#i just remembered today is my grade conference and i now want to cry

[jack-doohan]

JENSON BUTTON takes a hot lap around Las Vegas

[haliyam]

interim (i)

zeke x reader/oc (warning: slow burn with some plot)

summary: You return to Liberio not long after the Warriors arrive home from their failed mission in Paradis and discover that things have changed. (Or they will, and maybe a little more with Zeke than you expect.) [Season 4 and manga spoilers ahead]

AO3 link | Ch 2

Hi everyone! This is part of the series I mentioned on my oneshot Asset, but it's a prequel. I'd love to continue the season 4 stuff, but I want to see how the manga ends first so I can plot out Reader's part in it all. (Also edit post-139, I've completely fallen in love with Zeke who deserves so much better and while I always intended to take my time with the Asset prequels, I'm in no rush to get to the Asset sequel. I do want to update as regularly as possible though, rl willing!)

The Reader/OC will be a cis-female Eldian character with a set background, as you'll find at the end of this chapter. Reader’s default name is Lucy, just because I personally don’t like writing ‘Y/N,’ but please feel free to set the substitution for Lucy to you or your character’s First Name using the InteractiveFics browser extension! So on the browser extension that would be: Lucy = Your or your character's First Name. Because reader will have a set background, you'll have a set surname as well.

I will say that Zeke may seem a little OOC/angsty in the beginning of this story, if only because Reader and Zeke were good friends before he became the shitstain we know and love today and Reader is fairly familiar with his true moods even when he is being annoying as hell. (And Zeke is annoying. I swear I do like this guy hahah...)

I hope you enjoy!

--

Chapter 1

It’s strange how easily you fall into step with the soldier ahead of you. 

You don’t march, and your eyes wander stern walls and imposing doors that have long left your dreams, but your footfalls follow only one beat that echoes throughout the hallway as he leads you through it. There’s an almost comforting order to the sound that belies the way your heart tries to hammer its way through your ears or right out of your chest. 

It feels like forever and far too soon when you arrive at a familiar waiting room. Motioning to the chairs around a small round table, the soldier knocks twice on the door opposite where you entered. When no one responds, he simply stands there, and you have no recourse but to take that seat. 

Voices filter in, muffled, from the other room, and you slip your hands under the desk to squeeze your fingers together. Maybe this was a terrible idea after all. You can still leave, pursue your medical degree back home…

“No,” you whisper to yourself, even if you do abruptly stand from your chair. You just need a moment to freshen up. Facing the soldier, you begin, “I would like to—”

Alarm replaces the question in his gaze when two heavy knocks cut through your words. He stares at you a little longer, a new question, and you reply with a deep exhale. 

“Never mind.”

He nods. “They’re ready for you.”

You enter the conference room, which is far too large for the four people sitting at one end of the long table there: an older man with more lapel pins and crow’s feet than you remember, and three others closer to your age—the esteemed Warrior Unit and their commander, Theo Magath.

Six long years later, they all look different enough that under other circumstances, you might hesitate to recognize them. But you know this place all too well, the lighting and their seating arrangement so familiar that you can mistake them for no other than Zeke Yeager, Pieck Finger, and Porco Galliard. 

It soon appears from their expressionless gazes that they can’t say the same for you. Not that you can blame them—they had no reason to expect your arrival, and it’s Commander Magath who huffs at their frigid reception. “Is that how you Eldians treat old friends?”

The three glance at one another. You venture a small smile, and the recognition and surprise that sink into Zeke’s features make Magath snort as Pieck leaps from her chair, shattering the chill in the room as surely as she crashes into you with an embrace.

“Lucy!” 

The joy in her voice sweeps aside your initial fears and brings your excitement bubbling out of your throat in your own laughter. “Pieck!”

She’s talking before you even part and still holding onto the back of your blouse when you do. “You look so… old,” she grins. “That is—me-old.” 

Her languid excitement makes it difficult for you to keep your composure. “I am you-old,” you say, trying not to giggle, but your toothy smile already reaches from ear to ear. 

Before you can say more, Commander Magath clears his throat. “If you two are finished…”

Both of you freeze instinctively at his tone. Stealing another squeeze, Pieck steps aside as Magath rises from his chair. “Good of you to drop by, Blanchard.”

You quickly cross the distance to shake his proffered hand. “Thank you, Sir. And congratulations on your promotion.”

He shrugs, taking a seat and gesturing that you and Pieck do the same. “Still not a far cry from playing nursemaid sometimes.”

Pieck shakes her head. “Don’t say that, Sir.”

“You’re right. I’m at least a pay grade or two above nursemaid,” Magath chuckles just a little, and to his right, Zeke continues to stare at you. 

“Is that really you?” he asks, mouth set in a line under his new beard. 

“In the flesh.” His expression remains neutral through your nervous chuckle. Shifting in your seat, you nod away toward Porco. “It’s so nice to see everyone again. Galliard.”

Though he gave you an appreciative once-over as you entered, Porco is now as uninterested as they come. “I didn’t think you’d still know our names. Thanks for taking the time to drop by, I guess.”

“Oh, come on, Pock,” Pieck teases, ignoring the air of hostility that starts to surround you. As though Porco is only an unruly child, she says in feigned apology, “A few days with the Jaw and he’s already this cocky.”

“Ah.” You can’t bring yourself to mirror her mirth. “I heard about that. I’m sorry about Marcel. And Bertholdt—and Annie…”

Pieck glances away, and because you can’t meet Zeke’s eyes at the moment, you address the commander instead. “What about Reiner? I heard he’d returned.”

“Braun is still undergoing a debriefing.”

A debriefing, you think, when they’ve been back a fortnight already? But it dawns on you easily enough that what Reiner is undergoing is an ideology test. Reindoctrination.

“I see… but…”

“It was on my recommendation,” Zeke cuts in, daring you, a civilian, to protest. His arms are crossed now. “Otherwise he’s in danger of passing on the Armor a full six years too early.”

“I only meant to say that Reiner is the most loyal Eldian I know,” you answer levelly, eyes boring into his. Your nails dig into the cloth of your skirt on your lap as you pretend not to hear Porco’s scoff. Taking the Armor from Reiner? The operation was a massive failure, but that consequence is far too severe... however expected. “After you, of course.”

Zeke tilts his head, obscuring his gaze from your view when the light above reflects off his glasses.

“It’s a good thing, in any case,” Magath explains. “Behind enemy lines for over five years, he—” 

Whatever his opinion, the commander abruptly stops himself from sharing it and clears his throat instead. You know better than to protest when an unsettling pause rests over the room—exactly what you feared would occur.

To your surprise, it’s Porco who comes to your rescue, even if his disdain is palpable. “Why are you here, anyway?” 

“Well,” you begin gratefully, “I’m—”

“I asked her to come,” says Magath, completely ignoring the tension. “But my meeting prior ran overlong, and I have another coming up. Can you come in tomorrow morning? Ten sharp?”

You sit up straight when he addresses you. “Of course, Sir.”

Magath smiles—still a novelty to you—and pushes himself up out of his chair. The rest of you do the same, following him to the door as he speaks. “Go ahead and catch up in the meantime. And Blanchard—it’s good to see you again. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“The rest of you—dismissed.”

He leaves the room with the Marleyan guard at the door. The other three let out a breath of relief once it closes. 

“Blanchard,” Porco enunciates, stretching his arms. “Are we really still doing that? Who are we supposed to be fooling here?”

Pieck sighs, but it’s Zeke who stays him with a light backhand to the stomach. “Settle down, Galliard.”

Porco pushes his hand away. “Seriously? Of all people, you—”

“Your first transformation was pretty brutal, Galliard,” Zeke casually announces. He winces for good measure, like he’s actually worried. “Why don’t you get some rest?”

The hostility on Porco’s face quickly shifts to embarrassment, and you feel for him. “You’ve transformed already?” 

“I wanted to go check on the Warriors anyway,” he says instead, eyeing you with a curled lip. “Nice seeing you again, Blanchard.”

“You too,” you call out, but he’s already stalked out of the room.

You feel Pieck’s hand loop around your arm. “Don’t take it personally,” she says gently. “Learning about Marcel was difficult for him.”

“I can only imagine.” She gives you a small smile at your words, and you understand. Casting a more pleasant gaze around the room, you ask, “How are you two? I thought it might be nice if we could get some lunch together.” You check your watch. “...Very late lunch.”

“I would love to,” Pieck says cheerfully, leading your way out of the room— “Tomorrow. I still have so much paperwork to do.”

Zeke snickers. “The joys of working with a team.”

“Life is unfair,” Pieck declares, but smiles when her hand slips down to yours. “I’ll pick you up after your meeting with Magath tomorrow. It’s a date, right?”

You squeeze her fingers in return. “Definitely.”

Her leisurely footsteps fade down the hallway, and you soon find yourself alone with Zeke. You dust at your blouse idly, but you must eventually look at him. “I suppose it’s just you and me today, then.”

He only eyes you, scratching the side of his bearded jaw. It’s even worse than him outright declining.

“Unless,” you quickly add, detesting the dead air, “are you… training the new Warrior class?”

Zeke snorts. “No. I’ve been busy with other work, but you can check in on their progress if you’re interested. Seems like the Commander wouldn’t mind, seeing as he invited you here.”

You ignore the jab: And you accepted. “What’s kept you busy?”

“Good question.” His smile is a facetious one. “But you know that’s top secret.”

You scoff, but you were braver in front of the others. Now his indifference is too much to bear. 

It’s only after you turn away that Zeke asks, “Why don’t you drop by the house? My grandparents should be happy to see you again.”

“I… actually came from there. They asked me to stay. I hope you don’t mind,” you follow, and regret the words as soon as you say it. It’s like you’re trying to piss him off. “I’ll pay for my share of everything, of course.”

He doesn’t react with anger, but you were stupid to expect him to. “Oh?” he asks instead, managing the most sarcastic one-word question in existence. His voice has gotten so much deeper in the last six years, and somehow that makes it worse. “I would have expected the distinguished Miss Blanchard to prefer better accommodations by now.”

You resist the urge to wince. “Don’t say that. The Yeager household was like home to me for several years. More than home, sometimes.”

There’s a pause where only your footsteps, still in time with one another, are all you hear as you make your way down the empty hall. The thought of Zeke’s gaze right now shames you, but it’s ahead he’s looking when he lets out a whistle. “You’re making this difficult for me,” he laughs. “How can I kick you out after such high praise?”

Your last footfall echoes as you stop, reaching for his arm. “Zeke—”

He yanks it away without even looking at you. “We should head back before the Commander decides he wants something from me after all. Come on.”

Your face burns with humiliation even though there’s no one else around to watch him walk away, his long strides too fast for you to catch up.

--

The Yeagers are pleased to have you over for dinner and beyond, and though you already dropped by before making your appearance at HQ, Mrs. Yeager does not run out of subjects to discuss with you, updating you on several of your neighbors’ lives. Who has married, who has passed away, and whose children have joined the Warrior program themselves, only to fail. Zeke doesn’t talk except to comment on something his grandparents say, or very rarely something you say so as not to arouse their suspicion. They have none. They are too busy doting on you after your long, long absence.

After dinner, when your stomachs are full and your chest is light with laughter, you stand up to collect the dishes and bring them to the sink. “Absolutely not,” Mrs. Yeager says, realizing your intention once she hears the light clatter of tableware. “You’re our guest, Lucy!”

“Please,” you call from the sink. “I miss doing this with all of you around.”

Dr. Yeager sighs in agreement with his wife. “Not on your first night. Zeke.”

Zeke is already on his feet, leaving only everyone’s glasses as he makes his way to the sink with the placemats. Dr. Yeager has brought out their good wine to celebrate your return. “I can do this myself,” he tells you, trying to wave you aside. 

You don’t budge. “But I can help. We’ll get it all done more quickly.”

He levels a look at you—one you haven’t seen since you were very young, from before you were friends. “Sit with my grandmother, Lucy,” he murmurs so that only you hear. “Don’t make her crane her neck just to talk to you.”

Shame and something completely unfamiliar fill you at his reprimand, and you surrender with a nod. You make your way back to the table and squint at Mrs. Yeager. “Only tonight, though.”

Mrs. Yeager laughs, reaching for your hands across the table. You give them to her easily. “You’ve grown into such a beautiful young woman,” she says. “Your parents must be very proud of you.” You nod with some unease, and Dr. Yeager, even as he enjoys his wine, clears his throat. Mrs. Yeager realizes her mistake. “Ah—I...I’m sorry, dear. I know they passed away several years ago. But I’m sure they would be proud of you now.” 

“That’s all right,” you reassure her. “I hope it’s not too bold to say, but… you and Dr. Yeager were mother and father to me for a time as well, when they couldn’t be. I will always be grateful for that.”

“Oh, Lucy,” Mrs. Yeager smiles, her eyes quickly shining, “That isn’t bold at all. We felt the same way. We only wish you had written more!”

A scoff makes its way from the kitchen. “Grandma,” Zeke reminds her lightly, even as he scrubs the plates with renewed vigor, “you know Lucy has been��busy.”

“I know that, dear, I wasn’t trying to—”

“No, it is my fault,” you agree. “I promise I’ll be better about that the next time I go.”

“Next time?” asks Dr. Yeager, suddenly sitting up straight. “Where are you going?”

You blink, turning your attention to him, and attempt to wave the confusion away with your hands. “No, no, Dr. Yeager, I’ll be staying here for a while. I only meant that for the next time I leave Lib—”

“Next time?” Dr. Yeager repeats, his hand knocking over his wine glass as he eyes your left sleeve with intent. It trembles as he grasps at his scalp. “If you’re leaving, why aren’t you wearing your armband?”

The faucet shuts off, leaving only the sound of alcohol dripping from the dinner table to the floor, and Mrs. Yeager turns to him nervously. “Dear—”

“Don’t leave without your armband again, Faye,” he pleads, looking straight at you. He rises from his seat, voice more and more frantic as he swipes at a nearby cabinet with nothing to show for it. “Where is it? Where did you put it?”

Zeke is already wiping his hands on the hem of his shirt, and Mrs. Yeager goes to take her husband’s arm. “Darling, no, this is Lucy, remember?”

But Dr. Yeager is already heaving. It’s not long before tears are streaming down his face and he cries, “Why would you do this to me again? Why did he let you remove your armband, Faye?!”

“Dr. Yeager—I’m Lucy. Lucy,” you insist, hurrying over and tucking your hair behind your ears to show him your face, smiling as you’ve done many times in an attempt to calm him. You hold his arms, trying to jog him back to reality, but by now he is screaming and weeping, digging his fingers into your arms and repeatedly calling out his daughter’s name. 

“...Come on, grandpa.” Zeke pries Dr. Yeager’s hands from your sleeve with his grandmother’s help. Stunned by his sudden lapse, you can only watch—able to follow only when they are already struggling with him by the stairs. 

“Zeke—”

“Stay there,” he hisses with rancor that freezes you in place. Mrs. Yeager apologizes, but of course you shake your head and return to the dining room. Your hands shake as you clean the spilled alcohol from the dinner table and the floor, going over what you could have said to set off Dr. Yeager. 

This is hardly the first time you’ve seen him like this, but it used to take only very specific words to remind him of that event, and so much easier to bring him back from those memories. The memory of his weeping face seizes at your heart, tempting you to launch yourself upstairs and ask after him, but Zeke is right. You’ll only make things worse.

You’re getting started on the dishes again when you hear heavy footsteps plod down the stairs. 

Zeke. You cuff the faucet off, mouth already open when he smiles, reaching over to graze your exposed ear with his thumb and his index finger. “Did growing up damage your ears? I said I’d take care of the dishes.”

The unexpected contact sends a strange rush through you, but it’s the insult you focus on ignoring. Even if you do untuck your hair. “I’m sorry about Dr. Yeager.”

“It’s not your fault,” he shrugs. “It happens more often nowadays.”

“I didn’t know it had gotten so bad.”

“How could you? You’ve been away.”

You gnaw on your cheek at that. “I’m sorry, Zeke.”

For a moment, you finally see it—the recognition of the words you’ve been trying to say since you met earlier that afternoon, and the reason why. An eddy of hurt and confusion reflects in his eyes, pulling at the air around you. You want to rise above it, or else drown, or just beg for his forgiveness, but he knows you, or knew you as much as you knew him, and he cuts you off before you can speak. 

“You really have grown up.” His droll chuckle makes your heart sink into your stomach. “You never used to apologize for anything.”

You make a face. “That’s not true.”

“Maybe. You were pretty damn insolent when you wanted to be.”

“I guess I could be,” you murmur. Your eyes lift to his, on a tightrope’s edge. “Remember when Marras overheard me complaining about firearm maintenance?”

Zeke snorts. “Magath had you cleaning Warrior arsenal for a week.”

You can’t help but laugh. “That was awful. Only Marcel snuck out to help me at night, and that was to impress Pieck. Thank you for that, by the way.”

“You’re welcome.”

You squint at him. Zeke grins, warmly now, and hope almost finds you—but your words catch up with you first, and both of you remember when you really are. 

“Marcel,” you can’t help but say with regret.

“Yeah.” Coursing a hand through his hair, Zeke brushes past you to the sink. “Anyway, I’ll take care of this. You go to bed. You have a meeting with Magath tomorrow—that’s why you came back, right?”

“No, not just—”

The sudden burst of running water from the faucet and the wall of his back means the conversation is over. Again. Clenching your fist, you bite your tongue and slowly breathe out your growing frustration. 

“Good night, then, Zeke.”

You’ve already gone up the stairs when Zeke swallows the lump in his throat, staring at the spoon splashing water upon his palm. He’s been washing it for the last two minutes. 

“Night, Lucy.”

--

Zeke has already left for HQ by the time you come downstairs the next morning. Dr. Yeager is still in bed, exhausted as he gets whenever he remembers his children, but Mrs. Yeager has prepared breakfast. Try as you might, you cannot resist sitting with her and sharing a meal together. You make it to the Liberio military headquarters just in time to hear the new Warrior instructor barking out to the children jogging around the courtyard.

You wander a little closer, unable to help your curiosity—but a nearby guard spots you and quickly corrals you away, back to the offices. “They’re expecting you,” he says, looking you over as he hands you back your permit. “Don’t know what top brass wants with a civilian, much less an Eldian, but...”

“Top brass?” 

The soldier almost sneers at you. As if you don’t know, Eldian, it says, and you’re starting to think you actually don’t.

He’s led you not to the same conference room as yesterday afternoon, but to an office that you distinctly remember as off-limits. When the soldiers standing guard let you inside, you understand why.

Top brass is right. More than Commander Magath, there are a number of higher-ups waiting for you inside - some faces you’ve glimpsed since you were a child, and others you have seen as recently as months ago. One in particular stands out—an intelligence officer who reports directly to your brother. Three are generals at some of the highest levels in the army.

“Blanchard,” Magath calls out. You nearly stiffen at his voice again, but relax in time, to the chuckles of the men in the room. The commander ignores them, staring straight at you. You detect the slightest hint of an apology in his hardened gaze, or maybe that’s wishful thinking to keep your growing displeasure in check. “Glad you could make it.”

“Sir, I—”

A nearby general cuts you off. List. “You can dispense with that, Magath,” he says. “We’re all in the know here.”

