it. Come see me.” The line was quiet for a few seconds as you pondered, weighing your options carefully.

“I miss you,” Yeonjun’s voice came through loud and clear, crumbling the last remaining bit of your resolve. You missed him too, so much more than you ever thought you would, and your heartbeat kicks into high gear at the thought of seeing him again.

“Okay, I’ll file for my week off on Monday. I’ll see you soon, Yeonjun.”

----

When you finally arrive inside of the BigHit building, suitcase in tow and a huge visitor lanyard around your neck, your hands are sweating profusely. A kind staff member had picked you up from the airport and delivered you to the practice room that Yeonjun would presumably be inside of. The walls were soundproofed well, but you could hear the faint beat of bass through the heavy door as you hesitate in pushing it open. Another staff member passes behind you and eyes you closely until recognizing the badge hanging around your neck.

Feeling awkward for hesitating in the hallway after being seen, you push on the door until it swings open in a smooth motion. The wheels of your suitcase click over the seams of the floor, and the sound would have been enough to make you cringe if it weren’t for the pounding music.

A track you don’t recognize echos through the mirrored room as none other than Choi Yeonjun stares intently back at his own dancing reflection. You catch your own reflection; arms crossed in a protective latch over your chest.

His body moves fluidly, as if he had left all of his bones waiting for him at home, and a thrill of excited anxiety crawls through your chest. He was really there, mere feet away, and you were really here in the middle of the BigHit building, achieving the dreams of fans all over the world.

The music stops and your mouth runs dry. Yeonjun’s heaving breath is the only sound in the mirrored room and you try to drive away the thought of the last time you’d heard him pant like that; sweaty and shirtless overtop of you on your rickety secondhand couch.

“You made it.” He says, impressively able to control his voice even after the exertion.

“In one piece, at least.” You say. Your arms stay wound around your body, a protective cage against his stare and his touch. He eyes you carefully and you’re suddenly concerned that your airport-chic appearance is inadequate.

“You look pretty.” He whispers, stepping close enough that his heaving chest almost touches your crossed arms. His hands, fingers calloused and rough, wind around your wrists and tug gently, giving you plenty of time to pull back. But you let him unwind your arms and pull them to your sides. His hands are large and warm and press gently into your skin, grounding you into the room and the moment and the absurdity of the fact that you’re actually here with him in Korea.

“You bleached your hair.” You offer weakly, withering underneath his attention.

“I’m not supposed to tell, but I’m getting ready for pink.” He says. Sweat drips down his temples, meeting and rolling together in tracks down to his chin. He looks just as handsome as you remember him to be months before, but it’s hard to ignore the thinned frame of his face.

“Have you been taking care of yourself?” You ask, finally finding courage to string together a meaningful sentence.

“I’m glad you’re here.” Yeonjun leans into you, supporting himself on the tips of his toes until he’s dangerously close to toppling you both over. He levels a heavy, constant gaze on you, eyes drifting down to the surprised pout of your lips and sliding back to your eyes. In a second you know that he wants to kiss you, and there is nothing more you’d like than for that to happen, so you close your eyes and lean into him; feel the warmth of his breath and you can almost taste the salt of his sweat, but the kiss never comes. Instead, Yeonjun startles and drops his hands from you, takes one huge step back and immediately bends into a deep bow.

Your back is still facing the door, but you catch a glimpse through the mirror. Jeon Jungkook stands just inside the door, dark wavy hair tied half up in a messy bun, some loose strands framing his face. He’s wearing a t-shirt and loose sweats and rubbing fatigue from his eyes, but he’s somehow even more handsome in person. Your face flushes, desperately trying not to make eye contact with him through the mirror and knowing you failed as soon as he shoots you a small, toothy smile.

“Didn’t know you had company,” He says in lieu of a greeting as he steps just slightly closer to the two of you.

“We were just going.” Yeonjun bows again, grabs your wrist and tugs you in a persuasive manner.

“It’s okay, really.” Jungkook enthuses, eyes crinkling in apparent amusement at Yeonjun’s behavior and before you know it your face twists into a similar smile. It had been a long time since you’d seen Yeonjun so nervous, acting like he was attached to a live wire that kept him moving nonstop. “No need to rush out on my account.” Jungkook adds as Yeonjun tugs you again, leaving your suitcase abandoned in the spot you’d been standing. You open your mouth to protest.

“Wait! I don’t think that...” Jungkook looks at you pointedly as he rolls the suitcase back over to the two of you.

“Y/N.” You offer, hands sweating profusely as he passes over the luggage.

“I don’t think that Y/N would like to leave without her suitcase.” His eyes twinkle with something like an untold joke, an anecdote he wants to share but keeps in the back of his head for later. You thank him shortly, still starstruck and nervous as Yeonjun pulls you out of the door.

----

“I’m so sorry about that.” Yeonjun apologizes again as you arrive at a new door, this one in a whole new wing of the building that you would have gotten lost finding on your own.

“It’s okay, Jun. I expect to run into...o-other people.” You stutter as he opens the door, facing the realization that you were probably about to meet Yeonjun’s members too. The dorm was simpler than you expected, opening up to a lightly furnished living room that looked like it had been hastily cleaned- you could see a stack of clothes had been clumsily shoved behind the couch.

The lack of instant greetings surprises you as you follow Yeonjun blindly into the room but you don’t say anything. You kind of wish that the other four boys would come bursting out, bombard you with questions and jokes and prodding fingers as Yeonjun lets you into his room. The air is still charged from your interrupted kiss, and your fingers curl around the handle of your suitcase as you recall Jungkook’s reaction. He had clearly found it amusing, but was he more interested in teasing Yeonjun or finding out exactly who you were?

In the moment you had found his attention comical although stressful, like a funny anecdote that Yeonjun might grumble about a few weeks later. Now, you replay it over and over again, worried that every chance interaction with another idol within the building would play out exactly the same. Maybe you weren’t quite cut out for this. Yeonjun had been speaking the whole time, rattling off words you don’t catch as he opens and closes drawers.

“-is that alright?” He asks, spinning on his socked heels to face you. You freeze, trying desperately to claw through your mind for any clues to what he’d said. Yeonjun smirks, closes in on you and raises a well-kept eyebrow.

“What did I just ask you?” He asks, voice level and cool despite the teasing nature of the question.

“I-I don’t know.” You admit, a blush rises on your cheeks as his smirk pulls even larger.

“I asked...” he tucks a stray hair behind your ear, “if you wanted to share a bed. You could always sleep on the couch, but I-”

“No, I’ll sleep with you!” You slap a hand over your mouth as Yeonjun dissolves into giggles. “I mean, I mean, I don’t mind sharing a bed.” You try desperately to break through his laughter but it’s useless, so you succumb to the same fit of giggles. Yeonjun cups your cheeks sweetly, squishing them together in earnest before leaning in the same way he had just minutes prior. Your heart stutters at the knowledge that this kiss was finally happening after three months separated.

Your lips meet in soft, tentative passes against each other until you recall the feeling. Yeonjun is hesitant, hanging back until you surge forward, kissing him harder and wiggling your tongue between the seam of his lips until he opens them. His teeth rake your bottom lip and nibble hard enough to draw blood, the metallic taste grounding you into the moment until Yeonjun pulls back, thumbs stroking the tops of your cheeks. He places another kiss to your nose, giggling against your skin as you shy away.

A loud crash sounds from just outside the door and you jump, eyes blowing wide when the sound of overlapping voices grows closer and closer. Yeonjun tells you that the rest of the boys must be back and ushers you out of the room before you can protest.

In the living room you’re faced with the four of them, all busying themselves with mundane tasks or scrolling through their phones until Yeonjun clears his throat. They look up simultaneously, synchronized enough that you would have laughed under a different circumstance.

“Everyone, this is, my uh, uh, Y/N.” Yeonjun awkwardly sweeps a hand your way and you flush, feeling small as the four boys you’d watched and laughed with and admired through a screen bowed to you.

“I really-it’s not...well, hi.” You sigh.

----

Introductions aside, the night slides by easily until the wear of your travel catches up with you so suddenly that you slump onto the nearest body. Yeonjun shakes you awake and it’s only then that you notice the shoulder you were leaning upon belonged to Beomgyu. You apologize to the boy as soon as you can get your tongue to work properly and are soon whisked away to Yeonjun’s bedroom. The short trip awoke you to an unpleasant degree, almost feeling as if you were suddenly too aware of your surroundings. The lights were too bright, the scent of fabric softener too strong in your nose, the sound of the remaining four people in the living room too loud. And of course, the presence of Yeonjun too much to handle.

You sit at the foot of the bed and pick at your nails while Yeonjun shuffles around the room, doing something you don’t bother to track closely.

“Are you going to get ready for bed?” He asks shortly, not even turning to face you. You now realize that he had pulled on pajamas of his own; a too-big graphic t-shirt and a pair of worn sweatpants. Frowning, you head for your own suitcase and dig through the carefully stacked clothes until you find some suitable options. You change quickly, keeping your back to him although you can feel his heavy stare at your back.

“Did you like them?” He asks. You sit back at the metal headboard and nod thoughtfully. His lips draw into a straight line as he settles beside you. “You and Beomgyu really...got along well.”

“Sure, I think we all got along well.” You offer, tucking yourself underneath his newly cleaned sheets. For a moment you wonder what he was going to do about the lights overhead, but they extinguish with a press of a button on his phone. Plunged in darkness, you can’t help but feel a bit bolder, indulging in the burn of defiance within you.

“Why? Are you jealous?” You ask. Yeonjun scoffs and you can feel the sheets pull as he flips underneath them. He says nothing but you can feel the air in the room shift. The bedding feels suffocating.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

----

When you wake, you’re uncharacteristically hot. You notice the sweat beading your neck and forehead as soon as you sit up, desperate to free yourself from the covers. You wonder if Yeonjun is suffering a similar fate, or if his body is used to the brutal heat of his bedroom. You turn to look for him, happy anxiety at the thought of seeing his sleeping form in real time brewing in the pit of your stomach. You couldn’t count the amount of times you’d imagined this exact moment, wondered if he scrunched his face in his sleep or if he looked serene and peaceful, wondered if he snored or spoke or sighed in his sleep.

But all you saw was crumpled sheets and a small, bright green post-it note with bunched writing. It stuck to the bed sheets as you pulled it up, and you had to blink a few times before you finally understood the gist of the note. Yeonjun was gone, off to do his daily idol duties, and you are welcome to use their shower as none of the boys were home. You scan the note again for any sign of love or sincerity but find nothing more than cold and clinical facts, like a teacher giving instructions to a class.

Bitterness grows in your chest as you slip into the cramped shower and cool yourself off under a trickle of water. Theoretically, you know that Yeonjun would be busy while you were here. After all, you couldn’t expect the company to let him off of all responsibility just because you were around. Your skin was growing red under the scrub of your fingers. But he could have at least run it by you last night, warned you that he would probably be gone by the time you got up and given you some idea of when he’d be back. What were you supposed to do all day? You stepped out of the shower, flinging your wet hair away from your face. You could barely make it out of this building alone, but you’d be damned if all you did was sit here and wait for him to return. If he wasn’t going to be here, you’d make your own fun.

You were unfamiliar to Seoul, but after navigating yourself out of the BigHit building you felt as if you could conquer anything. You hadn’t realized how much of the day had passed by in your slumber until you stepped into the real world. Dusk had begun to fall over the sky, painting it a hazy purple-pink in anticipation of a sunset. People and cars and buses rushed by with purpose as you stand still and baffled at the city before you. The packed street before you is a little bit intimidating, but reminded you enough of the bustle of your hometown that you took a brave step forward anyway. Crossing so quickly that you almost run into a group of teenage girls, you finally reach some kind of a destination. To be fair, you had done zero planning on sight seeing before coming, so almost every building looked like a destination to you. A particularly cute looking café seemed to manifest itself out of thin air and beckon you in with sweet drinks and sugary snacks. You order and eat greedily with the realization that this is your first real meal since being on the plane yesterday, and the waitress laughs when you tell her that as you flag her down for another piece of cake.

The café certainly lives up to the hype you make for it, but you notice the employees begin to clean and close things down, so you leave and thank them on the way out. You finally check your phone, hoping that Yeonjun might have sent you an apology or an update, but you see nothing aside from email notifications. Emblazoned by his actions, you continue on your exploration, opening the doors to a clothing shop with so much force that other patrons cringe. Inside, you buy way too many things to fit in your suitcase before traipsing yourself-weighed down by bags- into a nearby restaurant. Something about being in Korea had elevated your appetite to an extreme level, so your stomach growls as soon as you cross over the threshold. The place is crowded, almost packed wall to wall as patrons and employees alike bustle between one another.

The cute wooden sign reads “seat yourself” so you dodge and weave until you find a tiny table, just big enough for your party of one, hidden in a more private corner of the restaurant. An employee spots you and yells out that he’s going to go get a menu, so you content yourself with people watching in the meantime. At the table diagonal to you, you spot a woman who looks just about the same age as you. Her hair is carefully waved; a deep, shiny brown that flows just down to the top of her chest. Every feature you can spot is immaculate and it makes you feel sick. Her nails are perfectly manicured, not a single chip or hang nail in sight, while your own nailbeds are torn up and bloody as a result of nervous picking. A weird, unwelcome acidity crawls up the back of your throat and demands to be acknowledged, makes your eyes burn with envious tears as the waiter finally delivers a menu and you wonder why you can’t just look that put together and perfect. After you order you can no longer stand to look her way anymore, angry at the fact that you were so resentful of this stranger.

Your waiter drops your food and utensils with polite haste but you aren’t nearly as hungry as you were before. Noodles and broth swirl around your spoon as the steam rises into your face, paying more attention to the bustle of the open kitchen where you spot a fun streak of vibrant pink hair. Whoever is donning it must have had it done recently. There’s a few small patches of pink dye spotting the back of their neck and it’s quite endearing to think about until you remember- Yeonjun was supposed to be dying his hair pink soon, and that tall frame and broad back look suspiciously familiar, and he still hasn’t sent you any texts, and you think that maybe he was just getting some takeout and heading back home but then he turns away from the counter and heads to your corner of the building. Your mouth goes dry, all the air still and stale in your lungs as his eyes land on yours. He looks away and then looks back again, double taking as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. As if he hadn’t been the one to invite you out to Korea, as if you hadn’t shared a bed last night. And then he moves, finally, walks away from the counter and toward your table with a tray piled with food and your heart hammers against your ribs as he walks right by and settles into the seat across from the perfect girl. She smiles wide as he unloads the food and settles in.

There’s nothing you can do but stare and fight the sting of your eyes until your waiter comes back around, notices your untouched food and asks if you want a takeout container. You say yes loud enough for Yeonjun to hear, and you can see him flinch but you know he won’t turn around. Not in public, with all these people around. Not when he’s an idol and you’re just a normal girl- a fucking tourist- and not when Miss Perfect is giggling her perfect laugh at whatever he just said.

The air outside is cold and it stings. Your face is wet but you don’t try to hide it. You don’t know any of these people, and they will never see you again. They probably won’t even remember that you cried on the walk home, weighed down with bags of food and clothes and the knowledge that Yeonjun was lying.

When you return to the dorm Beomgyu, Soobin and Taehyun are hanging around the living room, watching something on the television.

“Hey- where’s Yeonjun? He said he was going to dinner, we assumed he was meeting you.” Soobin asks, his tone cautiously trying to hide his confusion.

“Well, I did go to dinner,” you lift up the bags on your arm, “and so did Yeonjun. At the same place.” Your voice clips and you take a moment wonder if you should go on until Beomgyu mutters a soft “oh”.

“Well, here’s some food.” The plastic bag thuds on the coffee table. “Not hungry.”

----

You don’t know what time it is when Yeonjun decides to come back, but you have no plans of acknowledging his presence. The room is dimmed, only a bedside lamp left to keep you out of total darkness. You are perfectly content to simmer in your own anger for the night, let him feel it radiate off of your back the whole time you sleep. Until he has the audacity to ask, “Hey, what’s wrong?” You see red in the dark room. Your fingers clench into the pillow, making a victim out of the poor feathers and fabric as you contemplate throwing it at his head. His new hair looks even nicer in the low light; nearly fluorescent and falling in a perfectly styled arc around his face.

“Don’t do that. Act like you don’t know.” You spit. Yeonjun says nothing but he clears his throat awkwardly, as if he’s about to make an argument, but you beat him to it.

“At least tell me who she is.” You try to hide the waver of your voice but it’s already there to stay.

“She’s no one! I’m not really supposed to tell anyone about it yet, the guys don’t even know-”

“They don’t know what? That you’re keeping two different girls in your pocket? Can’t even commit to one for a week long vacation? Jesus, Yeonjun, If you want to...cheat on me, at least wait until I’m not in the country. Fuck, I can’t even call it cheating because you don’t even want to date me! We only met up again a few months ago, and we spent one day together! And we fucked and it was nice and it was fun but what the fuck was it really? I texted you today, you know, to ask where the hell you were, and you never answered. I know that your life is busy, but a warning yesterday would have been nice.”

