#i will submit a formal ticket later

[greyias]

Well cool, I've found a new bug in the new tumblr editor. As I was scrolling by I was like "why is that cursed promptfic so long? WAIT. That's not where I put the readmore!"

SO.

I opened the editor. And the readmore moved ON ITS OWN a paragraph or two down. So everytime I had gone back to add a tag I had forgotten or tweak the header information, the readmore kept inching further and further down. So now you can't edit long posts without double checking your readmore's location to make sure it hasn't spontaneously moved.

Cool. Definitely won't be an issue if you've placed spoilers under a readmore as common courtesy. Or sensitive information, etc.

I assume it has something to do with the weird and irritating way the new post editor handles paragraphs so that you can't select text like a normal text editor, but only in tiny paragraphs that you can never move. A+++ coding @staff/@support. This new editor is still cursed and I hate it

[zvaigzdelasas]

[SCMP is Hong Kong Private Media]

Indonesia’s long-drawn-out presidential election process has officially entered its final stages, with some of the country’s biggest political names formally submitting their nomination papers and launching their policy platforms.

Ahead of the opening of the nomination process, much of the national intrigue involved the identity of the running mate for Prabowo Subianto, current President Joko Widodo’s former rival-turned-ally. As long speculated, the 72-year-old defence minister revealed last weekend that his running mate would be Gibran Rakabuming Raka, Widodo’s 36-year-old son and mayor of the city of Solo.

Speculation has also swirled around who would get the outgoing president’s stamp of approval: Prabowo or former Central Java governor Ganjar Pranowo. Pranowo, 54, leads the ticket for Widodo’s ruling Indonesian Democratic Party of Struggle, alongside his vice-presidential candidate Mohammad Mahfud, 66, the outgoing coordinating minister of political, legal and security affairs.

Rounding out the list of candidates is Anies Baswedan – like Widodo, a former governor of Jakarta – and Muhaimin Iskandar, 57, deputy speaker of the House of Representatives. Supported by a coalition of parties named the Coalition of Change for Unity, the 54-year-old Anies has styled himself as the antithesis of Widodo, who is constitutionally barred from running for a third term.[...]

All three candidates have vowed to maintain Indonesia’s long-standing commitment to a neutral and non-aligned foreign policy, while also being active on the international stage to champion world peace – including by advocating for Palestinians amid the ongoing Israel-Gaza war, with Prabowo going the furthest in this regard by saying he would push to open an Indonesian consulate in Palestinian territory if elected.[...]

“Anies and Muhaimin will tend to be more critical of China in terms of maritime territorial integrity,” said Ahmad Rizky, an associate lecturer and researcher at the University of Queensland’s School of Political Science and International Studies in Australia. “But I am not sure that Anies will eliminate the engagement with China that Jokowi has been doing so far.”

Anies, who has trailed in opinion polls in recent months, said in his manifesto that he aims to “position Indonesia as a balancing force in the global order” so that the country can “prevent the domination of certain powers”, which Ahmad interpreted as a criticism of China’s rising assertiveness.

Prabowo [...] has been the most explicit when it comes to addressing fraught geopolitics, underlining that a major strategic challenge for Indonesia would be “rivalry between the two superpowers over Taiwan that could threaten the smooth supply chain of food, energy and trade” that passes through the Malacca Strait and North Natuna Sea.

The former special forces commander, who is making a third tilt at the presidency having twice lost to Widodo in 2014 and 2019, has pledged to “restore Indonesia’s foreign political authority as a large and sovereign country in the eyes of the international community”.

Twice last month, Prabowo made speeches warning against foreign influence, telling an audience of students at Muhammadiyah University in Malang, East Java on September 27 about Indonesia’s long history of colonisation and exploitation, and cautioning that the country should never again become “a puppet” of outsiders.

In another speech just a few days later, [Prabowo] again warned Indonesians not to become “the playthings of major powers” who “clearly set forth a strategy of divide and conquer”.

In past elections, [Prabowo,] the former son-in-law of late strongman president Suharto [and son of a major state economist in the Suharto government] had held the establishment responsible for society’s ills, but [an analyst] said this tactic would no longer work, as Prabowo was stripped of his opposition credentials when Widodo made him defence minister in 2019.[...]

“He wants Indonesia to engage with all major powers, not just the US and China,” Ahmad said, adding that the outgoing defence chief would “want Indonesia to play a bigger role outside of the context of [ASEAN] regionalism” and also “change his stance to no longer being anti-China”.

“He would want to encourage stronger engagement with China, something that he has already done in a diplomatic and defence context,” Ahmad said, further predicting that “Prabowo could tend to be closer militarily to the US”.[...]

[Prabowo] has led efforts to overhaul Indonesia’s ageing air fleet – mainly US-made F-16 and Russian Sukhoi Su-27 and Su-30 jets – securing a deal in February to order 42 Dassault Rafale fighter jets from France for US$8.1 billion; confirming in June the purchase of 12 Mirage 2000-5 jets previously used by Qatar for US$800 million; and in August signing a deal with Boeing for 24 F-15EX aircraft, the most advanced version of the US company’s F-15 jet, for an undisclosed amount.

Anies and Ganjar have likewise committed to modernising Indonesia’s military, with the former focusing in his manifesto on upgrading the country’s coastguard and protection of outlying islands.

Ganjar, meanwhile, outlines in his campaign manifesto Towards a Superior Indonesia a plan to introduce anti-access and area denial weapons and strategies – which can span missiles, electronic warfare, mines, aircraft and coastal artillery – “to secure territorial sovereignty and the implementation of sovereign rights” in the country’s exclusive economic zone.[...]

Ganjar was essentially signalling that the US and China should “not use Indonesian waters for their military interest” [according to an analyst][...]

All candidates have said they would uphold Widodo’s flagship “downstreaming” policy, whereby exports of critical raw minerals such as nickel are banned and producers are required to build refining facilities onshore, with Prabowo even vowing to widen it further to include “copper, tin, agriculture products and maritime products”.

Yet Sulfikar Amir, an industry, innovation, and technology spokesman for Anies’ campaign, said under his candidate “there will be a ban on commodity exports, but it will not repeat the current downstreaming order”.

As it stands, downstreaming “basically gives away our materials to foreign investors who come to build processing facilities in Indonesia and ultimately export them,” [Sulfikar] said. “Ultimately the ones who enjoy the [added] values are foreign investors.”[...]

The spokesman added that Anies would also not prioritise another of Widodo’s big-ticket projects: moving the country’s capital away from Jakarta to the new city of Nusantara being built on the island of Borneo.[...]

Ganjar, by contrast, said he aims to complete the new capital’s construction if elected, calling it “a symbol of futuristic Indonesia”.[...]

Anies took a stronger line, openly criticising Widodo’s dealings with foreign investors, particularly within the context of the Belt and Road Initiative and other multilateral economic forums.[...]

Belt and road projects offer “benefits for Indonesia, we cannot deny it,” Sulfikar [Anies’ campaign spokesman] said. “But the scheme and relationship between Indonesia and [the initiative] needs to be reviewed so that we would not deeply depend on [Chinese investments] that could harm Indonesia in the long term.”

“Look at the [Jakarta-Bandung] fast train [project]. Indonesia has to go into debt because the project is delayed. So everything [agreed under the belt and road] will be reviewed.”

27 Oct 23

[billconrad]

Technical Writing (By a Fiction Author)

    I learned about technical writing in college when they introduced a new class. I did not know this type of writing was a discipline because all engineers must know how to “technically” write. A friend of mine took the first class, and she liked it, but my schedule did not allow me to take it.

    As my engineering career progressed, I wrote many proposals and technical documents. At 25, my boss suggested I take a technical writing class. UCSD extension offered one, and I jumped at the opportunity. After all, the company paid for it.

    The class was a positive experience, and the curriculum focused on being a better technical communicator. Surprisingly, there are few technical writing textbooks, and the ones I read were a mix of unorganized writing tips and loose examples.

    Fun side note: A student in the class invited me to a party where I met a girl I dated. I also tasted the drink “boba” for the first time at the UCSD food court. I also got many UCSD parking tickets. Punishing poor students. Such jerks!

    The main takeaway from this technical writing class was to study each sentence and make sure it was clearly stated.

    Until I took the class, my writing was all over the map. The sentences were unfocused and contained extra junk, unrelated opinions, humor, and thought-provoking observations. That’s my personality, and I created fun technical documents.

    The class forced a significant change, and writing became a game to optimize every sentence. The result was terse and cryptic documents. In the following years, I honed my technical writing skills, and eventually, my writing became less condensed. There is an art to technical writing to organize facts and present them logically.

    A good technical writer must also avoid the many writing pitfalls to make a tremendous technical document. For example, using the first person, making the document a story, or keeping the reader in suspense.

    Fifteen years later, I upped my technical writing game when I lost my full-time job and became a consultant. One of my clients had their office far away, and all my communications were over email.

    I worked hard to convey my exact thoughts, but nobody had time to read long detailed emails. This experience left me jaded, and I put less effort into my technical writing. Of course, I was aware of this change in attitude and knew my writing suffered.

    Three years later, I got laid off again and had time to burn. So, I decided to write a fictional novel. Yay! When I submitted my first book to an editor, the main takeaway was that my grammar was poor, and my writing was bland. Specifically, I was missing content and emotion. So, I was writing fiction like an engineer? Yes, and I forced myself to improve these areas.

    A year later, I got a full-time job and returned to creating technical documents. I immediately saw a change in my technical documents. I had shifted from terse, logical sentences to ones with correct structure and great flow. The result was more contractions and flowery words. I suspect my technical co-workers think (because of my writing) that I am a more formal person. Perhaps snooty?

    My new writing abilities also allowed me to realize that my fellow engineers had poor English skills. Now, I see grammar and spelling mistakes in every technical document, which requires great effort not to point out glaring errors.

    It would appear that I have come full circle. My engineering English ability started poor, got better, got technical, became artistic, and is now a blend. So, what does my future technical writing hold? Engineering at a company requires many boring reports and precise emails, but I do not mind. That’s all part of the job.

   You’re the best -Bill

   June 10, 2023

    Hey book lovers, I published three! Please check them out.

    Interviewing Immortality is a psychological thriller about a 500-year-old woman who forces a disgraced author to interview her.

    Pushed to the Edge of Survival is a drama, romance, and science fiction story about two unlikely people surviving a shipwreck and living with the consequences.

    Cable Ties is a classic spy novel about two hunters discovering that government communications are being recorded and the ensuing FBI investigation.

   These books are available in soft-cover on Amazon and eBook format everywhere.

[beardedmrbean]

The European Public Prosecutor’s Office (EPPO) in Bulgaria’s capital city Sofia said on October 11 that it had formally accused the former mayor and the ex-governor of Varna, as well as two public officials from the Executive Agency Maritime Administration, in an investigation into possible fraud, reported by European Anti-Fraud Office OLAF, involving the reconstruction of a fishing port.

The EPPO statement did not name those accused.

The four are accused of forging official documents and submitting false information, in order to illegally receive EU funds for a 3.4 million euro project, co-funded by the European Maritime and Fisheries Fund.

At issue is a project to improve the infrastructure of an existing fishing port in the outskirts of Varna, submitted by Varna municipality (the beneficiary).

However, according to the investigation, such a port did not exist when the application for EU funding was submitted.

“Our investigation indicates that, in order to be able to benefit from EU funds, exclusively dedicated to the improvement of the infrastructure of existing fishing ports, the beneficiary assembled several pontoons as floating piers, with the sole purpose of registering the site as an existing harbour,” EPPO said.

In addition, the beneficiary presented false information and did not include all the documents required by the national legislation to obtain the necessary certificates, the statement said.

According to the investigation, the plots included in the application as an existing port were in fact registered in the cadastral plan of Varna as rocks, sand and other type of buildings – not as a harbour.

Based on the evidence, with the help of public officials from the Executive Agency Maritime Administration, the plots of land saw their characteristics modified as defined permanent usage “for a port” – thus misleading the Ministry of Transport, which issued a certificate attesting the operational suitability for a fishing port, despite the lack of multiple requirements defined by the national legislation.

The fishing port was later formally registered by the Executive Agency Maritime Administration.

The case was first reported to the EPPO by OLAF, after suspicions of possible serious irregularities and fraud and OLAF also conducted a complementary investigation under EPPO’s supervision.

The General Directorate National Police of Sofia conducted further investigations.

The estimated damage to the EU budget is approximately 2.8 million euro (5 603 035.97 leva), with an additional estimated damage to the national budget of 675 475 euro (1 321 115.78 leva), the statement said.

All persons involved are presumed innocent until proven guilty by the competent Bulgarian courts of law, EPPO said.

In a statement on October 11, the Yes Bulgaria party – part of the We Continue the Change-Democratic Bulgaria coalition – said that the charges followed a report lodged with the prosecutors by Yes Bulgaria’s Stella Nikolova against former Varna mayor Ivan Portnih and former district governor Stoyan Pasev about 3.4 million euro fraud of funds allocated for the reconstruction of the defunct Karantina fishing port.