“Yes, Sir.”

General List turns toward you. 

“Thank you for coming, Miss Tybur,” he says. There is no smile in his harsh features, but he is not unkind. Careful, maybe. “Please, sit. We have a proposition for you.”

--

So... yes! I admit, part of the reason I wanted to write something in the AoT/SnK series is because I loved and hated the addition of the Tyburs. So I wanted to write a little more about the family but also since I'm thirsty, write a Zeke fic and eventually a Levi one (whether AU or not). Obviously we'll eventually go into why the Tyburs would send one of their own into the Warrior program, among other things, but bear with me for now.

Also disclaimer: This is a Zeke/Reader story set in the AOT world, so it’s a romance with a guy who gleefully murdered a shit ton of innocent people and helped Marley level countries. Please don’t look to this story for a completely morally upright character/reader/OC who makes all the right choices. (Though expect that Reader will take them into consideration.)

Last thing! This is a slowburn with some plot, so while you can definitely expect romance (and smut) down the line, and while this fic does go heavily into Lucy's/Reader's relationship with Zeke, it also features interactions with other characters. I just wanted to give fair warning if you expect it to focus only on Zeke.

Thank you for reading! 

[thegreatestofheck]

Little Village pt.7＊Outer Banks＊

find the first six parts here!! 

word count - 4.6k  warnings - Swearing that’s pretty much it. synopsis -  June’s losing it, just a little bit. As she starts work again, she’s on the very edge of her rope. When JJ starts to distance himself, June finally explodes. tagging -  @apoguecalledjj @ijustreallylovethem @deathcompass @lolitstiana @ jxpiter-sxturn @parkerpetertingle @diverrdown ​, @ponyboys-sunsets​, @outerbanksbro, a/n - I’m sorry this took so long oof. Some more fluff in the this chapter, but also, get ready for the ANGST. Yay. 

                                                            ***

Sarah’s words refused to leave June’s head. 

Sure, it was entirely possible that June was closer to JJ than she was to Kie or Pope, but she’d known him for so much longer. She had been cleaning up his bruises, telling him to make his bed, chasing away his nightmares, and making him breakfast since she was barely old enough to take care of herself. 

She was the first person he ever confided in about his home life. She was the one person he always called when he needed to be picked up from school because his dad forgot him again. She was the one who made sure his grades were up and his homework was turned in. She went to the parent-teacher conferences and the mandatory school recitals and all the surfing competitions. It had always been her. 

So of course they were close. Just not that kind of close. 

Of course.

The only time June wasn’t constantly consumed by her conversation with Sarah was when she was with Eleanor. The more June reminded herself to breathe, the easier things got. She was still exhausted waking up every morning, still sleeping on the blow up mattress some nights when she just couldn’t stay away.

Her daughter was beautiful. Eleanor could barely smile and still she had the cutest dimples that June had ever seen. June was convinced that her baby had been kissed by the sun itself. With eyes a light hazel like the color of fall and brown curls already starting to grow on her head, June let herself daydream about the beauty that this baby girl was going to be. 

She let herself laugh about all the boys she would have to fight off from her daughter, let herself imagine that day when Eleanor finally met the one. June wondered it she would walk Eleanor down the isle herself, or if there was someone out there who would love June and Eleanor enough to be there for the both of them. 

June almost made herself cry thinking about it. All the things she would get to do with Eleanor that her own mother had never done. She couldn’t wait to hear her first word or see her walk, to send her off to school, to teach her how to surf. 

Pushing herself off of the blow up mattress on the floor, June took the risk of rousing her sleep baby to pluck Eleanor out of the crib and hold her close. Eleanor mewled like a small kitten, but never woke, resting her head against June’s shoulder instead.

“I will never leave you,” June whispered, rocking her baby back and forth. “You are mine and you always will be. Until the end of time.” 

                                                             ***

“How long before Little Pogue walks?” John B asked, cradling Eleanor in his arms. June walked around almost frantically, one hand holding her hair up in a high ponytail and the other pulling on one of her shoes. 

“I dunno, John,” she said. She hopped across the floor, reaching for her other shoe, passing JJ as she went. 

“Toast,” he said, holding the piece of bread in his hand. June took the bread in her mouth and mumbled a thank you. With both of her shoes on, June finished tying off her hair and pulled the toast from her mouth, chewing quickly. 

“Let’s go over the rules again,” June said. JJ groaned and rolled his eyes. 

“We’ve been over them a million times already!” 

“Yes, I know, but if either one of you slips up-” She waved her half eaten toast between her brother and JJ. “You lose all baby privileges. The both of you.” 

“Rule number one,” said John B in a baby voice as he made faces at Eleanor. “Don’t bring any alcohol or weed into the house.” 

“Right,” June confirmed. “JJ?”

“Rule number two, no strangers in the house while you’re gone,” JJ said begrudgingly. 

“Including?”

“Including hot chicks.” 

“Thank you.” June would be lying if she said there wasn’t another reason she didn’t want girls around the house, but she would keep that to herself. “Final rule, one of you has eyes on Eleanor at all times. You got me?” 

JJ pushed himself off the counter with a loose grin and walked over to John B and the baby. 

“She’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen in my life,” JJ mused in his joking tone. “How could I ever take my eyes off of her?” 

June rolled her eyes to cover the roll in her stomach. Now was no time for hormones. 

“My shift today is only a half shift,” she said as she picked her purse off the ground. “So I won’t be long. Don’t burn the house down while I’m gone, please.” 

“We won’t burn the house down, will we?” John B cooed to Eleanor. 

“No, no we won’t.” JJ said in the same tone. June laughed quietly to herself, walking toward the door. 

“Thank you guys, for doing this,” she said. It didn’t appear that either of the boys heard her as they continued talking back and forth to each other in their baby voices that they had almost perfected. 

June smiled as she left the house, only mildly prepared to actually return to work. 

                                                        ***

All three of them were asleep by the time June got back. JJ and John B lay passed out on the couch, while Eleanor was in the arms of Kie, who was lightly humming and dancing around the kitchen as she prepared a bottle of milk. 

“Hey,” June said, setting her bag down quietly. Kie spun around with a grin on her face. 

“Hi! How was work?” Kie asked. She moved back and forth, swaying the sleeping Eleanor in her arms. June smiled despite the exhaustion that weighed on her bones. 

“It was good. Same old, same old at the diner, you know.” She pushed herself into one of the chairs and let her tight muscles relax. 

“Anyone give you any trouble?” Kie had one hand on the microwave so she could open it before the timer hit zero and woke up everyone in the house. 

“Oh, you know. I think the ‘June Routledge got knocked up and had a baby’ jokes have all been spent at this point.” June had meant it as a joke, but by the way Kie’s smile dropped, she didn’t take it that way. 

“I swear, if I hear a single person saying anything bad about you or Eleanor-”

“Relax, Kie,” June laughed, leaning back in her chair. “I was teasing. Nobody said anything. Got a few stares, but that was about it. I’m just tired now, is all.”

“I can imagine.” Kie popped open the microwave. “Do you want me to feed her?” 

“I got it. Thank you.” 

Kie handed Eleanor and the bottle over to June before sliding into the chair next to her. 

“I see my oh so loyal guard dogs fell asleep on the job, huh?” June asked with a smile, nodding over to John B and JJ. Kie waved her hand and rolled her eyes ever so lightly. 

“Eleanor was running circles around them. They were so out of their depth, they had to call me.” June laughed right along with Kie. “They fell asleep almost as soon as I took her.” 

“Whimps.” 

“Good thing Sarah agreed to wait to have babies with your brother.” 

As June and Kie laughed, Eleanor made quiet sounds of protest at June moving too much. 

“Sorry,” June whispered. She turned back to Kie. “How was your day?” 

She and Kie made quiet conversation for a few minutes before they started laughing again, as they always did. But it wasn’t Eleanor who protested this time. Both JJ and John B rolled over on the couch, groaning in their sleep. 

June put a hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing. Their giggling died down after a few seconds, but their smiles lingered. 

“Sarah called me this morning,” Kie said finally, looking down at her hands. June’s heart plummeted. “She told me about Rafe.” 

June let out a breath, shifting her grip on Eleanor. 

“What...what are you thinking about it all?” June asked. Kie sighed. 

“I know it’s her brother, but after everything he did....” Her words fell and she glanced up at June, who understood completely. 

“We have to be there for her,” June told Kie, her jaw tightening. “She’s just trying to take care of her brother. If it was us, we’d probably do the same.” 

Kie let out another heavy breath. 

“You’re right. But it’ll be harder to convince the boys.” Both of them glanced back to John B and JJ, who still slept soundly. June wanted to change the subject. Talking about Rafe still made her uncomfortable, but there was something that she needed to ask her friend. 

“Do you think....” June cleared her throat. “Do you think I’m too close to JJ?” 

Kie seemed taken aback by her question. 

“I- Why would you think that?”

“Something Rafe said and something Sarah said and something Lukerman said.” June wanted to hide her face in her hands, but they were currently full. 

“Jue.” Kie reached out and put her hand over her friends. “What are you talking about?” 

June felt her chest contract and she scowled. Was this really the time to actually try to sort out her feelings? No, probably not. 

“It’s nothing,” June shook her head. Kie squeezed her hand and looked at her with the stern face that she had learned from June so well. It almost felt like she was looking in the mirror. 

“It’s not nothing. What’s wrong?” 

June heaved out a sigh and looked down at Eleanor. 

“Do you remember that fight JJ got in with Lukerman before Eleanor was born?”

“Yeah?”

“He said something about...about me and JJ.” June felt so strange talking about it out loud. These were thoughts she was supposed to be keeping to herself, not vocalizing. “And when I was at Sarah’s, Rafe asked if Eleanor was JJ’s, as if there was no one else on the island that could be her father. And then Sarah told me that she always thought me and JJ were close, closer than I am with you or Pope.” 

The more she spoke, the angrier June started to feel. Angry with these people for assuming her feelings? Maybe. Angry with herself for having these feelings? More likely. 

Kie just sat there and listened, never once moving her hand from June’s. 

“It feels like everyone knows something that I don’t know,” June said once she had forced herself to calm down. “Like they’re all looking at me and seeing someone else. And I just...I guess I just don’t know what to do.” 

Kie was silent for a few more moments, waiting to see if June was going to say anything else. But she had put a stopper on her tongue. She wasn’t going to risk saying something that could incriminate her further. 

“Why does it bother you so much that people think about you and JJ that way?” Kie asked, finally moving her hand away so she could lean back in her chair. 

“Because it’s not true? Because he’s my little brother’s best friend and I don’t want people to look at me and think of me as some kind of freak, like I’m praying on someone younger just because he’s there. Because I don’t want people to look at him and assume that he knocked me up. Because JJ and I are just friends. I mean, how did you feel when everyone assumed you liked my brother?” 

“It made me feel trapped,” Kie admitted. “Like I couldn’t confess my true feelings.”

“Exactly!” 

“So, what are your true feelings?”

“What?” June was taken aback. 

“You don’t like people assuming you and JJ are together because it makes it difficult to admit your true feelings. So, what are they?” 

June scoffed, side-eyeing her friend. She thought about saying it for a moment. But then she let out a quiet, half hearted laugh. 

“Is this what I always sound like?” she asked. Kie paused for a moment before taking June’s words as a desperate need to change the subject. Eventually, Kie smiled, even though it was strained. 

“Yeah, most of the time.” 

“God, that’s embarrassing.” 

“Hey, you got us through the worst of times, Jue. We tried to push you away and you wouldn’t let us. Never forget that we’re here for you now, too.” 

June felt herself give a real smile. 

“I know.” She looked over at JJ, who still slept on the couch. Her stomach flipped at the sight of his slightly parted lips and his tousled hair. She shook her head and looked back at Kie, who had one eyebrow partially raised. “JJ and I are friends. Nothing more.” 

Kie was disinclined to believe her. 

                                                            ***

As June’s shifts at the diner got longer and more frequent, she needed to find someone else who could watch Eleanor while she was working. Pope relayed this information to his mom, who called June the next minute offering her services. June didn’t want to accept, afraid of burdening the woman with a responsibility that wasn’t hers, but Mrs. Heyward would hear none of it. 

The first time that June brought Eleanor over to the Heyward abode, she realized that Mrs. Heyward wasn’t going to feel burdened by the baby at all. Just from the way the she smiled at Eleanor in her little carrier, never once taking her eyes off of her while she spoke to June, she knew that Mrs. Heyward was smitten. 

“You sure it’s not a problem?” June asked, setting the carrier down. Mrs. Heyward crouched down and pulled the wide awake Eleanor out of the buckles that kept her in. 

“This little ray of sunshine could never be a problem,” Mrs. Heyward beamed, bouncing Eleanor back and forth. The little girl laughed. June teared up at the prospect of not seeing her for an entire eight hours. She would miss every single one of those little laughs. Swallowing the thickness in her throat, June turned her gaze back to Mrs. Heyward. 

“Just wait until she starts crying. She’s quite the banshee,” June said with a laugh. 

“Ah, you got lungs on you girl?” Mrs. Heyward asked, poking Eleanor in her small nose, making her giggle again. “Just like your mama.” 

June grinned. 

“Thank you, Mrs. Heyward,” she said. 

“Of course, hon.” Mrs. Heyward made a face that told June that ‘it was nothing’. “Let me tell you something, my dear. Come, sit on the couch.” 

“I’ve really gotta go, Mrs. Heyward. I can’t-”

“Come sit with me on the couch for a minute. Just for a minute.” 

After all Mrs. Heyward was doing for her, June couldn’t deny her request. Once they were sitting on the couch, Mrs. Heyward put Eleanor on her legs and held her steady. 

“I was a working mother, too, you know,” she said, still fawning over Eleanor as she grinned. “When Pope was just a small little thing like Eleanor here, Mr. Heyward and I were both working. A high schooler named Tricia watched Pope for the first year or so before my husband got his business in a place where I didn’t have to work anymore.” 

June smiled. 

“Pope never told me.” 

“Ah, he doesn’t remember it at all.” Mrs. Heyward waved one hand dismissively. “But, I want you to know, being a working mother isn’t easy. You’re going to feel like you’re missing out on everything. I’m going to tell you right now, I’ll make sure you aren’t missing a damn thing. Don’t you worry your pretty little mind while you’re at work. You’re girl is in good hands.” 

June felt a weight lift off of her shoulders. Of course she trusted Mrs. Heyward. She wouldn’t be sitting on her couch right now if she didn’t. But hearing her words made it all the more better. 

“Thank you.” June leaned forward and put her arms around Mrs. Heyward’s shoulders, earning a deep laugh from the older woman. 

“Now, go on. Get to work, my dear.”

With a newfound energy and a smile, June stood and left the house. 

                                                           ***

They went on like this for weeks. June wasn’t any less exhausted. She had traded in eight hours with her daughter for eight hours working at a diner five days of the week. But she felt like life was sort of normalizing with her job. She had found a balance that worked for her and didn’t put too much pressure on anyone else. 

And she didn’t feel like she was missing anything with Eleanor. She was still young and there was still so much for June to witness and she was just excited to see it all. 

But things got tense between her and JJ. She wasn’t sure if it was her fault and she was obliviously acting strange or if she had done something to upset JJ and he was avoiding her. Either way, there was something going with him and he wouldn’t even let her get close enough to ask what was wrong. 

On one of her days off, after putting Eleanor down for her nap, she tapped quietly on the guest bedroom door where JJ had locked himself away. He didn’t answer when she knocked. She thought that maybe she should walk away and let it go, but she couldn’t. So she opened the door anyway. 

“Hey, J,” she said, leaning up against the door frame. 

“I’m doing homework, June.” He didn’t look up at her. June scowled and tilted her head to the side. 

“That’s new.” 

“Ha ha.” His voice was dry and humorless. June’s stomach dropped into a pit. 

“What’s going on with you?” 

“Nothing.” 

“It’s clearly something.” 

“It’s nothing. Can you leave? I have a test tomorrow.” 

Still, he didn’t look up at her. June tightened her jaw and held back a concerned sigh. 

“Okay. My room’s right down there if you want to talk. Door’s open.” 

“Yeah.” 

June took a step out of the room and shut the door behind her. There was a bitter taste in her mouth as she went back to her room. She wanted to lay down for a nap, but her thoughts plagued her, keeping her from sleep. 

Something was wrong with JJ and she was determined to find out what it was. 

The answer came sooner than she thought. 

The next day, after a long shift at work, she got a text from Mrs. Heyward saying that Pope and Kie had taken Eleanor back to the Chateau to play and put her to bed, so June wouldn’t have to come pick her up. 

It was a hard day. The diner packed and busy. June was almost relieved that Eleanor would already be in bed when she got home. Sometimes, putting that girl to sleep was like wrestling a bear. 

But the peaceful night that June was envisioning wasn’t what she got when she walked into the Chateau. As soon as she stepped into her home, she knew something was up. She could hear the sounds from JJ’s room before she even got to that side of the house. She had heard them enough times in her life to know exactly what was going on. 

This girl was louder than most. JJ was oddly quiet. A year ago, June would have let it go, walked out of the house, gone to get ice cream, hung out at the beach. But a fire lit underneath her and her face reddened with rage. Her stomach twisted and her heart tightened in her chest. Mouth running dry, she had the sudden feeling that she couldn’t breathe. 

This was her house. Her baby was just two doors down. That was her guest bedroom and her guest bed and her best goddamn friend. 

And no matter how hard June tried to convince herself to stand down, she found herself storming through the house, dropping her purse at the front door so she wouldn’t use it to strangle anyone. 

She shoved the bedroom door open and the girl shrieked, hiding under the sheets. 

“Get out,” June said, her voice uncharacteristically dark and low. JJ fell back onto the bed, his face a red and his hair a mess. The girl who shared the bed with him looked over at him for help, but he didn’t even glance at her. “Get the fuck out of my house!” 

June felt a twinge of pity for the girl as she scrambled out of bed in just her underwear, plucking her clothes off the floor as she went. She moved out of the way so the girl could slide past her, pulling a sweatshirt on over her head. With the girl gone, June turned all of her fury onto JJ. 

“What happened to no strangers in the house?” She asked, struggling to keep her voice from rising. JJ sat up nonchalantly, staring at the opposite wall. “I trusted you to keep your word, JJ!” 

“Relax, Jue,” he laughed as he stood and turned to look at her, wearing only his boxers. “John B’s in the nursery with Eleanor. Everything’s fine.” 

“You broke the rules.” 

“They were stupid fucking rules.” 

“This is my house and you are a guest here!” 

June could only imagine how she looked now; her hair still a mess from hours of working in a humid kitchen, her face red with anger, her body shaking from the adrenaline. She hated confrontation. She was terrible at it. Especially when it was JJ. 

“Damn.” JJ gave her a lopsided grin. “Someone’s panties are in a real twist.” 

June scoffed, narrowing her eyes at him. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” She asked him, her voice almost breaking. “You’ve been off for weeks.” 

“Nothing’s wrong with me.” He crossed the room to stand closer to her. She could smell the sweat off of him and it made her nose scrunch. “But I think there’s something wrong with you.”