“I’m not cheating on you! She’s not- she’s just, someone I- that’s not the point, Y/N! And I’m sorry I didn’t answer you, but I was really busy, and I forgot to bring it up and I’m sorry, but did you really expect me to hang around all day?” You grit your teeth to stop an annoyed screech from hopping out.

“Of course not, Yeonjun. I’m not an idiot. What I expected was some fucking communication. I traveled across the world to come see you, maybe even try to figure out what we are, and so far all I’ve done is wander around the city alone. This isn’t what I wanted to do! I’m missing a week of work for this! I didn’t come out here just to be your little plaything once you get home!”

“That’s not what I’m doing!” Yeonjun stands up from the bed, rubbing his palms over the back of his neck. “I knew you would never understand. You can never understand how busy this lifestyle is, and I guess I was stupid for believing that you could understand, and that you wouldn’t be mad at me for having to go do my fucking job.”

“I don’t understand? I don’t understand your life? Will you ever just admit that you only like me because you can mold me around your shit? When I’m back home you can call me at any hour that works for you, and I’ll pick up. You can bitch about your job and your friends and your company and all the pain you have but whenever I call you you’re tired or sick or just don’t feel like it. Guess fucking what Yeonjun. I’m here now. And we share a room and a bed and a city so you can’t keep me miles away and at your beck and call whenever you so well please. I’m right in front of you now, and you need to own up to your shit. You ignored me. Now you’re lying about whoever the fuck that girl was. You don’t get to be a prick just because you’re a famous idol.” Your face is hot and your hands are shaking. Sweat is beading on your forehead just like it did this morning and it makes you itch but you refuse to move a single muscle, hardened to the spot and staring Yeonjun down. You can’t even remember how the argument started, but all you know now is that you can’t stand to look at him any longer. His eyes are wide, bottom lip wobbling. Tears sting at your eyes and your nose burns and you’re ready to lay down or maybe chug a bottle of vodka.

“I’m going to bed.” You pull the covers over you even though you’re sweltering, turn off the bedside lamp with the switch and clamp your eyes shut.

----

Your brain never shuts off. Even when you slam your eyes shut and start counting metaphorical sheep, you’re still replaying the argument on a relentless loop. Yeonjun had left the room moments after you tucked yourself in and you had yet to hear the door creak to announce his reappearance, so it was safe to assume that he was sleeping on the couch or holed up with another one of the boys. Or maybe he went crawling back to Miss Perfect.

The room is suffocating; heat simmers off of every surface even after you’ve thrown off the sheets and the white walls are annoying you. If you ever talk to Yeonjun again it will have to be about his piss poor decorating skills and the fact that he couldn’t even manage to hang up some pictures to break up the never ending white. Your phone says it’s just minutes shy of 2 am, but what does that really mean when you have no idea what time you laid down? Your legs move before your mind decides where you’re going, seemingly possessed by the idea of leaving the room as fast as possible. There’s just enough time to shrug on a crewneck and a pair of sneakers before you find yourself under the blinding fluorescents of the hall that remind you exactly where you are. Tall, sturdy black doors stand on both sides of you, metal accents gleaming and boasting their contents. There’s no easy way to understand the layout of the building, and you assume that’s for the protection of the idols, but it also means that you completely forget the only route you know for leaving the building.

Had you taken a left or a right? Did you pass by the hallway next to the ladies bathroom or go down it? Had there always been a potted plant next to that office, or did all of the doors just look similar? Somehow, you find yourself back in the place you had first been delivered to when you arrived. The doors were slightly different here, some made of thick wavy glass that was vaguely transparent and others made out of the same black you had become used to. A set of three rooms with the wavy glass were right next to one another, and if your suspicions were correct they were all practice rooms, presumably empty at the lack of music. The thought of the rooms, empty and clean and sporting just enough comfortable furniture in the corner for you to sprawl out on. There was no way that sleep was going to overcome you, but at least you could feel secure in your loneliness for a few hours.

The metal handle was cold, chilling your sweaty palm instantly, but you’re met with harsh resistance. It doesn’t budge forward no matter how hard you push downward and lean into the door. Out of anger you try one more time, grunting and digging your heels into the carpet of the hallway.

“You need a card to get in.” A voice calls from what must just be steps behind you, and you jump embarrassingly high before turning reluctantly. Surely some poor late-shift cleaner or intern had seen you struggling with the door and decided to take pity on you before someone really saw you making a fool of yourself. You could only imagine what they were thinking- how they would go home to their pets or family or friends and laugh about the girl they saw throwing her entire weight against a locked door.

But in the split second your neurons begin to fire anew, you know that you weren’t lucky enough to be discovered by another normal member of society. On this already annoyingly unlucky night you come face to face with- once again- Jeon Jungkook. You flush immediately and pull at the hem of your shorts until they do a better job at covering your thighs. You’re still sweaty, strands of hair matted to the back of your neck and your forehead, and the fact that it’s sometime past 2 am and you’ve yelled and cried and tossed and turned and cursed everything that led you to this moment only makes you look worse.

And, of course, even though it’s sometime past 2 am and maybe Jungkook had also been sweating and tossing and turning and cursing everything too...he still manages to look like an angel. His hair is unruly, all loose and wavy and sticking up in some places. His outfit is almost identical to what you first saw him in, but this it was black instead of gray, and his sleeves are bunched at the elbow, only affording you half a look at his lithe muscles and tattoos. His lips split in the same toothy grin as he gestures a small plastic card your way. How dare he look so handsome no matter the circumstance. He’s so much closer than he had been before, merely a foot away from you in the narrow hallway. Up this close you can see how perfect his skin is, as smooth and pore less as Yeonjun’s and Miss Perfect’s.

“No, I don’t need it.” You dismiss his hand with a small wave, sour after reminding yourself why you were here to begin with.

“Seems like you do?” Jungkook’s voice was oddly small too. He retracts his hand halfway, making sure you could still take it from him if you want to.

“No, what I need is a new boyfriend.” You spit the words before your conscious can review them, before you can remember that Yeonjun isn’t your boyfriend, that he isn’t technically anything except a rekindled flame you traveled across the world for. Jungkook pulls his arm all the way back and his face softens. You know he puts the pieces together quickly and you can feel the sympathy pass through the hall. “Nevermind. I’m sure you’re busy, or need to pass by or- yeah, sorry.” You stand aside, press against the wall and wait for him to walk away, but he stays grounded and levels his soft but deadly gaze on you. It’s an unwelcome reminder that he’s one of the most famous idols in the world and you’re standing in the middle of his company building; tired and teary.

“Did you fight? Is that why you’re wondering through our part of the building alone?” He gestures at one of the doors further down the hallway, a solid black one, and you can make out a shiny plaque with his name on it and some cute little decorations taped on the wall.

“I’m so sorry, I can’t find my way around this place- I just couldn’t sleep so I wandered and I guess I ended up in...your part of the building.” You can feel the heat radiate off of your face as he smiles again, nose scrunching at your panic.

“Cute.” His nose wiggles one more time before he schools his features as if the word didn’t nearly knock you on your ass. Cute. Cute! He has the audacity to stand here in the middle of the night and call you cute. “Seriously, if you need somewhere to sit down or sleep, there’s a couch in my studio, it’s clean in there, you can-”

“Oh, no! Jungkook,” you blush stupidly at using his name, “I can’t ask you to do that. I’ll just circle back to Yeonjun’s and sleep it off.” The thought makes your stomach churn, the idea of trying to fall asleep in the exact room your almost relationship fell to pieces. Surely the carpet couldn’t be too uncomfortable-

“No, please, I’m offering. You look tired, and if you fought...well, I know how awkward it can be in the morning. Come on.” He walks away before you can protest and some other worldly sense makes you follow him. You never expected to be in this position, but you also never thought that Yeonjun would disappoint you so much. Inside of the partially padded studio is a surprisingly large sofa with a charming patchwork blanket draped over the back. Jungkook stands awkwardly next to his desk and picks at his fingernails as you sit down. You sink in to the couch and instantly feel more comfortable than you have in days, the soft scent of lavender and the warm yellow lights bring you as close to relaxation as you can get.

“I saw him with another girl.” You lose your filter again and Jungkook’s eyes narrow. “He says it wasn’t a date, but he also won’t tell me who she was, and the rest of them all thought he was with me so he’s obviously lying. We aren’t technically dating, so can I even be mad? He’s lying no matter what, and he didn’t even tell me he would be out all day or text me during it. But I also still have three more days to stick out here.” A few hot tears are slipping down your face and you can’t help but feel insecure about them.

Jungkook says nothing of the tears but chews thoughtfully on his thumbnail. He leans his hip against his desk, intimidating and sharp yet soft and handsome and sweet for letting you stay here and spill your anger into his studio. His socked foot taps on the floor in a rhythm unknown to you, and you can’t help but wonder how many people would kill to be in your exact spot. You notice a day-by-day calendar that’s quite a few days behind on his desk, and it makes you smile until he’s moving, lowering himself to the floor just a few inches away from your feet.

His fists clench- subtle enough that you wouldn’t even notice if the room didn’t feel so charged- and as he looks up at you, you see that a look somewhere between anger and pity paints his face. It’s embarrassing to sit here like this, so clearly under his scrutiny with nothing but your pajamas to cover you.

“I’m sorry.” Jungkook finally speaks again and shakes his head so much that a few ebony pieces of hair slip into his eyes in a near-perfect arc. You shrug. “Really, Y/N. I’m sorry. That’s an asshole move, no matter who the other girl is. You don’t deserve to be treated like that, and after all the trouble you put in to come out here and see him-he’s lucky we don’t cross paths often.” He sighs and suddenly he’s sitting next to you on the couch, the weight and heat of his body making the situation that much more real and that much more odd. You must still have unshed tears lining your eyes when you find the courage to look up at him because he frowns. “Please, don’t cry! It’s the first time I’ve ever had a girl in here, and well, it’d be pretty embarrassing if she spends the whole time crying.”

A shit eating grin sprouts on his face as soon as he sees your lips upturn with laughter. It’s hard not to be grateful for the joke, so you laugh and thank him for trying to make you feel better.

“And thanks again, for the place to sleep. Or, try.” You have a feeling that sleep will evade you all night, no matter how cozy the room makes you.

“If you don’t think you’re going to sleep-” Jungkook stands suddenly and rushes over to his desk. When he gets there, he turns his wide desktop computer until it faces the couch and logs in. “Then at least watch some movies! Here,” he puts a wireless keyboard in your lap- “whatever you wanna watch, I have it all.” You hesitate for just a moment and then type in the title of one of your favorite films with seconds to spare before Jungkook throws the patchwork blanket over both of your laps. He sinks back into the couch and you follow his lead, careful to keep a good few inches of space between the two of you because holy shit, you’re sitting next to Jungkook, and holy shit he’s watching a movie with you, and holy shit he just saw you cry and he looks so handsome from the side.

You pay more attention to Jungkook than you do the movie. It’s funny to watch someone who feels so extraordinary do something as normal as watching a movie and realize that he really is human. And the way he crinkles his nose and widens his doe-eyes makes your heart stutter with attraction and then guilt at the thought of Yeonjun, who still makes your palms sweat and your heart shake with anticipation of his touch despite your argument.

But here’s Jungkook, being kind and open and raw and willing to stay up with you on this random sleepless night although you only met by chance mere hours ago. And his kind eyes widen and narrow and crinkle when he laughs at the movie, and he offers you a second blanket and a throw pillow when your eyes get too heavy for you to focus, and you don’t think that you’re imagining things as you feel gentle fingers comb through your hair.

----

Your head feels like it’s filled with cotton when you wake up, confusion soaks your senses as you piece together where you are and how you got there and who’s lap your head is laying in. As if he could read your thoughts, Jungkook lets out a long and loud groan from above you. Clearly he had fallen asleep where he is now, head lolled against the back of the couch and a throw pillow folded between his arms.

“Good morning.” He drawls, voice still deep and thick from slumber. Out of all the things you never thought you would do, waking up to Jungkook is near to the top.

“M-morning.” You manage to call back as you run your hands over your face, hoping to absolve yourself of any evidence of shock. Jungkook’s studio is just as welcoming as it had been to you last night, but now a deep sense of guilt creeps through you. Yeonjun might have woken up by now, maybe he was ready to talk and try to make things better, maybe he’s been calling and texting you and you haven’t seen any of it. Your phone is nowhere to be found as you dig around in the blanket, a noise of distress clawing up the back of your throat. Heart pounding, you put a hand underneath the couch and slide it back and forth until your fingers graze over the cold, hard mass that must be your phone. As soon as it’s in your grasp you can see that the time is just a few minutes past 8am, and that you indeed do have a few texts waiting from Yeonjun.

“Oh, Jungkook, thank you again for-y-you know, but I have to go, do you mind showing me which way to go?” Poor sense of direction had landed you here to begin with, and you wouldn’t let it make this problem any bigger again. Thankfully he doesn’t protest; just waits by the door as you straighten out your pajamas. Out in the hallway, the lights are bright and imposing and you recognize a headache from the late night is starting to creep up behind your eyes. No one really seems to be around to see the two of you, and you are nothing short of grateful for that when Jungkook makes a quick stop and you barrel into his back, face burning with embarrassment. He laughs as you sputter apologizes and wave for him to keep leading the way, but he insists on stopping and turning to face you. His face is puffy with sleep, eyes still scrunching against the lights, but they’re still clear and gentle and it’s hard to miss the teasing twitch of his full lips in such close proximity.

A wave of admiration crashes through you, followed quickly by a sickening feeling of guilt. Yeonjun was probably waiting for you to come talk things out, and here you were drooling over a different boy. “I’m okay, lets keep going.” Urging him on with a gentle push to his muscled back is the most you can do since you still don’t notice anything distinctive to lead you back to the correct dorm. Just a few more steps down the hallway and you can hear voices, overlapping shouts, and one voice you would recognize anywhere coming from the way you were about to turn. Before you even had time to open your mouth to voice your concern to Jungkook, Yeonjun is stomping down the hallway, a panicked looking Taehyun in tow.

His face is draw, sharp features heightened by either confusion or anger- it’s hard to tell- as he realizes who’s standing in front of him. The two boys are fairly evenly matched in height but Yeonjun still squares up, lifting his shoulders higher and craning his neck. You know he knows you’re there; you shared a moment of eye contact in the seconds before he leveled a glare at Jungkook.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Yeonjun spits, anger shaking the fists at his sides. Jungkook is shocked, you can tell even from behind him, the way he recoils just slightly and scoffs as if he can’t believe his ears.

“Look, this doesn’t need to be a fight. I was just helping Y/N get back to your dorm.” You’re amazed at how well he controls his anger, especially after seeing the anger he held back against Yeonjun the night before. You take this as a queue to step out from behind Jungkook’s frame, allowing Yeonjun a better look at you.

“Oh, before or after she spent the night in your studio? Just couldn’t resist giving her a place to stay. Someone to sleep with?” Anger flares in your stomach, lighting a fire underneath your skin.

“What the fuck, Yeonjun? Do you really think that I would-”

“Sleep with him? Of course. Why wouldn’t you? Look at the state of you two, don’t tell me you didn’t fuck.” There was simply no believing what was coming out of his mouth, and his words only made you wish that you had acted on the feelings you felt brewing last night.

“What if I did? You certainly don’t want me! I’m sorry I went looking for companionship somewhere else!” It’s much too quiet in the hallway after that, the only evidence that the world hadn’t stopped turning is Jungkook’s hand that comes up to rest on your shoulder.

“So you did.” Yeonjun rubs his chin, taking a step backwards in what you assume is disbelief. Tears creep into the corners of your eyes, stubbornly burning and forcing you to blink until your vision is blurry. Jungkook says something you don’t quite catch through the static buzzing in your ears. You feel exhausted, weak at the knees with disbelief at just how awful this interaction was going; so lost that it takes Jungkook shaking your shoulder to bring you back to reality.

“Please, I don’t want to talk about this here. Yeonjun, let’s go, please.” You beg, walking toward him before he even responds. The idea of being caught in this odd trifecta made you sweat. Jungkook protests but you wave him off quickly, assuring that there was nothing else he could do. As upset as Yeonjun was, you knew that he would calm down substantially once the older boy was gone.

The walk to the dorm is thankfully short, and Taehyun tries his best at making small talk while Yeonjun trails behind like a petulant child. As soon as you cross into the dorm you feel awkward and hot all over like everyone is watching you even though Taehyun is already disappearing into his room and locking the door while Yeonjun breezes right past you.

“I’m not playing the silent game.” You follow Yeonjun into the kitchen where he has his head buried in the fridge, making a point to rattle every bottle and package inside of it.

“Alright, fine. Then you get to tell me the truth.” His voice is softer now, much less elevated and harsh than it was just minutes before. “Did you spend the night with him?” It rattles your bones to hear the edge of hurt in his voice.