“I filed a report with the European Public Prosecutor’s Office, I testified as a whistleblower, and now these two, as well as everyone involved, will suffer the consequences. Finally, after four years, we have an indictment,” Nikolova said.

Portnih was mayor of Varna from July 2013 to November 2023, elected on the ticket of Boiko Borissov’s GERB party. Pasev served as district governor of Varna twice and in 2017 was a GERB MP.

Pasev, speaking to Nova Televizia, denied that he had been charged. He said that he was aware of the investigation and denied all wrongdoing.

“I am not charged, I am waiting for official confirmation. I don’t know who put this message out in the first place and why they are putting it out now. There is no indictment at this stage, nothing.”

“The information spread today about the pre-trial proceedings of the European Prosecutor’s Office against me is FALSE. Indictment according to the provisions of the Criminal Procedure Code means the preparation of an indictment and its submission to the relevant court,” Portnih said on Facebook. 

“The pre-trial proceedings have not ended at all. Numerous procedural and investigative actions are to be carried out on it. At the moment, I and my lawyers have not been duly notified by the independent prosecutor’s office of the European Union about filing an indictment in court,” he said.

“In view of the provisions of the Criminal Procedure Code, at this stage of pre-trial proceedings no opinions, statements or assessments are made public, therefore I will not make them either. I am categorical in my position that it is inadmissible for the Bulgarian office of the European Prosecutor’s Office to be used for pre-election political goals,” Portnih said.

He said that the case was being used to attack GERB during an election campaign.

“The use of both Bulgarian and European institutions for pre-election purposes is unacceptable. I note that both the complainant and the expert in the case are candidate MPs from WCC-DB,” Portnih said.

[writer-ish]

The 3rd Annual Bloom Edenbrook Fundraising Gala

Pairing: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x f!MC (Dr. Brooke Spiers) Word Count: 2.9k Rating: Mostly T (innuendo, language, smooches)

Premise: Dr. Brooke Spiers and Dr. Ethan Ramsey get coerced into answering anonymous questions submitted by generous donors at this year's hospital fundraising gala. They have about as much fun with it as you'd expect.

This idea is all thanks to THIS ASK from the lovely @lem-20. The concept and all questions are hers! Thank you, darling Leah! ♥️

Author’s Note: My first time with a mixed-media type post(!!!) and the writing part has been done almost script-style, similar to the "Not Yet Wed" questions courtesy of @jamespotterthefirst, which you can find HERE. Hope you all enjoy. 🥰

Tickets

Bonus Raffle

SETTING - Diagnostics Office - 5:15 PM

TWO DOCTORS in formal attire sit across from one another. The male, DR. ETHAN RAMSEY, late-30s, devastatingly handsome, leans against a desk, arms crossed. The female, DR. BROOKE SPIERS, late-20s, charmingly attractive, sits on a larger table further away, legs swinging.

Ethan: I can't believe you talked me into this.

Brooke: [smirking] Why does this feel like deja vu?

Ethan: You know exactly why. You coerced me into the same sort of nonsense in your intern year for that magazine—whatever it was.

Brooke: Yeah, and remember how much publicity the hospital got that year? You're welcome.

Ethan: How can you be sure our "publicity" had to do with that article and not the fact that a first-year intern stole from a large pharamceutical company to administer an unapproved drug to—

Brooke: [hands up] Okay, okay, we get it. Regardless, you have to admit I was responsible for all the publicity. [grins]

Ethan: [can't help but grin back] Touche. [sighs deeply] Let's go home.

Brooke: Can't, babe. We're the main event.

Ethan: How did this even come about? Is there not some code of ethics against this sort of thing?

Brooke: [laughs] It's just staff and donors. All adults. We're showing that we're good sports and it's for a good cause.

Ethan: [grumbles] I don't know why people care so much about us.

Brooke: You don't? I mean, have you seen us?

Ethan: [dryly] And so humble, too.

Brooke: Lord knows you aren't with me for my humility.

Ethan: Indeed. [picks up a glass from the desk at his side, swirling the amber liquid] Well, I hope you're prepared.

Brooke: [amused] Prepared?

Ethan: You're used to me being reticent in situations like this and holding back? [downs the liquid in one shot] Not today.

Brooke: [wary] What does that mean?

DR. RAMSEY stands up, crossing the room towards DR. SPIERS until the latter is forced to open her legs to accommodate his presence. He braces a hand on either side of her, leaning forward until their lips are almost touching. Her face flushes. He notices, and a slow, lazy smile spreads.

Ethan: It means [kisses her slightly open mouth softly] I'm answering all their questions.

Brooke: [giggles nervously] All of them? But what if—

Ethan: [punctuating each word with a kiss] All. Of. Them.

He leans forward and captures her mouth in a deep, searing kiss. Her arms twine around his neck and she lets out a soft moan. Drawing her ankles around his legs she pulls him even closer and he places one hand on the desk as the other glides up her back. They stay like that, interlocked for a moment, before he pulls away.

Brooke: [eyes still closed] Hmph.

Ethan: Let's go get this over with.

Brooke: [slowly opens eyes and peers at him, disgruntled] What kinds of questions do you think people are submitting?

Ethan: Like you said, Dr. Spiers... [a slow smile spreads] Have you seen us?

DR. SPIERS laughs as she follows DR. RAMSEY out.

A.N. PLEASE do not look too closely at this very badly photoshopped pic 😂

SETTING - Bloom Edenbrook Hospital, Main Atrium - 6:25 PM

Our two doctors sit beside each other on a makeshift stage. A semi-recognizable third-year resident is the host for the evening. DR. RAMSEY dusts an imaginary piece of lint off his sleeve. DR. SPIERS has her hands in lap, knee shaking slightly. Noticing, Dr. Ramsey reaches over and rests his hand on her leg. She looks over with a small smile and places her hand over his.

Thank you to our very own Chief of Medicine, Dr. Ethan Ramsey, and his partner, head of the Diagnostics Team, Dr. Brooke Spiers, for being here with us today for a good cause. Dr. Ramsey and Dr. Spiers, are you prepared to answer some questions provided by our generous, anonymous donors?

Brooke: Sure, why not.

Ethan: [through gritted teeth] For a good cause.

Alright, excellent. I will be drawing these questions at random. Thank you to all who donated for the opportunity to submit a question.

Dr. Ramsey and Dr. Spiers, you will both be posed a question. If you choose to answer, you must both answer. If you choose not to, you must match the donation made by the donor, in lieu of a verbal response. Are you ready to begin?

Ethan: Mmm.

Brooke: [nervous laugh] I suppose.

Alright, here we go!

First question: If he/she could take one thing to a desert island what would it be?

Brooke: Me.

[Audience whoops and laughs]

Ethan: [can't hide his smirk, before clearing his throat] Brooke would take her phone. Heaven forbid she can't post about something on Pictagram.

Brooke: It's true. I'm sorry for being such a young millennial needy for external validation.

What are your nicknames for each other?

Brooke and Ethan: [look at each other. Brooke laughs.]

Ethan: Just say it.

Brooke: I mean, it's nothing too embarassing. I call him babe usually, or baby sometimes if I'm feeling extra nice. He calls me—[blushes and looks over at Ethan]

Ethan: [sighs] 'My love'. I call her 'my love'.

[Audience "awwww"s]

Who’s the better cook?

Brooke: Oh, Ethan. A hundred percent.

Ethan: It's true.

Brooke: I'm abysmal.

Ethan: Normally I would demur when it comes to Dr. Spiers' perceived faults, but in this case she's correct.

Brooke: Thanks, babe.

Ethan: You have many wonderful qualities that don't involve ovens, my love.

[A squeal from the audience that sounds suspiciously like Sienna]

Who has the last word in an argument?

[simultaneously] Brooke: Ethan Ethan: Brooke

[They look at each other]

Brooke: [laughs incredulously] Seriously?

Ethan: You think I don't hear you muttering to yourself after you walk away, almost every single time?

Brooke: Oh, so cursing your name and your very existence counts as the last word and not you shouting [affects deep voice] "And that's final!"? Duly noted.

Ethan: I don't sound like that or say that.

Brooke: Mm, sure.

Who is best at keeping secrets?

Brooke: Uh, neither of us?

Ethan: I had a secret once and it was hell keeping it.

Brooke: You've had a couple.

Ethan: True. I'm done with secrets.

Brooke: In lighter news, we kept [gestures between the two of them] this thing a secret for a bit. No?

Ethan: [opens his mouth to agree, when he's interrupted by a shout from the audience—]

Audience member that sounds suspiciously like Elijah: Nope! We all knew!

[Audience loudly murmurs in agreement]

Brooke: Never mind, then.

Who wears the trousers in the relationship?

Ethan: Neither of us subscribes to antiquated beliefs of superiority in a relationship. We're partners and teammates and work together accordingly. Sometimes she helps and guides me and sometimes I do the same for her. There is no one person who holds higher ground over the other and to imply otherwise would be foolish.

Brooke: [literal heart eyes at Ethan] What he said. [stage whisper] Except it's me.

[Audience laughs as Ethan rolls his eyes]

What is his/her worst habit?

Brooke: Workaholic, poor communication skills, yells first and asks questions later… I could go on.

Ethan: Charming. I have two words for you: messy packrat.

Brooke: Excuse me?

Ethan: If I had a nickel for every useless piece of garbage you kept "just in case" or for each article of clothing on the floor of my bedr—[clears throat] Just trust me.

Brooke: [smirks and whispers against Ethan's ear so only he can hear] Sorry, who is responsible for my clothes on the floor…?

Ethan: [says nothing but smirks as well]

[Audience murmurs in scandal]

What three words would you use to describe them?

Brooke: Hmm. Let me think.

Ethan: Passionate, caring, intelligent.

Brooke: [looks at him fondly] You came up with those fast.

Ethan: [matter-of-factly] I could give them ten more easily.

[Audience "awww"s]

Brooke: [to the audience] No, no, no don't be fooled, he doesn't mean only the flattering words, trust me.

Ethan: I believe it's your turn.

Brooke: Dedicated, compassionate, brilliant.

Ethan: [smiles softly at Brooke, who avoids his gaze. He reaches over and squeezes her hand.]

Brooke: [mutters] Yeah, yeah.

What celebrity do you/they think they most look like?

[Both Ethan and Brooke look at the announcer quizzically.]

Brooke: Celebrity? Uhh…

Ethan: I don't even know how I would begin to answer this question.

Brooke: Ryan Reynolds?

[Audience laughs and loudly disagrees]

Ethan: Who?

Brooke: [laughs and shakes her head] I don't know! I just named a random hot guy. You name a redhead actress. Jessica Chastain?

Ethan: [confused] Do you mean Jessica Rabbit?

Brooke: No I don't mean— [looks at him incredulously] Are you saying you think I look like Jessica Rabbit?

Ethan: No, I thought that's what you were saying and I was about to tell you how incorrect you were. Er, that is to say—

Brooke: I feel like you're digging yourself into a hole here.

Ethan: Agreed.

Who is the most vain?

Ethan: Both of us have more pressing concerns than our physical appearance.

Brooke: Ethan.

Ethan: [splutters]

Brooke: If you're going based off who spends more time on their hair in the bathroom? Ethan.

Ethan: [crosses his arms and glowers, but doesn't disagree]

What is his/her guilty pleasure?

Brooke: Ethan's is cooking shows, particularly Nigella.

Ethan: It's true. Brooke's is high calorie indulgences like—what's the freezer cake you made me buy the other day? With no identifiable or even passably edible ingredients?

Brooke: Ooh, Deep 'n Delicious. So good.

Ethan: [rolls eyes] Yes, because we all need our daily dose of hydrogenated oils and preservatives.

If they had a free pass, which celebrity would they choose to sleep with?

[Look at each other blankly]

Brooke: Uhh… Nigella?

Ethan: This Ryan Reynolds fellow?

Brooke: [laughs] I don't even like him!

Ethan: So who, then?

Brooke: [crosses her arms] I notice you didn't deny Nigella.

Ethan: This question is stupid. Next question.

Where and when did you go on your first date?

Brooke: Derry Roasters

Ethan: What? No. I took you to Sorellina—

Brooke: What, three years after we first met? No. Our first date was Derry Roasters when you caught me following you that time.

Ethan: Ah, so she finally admits it. I thought at the time I was… what was it, "paranoid"?

Brooke: [laughs only a touch guiltily] Did I say that?

Ethan: So you're treating the first time you trailed after me to the local coffee shop as our first date?

Brooke: Well, you paid.

Ethan: Yeah, after you "forgot" your wallet.

Brooke: What, you thought I pursued you for your good looks? No, sir. I like a man with deep pockets. Plus, you know how I know it was a first date?

Ethan: Please, enlighten me.

Brooke: You ordered for me and I didn't get annoyed and it was horrible, but I still drank the whole thing.

Ethan: The espresso Romano is not horr—

Brooke: Horrible. Coffee and lemon? [shudders] That's how I knew I was into you.

Ethan: [intrigued] Really? Way back then?