He reached his hand up to poke her nose but she swatted his hand away, still glaring at him. 

“Jealous, maybe?” He asked. 

June scoffed and straightened her back. 

“What do I have to be jealous of?” 

JJ nodded his head slowly, putting his hands on his hips. 

“Right, right. ‘Cause you and me, we’re just friends, right? Nothing more?” He said. June could hear the bitterness in his words. The cocky and arrogant front he put on when he was upset dropped and June was finally seeing a taste of his true feeling underneath. 

“What?” 

“I heard you talking to Kie the other night,” he said and June’s stomach dropped. her scowl softened and her heart rate slowed. 

“I wasn’t wrong,” she said, trying to regain some of that courage that her anger had given her as she crossed her arms. “We are just friends.” 

“Bullshit.” 

“It’s not bullshit.” 

“It’s bullshit and you know it!” He pointed a finger at her, his hands shaking. JJ never shook. He was always so sturdy, so strong like a rock that could not break. 

“I’m not having this conversation now,” June said and turned toward the door. But JJ got there first and shut it harshly before she could even reach for the doorknob. 

“Why not?” 

“Because.” 

“Give me a reason.” 

“You’re insufferable!” 

“And you’re a coward!” 

June pinched her eyebrows together, that anger beginning to smolder in her stomach once again. 

“Let me out, JJ.” 

“Just give me a reason. One good reason why you keep running away from me,” JJ said. There was something new in his eyes. Something she hadn’t seen in a long time. Desperation. 

“Don’t make me go there, JJ,” June said, shaking her head once before pressing her lips together. A strange and sudden feeling washed over her. It came with the urge to cry, but she couldn’t place what it was. 

“Why not? I’ll say it if you won’t.” He stepped forward and reached out to take her hands. Just as his fingers grazed across her skin, fuel for the flame within her, June snatched her hands back, holding them away from him. 

JJ heaved out a breath, his chest deflating. 

“Just say the word and I’ll let it go.” He took another step closer to her and then another until he was just a breath away, staring down at her. She shouldn’t let him get this close. It would just make it worse. “Say you don’t feel the same way and I’ll let you go.” 

June opened her mouth but found herself speechless. She could end this here and now. All she had to do was say she didn’t care for him like he wanted her to, that she only ever saw him as her little brother’s best friend. Or she could stop being a coward and own up to her feelings, the feelings she had been shoving away for so long. 

“I’m tired,” was all she managed, her eyes swarmmed with tears. “I’m so goddamn tired.” 

JJ looked like he was going to say something or move in closer, but then June heard a quiet cry from the other side of the house. She flicked her eyes toward the door before glancing at JJ quickly. She let out one breath before stepping around him and making an exit. He didn’t try to stop her. 

By the time she burst into the nursery, tears were falling from her lower lashes. John B was, in fact, in the nursery, sitting in the rocking chair that Mr. and Mrs. Carrera had given to June as a gift. His headphones were in and his eyes were on Eleanor as he smiled. 

“She’s crying,” June said crossly as she walked toward the crib and pulled Eleanor up into her arms. “You’re supposed to hold her when she cries.” 

John B popped out a headphone. 

“She was just asleep like 30 seconds ago so I thought if I made her laugh-”

“Doesn’t matter.” June kept her back to her brother as she cradled the crying baby to her chest. 

“You okay, Junebird?” He asked, standing and stepping toward her. The front door opened harshly and slammed shut again, making June jump and Eleanor cry even harder. 

“I’m fine,” June said, lowering her head so Eleanor’s face was nestled beneath her jaw. John B looked between JJ and June before he let out a sigh. 

“I shouldn’t have let him bring that girl in here.” 

“It’s fine.” 

“I just thought he seemed so off and that it might help. I thought if I stayed with El-”

“I said it’s fine, John.” 

The boy straightened his back, surprised at the harsh tone in June’s voice. He couldn’t remember the last time she had spoken to him like that. She was always so calm, so collected. What the hell had happened that made her fall apart so quickly? 

“I’ll just go then.” 

“Good idea.” 

John B didn’t say anything else as he headed toward the nursery door. He offered a small wave to the still crying Eleanor as he left, shutting the door behind him. Still scowling, he head toward the front of the house. He was convinced that JJ had something to do with his sister’s sudden change in disposition. He was about to have some choice words with his best friend. 

As soon as John B was gone, June fell back onto the mattress, her tears soaking through Eleanor’s onesie. She tried to muffle her cries by shoving the back of her hand into her mouth, but it wasn’t working. And it definitely wasn’t calming Eleanor down any more either. 

“Shh,” June whispered, her voice trembling. “Mommy didn’t mean to wake you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” 

June held her a little tighter, rocking her back and forth until her quiet cries started to die down. 

“I’m sorry,” June whispered. “I’m so, so sorry.” 

[rumbelleshowdown]

Author:  Porcelain Elephants

Prompt:  Like tears in rain.

Group: D

-

First Day Jitters

Bailey Gold was incredibly excited to be starting Kindergarten.  His father was not. Of course, the lack of excitement didn't stop Mr. Gold from waking up early to double-check Bae's choice in clothes or to pack his yellow lunchbox with extra care, adding a short note to remind his son how much he loved him.  But Gold was undoubtedly in a somber mood that didn't match the sunny weather.

"Papa, I'm going to be late," Bae said as he skipped to the Cadillac.

Considering there were forty-five minutes until class started, Gold seriously doubted that they would be late, but Bae was unable to tell time on the grandfather clock in the foyer and much too excited for his own good.

“I promise Bae your first day is going to be perfect.” 

Bae babbled, reciting everything his shop hand Alice had mentioned about school.  Yet Gold wasn't really listening.  Instead he couldn't help but see how everything was changing, and he didn't want it too.   Since Bae was born,  it had been the two of them against the world, with Bae's mother leaving straight from the hospital.   And while the rest of town may see Gold as the evil landlord without a kind word to say, his son was different.  Bae was his entire world,  the sun Gold revolved around, and he wasn’t sure what he was going to do now. 

It is only school, Gold thought to himself,  only a few hours every day.  It shouldn't feel like the end of the world, but it certainly did. 

“And Alice said Miss French reads us a new book every day and even has little songs for us to sing and-“ 

Gold pulled their car to a stop.  “It seems like you have a wonderful day ahead of you.  I wonder if Miss French has something special planned for the first day.”  

Bae scrunched up as his face, his deep thinking contorting his face.  "I think so.  I mean, it's the first day, Papa.  That’s pretty special.”

“You’ll just have to tell me everything later.” Gold said as he unbuckled Bae’s car seat and lifted his son out of the car, holding him close despite the pressure it put on his bum leg.  

Bae gave him a kiss on the cheek.  “I promise Papa.  Absolutely-positively everything.”  

Gold was very aware that they were early, both due to Bae’s excitement and his own need for a long goodbye, but he hadn’t expected the school to be so empty.   The playground was deserted.  A few of the teachers seemed ready with clipboards full of paperwork, but the rest were still chatting amicably.

The two of them had barely been standing there a few moments before a young brunette woman strode forward. 

"Good Morning! Who do we have here?" The women's blue eyes sparkled as she peered intently at Bae.   

Gold squeezed Bae's hand, whose own nerves seemed to have momentarily gotten the better of him, but that little reassurance seemed to be enough.

"I'm Bailey Gold! Today's my first day of Kindergarten!"  

She smiled widely.   "Well, isn't it my lucky day?  I'll be your teacher this year, Bailey.  My name is Miss French."

She bent slightly to extend her hand first to Bae, who shook it tentatively, before shaking Mr. Gold's hand.  Gold was surprised to admit he already liked Miss French, a remarkable feat considering Gold could count the number of people he liked this town on one hand.   But Bae already seemed taken with her, and he liked the way that Miss French went out of her way to make Bae feel important.

"Now Bailey when the bell rings, you'll line up by the basketball hoop with your new classmates," She said pointing and waiting for Bae's solemn little nod to make sure he understood this new task.

"But until then, I have to check in with all the parents, and your Dad has to fill out some adult paperwork."  Miss French made a face on the word adult that made Bae laugh.  "I think now might be a good time to test out the playground equipment if your Dad says it's okay."

“Please Papa?”  

Gold leaned more heavily on his cane so he could kneel next to Bae for one last hug.  "Of course, Bae.  Have fun, and remember I want to know everything."

Bae squeezed his Papa tightly, before dashing off toward the plastic playground. 

“He seems like a good kid.” 

“Aye. Although if you try to teach the class about dinosaurs or pirates, he might try to take over.”

Miss French laughed.  “I’ll be sure to leave the pirate books until next week then to prevent a mutiny.” 

Despite his glum mood, Gold couldn’t help but smile like that.  She had a beautiful laugh. 

"Unfortunately, I do have some paperwork for you.  Most of Bailey's information is already on file. Still, we like to double-check it on the first day, especially the emergency contact and vaccination information."

She handed him one of the clipboards, before leaving to check on the Nolans and their rambunctious daughter.    Gold tried to focus on the forms.  This was supposed to happen; this was just the next step of Bae's childhood.  He shouldn't be mourning the lost hours together in his pawnshop.  School was what his son needed.  Bae was happily running up the steps to the slide, in full view of at least six teachers.  And with a task to do, he should be able to just focus on the paperwork in front of him, but the lines of text seemed to blur.  

The fearsome Mr. Gold wasn't crying. He couldn't be; it had to be just rain.  The fact that there wasn't a cloud in the sky couldn't stop that logic.  He was so caught up on the fact that he couldn’t be crying in front of Storybrooke Elementary that he didn't notice when someone joined him. 

"I wish I could tell you not to worry, Mr. Gold, that everything will be alright, and I'll take good care of Bailey, but I understand that some beginnings are harder than others."  

He could feel the sheer force of her smile despite his stubborn refusal to look up at her, to allow anyone to see the pain lurking inside the lonely man who refused to let the world in.  Her heels were much taller than he would expect of someone in charge of wrangling five-year-olds,  but her bright skirts matched her sunny dispositions. 

His refusal to look at her did little to deter her.  "Most parents cry on the first day.  My own brother wept like a baby when he dropped my niece off, and little Grace has known me her entire life." 

"Isn't that a case for favoritism?" 

Her smile seemed to grow at his response, likely because she had gotten through to him.  "I'll let you in on a secret, Mr. Gold.  Storybrooke is a small town, where everyone knows everyone else's business.  If I could only teach children I had never met or knew nothing about, I’d be out of a job.  But rest assured in my classroom, the only thing that matters is how the children act on the day to day basis." 

Gold sighed. That was good news.  He would hate for Bae to be held accountable for whatever grudge his tenants held against him. 

When her hand touched his shoulder, he realized he said that out loud.   “I’m not going to pretend I haven’t heard the rumors Mr. Gold, but based on what I’ve seen,  you’re certainly not as dark as people say.” 

Her smile seemed so earnest that he felt his heart leap despite the current situation.  “Does it get easier after the first day?” 

Miss French thought for a second.  “I’m not sure watching Bae grow up will ever get easier, but it’ll get easier for you to bring him to school.  You’ll know he’ll laugh and learn and be ready to come home at the end of the day with stories that you’re not sure actually happened.” 

He didn't have much time to think about her answer before the bell rang, and the mass of children began to line up by grade at the edge of the playground.  He thought about it as he re-polished the silverware in his shop and ate his lunch more aggressively than strictly necessary.   And by the time he arrived once again at the school and had Bae wrapped in his arms, Gold thought he understood.

“And Miss French knows EVERYTHING! She taught us a song where we say hello in different languages!” Bae announced, bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet.  “I can’t sing it yet but one day I’ll know everything too. I really like Miss French”

“I like her too Bae.”  Gold said, despite that being an understatement.  He was looking forward to parent-teacher conferences and the next time he could be alone with Miss French a bit too much.

[iliketowrite1996]

His Best Girl

    TRIGGER WARNINGS AND THEMES- single parenthood, death of a spouse, death of a parent, 

‘’Jasmine, put on your shoes and let’s go.’’

    ‘’Just a second, dad!,’’ the ten year old calls from her room, rushing around to get her things ready for the school day. 

    Ten years ago, Jasmine Lynn  Allen-Rogers was born and changed Steve Rogers' life for the better.

When Jasmine was born, Stevee was fresh out of college. He’d only been out on his own for about a year and had just gotten a job teaching art at the local Elementary School. That’s where he’d met his first wife- Petra Allen.

    Petra was the aunt of a student in one of his classes- she’d tagged along to a parent-teacher conference to see how her precious nephew was doing. Apparently the evening had made quite the impression on Petra, because she’d come to the school’s art show to see her nephew’s art work… and to talk to Steve. And he remembers the day so clearly- her ebony curls were pulled into a bun and she had her headrawp on. She smiled, talked, and fitted back…

    And slipped her number into his coat pocket before winking at him and getting into the van with her sister and nephew.

    Steve had called her the very next day, somehow timid and confident all at once. And oh, the two talked for hours, and ended up setting a date for that weekend.   One date turned into two, two dates turned into ten, and pretty soon - six months later, to be exact- Steve was on one knee and proposing to the girl of his dreams.  A courthouse wedding and six weeks later, Petra found out that she was pregnant.

    And so Jasmine Margaret Lynn Allen-Rogers was born on a cold December night, just one week before Christmas. She came into the world screaming and crying, tears coming to Steve’s own eyes as he looked at his baby girl for the first time ever before the nurses carried her off to be cleaned.

And he  will always say that Jasmine was one of the greatest blessings of his life, right next to meeting Petra.

    Sometimes, though, life doesn’t work out the way that we intend for it to. For example… Steve never planned on losing the love of his life. He never planned on picking Petra losing her life the night that Jasmine was born, never planned on having to bury his wife, never planned on having to move out of his apartment and move in with Natasha and Bucky so that Natasha, who worked nights, could be there with his baby girl during the day while Steve was at work.

    As soon as Jasmine had started daycare at one and a half, Steve had taken two more jobs- one as the photographer at a nearby church and one as a waiter at a diner on the weekends and three nights a week. 

    He had not anticipated having to work out a schedule with Sam, Bucky and Natasha- Natasha would get Jasmine ready and take her to day care, pick her up, feed her and bathe her, and Bucky would take over the night shift until Steve got off work at ten. If he didn’t have to work at the school and the diner the next day, he would get her ready for daycare. If he had to, Natasha would.

    On the weekends, both Natasha and Bucky worked, so Sam would take Jasmine during the day, until Steve got off at two. Then, Steve would take time with his daughter. On Sundays, he only worked evenings. He’d go to church, drop Jasmine off at Sunday School before going to service, taking pictures. After church, he’d take Jasmine to the diner for lunch and Sam would pick her up there, taking her to his apartment for a nap and snack until Bucky or Natasha picked her up and took her back to their place.

    When Jasmine was four,Steve did not expect to get a generous offer from Sam Wilson, Steve’s buddy from college, who offered to split the first year of rent with Steve so that he and Jasmine could move into a small studio apartment now that Steve could afford it. So, he quit his job at the diner and kept his job at the school and church. He’d be able to stay on the same schedule as Jasmine, because he’d pick her up from her pre-school’s after school program, take her home, make dinner, help her with her homework. Bath,hair, bed time, and finished up any work until he turned off his own light three hours later at 11.

    When Jasmine was seven, her aunt, Petra’s sister, contacted Steve for the first time since Petra’s funeral. She felt guilty having spent all these years out of contact with her former brother-in-law and niece,and she wanted to make amends.Several lunch dates later, and Steve has his Friday nights to himself as Jasmine goes off to spend time with her cousin and her auntie.

    Three years later, their routine has changed quite a bit.  Now, Steve is paying on a small, two bedroom apartment for him and his daughter. Jasmine now attends the elementary school where he works, so they ride together. They leave together at 4:30, when Art Club and Glee Club Practice are over. They come home, cook dinner, do her homework while he grades essays and projects, watch some television then it’s off to bed.

    Yes, in the past Steve has had to adjust to different ways of doing things. And it's been a struggle, but one thing remains- Jasmine is the light of his life, and he’d do anything for that girl.

    Currently, he wishes she’d pull on her rainboots and get to the living room.

    ‘’Come on, Jazz. We need to get a move on.’’

    ‘’Coming, daddy,’’ Jasmine announces, bouncing into the living room clad in her purple raincoat, hat, and boots, the new jeans Steve bought for her last week peeking out, ‘’I’m ready!’’

    ‘’Perfect,’’ he announces, guiding her to walk in front of him as the two of them get ready to leave the apartment, ‘’Remember, glee club is canceled until they find someone to take over in Mrs. Monroe’s place. You can either come with me, or go with Aunt Patty.’’

    ‘’I’ll go with you,’’ Jasmine announces as she and Steve make their way to the elevator, the fifth grader bouncing as she goes, ‘’I like art club!’’

    ‘’Okay,’’ he laughs, getting onto the elevator with his daughter and pressing the button for the lobby.

    ‘’So, what are we gonna eat for dinner tonight? We’ve got to go shopping,’’ Steve informs his daughter as they go through the lobby.

    ‘’I think we should go to Uncle Bucky’s and Aunt Nat’s house! She makes good lasagna.’’

    ‘’She is working a double shift. And Bucky goes to work at three. And Sam went to visit his sister Delaney in Texas for the week. So you’re stuck with me, chickadee,’’ Steve uses the nickname he’s been using for Jasmine ever since she was born.

    ‘’In that case, can we eat tacos again?’’   

    ‘’Sounds like a plan to me,’’ he tells her, taking her wrist to keep up with her on the busy New York sidewalk.

    It’s the middle of September, and the leaves are beginning to change. The weather today is slightly rainy, and Steve, being the fun-loving dad he is, is hopping into all of the puddles with Jasmine as they walk the three blocks to the elementary school.

    Once there, Steve gives his puddle-jumping-buddy a high five before she heads off to Mr. Isaac’s class and he heads to his art class.

    ‘’Good morning, Mr. Rogers!’’ DeShawn, Jasmine’s best friend, greets as he rushes down the hallway.

    ‘’Good morning, and walk, DeShawn!Steve responds to the young boy, who slowed his pace as he enters Mr. Isaac’s class.

    The hallway is full of activity- kindergartners trailing their teacher, Mrs. Parker to class, and the fourth graders are trailing behind Mr. Stevens as he does attendance on the way to his room.

    As soon as Steve does get into his classroom, he turns on his music, hangs up his coat, and leaves the lights off.

    Steve loves to start his day in the dark- music playing as he waits for the students.

    For the first period of the day, he has  Ms. Pott’s third grade class- so before his room is filled with the sound of twenty-four, eight and nine year olds, he enjoys a bit of time to himself, drinking the coffee he’d brought with him. 

    No later than 8:10, after morning announcements and the Pledge of Allegiance, do Ms. Pott’s kids file into the classroom.

    ‘’Good morning, Mr. Rogers,’’ Pepper Potts speaks, watching her students file in, ‘’How are you this morning?’’

    ‘’Doing well, Ms. Potts,’’ he speaks, taking a hat off of a student’s head as he enters and giving it to Pepper, ‘’No hats, Michael.’’

    ‘’Sorry, Mr. Rogers,’’ Michael mutters,taking his seat.