“I was wandering around the building in the middle of the night, and he was too- so I told him what was going on and he offered for me to stay in his studio, on the couch. And I said yes-” Yeonjun’s face crumples. “We watched a movie and I fell asleep.”

“Why didn’t you just come back? I texted you, Y/N. We literally just argued about communication and the first thing you do is run to a different guy? If I’m not good enough for you, just admit it.”

“I could say the same exact thing to you. Why am I here? Should I just book a flight home tonight and call it quits? Do you even want to try this?” Yeonjun cracks open a bottle of water and drinks half in one go, avoiding your gaze at all costs. “And I did nothing with Jungkook. Because I respect you, and whatever the fuck this-” You gesture between the two of you, feet apart, “is. Or was.”

“Don’t say that.” Yeonjun’s voice cracks, reminiscent of the way he used to sound on the phone when he called you at the end of the day. “I- I don’t want to hear you say that. Please.” A tremor of hurt shakes your bones, creates an unpleasant lump in your throat that you try and fail to swallow. Yeonjun appears to you now as similar as he did in your teenage years; uncertain and small and his wide, glassy eyes latching on to you like a lifeline. And you can’t help but remember how you used to be too; devoted to him and naïve about where life was going to take you.

“I don’t want to say it either, Yeonjun. I hate saying it. But we aren’t the same people we were all those years ago. We’re in two different lives, and as much as I want to be able to fit into yours...it’s never going to happen.” Your body weight feels suddenly too much, like you’re being filled with lead and sunk to the bottom of the ocean to be forgotten. Yeonjun finally closes your perpetual gap in a slow gait that seemed like it would last forever. His eyes are red, puffy, rimmed with unshed tears. Dark circles ring his eyes and you know they’re because he probably didn’t sleep last night either. His lips are chapped and dry, pouting in an incurable sadness. Your fingers itch to cup his jaw and litter him with kisses until he finally grins.

“Are you saying you don’t love me?” If any other noise had happened at the same time he spoke, you wouldn’t have heard the question. A stake strikes through your heart at the words, scarring your soul for years to come.

“No, Junnie. I love you so much.” Your bottom lip wobbles and you gasp out a sob, “I just don’t think we’re going to work this time around. We’re both too busy, and on different tracks, and I think we just have to be more r-realistic.” You have to close your eyes, unable to watch the way tears begin to cascade down his own face. “I’m sorry.” You stand alone, still and cold and clamping your eyes shut so hard that they hurt.

Yeonjun’s body molds around your form, tight and warm and shuddering slightly from his own tears. He smells like laundry detergent and musk and you shake with regret as his arms wind around your back and hold you as close to his frame as you think is humanly possible. Your tears soak his crewneck as the fabric scratches your skin. His heart beat is erratic, but you know yours isn’t fairing any better, and you can’t help but curse the universe for bringing you all this way with him just to shoot you back down.

“I’m sorry too. For not being enough.” His words rumble into your hair and you can’t even find the energy to refute them and instead just shake your head. Your head spins in wild circle as Yeonjun finally stops shaking underneath you in favor of cupping your face in tender hands, forcing you to open your eyes. His look felt more intimate than anything else you had shared before; a pure and expressive opening into his most vulnerable form and the knowledge that you were the reason he was feeling it.

“I think I should try to catch an earlier flight home.” You aren’t quite sure exactly why you say it, but Yeonjun doesn’t seem surprised at the notion. After all, there would be nothing to stick around for. He still had to work and you had no relationship left to hang on to. You hadn’t even gotten around to unpacking your suitcase. Yeonjun nods sadly, wiping at a few more tears before clearing his throat. His voice is thick, the evidence of his emotion loud and clear and your heart breaks at the thought of truly walking away from him.

“I’ll miss you, Y/N.” There’s no telling if he would ever contact you after this, or if you would contact him. Maybe the two of you will live with odd shadows of one another in the back of your heads for the rest of your lives- a teenage romance rekindled years later only to explode and crackle and eventually fade into the dark.

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joachimnapoleon · 5 years ago

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On the Murat/Lannes relationship

Napoleonic history is a tangled web. In the relatively short amount of time (three years-ish) since it first ensnared me, I've lost count of all the narratives/anecdotes/random tidbits I've come across in one source that have ended up being contradicted in another. I feel better about not always knowing what to believe when I see professional historians tripping over the facts themselves--like Michael Broers, in the first volume of his overall amazing trilogy-in-progress on Napoleon, referring to the story about Eugène de Beauharnais asking Napoleon for his father's sword back, as a myth "fabricated by Eugène and Hortense, after Napoleon's fall," when Napoleon himself recounted the story on Saint Helena. The truth is, this subject is just so vast it's impossible to get everything right 100% of the time.

And it doesn't help that a lot of what has come down over the years and become "common knowledge" on the subject often derives from memoirs written to push certain agendas, to fashion narratives, and to defend (and destroy) reputations.

Napoleon's marshals grabbed my interest right off the bat--Murat in particular--and I grabbed up every book I could find early on, with zero idea of which ones were credible or outdated. And some of them were old--the first Murat biography I read (by Atteridge) was from before all eight volumes of his available correspondence had even been published. The first book on the marshals I read was from 1934 (by Macdonell); the next (by Delderfield) was from the 60s. They were all good introductory reading but left me with a lot of ideas/assumptions that I ended up abandoning later on as I delved more into the primary sources.

One of these is the "Murat and Lannes hated each other" narrative.

I can't say beyond a shadow of a doubt that Laure Junot's infamous memoirs are entirely to blame, but I'm sure they definitely contributed to mainstreaming this particular narrative (among others). The Duchess d'Abrantès despised both Joachim and Caroline Murat, and devoted ample space in her memoirs to making them look as heinous (and universally disliked) as possible. The professional rivalry between Lannes and Murat--which legitimately did exist, at least early on--was blown out of proportion, and future historians gleefully piggybacked on it because drama sells books. And so we end up with excerpts like this in Delderfeld's Napoleon's Marshals:

The two future marshals, who already detested one another, were laid side by side in the hospital and Lannes must have taken full advantage of the fact that he could insult his rival with impunity, for Murat's jaw had been shattered by a pistol shot and his face was swathed in bandages. [2002 edition, page 51]

Again, I don't deny there was an early professional rivalry between the two, deliberately exacerbated by Napoleon, who delighted in this sort of thing. Marbot, who served under Lannes, relates the following:

General Bonaparte, when on his way to assume the command of the Army of Italy in 1796, took as his senior aide-de-camp Murat, whom he had just promoted to colonel, and for whom he had a great liking. Having, however, in the first actions noticed the military capacity, zeal, and courage of Lannes... he granted to that officer an equally large share of his esteem and friendship, thus exciting Murat's jealousy. When the two colonels had become generals of brigade, Bonaparte was accustomed, on critical occasions, to entrust to Murat the direction of the cavalry charges and put Lannes in command of the reserve of the grenadiers. Both did splendidly, and the army had nothing but praise for either. But between these gallant officers there grew up a rivalry which, if the truth must be told, was not at all displeasing to the commander-in-chief, as tending to stimulate their zeal and their desire of distinction. He would extol before Murat the achievements of General Lannes, and enlarge in Lannes' presence on the merits of Murat. [Memoirs of the Baron de Marbot, 1903, page 336]

From this early rivalry, we are led to believe that Lannes and Murat hated each other unhappily ever after. As "proof" of this we are given the occasional heat-of-the-moment blowup during later campaigns.

But the narrative starts to melt away when you look at their personal correspondence.

When I first started diving into Murat's correspondence after my obsession took hold, I was fairly shocked when I read some of the letters between him and Lannes and saw so many marks of affection--and frequent use of the informal tu, used between close friends and intimates, instead of the formal vous. I’ve seen this spun, in order to uphold the Lannes Hated Murat™ narrative, as Lannes just doing it to nettle Murat by being blatantly disrespectful or some such nonsense. I don’t buy that take, personally.

Some of the letters/excerpts (with translations following each):

"I see with pleasure that Blücher and the Duke of Weimar will not escape you. Be sure that you will never have as much glory as I want for you and that I love you a thousand times more than you love me. I will never cease to seize every circumstance of giving you new proofs of it. A thousand and thousand times your friend."

Excerpt in Lannes' own hand from a letter to Murat dated 1 December 1806:

"I give you my word, my dear friend, that the soldier is in the greatest misery, make sure that food is sent to us from Warsaw. Your best friend, Lannes."

"I pray you, my dear Duke, tell me if the Emperor must come soon to Warsaw. If I can get in a carriage, I count on going in two days to the capital, unless you think we're making a movement; in this latter case, I will be obliged to you to let me know it. You can't have an idea of what I've suffered. The Emperor gave me much grief, on the subject of what was found in Stettin, I will tell you all that when I see you. Farewell, my good friend, I love you with all my heart."

"The rumor runs here, my dear Murat, that you are coming with the Emperor, the governor himself assures me of it, I will be obliged to you to let me know if this is true. I'm writing to His Majesty to request his orders. You must have suffered much this campaign, my dear Murat, I have no need to tell you that I've shared all your fatigues. I would have been happier to be with you. Farewell, my dear Murat, give me your news and believe me for life your best friend."

In July of 1808, recovering from a severe illness that struck him in Spain, Murat went to "take the cure" in Barèges. He spent a few days there with Lannes and Ney, and was able to share the news with them that Napoleon had just made him the King of Naples. He writes the following letter to Lannes while in Barèges:

"I'm sending you, my dear marshal, a letter from the Emperor; read it and send it back to me. You will learn this good news with pleasure, and I am sure that you will be delighted with the advice that His Majesty gives you to hurry and drink the waters. If you want to write him, send the letter immediately; I will send it by the return of his courier. Farewell, love always your good friend."

After their brief stay at Barèges, Murat accompanies Lannes to Lannes' chateau near Lectoure, and stays as his guest, to finish his recuperation through the end of July. Murat, months later in Naples, writes to his friend to express his gratitude for Lannes' care of him during his illness (this one's a bit hard to read, sorry):

"My dear Duke, it has been a long time since I left you, I was glad to see your journey, I am persuaded that you were and are happy, I believe you are happy myself, since you are with the Emperor. Never leave him, it is only with him that there is happiness, I am no longer happy since I left him. You are persuaded of my friendship, but wanting to give you a recent proof of it, I just wrote to His Majesty to beg him to permit me to send you my Order of the Two Sicilies, it will acquire a new merit, worn by you. You are going to leave, you are going to fight again, and me, I will make wishes for your success. Was the Emperor Alexander friendly? And the Grand Duke? Did you conclude anything? You must tell me. Farewell, my dear Duke, love always your friend who will never forget your recent proofs of attachment. All yours; I kiss your children."

So in summary: I believe that Murat & Lannes were professional rivals early in their careers, but that their rivalry has been blown way out of proportion because drama makes good copy, and I'm pretty firmly convinced that they were a good deal closer than has commonly been believed/written. At any rate, I'm glad to be able to show another side of their relationship that hasn't gotten nearly as much attention as Lannes referring to Murat as an ass and a strutting rooster or whatever it was in Laure Junot's memoirs. If you've made it this far, thanks for reading; this ended up being a good deal longer than I originally envisioned it.

[All the letters above come from Volumes 4-7 of Lettres Et Documents Pour Servir À l'Histoire de Joachim Murat, except for the 18 July 1808 letter, which is from Albert Lumbroso’s Correspondance de Joachim Murat. I take full blame for any flaws in the translations, which are entirely my own.]

#Joachim Murat #Jean Lannes #Napoleon's marshals #history #Napoleonic history #letters #translations

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majorasnightmare · 5 years ago

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Please help me and my partner, @dantemoore0 , two queer trans/nonbinary 22 yr olds, find a place to live in 30 days.

Posted September 5th, 2019

I've neve made a donation post before so I'll just explain everything here

TLDR: Me and my partner, @dantemoore0 , both live with his mother in her apartment. After asking us to go unemployed for several months to avoid scheduling conflicts for things she wanted to do, she is now requiring us to both submit job applications and be hired by the end of today. We have 30 days to save money from that job before we are forced to move out. We have no money, no credit, and no friends nearby to live with, and the job she wants us to work at is one im incapable of doing so, due to symptoms of my mental illnesses. She is demanding we leave in 1 hour as of this post to apply at our McDonald's where she expects them to hire us on the spot and for us to begin working that job tomorrow.

Please, we need money to do literally anything about this situation. I'll put my paypal link under this paragraph. All money will be kept in paypal so that if the situation changes i can send it back to any donors without having to wait several days for my bank to process the transfers. Note: my paypal uses my legal name, one I'm normally loathe to put online, but emergency circumstances require it.

PAYPAL:

LONGER SUMMARY:

This morning, we were woken by @dantemoore0's mother, who gave us the news that we had to start working today and then move out in 30 days. Until this point, we had both been unemployed for several months, experiencing verbal abuse from her as she ignored our mental health issues and chronic fatigue and demanded we continously clean up her apartment, and regardless of how much we cleaned, we would be yelled at afterwards for not doing enough and for the house looking filthy anyways. She had been out of town the past 24 hours and we spent that time cleaning, and we didn't finish until 6 in the morning. My body is in so much pain I can barely walk, and I am incapable of standing for longer than a few seconds.

I am autistic, as confirmed by my mother, without any diagnosis paperwork as she declined so that it wouldn't show on my records and interfere with my future. I'm incredibly sensitive to touch and texture, and preparing food on the regular, quickly, is not something I am capable of doing. I am also in a massive amount of pain, and my anxiety is spiralling out of control to the extent that I uncontrollably spasm during panic attacks, which happen often now. These new symptoms are terrifying to me, and I've been regularly suicidal, which she claims makes me a selfish and disrespectful person to her. I have been continously going into shutdowns that render me completely non-verbal

I have $5 in my savings account, and $.83 cents in my checking, I have no credit card or any kind of credit history at all, and @dantemoore0 is deep in student loan debt he's been unable to make payments on, causing his credit to drop. He no longer qualifies for her previous credit union after being disowned from his formerly adopted family and has spent the past several years without a bank account.

We have 3 cats to take care of, which his mother got us after feeling guilty about the amount of stress she causes us, and we are almost solely responsible for their care and maintenance. We haven't been able to take them to the vet even once, and as such they haven't been spayed or neutered. Two of the cats are in heat and must be kept seperate from their male sibling, and one of those cats has a medical condition (we think) where she will remain in heat until she is bred or spayed.

I have no shoes to work in, because all I own are sandals that were gifts from friends to avoid overheating in the heatwave, and boots that were christmas presents from family. My last pair of work shoes was thrown out by her, and my partner's shoes are several sizes too big for me to wear

On top of this, our cats are running out of food. She refuses to get the kind of wet food they eat, and then, because they aren't eating the kind she does get, stated that she isn't going to get them more food because she's sick of the cats "wasting her food and money".

We have several tote boxes of belongings from when we moved in together that we have no place to store. We have no luggage for our things, and no dresser for our clothes, and no way to transport any of our belongings because neither of us has a license or a car.

We have a bug infestation thats from a combination of living above a Public Storage rental space (where she gets housing through her job), and my previous abusive family. As such, she made us throw away 90% of our furniture including our dressers and most tables and boxes. Most of our belongings now are expensive presents from friends and family over the years that, on top of being financially valuable, provide some of the only sources of emotional reprieve we have. If we continue living with her, she has said we would be required to throw those away for fears of bug infestation. These include both our TV's, all of our gaming consoles (2 PS4's, a PS3, a PS2, and a WiiU, all gifts) and most of our video games and DVDs.

We have no Wi Fi/Internet at our house, and rely solely on our mobile data to communicate and do things. We can only put in job applications on the rare times she can drive us to our college campus, where only one of us can apply at a time due to me no longer having my login info, because application websites crash on our phone even when using the desktop version.

My physical health is deteriorating rapidly. Both mine and my partner's mental health are going to hell.

Even after all that, I feel like I'm forgetting info. If i remember anything more, I'll edit this post, and put it under an Edits header, and date it.

For anyone who read this whole way and doesnt want to scroll again, I'll repost the link here. Again, all donations will be kept in PayPal until they need to be used, where I'll make a post to inform everyone that the money was spent and what it was spent on (with receipts as proof when possible). I want to be as reliable as possible on this

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thesecondmate · 4 years ago

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reading: wk1

the new year is here!! whilst i don’t make resolutions, bc failing at my own goals is v bad for my motivation, i do want to do more of what i love: reading, running, and learning languages. i want to keep up with the stack of books on my bedside table (to remind me to read them) and to actually use duolingo (blessed free resource), and i signed up for a beginner’s mandarin course online so we’ll see how that goes.

in terms of my actual degree, i’ve just started my orthopaedics/trauma/emergency rotation and oh boy am i in love with critical care. the adrenaline of waiting for a crash call to arrive. the physiology and pharmacology. the way it requires you to be on top form, as good as you can be. love it. anyways.

books

✩ calling a wolf a wolf // akbar (finished) i’ve had this book for a very long time but have only just finished it! some of akbar’s imagery is gorgeous, like a warm golden hug, the smell of tea and persimmons, but i don’t understand some of the poems or feel very much with them. i want to get more into poetry in 2021 - or at least, stop berating myself for not ‘understanding’ it! - so am trying to be gentle with myself.