Brooke: [nods, blushing slightly, and rolls her eyes] Oh brother, don't act so shocked. You knew.

[Audience laughs and whoops]

Ethan: [shell-shocked face showing he absolutely did not know]

Where was your first kiss?

Brooke: [sheepishly] Miami.

[Audience murmurs in surprise]

Ethan: [sighs] Yes.

Brooke: Is that—are Harper and Naveen exchanging money?

Naveen: [from the audience] Dr. Emery should know better than to question my instincts!

Ethan: [loudly groans] Next question.

Who is the loudest in bed?

Brooke: [yelps and, remembering Ethan's earlier warning, throws her hand over his mouth]

Ethan: [from behind her hand] You probably could have made the answer less obvious.

Brooke: [blushes and groans]

[Audience roars its approval]

Which of your friends do you think he/she is most likely to have a crush on?

Brooke: Ohhh, this is awkward.

Ethan: My friends?

Brooke: Considering we can list your friends on one hand…and some of them intersect with mine. [bites lip] What do we do with this one?

Ethan: [to the host] What did the donor pay?

Sorry?

Ethan: To submit this question. How much?

Oh, uhh—[checks] $200.

Ethan: I'll write you a cheque for $200. Next question.

Brooke: [shakes her head laughing] All the questions, huh?

Ethan: At my discretion, yes.

Bryce: [from the audience] You know the answer was me for both of you, anyway!

Ethan: [scoffs] Fat chance, Lahela.

Brooke: [pointedly silent, staring straight ahead]

Ohh-kay. Next question. Who had feelings first?

Brooke: Ha, me. For sure.

Ethan: Are you sure?

Brooke: [looks at him incredulously] I just told you I liked you even after you bought me lemon coffee at Derry Roasters three years ago. [sits up to look at him more fully] No chance you liked me earlier than that. I mean, like-liked me.

Ethan: "Like-liked you"? Are we twelve?

Brooke: You know what I mean. You were such a grouch and I was just your annoying intern.

Ethan: [irritatedly] The annoying intern I kissed in Miami, what, a week later? Is that how obvious my lack of feelings for you were?

Brooke: [opens her mouth to respond and then closes it again]

Ethan: That's what I thought.

Who’s more dramatic?

Brooke: Ethan.

Ethan: I am absolutely not—

Brooke: See? Honestly, he's exhausting.

Ethan: [glowers]

Who has the weirdest orgasm face?

Brooke: Weirdest?

Ethan: Oh for the love of—

$5000 to not answer this one, doctors.

Brooke and Ethan: [jaws drop simultaneously]

Brooke: Someone paid five-thousand dollars—

Ethan: What kind of a pervert—? Fine, say it's me.

Brooke: It's really not.

Ethan: [quietly] Well, it's certainly not you.

Brooke: Yeah, but—

I believe we have our answer!

Ethan: We'll take it. Next!

What are you most likely to argue about?

Ethan: Brooke believes I could be more communicative about my feelings, especially when I have a problem.

Brooke: You do listen!

Ethan: Of course. We also argue about when she's going to move in with me.

[Audience gasps and murmurs in gleeful scandal]

Brooke: [jaw drops] Ethan!

Ethan: It's true. [turns to host] I believe it should have already happened. She believes she needs to maintain a tenuous hold on a bedroom she rarely occupies for a group of roommates who would be happy for her to move on.

Brooke: [fuming] Of all the high-handed—

Jackie, from the audience: He's right, girl, bigger and better awaits.

Brooke: [through gritted teeth, as Sienna, Ethan, and Aurora all nod and give her thumbs up] Maybe this is something we can talk about later—

Ethan: Whatever you say, my love.

Brooke: Oh, yeah, now with the "my love"s—

On that note! Here is our final question.

What’s the most romantic thing they’ve done for you?

Ethan: [looks at Brooke, who is still glowering] Most romantic?

Brooke: [glares]

Ethan: With Brooke, it's the little things. She'll notice when I'm having a bad day and bring me my favourite donut. Or a well-timed hand on my shoulder or knee when she can see I'm getting riled up.

Brooke: [glare softens a bit]

Ethan: She's thoughtful and kind and extremely empathetic. She knows what I need even before I know that I need it. It's not—candlelit dinners or what have you, but I've already prided myself on being a practical person and this intersection of—of practicality and care? That's what I find… [struggles to get the word out] romantic.

[Audience "awww"s]

Brooke: [screws up her mouth before leaning over to kiss Ethan on the cheek] Okay, that was sweet. [Thoughtfully] Most romantic thing Ethan has done for me? Well… [side-eyes him, before continuing] The HAZMAT suit sleepover last year was probably up there.

Ethan: [uncomfortable] I don't want that to be classified as—

Brooke: You were there for me at a time when I needed you most. If that's not romance, I don't know what is.

Ethan: [increasingly agitated] That's not romance, dammit, that's—that was a necessity. That was vital. I needed to be there. I needed to make sure you—that you—[cuts himself off, clenching his jaw]

Brooke: [eyes soft as she looks at him. Reaching out she rests her hand on top of his clenched fist until it unfurls slowly underneath hers and he releases his breath slowly] See? [softly] Romance.

Ethan: [sighs deeply, then links his fingers with hers and gruffly kisses the top of her hand] All this tells me is that I've neglected you on the "romance" side of things.

Brooke: [still smiling softly] No complaints. [looks out at the audience] Are we done here? [affects a deep voice] Are you not entertained?

Ethan: [fondly] And she says I'm the dramatic one.

I think we got what we needed, doctors. Thank you for helping out for a good cause. This raffle ticket session alone raised a total of $23,000 for Bloom Edenbook Hospital!

Ethan: [dumbfounded] That is insane.

Brooke: I promise we aren't that interesting.

The people beg to differ. Round of applause for Dr. Brooke Spiers and Dr. Ethan Ramsey for being such good sports. Until next time, doctors!

Ethan: [over thunderous applause] There absolutely won't be a next time.

Brooke: [laughs and stands up, smoothing out her dress]

Audience member that sounds suspiciously like Jackie: Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!

Rest of the audience chimes in: Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!

Brooke: [crosses her arms, smirking at Ethan]

Ethan: Oh for the love of— [acts like he's walking away, then loops an arm around her waist and pulls her close, tilting her back and kissing her thoroughly]

[Audience roars its approval]

Ethan: [pulls away slowly and sets her upright, chucking her chin with an affectionate and slightly devilish smirk. He starts to guide her away from the host and off the makeshift stage]

Brooke: [mutters, still a bit dazedly] Told you. Drama.

[Laughing, they walk off stage together.]

[adenei]

Ch. 3 - How to Win a Witch in 10 Days

Thursday - Pt. 3

Just when she thinks her life can’t get any stranger, James Potter walks back into it. How was she just sitting at the bar, scouting out potential men to dupe, when a blast from the past shows up at her side and asks her to dinner? Of all the nights and all the bars, they run into each other tonight.

Lily’s completely shaken on the inside but forces herself to remain calm, cool and collected. James Potter is the one that got away. The one who fancied her at Hogwarts, had asked her on countless dates—which she turned down—and by the time Lily finally realized she had feelings for him, he’d moved on. It hurt more than she expected it to, so when he walked up to her just minutes ago, Lily wasn’t sure how to react.

She intends to say no when he asks her to dinner, but something stops her. It takes a lot to admit to herself that she’s missed him over the past few years. After all, they were friends before he started dating Bridgette, and they had to work together as Head Boy and Head Girl. The lack of James’s presence left a gaping hole in her post-Hogwarts life that she never expected, and it’s only now that he’s here with her that she realizes just how badly she misses him.

“C’mon, Evans, it’s just dinner. Catching up can’t hurt, can it? I’ve missed you.”

Missed me? Seriously? Does he even realize that he was the one who changed everything? Years of incessant invitations to go on dates, and he finally wears her down only to yank the rug from underneath her by choosing someone else.

Part of her wants to slap him for being such an arsehole, but not if he doesn’t know he played with her heart three years ago. Not to mention that a physical altercation would certainly ruin her chances of picking up another guy. The more sensible thing is to tell him it was nice seeing him, but she’s meeting someone else, but what happens if he stays and realizes that it’s a lie? No, that wouldn’t do, either. Then, an idea pops into her mind. It’s certifiably insane, but if she plays her cards right, it could be the perfect opportunity for revenge.

There’s something so devilishly captivating about James Potter, and Lily decides she does want to get dinner with him. In fact, her mind is set on spending the next ten days with him. This could be Lily’s chance to prove to herself—and James—that they were never meant to be.

She glances up at him to see that he’s waiting for an answer, although he’s not pushy. He knows better than to press for a response. It’s funny how easy a single moment can bring her right back to the Great Hall or the Gryffindor common room. Her traitorous heart begins to beat in her chest as she tries to avoid the piercing hazel eyes that are begging her to let him in.

Well, you know what, Potter? Maybe I will let you in. I’ll let you in long enough to play with your heart like you played with mine, and we’ll see how you like it.

The plan continues to build in her mind, and then some. Luring James Potter into a relationship only to drive him away seems easy enough. After the debacle in school, Lily knows they’re better off apart, and maybe she’ll even gain the closure she didn’t think she needed. Plus, she supposed a snog or two in the process wouldn’t hurt anything if it came to that.

Lily visualizes the checklist sitting on her desk at work and mentally adjusts some of her ideas to make the game she’s playing more believable. Once all is said and done, James will realize it was a mistake to ever have approached her tonight, and Lily can have a bit of fun toying with James in the process. So, the hardened look she forced herself to give earlier now softens, and Lily even chances a smile. She sets her almost empty glass on the bar and glances around to see if she can find Alice and Marlene. They’re mingling on the other side of the room.

Well, they know I’m out to snag a man, so if they see I’m gone, they’ll know why. Lily shrugs as she turns back to James.

“Well, Potter, how can I resist when you put it like that? Lead the way.”

He holds out his arm, and Lily takes it. A smirk plays at her lips as she looks back in the direction of her friends one more time. She catches Alice’s eye and gives her a wink before turning back toward the door.

Let the games begin.

“I have to say, I’m impressed,” Lily admits as she tucks into her basket of fish and chips.

James has taken her into muggle London to grab a bite to eat, and Lily’s quite shocked by his choice. It’s a small hole in the wall shop that serves the greasiest food, but it’s delicious. The walls are laden with modern art murals and the wooden tables are covered in carved names. It’s a place Lily is sure University students go for a late-night snack or on their way home from a pub crawl. Aside from Lily and James’s semi-formal attire, they fit in well with the crowd.

“Why? Am I still as irresistible as I was at Hogwarts?” James still possesses the same air of confidence as Lily rolls her eyes.

Still as cocky as ever, it seems.

“No, I meant that I’m impressed that you know your way around muggle London.”

“Sirius and I discovered this place on one of our nights out a while back. I come here at least once a week.”

Lily smiles at the mention of another old friend. “How are Sirius and Remus anyway?’

“Brilliant! We were all living together until recently. Finally decided it was time to get our own places.”

“The Marauders have finally split?” Lily feigns shock.

“Nah, not entirely. We still work together.”

“Now, why doesn’t that surprise me?”

James laughs. “We work for Alastor’s Ads. I work mostly with clients from magical games and food, but I’m looking to branch out a bit more.”

“Fascinating. I always did think you could talk your way out of a paper bag,” Lily recalls.

“Come again?” James’s eyebrows crease and one side of his face scrunches in confusion.

“It’s a muggle saying.”

“Ah. What are you up to these days?”

“I write for Witch Weekly,” Lily keeps her explanation short. If he doesn’t know, then there’s no harm in keeping the How To column from him completely.

“Lily Evans, Head Girl, so much promise to do some good in the world, writes for Witch Weekly?” James says.

“It was a job. Now that I’ve got my foot in the door with a company and I’m gaining some credibility, I’ll be able to branch out and actually write what I want to write soon.”

“Soon? How long might that be?”

How does James always see right through her? It’s been three years, but he’s still as frustrating as ever.

“As long as it takes to find an opening in a position I want. I’m not looking to make a lateral move just to keep writing pieces I’m not passionate about.”

“And what are you passionate about?”

Lily fights the urge to answer him right away. She needs to keep the mystery there if she’s going to succeed in her endeavors.

“I could ask you the same question. Do you really want to be selling pitches to restaurateurs or quidditch teams for the rest of your career?”

“That’s a fair question.”

“And your answer is?”

“It depends. I’m working on branching out to different companies right now. I’ve submitted a proposal for Zabini’s Jewels and am hopeful I’ll get the pitch. Should know within the next week or so.”

“Interesting,” Lily responds.

“So, are you going to answer my question now?”

Of course, James doesn’t forget that she dodged his question, but that doesn’t stop her from feigning forgetfulness.

“What question?”

“What you’re passionate about,” James smirks at her, indicating he sees right through this act.

Lily sighs and figures she should answer him. “I want to write articles that can truly make a difference in someone’s life. I’m over the superficial bullshit.”

James leans back in his chair and smiles at Lily.