    ‘’Will you be joining Tony and I for dinner tonight,’’ Pepper question as Steve watches her class take their seats. 

    ‘’No, I can’t tonight. Jasmine has just gotten over her cold, and I really think we just need to go home and relax later.’’

    ‘’That’s too bad! Tony’s godsister, Sharon was looking forward to meeting you. Maybe next time. Alright, class, 31. Mr. Rogers better not have a tough time out of this class or there will be no movie Friday. Do you understand?’’

    ‘’Yes, Ms. Potts,’’ the class chorus, and Pepper flashed a grin at Tony before leaving so that he could close the door.

    And the day goes pretty quickly from there- he’s grateful that Jasmine’s fifth grade class has music today while he takes Ms. Hill’s class today. He doesn’t see Jasmine until she pops into class on her lunch hour while Steve takes his planning period, asking for a dollar so that she can get a treat at lunch.   

    In fact, the only new thing is that he does have a new student.

    ‘’It’s okay, Olivia. There’s no need to be afraid.’’

    Mrs. Storm, the kindergarten teacher, is ushering her students into the class… all except one: a tiny little girl with her hair in two puffs who is looking at Steve from behind her teacher, hand gripping Mrs. Storm’s skirt as she peers up at Steve through her glasses.

    ‘’Mr. Rogers, this is Olivia Reed. She’s new today- she just moved here from Arizona!’’

    Steve smiles at the young girl, crouching down to see her with a smile, ‘’Well, hello! I am so excited that you get to be in my class today! Don’t you want to come in?’’

    The Young child timidly, but quickly, shakes her head before hiding her face i the skirt of Mrs. Storm’s dress once more.

    ‘’I guess I could take her back to class for the day…’’

    ‘’No, no, that’s okay. Listen, Olivia, I’ll tell you what- why don’t you come into class with me and you can help me pass out the art supplies for our class. How about that?’’

    Slowly, but surely, Olivia reaches out and takes Steve’s waiting hand, accepting his offer to help out and causing Mrs. Storm to sigh in relief as she rushes back to her classroom.

    Passing the supplies out seems to help Olivia calm down, and he watches her exchange the brown crayon for the pencil to write her name as she finishes her self portrait.

    ‘’I used yellow because I have blonde hair, see, Mr. Rogers,’’ Daniella, Pepper’s niece, pipes up, ‘’And Olivia has brown hair, and Billy has black hair, and-’’

    ‘’And I think it’s time to start putting our supplies away! DeLynn and Drake, collect the papers. DeLynn gets the girls’ papers, Drake gets the boys. Sierra, Alex, Alejandro and Efua, get the supplies from your group and put them in the bins. Olivia and Zion, collect them.’’

    The whole process takes about ten minutes- it is filled with ‘’Mr. Rogers told ME to do it!, ‘’I’m not done!’’, and ‘’Teacher, what are we supposed to be doing’’, but it is done by the time that Mrs. Storm comes to pick up her students.

    ‘’Thank you, Mr. Rogers- sincerely.’’

    ‘’It’s no trouble,’’ he smiles, kneeling to say goodbye to Olivia, ‘’Bye, Olvia! I’ll see you on Friday, okay?’’

    She doesn’t respond verbally, but she gives him a thumbs up.   

    And that, to him, is as good as anything to show progress..

        ‘’There. Now you’re all set for bed,’’ Steve tells Jasmine, who stands and looks at the twists her dad just made in her hair.

    Her hair is growing pretty fast. Steve, who had to take lessons from Sam’s sister and watch countless Youtube tutorials, is learning to work with her curly hair. Gone are the days of her being content with wearing her hair in braids and pigtails- she is branching out.

    She is growing up.

    And Steve finds that he is both happy about it and a bit melancholy at the same time.

    ‘’Daddy,’’ Jasmine begins as she climbs into bed, ready to be tucked in, ‘’Can I ask you a question?’’

    ‘’Sure, honey,’’ he tells her, setting her alarm clock for her.

    ‘’What did mommy’s hair look like?’’

    Steve pauses before looking at his daughter.

    He’s talked about her mother before, sure. She came home from preschool crying one day, and he had to tell her what happened. And he knows that her aunt has spoken about her plenty of times. However, he stops there- he can’t quite bring himself to look at the pictures. Because though he’s come to accept it, he still feels that if he looks at her pictures, that is going to make it all happen, all over again.

    And that’s something that he’s sure  he’ll never be ready for her.

    ‘’It was… she had really, really curly hair. She liked to wear it in an afro. And it was just a bit darker than yours- ebony black, actually. She loved to wear it in twists, too.’’

    Jasmine pauses from where she is touching her hair, a grin playing on her lips, ‘’Really?’’

‘’Mhm,’’ he smiles a bit, remembering, ‘’And she looked so beautiful with her hair in any style. Just like you. But we’ll have to talk more about her tomorrow, honey. It’s already late and we’ve got to go to school early tomorrow.’’

‘’Okay, daddy,’’ Jasmine nods, allowing Steve to tuck her in, ‘’Daddy, do you think you’ll ever get married again?’’

You know when someone asks you something and you literally have no response?

That’s Steve. Because Jasmine has never asked that question in her ten years of living. So, he does the only thing that he can think of- he attempts to change the subject.

‘’Maybe, I will Jazz. Maybe. But, hey, I’ve got everything I need. And you’re my daughter, my best girl! Now, get some sleep, honey.’’

‘’Good night. I love you!’’

‘’I love you, too, sweetheart,’’ Steve presses a kiss to his daughter’s head before turning off the light and exiting.

    So she’ll definitely bring it up again, but at least he’s bought himself sometime. And, besides, he’s not pressing the issue. He hasn’t been on a date in a while, but he can’t.He’s so busy. And Jasmine needs him- he’s got to help her with her grades and she’s so excited for the big concert coming up at church, and needs him to help her with her solo for her audition. 

    So, no, he’s far too busy to be dating. And, he’s pretty sure that he’ll never fall in love again- not the way that he was with Petra. And he’s content with that. He loves his job, he loves his friends at work and church, he loves the makeshift family with old friends. So, no, he doesn’t even need to think about a new relationship. He’s got everything he needs.

    But what Steve is about to find out is that life has a way of surprising us.

    And that some of our biggest blessings, can be found in the things we never even knew that we wanted.

DISCLAIMER- I do not own any Marvel characters, galaxies, planets, cities, countries, etc. I just love making new stories. 

@ashanti-notthesinger @destinio1 @afraiddreamingandloving @starsshines-blog @airis-paris14 @syreanne @chaneajoyyy @90sinspiredgirl @shemiahsmelanin @zillmonger @skysynclair19 @marvelpotterlove @constantlycravingtheunknown @imaginewhoever @wakanda-inspired @pocmarvelworks @theunsweetenedtruth @dreampovx @adrioola21 @supremethunda @thisiskayesworld @mcusocialimagines @priya212  @kumkaniudaku  @airis-paris14 @alexundefined @fonville-designs  @dramaqueenamby  @mellowjellow6 @oceanscorazon @nerd-lovely @fonville-designs @akimi-youngblood @yoyolovesbucky 

[justfandomwritings]

Urban Legends (Part Three - Chris Beck)

Pairing: Chris Beck x Reader

Word Count: 2.7k words

Warnings: none

Summary: (Y/n) Watney was something of an urban legend at NASA. Commander of the Ares I mission, (Y/n) was the first human to set foot on another planet. She heard names like Neil Armstrong and smirked. She was on her way to being the most famous astronaut in history, and she was determined to bring her brother along for the ride. She recommended Mark to Vincent Kapoor. She helped him get on the Ares III mission to Mars.

Her brother was stuck on Mars because of her, and she was determined to bring him home. 

After all, if he was the first human to die on another planet that would thoroughly steal her thunder; and she couldn’t have that.

Notes: sorry this took a minute. 

Start From the Beginning With… Part One

Previously On... Part Two

There were a great many urban legends about ghosts, and (Y/n) knew them all. 

When she and Mark were still very young, they would go camping all the time with their parents. Donna and Barry Watney encouraged their children to be active and resourceful and would often drag the pair out to various national parks or rural regions of the country to try their hand in the great outdoors, an exploration-themed pastime they would take to the extreme later in life.

While they eventually found a love for it that took them out of this world, neither was particularly persuaded by the initial proposition. The two kids were only convinced to come along on their parents’ excursions because their parents always brought a telescope, and they took turns, away from the city lights, to look at the stars. 

They had contests to see who could name more of them, and their dad officiated the score. (Y/n) knew now that her dad had never taken an astronomy class, and thinking back on it she was pretty sure he just took it in turns to say which of them won the game that trip without any real thought. Not that she was complaining, she’d won the last time they all went camping together when she was fifteen, so as far as she was concerned she was the reigning champion forever.

(Y/n) and Mark made competitions of everything. If there was something to be done than there was something to be won. One of them would get a higher grade on the test. One of them would read more books. One of them would win their chess game. Hell, one of them would take out the garbage faster. No matter how obvious, no matter how suited, no matter how mundane, everything was a challenge to be won. Theirs was not a rivalry restricted to games. 

They were each other’s greatest foes, but also each other’s greatest fans.

Outside of House Watney, it was Mark and (Y/n) against the world. They could beat each other all they wanted, but the minute one of them lost to some outside force the other appeared, as if out of thin air. (Y/n) managed to figure out the password for a teacher’s computer and changed the scores at the science fair so her brother could beat Jason Richter for the first place prize. Mark once hiked four miles roundtrip, through woods in the dead of night, from his cabin at the boys’ summer camp to his sisters’ girls’ summer camp cabin on the other side of the park just to deliver (Y/n) his superior calculator to win a meaningless, trophyless math tournament.

Of course, no win was meaningless to the Watney siblings, especially not over each other. There was always a lot at stake. Bragging rights were always up for grabs, and teasing was incessant for the loser. 

On their camping trips, the competitive streak extended far beyond the telescope. Out in the wilderness, far away from books and internet, the pair would sit around a campfire seeing who could tell the scarier story.

They started out judging the competition on how scared the other person looked, but that had only led to arguments about who had more goosebumps or who’s eyes scanned the woods more often. Arguments made significantly worse by the fact that Mark was a much, much better actor than (Y/n), and therefore much better at hiding his fear. At their mother’s suggestion, they had turned to counting how much sleep the other person lost.

An ingenious suggestion on their mother’s part that (Y/n) would look on years later as an A+ parenting strategy. To begin, they both wanted to go to bed early, whether they were tired or not, so they could say they got more sleep than the other. Plus, sharing a tent, they couldn’t call the other person out on being awake without proving they were awake themselves, leading to many silent and peaceful nights in the campground. 

It took truly terrifying tales to get either of the Watney children to flinch in their pretense of sleep, and Mark had eventually, after years of stories, won the game with a ghost story he made up himself set in their very camp. 

(Y/n) remembered the moment she peaked out between her eyelids and saw her brother dozing. Clearly, genuinely asleep. 

It pained her to admit she was freaked out by his story, but she finally shook him awake and confessed.

“I don’t know where you heard about that girl or if it’s true, but I can’t sleep.” 

Mark had sympathetically patted the space next to him in his sleeping bag, and (Y/n) curled into her brother for protection. “Don’t worry, (Y/n),” he soothed. “It’s just an urban legend.”

He let her have her moment of weakness that night, but in the morning the victory dance was unbearable.

(Y/n) felt as though she was the one living the ghost story. Only this time, Mark wasn’t there to comfort her. He was the ghost. Her every waking moment was haunted and plagued by thoughts of him. 

When she woke up, she saw him sitting on the couch of her hotel room. When she got out of the shower, he was watching the tv she’d forgotten to turn off. When she got in her car, he was in the passenger seat. 

In a way, it was better that he was alive. Because of course, it was; she wanted nothing more than for him to be alive. In another way, it was worse. He was dead on Mars no matter what; it would’ve been less painful if the antenna did him in. 

Her eyes stared unseeing at the news playing over the cafe’s television as her mind counted down. 

Two and a half minutes left.

The tv had been on ESPN when she walked in, but a quiet word from (Y/n) to the woman behind the register had seen the channel changed, much to the disappointment of a group of men in suits sitting at the counter. 

One had even turned to complain to her about ruining their SportsCenter lunchbreak, but he quickly shut up when he caught sight of who he was about to confront. 

“My condolences, Commander Watney,” the man turned back to the counter and didn’t look back at her booth again. 

His friends all glanced surreptitiously over their shoulders at her throughout their meal, but she was used to it. Not the pity in their eyes, that was a new addition. 

Being watched had become a part of her every day life on Earth. It was part of why (Y/n) was so eager to go back to space. In space, the only eyes were her crew and the stars. 

Today though, it was oddly comforting. They were voyeurs more than anything. (Y/n) knew they only cared to a degree, but it was a degree more than her hotel pillow was capable of caring. 

(Y/n) spent most of her time in Florida working at Launch Control or doing promotional press and the rest of her time in D.C. campaigning for NASA funding. She had an apartment not far from the Kennedy Space Center and a best friend who lived just inside the Maryland state line. 

The last time she’d spent any real time in Houston had been as an AsCan, when NASA put her up in a dorm with other potential candidates. Since training ended, (Y/n) had only really visited Texas for a meeting here or there. 

The only people she knew in Texas worked in the upper echelon of NASA, and after the news they’d dropped on her, spending time crying on their shoulder was about the last thing (Y/n) wanted to do.

The press conference was slated to start any moment. (Y/n) desperately needed someone to care, but she’d rather take the passive curiosity of strangers than Annie Montrose’s calculating eye or Mitch Henderson’s guilt ridden conscience. 

Somewhere in her mind, (Y/n) registered as the news clicked over to NASA, and the man who’d offered his sympathy began to order the waitress to turn it off. 

“No,” (Y/n) called just loud enough to be heard. “It’s important.” 

The waitress leaned back against the counter to watch, and it seemed, as if drawn by some unknown magnetism to her pain every other patron in the room quieted down enough to hear the words. 

“We’re now joining the press conference live where NASA’s Chief Director, Teddy Sanders, has an announcement.” 

The newscaster spoke over Teddy introducing himself as the director mouthed an introduction only heard by those in the room. 

The volume cut to NASA just in time to hear, “There’s no easy way to put this. Mark Watney is alive.”

The silence was deafening for a long beat before the world around her exploded. 

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The first call was from an old school friend. 

Jenny has been watching the news when it was announced, and she’d called right away. Naively, worried that (Y/n) didn’t know she hadn’t wanted her to hear from a stranger. 

Calls two through six had come in while she was on the phone with Jenny.

(Y/n) didn’t return any of them.

She answered call number fourteen, ten minutes later. It was her favorite professor, Dr. Armstrong, a name which had an irony that was not lost on (Y/n). He was the head of the Computer Science department during her undergraduate degree, and he’d had her back once every semester to speak to classes about all the places their degree could take them. Needless to say, his classes featuring her were very popular.

Call fifteen through twenty came in the twenty minutes they were talking. Dr. Armstrong hadn’t asked her how she was doing. He probed at what was happening and if anything could be done to help. 

Call twenty-three had been her neighbor in Florida. Maria Ramirez was the opposite, desperately worried about whether or not (Y/n) was okay.

Those were the only calls (Y/n) answered on Day One. After telling Maria for the millionth time that she would survive the night, (Y/n) had hung up to another twelve missed calls. 

“I want to marry whoever invented the do not disturb button,” (Y/n) grumbled, pressing the cresent moon and tossing her phone into the corner of the room to leave her undisturbed for the rest of the day.

She answered the first call on Day Two. In large part because (Y/n) didn’t know who it was.

“This is (Y/n).” She said, catching the phone between her shoulder and ear.

“(Y/n)?” It wasn’t exactly a question, but the hesitation in the voice made it sound like one. “Th-This is Amy Beck.”

(Y/n) had only met Dr. Beck once, on the launch pad before he piled in to be launched into orbit with her brother. Their entire exchange had been “Good luck, Dr. Beck.” and “Thank you, Commander Watney.”, so they hadn’t really had time to get into personal matters like exchanging sibling contact information.

“I-I got your number from Mitch Henderson.”

“Well that explains a lot,” (Y/n) grumbled, not really bothering to hide her displeasure from the woman on the other end of the line. “What can I do for you?”

“I was actually hoping we could talk… In person?” Amy hedged.

(Y/n) sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. A wife of one of the Ares II crew had hung her up for nearly six hours asking all kinds of questions about what her husband was going through on the trip to Mars, and she really was in no mood to go through that again. “Unfortunately, I’m in Houston at the moment…”

“I know,” Amy cut in quickly. “I live in Houston, myself. I was hoping we could meet for coffee? Only quickly, it would have to be for my lunch break.”

Now that was a time constraint (Y/n) could reasonably see to.

“All right. Tell me when and where.”

“Any day you like, around 1 oclock, at Al Vetros? It’s near my work.” 

“Tomorrow then.”

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So what is it you wanted to talk about? I regret to inform you that a lunch break isn’t long enough to explain how the engine aboard the Hermes functions.” 

A quick browse through Facebook had shown (Y/n) Amy’s picture, though admittedly nothing else with the woman’s stringent privacy settings. It gave (Y/n) complete confidence when she walked in that she’d spotted the right woman at the two seater by the window, plopping down into the seat opposite to begin without hesitation.

“No, no,” Amy, somewhat befuddled by (Y/n)’s abruptness, quickly responded, “I don’t think there’s any hope in me understanding any of that. I never liked physics. Or the stars for that matter, I don’t have any ambition to go into a vacuum where a piece of glass is all that stands between me and death.” 

“Then what did you want me to help you with?” (Y/n)’s eyebrows creased together.

“I was hoping I might be the one to help you.” Amy leaned forward with her elbows on the table, not quite whispering but certainly speaking low enough to avoid any eavesdroppers, “Mitch called and told me all about Mark before it hit the news. I figured you wouldn’t want to leave Houston while NASA was monitoring him.”

“You figured right.” (Y/n) heaved a sigh, “The Holiday Inn staff have been overly kind to me given the circumstances.”

Amy dug around in her pocket for a moment before pulling out a key ring. “Yes, Mitch mentioned. I thought you might want something a little more homey, and a little less expensive than a long-term stay in a hotel.”

(Y/n) eyed the key but made no move to grab it. “I can’t take that.”

“And why not?” Amy set the key on the table and slid it across to the space in front of (Y/n). “I like to think you would accomodate me if my brother was trapped on Mars, and I have a spare room so it’s really no inconvenience.”

(Y/n) fingered the jagged edge of the key with a thoughtful hand. Amy didn’t know what she was saying. (Y/n) really, really couldn’t accept this. “I don’t think you understand what you’re offering here. My brother had 50 days worth of rations for his whole crew. Assuming he does absolutely nothing to extend or improve his food supply, worst case scenario sees my brother dying in a year. My best case scenario, Mark manages to extend or add to his food supply and by some miracle we get him back in a few years when Ares IV goes to Mars.”

Amy pretended to think it over, but (Y/n) could tell the woman was just humoring her. “Yep,” Amy gave a lazy smile. “Still haven’t changed my mind.”

“I’m not leaving Houston till he dies or comes back alive. That’s anywhere from 300 days to 5 years from now.” 