✩ emporium // johnson (in progress) reread of this collection of short stories. ‘teen sniper’ is the first story - cannot believe this collection was published in 2002, it’s so very late-stage capitalist america.

poetry & essay

✩ Real Estate // Siken

✩ Pig Bttm Looking Up & Babe the Pig Does the Sheep-Noise When Mourning the Sheep // Sax

✩ Time Decides // Taylor oh so sad. oh so quotable. a raw wound, as if seen through rippled glass - just out of reach but i know its shape from having seen it, albeit never touched it.

articles: covid-19

✩ A side-by-side comparison of the Pfizer/BioNTech and Moderna vaccines - Helen Branswell, Stat

✩ Two more life-saving Covid drugs discovered - Michelle Roberts, BBC finally! not one but two covid articles (this + the above) that don’t make me want to claw my eyes out!!

articles: medicine & psychology

✩ Black Death - History growing up in the uk, i do actually know quite a lot about the black death - it’s taught v commonly in uk history classes - but needed a reference for the origins of quarantine, which comes from the venetian for ‘forty days’, because that’s how long sailors were made to stay aboard their vessels in venice to curb the spread of the plague.

✩ Healing hands: the Italian surgeon treating Libya torture camp survivors - Giorgio Ghiglione, Guardian

✩ Chinese scientist who edited babies' genes jailed for three years - Ian Sample, Guardian

✩ Chinese scientists use CRISPR tool on HIV patient for the first time - Julie Zaugg & Serenitie Wang, CNN HOW did i miss this?!

✩ CRISPR-Edited Stems Cells in a Patient with HIV and Acute Lymphocytic Leukaemia - Xu et al. (2019), NEJM paper that the above article is based on. so so interesting - amazing that they got proof of principle, even if not a total success!!

✩ Does Your Daughter Know It’s OK To Be Angry? - Soraya Chemaly i cannot overstate how much this article shaped me - i think i saw a quote from it a few years ago, or something similar, and i’m not sure it ever left me. i’ve saved a lot of the references to read later, when i can handle 44-page pdfs (today is not that day). favourite quotes are: - Anger impairs people’s immune systems, contributes to high blood pressure, heart damage, migraines, skin ailments, and chronic fatigue. Unresolved anger contributes to stress, tension, anxiety, depression, and excessive nervousness. - Clinicians believe that a large component of depression is anger and a specific type of anger caused by a perceived or actual loss or rejection. There are many reasons why girls might feel rejected, powerless, and angry. First, they begin to see the effects of gender–based double standards that fly in the face of everything they’ve learned so far about their abilities, equality, and potential...Second, they become aware of physical vulnerability...Third, they begin to encounter the cultural erasure of women, people who look like them and whom they are meant to emulate, as authoritative. The older girls get, the fewer women they see in positions of power and leadership. Boys and girls move from childhood realms where women are their primary caretakers, teachers, babysitters, neighborhood, and family adults to institutions where they are marginally represented as leaders.

articles: refugee/migration issues i work for a charity that does fundraising + education around refugee issues, predominantly in europe, hence the detailed research on particular topics that sometimes arises (in this case, the italian govt’s abhorrent quarantine policy).

✩ Pressure grows on Italy to abolish migrant quarantine ships - Stefania D’Ignoti, Politico

✩ Italy’s use of ferries to quarantine migrants comes under fire - Sara Creta, The New Humanitarian the fact that a medical doctor, no matter how junior, did not recognise such signs of illness that a 15-year-old boy died is beyond comprehension. i am furious and heartbroken.

✩ Nice church attacker identified as 21-year-old Tunisian man - Lorenzo Tondo & Jason Burke, Guardian

articles: culture

✩ Uncertain Attraction in “Work in Progress” and “Dare Me” - Emily Nussbaum, New Yorker i only read the dare me half of this article whilst trying to find hard proof that beth and/or addy is gay. the author gets the vibe but no comment on gayness. pity.

#weekly #reading 2021

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subboxy · 5 years ago

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LookFantastic Beauty Box March 2020 Review "Unconstricted" Edition + 15% Off Coupon

It's time to review the March 2020 LookFantastic Beauty Box! LookFantastic is one of my favorite beauty subscription boxes! LookFantastic sends you 6 luxury beauty products (with guaranteed value of over $60), a copy of ELLE magazine, and a Beauty Box magazine filled with tips and tricks to help you look your best. You'll get a mix of a mix of cosmetics, hair care, skincare, body care and beauty tools in both deluxe sample and full size products! Price: $19/month Shipping: Free DEAL: Get 15% off your first box using this link and coupon code BLOOM15. We were sent this box for review purposes. LookFantastic Beauty Box March 2020 Review "Unconstricted" The March 2020 LookFantastic box shipped in a pink box with a beautiful design of women from around the world. Don't you just love this design?!?

The theme of this month's box is "Unconstricted". This month's focus in collaboration and inclusion. In March, we celebrated International Women's Day, so this box theme made a lot of sense!

Each month, LookFantastic includes a booklet that has all the deets of what's included in the box and other beauty and lifestyle tips!

The inside of this month's box has a quote that says "In a world where you can be anything, be yourself". I wish I had this quote and learned this when I was a teenager!

LookFantastic always wraps their monthly beauty goodies in colored tissue paper. It's like getting a monthly gift for yourself!

Here's our first peek at everything we got in our box!

Madara Organic Skincare Time Miracle Wrinkle Resist Eye Cream - Worth $44.64

I was super excited to see this eye cream! One of the first areas on your face to get wrinkles (for me anyway) was near my eyelid area. This eye cream targets signs of tiredness and aging, as well as tackling fine lines and wrinkles. It will intensely hydrate and Target science of fatigue, crow's feet, and Fine Lines, weaving your eye Contour skin comforted and more resilient. It has multi-molecular hyaluronic acid, physio-moisturizers and antioxidant-rich cellular bio complex, to deliver profound care and strengthen your defense against daily stressors. You can use this eye cream in the morning and at night around your eye area. This cream has been dermatologist tested. 97% of people report they have better looking eye contour skin. 88% of people say they have less visible lines and wrinkles. Sign me up!!! Grow Gorgeous Intelligent Haircare - Worth $4.78

You can get visibly thicker and more nourished hair with this unique hair mask from Grow Gorgeous. It is formulated with caffeine to stimulate your roots, oat lipids to lock in moisture and hyaluronic acid for a silky soft finish. You can apply this to clean damp hair by massaging The mask into your scalp and smoothing it through the length of your hair. All you need to do is leave it in for 10 minutes and then rinse thoroughly. Rituals The Ritual of Ayurveda Nurturing Shower Oil - Worth $6.25

This shower oil has a lovely scent! The base of the shower oil is Indian Rose and Sweet Almond Oil, which leaves your skin feeling soft and will put your mind at ease. To use this oil, you pour a few drops into your palm and massage it all over your body in circular motions. Upon contact with water the soil changes into a luxurious foam, leaving you feeling clean, refreshed, and smelling delicious! Rodial Bee Venom Cleansing Balm - Worth $16.58

You can take your facial cleansing routine to the next level with this luxury skin brightening cleansing balm from Rodial. It is formulated with bee venom, which is an anti-aging wonder ingredient that wmooths your complexion, pumps fine lines, and decongests your skin of any dirt and impurities. To use the cleansing balm, you should massage a queen-size amount onto your dry face. Then splash a small amount of water on your face to emulsify and allow the balm to transform into a milky cleanser. Then rinse it off. bellapierre Kiss Proof Lip Creme - Worth $10

I think we got a bonus in this month's box, because the lip creme from bellapierre is not listed in the booklet. This perfectly pink lip creme provides full coverage and last for hours without needing a touch up. The creamy formula goes on smoothly and dries to a beautiful matte finish in a snap! Elizabeth Arden Superstart Skin Renewal Booster - Worth $9.57

The skin booster from Elizabeth Arden is designed to restore your Skin's natural ability repair and renew. It has a fusion of super ingredients that has resulted in over 90% of women agreeing that it helped their skin look less damaged and irritated. To use this booster you apply one pump on to your freshly cleansed face, before applying serum and moisturizer. Hairburst Chewable Hair Vitamins - Worth $15.93

I can always use a little help making my hair look healthier and shinier. These hair care vitamins from Hairburst will help you combat effects of heat styling, coloring, and aging. Research shows that 98% of users and noticed faster hair growth taking these vitamins. For best results,. you should take two capsules per day ideally both together in the morning before eating. In Summary

I am in love with all of the wonderful beauty products that LookFantastic curated this month. They will definitely help make me look and feel my best. My favorite item in this month's box, hands down, is the Madara Time Miracle Wrinkle Resist Eye Cream. But I do love all of the other skincare, beauty, and hair care items as well! Retail Value: The retail value of the February box was a whopping $107.75 USD, which is a really great deal for only $19! DEAL: Get 15% off your first box using this link and coupon Check out our past LookFantastic Beauty Box Reviews! Join Read the full article

#beauty #beautybox #lfbeautybox #lookfantastic #lookfantasticbeautybox #lookfantasticreviews #monthlysubscription #subscriptionbox

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essaypractice283 · 4 years ago

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thelanternwielder · 7 years ago

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Too Late - Part Two

Autor’s Note:

Hello. This is a follow-up on the Monsuno fanfiction that I started >>here<<.

I wrote this part assuming that you have read the first section.

Edit 2018/01/06: Part Three can be found >here<.

Tell me what you think. Feedback is always appreciated.

It was late in the morning. The airship was buzzing today. Hargrave was walking down to the control room, in uniform. He had been told by Drezz that he should go see the Professor.

He swore he could hear his name being called from other parts of the ship earlier.

The butler entered the bright control room. There was someone in the seat in front of the screen. You could just see the top of their head. The screen was off. Drezz and Dom Pyro were standing to the side, seeming as if they were waiting for Hargrave’s arrival. Drezz was in his usual attire: grey t-shirt, long sleeveless jacket and matching headband. Dom was in his black leather outfit, trimmed with orange. His Monsuno was clipped to his sash.

Hargrave regarded the men, giving them a nod, then looked at the occupied seat.

“Forgive me, Professor,” he said, “I have only the sincerest of apologies for this morning.”

He bowed slowly.

A voice came from the seat with an uncontrollable stutter.

“I’m s-s-surprised you’re even up, c-c-c-considering your state last night.”

The chair swivelled around to face Hargrave. There was a stout man in the seat. His hair was straight and long enough to rest on his back. He wore a suit with a black bowtie, an apron over it and a bowler hat. He had a metallic mask that covered his mouth. His left eye was replaced with a telescopic lens. The trimming of the suit, the apron and the lens were all the same colour: orange, the colour of Forge. He clutched a strange metal cane.

Hargrave knew at that point that the Professor had already seen, in its entirety, the security vision of last night’s incident. He glanced over to Drezz and Dom. Drezz looked worried. Dom had a knowing look about him, which made Hargrave a bit nervous, not that he showed it.

Had they seen it? He hoped not.

A look of concern washed over the Professor face.

“D-d-d-don’t do that again. You c-c-c-can talk to us.”

Hargrave was surprised. He had never been offered this sort of support before. In fact, he never felt like he needed such support.

He spoke softly, “Oh, that isn’t necessary sir. I am feeling better.”

A small, grateful smile appeared on his face for a moment. The Professor shook his head.

Dom piped up, “Even now, you hide, Clockwork Man.”

Hargrave turned around to see him grin. He stroked his Monsuno while it was still on its clip. Hargrave’s eyes narrowed defensively. Drezz glanced at Dom, then at the Professor, then to the side. His face changed to perplexment.

Suddenly, irritated talking could be heard coming from the corridor. Everyone looked at the door as it cresendoed. Hargrave moved to the Professor’s side, with his hands behind his back, as three people entered, two disgruntled.

One was a man with very long, messy hair, held back by his brown cap that had goggles on it. His long gloves and boots gave his otherwise normal outfit a steampunk flair. Another was a burly woman with ginger hair. She was in a black tank top and had the steampunk gloves and boots. The third was another woman, petite in build. Her dark hair was in bushy pigtails and wore shorts with extremely long sock, as opposed to pants. Throttle, the one with pigtails, was the only one of the three to have a neutral expression; the others had a scowl.

The man gestured in frustration towards Hargrave, “Oh, there he be! Finally decided to show himself.”

“And good morning to you, Tinker,” Hargrave flatly replied, “How nice that you all care about me so much.”

He quickly shot the Professor an earnest look. Ratchet, the brawny woman, crossed her arms.

“Where the heck were you?” she huffed.

Drezz interjected, “In his room.”

When he approached Hargrave’s room, the door was shut. He knocked a couple of times on the steel door, a sound that echoed down the hallway. Silence responded. That put him on edge. He came to a scary conclusion: Hargrave could be dead. The butler wasn’t young or in a good state of mind when he last saw him. He opened that door very quickly.

“I, uh,” Hargrave considered his words carefully, “had a bit of trouble getting up this morning.”

Throttle smiled sympathetically.

“Oh, you were having one of those days, si? Sometimes, I don’t want to get up either,” she looked up contemplatively, “Normally, it’s during winter, when it’s cold,” she hugged herself, closing her eyes, “The bed’s so toasty that I never want to get up!”

The butler looked at her considerately. He could see what she was trying to do. He was certainly bundled up in his bed earlier, creating a cocoon of blankets. But it was not because the world outside had frozen and he needed the warmth. No, the frigidity came from within.

Tinker’s anger had dissipated.

“At least we found you. We thought you had disappeared off the face of the Earth,” he admitted.

Ratchet begrudged in a mutter, “Same can’t be said about our morning.”

The Professor looked up at Hargrave who returned the gaze from the corners of his eyes.

“There was one t-t-thing that I have w-w-w-wondered about.”

He swung his chair to face the massive screen and turned it on. Hargrave turned to it and there beheld the picture of the Cloud Carrier that he found last night. He squeezed his hands tightly as his heart wrenched.

The Professor pointed to the screen and looked at Hargrave.

“W-w-w-what’s the significance of t-t-this image?”

Drezz encouraged the butler, “Tell him what you told me. Tell everyone what you told me.”

Hargrave glanced at Drezz, then at the Professor, and then faced everyone. Tinker, Ratchet and Throttle seemed a bit confused. The butler took a deep breath.

“As you all know, I have been trying to find any sort of lead on the whereabouts of Dr Klipse and Six,” he hesitated, glancing at the screen, “I believe they are imprisoned on that Cloud Carrier.”

The Professor pivoted his chair to face him.

“That is an a-awfully hefty c-c-claim that you make. Do you have any p-p-proof?”

He shook his head solemnly.

Drezz spoke up, “Hang on. What about your headache,” he gestured to his head, “migraine, thing, whatever it was?”

An air of bewilderment spread around the room, as if Drezz just spoke in a language that only Hargrave understood. Everyone looked to the butler for some clarity.

He explained, “Last night, before I came to this dreadful conclusion, I had the most tremendously painful migraine. It was as if someone decided to shoot me in the head. And the pain engulfed my entire body. Two incredibly odd things happened at that point: my Monsuno core was flashing,” Dom’s eyes widened, “and I heard, very audibly, the Doctor call for me to find him. I summoned this image before fainting. I think it is a sign.”

Tinker viewed the butler with scepticism.

“So, you concluded that Dr Klipse and Six had been kidnapped after you got a headache, hallucinated, banged your hands on the keyboard and fainted.”

Ratchet snidely remarked, “And I thought Dom was the crazy one.”

The butler regarded her and dryly retorted, “You’re hardly any better.”

She pursed her lips when she heard the response. Throttle had a concerned look, mixed with puzzlement. Her head was tilted to the side.

“Has this happened before?” she quietly asked.

Hargrave stammered, eyes diverted to the side, “Well, I, um, have been getting these duller headaches late at night, followed by, as you would call them,” he swallowed, “hallucinations of the Doctor. This started two weeks ago.”

He looked up to see the room had been swallowed up by a sea of bafflement. Then he saw Dom gaping. His eyes were the beacon in this foggy sea. Hargrave became wary.

Dom said softly, “You had a vision.”

He wandered a bit closer to Hargrave.

“You. Monsuno voice. Who knew?”

He put his hands on his hips. The Professor rubbed his eye, becoming frustrated.

“What are you o-on about, Dom?” he groaned.

Dom was in the centre of the room. His eyes darted to everyone, head twitching eagerly, finally stopping on Hargrave. He gestured in the butler’s direction with open hands.

“He has the Monsuno voice, like me.”