“What?” she asks.

“Nothing. It’s just been nice spending time with you again.”

She returns his smile. “You know, as much as I might regret saying this later, you’re right. I got so wrapped up in finding a job and navigating life in the magical world that I wasn’t very good about keeping in touch with my friends.”

“I suppose I can forgive you for that.”

“Ah, I can die happy now, knowing you’ve forgiven me,” Lily winks at him.

“I aim to please,” James finishes their banter as they gather their things and get up from the table to head for the door.

They walk in silence for a while, and Lily basks in the enjoyment of James's company again. She wonders what he’s thinking about and whether their night should continue or if she should wait until tomorrow. Their feet lead them down a deserted alleyway in preparation to apparate out of muggle view. James pauses behind a dumpster and Lily follows suit.

“Do you want to come over?” James blurts, taking Lily by surprise.

Internally, she’s screaming yes, but it’s late on a Thursday and she still has to work tomorrow. She bites her bottom lip as James ruffles his hair with his hand.

“I’d like that, but I’m not sure if it's a good idea with work tomorrow.”

James lets out a gruff laugh. “Right, yeah, sorry—I just thought—”

“I had a good time tonight,” Lily reassures him. “Enough that I’d like to see you again if you’re interested?” She knows it’s ballsy to make the first move like that, but time is of the essence.

James’s eyes widen at her boldness. “Really?”

“I know, shocking, right?” she keeps her voice light and airy, while adrenaline is shooting through her body.

“Well, I’ve got tickets to the quidditch playoffs tomorrow—Arrows versus Magpies at seven. Perks of signing Appleby as a client,” James shrugs, trying to play it cool. “Just as friends, you know? I don’t want you to think it’s anything—”

“I’d love to!” Lily cuts him off.

She’s surprised that he’s backpedaling so much. He was never like that in Hogwarts. Then again, he probably figured he’d have a million more chances to wear her down. If he only knew….

“Really? Brilliant!” James’s tone sounds pleased, and Lily can sense a hint of relief in his voice. “There’s a Portkey leaving from the Leaky at six if you want to meet me there?”

“Sounds great.”

They both stand there awkwardly. Lily’s wondering if maybe she should have accepted his invitation to join him at his flat. She doesn’t want to kiss him on the first night, but after his invitation to the quidditch playoffs as friends, she knows she needs to do something to show him she’s interested in something more than that.

“So, I guess I’ll see you to—”

Lily realizes she’s out of time, and needs to do something so James is aware of her intentions. This is an act, and she has to play the clingy woman that moves before the time is right. Before she can talk herself out of it, Lily’s lunging toward James, throwing her arms around his neck and pressing her lips to his with purpose. Her eyes close, so she doesn’t have to be disappointed if his reaction is anything less than eager.

She always imagined that the first kiss she’d share with James Potter would be soft and slow and sweet, with him instigating, and this is anything but. Thankfully it’s not forced, but it is awkward as she feels James freeze at the contact.

Shit. Maybe he really is over me. I must have read the signs wrong.

Lily pulls away and turns her head to the side in an attempt to avoid his gaze as mortification begins to set in. She’s about to berate herself more for making a terrible decision and losing a whole day for her article when she sees a flash of black hair out of the corner of her eye as he leans in to regain the previous closeness.

His lips are on hers again, and his hands are splayed against her back. Lily’s hands find their way back to their previous position as the kiss takes her breath away.

James Potter is kissing her back, and it’s everything Lily’s dreamt about since her seventh year of Hogwarts. His breath is hot against her as his tongue grazes her lip before tentatively slipping into her mouth. She parts her lips enough to invite him in as her tongue meets his. Lily presses herself against his body as James groans in response.

Suddenly, it’s as if a switch flips in Lily’s mind, and she remembers why she kissed him in the first place. Reluctantly, she pulls away. James looks just as awestruck as Lily feels, his chest heaving up and down much like her own. Lily forces the thoughts of being back in his arms from her mind despite how much she misses the contact. Once she’s gained enough composure, she chances a glance toward James. He looks as windswept as she feels.

“So, I’ll, er, see you tomorrow?” James’s tone is more cautious than she remembers from their time at Hogwarts.

He looks completely thrown off balance. Good, Lily thinks, knowing she needs to keep him on his toes.

She shoots him a coy smile. “Absolutely. As more than friends, I hope?”

It can’t hurt to solidify her intentions.

“Y-yeah,” James stutters.

Lily doesn’t think she’s ever seen him rendered speechless before and feels rather smug that she can accomplish the feat.

“Brilliant. See you tomorrow,” she winks at him before focusing on her flat and apparating away.

[peaches-writes]

super random prompts for today bc im feeling nostalgic~

tw // death

at 1100 years of you fulfilling your punishment as a human turned grim reaper, no one could blame you when you confess that you don’t really know yourself now if the promise you swore to chan before he died by your sword in his first life is still serious or holds meaning to you. it was a long long time ago, already muddled in your failing memories, when you swore to the joseon era prince that you would ‘find and torture him in every life he gets’ because he invaded your village and branded you as a criminal (which ultimately led to you doing the things that got you landed with your current spiritual punishment). at present, having already met different versions of him in his subsequent lives and delivering him to the afterlife each time without fail, you’re not sure anymore if you can still hold onto this promise and cause him trouble. after all, every version of him that pops up on your radar throughout the centuries never remembers what he did in his first life, let alone remember you. plus, the only time he sees you now as a grim reaper is on his death bed, when you come to fetch him and confess to causing some of the misfortunes he’s experienced in the life that he’s lived. 

so imagine your surprise when the gods inform you that chan only has one reincarnation left to spend and that he’ll spend it in the 21st century seoul, right where everything started. you’re then furthermore petrified when this version you meet not only has the ability to see and interact with ghosts by his 3rd eye but also finds the journal you unknowingly drop at his neighbor’s funeral: filled with notes on him and his previous lives as well as the confusing feelings you’ve unconsciously developed over the years. the final nail in the coffin, however, is that he’s not smug about it when he eventually finds you at the local graveyard, unlike how you expected of the chan from the joseon era. instead, he asks you all about his past lives, your punishment, and what he should expect in his next life if he has any. this time, with no means of escaping from his 3rd eye and his dangerously fast biking skills, you’re forced to confront the soul of the person you once called your enemy. 

more of the kids under the cut!

minho receives a google form link from you at the strike of midnight on your 1st anniversary as a couple, initially opening it on the assumption that it’s the survey form you previously coerced him into agreeing to answer for your senior thesis. the computer science major is then thoroughly surprised when the link opens to a red and pink-themed form titled, “y/n’s boyfriend application!” with questions ranging from, “full name so i can flames it with my name” to “rate my annoying habits from ‘i love them dw’ to ‘this is probably going to be one of the future reasons why we’ll break-up.’” he messages you first before anything else, asking you just exactly ‘what the fuck is this application for, babe?’ to which you only reply with a spam of winking emojis. actually, you only reply with winking emojis and actual winks when he decides to videocall you into answering him, leading minho to answer the form while you’re peeking over on a small browser on his laptop screen. your boyfriend mainly answers the questions lightheartedly, even reading his answers aloud to you after (”what number on the fan do i like? four, of course!” “minho, you’re a monster.”). that is until the last question which he only smiles at before spending the last five minutes of your videocall typing continuously then ending the call after submitting, preventing you from interrogating him and his sudden change in behavior. 

it’s only after the call that you see his answer to the last question (”why do you love me”), an entire eight paragraphs of him just mindlessly rambling about whatever comes at the top of his head to answer the question: ranging from his favourite and least favourite memories of you together, the things he loves about you coupled with the things he claims to not like about you (before shyly admitting towards the end that he still finds things to love about them), and an “overall there’s a lot of reasons why i love you: some i’ve mentioned, some i haven’t, some i’ve discovered, and some i will find out about in the future when we celebrate our 2nd year anniversary, 3rd, 4th, and the ones we’ll eventually forget what number they’re supposed to be because we’ll probably be married and busy with a lot of other things ;) there’s just no one definitive answer to this question, to be honest, but this is what comes at the top of my head. happy one year, baby <3″ 

when the fabric of reality that blankets seoul is reported to have been ripped at the seams, you start mysteriously losing some of your personal belongings to the parallel dimension’s version of your apartment. at first you blame it on your public enemy no. 1 and roommate, changbin, who does have a habit of borrowing things without permission and forgetting to return them. when you find a blue-haired and heavily tattooed changbin using your hair dryer in the bathroom one day (clearly looking very different from the roommate you’ve been living with for 6 months who has blonde hair and piercings only), however, only then do you realize that it’s been your roommate’s parallel version who’s been unknowingly receiving your things. what’s more surprising is him getting visibly confused at you initially throwing a fit at him when you mistook him as your real roommate, explaining to you later on that he and your parallel version are dating. you purposely avoid parallel dimension changbin for a few days in embarrassment from the latter, that is until he sits you down in the living room a week later (while your dimension’s changbin is out at his part-time job) and asks you, “so, what’s your problem with my parallel self? maybe i can help!”  

only parallel dimension changbin proves himself to be unhelpful when all he comments on your subsequent ramblings is a cheesy grin and, “your roommate’s probably in love with you. god, i can’t believe that even in your reality i’m stupid.” 

in a world where the person who doesn’t reciprocate an individual’s strong feelings instead of the other way around, hyunjin’s had his own fair share of sick days and pharmacy runs to suppress the flowers that bloom in him from admirers who fall way too deep into his charms. he’s slightly grown desensitized to it, having already memorized what to do and what to say to the people who are forced to confront and apologize to him each and every time. when it’s you who’s suddenly confessing your sudden feelings to him, promising that you’ll get over it in a month and even stay away for a while for his sake, only then does he feel a strange mix of dread, worry, and fear at the pit of his stomach. he doesn’t want you, his best friend, to ever leave his side but at the same time he can’t find it in himself to reciprocate your feelings for you to stay. for the first time, he doesn’t know what to do nor what to say to you, the daffodils suddenly feeling heavier in his lungs the more you try and distance yourself and see new people.

 jisung, unlike how the cliche trope goes, always bets everything on him missing his shot at your subdivision’s basketball court. he always says something along the lines of, “if i miss this shot, let’s go the movies!” or “if the ball falls off the rim after 5 seconds, you’ll go to the beach party with me!” despite being the star player of your high school basketball team himself. he always purposely misses for fun and gets his reward, of course, even when you remind him to shoot properly through flustered expressions and feigned huffs. this has then caused you your entire summer time and allowance, all spent glued to jisung’s hip and buying him all sorts of things from ice cream, extended time to borrow surf boards at the beach, and even a ride ticket to the travelling carnival’s ferris wheel (where he stole a kiss from you at the top like the cheesy little shit that he is). 

whenever you ask him why he bets in reverse each and every time, however, only then does his confident smirk disappears into his blush and he turns his entire face away from you; too shy to admit that you make him a little too nervous whenever it’s just you watching him shoot hoops. give him a rest, he just wants more full assurance that he’ll get to spend more time with you, as boyish as that sounds. 

you probably should’ve known better than to provoke chenle and wooyoung when you told them over the student council meeting that a marriage booth probably wouldn’t give you a lot of revenue since your school festival this year doesn’t fall on valentine’s day week. you probably should’ve expected that the first thing they’d do after the student assembly, when the festival is formally opened, is to drag you into said marriage booth—your english classroom decorated from top to bottom in cheap white cloth, plastic flowers, and an edit of your senior alumni bang chan as jesus—and put you into one of the flower crown veils they probably got at someone’s baptism, explaining that they need someone to kickstart the booth and attract more customers. but most of all, you probably should’ve expected that these two troublemaking vice president and secretary of yours wouldn’t hesitate to take this opportunity to torment you even further because suddenly you’re getting fake married to felix, your chem lab partner and long-time crush, who also has his own ‘sins’ to atone to chenle and wooyoung (something about ditching them at a party because he saw an injured cat stuck up on a tree on the way to the venue). the two of you stand in front of the “bang chan altar” for 10 minutes with han jisung in a questionable pope costume, the two of you attracting passersby who are mostly your classmates murmuring “oh my god, y/n and felix?” or “i knew it! those two are so cute together!” as the two of you are forced into exchanging cereal box rings and saying impromptu vows. 

what you didn’t expect from this experience, however, is felix suddenly confessing in his vows, clearing his throat awkwardly while sliding the purple plastic ring on your ring finger and saying, “this isn’t how i imagined it to go but we’re both here, all of our classmates are here, and you’re looking really pretty today so, uh...y/n, i just want to say that i’ve really liked you for a long time.” 