“Yep.” Amy popped the last ‘p’ letter, then leaned forward and pushed the key into (Y/n)’s palm. “I hope you don’t mind the sound of violin music. I don’t play or anything; I just really like watching Sherlock.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Next Time on... Part Four

Taglist: 

Forever Taglist:

@maybe-a-fangurl / @libbymouse / @geeksareunique / @deathbyarabbit​ / @spilltheearlgrey / @ryanbarnesrogers / 

Series Taglist:

@multifandombabelover​ / @cutiepiemimi13​ / @captainscanadian​ / @harishaanne​ / @andtheytoldustotellyouhello / @diabla-seis66 / @thebestofoneshots​ / @harishaanne​ / 

[like-rain-or-confetti]

The Last Dance (Felix Volturi x teen!fem!reader)

“Please?” “Don’t look at me like that, (Y/N). I don’t know if it’s likely. It isn’t my decision in the end. I don’t want to instill hope in you for a lost cause.” Felix looked at you solemnly. “Let me talk to the masters, but please do not dwell on this too much.” “Please tell them that i need to go!” “You don’t need to do anything, my love.” “I need to do this!” You pleaded with your father. “I won’t get to do this again. I’m only asking for this once!” “(Y/N), enough.” Felix said firmly. “I will see what we can do for you but do not push your luck.”

The next day, you were called into the throne room to be faced with the three leaders and your father. Caius wasted no time, getting straight to the point. “We made an agreement to allow you to go to school, now I hear you want more?”  “Not like that, sir.” You responded meekly. “I’m very grateful that you allowed this. So much so that, i’m sad it’s over. You see, there is an end of year dance - a final goodbye and i want your permission to go so that i can end this time on a good note and have one last memory with my friends.” “But you understand that this is quite a big ask?” Aro prodded. You nodded quickly, suddenly uneasy. You knew where this was going.  “Then you know your answer.” Caius said flatly.  “Forgive us, young (Y/N), but this is a risk that we are not willing to take.We risked enough with your education. You agreed you’d do well and when the time had come along, this would end. You have completed your academic career, value our arrangement and let this be.” Aro said with much more sympathy and Felix put a hand on your shoulder. You fought back tears, your mouth opening and shifting as you tried to find any words but none would come out. Aro rose to a stand his hands clasped to his chest as he moved towards you and took your face in his hands. “This is not a punishment dear (Y/N), this is what’s best.” Immediately, you began to cry, unable to hold it back any longer. Marcus tilted his head. “Perhaps we could reconsider this,” He drawled. “Why?” Caius shot back. “Because we have trusted (Y/N) enough to allow her to get an education in the human world. We have transferred her to many many schools as for the humans not to question her growth, i’m sure we could extend our trust to one more night.” “Marcus, do not spoil the girl.” Caius responded. “We have given her enough and this was not a part of the arrange we agreed upon.” “In defense, she didn’t know of such outings just as we didn’t, just as we didn’t know of these parent-teacher conferences.” “Which we did not attend because of the risk!” Caius argued. “We requested that we received a more detailed report card.” “What is your point brother?” Aro turned to Marcus. “My point is that too make such a decision so quickly is unreasonable, we should be encouraging (Y/N) to maintain our trust and reward her for her efforts throughout her education.” Caius scoffed. “Then let us think thoroughly on this brothers.” Aro moved back to his throne. “We will let you know when we have come to a decision, (Y/N).” Aro dismissed you and Felix wrapped an arm across your shoulders walking you out the room.  “Don’t cry, (Y/N). You know I hate seeing you so upset. Demetri will go mad if he sees his precious niece like this.” “I didn’t mean to, i just-i really want this.” You wiped at your eyes. “I know but we can only wait and see.” He pulled you into the direction of your room. “Come, i’ll spend some time with you.”

Three weeks passed and the answer didn’t seem to change it was only until a few hours before the dance when Demetri and Felix entered your room. He sat on your bed in front of you. “So I was summoned to the throne room today.” Felix smiled at you. “The masters have decided you can go.” “Really!? I can!?” Your face lit up making the two grin.  “Yes, I wouldn’t lie to you, love.” Felix chuckled.  “They were very back and forward but in the end, they decided they could allow this one night with your fathers permission.” Demetri added. “I suppose i can’t say no.” Felix smiled. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” You immediately pulled your father and uncle into a hug.  “Remember to thank the masters.” Felix reminded you. “Have a good time, (Y/N). You deserve it- but not too much fun.” Demetri eyed you pointedly with playful eyes and Felix scowled, punching Demetri in the arm. 

A moment later, your happiness suddenly vanished. Demetri and Felix tilted their heads. "That was short lived, what's on your mind?" Demetri asked. You chewed your lip. "It took so long to convince you guys that...I didn't get time to pick a dress." You held back a sob. "I don't have anything to wear." "You've got some time left, Heidi can take you shopping. I'm sure she wouldn't mind." Demetri spoke quietly. "Heidi isn't here right now. She's out to gather tourists. That isn't to say we can't have someone help you." Felix said. It was rare to see you cry and it broke his heart to see you so heartbroken. Not to mention that you had cried twice over this situation, it only showed how much this meant to you. You wiped your eyes and shook your head. "No, it's fine. It doesn't matter anymore." "It's fine, (Y/N). We can figure out something." Felix patted your shoulder. "No, it's not worth it. It's just a dance." You left the room, wiping your eyes. You were quiet for the next hour or so, in the library and trying to keep your mind off of it. 

Alec peeked his head through the door. "Come to the throne room with me. You're being requested." You sighed closing the book and leaving it on the table. The walk with Alec was pretty quiet. As usual he only made brief conversation with you but it you got the indication he was making a small attempt to cheer you up. When you arrived, you were surprised to see Demetri, Felix, the leaders and Athenodora- Caius' mate- with them. She immediately moved forward with a warm smile just as she always did. "My loving husband told me word had been around that you're upset, my love. Tell me what has got you so upset?" She always had a way of getting you to talk openly with her. She was like the mother figure you never had. "Tonight's the last dance. The last time I can see my friends. I know I made a deal. I could go to school if I committed and I did. I get good grades but I didn't know about these dances. I never go and I had hoped that since this would be the last that I could go-end my education on a high note." You're voice quivered. "but it took so long for the decision that it's a few hours away and I don't have a dress to wear so I can't go."  "I see. Tell me, is it formal?" You nodded. Athenodora smiled holding out her hand. "Come with me. I know what to do." When Athenodora's mind was made up, that was it. She, as per usual, kept the idea to herself as she lead you up to the tower, Caius, Felix and Demetri not far behind. She sat you on a chair as she moved to the opposite side of the room and into her walk in wardrobe you heard her rummage about. You looked over at the two guards and Caius but even her own husband wasn't entirely sure what Athenodora had in mind. "Ah ha!" You heard from the wardrobe before she came into sight with a breathtaking dress. "Up!" She smiled and you did so, still not putting the pieces together as you continued to take in the beauty of the dress. She put it against you as you both looked at the reflection of the mirror. "Oh yes, I knew this dress would do you justice. What about this one?" 

After a moment you caught up with her. "Wait? Wear this? I-I couldn't! It's yours and it's beautiful and-" Athenodora cut you off with a smile. "Hush. It has been a long time since I wore this and even if my tastes have changed- my appreciation for this dress has not. I'd be more than happy to give you it and see it out in the world one last time." "But are you sure you want me to have it?" "There's no one else in this world I'd rather see it on. If this dress is satisfactory then it's all yours." Athenodora didn't need an answer. She saw it in your eyes. This was the one. She ushered you into the walk in wardrobe. "Try it on!" She closed you in, stepping back, her hands clasped under her chin, grinning in excitement. "Are you certain about this, my love?" Caius asked. "Miss, please do not feel pressured to comply." Felix added and Demetri nodded. Athenodora looked at the three with a small smile. "I do not have a daughter to share these moments with. I couldn't be happier sharing these moments with (Y/N)." "Thank you, Miss." Felix said. "This is very generous."

“Oh, isn’t she beautiful!” Athenodora was moment away from squealing. “Caius, look!” “I see, my love, I see.” Caius assured her. “(Y/N) looks very beautiful.” You looked down at yourself.  “You look very beautiful, love.” Felix smiled. “It suits you well.” “Do you like it?” Demetri asked. “I love it- are you sure it’s alright that i wear this?” You asked Athenodora. “Yes!” She said with glee. 

Later, you heard a knock at your door. "It has occurred to me that I owe you a thanks." Caius stepped further into the room as you looked at him puzzled. "You gave my wife precious moments that I could not give her and ones that she'll never forget. For that, I thank you." "I'm sorry, sir, I don't think I understand." "I never had the chance to give her a child, which was all she ever wanted. When you came along, you've filled that hole in her heart. For that I thank you." You nodded. Caius stopped himself, just as he was about to leave the room. "Oh, and not too much make up, understand? I'd hate to have to remind you of your age and you most certainly don't need it." You giggled as he cracked his own smile in response -even though you were aware he was being deadly serious. "I wouldn't get out the door. I'm only wearing lip gloss and mascara- I promise." "I can't say I know what the first one is but, I assure you. I'll ask my wife and if I'm not happy I'll be right back down here." "I promise my dad approves, if he changes his mind, you can hold me down as he scrubs my face." Caius chuckled. "If I don't see you, enjoy your evening." "Thank you so much for letting me go. It means so much to me." Caius nodded and left.

Heidi looked you over at the door. "Lovely!" She giggled slightly when she took hold your chin, inspecting your face. "I see your father got to you before I could. Not even a little lipstick?" "Not allowed." You shrugged. "Thats right." Felix said as he turned the corner with Demetri. "I will tolerate bare minimum of make up and lipstick is certainly not tolerable. She's too young." "You have to let her grow up some time, Felix." Heidi teased. "Even Jane wears more make-up." "No I don't and Jane isn't my child." Felix pulled you in as though to protect you from Heidi. "It wasn't long ago that she was an infant." "Technically, that was five years ago." You looked up, leaning against your father's hold. "It's not technical, dear. It's literal." Demetri corrected you. "However, your aging has slowed significantly in the past month so-" "So your father will get more time to baby you." Heidi smirked. "I can't wait until you start dating." "(Y/N), won't be dating for the next four hundred years." Felix huffed. "More ideally, she won't ever be dating." "Guys, I'm going to be late..." You interrupted. "Fine." Felix said before kissing the top of your head. "You look beautiful. Have fun." Demetri put a hand to your back leading you out the door. "Demetri! Don't bring home any of her friends mother's!" Someone called from inside. "Wait what!?" You gawked. "Nothing. There's no need to worry. I'm simply blessed by the gods but no need to fret. The ladies can look but they can't touch." Demetri smirked.

[feedmeramyun]

Fifty Questions Tag Game!

I was tagged by @sweet-teeth-mfs

Hi, it me, Bee. 

1. What takes up too much of your time?

Realistically, work? I work an office job to pay my while I finish my PhD:  it’s a good job and luckily I don’t hate it (not to mention I wouldn’t even be able to do my PhD without it) but it’d be great to have that time to work on my academic projects.

2. What makes your day better?

Food.

3. What’s the best thing to happen to you today?

I didn’t do a lot today, but it was announced Lee Min Ho has been discharged from the military so that made me happy! 

4. What fictional place would you like to go to?

So. Many. Places. But forced to choose right now? Rabanastre from Final Fantasy XII.

5. Are you good at giving advice?

Lots of people ask me for it, but I think that’s because I have a very logical and rational understanding of the world. I’m not great at understanding feelings (or remembering they exist...).

6. Do you have any mental illness?

I do! My family is particularly blessed with mental health issues and I inherited my fair share of them. I’ve learned to accept them as part of me though, and I’m mostly at peace with that now: but always happy to talk honestly and frankly with others about them.  

7. Have you ever experienced sleep paralysis?

Yes, ain’t that a blast. 

8. What musician inspired you the most?

As a teen, Kurt Cobain (so predictable!) was extremely important to me. I’m also a huge fan of Shakira: her work ethic and creativity has been a massive inspiration for me. Kpop wise, I’m in awe of female idols breaking down boundaries and forging their identities (in particular Sunmi, Hyuna and Hwasa), and of course Taemin in his explorations of gender, identity and style. 

9. Have you ever fallen in love?

Mmm, in my way. My spectrum of emotion is quite different from most peoples, so for a while I wondered if maybe I couldn’t love. Now I’m older and have a better perspective of myself I realise I can and do love, its just different. 

10. What’s your dream date?

This gets asked all the time, and I generally don’t know? Probably something low key that mostly revolved around food.

11. What do others notice about you?

I asked Edie and she said my eyes.  I quote: ‘You have very bright, round eyes. Very expressive.’ 

(What she actually said was my cuteness but I’m a grown woman dammit.)

12. What is an annoying habit you have?

I didn’t ask Edie this but I’m PRETTY sure she would agree it’s my inability to let something drop if it’s wrong or illogical, even if I know it’s supposed to be a joke. I just can’t help it. 

13. Do you still talk to your first love?

No.

14. How many exes do you have?

SOME. 

15. How many songs are in your playlist?

Spotify helpfully won’t tell me how many songs, but apparently its 12hrs 42 mins. 

16. What instruments can you play?

Guitar. I was in a band as a teenager, but I haven’t played in years. 

17. What do you have the most pictures of?

It’s a close tie between food and Do Kyungsoo. 

18. Where would you like to go before you die?

I’m lucky to have ticked a few places off my list (South Africa, Central Mexico, Moscow) but I’d really like to do a food tour of China, Japan and Korea soon. I’d also love to see St Petersburg, Machu Pichu and Teotihuacan.

19. What is your zodiac?

Libra.

20. Do you relate to it?

I know literally nothing about astrology. 

21. What is happiness to you?

Being content, being able to enjoy the people and things I love. 

22. Are you going through anything right now?

Some stuff, a few things. 

23. What’s the worst decision you ever made?

Oh boy I make terrible decisions on a daily basis.   

24. What’s your favorite store?

Sostrene Grene.

25. What’s your opinion on abortion?

It’s a human right. 

26. Do you keep a bucket list?

No. I have goals and things I value, but it’s not really my style.

27. Do you have a favorite album?

Singular? No. Favourites however would be:

Donde Estan Las Ladrones Shakira

Nevermind Nirvana

The Devil and God Are Raging Inside of Me Brand New

Warning Sunmi

Love Shot Exo

Want Taemin

28. What do you want for your birthday?

The manga boxset of Nausicaa

29. What are most people’s first impression of you?

As previously mentioned, Edie would say that I’m cute. 

In honesty, I’m not sure. I think it depends on the setting: I seem to either come across sweet or intimidating, with no real in between. But I wouldn’t say I’m especially either. 

30. What age do you seem according to most people?

Probably early twenties. 

31. Where do you keep your phone while you’re sleeping?

On my bedside table. 

32. What word do you say the most?

Probably fuck? I have a bad habit of starting sentences with I either ‘Well...’ ‘I mean...’ and ‘I feel like...’ 

33. What’s the oldest age you would date?

Mid 30′s maybe? I like to be mostly on the same page as someone. 

34. What’s the youngest age you would date?

As with above, so probably 25?

35. What job/career do most people say would suit you?

Teacher. 

36. What’s your favorite music genre?

I tend to cycle through genres depending on my mood, but I unashamedly love some good Pop. 

37. If you could live in any country in the world, where would it be?

I like the UK, even if we’re in a state of complete political turmoil right now. I’d probably leave England for Wales or Scotland if it weren’t so far from family. I toyed with moving to Spain for a while, too.

38. What is your current favorite song?

Prism by SHINee! (I’ve been having mad feels since Minho left)

39. How long have you had this blog for?

Uhhhh since Edie made me? 

40. What are you excited for?

The farmers market on Saturday (with my friend and her adorable kids).

41. Are you a better talker or listener?

Talker. 

42. What is the last productive thing you did?

I made the posters, promotional materials and edited the photos for our conference next month. 

43. What do you want for Christmas?

I realllllly want to go the new Star Wars experience at Disney. 

44. What class do you did you get the best grades in?

History, English and Media Studies. 

45. On a scale of 1-10, how are you feeling right now?

A 5? I got my period and there was a huge thunderstorm earlier, though. 

46. What can you see yourself doing in ten years?

Hopefully in a full time lecturing position at a University. 

47. When did you get your first heartbreak?

I’m not sure, it depends what you would class as heartbreak: I remember crying my eyes out when the Sailor Scouts sacrificed themselves for Sailor Moon in the Dark Kingdom. 

48. What age do you want to get married?

Whenever, really. 

49. What career did you want to have as a child?

Power Ranger, Jedi, Princess of Power, Digidestined. And then a journalist or writer. (Which, I kind of am?!)

50. What do you crave right now?

Diet coke

I tag @ouuchyie, and any one else who wants to do it! I never really have any one to tag in these, since Edie tags me. Come say hey. I’m nice, mostly. 

[eirianerisdar]

He shouldn’t be a doctor

So this morning, I had one of the worst experiences I’ve ever had in my six years of medical school, courtesy of the absolute worst doctor I’ve ever seen in my life - not knowledge-wise, or practical-wise, but the fact that this senior doctor is as of today the most horrible person I’ve ever met in medical care. Ever.

What makes it worse:

He is currently the consultant of palliative and end-of-life hospice care in one of the largest long-term care hospitals in our area.

Which means he’s in charge of patients that healthcare workers arguably need to put most care in helping: end-stage cancer patients.

But more on that later. Let’s get to how he showed how much of a jerk he was.

(As a note: I’m from Hong Kong. The public healthcare system here is almost 100% financed by the government, barring a few more-expensive things per department such as rarer targeted therapies.)

It started like this:

Twelve of us final-year medical students turned up at 11:30 on the dot for this doctor’s tutorial. He turned up, slammed his hands on the conference table, and barked at us to get around it.

There wasn’t enough space for twelve.

He didn’t care.

“I believe in humiliation therapy,” he told us. “I’m going to humiliate you in front of everyone. I’m going to get you to argue against one another until you know the stuff you’re supposed to know.”

Well, so he’s that sort of senior doctor, I thought.

Despite this, the tutorial started off okay. Until a classmate brought up the issue of financial burdens for cancer patients - how if patients came from wealthier backgrounds, they could expect to worry less about whether they could afford anything from non-subsidied medication to hiring extra carers at home. Something those with less wealth couldn’t afford.

The doctor was on him in a second. “Does that mean you think wealthier patients get better outcomes?” he sneered. “Do you think medical care is so bad here that wealthier people are happier than poorer people in the palliative ward?”

No, one of my groupmates (We’ll call her C) pointed out. We’re simply saying that despite the public medical system here being almost fully subsidised by the government, there are still a couple of rarer treatments in every department that are too expensive for the government to cover completely.  Wealthy patients don’t always have that worry at the back of their minds about whether their family can pay for any extra things that slip past the well-subsidised net, while those on government welfare do have that worry.

The doctor pointed at C and told the entire group that she thought that wealthy patients got better care (which she obviously wasn’t) and how it didn’t matter if a patient was on welfare. “I saw a patient who was rich and had family who didn’t care for him at all,” he said. “and other who was poor but had family who cared. Who do you think was happier?”