He grinned. Everyone started to become fatigued from the amount of confusing ambiguities this morning has raised.

Hargrave muttered with a shocked stare, “Oh brilliant. I’m losing my faculties.”

Dom continued, “You can hear the Monsunos like I can. Hear them chatter. That’s how I found out about what you were doing at night when you thought you were talking to the Doctor. Your Monsuno was speaking to you.”

The butler’s face shifted to displeasure.

“You mean to tell me that you have previously watched me talk to myself and chose to do nothing but gawk.”

Dom slinked back to his spot and shrugged defensively.

“Watching you was like watching a car crash: there was nothing I could do but I couldn’t look away.”

Hargrave grunted derisively. Everyone else was still trying to grapple with the concept of talking Monsunos.

Ratchet turned to Dom and asked, “So what, you can have a conversation with your Monsuno?”

Dom giggled in that unnervingly high-pitched voice of his.

“Yes. And they tell you all about what’s going to happen in the future.”

This pricked Drezz’s ears. He stared at Dom with the realisation.

“You can see into the future.”

Dom nodded, giddily chuckling.

The room was instantly filled with utter astoundment. Hargrave, with his eyes popping out of his skull, glanced down, processing everything that had been said. His mind went to all the previous plans the Doctor concocted that had failed since Dom joined the team. He thought about how foresight could have helped them predict their enemies’ movements, how they could have succeeded, for once.

Hargrave looked at Dom and said sharply, “Did you ever consider disclosing this information to us when you were first hired by the Doctor? That psychic skill would have been incredibly useful.”

Dom crossed his arms and simply replied, “When I joined, the Doctor became preoccupied with cloning himself and you got swept up with him. So, I didn’t bother. Besides,” a wry grin appeared on his face, “it bugged you whenever I talked to my Pretty.”

Hargrave sighed. He didn’t bother to chase Dom down this conversation and change his mindset. It was a lost cause.

Tinker snickered, “What do you need him for, mate?” he pointed to Dom with his thumb, “you can do it yourself.”

Dom added, “With practice and meditation.”

Hargrave blinked. They had a point. If he could harness this power, it would be an invaluable asset to the team. He could be the one to predict their enemies’ next moves, even before they come up with them. He could improve his fighting prowess and become as unpredictable as Dom. It would certainly impress the Doctor; he always liked to do that. The possibilities seemed endless.

He gazed at the picture on the monitor.

Did the image, in fact, depict a future event? Were Dr Klipse and Six still free?

Could they be saved before it was too late?

One thing became clear to Hargrave by this hindsight on the Monsuno voice. He remembered an incident that occurred during an exploit when it was just the Doctor and him. Monsuno essence was originally considered as an alternative power source. Research for that path was thrown out of the window when the Doctor’s former colleague, Dr Suno, proclaimed the essence to be genetic material, a base for life. The Doctor had continued the study into Mosuno essence as an energy source after his departure from the research facility. With Hargrave’s help, he built a monolithic airship, powered purely by the essence. It was a powerful death trap, able to take down an entire squadron of S.T.O.R.M. aircraft with a single shot. They were on top of the world and nothing could stop them.

Or so they thought.

There was a deafening crack from above. Something struck the ship down, as if a divine power saw what they had done and intervened. They flew away from the burning wreck, just barely escaping the falling inferno. When they reached the ground, they were surrounded by all their enemies. S.T.O.R.M. weren’t the only ones in the area; Team Core-Tech were also in pursuit after the Doctor and Hargrave kidnapped Dr Suno.

Everyone spun their cores out. A flurry of blue, yellow and red light erupted from the centre. The crimson was smothered by the other colours. The Doctor had Backslash, a black bear-wolf monster with his master’s hate in his eyes. Hargrave had Shadowhornet, a strange hybrid of centipede and hornet with bat-like wings, three massive claws on each wing’s joint and a spear for a tail. The other groups each had at least four behemoths on their side. It was a battle royale, winner takes all. Chaos ensured.

The roars and shrieks of the Monsunos as they tried to kill each other filled the battlefield, the ruins of a town, and the skies above. Billows of dust went everywhere.

Soon, there was only six warriors standing, two for each faction. Team Core-Tech had Lock, a bear-gorilla beast that had glaciers jutting from his shoulders, and Evo, a blue bird with four wings. S.T.O.R.M. had Driftblade, a black and yellow lion with swords for shoulders, and Blackbullet, a giant, sleek black bird.

Suddenly, there was a mighty bang, followed by a shockwave that swept the battlefield. It was the engine for the monolith that had exploded. Everyone ran for cover. When the shockwave passed, people peered at the battlefield.

Six Monsuno became three. Each group’s Monsuno had been combined to create winged gladiators. The Doctor regarded the result of Backslash and Shadowhornet with utter glee. The creature resembled Backslash with Shadowhornet’s wings and armour. The Doctor continued the fight with this new living weapon. Hargrave stayed in his hiding spot, watching in amazement.

The three gladiators soared into the sky, chasing each other fiercely, leaving streaks of deep blue, gold and crimson behind. Hargrave watched as the creature that was their Monsunos become nothing more than a speck. He felt a profoundly bizarre sensation at that point, one that he still remembered in the present. He felt a gaping hole in his torso that dissolved more and more of his body the longer the Monsunos stayed in this form. He could barely stand when he saw their archangel falling from space, through the clouds, and crash into the Earth. It landed with a terrible thud. It exploded into red light that split and snaked its way back into the Eklipse cores. Hargrave became whole when Shadowhornet returned. He ran to help the Doctor.

“E-E-Earth to Hargrave,” the Professor was waving his cane in front of the glazed butler’s face, “do you c-c-copy?”

It didn’t work. Annoyed, he slammed his cane into the ground right next to Hargrave.

BANG!

Hargrave jumped about ten feet into the air. He clutched his chest and breathed sharply. A snigger came from the others.

Still dazed, he said, “Oh heavens! I was completely lost in my own little world!”

“C-c-c-clearly,” the Professor retorted.

The butler assumed the same position he was originally in, heart still pounding.

The Professor addressed the entire group, “As m-m-much as this picture is a l-l-lead, there is nothing c-c-c-concrete. We n-n-need more information.”

Drezz smirked deviously, “Maybe we could ask them ourselves.”

Throttle’s eyes lit up at the thought.

“Playing dress-up?” she giggled.

Drezz nodded. A jolt of malevolence struck Tinker and Ratchet, sharing the evil enthusiasm. Drezz and the other Punk Monks had previously stolen S.T.O.R.M. uniforms to masquerade as soldiers. They used this trick to sneak into one of the secret bases and plant a destructive explosive device on a S.T.O.R.M. rocket poised for space. The Professor then remotely aimed it at a nearby city. The plan would have worked if Team Core-Tech didn’t intervene.

The electricity shocked Hargrave.

He smiled, “I have an idea. Why ask them when we can see for ourselves?”

Tinker asked, “How’d we be doing that?”

Everyone listened intently, hanging onto each word.

“Simple. Plant a trapdoor, a gateway into their systems.”

Dom laughed with excitement, now zapped by the spreading voltage. That was a trick from their side of the team.

The Professor looked at Hargrave.

“Do you r-r-really have the s-s-software to do that?” he asked with intrigue.

The butler chuckled darkly, “Oh, but of course we do! We planted that software in Team Core-Tech’s little ship by simply communicating with them. It was child’s play. All I need is a transmission and S.T.O.R.M.’s database is ours to peruse.”

The Professor was filled with wicked joy.

“Oh excellent!” he stroked his chin cunningly, “It is all c-coming together n-nicely.”

The gears in his head were working furiously as he fabricated a plan. The room was electrified with the darkness of the group. The demons were plotting, itching to strike S.T.O.R.M. with their own thunder and lightning.

#monsuno #fanfic

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writings-andstuff · 7 years ago

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Coincidences Part II (Bucky x Reader)

You guys have waited way too long for this and for that I’m sorry. But here it is, so I won’t start it with my usual long-winded preamble.

Happy Reading!

Pairing: Bucky x Reader (Modern AU thingy)

Words: 5046 (yikes, that’s the longest fic I’ve ever written)

Warnings: The usual tiny bit of swearing

Excerpt: For a moment, you wonder how this became your life. Yesterday, you were just another girl worrying about everything except her lack of a love life. Now that’s all you can think about because you’re flirting with a complete stranger. How insanely insane is that? For all you know, he could be a forty-something year old dude with three ex-wives and a beer-belly that could carry triplets. Somehow, though, you don’t think that’s likely.

Series Tags: @melanie451 @sebstanwassup @colagirl5 @winenighthoe @lovemarvelousfics @gotnotfeature @sebastianst-n @alwayshave-faith @hollycornish @iggytheboywonder

Tags: @langinator @fairchild21

Your name: submit What is this?

New Message from Mr. Catarcs

3:42 a.m u up?

You blink your eyes blearily and shift in bed. The sheet is wrapped around your legs like sweaty vines, constricting your movement. You growl angrily and throw them off, sitting up and relishing in the cool air of your apartment. Despite the frigid cold outside, you somehow still manage to wake up sweating. Maybe you’re a mutant.

Glancing over at your phone, it dings again to impatiently let you know that you still haven’t opened the text that woke you up. Usually your phone is switched to silent because of your job at the diner. There are always so many phones going off that it’s almost impossible to tell which is which. It’s just easier having your phone on silent because then you’re never worried about whether your phone is ringing or if it’s someone else’s. It saves you a lot of unnecessary anxiety.

But ever since last night’s conversation with James, you decided that you wanted to hear your phone ring with a text. It’s the first time in your life that you don’t want to miss a text.

You pick up the offending piece technology and swipe it open. Sure enough, the text is from James and you grin despite the fact that this message is the same one that woke you at—you squint at your alarm clock—3:49 a.m.

Deciding you are both thirsty and in need of some time in the open air of your apartment and not under the suffocating sheets, you get up and stretch. The floors are cold as you pad to the kitchen and fill a glass with water, shooting a text back to James.

3:51 a.m I am now

You wait for an answer while downing your glass of water and putting the empty glass in the sink again. Maybe he fell back asleep when you didn’t answer right away.

For a moment, you wonder how this became your life. Yesterday, you were just another girl worrying about everything except her lack of a love life. Now that’s all you can think about because you’re flirting with a complete stranger. How insanely insane is that? For all you know, he could be a forty-something year old dude with three ex-wives and a beer-belly that could carry triplets. Somehow, though, you don’t think that’s likely.

You have no proof of this, and absolutely no reason to believe he isn’t a creep except for a gut feeling. You resolve to ask his age whenever he decides to answer you.

You think about that. He could lie to you and tell you that he’s 20 when he’s really a lot older than that. The only way you’d truly know is if you meet him in person.

Suddenly you’re a little dizzy. This is just way too much to worry about at four a.m. You decide to just talk to him. You genuinely like his personality, and you don’t have to worry about all that other stuff until you actually meet him. If you actually meet him. That’s a big, neon-colored, flashing sign in the middle of absolute nowhere if.

Your phone dings and you look over from where you’re clutching the counter. You don’t notice how hard you were gripping the counter until you pull your palms away and it stings, lines etching themselves across your palm.

4:03 a.m srry didnt mean to wake u

Before you can even formulate a response, he’s texting you again. A double text. Gasp.

4:04 a.m just couldnt sleep. i was wondring if u wanted to talk

You tilt your head at your screen. He’s up in the middle of the night, and the first thing he does is text you? Why? Does he not have other people he can talk to? A stupid part of you, the same part that wants to meet him in person, thinks that maybe it’s because he wants to talk to you.

Maybe he does. Probably not. It’s too much to hope for. All his other friends are probably asleep. Regardless, not answering is not an option. Well, it is, but it’s not one you’re likely to explore, not when your chest has those freaky bubbles in it and your stomach is doing that stupid flippy-thingy. Nope. This, you decide, feels like High School when a cute boy texted you first and the instinct to giggle shot up to level 12.

4:06 a.m alright. what about?

Capitals, Y/N. What the hell happened to capitals?

You take your phone and pad back into your room, perching yourself up against the headboard with your knees drawn up to your chest and your phone in your hands as you wait for a response. Worrying your bottom lip, your mind drifts to work. You’ll have to get up in about three hours to be at work on time. Man, you’re going to be tired.

It’s then that your phone dings. You decide then that talking to him makes it worth the fatigue.

4:11 a.m twenty questions?

4:11 a.m Fine, but since you woke me up you have to go first.

The three dots that mean he’s typing pop up three different times before the response finally comes through.

4:15 a.m whatd u go to school 4?

You laugh.

4:15 a.m getting down to the nitty gritty personal stuff I see

You think for a moment. Telling him what you do isn’t divulging too much about yourself, so you decide it’s okay.

4:16 a.m lol yup thats me. i want the deep personal stuff. might just ask what ur fav color is nxt

4:16 a.m 1. editing; 2. sorry, that’s sacred info

4:17 a.m 1 ah i understand y ur a grammar nazi now…2 obviously

Thinking for a moment, you decide that favorites are just too cliche. Any conversation anyone has with some new friend ends in questions that start with “What’s your favorite…” You really want to know how old he is, but you figure you need an ice breaker before you get to the actual nitty gritty.

First, though, you must take the bait to piss him off:

4:19 a.m What would you have done if I hadn’t gone to college?

With a yawn, you lie back down and curl on your side, sitting your phone on the nightstand in front of you with your eyes glued to it. Once you realize that staring at it isn’t going to make him type faster, you turn over.

You’re totally not too eager. There’s no—

Ding!

You flip over so fast that you rip the sheet from the other side of the bed and end up with half of it between your stomach and the bed. It pulls from the bottom corner of the bed and is slightly uncomfortable, but you don’t care.

4:22 a.m high school?

4:23 a.m I didn’t go to high school FOR anything

You’re not sure if the use of caps-lock is weird, but you send it off anyways, deciding that emphasis on that one word is crucial to your meaning. He replies within seconds.

4:23 a.m i mean dunno bout u but i went to learn

You laugh, probably louder than is necessary.

4:24 a.m Touche. What’d you go to school for?

4:26 a.m repeating questions isnt alowed

Frowning, you wonder if he actually didn’t go to college. Should you push it? Maybe you should just change the question. There’s a part of you, the curious part that wanted to be a reporter when you were young, that really wants to know.

There isn’t too much time for you to think all of that before he’s texting you again. Usually, you’re the one to mercilessly double-text. James, it would seem, has you beat in this department. Also, you didn’t want to double-text a complete stranger.

Before you even look at the text, it hits you again: this is a complete stranger. The thought of not answering enters your mind again, but you push it down. No harm in just talking if neither of you meet, right? Right?

Right.

4:27 a.m i joined the military right out of HS

It’s a real Oh moment, and you find yourself staring at your screen as if it’s a real person. The military? What are you supposed to say to that? What’s the protocol for a text that you’re not sure how to answer? Should you just leave it alone? No; if you leave it alone then he’ll think he freaked you out. He hasn’t. Your brain is just short-circuiting on an answer.

Should you think him for his service? No. Not yet. You don’t want to call too much attention to it in case he doesn’t want to talk about it or he’s had bad experiences, but you’re still not sure how to respond. Have you taken too long already?

You summon up some courage and type out a message.

4:31 a.m Oh wow. Well, what would you have studied if you had gone?

You cringe, totally not meaning for that to sound like you were completely skipping over the issue altogether. James doesn’t seem to mind though, if his response is any indication.

4:32 a.m hmm history i think. ive always liked ww2 4 some reason

4:33 a.m well you’ve got AP european history girl right here. 1 of only 11 in the whole senior class to take it.

4:34 a.m well, smartypants i get 2 q’s bc u asked 2

You feel that you handled that effectively, and you were already beginning to formulate a plan in your head while he thought about his questions.

See, you know next to nothing about the military or what it’s all about except that it is for valiant people who want to serve their country. You can respect that, but you want—nay, need—to learn more. Convincing yourself that it’s purely for research purposes and not for anything else.

Regardless, you need to know more. It’s probably better to get it from someone who has been through it rather than from some cold, impersonal online source. And besides, you just so happen to know someone who was in the military. Someone who, in fact, lost a limb in the line of duty: Bucky Barnes.

As far as you know, Bucky lost his left arm in the military. You’d asked him before how he lost it and he hadn’t answered you, opting instead to change the subject to Steve and his new (at the time) art studio. It had been suspicious, but you understand that it must not be easy to speak about something like that.

You’ll have to go talk to Steve tomorrow morning to get Bucky’s number, but you think that maybe you’ll treat him to lunch in exchange for him giving you some details about the whole military thing. At the company, you get an hour off for lunch, which is just enough time to go out, interrogate a friend (respectfully, of course), and head back before the hour is up.

The plan was formed and you had your head already set on it. By the time James’ reply comes in, you’ve tuckered yourself out thinking that whole plan out. It is really late—er, early—after all.