your grandmother shows you her first look of disapproval over your weaved fabrics when you start creating pieces that seem to resemble the aura of a boy. as much as you don’t want to see her disappointed, tradition still stands that you have to design your fabrics according to how you would interpret your dreams and since you turned 18, all you’ve been dreaming about is your potential soulmate. of all 7 billion in the world, you just have to be one of the rare ones with the ability to interpret your dreams on textile and have these said dreams be your soulmate bond to someone else as well. instead of arbitrary colors or shapes resembling nature like your grandmother and everyone else, you’re trying to recreate the face of a boy your age with the kindest smile you’ve ever seen and the prettiest brown eyes; instead of putting the sounds of the ocean or the chirping of birds as they would be usually heard in dreams onto colorful fabric, you’re trying to mix red, orange, and yellow dyes on threads just to try and capture seungmin’s golden voice whenever he would sing to you in your dreams. your soulmate becomes your muse, the lasting impressions he makes on you in the 3 real-time seconds of dreaming that you spend with him embedding themselves into the blanket you’ve been tasked to make for the winter. 

seungmin is more than flattered of course, finding genuine fascination in what you do and excitement to see you in person once university allows him. it’s only at the end of the year, however, right on christmas day, when he finally sees you on vacation in your town with his family—finding you at the beach party his new friend hyunjin invites him to where you dance around the bonfire with your own friends, wrapped in the blanket made of warm colors that just scream his very soul and aura. your eyes meet almost as soon as he arrives because of your soulmate pull, causing you to become flustered at realizing that you’re wearing the blanket design that’s been inspired by him, and before he knows it, kim seungmin is running to you and grabbing your arm. “hi.” he pants breathlessly, his relieved smile shining brightly against the orange glow of the fire to your side. “finally. it’s you!” 

jeongin stares at his laptop for a solid 5 minutes in complete and utter confusion before his roommate seungmin pokes him on the side of his head and asks if he passed his dream university, snapping him out of reality. it’s not that he didn’t pass the entrance exam, definitely not because he’s still feeling confident from answering it from almost 6 months ago. rather, it’s that the acceptance e-mail sent to him by the university is for a completely different name, your name out of all applicants out there—that one person he sat next to at cram school and turned down at the end of the summer. logging into his social media accounts, he sees people voicing out their concerns for similar incidents, that they’re getting acceptance or rejection e-mails of other applicants instead of their own, and posts that aim to track down who’s gotten who to remedy this. when seungmin hears this, he simply shrugs and urges jeongin to simply message you and get over it since the two of you are connected on social media anyway. but still, jeongin takes another hour to message you with a simple, “hi, i got your e-mail. should i forward it to you?” even closing his laptop in a hurry and running back into the comfort of his blanket as soon as he hears the dreadful ping of the messenger app. he knows he shouldn’t be flustered to message you, especially with something as important as your acceptance letter, but he can’t help but feel weak in the knees at the thought of having to talk to you again after almost a year because all he can think about is that he really shouldn’t have rejected you in that offer to go to the movies in the first place. 

what’s worse is that, since he sent the message over online, his thoughts can’t help but overthink your simple “really? here’s my e-mail” reply that comes not even a second after he sends his message—even more your follow-up reply of “i got yours too btw! i’ll forward it to you when you forward mine” when he doesn’t reply immediately. jeongin’s fingers uncontrollably shake as he musters up the courage to reply, face blushing red the entire time as he e-mails you your acceptance letter. all this time, considering how the two of you haven’t talked in a long time, he only thinks about one ambitious thought: “is it a bad time? to bring up that movie offer again?” 

[alwaysmychoices]

From Across the Room

Synopsis: Charlie Green and Ethan Ramsey fell in love, and after years together, they fell apart when it became clear they wanted very different futures. But when they have a chance encounter years later, maybe it’s not all in the past...

(separate from my With and Without series)

words: 1.9k 

rating: PG 

Based on this ask from this prompt list. The prompt ("You aren’t my homeland anymore”) is in bold. Feel free to keep asking from that list!

Hit me up if you want to be added to my permanent tag list! 

(photo source) 

I would love to say that I fell in love with Ethan Ramsey the day I met him, but that would be a lie. The first time I laid eyes on him, I thought he was the most handsome man I had ever seen, but as soon as he opened his mouth, I thought he was the rudest, most arrogant asshole I’d ever been forced to interact with. I spent the rest of the week fuming and staring from afar, hating him with such passion that it buried my instant adoration.

But in moments of vulnerability and shared secret smiles, I fell in love with him.

And for some time, we were happy — the kind of bright, beautiful happiness that painted every memory in a golden haze.

I still remember our time together with soft, warm smiles and fluttering butterflies in my stomach.

We got an apartment together where we cooked fancy dinners, painted walls, and printed our favorite memories on photos that we displayed all over our home. On weeknights, we read medical journals on our couch with our dog between us, and on weekends, we woke early enough to wander the farmers market. We took up jogging together in the mornings and shared mystery novels in our spare time.

It was perfect.

We fought, of course. We disagreed about the shade of blue we should paint the bathroom and how protective I should be of my career. He thought I was impulsive, and I thought he was too set in his ways. But our fights never lasted long enough to mean something.

The itch came on slowly. It took me several years to realize that, as much as I loved my life, I still craved more.

Sometimes, late at night, I regret it. I wish I could have been satisfied, that I could have just maintained our happiness.

In the end, I couldn’t help wanting more.

I wanted a family. I wanted a house with a yard. I wanted to leave work early to read bedtime stories to my child and spend my Saturdays cheering on soccer games. I wanted sleepless nights where I balanced my demanding career with my desire for a family.

But Ethan didn’t want more.

He was happy. He had a loving relationship and a career he valued. What we had now was everything he ever wanted but never expected to have.

He understood what I wanted, but he couldn’t give it to me. And I understood why he couldn’t. I couldn’t make him want something, and I couldn’t force him into a life he didn’t desire. It wasn’t fair to him, me, or a potential child.

We tried very, very hard to hold on. We took extra vacations and talked late into the night, hoping that communication and quality time could save us. We toured townhomes in search of a compromise, and we submitted an application to foster rescue dogs.

But it wasn’t enough, and once the cracks settled in, they began to spread.

I wanted more than he could give, and he begrudged me for it. I resented him for resenting me and for not sharing my visions of the future. The love that we shared, as strong as it was, was clouded.

The end came slowly and painfully. We stopped fighting solely because we stopped speaking. We went days without as much as a shared glance, and as winter fell, our relationship went cold and lifeless.

On our seventh anniversary, I was thousands of miles away from Ethan. I was in California, interviewing for a job. Ethan and I were both offered positions, and we saw it as a new opportunity to revitalize our lives and start over again. But really, we always knew that Ethan wouldn’t leave Boston. He didn’t even come with me to visit San Francisco or meet the team we were offered to lead.

Six months later, I was still in San Francisco, and Ethan wasn’t with me.

For the first year, I waited for him to follow me here, and often, I eyed plane tickets, imagining my own grand gesture. I called him late at night, just to hear his voice, and sometimes, he would call me with a consultation for a patient. Rarely was it a real mystery that required my help. I think he just wanted to hear from me, too.

But nothing had really changed. I still wanted a family, and he didn’t.

So, I made a new life.

I bought an apartment and adopted a dog, and I made friends. I went to parks and parties and coffee shops, and I was happy, even if I kept Ethan on my speed dial.

I was introduced to Dr. Mark Williams at a fundraiser. A week later, I met him at a trendy restaurant for our first date, and by the end of the year, he was on one knee, presenting a sparkling engagement ring. I said yes, even if I secretly wished it was Ethan standing in front of me.

Mark and I agreed on everything. We wanted children and dogs and little league games, and we were already looking for a home to build our future.

It was perfect.

Or it should have been…

Sometimes, I still felt like something was missing, something I hadn’t felt since Boston.

Not that I ever said, nor even admitted to myself.

It was easy to pretend that Ethan Ramsey was a part of my past. He was thousands of miles away, and I hadn’t seen him in so long that, if I tried hard enough, I could make his memory hazy. On a good day, I didn’t think about him at all.  

But tonight was different.

Tonight, I couldn’t pretend — not when I was so close.

For the first time in over a year, I was in the same room as Ethan Ramsey, and I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t stop looking over at him, craning my head to catch sight of him in the crowded conference. I was on Mark’s arm, but I could only see Ethan.

Someone was talking — maybe even to me — but I didn’t hear it.

Not until I heard my name.

“Charlotte.”

I jumped, startled into the present. I tore my eyes away from Ethan to find Mark and another man facing me. I vaguely recognized the man as Mark’s friend from medical school that we had met this morning when we signed into the conference, but I’d been so distracted by Ethan that I didn’t notice him approach us now.

“Damon has some intriguing research he wants to share from one of the exhibits. Do you want to come with us, Charlotte?” Mark asked, squeezing my arm.

Charlotte.

Mark called me Charlotte. Something about hearing it in the presence of Ethan made it feel cold and formal.

As soon as the thought registered, I felt a wave of guilt.

I was engaged to Mark. He was compassionate and kind, and he wanted a family just as badly as I did. He was my future, and Ethan was my past.

I just needed to remember that.

“I’ll let you two go ahead. I’ll catch up later,” I encouraged my fiancé and his friend to go on without me, hoping to clear my head and regain my composure in their absence.

I was a grown woman. I was well-respected and responsible. I was not the kind to remain lovesick and obsessed with a former boyfriend.

I needed to control myself.

With my back safely to Ethan, I wandered through the conference, finding comfort in unfamiliar faces. I felt safe in the ambiguity. Few people here knew me, and even fewer knew my complicated history with Ethan. Every step felt like a new beginning, a world where I could write my own future without being unnumbered by my past.

Of course, it had a habit of following me.

I could run to a new city with a new job and a new lover, but I always found Ethan. Or he found me.

Even in a sea of strangers and their disinterested gazes, I saw him immediately. His blue eyes were piercing and determined. I felt like he was looking for me, pulling me to him until I found him in return.

He looked the same, if a bit older. The same haircut, the same hard expression to ward off fans tempted to approach him. He stood taller than the rest, a beacon of intelligence and arrogance. And he was looking at me.

This close, the distance and time between us felt so small. I could forget that we lived on different sides of the country. I could forget the months of fighting and the breakup and our time apart. I could forget the lives we built apart from each other. I could forget everything but how much I loved him.

I imagined going to him, forgetting and forgiving everything we did to each other. I thought about running away from my life – from California, from Mark, from everything. I pictured my life back in Boston, in that apartment we shared with all of our friends.

And the daydream was all so… so tempting.

So beautiful. So sweet. So nostalgic and wonderful.

He felt like home.

And right now, I just wanted to go home…

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a woman approach Ethan. She was young, probably just an intern. Her hands were full of pamphlets and journals, and I decided that she was probably his newest protégé. I felt a sense of relief when he looked down at her and lacked any obvious romantic attachment — not that it was my place to be relieved. I was engaged to another man after all. Who was I to judge if Ethan found someone else, too?

But even as I tried to write it off, I knew that I didn’t want him to find someone else. I wanted him to still be mine, even if I told myself that I didn’t want to be his.

From across the room, Ethan dropped his gaze, whispering something to his protégé. They spoke for a moment, but I couldn’t will myself to look away. I feared that, if I dropped his gaze now, I might not ever find it again. Once they concluded their discussion, his assistant walked away, and his eyes immediately returned to mine.

With a sad smile, he motioned away, signaling that he had to leave. There was something else in his eyes, a silent offer to accompany him.

I could have followed.

I could have moved through the crowd and rewritten my future.

But instead, I shook my head, even if it killed me to do so.

I whispered softly, knowing he couldn’t hear me as I explained, “You aren’t my homeland anymore.”

Before I could change my mind, I walked away.

I thought it would feel freeing, like a final goodbye after nearly a decade of shared affection. I expected to feel confident in my decision. I thought I would walk into my future knowing that I was on the right path.

But as a wiped away my tears, I felt less sure than ever that Ethan was just a part of my past…

Tag List

@starrystarrytrouble​ @utterlyinevitable​ @queencarb​ @eramsey28​ @choicesficwriterscreations​

[saintstrawberry]

When the Night is Over/Just What I Needed

Second Chapter is up!

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27733207/chapters/68086045#workskin

Ships:

bokuaka, kuroken, kagehina, daisuga, daiaka, iwaoi

Description:

A surprise visit, mariokart, and Oikawa. Malibu also makes an appearance (Or multiple).

Notes: Akaashi has a bad memory. Relatable content.

Songs I recommend for this chap are Dionysus by the Buttertones, Best Interest by Tyler the Creator (for Kuroo), and Shampoo Bottles by Peach Pit for the ending. I promise Bokuto will show up in the next chap! >.<

I also make a reference to Natsume Ono because she smacks! Read her manga Not Simple; it is fantastic!

Thank you for reading!

—————

Shampoo Bottles

It’s Saturday, something Akaashi doesn’t realize until he is flying halfway out his front door and huffing a breath at his phone screen’s mocking display: 6:30 AM, Saturday, June 14th. Exactly a week before Hinata’s birthday.

He blinks and remembers the night before, when he was nursing a red wine and a deadline for his “Ono Natsume: Shouting for the Voiceless” article. He remembers, vaguely, submitting the piece at 11:50 and dropping his head right there on his cheap Ikea desk, exhausted.