Well, yes. Family matters. But pray, dear doctor, what do you mean by the other things you said?

Sure. Money doesn’t bring happiness, or a family that supports you.

But money lets you get that PET scan at diagnosis while the patient who couldn’t could only get a government-covered high resolution CT scan, so you know you have stage 4 cancer a month earlier than they do, at which point they realise that the CT didn’t pick up a minuscule cancer they had spread to a distant organ; by this point, they’ve gone through surgery, but the cancer’s grown larger elsewhere already. At this point, the patient with money’s already started their second round of chemo. The cancer’s responding nicely.

Money lets you hire that private carer so your daughter doesn’t have to change jobs to take care of you at home.

Money lets you do that plethora of rarer gene studies to see if there’s a horrendously expensive form of medication that may work for you if you were lucky enough to have one of those genes.

Money lets you go on one last lovely holiday with your family to a country you always wanted to visit, and to live comfortably at hospice in your home.

If you don’t have any of that, there you are in your 60 square foot box of an apartment with a wife who is as old and as aged as you, as she’s trying to scrounge up a few extra hong kong dollars (less than 1USD) so you can have meat instead of tofu for dinner.

You can’t afford to buy your granddaughter a peach for her birthday; the last birthday of hers you’ll see.

And here we had a consultant for end-of-life care telling us we were all ignorant idiots, and that money didn’t matter in end-of-life care.

My classmate, C, the girl who so bravely stood up to him and pointed out the illogicalities of his argument, started to cry.

She later told me she thought of something that happened to someone close to her, and couldn’t stop the tears.

The consultant looked at her and said, “Aww, now I’ve made you cry! It hurts me more than you to see you like this.”

Utter. Foul. Vermin.

The doctor told a male groupmate of mine to pretend to counsel someone. We’ll call this classmate F.

F got halfway through the sentence and started to tear up.

He usually doesn’t speak of it much, but we know that someone close to him in his family’s got a long term illness of some sort.

He fell silent, sniffing.

At this point I started crying.

Not because this doctor hurt me.

But because here were two of my friends, both deeply, personally hurt by this doctor, and I wanted to rise up and yell at him, to ask him what sort of person he thought he was to think he had to right to hurt his juniors like this, but I couldn’t say anything.

Because he’s one of the examiners for our exam this coming Wednesday.

Because he’s a consultant.

Because he wouldn’t let us speak.

Because he was still smiling as he said, “Ah, I have hope. You have more heart in you than I thought you did. This generation tends not to care as much.”

Why, I thought, as I continued to cry. We have more heart in any one of us than you. I’m crying because I empathise with my friends, who you have hurt. Every one of us in this room is seething. But we are cutting our losses and keeping our mouths shut.

“Aren’t I nice? I’m not a mean doctor,” he told us. “I know a guy who told his students that if they didn’t know this-and-this material, they weren’t worthy to be a doctor and should jump off a building. I don’t do that. And anyway, I know that guy, and he actually is very nice. He just had a bad childhood so he was used to hearing and dishing out words like that.”

No, doctor. (I won’t call you a good doctor because you shouldn’t be a doctor at all) Your friend not a “nice guy”. No person, traumatised or not, should ever tell anyone else to end their own life. Just as you, who we are supposed to look up to, should have more empathy in you than the narcissistic, self-important, heartless man you are.

He spent the next hour and a half waxing poetic about his own values, how patients loved his department so much, and (upon shutting off the fan that had been causing my crying classmate, C, to shiver for an hour and a half without him noticing) how that showed how NICE of a person he was.

I didn’t stop tearing up throughout the whole thing.

And the icing on the cake?

At the end, he looked first at C, then at F, then at me, and said, “I haven’t been mean, right? I haven’t been unkind to you two especially.”

And, as we looked into his smiling eyes, we did the only thing we could do, for our grades, our continued mental health, to avoid a battle that could harm our careers. We nodded, and said, “No. You haven’t.”

He smiled a self-satisfied smile. “Students always thank me afterwards,” he said.

Then he let us go.

C and I hugged in the lift lobby.

Let me tell you a little something extra.

I woke up at 5 am on the morning of this tutorial. My period had come. I was in unusual, excruciating pain. I spent an hour hissing in pain until I stepped up my own pain meds and fell asleep again still at a just-reduced pain scale of 5/10 (it had been 8/10).

And then I got up and went to the tutorial anyway.

And met him.

For you, the reader, I’m sorry for this lengthy rant. But if you’re a medical student, or any healthcare worker in the medical field at all, remember this man.

This man is scum.

But you know who isn’t? You. His department is still rated excellently by all the patients who pass through it at the end of their earthly lives. But it remains rated so because the nurses, the junior doctors, the clerks and the psychologists and the clergy and the other spiritual/religious workers and the medical social workers and the people in charge of cleaning the ward itself care for the patients far, far more than he does.

If there’s anything this man taught me - it is to remember that kindness is not about yourself.

It is about the other person. That’s what medicine was always about.

[girlinhealing]

Midnight Diary: Entry 03 - 4/18/21. I am not proud of myself either.

It’s been so long since I wrote an entry for this little space of mine. I have a lot of entry that didn’t make it here; thoughts and emotions I wasn’t able to express and was rather left unsaid. I don’t even know where to start for this one.

Okay, I’ll start with a little background. I used to be an honor student. I have always been the top of the class from my very early year in daycare until my 2nd grade and it would always makes my parents proud which I am also proud of! As an academic-centered society, being the top one gives a pressuring pleasure. People will compliment you, people will look up to you, and people won’t belittle you. The achievement gave me the security of respect and validation because that is what people made me feel and that’s how they perceive life. Third grade, I went down from first to second. Finding it out was even funny. That day, I was playing with my friends, who I am no longer friends with, when we were asked to call our class adviser on the third floor. I was having fun with my friends and was unbothered about my current position in class because I have always been confident that I’ll stay on top since my parents always made sure I studied. Little did I know that day would be the start of my downfall. As we reached the classroom where our class adviser was busy preparing for the Parents-Teacher Conference, my class adviser was there, writing the new class rank on the board and there, I saw my name written on the board. It was supposed to be a good news because seeing my name there means I am still part of the top ten. To my horror, however, I am the new top two of the class! Not bad, right? right. But, no! I can still vividly remember how I froze for good ten seconds to where I was standing when I saw my name there. I was speechless and I couldn’t process everything. When my adviser turn to our direction, I immediately turn my back and pretended not to see anything. While she’s talking to my friends, I am slowly realizing what was happening. My first thoughts were, “How am I supposed to tell this to my mother?”, “What am I supposed to do?”, “God, why are you doing this to me?” I felt like crying. I felt hopeless. I felt scared. I can’t even look to my adviser because I was embarrassed so I was trying my best to hide my emotions.

On the same day, recess time, we were all inside the classroom with our class adviser. I can’t really remember how we ended up to that conversation, but I remember my circle of friends starting to talk about the class rank. Of course, I was mummed about it. Was I supposed to pretend as if I’m okay? When it’s already hard keeping myself together and supressing myself from crying. Maybe I was just that good in hiding my emotions or my adviser was just that dense not to feel or see it, but she suddenly joined the conversation and asked me with a joyful and curious tone, “What do you think is your rank this quarter?”. To be honest, I didn’t expect her to ask that. Somehow, I thought she knew I saw it and that I was just pretending I didn’t. But, maybe she actually believe I didn’t see it. I was so nervous! I feel embarrassed, scared, and crying. So, I answered her with a shrugged. Thankfully, she didn’t ask further. But, thinking about it now, what could have happened if she tried to talk it out with me? Will I be less-emotionally burdened today? At some point, I hoped that she actually tried talking it out with me before my mother learned about it or at least during the class meeting the next week. I hoped there could have been at least one person who told me that it was fine and that I still get a chance. Or whatever. I feel like my third grader self just needed a person to comfort her and tell her things that she doesn’t knew about.

Fast forward. Finally, my mother learned about it. As expected, I was grounded. Unfortunately, I never got back to being the top of the class and remained as the second. Fourth grade, I transferred to a different school and from top two I went down to top nine. My mother was not furious about it. I was thankful that she’s not, but do you know what is worse than receiving disappointment from someone who used to be so proud of you? It’s to see them expect nothing from you because they are already expecting that from you. Seeing my mother care less about my class rank gave me this weird feeling and I can’t help, but overthink about so many things. Knowing that she no longer expect me to be part of the honor roll, it became my comfort that things are alright now because I won’t be disappointing anyone.

I was fine and happy for a short while until I started to feel bad and conscious for being a no-achiever. I started to feel the unwanted pressure again. Until this day, I keep on remembering my parents’ disappointed reactions and their conversations I eavesdropped in the past. They are like instilled in me that is made to be a reminder that I am failure. It haunts me every day and night. Now that I am in college and have a bigger world, those memories become a huge hindrance for me. Every time I see the people around me, old friends, and relatives achieving the things I used to achieve or when they are achieving new things in life and becoming a better version of themselves makes me question my existence, my value, and myself. While they are growing and achieving, I am here still stuck with these long overdue— I don’t know. What do you call this? A trauma?

I hate to have a conversation with my parents about my academic performances regardless of how good I did. I avoid it always because I know I can get a compliment with “continue to do better”, backhanded compliments, or a comparison to a friend or a cousin. I know that my parents want the best for me. I want it too for myself. I am also aware that most of my failures are of my fault and I have no one to be blamed but myself. But, I just wish that they would stop reminding or insinuating that I am not doing better compare to my friends and cousins. I am struggling, but I am trying and forcing myself to be the best. I want you to be proud of me and as much as I want to do it now, it seems like my mind and my inner self don’t want to cooperate with me. I hate myself for having this frustrating issues. I hate myself for being emotionally weak. I hate myself for being so stupid. I hate myself for being me. I am disappointed of how I turned out and I know you are not proud of me.

I am not proud of myself either.

JV

June 28, 2021.  15:48

[falsemerits]

“I kept track of the violence done to Black people in my city, Toronto, and my country, Canada, as if it was being done to me, because it was, because it is, because that’s what Black people are facing in Canada and around the world, and I’d never been more aware of it.”

When Desmond tells of the violence that is happening to him metaphorically, through others who are experiencing it physically- All across Canada, I recognize this as truth. He is not being selfish in feeling that this violence is also done unto him, as it is for the person physically involved. It would be selfish to think that he could not relate, because that is not his problem in the moment. It would be selfish if because he lives in Toronto, and violence in British Columbia against Black people happens, that it has nothing to do with him. I will liken this to an experience of my own, and challenge others to think abstractly and connect the dots. September 11, 2001- A day of destruction, alleged terrorism, and global fear. I remember being in class when this happened, and my sixth grade teacher asked us to take a moment of silence for it and to discuss the event. This had nothing to do with Canada. I was not involved with these families that suffered, or the government that protected them. I was a little 10 year old girl, who only knew that if my dad, mom, uncle, aunt, or whoever I loved was in that tower that I would feel tragedy. To me, that is why I sympathized with this event. Because if something similar happened in my country, I would hope that others would share my same feelings.

Being metis, I share the same feelings that Desmond does for the violence Black people experience daily. Indigenous people are being profiled, and abused every day as well. Our causes are similar. I cannot attest that our origin stories are the exact same. I cannot say that one is more pressing than the other. All I know is that, if I can feel suffering for my ancestors, then I can share the same feelings with immigrants who were taken from their countries, forced into slavery, made to start their lives in North America, and to continue to be robbed of honour and respect every single day.

“A CBC News investigation that analyzed 461 fatal civilian encounters with police between 2000 - 2017 found that “70 percent of people who died struggled with mental health issues or substance abuse or both.” The combination of this violence with the police targeting of Black people makes Black people with mental health issues more likely to experience police violence. The CBC also found that, of the 461 deaths, “criminal charges were laid against 18 officers… With only two ending in convictions.”

To me, this is proof that our system of police and authority is grossly under trained and ill-prepared. Police are able to perform “wellness checks,” on civilians, but only when prompted by a person who has called and claimed that said person’s wellness is in question. Police feel that they do not have to assess, de-escalate, or consider external factors in an investigation, false or with merit. These are horrifyingly sad statistics, that I believe many people would just glaze over. The typical citizen doesn’t understand enough about mental health, to care about mental health. There is a culture of common socially acceptable misunderstanding, when mental health is in question. It is okay to not know. There are cues that one can detect about mental health, if given the chance. Crying, hyperventilating, excessive language, obvious frustration, resistance to identify, these are actually all signs that someone might be experiencing mental distress, or exacerbation of their pre-existing mental health condition. Police are here to enforce the protection of personal property and assets. Opting for violence against someone who is mentally unstable, Black, Hispanic, Indigenous, White, Asian any race is not the answer. Protect and serve. Protect lives of police, against usually unarmed unsuspecting vulnerable people, and serve to uphold the laws that help protect officers of wrongdoing. That is what that statement means nowadays. When officers use violence against people who have mental health problems, and do not question this as a possibility first, we see why this system fails 100 percent of the time.

“In my experience, the average white Canadian doesn’t know that British and French settlers enslaved Black and Indigenous people on these lands for two centuries, and simply shifted legislative tactics once they had abolished “legal” slavery. Those who do acknowledge slavery in Canada often add that it was “not as bad as in the States,” a nod to the white Canadian proverb used as a checkmate end to a conversation. No need to consider anti-blackness here. This idea that Canada’s racial injustices are not as bad as they could be- This notion of slavery lite, of racism lite, of what my friends calls “toy version of racism”- Is a very Canadian way of saying “remember what we could do to you if we wanted to.” Passive- aggressive racism is central to Canada’s national mythology and identity. White supremacy warns Black people against setting our own standards and pursuing dreams that stray too far from the global atmosphere of anti-blackness.”

My parents were never taught this, so they never had the opportunity to educate me. Years of public school didn’t ever teach me about slavery in Canada. Not even of slavery of Indigenous people. I remember being taught about the “trading,” and “successful negotiations” that would happen among settlers and my ancestors, sometimes after battles. Settlers considered themselves to be a type of saviour, to this land. Not once, were slaves given a voice in the education system that was taught when I was growing up. The reason for this, in my opinion, is that knowingly, this information directly contradicts the “hard work,” that British and French settlers did for Canada today. These settlers are the reason we even have an education system, the same system that blindfolds it’s students. That information would be detrimental to the foundation of Canada. This misleading information, this terrible kind of education is the reason why we have violence and racism in this country. This is why racialized groups are marginalized and oppressed. White Canadian citizens feel that they are the ones that are owed thank yous, and apologies. They are owed sympathy and rewards for “letting” immigrants take shelter in this great country.

“BLM-TO co-founders and their supporters marched into the 2017 parade close to the intersection of Yonge and College street where, a year earlier, they’d interrupted the festivities to call out Pride Toronto, the not-for-profit organization that runs the annual celebrations. This time the group’s signs read, “May we never again need to remind you that we, too, are queer,” and “May we never again need to remind you that WE built this” and that “we shut it down for ALL OF US.” I remember this as righteous, bold, inspirational and powerful- But not surprising.”

I wish I could have been there to agree with them. To rally beside them, and take honour in their pride. To me, this is a reminder that the society we live in today, no longer cares about history or where we came from. It no longer cares about the pain and suffering that was experienced, to get us to where we are today. When the executive of Pride misleading signed their list of demands when BLM-TO interrupted the parade and said the next day “What I did was move the parade forward,” I get that, however I felt distrust. I felt that having pride in your own dignity meant nothing, and that people are constantly misconstruing what this means. People mistake integrity, with entitlement. They confuse honour, with gratification. This was a great reminder that, where we come from, in all walks of life, our paths should never be forgotten. It should never be disrespected or looked down on. Everything that we go through, unjust or just, shapes, molds, and builds who we are today as a civilization and individuals.

“Canadians who do recognize historical injustice seem to understand it in this way:

Bad things happened.

Bad things stopped happening and equality was achieved.

The low social and political status held by Indigenous peoples is now wholly based on the choice to be corrupt, lazy, inefficient and unsuited to the modern world.”

Desmond quotes this excerpt from Chelsea Vowel’s novel “Indigenous Writes.” This three point bulletin explains exactly how most Canadians understand their country now. It highlights that things happened, and now there is a notion that those same things no longer happen. These days when government officials in Ottawa hold press conferences, or public meetings, they say “ We [I] would like to begin by acknowledging that the land on which we gather is the traditional unceded territory of the Algonquin Anishnaabeg People.” I am not disagreeing that they should not acknowledge it. However, I acknowledge that it is not enough, and never will be enough. Bad things happened to these people, and they get less than 2% of Canadian soil for reserves. Acknowledging that these lands once belonged, and still rightfully belong to these nations and tribes, only serves to coddle Canadians, and dismisses the conversations that many people are still fighting to have.

[daddy-hotline]

How about if Dadsona is in the car with (dad) driving, and they get into a wreck? (Dad) comes out without a scratch but Dadsona is killed. Would you mind writing about (dad) dealing with grief and guilt?

(Hey all, Auggie here! I would have posted this earlier, but this took so long to write agh! Anyway, because this deals with death, im going to add a trigger warning and I’ll put the response under the cut. Also as a side note, I didn’t want to write “Dadsona”, so instead whenever I reference him, I put it in brackets. Hope that helps you out. These are short and sweet little tidbits of angst ~ Enjoy!)

-Mod Auggie-

Joseph

He prayed every night. He prayed for hours sometimes, until his knees gave out from his weight. He went to church every Sunday, just as he had done before but this time with the intent to heal. But it was never enough. It was never enough to release his heart from the heaviness it felt ever since that day. He asked God to listen to his pain, to help him understand what had happened and to help him move on. Sometimes it felt like God wasn’t listening.

The Lord works in mysterious ways, he kept telling himself. I have to be patient.

He had only visited the cemetery once; the day [he] had been buried. Joseph couldn’t bring himself to go back since then. He knew if he did, all of his praying, all of his hope would have been drained from him, replaced with that ugly, bruising guilt. The guilt that had consumed his heart and mind for the past few months. It severed his faith, telling him God did this to him with no other reason but for entertainment. Surely God couldn’t be that cruel, but now Joseph wasn’t so sure. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to learn and God’s voice had left him long ago. He was lost in the darkness, with no way out.

Still, he prayed, because it was the only comfort he had left … and maybe, just maybe, God would hear him again.

Mat

He was no stranger to this loneliness and he wanted to believe that was the worst of it. He tried so hard to convince himself that this was nothing new and life was always going to be this cruel and this violent and this determined to keep him alone. There was nothing he could do and once he got over it, he could go back to the mundane and the everyday.

But oh, how life liked to play with him.

It had become difficult to hide his pain and everyday someone noticed. If they knew what had happened, they offered empty words. If they didn’t, they asked and he would have to struggle through a string of somewhat sensible words and emotions that tried so hard to make him admit what was always on the back of his mind. He often wondered why he showed his face anymore; no one really wanted to help. They only wanted the details to make their life seem put together and normal, whatever that meant. No one cared. But life toyed with him, pushing him through his day because if he let himself stay alone for too long, life was going to take him away. To leave sounded so wonderful and beautiful and freeing. But there would be no freedom. His guilt was just another tattoo, scarring him for eternity.