4:41 a.m 1 how was ur day 2 how r u likely to spend a friday night

4:43 a.m I feel like I’m taking a Buzzfeed quiz

You yawn again and type out your answers.

4:44 a.m my day’s just begun. it’s four a.m. And probably reading or something

You put your phone down, thinking that you’ll just leave it there and wait for his reply, but you end up turning over and falling asleep.��

In the morning, you turn your phone on silent again while you get ready for work, playing some music while you apply some light make-up.

It turned out that James hadn’t answered you anyway, so you would have been up waiting for a text that wasn’t going to come. Good thing you passed out.

Glancing at the clock, you notice that it’s 7:02 a.m and that Steve should be up. You don’t have to be at work until 8 and it’s not a long bus ride to get to work so you figure you can spare half an hour to haggle your best friend into giving up Bucky’s phone number. You wonder why you haven’t thought to get it sooner, figuring that you just never needed it.

You and Bucky only ever hung out with Steve or the rest of the gang. He was a friend of yours, but the two of you had never been too close in the two years of knowing each other. That said, you had heard a lot about each other even before meeting from Steve, and Bucky had expressed in the past how annoying he found it when Steve was constantly mentioning you in casual conversation.

It was the same with Bucky for you. Steve had been talking about his best friend Bucky ever since you had met him. It was in that way that you and Bucky had gotten to know each other sort of inadvertently.

Heading out the door and across the hall, you knock on Steve’s door lightly a few times. He’s a light sleeper anyways, and you don’t want to wake the whole hall with loud knocking. You only opt for knocking this time in case he’s not decent or something. Otherwise, you would have used your key.

Sure enough, Steve answers the door within a few minutes, clad in flannel pajama pants, a white V-neck, and holding a steaming cup of coffee. It smells amazing, and you realize then that in your rush you’d forgotten to make yourself some.

“Got another one of those and half an hour?”

Steve raises an eyebrow but steps aside to let you in. He’s a morning person, so you were sure on your way over here that you wouldn’t receive any resistance.

“What do you need?” he asks you, pouring you a cup of coffee not unlike how he’d done it the night before. He pours in a generous amount of milk and some sugar before stirring it and handing it to you, just the way you like it.

Blow, sip—“Mm,” you hum. “I need Bucky’s phone number.” You say it as nonchalantly as you can manage so as not to raise any flags to Steve, but by his surprised expression you can tell that you’ve raised them all.

“Bucky? Why?”

You shrug like it’s no big deal. “He has some info that I need.” It sounds so covert and cheesy that you almost giggle, but you manage to keep your composure while sipping your coffee again.

Steve tilts his head to the side almost imperceptibly, leaning his back against the counter across from you as you sit at a stool by his island. Said island juts out from a wall to half-enclose the kitchen area like a wrap-around ‘J’ with the island as the tail.

After a few moments of silence, it becomes clear that Steve is waiting for you to elaborate, and when you don’t indulge, he sighs, setting his cup down and crossing his arms.

“Okay, but don’t call him now,” Steve says, already ruffling in a drawer for a pen and paper. “He—he has trouble sleeping, and he needs as much of it as he can get before he has to work. And he’s taking Friday off so he has to log in more hours to make up the difference.” Steve hands you a piece of paper with numbers scribbled on it.

“Got it,” you said, taking the paper and sticking it in your bag. “Thanks, Steve.”

“Yeah,” he smiles at you. “No problem.”

You stand and head to the door, plan in motion and feeling good about it. Then you remember something and turn as you’re walking toward the door.

“Steve?”

He lifts his head from where he’s still standing in the kitchen sipping his coffee. You realize you’ve left yours there, but decide that it’s okay. You’ll survive. Somehow.

“Yeah?”

“Mom is bringing over pasta around two, but I won’t be home,” you can already see his eyes lighting up. “I told her to make extra and that you should be back by then. Can you—”

“—keep it here until you get home?” He knows you so well, it’s scary. “Yeah, but don’t expect me not to try some of it first.”

You fix him with a warning finger. “I’ll be over at seven and I will expect there to be enough for dinner and lunch tomorrow.”

He holds his hands up. “Hey, we all know my metabolism requires a lot of calories per day, and two is just in time for a late lunch.”

“Steve,” you warn.

“Alright,” he laughs. “I’ll leave some of your mother’s pasta for you for dinner.”

“That’s all I ask.”

You walk back over, kiss his cheek, take one more sip of your coffee, and then leave.

You tap your foot on the ground impatiently as you wait at your desk for the clock to turn from 11:29 to 11:30 so you can head for a bathroom break to call Bucky and find out if he’s busy for lunch.

James hadn’t texted you all day, but you figure that’s okay. He doesn’t always have to text you. He has a life. You push him mostly out of your head, or you try to. You fail miserably.

He’s the reason you’re meeting with Bucky anyways. As much as you don’t want to admit it, that’s the truth. Of course, you can’t tell Bucky that. You’ll just sound stupid. And then Bucky will tell Steve and Steve will have some sort of “talking to strangers is bad” intervention with you. You definitely don’t want to endure that.

11:30 hits and it’s officially been half an hour since your actual bathroom break. You don’t want to call attention to yourself in the office that you share with a whole bunch of other people in too-tightly-packed cubicles. You grab the slip of paper Steve had given you and head to the elevator.

By the time you make it to the downstairs bathroom, you realize that you forgot your phone upstairs on your desk. Great. Now what are you going to do? If you go back up to get it, you’ll look suspicious. Of course, you shouldn’t really care what your coworkers think of you, but you do. Everybody says they don’t care about peer acceptance but most actually do.

It’s human nature.

You sigh angrily and look around. The lobby is all marble floors and a little shop where they sell overpriced snacks and drinks. There’s a desk to the left of the elevator bank with one woman sitting in a black wheelie chair making and taking phone calls.

Can you just ask her to borrow one of her phones? There’s an empty seat next to her. Maybe you can explain your situation and just ask this woman if you can borrow the phone.

The only thing is that you don’t know this woman. Your supers rented the office space with the endless rows of cubicles from the people who owned the building. This woman obviously works for the building management, and not for anyone you know.

You decide it’s better that she doesn’t know you. It’s less personal. You can call Bucky, discuss details, and be done with it.

You sidle over and lean on the high desk. Its polished marble top is so high that you have to lean over it a little to see the woman. She’s plump, with dark hair, blue eyes, and a squished face. She looks the opposite of friendly. She’s wearing a black headset that you realize is some sort of Bluetooth.

You wait until she is done speaking to talk to her.

“Um, hello?”

She doesn’t look at you for a moment, reaching up instinctively as if she thinks you’re in her headset before she realizes she’s speaking to a real person. She eyes you.

“What?”

You were right to guess she wasn’t very friendly.

“I was wondering if I could borrow your phone,” you say kindly. “I have to call someone and I accidentally left my phone upstairs.”

She looks bored and eyes you for another second before looking back at her computer screen. “Just go up and get it.”

“It’s urgent,” you lie. Man, this is going to be awkward after you make the call right in front of her and she finds out its personal.

She eyes you again. “You have five minutes.”

You smile at her. “I’ll only need three.”

You wait as she plops one of the black phones on top of the counter, and it’s so high that you have to go up on your tiptoes to see the number pad.

“Type extension 382 first, then the number.”

With that, she gets back to her work and you pull the phone from the receiver. You flatten the paper on the desk and do as she instructed.

You wonder if he’ll even pick up. This will be an unknown number to him, and you know that if it were you, you wouldn’t answer.

It rings three times before a familiar, gruff voice answers.

“Hello?”

“Bucky? It’s Y/N.”

He sounds surprised. “Y/N?” There’s a pause, a honking noise, and then he sounds as if he’s realized something. “Steve gave you my number.”

“Yeah,” you say. “I had to call you from a work phone, though.”

You catch the woman looking up at you briefly and can tell she’s annoyed that this is a personal call. You’re sure this call needs to be as short as you can possibly make it or else you’re afraid she’ll just cut it herself.

“Oh.”

“Listen, are you busy for lunch in, like, half an hour?”

Bucky thinks for a moment on the other line and the lady looks at you again, her gaze becoming more venomous. You’re pretty sure that once she looks at you a third time she’s going to end your call for you.

Just as you’re about to scold him for an answer, Bucky speaks up.

“Yeah, I’m—”

You feel bad, but you have to cut him off.

“Okay, great. Meet me at the Deli down the street from Steve’s studio at 12 sharp. My treat.”

Bucky chuckled on the other end. “Your treat? What do you need from me?”

You smile despite the situation. “Just your brain.”

“Sure you don’t want Banner or Stark for that one?”

“I’m sure,” the woman was giving you her last angry glare. You had to go. “See you then, Buck.”

“Looking forward to having my brain probed. Bye, Y/N.”

You hang up, thank the lady, and make your way back upstairs as fast as you can. 12:00 can’t come quick enough.

Bucky wonders what you want to talk to him about as he drives a company truck to the deli and parallel parks a couple blocks down. The flatbed of the truck is filled with mismatched pieces of junk, from broken computers to the plastic from the top of a printer. It’s all stuff that can be broken down and reprocessed at a plant.

The city is taking down an old building and putting a new office building up in its place. It’s Bucky’s job as the assistant to take all the not-so-useless junk and dispose of it somewhere where it can be reused.

He doesn’t have to be at the plant until two, and he finished loading everything up early, so he has about two hours or so to spare.

Walking into the Deli, he’s hit with a wave of merciful heat and he immediately pulls his coat off. The deli is small with few patrons a small line for take-out. One woman is sipping an iced coffee through a straw while she types madly on a computer. Two men are sitting at a table wearing yellow vests and eating huge subs. Bucky wonders if he would have ended up as one of them, working for the DPW if he hadn’t begun working with the demolition company.

It takes him barely a moment of looking around to find Y/N sitting in a corner flanked by two windows with an empty seat across from her. There’s a wrapped sandwich and a water sitting on the table in front of the other seat.

She’s smoothing out the wrapper of her own sandwich as if the creases in the paper wrapping are offending and should not be allowed to exist.

“Hey,” he says, walking over and taking a seat in front of her.

She looks up at him and smiles. “Hey,” she shoots back, and then nods to the sandwich. “Got you a BLT.”

Bucky’s suspicions are steadily growing. He pulls the paper from around the sandwich and lays it on the table as Y/N had done, though he couldn’t care less about the creases. He looks between the sandwich and the girl, eyeing both with the suspicion of someone who thinks he’s being played.

“What’s this about?” he asks.

She swallows and puts her sandwich down, looking like she’s about to ask him a ground-breaking, life-changing question. Her eyes quickly flick over to his arm and he’s suddenly very sure he knows what this is about.

But that’s strange. Yesterday—or really early this morning—he was talking to Y/M/N about him having been in the military. Now Y/N is eyeing his arm like she really wants to ask what happened but she doesn’t want to sound impolite.

Then there’s the fact that they’re both editors. That’s weird. And how Y/N reminds him of Y/M/N.

He’s an apopheniac, he has to be. He’s seeing coincidences where there really aren’t any. It’s his brain playing tricks on him. In truth, maybe he just wants this strange girl to be Y/N. Though, probably not. Then again, maybe this whole time he thought he was jealous of Y/N for being so close to Steve, he was really jealous of Steve for being so close to Y/N.

That thought derails him so fast that he doesn’t hear it when Y/N actually asks her question.

She lets out a breath as if it’s a load-off to finally ask him, and he’s struck with the realization that if he says he didn’t hear her, she probably won’t take it well. He waits for her to say something else, but when she doesn’t he takes a leap of faith based on her glance at his arm.

“You want to know how I lost my arm,” he says, rather than asks. If her expression of shock and discomfort is any indication, he’s screwed up.

Big time.

Shit.

“I mean,” she straightens in her chair. “I guess—it’s sorta part of it? Yeah.”

She sounds so lost and he feels so bad.

He still has no idea what her original question was though. ‘Part of it.’ His thoughts drift back to his earlier conversation with the girl he’s been talking to over text. The military. Could that be what Y/N wants to know about?

No, it’s just too weird. There’s no way. But he has to know.

“The military? You want to know about the military?”

She nods, looking slightly guilty. “Yeah,” he tries not to let his breath of relief show, “I—uh, fact-checking. I’m fact-checking an article.”

Bucky nods slowly, sandwich forgotten. She’s a terribly liar. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Sitting back as if she’s been punched in the gut, she blinks once, twice, three times—“I’m not lying.”

“Your body language gives you away.”

“Is that something you learned in the military?”

Bucky chuckles. “That’s something I learned from a whole lot of spy movies. Seriously, why do you want to know?”

She takes a bite of her sandwich and speaks around it. Altogether, not the most sexy, but that’s okay.

“Research,” she says slowly.

Bucky creases his eyebrows. “For?”

“For a project?”

“If you’re going to lie, at least lie with conviction,” Bucky says. “One of these days, I’m going to teach you how to lie the right way.”

Laughing, she pulls her chair in a little more and sits forward. The picture of seriousness, she says, “Alright, if I tell you, you need to promise me you won’t tell Steve.” She sounds reluctant to tell him at all. This must not have been her plan.

Bucky draws a cross over his heart with his index finger. “Cross my heart or hope to die.”

She shakes her head. “Gotta be stronger than that. You have to pinkie promise.”

He gasps dramatically. “Not a pinkie promise. This must really be serious.”

Reaching over, she swats his arm. “Buck, I’m serious.”

“Okay, okay,” he surrenders, holding up his pinkie. She links hers with his and he’s momentarily struck by how soft her skin is. Then it’s over. “Tell me.”

She steels herself, he can see it. Jeez, it must really be something serious or she wouldn’t be swearing him to secrecy using childish, yet efficient tactics. It strikes him that she tells Steve everything, same as him, so for her to say she doesn’t want him to know must mean it’s not necessarily something good.

He lets himself think for a moment that she might be about to confess that she’s the mystery girl he’s been texting. It’s much more likely, though, that she’s about to tell him she’s got feelings for Steve or something.

Steeling himself as well, he waits as she takes a deep breath.

“I may or may not—”

“You may,” he corrects. She glares at him.

“—have answered a text from a guy who was trying to text someone else—”

This is where Bucky stops listening and his internal monologue becomes one word:

Fuck.

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lifesobeautiful · 6 years ago

Text

11 Thesis Writing Tips That Will Help You Graduate

Writing a thesis is one of the most difficult challenges you will have to overcome in your life as a student. By the time the thesis proposal rolls in, you’re most likely brain-fatigued from all your other university requirements and pressures from daily life.

To give you a hand, here are some crucial thesis-writing tips that will help you finish your paper and graduate successfully.

Know Your Topic

Try to choose a topic that you already have a wealth of knowledge on. If not, make sure it’s a topic that you can do a lot of research on. If not, it’s going to be extremely difficult to form a powerful thesis statement, let alone write an entire paper. Take a few minutes and reflect on any personal experiences that may help you tie your entire paper together.

Be Specific

Some papers have a broader topic range. If this sounds like yours, pick one or two specific areas and focus on them. A broad topic will usually result in a long and rambling paper, and you need a focused, precise, and concise finished paper. Do research on your chosen topic and narrow your areas down.

Have a Logical Thought Sequence

When people wonder, “How am I going to write my thesis?”, they generally don’t use a logical thought sequence. For example, your introduction should present your argument in a clear and compelling way. From there, each paragraph below it should build on any evidence you have to support your introduction. Don’t forget to use case studies to add to your credibility.

Remember the How? Why? and So What? of Your Paper

Never assert statements in your thesis without having evidence and proof to support your claims. Clearly explain the how’s and the why’s of any argument or point you make. Have someone review your paper and ask for their main takeaway. If they have a so what moment, you want to connect any stray ideas back to your main argument.

Start With an Outline

This point goes along with having a logical thought sequence to your paper. Take a piece of paper and create bullet points. Your argument should be at the top. Each bullet point below that is a paragraph. Each paragraph should have one supporting fact or study that you build on. Concentrate on this one idea per paragraph and connect them all back to your main argument.

Proofread, Proofread, Proofread

Proofread your paper once to yourself. Second, put it into a program that will read it back to you because it’s a lot easier for most people to catch errors when they hear them. Next, get a friend or colleague and ask them to proofread your paper for you. It should have at least three or four proofreading sessions before you feel comfortable enough to turn it in.

If your colleagues are too busy to help you out for free, there are paid services that can help you edit and review your paper. Check out these Edusson reviews as an example of such services.

Brainstorm Your Topic

When you get your topic, start with a brainstorming session. Get a blank piece of paper and write down anything and everything that comes to mind about your topic. Look for any new connections. Try to sort your ideas into categories. You can take these categories and use them to form the bare bones of your paper. It only has to be a few words because you’ll flesh it out later when you start writing.

Make Your Thesis Reader-Friendly

Even if you’re writing an academic paper, it should be simple enough for anyone who picks it up to understand the point or points you want to get across. You can write your first thesis statement with your peer group or targeted audience in mind. Once you have this, go back and rewrite it to be more reader-friendly.