Presently, he’s nodding awkwardly at his neighbor (leaving the complex to work out, no less) and trying to make it look, somehow, like he meant to open his front door only to close it seconds later.

Toeing off his work shoes and entirely caught off guard by the idea of a day off, Akaashi retreats to his bed. He passes out almost as soon as his foggy head hits the pillow, dreaming of nothing. The next time he opens his eyes, his breath and body still completely.

“Mornin’, sleeping beauty! It’s ten, I’m surprised you slept so long!”

“Kuroo-san, why are you in my apartment?”

The offender offers no answer but grins brilliantly, gold irises level with Akaashi’s blue-green.

“And just how long have you been here anyway?” Kuroo ignores him again, instead choosing to stand from his squatting position. His hands at his hips, Kuroo wears a white oversized Bouncing Ball hoodie and black skinny jeans. Much to Akaashi’s discomfort, he still has his shoes on- red and white high top sneakers with the laces tucked in. As always, the guy’s flawlessly disheveled, silver jewelry glinting from his ears and neck.

Akaashi groans and plants his face in his pillow. It’s too early for the young, beautiful, and rich.

Kuroo, unsurprisingly, doesn’t yield Akaashi’s thoughts and scoffs once. He moves to draw open the curtains in his room. Keiji can’t help but grimace as he feels his skin bathed in hot summer light.

“Man. You should really dust your windowsills. Do you even ever open these things?! You’re not some bat, ‘Kaashi. You need fresh air.”

“I think bats need air too,” Akaashi mumbles into the pillow.

Kuroo waves a dismissive hand and turns to survey him, arms folded across a broad chest. Keiji reluctantly turns his head to address his stare, squinting without the aid of his glasses or contacts. Kuroo’s bedhead is seemingly even worse today- probably from whatever plane he just hopped out of. The latter smirks devilishly.

“Well. Are you gonna welcome me back or what?”

“So you didn’t expect to land in Tokyo until Thursday?” Akaashi asks this of Kuroo about 45 minutes after his intrusion into the writer’s apartment. The pair are getting brunch in some needlessly swanky rooftop restaurant, one where Kuroo insisted he wouldn’t get recognized. Akaashi raised his eyebrows at that- his friend had stuffed his signature messy locks into one of Akaashi’s ratty baseball caps and donned aviators the moment they got outside.

No matter to him, anyway. Akaashi got fancy champagne out of the deal.

“Sure didn’t. Management canceled the show in Singapore last minute. Something about the venue. Fuck if I know,” Kuroo explains almost incoherently through colossal bites of egg.

“What matters is nobody got hurt. We refunded tickets and rescheduled the gig. S’all good. I’m just happy to be back home with my buddy!” Kuroo reaches over to slap Akaashi on the back with a friendly grin.

He’s sputtering over his mimosa when Kuroo continues, “Can’t wait to surprise Kenma tonight, either. Can you imagine his face?"

“Yeah, actually, I can,” Akaashi slouches his shoulders forward in his chair with an uninterested expression and quirks up an eyebrow ever so slightly, impersonating his best friend.

“Hey, that was pretty good! Though I guess it’s not that hard for you. You’re both pretty stoic. Like Easter Island Heads.”

Akaashi swats at him half-heartedly. Kuroo laughs.

“Anyway, you’re lucky I didn’t call him immediately this morning- or the police for that matter,” Akaashi says matter of factly. Kuroo clutches at his heart dramatically.

“Akaashi-kun. You wound me. I am the furthest from a criminal.”

Akaashi huffs a laugh.

“Tell the Osaka police force that.”

“Hey! What, a guy can’t take a piss anymore?”

“Not, apparently, from the top of the Umeda Sky Building-”

“To be fair, I didn’t know the police officer was right there,” Kuroo interjects.

“-After downing half a bottle of Malibu with Oikawa. And you were 17. You were lucky you didn’t get charged with public indecency.”

Kuroo pouts but offers no petition.

“Guilty as charged, I suppose. Hey, speaking of police officers-”

Akaashi clears his throat and interrupts, “Speaking of drinking, how was Singapore?”

Kuroo takes the hint and stretches back in his chair, raising his third bloody mary to his lips.

“Didn’t get much time there, only about four days before I got the call about the cancellation. Flew straight here after the news.”

Straight to Kenma, Akaashi supplies mentally, grinning fondly at his friends’ relationship.

“Anyway, it was pretty mild, all things considered. Bokuto seemed to like the clubbing scene more than I did. Matter of fact, he’s staying there ‘til the next concert.”

“Bokuto?” Akaashi says, cutting into his eggs and watching the yolk spill onto his fork.

Kuroo, now onto his nearly 2,500 yen crepe, takes a break from his meal to look up at him with a puzzled stare.

“My tourmate? Bokuto Koutarou? X. Ace?”

Akaashi meets his eyes blankly.

“I guess it makes sense his stage name doesn’t ring a bell, but I’m surprised you don’t know about the guy’s v-ball career.”

The blue-eyed 24 year old drops his gaze to the napkin in his lap.

“Sorry, sorry. Touchy topic.”

Pain-in-the-ass-Kuroo-san.

“Anyway, you should really check out some of his matches with the Panthers.”

“He was signed with the Panthers?” Akaashi sputters, clapping his mouth shut immediately after.

Kuroo cackles.

“Don’t give yourself a heart attack, Akaashi. It’s okay to be impressed- it’s impressive. He’s crazy. You’ll be meeting him soon.”

Akaashi only hums in response.

"You're coming to the show, right?"

Akaashi hums again.

"Big talker today, huh, Keiji?"

"Bah."

“Right. So.. you baited yourself a hook yet?”

“Beg your pardon?”

“You know. After Daichi,” Kuroo tries again.

No, he really hasn’t.

Akaashi downs the rest of his drink. He peers into his empty glass in response.

“Haven’t thought about it really. He said it himself- I don’t have the time.”

“Oh, Keiji. Nevermind him.”

“Don’t sigh like that. Did you fly all the way from China to pity me?”

The rapper shakes his head, “No, I didn’t. I just want you to-”

“Be as happy as you are with Kenma,” Keiji finishes.

Kuroo gives a gentle smile, “Can you blame me?”

“God. You two are worse than the shoujo manga I have to review.”

“But twice as fun.”

“Shut up and eat your crepe.”

Kuroo happily complies, “Don’t have to tell me twice.”

“I’m glad you’re home, Kuroo-san,” Akaashi remarks. And he is. Even with his busy lifestyle as a chart-topping artist, Kuroo somehow manages to draw Kenma and Akaashi out of the house.

Kuroo and Kenma are both relatively new to their fame- about three years out from Kuroo’s first breakthrough hit and four since Kenma first started his Bouncing Ball Youtube channel- but their fans are… dedicated. Akaashi often marvels at how even Kenma takes it in stride. He's entertaining to watch and a seasoned video game expert. And Kuroo... Akaashi looks to the man and the ketchup stain on his lip.

"What?"

Well, they both deserve their good fortune.

"Nothing, nothing."

He has interviewed them each multiple times for the journal. The good thing about his friends’ famous status is that Akaashi gets to profit from it as well. He tells Kuroo as much and the latter almost chokes on his stupidly expensive breakfast laughing. Even Akaashi cracks a small grin.

“I told that was him!” The writer hears two girlish voices behind him, talking in excited whispers.

“E-Excuse me, K-Kuroo-san?”

The rapper breaks out in a large grin and stands, bowing formally at the pair.

“Yes? Hello, ladies. Are you two fans of mine?”

“Yes!! Very much so! I loved your new song!” The girl, about 17 with dark lashes and fire red hair, praises politely.

“Would, would you mind taking a picture with us!?” The other chirps.

“Not at all! Akaashi, my pal, would you be a dear and snap some shots?” It takes everything for Akaashi not to roll his eyes.

“But of course.”

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

This is how Akaashi comes to search up the 2018 Panthers roster on his phone’s Google. He gives up his sleuthing when he realizes he doesn’t remember the guy’s name or know what he looks like.

He forgets about the whole thing until later that night, at Kenma’s celebration party for 5 million followers. It’s small, of course, about ten of them drinking champagne and playing drinking games. Akaashi knows Hinata did all the planning anyway, despite the event being at Kenma’s. The trio is standing off to the side when Akaashi pulls out his phone briefly to check the time.

Kuroo should be here any minute, he thinks. Hinata peers too, instinctually curious.

“Hey! Whatcha looking up the Panthers for? That’s not the latest roster, you know! Ooh, you’re looking up X-Ace, right?! Seeeeee, I knew you’d like him!”

Akaashi looks down at the picture Hinata points to. The guy’s sturdy and smug with one thick eyebrow raised. His chest is broad and his eyes are perfectly golden. The first thing Akaashi notices, however, is his hair. Absolutely ridiculous, he thinks. Makes sense that this guy’s Hinata’s idol.

Kenma raises his eyebrows.

“What made you do that?” he asks.

“Oh, uh, just...curious.”

Kenma looks like he’s about to say more when Oikawa joins their group with a boisterous, “Pudding Head! Congratsssss!” He pinches the smaller’s cheeks, who just about hisses in response.

Akaashi, grateful for Oikawa’s interruption, takes another quick glance at… X-Ace, and pockets his phone.

Hinata grins wide when Tooru, seemingly already a bit tipsy, ruffles his hair.

“Thanks, Oikawa-san," Kenma begrudgingly replies.

“You know, Kuroo is-”

Akaashi, ever vigilant, cuts in immediately, “-is so happy for you, Ken.”

Oikawa seems to get the hint, his eyes widening in realization.

“He sure is! Want some more alcohol?” The chestnut-haired friend of Kuroo’s quickly shoves his bottle of strawberry rum in Kenma’s face.

“You know I hate your sticky Malibu. Why are you guys acting all weird?”

Hinata, completely oblivious to the unspoken diaogue between Akaashi and Oikawa, tugs Kenma’s shirt.

“Kenma, Kenma! We should stream!!”

“Hey, that’s not too bad an idea, Shoyo,” Akaashi adds, if just to distract him.

“Sure, we could play some Mario-Kart. My fans seem to like you guys. Just don’t do anything stupid, Tooru.”

“Who, me?! And when do I-” Oikawa starts dramatically. The rest of the men send him a collective stare which answers his question before he can even finish it. He crosses his arms with a huff.

“Whatever. I call Princess Peach.”

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

After Kenma finishes setting up the Livestream and the small group has gained over a couple thousand viewers, Akaashi is in dead last as Blooper. Well, almost dead last, expect for...

“How am I losing? No fair, Kozume!” Oikawa whines.

“Me? What did I do?” Kenma-san replies, uninterested. Unsurprisingly, the Youtuber is in first place with his signature Toad.

“I don’t know, your fancy settings or something. Iwa-chan! Back me up, here!”

“It’s ‘cause you suck, Trashy-kawa,” Iwaizumi-san, whom the quartet bribed into playing with agedashi dofu, doesn’t hesitate to retaliate. His player, Bowser, is in second, with Hinata close behind as Yoshi.

“Take that, Hajime-san! Oh, shoot, sorry, Akaashi-san!” Hinata shouts, rising from his seat as he hurls a red shell, accidentally hitting Keiji.

“Hinata, language!” Kuroo’s smooth voice floods the apartment in mock disapproval. Kenma whips his head so fast he drops his controller. The blonde doesn’t say anything but slowly rises to his feet, then breaks into a short run at the sight of his boyfriend. The former picks up Kenma effortlessly and twirls him in a tight embrace. Akaashi looks on fondly.

“Kuroo-san!” Hinata exclaims, jumping up excitedly.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, Tetsuro’s home. I’m about to kick all of your asses!” Oikawa waves away his entrance, sticking out his tongue. Iwaizumi slaps him on the back of the head.

The stream chat has exploded at the sound of Kuroo.

bb-corp: is that Kuroo???

applephi: NO WAY djwhdnbwibdfwq

yoyotetsuro: couple goals

kurokenxx: will anyone ever love me like Kuroo loves Kenma?

keeeeenmaaa_: I think this is the first time BouncingBall’s lost at Mariokart

----------

A little tired and a lot tipsy, Akaashi insists on taking a cab home. It doesn't feel right to invade Kenma's when the Kuroo's home. Keiji could tell the pair... needed their space for the night. He splits the ride with Hinata, who talks his ear off the whole way about Kuroo's arrival and how badly he wishes he had the money to go to a concert. Akaashi smirks at that, just a little. Shoyo exits the vehicle with an enthusiastic, "Bye, 'Kaashi-san!! I'll see you soon! Maybe I'll come to the store, or, or, you can come to see me and Tobio-chan! He didn't come out tonight because he has a game tomorrow, but-" The rest of his goodbye is drowned out by him closing the door.