Every night, it ended just as slowly and painfully as it had always done since the accident. Embracing the cold weight of sleep, it was his only way to escape what had now become a prison, his mind drifting onto a single thought;

It’s my fault.

Robert

Anger; that’s all there was anymore. He had screamed until his voice gave out and then he resorted to destruction. Throwing anything in his reach, punching walls until his knuckles became a bloody, broken mess. Of course there were tears that burned his face as if they were acid. They had eventually stopped, but only because he could no longer physically weep. He had become so dehydrated of water and love and comfort and [his] presence. There was nothing left of Robert and yet it didn’t bring him any closer to [him].

This was his fault and there was nothing that could convince him otherwise. He had been bored that night, he had wanted to go for a drive with [him] and he had offered to get behind the wheel. It all pointed to Robert and that was that.

There had been a moment where he knew he would drink himself to death. He would forget sobriety and had hoped one day he would just pass out and never wake up. But it brought a string of painful thoughts; did he drink anything that night? Anything, even just a single shot; could it have inebriate him enough for this to have happened? He had been wracking his brain endlessly, but nothing came to him. He couldn’t remember and that was the most painful feeling of all.

Damien

He couldn’t blame the reaper for doing what they did best.

The burial was beautiful and Damien had made it a point to arrange the flowers that lay on the casket himself. He mourned of course, that’s what you did when these things happened. He had said his goodbyes and with the help of his son, he could return to his life relatively well put together.

One day, his illusion was shattered. It was a simple enough question from a worried friend. “Do you feel guilty for surviving?” He automatically answered no, but the question stayed with him. He was the one who drove, after all. He was responsible for the safety of their travels. But certain things could have been out of his control. Weather conditions, vehicle reliability, distractions inside the car. Anything else could have caused the accident, but surely not his own carelessness. And Damien prided himself on being anything but careless.

Still, he couldn’t help but think back to that day. He recalled everything he did, everything he said, everything he thought. He remembered how hard he gripped the steering wheel, how often he glanced over at [him]. He looked both ways at intersections and stopped at every red light. He was so careful. But … it hadn’t been enough.

He sighed, feeling a new heaviness return in his heart. It was never going to be enough.

Hugo

There were days he threw himself into his work, focusing on grading papers, designing tests and setting up parent teacher conferences. Then there were days he couldn’t get out of bed and just lay there. He wouldn’t eat, he barely slept and he abandoned all forms of self care. Ernest was the only reason he was still functioning, having taken up the role of in home nurse. On the days Hugo lay numb, Ernest would bring him food, keep him company and would even spend some time actually doing homework around him. It warmed him, knowing Ernest was trying his best to keep his dad around.

There were days he would just cry, sometimes in the middle of a conversation with his son. He cried and cried and Ernest stayed by his side, determined to ride it out with him. If there was anything he wouldn’t do though, it was allow his father to take the blame.

“It’s not your fucking fault.” Ernest would blatantly say. Hugo didn’t bother warning him about his language. Feelings like this weren’t censored so there wasn’t any point. He wanted to believe Ernest and he wanted to let go of the guilt he felt. But it wasn’t that easy. It clung to him, suffocating him a little more every day. How could a child know? How could anyone know if it really was his fault or not? His mind tortured him everyday, playing that last look [he] gave him, that last smile, that last laugh …

He begged each day to be the last he would have to relive that night. Each day, it was exactly the same.

Craig

He had forgotten how destructive he had been back in college and how much it harmed his body. But at this point, he welcomed any kind of pain if it meant feeling something.

At first, drinking was a foreign concept to him because it had been years. But after the first two beers, he had gotten used to it and hadn’t put it down since. He would wake up the next day on some street corner, covered in vomit and some other wet substances. He would feel a rush of guilt, returning home only to throw himself in a fast paced routine of working out. He would lift heavier weights, take longer on his runs and take shorter breaks in between. He worked himself to the point of exhaustion, collapsing in the middle of a work out almost every week. When his body refused to let him continue, he would spend long nights at the bar, reliving the reputation he once held in college.

It was this routine of self destruction that slowly numbed him, despite his attempts to feel alive again. Of course he was so good at hiding himself when he needed that it took almost 4 months for anyone to notice something was wrong. But they didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered to Craig was that he kept going, whatever that involved. He couldn’t sit still because that forced him to think and reminisce and remember what had happened. The last thing he needed was to admit that he had been the reason why [he] was gone. No, that wasn’t an option. Instead, he kept going and pushing and chasing. What he was chasing, he wasn’t sure. But it was better than what was tethering him back.

Brian

He looked down at the headstone, a sad smile on his face. Next to him was a clutter of cleaning supplies and after brushing away some leaves and dirt, he got to work.

“Daisy aced another exam today” he started, wiping down the granite surface. “She’s on track for entering college this summer and at 15 years old!” he chuckled heartily, though it was empty and strained. “I’m proud of her … just like I know you would have been.” He paused, wiping a tear with his hand. He grunted, trying to clear his throat of the lump he could feel sitting there. It didn’t work. With the headstone clean, he moved to place a few flowers on top of it that he had bought from the local flower shop. He had a special order placed, with guidance from Damien. “Got you some flowers again” he said, much quieter this time. “Damien helped me out. H-He said they mean a bunch of different things. I forgot to write it down, so I don’t really remember. I know you’ll like them though.”

He sat in silence, reading the name on the tombstone over and over again. His face became wet from tears, doing his best to wipe it dry. His lip quivered, a thought hanging onto his tongue. Collecting himself, he breathed out heavily.

“I love you … and … if you blame me … that’s okay. I blame me too.”

[mariajustinteriordesigns]

Corona, Corona, Corona!

Coronavirus. I’ve intentionally not addressed it here or on Instagram because, well, everyone is talking about it. It’s all we read, see, discuss, and often, try to avoid. It’s on our minds constantly. But today I want to talk about it because lots of you have asked how I’m doing over here in Germany and well, I want to pull my head out of the sand and say something.

It’s strange. It’s quiet and empty on the streets most of the day. Here in Germany it’s not such a big deal as it is in Italy, China, America… But it’s still felt, you still worry. We just had nearly 4 weeks of lockdown, which was was rough. Things have lifted a bit, but still, we can’t go to or host parties, no concerts or fests can take place, large stores and malls are closed, gyms and schools are closed, no classes or workshops, all of the design fairs for most of the year are canceled, it’s a mess.

Everyone you pass in the grocery store looks at you with suspicious eyes, you return the same uncertain gaze - “Are they infected, will they sneeze on me, will I be next?”. I feel like I live in a very strange Sci-Fi film only I’m REALLY living in this strange time and I don’t know when life will be back to normal. Those good old days when you wake up and decide to see friends, colleagues, grab a coffee in your favorite cafe, ride the subway, sit in conference rooms with others, play with your kid in the playground, hug your grandma. My son hasn’t hugged or hung out with his grandmother in a month. He also hasn’t seen or played with any of his friends from kindergarten. That’s rough when you’re six. It’s also rough when you’re not six. I’m a highly sensitive extrovert who loves to hug and touch everything and everyone, so I’m struggling…

In a strange (perverse) way, Corona was sorta exciting at the beginning.

It was, let’s face it, bullshit aside. Kinda like when a hurricane is expected and you’re following the story on the news. You have this strange feeling of excitement coupled with intense fear. It’s sick, but it’s human.

I remember growing up in “hurricane alley” on the beach in South Carolina and each Autumn, we waited. We knew hurricanes would come, and we always lived in fear of the “big one”. We had some major ones when I grew up, followed by intense cyclones that would rip apart our neighborhoods. I remember one day a hurricane came and flooded our neighborhood. I waded in water to my thighs to go visit the neighbor’s kids. Alligators swam in the streets along with fish and water snakes, some highly toxic. I also remember the tornadoes. All of them.

I’ll never forget laying in an empty bathtub when the “sound of a freight train” could be heard. You knew the tornado was there, it was coming, and as you heard the destruction around you, you could only hide inside of something very heavy that would most likely keep you also held in place so that you wouldn’t blow away. Once when I was around 12, one hit our neighborhood and after it left, I walked outside to find sunshine and total stillness. Yet, around me, I could see destruction. Cars tipped over or thrown down the street, houses flattened, neighbors crying, ambulance sirens filling the air. That day we were lucky, 75% of our neighborhood was flattened.

People died. Our home was untouched.

I have to admit, even though I grew up around natural disasters and know the power of nature, I still had a strange sense of excitement when I knew a storm was coming. All the kids in my school did, so I wasn’t the only isolated weirdo who felt that way. It’s strange, how humans are, isn’t it? But you know what, the moment you HEAR or SEE the storm, it’s totally different.

That’s kinda like Corona. When it wasn’t in my neighborhood, it was a little bit exciting to hear about this virus, before reports of people dying started to surface. Then the news went very, very sour after the first death toll numbers from China started showing up. I felt scared and sad, but even then, I felt separated emotionally. I still had my life OVER HERE. It wasn’t going to come to ME.

Did you feel the same?

Then it came to Italy. It affected my friends there. And the businesses that I love. I definitely felt sick to my stomach. Salone, our big European design fair, canceled for April. Corona felt REALLY real then. Yet, Germany still didn’t have any lockdowns in place, so I naively thought, “That’s Italy, maybe it will stay there and end there.” Nope. Then Salone canceled again, for Fall 2020. Suddenly a strong truth rose to the surface.

We were/are screwed.

It’s been about a few months since then, and we’ve been on lockdown for 4 weeks, which will extend into the first week of May, and they will reevaluate things. I look forward (so much) to the weekly grocery store run that we do as a family. It’s the only real social life/excitement that I have these days. We visit the city forest about 3 times a week (it’s behind my house) for exercise. But it’s always so mobbed with the rest of the residents in my city that it doesn’t feel completely safe. We started driving out to the countryside to deserted areas to bike and walk, and breathe. Yesterday we went to the lake, it was wonderful. We all pray this ends soon but inside, we know it won’t.

Some of my dear, close friends have corona, even a family member. I just recovered from a four-month-long bacterial infection in my lungs (that ended mid-February right when corona hit Germany). I feel vulnerable because my lungs are still weak, so I have taken extra precautions to not go outside except when I really must.

Corona is a serial killer.

It’s stalking people around the world, in my country, in my state, IN MY CITY, I hate this thing and want it to end. I hate hearing about it. I’m tired of the conspiracy theories and lies and fake news too. I’m just tired of all of it. I am tired of feeling like I’m on house arrest. I hate watching my son feel lonely.

Yet, with all of this Corona craziness around me, I feel strongly and intensely focused on my goals, my life, my family, my work. I have ZERO distraction, I have found a beautiful new side of myself that has been hiding for years. The Holly that was once so fearless, so full of adventure, the Holly that just jumped in and did things without planning and strategizing - and still got it right. I’ve changed a lot for the past two years, working back in the corporate world again with my magazine. I’ve enjoyed it, but being back in corporate 10 days a month reminds me of the things about corporate life that I was happy to leave in my past when I left in 2005 to become a freelancer. I love the balance of both worlds, but if I had to pick one, I am happiest when I am left on my own to do my thing as a freelancer. My team seems to know this and they let me do my thing because micromanaging me would kill the entire project, and I think they know that by now. HOLLY magazine is beautiful and inspiring but it’s been a hard adjustment for me, and there are some days when the only thing that motivates me to stay on the project is the end result - the inspiring magazine that we create together that definitely makes us all proud to be a part of. It trumps the sometimes corporate pain, though some days the pain can really feel heavy and hard to take and most of all, frustrating. And to be fair, I know my team also feels the same pain, many of them are free birds at heart (like me) and I sense their frustration.

Aside from Corona, my work, my family… What else can I say? I’m staying positive, enjoying all of the sunshine we’ve had for the past month almost non-stop (even if only through the window or on the balcony), and I’m looking ahead to when I can see my friends again and have an excuse to dress up.

I’m extremely keen to get back to the salon, my hair looks horrible lately - like hay - and I’d really love to get a regular gym routine down and use the sauna. But for now, I’m really working on enjoying what I have. I’m able to spend 24/7 with my little boy, which has had its share of frustrations for us both, but has been absolutely awesome for the most part because starting in September, he’ll be in first grade and that’s it - no more little boy home with mama anymore. Something that has been a big part of my life - him - will be a schoolboy and becoming more and more independent and that’s something that Corona gave me - a gift in disguise, that instead of being in kindergarten full-time up until primary school begins, he’s home with me and we are really close and our relationship has deepened a great deal. He has been home all of the time, all to himself, and it’s a good thing for him right now because he needs me. Blessings in disguise are all around me if I just look. Sure, I have little cash flow at the moment like I once did, but cash means nothing ultimately - it’s the hugs from your children, the chats with your husband at 2am, it’s the long baths and the face masks while reading books that you haven’t read in years.

“Only boring people are bored.”

— Betty Draper, Epi 6, Season 3, Mad Men

I’ve also baked about 8 cakes in 4 weeks, so I’ve gained about 10 pounds but I’m happy so who really cares. My butt may be bigger, my so is my heart, my intuition, my passion for work and family, my love for my home, my relationship with my blog and Insta followers is bigger and better, and I have a greater appreciation for the little things that I’d not paid attention to at all pre-Corona.

COVID-19 is horrible, what can I say really? But at least each of us has the power to take something good from this strange time, to be positive regardless, and to make our day valuable and meaningful, so just do that, stay healthy and have another slice of cake. Like Betty said in an episode of Madmen that always stuck in my brain, “Only boring people are bored”. Stay creative and curious, often limitation fosters creativity so see if you are able to make something wonderful come from your current limitations…

Thanks For your time, dear readers. Stay safe, positive, and smile.

Love,

Holly

(Photography/Styling: Holly Becker.)

[monsta-sextories]

Next Door- 1

Shin Hoseok

word count: 1577

When you first saw him, standing there at the front desk, your heart skipped a beat. Just a second later, your blood was boiling and your hands were balled into tight fists. 

Some old, pre-historic, rage you had kept bottled up was pulsating through your body as you tried your hardest to walk by him unnoticed.

“Excuse me, Miss, you have mail!” you heard the front desk call after you. Of course you had mail. Of course you were just a few feet from the elevator when you heard your name being called once, twice, until you had to just turn around. When you did you saw the man at the front desk holding your mail high and in front of him the surprised look of… Shin Hoseok.

You tried your hardest to calm yourself as you approached the desk to collect your mail, pretending like you hadn’t been able to spot Hoseok from a mile away. Whatever he was doing here, whatever he wanted, you weren’t going to think about. You tried not to look, despite the way you knew his eyes were glued to you as you walked towards him, avoiding eye contact.

“Thank you,” you said grabbing the mail, quickly as if you were in a hurry. You were about to turn again successfully playing off the roll of a stranger as you took off in your work suit.

“Oh my god,” came form behind you, just loud enough for you to hear. Even over the sound of your heels clopping against the tiled lobby floor you heard your name being called once again. You ignored it until the sounds of someone walking after you almost had you seeing red.

“Hey! It’s me!” you heard just as the light touch of someone’s hand came up to your shoulder. You swung around knowing full well who it was. Shin Hoseok, who had no right putting a hand on you, much less trying to reacquaint himself. You almost had no choice for how your body reacted, as you skillfully reached for the hand in one swift move bending it back at the wrist and with one twist had him almost sinking to his knees to avoid the painful position.

“I know who you are,” you say looking down at the wide eyed expression, pained and shocked.

“Ah, please let go!” he whined as he tried to pull back. You released him and felt yourself relax just a little. The sight of him shaking out his wrist was enough satisfaction. You didn’t wait for him to speak again as you turned to leave, feeling your pony tail bob slightly as you walked with power.

Shin Hoseok was the worst. Shin Hoseok somehow managed to always show up in your life, and conveniently this time you were a successful adult. Chief editor of a popular magazine with a beautiful apartment flat in a beautiful building that had a beautiful view of the city. You had a beautiful dog, and a beautiful car, and a beautiful life. So this time, beautiful Hoseok wasn’t going to outdo you this time.

You walked straight for the elevator and just as you angrily pushed the button for your floor you took one last look at the man rubbing at his wrist in a tailored business suit. His hair was perfectly set and his skin was an even milky tone. His eyes met yours befor ethe doors closed and you heard his slightly angered voice call out…

“Nice to see you again too!”

...

You couldn’t remember the last time you had really thought about Hoseok. His name had been stored away somewhere in the way back of your memories along with the rest of the ones you had hoped to forget. But here you were, typing it into a search bar as you sat alone at your desk.

The last you had seen of him was on some billboard that you drove by a few times a week before you moved cities. His perfect abs and perfect face appeared high in the sky for everyone to see, and it made you almost sick. Occasionally he’d pop up on the cover of a rival magazine, only helping to fuel the fire of competition. You told yourself there was no way he still looked that good, it had to be photoshop or something. But after today...

His name came up with hundreds of hits. Turns out his modeling career had only just begun when he started posing half naked for underwear ads. You snorted to yourself, because of course his life just continued to get better from there. His father’s company was on the rise, making the Shin family not only well-known and powerful, but pretty damn rich. 

For a second you willed yourself to remember the skinny dark haired boy from grade-school. He didn’t have any muscles, or the cockiness. He was sweet and quiet... all that was gone now. You shut your laptop feeling the anger starting to surge through you again. 

At least you could work from home the next couple days. No chances of running into anyone inside your nice, Hoseok-free apartment. 

You were relaxing mostly today. You were right on track with all of your work, so today you were going to pace yourself. Get comfy on your couch, nice and snug in your robe while you drank some tea and reward yourself with a nice productive week of work. Deadlines met, appointments scheduled, conferences cleared. You smiled to yourself.  Peace, and quiet...

KNOCK KNOCK

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you heard the distinct sound of knuckles against your door. It was odd because you were on the penthouse floor. No one, not even other residence in the building could reach the top floors of the building without a special swipe card. You considered it possible maintenance that you had forgotten about as you tightened your robe and headed for the door.

You took a quick peek out the peephole but couldn’t make out much except blonde hair. 

“Hello?” you called

“Open the door,” you hear a deep male voice say. You start to have an idea of what’s going on. Shin Hoseok, hear to cry for an apology...

You open the door starting to feel your blood pressure rise as you’re greeted with the face of evil itself. 

“What the hell do you want?” you say, not even embarrassed to be opening the door in your robe and slippers. He looks you up and down once, caught off guard momentarily before bringing his eyes back to yours. He seems to be just as ready to fight this time around.

“What’s your problem? I was gonna let it go, figured you were having a bad day or something, but you know what, I can’t. There’s no reason to put hands on someone like that. It was uncalled for. Don’t you have any manners?”

You raise your eyebrows at him, wondering who he thinks he is. How could someone like him even dare to speak to you about right and wrong. You could have lost your college scholarship because of him! You were humiliated throughout high school because of him!

“If you came looking for an apology, I can assure you you’re wasting your time. As for manners, it’s you in my doorway, unwelcome I might add, criticizing me!”

He looks at you again and then takes a deep breath. 

“I’m sorry,” he starts, which is surprising to say the least. 

“Sorry?” you ask, “I never thought i’d live to see the day Shin Hoseok was sorry.”