Establish Credibility

What sets your paper apart from just anyone? The answer is credible sources. People like to read things that have facts, trials, and clinical references to back them up. Every statement you make in your thesis should have one or two credible sources behind it. Don’t just blurt out anything and expect people to believe you. Give them so much evidence that they don’t have a choice but to believe what you’re saying is true.

Be Clear

Your thesis should be straightforward and crystal clear to your readers. To do this, you want to avoid vague language and things like “interesting,” “difficult,” or “exciting” in your writing. Also, you want to avoid abstract words like “values” or “society.” They don’t give your reader any information unless you carefully explain it to them. For example:

Vague Thesis Statement: Although the black bear is a reclusive and timid animal, people are systematically exterminating it. (If it’s reclusive and timid, why are people exterminating it?)

Revised Thesis Statement: Although the black bear is actually a reclusive and timid animal, people are systematically exterminating it because they wrongfully believe it to be a savage killer.

Ensure that Your Thesis is Original

You want to avoid having generic arguments in your thesis statement. Although they work well to get your rough draft up and going, they’re a very easy way to bore your reader. You want to keep revising your thesis until you’re sure that you get your point across in an engaging and interesting way. You want to pull your reader in and compel them to read the rest of your paper.

These 11 thesis writing tips can help you craft a masterful paper that will surely get you a more than decent grade. It’s essential that you take your time, do your research, and put a lot of effort into your writing. If you do, you’ll end up with a compelling thesis that sucks your readers in and makes them see your point of view.

See Also: How To Publish Your Thesis Into A Book In 4 Steps

The post 11 Thesis Writing Tips That Will Help You Graduate appeared first on Dumb Little Man.

This article was first shared from Dumb Little Man

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thewordonmainstreet · 6 years ago

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It Doesn’t Always Get Better And I’m Proof

It’s Bell Let’s Talk time again and with that comes the messaging that some mental health PSA’s say that “it gets better”. Well don’t I have news for them, it doesn’t and the world needs to know that it’s okay to not get better. I’m living proof. My depression has never been this bad since I was diagnosed at age 18. Now at 43, my body has checked out on me and I’m left picking up the pieces and I’m not really doing that great a job at that. I’m exhausted all the time and even after a seemingly restful 8 hours of sleep, I could use 8 more. When I try to nap, I just can’t sleep. Sarah (McLachlan) said it right when she sang “I’m so tired, I can’t sleep”. That’s me. I’m barely awake and nothing, not coffee, not water, not energy drinks wakes me up. I have no appetite at all, cept for fast food which only seems to fill the void but I can’t afford a steady diet of that on my income. I only cook because I have to and I feel that I’ve failed as a woman because of that. I’m eating like a bird, picking at my food and wanting nothing to do with most of my fridge’s contents. I want it all in a hurry or not at all. It’s a hell of a thing to have depression/exhaustion take over your life. My GP said that she doesn’t know what to do with me. She’s at a total loss. I am too. And then I saw her, a woman whose depression or sheer exhaustion had become her. Wearing a housecoat and earbuds at 11:58 a.m. on Tuesday morning, coming from getting a coffee at Timmie’s. I wasn’t the only person that just stared at her and wondered if this was early onset Alzheimer’s causing wandering of just depression turned total exhaustion. That was me, walking home in a housecoat at almost noon on a weekday. My body has failed me and I’m failing at life. I don’t want to be this way anymore. I’ve got hardly any fight left within me but I’ve got to fight this tired harder than ever because it’s taking my life away. It’s sapping my ability to blog, to read (yes, I can’t even concentrate to read a book), to cook properly. It’s going to cost me in the long run. I’ve decided that I’m going to fight this fatigue aggressively and just push past it. I’m going to shower when I don’t feel like it, cook when I don’t feel like it and just push myself to do everything else that my body says no to. I just got a job today and I start next week. I know this is depression and I need to fall in love with life again and find the right job fit for me but until then, I’ve got to not let this become me so much anymore. I’ve got to do well at this job because my boss seems amazing and amazing and boss together are just so hard to find now. He pretty much hired me on the spot. I need to work because ODSP isn’t enough to get by and I want to eat and live better. But for those that firmly believe in the rhetoric that “it gets better”, this is part of the positivity agenda and to hell with your positivity agenda because not all of us can snap back to reality because sometimes life falls to pieces and not into place. People get so disappointed when they see you’re not doing better, they lose patience so quickly with those that never seem to be on the up and up. Well those people aren’t my kind of people, they need to get some understanding. Some understanding that some of us have depression that lasts a lifetime. Some of us never find our place in this world. But until then, I vow not to be like that woman, housecoat-wearing and getting a coffee at almost noon. I’m fighting depression with all that I have within me and there sure isn’t much left lately hence my blog title and I’ll be darned if it’s going to sideline me to the point where I’m fucking up this much. I’m so far down but it’s not over. I’m in the 11th hour but it’s not over. I’ll look into getting help from herbs. Herbal supplements, not pot. My life has gone to pot but I won’t turn to it as I don’t like the smell on people, but bless them though. No way in hell is this going to put me in a worse place than I am now. So back off depression, this woman is down but I’ll never, ever be out. Because I’m stubborn like that. And stubborn is a damn good personality trait because stubborn gets shit done and doesn’t peace out in the middle of the fight.

EDIT: Just as quickly as a job was offered to me and new hope sprang forward, it just as quickly died. I’m used to things being given and taken away just moments after. Everything ends just after beginning. As a major mid-winter storm weathers against my home, so has life once again dealt me a blow. I’ve spent the day in bed, unable to shower and get dressed because of the disappointment. I’ve hardly eaten a thing today and am drowning in despair. I don’t think I’ve got any strength left in me to rise against the storm that once against has come in to ravage me. I’ll just take each day as it comes and rest in the assurance that what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.

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goldenscript · 8 years ago

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say cheese!

lee jooheon | 2,300 words | bad boy au / fluff ↳ you decide to surprise your beloved on a coffee date just to show him how much he means to you.

author’s note: based on this request and accompanied by this edit!

It’s 10:42 AM.

You’ve been standing in front of the white-dotted, canary yellow apartment complex for nearly twenty minutes, and you’re at an absolute refusal to give up and go home now. The cold may be seeping through your “weather-proof” coat and some of the moisture in the air may cling to your locks, but you’ll be damned to let your boyfriend and Mother Nature deter you from today’s plan. Whether Lee Jooheon likes it or not, you two are going on a date at a time earlier than 1 PM.

Hell, you’re lucky if it’s 1 PM. Sometimes he’ll sleep in so long, he’ll have slept through the first or even second hour and just show up by 3. Not that you can blame him from all the work and community service hours he’s been putting in next to school, but dammit, you’re going to make this date happen no matter what.

Because you love him. That’s why.

To be completely honest, you’ve never surprised him with a date, so being that this is your first time, you’re only more determined than ever to get him to flash that deep dimpled grin down at you and embrace your limbs from behind as he usually does. It’s usually tight at first, enough to knock your breathe away until he’s loosens his hold and pulls you into closer just to nuzzle his chin against your scalp. He’s close enough for you to bask in his scent that interchanges between the standard musk and a sweeter, citrusy scent that he attributes to his sculpting clay and his shower gel (both of which you very much enjoy), and you’ll often melt into his touch, allowing yourself to be immersed in him before he does something to jolt you from your sense trance like attack your sides with quick jab of his fingers that only entice small yelps and maybe a few smacks before you try to escape his grasp and gain a few moments just to breathe from the sudden attack. You can imagine him grinning wickedly, depending on if he’s hiding behind his black mask, before taking a step to make another move before you go in for your own attack, falling short if he restrains you.

It’s too vivid not to predict that this is a likely outcome for you two, so even when he saunters over toward you, clad in a mask, matching black hat, and black clothing (though it isn’t like he’s ever ventured out of that color scheme on the exception of that one time Jackson and his friend Namjoon forced the funeral-ready boy into a pair of blue jeans and a white button-down), with narrowed eyes past the rusted gate with a loud clang! you know better than anyone that he’s not angry.

Lee Jooheon, as badass as he appears, is nothing short of a lovable teddy bear despite his feral outward appearance. He may don a leather jacket and a snapback but you know better than anyone he’s as bubbly and bright as the shining sun itself. He offers warmth and comfort much like the brightest star in the sky after a too-cold dip in a pool and the security of a blanket when you seek protection from chilly winds. He’s too precious… even if he thinks you’re ridiculous to say so.

“Babe,” He moans, dragging out the ‘a’ sound as his brows scrunch together and his hands reach for your forearms to give you a mild shake. He’s either pouting or frowning beneath the mask, and it becomes visible when you reveal his pouting lips though you’ve earned a momentary glare at the action. “It’s so early. Why are you here so early? I’m sleepy. I just woke up. Shit… were you out here long? Ugh, babe-”

You poke his sides, hoping to calm his little tirade though you’ve earned yourself yet another glare from him. “Surprise! It’s an early morning date. Now let’s go~”

“Go where?” He begins to whine, the rise in his already husky voice elicits a frown from your own lips before you remind yourself that being a brat like him won’t work. Although he falls for your whining quicker than most people can blink, you know to save it for special occasions. This one… well, this would require a loving hand for sure.

“Aw baby, c’mon, I just wanted to surprise you… we’re going to that one coffee shop that I’ve been dying to take you to.” You answer, wrapping your restrained arms around his waist. His warmth seeps through the slick black coat and enters the confines of your own coat, sating the mid-rising gooseflesh that dared to cover your arms. He pulls you in closer in response, releasing your arms to rub your back to spread his glorious heat. “Please Jooheonie~”

“But it’s so early! Why this early?” He asks with a sigh. From the sigh, you know that he’s already beginning to relent. He just wants an answer as to why you’d want to drag him out of his glorious bed when he could be sleeping. At least it’s with good reason this time.

Last time someone (read: Changkyun) tried to get Jooheon out of bed before noon, he dumped a bucket of water on him and said that there was a fire in the kitchen. The latter was true, but the youngest one failed to recognize what said bucket could’ve been used for and that the fire wasn’t even that serious either- the heat was just on too high so it traveled up the pot for a moment before dissipating as soon as he left to go get Jooheon. To say the least, it was not pretty and your beloved boyfriend has vowed to make Changkyun his personal slave if that ever happens again.

Just the thought amuses you but you shake your head and meet Jooheon’s dark brown hues with a newfound determination. It melts into a soft, almost pouty expression within moments.

“I just want to spend time with you. I figured I’d surprise you with this free day… but I guess it’s fine if you don’t wanna go then. You can go back to sleep… I’ll go home.”

There’s a flash of regret that crosses his fatigue-ridden eyes. He opens his mouth to say something as soon as he feels you releasing your hold of his leather-clad waist. He grabs hold of your forearms again, halting further movements and even goes further to pull you into one of his bear hugs.

“No, no. Don’t go, baby. Let’s go to that coffee shop. Let’s just… nap later or somethin’?” He amends, giving you a small squeeze. He releases you only a little to meet your eyes, quickly using one hand to remove his mask to reveal his pout before grasping both of your hands. “Please~”

You sigh, looking at the ground near his left before meeting his eyes with a grin.

“Okay. Sure, baby!”

He matches your grin, placing his fingertips at your chin just to bring your lips closer to his.

It’s soft, chaste, and most definitely warm, which you bask into, allowing yourself to fall deeper into his touch, hands innocently roaming his torso while his do the same to your own body, until it’s time for the two of you to come back for air. Even as you’re separated from him, your lips tingle and the mild taste of peppermint toothpaste lingers. He looks just as blown away as you probably appear, small pants leave his semi-swollen, very pink lips. You feel breathless at the very glorious sight and excitement swells inside your gut as you grab hold of his hand and draw him closer to your side, guiding him to the destination.

Your destination: a lovely coffee shop called flâneur. It’s a joint that’s nestled at the heart of the city with great music and beverages that you went to a few times. Each time, however, was without Jooheon, and you just want a nice day with him. Probably snap a few selfies, with your coaxing, venture the cityscape, and just make the most of your time together because it’s just one of those days where you want to shower him with adoration.

When you look at Jooheon, he looks fairly harmless. Maybe a little menacing with his hulking stature and dark clothing, but when you look past that to listen to his adorable tangents about music and how it runs his life or how he adores animals- it’s too mesmerizing not to listen to him and his husky voice go on for hours on end. Phone calls with him, days with him, literally any time with him are treasured greatly by you. And even though some people give him the side eye with his dark mask clad face now that he’s pull it up from his chin and matching dark hat nestled atop his head to hide the view of his atrocious hat hair, you can’t help but snuggle closer into his side without an actual reason when he gives to a downcast raised brow.

The café is quaint and warm, its speckled grey floor adorned with the dark mahogany furniture, a few people preoccupy the spaces to the near brim. At least there are open tables outside as you make your way to the counter, ordering two Americanos and a nice, buttery-looking croissant to share with your pouting boy.

He nudges your side, pressing his lips close to the shell of your ear to release a soft whine when you immediately pull out your wallet and hand the cashier, Hyunwoo the money, who chuckles at the sight. He presses his hand to Jooheon’s in a subdued high five before bidding the two of you a good day while you wait for your drinks to be ready off to the side with the rest of the waiting customers.

He wraps his arms around your waist, resting his chest against your back while he continues to whisper random things in your ear. It only elicits soft giggles as you attempt to squirm from his hold but he locks his arms so there’s no escape.

“You’re killing me, babe,” He mutters, a visible pout on his lips now that he’s freed himself of the mask, allowing it to rest at his chin.

Your shoulders lift, a wicked grin curving on your lips as you press them to his cheek.

“I know.”

He lets out another guttural groan, giving your torso a squeeze. You release a squeak (which he chuckles at) before you slap at his arms as soon as you hear your name being called for your order.

You grab onto his arm, leading him outside at the tall tables, sipping at your drink with a content sigh. He does the same, biting back the shiver that’s aching his limbs by hunching his shoulders and sipping the icy beverage he loves more than most people. It’s too adorable not to capture on camera, so on the given chance, you unleash your cellphone, capturing the moment with a quick, “Cheese!” before slipping the phone back into your pocket.

With a sip of your drink, you smile at him when he feigns a glower and opens his mouth to say something but you interject: “Aw, c’mon. Don’t be a party pooper, Jooheonie.”

“Am not.” He huffs, looking off to the side with a bigger pout.

“Then just bear with me. Why are you still pouting?” You tilt your head at him, feeling a particular breeze aching your bones.

He mutters, “It’scold…”

You raise a brow, “What was that?”

“It’s cold…” He repeats, squirming slightly in his seat. “Can we go somewhere warm?”

You laugh, “Sure, let’s go~”

As soon as you both rise and he’s stepping onto the curve, the sun peeks past the downcast clouds. It shines atop of him, illuminating his features despite the entirely dark scheme he has going on. He reminds you of a summer’s day like the day you two met when he sauntered into the grocery store you were helping out at. It was unbearably warm, and you can remember how he was whining to his friend Hyungwon about dying from the heat, which can only be blamed by his leather attire. He spotted you at the cash register and flashed you a dimpled grin, waving slightly despite his flushed cheeks and Hyungwon had introduced you two with what you now deem as a knowing grin. After that, Jooheon kept coming back to the grocery store before finally asking you out, whisking you away to a date at the beach. Luckily he was dressed appropriately, but ever since then, the warmth of the shining sun has been his biggest symbol even if he’s housing a little pout at your sudden proclamation.

“Wait! Stay right there. You look really good under this light, babe.” You say, holding him in place.

He groans but acquiesces, his cheeks rising by a millimeter before he stills any further movements. He doesn’t smile, but regardless, he looks good with the attempted straight face he’s got going.

“So cute,” You coo, giggling as he grabs your hand and drags you alongside him down the street. “I love it whenever you’re my model.”

“Yeah, yeah,” He says, rolling his eyes. You watch the twitch of his lips and you can’t hide your growing grin. Despite his pouts and whines, you know better than anyone that he secretly loves the way you’ll stop him in the middle of a date just to take a picture because the lighting is just right or how he looks especially handsome at a certain angle. “You’re lucky I love you, babe.”

Even if he’ll never admit it, he’ll always lets you take his picture.

“I love you too~”

#jooheon fluff #jooheon scenarios #monsta x scenarios #monsta x fluff #kpop scenarios #lee jooheon #monsta x imagines #jooheon x reader #monsta x jooheon #monsta x au #emswriting

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juniorkoyama · 4 years ago

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How this blog came about

To be completely honest, I am incredibly hesitant to even write this post. Even now, I am quite literally debating whether or not to erase this and change subjects. I have to consciously force my fingers to type these words. But I made a promise to post at least once per day, and I have not had the time or inspiration to churn out a bulk production of material as of yet. So, as the digits on my monitor tick steadily closer to the midnight deadline of a new calendar day, I find myself at a loss as to subject matter. A couple of hours ago, I toyed with the idea of casually letting just this one day slide. “I can make it up tomorrow by posting twice...”. But a promise is a promise and I made the promise of posting daily in order to better myself and in the hopes of making writing (something I have always been attracted to, and feel fairly capable of) into a habit. As I was simultaneously persuading and dissuading myself in regards to posting today, I found myself wanting for subject matter. Nothing seemed fun, inspiring, intriguing. So, I thought, maybe I should just provide a little background on myself and how I found myself in this situation.