"I apologize for the noise," Keiji addresses the driver. She makes a noise of recognition and drops him off 15 minutes later. He thinks about his conversation with Kuroo about "baiting his hook" as he enters his living room, dropping his keys unceremoniously on the floor next to his door. What does that even mean? Akaashi doesn't exactly meet a lot of people with his work and his friends are all, well, with each other. He's happy for them and all, but sometimes being around so many couples gets a bit nauseating. Akaashi is struck with a small wave of loneliness when he waters his small bamboo plant, made worse by the two shots of Malibu Oikawa shoved down his throat. This is all I have to come home to, a fucking bamboo plant. Akaashi stares at its braided stalks with a vengeance. Not a second later, he pets the leaves in apology. I shouldn't take this out on the plant.

He's always been relatively independent, but having someone felt kind of... nice, for a change. It's been almost a year since Daichi left, and probably 6 months since he and Suga got together. It's one of those things that Akaashi didn't process for awhile, forcing him to fend for himself when the realization came to knock him on his ass months down the line. He's been confronting turned over picture frames and empty sheets ever since.

And so it goes.

He pads over to his bed with a sigh and for the second time today, falls asleep and dreams of nothing.

[dansedan]

digging through stuff to submit to a writing contest, so here are two original short stories written about a year apart which I’m still generally proud of!

That Which Flesh Is Heir To

Death

The word seemed funny, coming out of her dainty mouth. She seemed too small, her voice too high-pitched in attempted formality. Her German thick with effort. It was one of the major themes of religious art across Europe at the time, she said. She waved her thin arms around her with every word, a little too excitedly, as if using a conductor’s meter to elicit some response from our group. Fear of death was useful to the church: for the sake of convincing the uneducated masses to maintain faith, and to benefit from the guilt of nobles, since their main role then was still in warfare.

Our class was moving on, the teacher rounding up stragglers and signaling the entrance to the next hall. It was filled with statues and paintings and marble, floor to ceiling wrapped in colors much like this one. My feet refused to obey her order, standing instead unflinchingly in front of the statue. In front of her. I couldn’t bear to move my gaze from the figure’s eyes, blank and hollow, despairing. The world blurred around the single point of bitter fate ensconced in marble.

Do you want to see something interesting? I hadn’t expected her to address me. She had moved now- we were side by side- giving off warmth from the proximity of her bare shoulders to my arm. I forced myself to nod, and felt a movement, something stiff and hot against my ear- something plastic. I like to listen to it, sometimes, she was saying, so close to me. It reminds me of this statue. Her fingers brushed the shell of my ear. It was Mozart, and the soft wailing choral voices seemed to echo my emotions as her fingers wilted back into her hand and away from me.

We stood there for a moment, lost in the crowd of museumgoers. An island in their midst, and in that second all I could think was do not let this go. This feeling, this fire in the pit of your stomach, this hollow feeling in your chest that’s rising to your head do not let this go. The violins and chorus and the marble. The cherubs in the vaulted ceiling smiling down with knowing, cruel smiles. Her collarbone and silver band across her chest do not let them go. The chatter of the crowd- Italian and Spanish and Croatian or Dutch. Do not let them go. Not for one second of your life. Do not forget this.

And I felt her press into my side, and touch my shoulder gently. She was whispering into my chest it’s alright, let it out it’s alright I’ve done it too. It’s helped me too, I’ve done it too let it out. I’ve cried here too, I’ve done this too. I feel it too. And as she held me I was shaking. Please do not forget this. Do not let this go.

All that flesh makes willing

Our affair was brief- I was a tourist- but she was beautiful, and cold only in the literal sense common for women of her stature. A thin white thing, like the marble she’d been surrounded with at work. Chestnut hair draped across her shoulders, to the collarbone- I’d never till then comprehended why dress codes, in my country, called to cover the collarbone. I could (and often did) end up staring at her for hours, willing her to be my muse, to make me make something, but she was so pragmatic that she often ended all of these discussions by smiling (I could hear it in her voice, the smiling) and requesting some menial favor. “could you please buy cigarettes”, or  “pass me the salt-shaker”, or “isn’t it late now?”, anything. But she was beautiful, so I did it for her, anyhow.  And so it happened that by the end of the three months stay I’d agreed upon with my agent for the residence the only thing I’d made from her was a larger pile of laundry and a couple embarrassing purchases- underwear, linens, whatever. And even in the final moments, at the train station, she only smiled and said good-bye and told me not to drift off when I was travelling alone, that the front of the train was still dangerous. And she smiled small and nodded sternly as she walked away, foot over unbearable foot blending together in an undulating gesture. And I stood there, dumb and half-blind (the irony) with agony but not saying anything, and eventually I checked my watch and it said it was midnight when I’d almost missed my ticket and got stranded (sometimes I wish I’d allowed that, then. Walked back to her apartment and killed her with kisses, refused to leave. But I was too pragmatic and my rent was due a couple days and I never understood how visas worked) and I made it in by running and forsook her wisdom, sleeping straight to Britain with only a couple minutes of half-lucid awareness where I denied wet towels and assistance transferring train cars.

It was only several months later that I let myself remember her, thick on the tail of another woman as I usually was, reminiscing my journeys from that summer until I suddenly stumbled upon those moments where we’d pressed together, where her smallness met the empty vast of my own hollowed chest and we breathed light the night into the daybreak. And at this memory I at once ached, and softly sighed around my daily life for days again without reprieve, reprimanding myself for forgetting her so quickly, as one does when stirred from sleep when dreams handcrafted by your mind so soon escape you. When the London rain was blue and humid bog-warm I would pace around the city with my coat on wandering. As if I could find her this way somehow. After weeks then I resolved I’d make her- as I was still convinced she had been my muse then- and conscripted through some not insignificant haggling the help of a dear friend to trot to the museum one brief moment to peruse their own swathe of Roman marble as material.

“So you bedded some Italian and now you can’t get over it- what’s with the statues?”

“We met at the museum”

“’The Museum’,” she said mockingly. “You were in Italy, Eva, which bloody museum?”

“The statue-room at the Uffizi”

“there’s more than-“

“she’s the guide there- speaks ten languages. She’s so clever…” I wondered ‘round the room. Bright blue walls surrounded the bright stone figures, seeming almost like a classroom round. “She was beautiful, Hannah.”

She stood still by the entrance- we were alone, and it was all quite quiet, a weekday near the start of June drew little people here. For a few tentative steps, her boots clacked loudly on the tile.

“…how did you meet her anyway?”

“Well, she’s the tour guide.”

“Well most people don’t shag the tour guide, genius.”

We were standing, shoulder-shoulder facing Venus in the corner of the rounded hall. Rather striking, must be- pair of stone-hard lezzies facing just that goddess. Hannah’s fuzz-buzz haircut and her stiff-wool coverall next to my own shaggy hair and rounded shades indoors. My sight-cane stuck to my Martens, clacking with my tics and movements (base-floor-base-floor-base-floor-base-floor).

“Well there was this pair of wrestlers, and I suppose she pegged me just the type then, looking at them close.”

“ah. Gotta love the Romans.”  

“She’s so clever. Did you know she knew the story behind all the statues even, all about the burial sites and everything?”

“M’pretty sure they’re trained to do that”

“but she was clever. She’s really clever.”

“Jolly good then.”

I had to turn then- same comforting brown-orange smudge of longtime friendship as was usual- grab at her elbows till we were close enough to see the limits of her own round ruddy face.

“Hannah dear, I think I love her.”

“I think you’re spitting on me, Eva.” And she grabbed my shoulders playfully and pinched them tight within her plush palms. “and that you probably need to shag someone else and get back on your medicine.”

“you don’t get it, she was beautiful. She was-“ and here I very grandly gestured to the marble next to us, taking a risk and hoping we were still next to the Venus somehow since I’d lost my footing on how many steps inside I’d taken (and taking a risk that I’d maybe slap a piece of ancient history in the process). “prettier than this one, even.”

And Hannah was silent, because she knew better than to mention my blindness, and I dreaded to feel her being right about something I felt so strongly on.

“you don’t…her collarbone- she’s just. So pretty, so-” I hate my blubbering- this small pathetic schoolchild voice I make all suddenly- but soon her arm was back on my shoulder and she was moving close so I could see orange and grey in us fuzzing together, feel her strong arm on my back and nape. And she said “ alright, I believe you”  and “let’s just get you home now”  and we did, gone on the underground riding all the way together although she lived in Surrey and was supposedly only visiting for the day, and she sat in my apartment with the kettle on while I dragged a canvas out of the storage and started glopping color on it, thinking of the nearness of her face in the warm green summer nights of Florence then. Until I tired myself out at night and we just sat still staring at the wall with it, sharing cups of lukewarm grocery-bag tea with no sugar in and staring, staring, staring long and hard and in remembrance. And I wasn’t sure if that’s what she looked like because it had been so long and such a distance. And I felt then perhaps her smile sounded different to the painting, but Hannah spoke after a while of silence saying, “beautiful she is, then.” And that moment I felt fine and shut the door again on feelings- like at the train station back then- and melted into the naked brown of my friend’s shoulder, soft and dark and oaken-sure. And I willed me to forget myself.

[keenbeliever]

Traveling To America? New ESTA Registration Mandated?

What Countries Are in the Visa Waiver Program?

Andorra, Austria, Australia, Belgium, Brunei, Czech Republic, Denmark, Estonia, Finland, France, Germany, Hungary, Iceland, Travel Ireland, Italy, Japan, Latvia, Liechtenstein, Lithuania, Luxembourg, Monaco, The Netherlands, New Zealand, Norway, Portugal, San Marino, Singapore, Slovakia, Slovenia, South Korea, Spain, Sweden, Switzerland, and the United Kingdom.

A website, operated by the American government, is where you register for ESTA: esta.cbp.dhs.gov. The ESTA information you submit via the computer is compared with certain American law enforcement databases and then either approved or denied. Foreign travelers will not be able to submit ESTA applications at American airports after arriving or at a U.S. Embassy in their country.

What if I Don't Have Plans to Travel to the U.S. Yet?

VWP travelers are not required to have specific plans to travel to the United States before they apply for an ESTA Travel Authorization. As soon as VWP travelers begin to plan a trip to visit the U.S., they are encouraged to apply for travel authorization through the ESTA website. Applicants are not required to update their destination addresses or itineraries if they change after their ESTA Travel Authorization has been granted.

An ESTA Travel Authorization only authorizes a traveler to board an airline or ship for travel to the U.S. under the Visa Waiver Program. After they arrive, travelers who obtained an ESTA Travel Authorization may still be denied entry (also called "admission") at a U.S. port of entry, such as an American airport. An approved ESTA is not a guarantee of admissibility at an American airport. In all cases, the American airport officers make the final determination whether a foreign traveler can enter the U.S. or not. You still have to establish to the satisfaction of the inspecting officer that you are entitled to be admitted to the U.S. under the Visa Waiver Program.

Can I Change My Travel Itinerary?

It is possible to change an itinerary on an existing ESTA Travel Authorization; ESTA is designed so that you can update parts of it at any time. Travelers who did not get an ESTA approval may be denied boarding by the airlines, experience delayed processing, or be denied admission to the U.S. at the American airport.

What If I Already Have a Valid B1/B2 Visitor Visa?

While the ESTA Travel Authorization is completed online with no interview, there are Visas that require a U.S. Embassy interview. The Visa process has separate procedures, which generally require an appointment, travel to a U.S. Embassy, an interview with a Consular Officer, processing time, and the payment of an application fee. If a foreign national already went to the U.S. Embassy and has a valid B1/B2 Visitor Visa pasted in their passport it is not necessary to get an ESTA Travel Authorization because the traveler will be entering with a B1/B2 Visitor Visa and not through the Visa Waiver Program. Keep in mind that an approved ESTA Travel Authorization is not a Visa.

Can I Re-Apply for an ESTA Travel Authorization if Denied?

Yes, but you must wait at least 10 days to reapply and your circumstances must have changed. Unless there is a change in a substantive fact, re-application will not change the result. Keep in mind that applying for an ESTA Travel Authorization with false information can cause a foreign national to be permanently barred from ever entering America. The ESTA system is designed to try to prevent individuals from changing and manipulating an ESTA entry until they receive an approval.

What If I am Denied an ESTA Travel Authorization and Have No Changed Circumstances?

There are three types of responses to an ESTA application; approved, pending or travel not authorized (denied). Applicants who receive a "pending" response are advised to check the website 72 hours later. Applicants who are denied will be required to go to a U.S. Embassy to apply for a formal nonimmigrant visa, such as a B1/B2 Visa, which may take months.

Can a Traveler Find Out the Reason Why an ESTA Application was Denied?

The U.S. Dept. of Homeland Security has stated that travelers may contact the DHS Travel Redress Inquiry Program (DHS TRIP at dhs.gov) but there are no guarantees that information about a denial will be divulged. U.S. Embassies and Consulates are not required to provide details about an ESTA denial nor resolve the issue that caused the ESTA denial.

What If I Have a Criminal Record?

Only those qualified to travel under the VWP are eligible to pre-register through ESTA. Persons who have been arrested and/or convicted are generally not eligible for VWP and probably require a formal Visa, such as a B1/B2 Visa, to travel to America. If a foreign national has received tickets for speeding (which don't usually result in an arrest or conviction) they are probably still eligible for the VWP and ESTA. If a foreign traveler has been denied entry into or deported from the U.S., they require a formal Visa.