“Excuse me?” he asks looking bewildered.

“You can play dumb all you want, but i’m just going to tell you this once. I don’t like you. Stay away from me, my apartment, my floor... don’t speak to me. Okay?”

He looks confused and then upset again.

“What happened to you?” he asks letting out a bitter laugh, “And what exactly have I ever done to you?” 

His expression seems genuinely confused, which only makes you even angrier. 

“Leave. Now!” you say fighting the urge to slam the door in his face.

His eyes go wide and he stutters to say something...

“You’re crazy,” he starts with wide eyes, “I should sue you for assaulting me!”

“I said leave!” you yell taking a step towards him.

He flinches but doesn’t say another word this time and takes a step down the hall. He doesn’t go far before he stops at the only other door aside from yours on this floor. 

You’ve gotta be kidding me...

You watch as he pulls out a set of keys and opens the door.

“Gonna be kinda hard to stay away form you when we live on the same floor,” he says it with a tone that makes you want to slap his stupid smirk off his face. He enters the apartment and turns just before closing the door.

“Have a wonderful day.”

You slam the door after that and begin raking your fingers through your hair. How was this happening? You thought back to your childhood, and then high school, and then college. Of course... why break the cycle now...

Shin Hosoek was always there, poking fun, stealing your spotlight, and ultimately ruining your life. You nearly threw yourself onto your couch as you tried to wrap your head around this. What was he even doing here? In this city, in this building... You were so angry, so furious you could almost cry. 

Everything in your life that had ever went wrong could all be attributed to one thing. One person. And he was right next door.

next>>

[iliketowrite1996]

Royal Wedding Series: A Bridesmaid, a Flower Girl, and a New Friend- T’Challa and Reader

Six Weeks Before the Wedding:

    You are exhausted. The end of the week concert is tomorrow, so all of the lessons are completed for your students, but you still have a busy schedule.

    Between grading last minute assignments, sending out wedding invitations, meeting with the caterers and Shuri and Ramonda training you for future duties as queen: how to act, what to say, and what not to say.

    ‘’T’Challa will take care of more of the laws and policies. You will visit children and be in charge of charitable work. You have duties as he does, but with him being kind and Black Panther, more of your duties will fall under the charity categories,’’ Shuri started, doing her best to explain to you.

Ramonda speaks next, ‘’’Although you will more than likely be just as involved with everything as T’Challa is. He values your opinion.’’

‘’Got it,’’ you nod as Shuri brings some books over.

‘’I can nearly guarantee you that the elders will question you on the history of Wakanda. It is best to read up on our history as well as you can. Do not worry, though. I will help you.’’

‘’Thank you,’’ you sign feelin some of the tension leave your shoulders.

‘’I have some more in my chambers. I will go get them,’’ Ramonda speaks, gliding out of the room with grace.

You appreciate the moment, because you have a very important question to ask Siri.

‘’Shuri,’’ you stand, placing the books in a chair, walking over to your soon-to-be sister-in-law.

‘’Yes,’’ she smiles at you, closing the book that she had been researching form.

‘’I need to ask you something.’’

‘’Yes, you and T’Challa should wear matching black outfits.’’

‘’Haha. This is serious. I need to ask you something concerning the wedding.’’

‘’You’re not getting cold feet are you,’’ she asks, her eyes portraying her fierce protectiveness of her brother.

‘’He’s one of the few things I am sure about,’’ you admit, moving to pull the small box out of your bag, ‘’My questions is geared towards you.’’

She's always been wise beyond her years, and preferred to spend her time with people older than her. It is no wonder you grew so close to her, and consider her one of your best friends.

She looks at you with suspicion evident in her brown eyes before untying the ribbon on the box, opening it up to reveal a candy ring and a note:

‘’I can’t believe you just gave me string as a present,’’ Shuri mumbles, doing as the slip of paper said.

Tied to the string was a slip of paper that read: ‘’Tie me!’’

She did, then reached in to the box for the next message, ‘’I can’t tie the knot without you. Will you be my… maid of honor?’’

She looks up at you then, big brown eyes shining bright .

‘’I’d love to,’’ Shuri sniffles, the first time you’ve seen her cry in… ever.

‘’I love you, little sister.’’

‘’I love you, big sister.’’

The sound of the camera taking a picture breaks you both off and you look to the door to see T’Challa, who is staying at the picture that he just snapped.

‘’This will definitely be going in the wedding slideshow that you suggested for the reception, my love,’’ T’Challa explains, pocketing his phone.

‘’I see the sandals are back,’’ Shuri looks at his shoes with slight disapproval.

‘’How can you make fun of my shoes when you just shared a lovely moment with my fiancee’?’’

‘’Her sneakers are on point,’’ Shuri shrugs, flouncing out of the room, carrying her gift with her.

‘’And what where you and my baby sister discussing today,’’ T’Challa asks, pressing a sweet but fiery kiss to your lips.

‘’I asked her to be my maid of honor,’’ you reveal, and T'Challa beams with happiness.

You knew how important Shuri’s opinion of you was to him when you first started dating Shuri and Ramonda are the two most important women in his life, other than Okoye. And Nakia. You feel honored to be apart of that group now.

What you don’t tell him is the private conversation that you had with Shuri this morning. That’s left between two future sisters..

‘’You know,’’ Shuri begins as she puts her braids into two buns, ‘’That man really loves you.’’

You look up from the paper that you are grading, ‘’Who? T’Challa?’’

‘’No, Captain America. Of course T’Challa,’’ Shuri rolls her eyes then, and you roll yours as well.

‘’Well, then, be more specific.’’

‘’I didn’t think that I’d have to specify that I was talking about the man that worships the ground that you walk on,’’ Shuri rolls her eyes before sliding on her denim jacket.

‘’Hush,’’ you laugh, throwing popcorn at her, ‘’I don’t need this from you.’’

‘’You’re so immature,’’ she laughs with you, ‘’I’m gonna find a new best friend to send me memes. Perhaps I can ring Bucky up if he is with Captain America.’’

‘’Shut up, Shuri.’’

‘’Make me.’’

You roll your eyes again, going back to the book you’ve been reading on your rare free time.

There’s more silence until you look up and see Shuri looking at you, a strange and unreadable look on her face.

‘’Shuri, is there something on my cheeks,’’ you frantically wipe at them, hoping you didn’t miss anything from breakfast earlier.

‘’I’m glad he met you.’’

Well, that certainly took you by surprise.

‘’Really?’’

‘’I know that I was a bit wary of you before… especially with that whole Erik Killmonger business. And I did not want T’Challa to get hurt again. But I’m glad he found you. You bring out the best in him, but you also challenge him. I really do consider you one of my best friends,’’ Shuri tells you, and you can see in her eyes that she really means it.

‘’Awww, Shuri-’’

‘’And I like having someone around to look at memes. I’ve mentioned that before, but I think you need to know that it is really how I feel.’’

Right. Because Shuri just couldn’t let the moment be sweet.

You laugh now, thinking about her heartfelt confession and the comment that she immediately followed it up with.

‘’What is so funny, my love,’’ T’Challa asks, gazing at you with love in his eyes.

‘’Nothing. I just can't wait to have a new sister.’’

And so the countdown continues.

5 WEEKS UNTIL THE WEDDING

    Efua runs up and hugs you, having finished packing away the last of the books.

    ‘’I will miss you next year,’’ she tells you, sniffling a bit.

    ‘’I will miss you as well.’’

    She will be going to a prestigious music school next year, while you may not even be returning to be a teacher. With your new roles as queen, you have a lot to consider within the next few weeks.

    ‘’I’m glad that I at least get to come to your wedding, though,’’ Efua looks up at you, ‘’I can not wait to see your dress. It was all over the Internet about what you may wear.’’

    T’Challa and you both decided to take a break from the internet. At least until after the wedding. And you do mean both weddings, since you are having one in your hometown a week after T’Challa is done meeting with Mr. Tony Stark in New York City.

    ‘’Thank you, Efua. I actually wanted to discuss something with you.’’

    ‘’Yes,’’ your former student looks up at you, brown eyes shining brightly.

    ‘’I was wondering… would you like to be my flower girl?’’

    You have grown very close to Efua over the years, and  this feels like a good idea. Her family approved of it when you asked them at the concert last week, and T’Challa thought that it was a grand idea as well.

    ‘’Yes!,’’ the young girl squeals, wrapping her arms around your middle, ‘’Thank you, Ms. Y/L/N!’’

    You laugh, patting her back gently, ‘’No, thank you! I am so excited! I can not wait!’’

    Yes, this was the right choice.

    Your other students told you they have a surprise for you as well, but you do not know what it is.

    The excitement on Efua face takes you back to the moment, and you’re just fine that you can at least expect one thing: your wedding will have you being surrounded by people that you love and that love you.

4  WEEKS UNTIL THE WEDDING

Okoye.

    Okoye seemed indifferent towards you. You didn’t think that she hated you, or that you liked you. You two barely talked.

    Still, if you were going to be married to T’Challa, you would be spending a lot of time with Okoye.

    T’Challa and Okoye are important to each other.

    It was important to you to know where you stand with her.

    Which is why you asked her to be the one to accompany you as T’Challa met with the elders and held press conferences and meetings all day.

    ‘’Okoye,’’ you begin, staring at yourself in the mirror, ‘’Might I ask you something?’’

    ‘’Of course, my queen,’’ Okoye responds, back turned to you as you have your last fitting for your gown for the reception.

    ‘’Do you have a problem with me?’’

    You decided that bluntness as the best method, and try not to regret it when she flinches i the mirror, back still tired to you.

    ‘’No, Y/N, why would you think that?’’

    ‘’You seem indifferent towards me. And I know that you are just as fiercely protective of Wakanda and T’Challa as I am, so I wanted to make sure that we are okay.’’

    She seems to be mulling that over, so you change into your regular clothes, giving her a moment to answer.

    ‘’T’Challa is my king, but he is like a brother to me as well. We grew up together. I won’t act like I liked the idea of him dating you when you first got together. IN fact, I hated it. I wanted it to be Nakia. I know her.’’

    It’s understandable.

    It hurts, but it is understandable.

    ‘’He talks about you like your the sun, though. He’s really in love with you. He thinks you have the qualities to help Wakanda thrive. That is good enough for me. I am sorry if my indifference came off as me not liking you.’’

    That’s good enough for you, so you do not press it forward.

    ‘’He came to me when you had your first huge  fight, you know. Told me he thought it was the end. Then he threw himself into his work and being the Black Panther until I begged him to go talk with you. His stubbornness is part of why he is a good king, but it is also very agitating. He froze, didn’t he?’’   

    You think back to that day that he came to make up with you after a fight that was about...who even remembers now?

    You’d been up all night working on song sections and papers when he knocked at your door, dressed in his Black Panther costume after just finishing a mission.

Because, somehow, going on a mission and nearly being hurt despite his vibranium suit, was still less nerve-wracking than coming to talk to you.

    He did freeze at the sight of you, stuttering out a ‘’Y/N...HI.’’, tongue tied and not sure how to apologize.

    You don’t quite remember what he said, but whatever it was, it was enough for you to forgive him as he forgave you.

    Which is why you are standing where you are today.

    ‘’He did,’’ you giggle, remembering that day, ‘’He still does every so often.’’

    ‘’Good. Keep having that effect on him. It is nice to see T’Challa challenged by someone other than Shuri,’’ she laughs then, ‘’Any way, if he loves you, that’s good enough for me. You don’t need my approval anyway. He is so very much in love with you.’’

    And, you’re not quite sure, but you do believe that you’ve made a new friend today.

Please consider sending me imagine requests! I really want to try !

DISCLAIMER- I own no Marvel characters, they belong to their rightful owners.

[gapimnydiaries]

Diary Entry #20

Dear Diary,

Do you remember when you first landed in Honolulu? I was nine years old, and I saw the seasons change from the frigid Korean winter to a gentle, wet Hawaiian January. Maybe it was just a sign to show me that I, too, would be plunged into seasons of rapid change in the twenty years to come.

The nosy busybody that I am today takes root from me as a little kid who stuck his nose where it didn’t belong. I always knew that I was undocumented. To be exact, I knew that my family tried our best to adjust our immigration status through many years to no avail. And very unlike my peers for whose heartbreaks came at one moment like a giant wave that they found out that they were undocumented, my heartbreak came in pieces. Like the time we couldn’t go to the Canadian side of Niagara Falls. Like the time I had to leave blank the boxes on my PSAT scantron asking me what my Social Security Number was.

We came to call Bergen County, New Jersey home after realizing that the warmth of the Hawaiian sun wasn’t enough to sustain our family. By then, my father had left my mother. It was just the three of us living in a town overlooking New York City. Not understanding English, I sat gazing out into the windows wasting my days away. I’d nod off from time to time, and my teacher was fed up with me. She asked me why I kept on falling asleep in class, so I explained to her that I waited for my mom to come home from work every night - a little past 11 o’clock.

I still remember the exchange that I had with my sister when I got home. She was angry that I had told my teacher all of this. And I retorted back to her that I was proud of my mother for working six days a week to support us as a waitress. But the message was clear. We were supposed to live a life that wouldn’t raise questions.

And that much I did. Until eighth grade, when Mr. Johnson, my music teacher, pulled me aside, and asked the question in earnest, “Tony, are you gay?” It was a question that launched a thousand ships and thrust me into a spiral of questions - questions that I didn’t have the luxury to ask, and definitely questions that I couldn’t have other people asking me.

In high school, people asked me more questions. In my junior year, I was asked point blank, my back against the lockers, “Are you gay?” I remember being asked, “Tony, why don’t you drive?” on my bus rides home. And for those questions, I had to come up with answers that I wasn’t comfortable with. No, I wasn’t gay. I didn’t drive because I didn’t want to contribute to global warming and the rising gas prices. Very luckily, my high school years coincided with the spike in oil prices stemming from Katrina and the Lebanon War. (This is a sentence construction I never dreamed of writing.)

I somehow stumbled into going to college seven hundred miles away from my home, sweet home in North Jersey to the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains in Kentucky. It was after twelve college applications and subsequent rejections to private colleges for the reason that I could not pay the tuition, being fully aware that state schools would not provide me with aid.

When the first decade of the 2000s came to a close, several things rocked my world. First, Barack Obama was elected president — and while there is no doubt it was a historic win, that came with the accelerated deportations. Every night, I woke up breaking in cold sweat with nightmares that ICE agents were knocking down my doors to take me away. Second, with the financial crisis, my school started looking at corners to cut: specifically, me. What could I do? Third, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer - I suppose the years that she gave to waiting tables in smoke-filled restaurants and breathing in the toxic fumes in nail salons finally caught up with her.

Like a match lighting up a stick of dynamite, the DREAM Act, everything that I had been pinning my hopes and dreams upon, failed. It would have provided me with a way out of living a life where I had to run away from questions. But because six Democrats decided to vote against it, my dreams came tumbling down. I still remember clutching onto my flip-phone for dear life waiting for a text telling me that my dreams came true on that drive to Michigan.

There I was, facing a future where I could only see myself taking care of my mother, never being able to come out. I didn’t want to. I told myself, I only had the right to complain only if I tried my best. So I’m still trying my best.

There’s only so many corners you can face until you start biting back because your teeth are all you have left. I started speaking out. I started sharing my story with my friends. I didn’t know it back then, but I was organizing. I went to a conference of undocumented young people in Memphis, Tennessee. They dedicated a portion of the program to the concept of intersectionality and highlighted LGBTQ undocumented folks. At the end, they asked all the people who identified as LGBTQ to step up to the front. I don’t know what came over me, but I guess I was tired of running away from questions. For the first time in my life, I started answering questions.

In the same room, I didn’t see other Asian American faces. It left me with an appetite to see my community wasn’t left out in the shadows anymore. And maybe it’s because of that, I became the first Asian American youth to come out publicly as undocumented on the East Coast. And maybe it’s because of that I’m still speaking up.

I even ended up on the cover of TIME magazine on June 14, 2012 with a group of my peers and Jose Antonio Vargas proclaiming that we were American - just without papers. The day after, it seemed like all of our tribulations came to an end: President Obama announced Deferred Action for Childhood Arrivals, a program that provided me and 800,000 of my peers with a work permit and a reprieve from deportation.

In those five years, I’ve worked to make sure that the rest of the 11 million who weren’t covered by DACA were not left out. I worked at a community-based organization where I was pressured to keep myself in the closet so that they could continue their work without antagonizing their relationships with the heavily evangelical Korean American community. I walked 11 miles from St. Patrick’s Cathedral to Staten Island to pressure a Republican member of Congress to vote yes on immigration reform. (He didn’t.)

After Election Day 2016, I saw the world around me for what it is. A sandcastle. A house of cards. That these protections were temporary, and the focus was on the word temporary. I did what I did six years ago. I bit back.

On January 21, 2017, I helped organize one of the biggest marches in Washington, D.C. as one of the national organizers for the Women’s March on Washington. The day prior, as I took rest in my hotel room, I caught a glimpse of the inauguration coverage on the television. I cried into my bed, asking “Why do you hate us so much?” It was time for me to ask questions and get my answers.

That same night, I went on an errand to Target in Columbia Heights to purchase a printer for the march. As I stood in the checkout line, they made an announcement over the loudspeakers, saying that they were out of poster boards. I broke down and cried again: the people were with me. The next day, as a crowd of 3 million started turning out at 5 a.m. on a deserted Independence Avenue, I knew that I wasn’t alone. And that I had something to fight for.

On September 5, 2017, the decision was made. The program that breathed life into me was ended because White supremacists had the loudest voices in the White House. Nobody had asked for this except them: not the business leaders, not the evangelicals, not the grassroots. But in the end, White supremacists won the White House. They were determined to rip me and 800,000 of my peers away.

That same day, I was out in front of Trump Tower. I shouted the same chant I had been shouting for nearly seven years: undocumented, unafraid. And underneath the sunglasses, I was crying. Not for myself. I had been ready for the moment that the shaky ground gave way beneath me since November 8th. I cried because this was the future that my mother had fought for. The same future that she sacrificed her legs and one of her breasts to. And it came crumbling down like a sandcastle.

On this coming January, twenty years will have passed, and it seems like an eternity will have passed. In Korean, we have this expression that the rivers and mountains change every ten years. So by next 2018, the rivers and the mountains would have changed twice.

The Korea that I remember no longer exists. The only thing that awaits me there is a two year mandatory military service where they go on regular witch hunts to out gay men. I speak Korean well enough, but I speak it like a very intelligent middle schooler and write like a third grader. I draw my line in the sand. My life is here. The family that I have is here. Everything I am is here.

Right now, the world seems like such a precarious place with hurricanes battering the most vulnerable communities, battles to defend access to healthcare raging on every two months, and possibly a nuclear war looming over our heads. But the fact of the matter is that in about 160 days, the first batch of people will lose their DACA protections. There is nothing that stops ICE agents from storming their houses to deport DACA recipients and their families at the strike of midnight. How do we make sure that we still stay in the spotlight so that people remember us?

I still go back to that stage on January 21 in my mind all the time. This is the answer. It reminds me that I’m not alone as I, one of 800,000 and 11 million, sink into a sweet uncertainty as strings from our tethers unwind.

Tony

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