The quick version (I promise I will post more on this and elaborate heavily in the future, think of this as an introduction) is that I absolutely hate to appear vulnerable, show weakness, or feel incapable. I also despise using any disability or setback as a crutch and an excuse to not be the best you can be, and to not accomplish what you want in life. The reality is that over the past 5 to 6 years I have felt an ever increasing presence of all those things which perturb me, as well as much other pain and hardship. You see, on my 33rd birthday, I was finally diagnosed (after several years of unknown and ever increasing physical ailments, and waning physical performance) with Late Stage Lyme Disease, which becomes known as Chronic Lyme Disease or Post Treatment Lyme Disease Syndrome if the symptoms continue to persist one year or longer after antibiotic treatment.

Before becoming infected with borrelia burgdorferi, the bacteria which is responsible for Lyme Disease, I was carving out a career in the restaurant industry. I hesitate to say “I was a chef”, because that term is thrown around all too often and far too gratuitously. I got my first restaurant job at the age of 17 as a dishwasher, and moved my way up through the ranks (not at the same establishment, but through many different restaurants) to eventually be a lead cook. I attended and graduated from Le Cordon Bleu with a degree in Culinary Arts. I then worked at several other restaurants and held various positions, from Prep Cook to Sous Chef, and eventually opened my own food business. Notice, at no point have I even said I was a ‘Chef‘... yes, I held a couple of positions as Sous Chef, but, in case you are wondering, or perhaps do not know, CHEF is a position, a title, an earned demarcation which entails lots of blood, sweat and tears, and it denotes a certain element of respect within the restaurant community. So, yes, I have held a position as a chef, but I am not a chef. I unapologetically state, right here and now, that it is a personal pet peeve of mine when ‘Chef’ is thrown around willy-nilly. I know, many people do it because they think they are being respectful or polite, and some companies call all cooks ‘Chefs’ in order to.... well I don’t really know why, except maybe to make their company seem more prestigious than it really is? Perhaps this is a skewed and negative perception, perhaps it is the truth. At any rate, if you are someone who calls anyone in the professional kitchen ‘Chef’ please refrain from now on, as it is not as respectful as you perhaps intend, and likely makes you seems much less knowledgeable than you surely are. Don’t worry, there will be plenty more rants and raves about restaurant industry happenings in the future of this blog, so, if it is something you enjoy, stay tuned!

I digress, and to bring things back round to the crux, I was a career restaurant employee, and it is a highly demanding job, physically, mentally and temporally. To sum things up (as I said earlier, I will elaborate on everything in much more detail in upcoming posts), I ended up having to routinely quit new cooking jobs after only a few months, sometimes only a couple days weeks, of work. I became worried about my health, as it felt like I had the flu (minus the gastrointestinal issues) for nearly two whole years, and it had taken a toll on my physical, mental and emotional well being. It certainly didn’t do anything positive for my résumé either. I didn’t have health insurance, and was quickly finding it difficult to pay my bills. Finally things got to the point that I was unemployed and essentially bed ridden due to chronic fatigue and constant peripheral neuropathy - you know, that fun feeling of all your nerves and muscles constantly burning. I found this particular peculiarity highly intriguing, and it got me to researching possible diagnoses of my symptoms (self diagnosing is NEVER a good idea, just don’t do it... seriously, don’t... you’ll make things far worse than they really are) and set me on a quest to obtain consistent medical evaluation for the uninsured and broke. Eventually I came across a clinic which met these criteria, and I ended up telling my physician that I basically felt like I always had the flu, and that my muscles always burned. The best way I could describe this was being akin to when you are doing a heavy toning workout lifting weights, and you near the end of your final set, when your muscles literally feel like they are on fire and you push through those last, glorious few reps which make you feel so incredibly accomplished. It turns out, as a matter of fact, that there is a very specific biological reasoning to this highly descriptive feeling of this very specific symptom of Lyme Disease.

And so there were many schedulings of appointments at various places, I was insanely fortunate to get an absolutely incredible medical team who actually wanted to get to the root of my problems and figure this thing out. After three rounds of blood work, for a total of 10 vials of blood, and several months (all heavily laden with doctor’s appointments) of waiting for results, I got the diagnosis. It was a bittersweet discovery, on the one hand it felt great because now there was a course of action to combat a known enemy, on the other hand it was almost worse than not knowing, because so little is known on a clinical level regarding the treatment of Late Stage Lyme Disease.

You see, most Lyme Disease cases are diagnosed within 3-6 months of contraction. If this is the case, a short course of antibiotics and a small bit of follow up evaluation, and Bob’s your uncle, you’re back to your old self. If, however, you remain infected and undiagnosed for years rather than months, well, then the bacteria really wreak havoc on your body and play a little game of their own called “your symptoms are gonna go ahead and persist even after you kill us”. So, basically, even after diagnosis and treatment, I am still unable to function ‘normally’, as I used to. I am unable to work a ‘normal’ job like a ‘normal’ person. I can’t be relied on to show up for scheduled shifts or appointments with any sort or regularity due to my continuing symptoms. I had to figure out something to do with my life to give it purpose again.

Writing is something I have always enjoyed, it’s been something that I have always found a comfortable creative outlet, and it has steadily rode sidecar in my brain throughout my life; constantly, though gently, pushing me to dedicate myself to it in one way or another while my conscious brain made all sorts of excuses why I shouldn’t pursue it. After a bit of thought, and a few brainstorms of various writing avenues, I decided to start this blog. I like the idea of the freedom it offers. I don’t have to write about only one thing for any length of time or number of characters, which is ideal because I love learning and sharing knowledge about so many things. I don’t even have to stick to one style of writing, and can fill in posts with pictures and other media if fitting (or if I’m lazy!).

I thank you for bearing with me for this bit of a ramble. I usually am very disciplined about editing my work, I hate for anything to go out with errors. Today is an exception. As I finish writing this, my mind is clouded, I am about twice as tired and sore as I was an hour ago when I began this post, my forearms are burning and I find it increasingly difficult to keep track, keep course, and stay on topic in any sort of coherent and naturally flowing fashion. My vocabulary steadily declines, and my focus diminishes. I normally read through and re edit anything I write which meets another persons eyes with dogged determination so as to present my best possible work. I re-read through for continuity and flow, check for grammatical, syntactical and punctuation errors. I am my own worst enemy when it comes to proof reading an editing. But, as I said a bit ago, today is an exception as I feel the Lyme Disease winning this fight. I want to go on, to clarify points, to expand on particular events, it takes all my self restraint to NOT proof read and edit, but there will be plenty of time and opportunities for all of this later. I know this post is a bit of incohesive and semi- stream of consciousness writing. But thank you for reading, and, hopefully, not judging too harshly. Enjoy this rarity of unedited spew of speech placed in to text, for I am not going to read back through or edit this before posting. Hopefully I do not read it back tomorrow in a pool of regret, but c’est la vie, non?

Junior

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mikeyd1986 · 6 years ago

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MIKEY’S PERSONAL BLOG 161, June 2019

Last Saturday night, I celebrated my cousin Nathan Dunkling’s 21st birthday at The Comic's Lounge in North Melbourne. Social gatherings like birthday parties can often be huge anxiety triggers for me but somehow my anxiety was under control tonight even being in a large group of people and inside a crowded live comedy venue. Yes it filled up very quickly which meant that the volume levels of conversation gradually rose up and it was very difficult to hear what was going on even at my own table.

Some of Nathan’s friends were sitting at my table and so it was hard for me to engage in conversation with them. Thankfully I had a solution to this, pulling out my phone and playing Harry Potter: Hogwarts Mystery to curb my boredom levels before the show actually began. Some people might pull out the “anti-social” card but I really don’t care as I see it as a coping mechanism and way of feeling comfortable when I can’t connect with the people around me. Plus waiting for our meals did take a long time so I didn’t have much else to do.

Finally around 8.15pm, the MC for the evening Josh Earl began his comedy routine whilst I began chowing away at my entree, salt and pepper calarami. I also ordered an Atlantic salmon for mains which was really delicious. There were four comedians in total including an American lady named Eve, an Australian named Claire and the main headliner Dave Thornton. Honestly it was a very hit and miss affair for me. Plus I felt like there were too many breaks in between and it seemed to stretch the night out a bit too late for me (We were there for over 4 hours).

Admittedly, some jokes simply soared over my head perhaps because I missed the context of what they were talking about. Others I basically didn’t find funny at all. It’s not to say that I don’t have a sense of humour, more I can only stomach so many jokes related to Sex - poo, dicks, vaginas, masturbation, circumcision, vasectomies. Religion - Jewish people. Christian people, believing in God. Children - dealing with being a parent, being able to handle kids, changing nappies. I’ve pretty much heard it all. I think a lot of it depends on the delivery of the joke too. If it’s too forced, I’m most likely not going to laugh at it. Still it was an enjoyable night out and good value for money.

On Sunday morning, we checked out of our hotel room at Best Western Melbourne City Hotel - Formerly Pensione Hotel and had breakfast downstairs at Oliver's. Then we drove down to St. Kilda to visit the Esplanade Market and walked along the pier. Even though the air was fairly cold, eventually the sun broke through the overcast clouds and it become a lovely morning to check out the scenic views. I do get a little nervous when it comes to passing by stalls in a market which some sellers trying really hard to get my to buy something but it’s nice just having a browse and watching the people walking their dogs along the footpath.

On Monday morning, I had an appointment with my support worker Seb at Jamaica Blue Cranbourne. A couple of weeks ago, I was feeling pretty conflicted and disheartened about the service Mentis Assist was providing to me. There was a lot of being messed around with lack of communication and no confirmations being made over the past few weeks besides having one fill in support worker. Everything felt like it was in limbo. I sent a text message to Seb yesterday but I had no idea if he would even turn up today.

Eventually he did reply and things got back on track again today. What was alarming to me though was the fact that he wasn’t informed about what was happening with me over the past few weeks. Nobody at Mentis Assist told him that a replacement support worker would be organised for me or that my appointment would be switched to Tuesday afternoon. It was almost enough for me to pull the plug but honestly none of this is Seb’s fault, just the broken system that had left me hanging.

On Monday afternoon, I had my second last Creative Writing class at Balla Balla Community Centre in Cranbourne East. I have to admit that I was stuck in a rut of sorts after the last class and really struggled on the previous homework task of coming up with five different endings to a short story I began in Week 3. I was feeling a little uncertain about what I’d come up with but at least I gave it a go.

ENDINGS HOMEWORK EXERCISE

Ryan is determined to escape the trappings of his old life and even in these dire circumstances, he will make it to Fiji one way or another.

Ryan decides to build friendships with the locals in New Caledonia and eventually settles there.

Ryan sends a distress call back home to Australia in order to be saved from the ordeal he has been through. He managed to escape the plane crash with only minor injuries, however it has had a major impact on him psychologically. He makes contact with a counselor to find strategies to overcome his trauma.

Ryan ends up in a local hospital wired up to machines - life support, oxygen, heart rate monitor. The experience of the plane crash was too much for him and has taken a tool on him physically as well as mentally and emotionally.

Upon landing in New Caledonia, Ryan ends up getting himself captured by a tribe of warriors, clad with wooden spears and shields, deep inside the bushland. Will he manage to survive?

During today’s class, we looked into scenes vs. chapters, improving your draft, killing off your darlings and the habits of successful authors. Scenes are more complicated and more important than chapters. They are very specific building blocks within your story. They also need tension and conflict. Each scene can be divided into two parts: ACTION (Goal, conflict, disaster) and REACTION (Reaction, dilemma, decision).

Chapters are arbitrary divisions within a book. They impose order and create a certain sense of structure. Chapter breaks are more about pacing and must be placed strategically. They leave readers with a question or a reason to know more. Scene structure has nothing to do with chapter breaks.

Improving your draft. Your first draft is the writing equivalent of running a marathon. You need to take a step back, question the structure and the characters, ask whether all the characters want the same thing, does the story contain enough conflict. After draft two and beyond, you need to be a little more critical with your work. Hire a professional editor and get your manuscript copy edited. Then finally have the manuscript proof read.

Killing off your darlings. Cut out any elements that doesn’t serve to further the work as a whole, in order to enhance the story. Darlings can be words, phrases, sentences, paragraphs or characters. The main benefits of killing off your darlings are: it strengthens your characters and plot, improves the overall quality of your writing and refines your self discipline. Things to cut: weak characters, extraneous plot lines, backstory and prologues.

The habits of successful authors include write everyday, finish your stories, learn the rules, break the rules, create their own inspiration, don’t slack off on the hard stuff, follow their hearts and not the market, develop a thick skin, set their stories free, love what they do, write with joy and embrace fragments of writing.

On Monday night, I went to my Boxing small group fitness class with CinFull Fitness. Tonight was a very small group with just myself, Rodney Sack and Ben Milton. We each got our measurements taken before we actually started. It’s been something of a fleeting thought for me, particularly the scales and weighing myself. It’s not longer been an unhealthy obsession. In fact, I hardly ever weigh myself at all these days. I used to get really fixated on THE NUMBER but now I’m able to let it go more easily considering it’s not a true representation of how “fat” or “overweight” I am. There are so many other factors that go into it like muscle mass and water weight.

Tonight’s class consisted of drills and partner work, push ups, plank holds, ground and pounds, sit up punches, V-ups, Russian twists, star jumps, walking lunges and squat holds.

Being paired up with a hard-hitter like Rodney certainly got me out of my comfort zone. I was a little nervous about not being able to handle it (and be accidentally punched in the face) but I wasn’t going to let that fear stop me. I needed to release all of those negative labels that have been given to me in the past (weak, slow, incapable, incompetent, useless, a loser). I’m not any of those things. Sometimes I really do surprise myself in being able to overcome a struggle such as physical fatigue or being out of breath. I know that I’m not as fit as some of the others but that fact shouldn’t stop me from participating in the class.

On Wednesday morning, I attended the funeral of Rita Hartney at Tobin Brothers in Berwick. I knew Rita from a few years ago when she began hosting her radio program Hot Topics With Rita at Casey Radio - 97.7FM as well as her motivational talks and appearances at places such as Balla Balla Community Centre and U3A Cranbourne. She also ran a short course called Speaking Before The Public which helped me work on self confidence and oral presentation skills. It was only a few weeks ago that I learned of her decline in health and subsequent passing on Facebook.

After signing the guest book and taking a copy of Rita’s book It’s Time For Women to Take Control, Mum and I made our way into the main service room which was packed with Rita’s family, friends and other guests. We were really lucky to find a couple of spare seats to sit down in. It was a really beautiful service which highlighted the many strengths and achievements that Rita had gained over the years. She really had a significant impact on many people’s lives.

The speeches were both funny and moving, painting Rita as a strong, determined woman trying to make her mark in a male dominated world. The music selection was very fitting as well, reflecting Rita’s colourful and flamboyant personality. Songs included Elvis Presley’s Devil in Disguise and Helen Reddy’s I Am Woman.

Attending someone’s funeral seems to give me a gentle reminder about how precious life truly is. That you really do need to be grateful for what you have and make every moment count. It also forces me to think about my own funeral. Not just the kinds of arrangements that I will have but questions like: Who will be attending? What will I be remembered for? What kind of mark will I leave behind? I never used to be this philosophical about funerals until more recently when I realised how important it is not to let my life go to waste.

On Thursday morning, I decided to take myself off to Casey Smiles Dental Clinic after experiencing more annoying dental pain, this time on the right hand side of my mouth. I was really hoping that the pain would subside with some simply remedies but after having a restless night with this agonizing toothache, it was time to face the music and the dentist once more.

The good news was that I didn’t have to get my x-rays done like last time as they were already on my patient record. It was also easier to explain to Dr. Mohamed where abouts the pain was coming from and not simply guess which tooth it was. He gave me two options: first would be to exact it like last time, which would be easier and more cost effective. The second option was to have a root canal done in order to potentially save the tooth. However, he warned me that he could cost me up to $1500. So obviously I went with option one.

Thankfully the process was a lot quicker this time around. There was a young female dental assistant doing some training and learning about all the different surgical instruments and how to use the suction hose. It provided a nice distraction for me. Dr. Mohamed reminded me to keep breathing as he applied pressure to the decayed tooth. It was over and done with within a few minutes. The anesthesia needle probably hurt more than the actual tooth removal did. Plus it only cost me $160 as it was a basic tooth removal and it didn’t need to be surgically removed like last time.

https://caseysmiles.com.au/dr-mohamed-massaud

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