Do Any Other Countries Have a Similar Program?

Australia has a program called the Electronic Travel Authority (ETA) that mandates travelers to submit an ETA application electronically through a website requesting permission to travel to Australia. Airlines may refuse to accept passengers who do not have either an approved ETA or Visa to enter Australia.

How Long Will the ESTA Application Data be Stored? Who Can Access It?

The ESTA Travel Authorization is valid for two years or until the traveler's passport expires, whichever comes first. The American government will maintain the information for at least 15 years to allow retrieval of the information for law enforcement, national security, or investigatory purposes. Information submitted through ESTA can also be shared with any U.S. government organization.

What Information Does the Airlines Get?

Airlines will receive confirmation of a passenger's ESTA status visa the "Advance Passenger Information System" (APIS) which shows whether the ESTA authorization has been granted for a Visa Waiver Program traveler. It is recommended that the traveler print out the ESTA application approval in order to maintain a record of their ESTA application number and to have confirmation of their ESTA status.

What About Children?

Accompanied and unaccompanied children, regardless of age, are required to obtain an independent ESTA Travel Authorization.

What if a Mistake was Made on the ESTA Application?

The ESTA website will ask applicants to review their application before submitting it. Also, there is an update function for certain information such as email address, telephone number, or flight information. If an applicant makes a mistake that cannot be "updated," he will need to submit a new ESTA application.

What if I Only Have a Connecting Flight Through the U.S.?

Visa Waiver Program visitors who have a connecting flight in the U.S. are required to either have ESTA Travel Authorization or a Visa from a U.S. Embassy in their passport to travel through the U.S. even for a one hour stop. If a traveler is only planning to stop in the U.S. en route to another country, the traveler should enter the words "In Transit" and his final destination in the address lines under the heading "Address While In The United States" on the ESTA application.

What Are the Questions on the ESTA Travel Authorization Application?

The traveler must provide (in English) biographical data including name, birth date, country of citizenship, country of residence, email address, sex, telephone number, passport information, destination address in the U.S., travel information (round trip airline ticket, flight number and city where you are boarding) as well as questions regarding communicable diseases (chancroid, gonorrhea, granuloma inquinale, HIV, leprosy, lymphogranuloma venereum, syphilis [active], tuberculosis [active], and others), physical or mental disorders, drug addiction problems, arrests, convictions, past history of visa cancellation or denial, and prior deportations from the U.S. The traveler will also be asked whether they are seeking work in the U.S., have ever been deported or tried to get a visa by fraud or misrepresentation. The traveler will be asked if they have ever detained a child of a U.S. Citizen granted custody of the child, and whether they have ever asserted immunity from prosecution.

Do I Select "Business" or "Pleasure (Tourist) at the Airport Port of Entry?

After the ESTA Travel Authorization is granted, the foreign traveler will be interviewed by government officers at the first American airport they land. The officer will ask what the foreign traveler will be doing in America and the questioning can take up to four hours in a detained setting called "secondary inspection." The officer may ask the traveler "what else are you doing in America?" repeatedly to try to get "the real" answer. If the traveler is only going to be a tourist, they are not allowed to do any business, including meeting with any attorneys, applying for a bank account, meeting with real estate agents, or other business consulting activities. Even though the traveler is going to conduct just one business meeting while in America, they are required to report it and enter as a business visitor. The business visitor is allowed to participate in tourist activities, but the tourist visitor is not allowed to participate in any business activities. Therefore, if any business might be conducted while in America, it is best to tell the government officers about it at the airport to avoid being accused of lying, put immediately on a plane back to your home country, and barred from America for life.

Can I Be Searched in the American Airport? Am I Entitled to Legal Representation?

While being interviewed at the American airport, all luggage (even locked bags) can be searched, as well as the traveler's body and his/her cell phone (including text messages and phone numbers) and laptop (including hard drive). The officers may "google" a traveler's name and check out their myspace, Facebook or hyves pages. The traveler is not allowed to be represented by an attorney or even call their attorney while in "secondary inspection." Bathroom visits, water and food may be limited, so it is best to prepare for such an occasion while still on the plane before landing.

Do I Still Have to Go Through the "US-VISIT" Program at the American AirportForeign travelers arriving at American airports and seaports must still be photographed and fingerprinted every time they enter the U.S Who Should I Ask For Help to Fill Out the ESTA Application?

The information a traveler provides on the ESTA application can remain in their file with U.S. authorities for a minimum of 15 years - probably longer. If a foreign traveler has some questions about how to answer the questions so as not to be permanently barred from America, it would be prudent to them to pay for a legal consultation with an American Immigration Attorney who is a member of the American Immigration Lawyers Association (AILA). Beware of unauthorized private websites that offer ESTA application assistance for $49.99 - they are usually not authorized to practice immigration law and are asking travelers to pay for a copy of the application questions, which are free on the dhs.gov website.If I Am Denied the ESTA Travel Authorization Will it Effect My Ability to Obtain a Visa at the U.S. Embassy?

When the ESTA Travel Authorization is denied, the foreign traveler must make an appointment at a U.S. Embassy in their country to apply for a formal Visa. The U.S. Embassy is operated by the U.S. Department of State and there are no expedited procedures for those who have been denied ESTA Travel Authorization. Because the ESTA program is so new, it is impossible to predict how badly a denial of the ESTA Travel Authorization will impact a traveler's application for a Visa at a U.S. Embassy or impact their future travel to America in general. American Immigration Attorneys are in close contact with their foreign clients and will share the denial information with each other starting in January 2009. Currently there are no government policies regulating this area of the law, or opportunities to appeal a denial.

When Is the a "New" ESTA Travel Authorization Required?

A new ESTA Travel Authorization is required during the two years if (1) the traveler is issued a new passport (2) the traveler changes his name (3) the traveler changes his or her gender (4) the traveler's country of citizenship changes or (5) the circumstances underlying the traveler's previous responses to any of the ESTA application questions requiring a "yes" or "no" response have changed (such as a new arrest).Can an American Immigration Attorney, Travel Agent or Employer Fill Out the ESTA Application?

A third party, such as a relative, travel agent or American Immigration Attorney, is permitted to submit an ESTA application on behalf of a VWP traveler. Be aware that the traveler is still responsible under the law for the answers submitted on his or her behalf by a third party.

[luckyspike]

I mean, stabdads...(my autocorrect wanted to change it to ‘standards’ haaaaaaa)

Karkat nods, cautiously, as a wave of relief washes over him along with the approval of the rest of the OR team. A med student who didn’t break field? Buy a lotto ticket, it must be your lucky day. The surgeon has her eyes on him, a needle driver in one gloved hand. “First time?”

Karkat is a third year medical student, and it is his fifth day in surgery rotation. He is scrubbed in, and watching closely over the shoulder of the lead surgeon as the woman deftly and deliberately removes the inflamed appendix. He studies as she washes out the wound, and suctions any residual fluid that might harbor bacteria from the ruptured vestige of human digestion. And his heart skips a beat, just one, when she turns to look at him over the edge of her surgical mask and says, “How would you like to close, Mr. Vantas?”

He licked his lips, unseen under his own mask. “If you don’t mind.”

She steps aside, and gestures to the wound, all but the final sutures complete. “You have to learn sometime. Have you sutured before? Are you scrubbed?” She glances away from him to the circulating nurse, and raises an eyebrow. “Did he scrub?”

The woman nods, and makes a note on her computer. “He did. Watched him myself.”

“He hasn’t broken field,” the OR tech adds, as she tidies away the unused instruments and confirms the sponge count with the nurse. “Kept my eye on him the entire case.”

Karkat nods, cautiously, as a wave of relief washes over him along with the approval of the rest of the team. A med student who didn’t break field? Buy a lotto ticket, it must be your lucky day. The surgeon has her eyes on him, a needle driver in one gloved hand. “First time?”

He does his damnedest to keep his hand steady as he takes the needle, and looks down at the wound, clean and neat and so much easier, he thinks, than all of the wounds he’d sutured before …

“I had a little experience before med school,” he admits, as he flicks the needle through the borders, and neatly ties the first stitch. “But nothing formal, really, so I’m not sure if I’ve done it right before or -”

The surgeon shrugs and watches, her eyebrows raised. “Not bad, Mr. Vantas. What did you say you were considering going into after school? Plastics?”

“Emergency medicine. Maybe family medicine. I haven’t, uh, decided yet.” His hand slides through the motions, smooth and practiced, without much input from his brain.

The surgeon smiles, the corners of her eyes wrinkling with the expression. “With a little practice you’ll do prettier sutures than any of the rest of the hacks you’ll work with, then. Nice job. Where did you practice before school - did you work in an ED or something?”

“Um.” He pauses as he ties the final knot, and thinks about his first time suturing, when he was seven and his dad had come home with an ugly slice down his shoulder, just beyond his own reach. Or the time when he was ten, and his dad had insisted Karkat stitch the cut down his arm before Droog got back and pitched a fit. Or the time when he was fifteen, and Slick had come into the hideout bleeding from his flank at an alarming rate, and told Droog “Fuck off and let Karkat do it, if I wanted it fucked up anymore I’d’ve let the asshole finish the job.” He’d passed out then, when Droog had chucked the suture kit directly into the wound, and would later deny ever saying such a thing, but Karkat still counts it among his proudest moments.

“Kind of like an ED. Sort of … field medicine, I guess,” he mumbles, as he dutifully submits the needle for the final count, his mind still on the hideout, with its blood-stained kitchen table and the old coffee can they’d used to keep old needles in - not a single needle counter or sterile surface in sight. “First responder kind of stuff.”

The surgeon nods, and then shrugs. “Well, whatever you did it was a good start. Tomorrow we have a colectomy - you can get more practice then, alright? Might be a little more complicated than this one, but it’ll be good practice for you.” She gives the final wound an appraising look, and nods to the anesthesiologist, who starts tearing down drapes. The surgeon strips off her gloves and shoots them into a bin before she pulls her mask off and nods to Karkat, who returns the gesture, an unconscious little smile on his face. “Nice work, Mr. Vantas. You must’ve had a good teacher.”

Karkat pointedly does not laugh. He remembers the times when Slick and Droog would both be yelling at him through a stitch job - put that there, no not there, there - and shrugs, and says “Thanks, yeah,” because although sometimes his mouth runs faster than his brain, today he manages to have the sense the sense not to say “They were the worst.”

[lunaplena]

okay, i think i’ve been sitting on this long enough that i can now speak about it...storytime ahead

as we all know i’m still looking for a new job, and i’ve been submitting applications consistently (and carefully, for the most part) for a while now and not hearing back, or getting rejected, or never moving past the initial interview stage...well, about three weeks ago i get an email inviting me in for an invitation with this architecture firm and i’m STOKED, but this firm is in california, which...i am not and they think i am because i’ve been borrowing a relative’s address on my resume lol

anyway i tell them yes i’ll be there when do you want me and the whole time i’m like shitting a brick because if they say the next day i have no idea how the hell i’m going to get out there but i’m comitted and i’m ready to pay 500$ for a one-way plane ticket sflkjsdflkjsdfglkj but the interview is set for a week later and i can breathe...

so i book a whole trip i literally drop everything to go to california for the weekend to go to this interview and i’m so excited but so nervous the whole time...

anyway the interview comes on monday and i get there and i’m fuckin SHAKING the whole time...but i worried for nothing because honestly, the interview is sort of a hot mess in that it wasn’t very formal and i was nervous and THEY were nervous but i got along pretty well with my interviewers and i’m there for literally an hour and a half with them, which included a tour of the office, meeting key members of the team i will potentially interact with, including the big boss, and they show me the work area and things like that...so i leave feeling super excited right but tempering my expectations regardless

so like, a day later one of the interviewers emails me and asks for my references, and i send the list to them but after i sent it i realized i hadn’t updated my references in like a year...or two...

and like. okay it’s been nearly two weeks since the interview and i haven’t heard anything since...i even sent a thank you email a week later to follow up but they didn’t even reply...and now i’m so so soo soooooo sad because i thought the whole thing had gone over so well

i’m trying not to dwell on what went wrong but i am thinking that my references may have been a strike against me??? and also, the interview wasn’t structured very well at all so i don’t think that they got to ask the important questions, nor i because they explained everything all over the place...maybe i didn’t impress them enough or they met someone else that they liked better...

sigh. job hunting is hard

[hookahazz]

Chronicles of a Black Girl Vol 2: It’s New York Baby |Harry Styles|

Warnings: Cursing, fluff (this was ji cute)

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: Here’s part two, I finally finished. It’s so long. I took a different approach this time, this one was just like a story I had in my head and I wanted the reader to be black. I hope you guys enjoy it. I finished editing this at 2 in the morning so please, please, please give me feedback tell me how you feel about it (love it, hate it, like it, dislike it) if you see any spelling errors let me know. Also, I tried to write Harrys dialogue the way he actually talks IRL so for my advanced writers who do that tell me if I did it right, please. This volume will probably have little blurbs in the future. 

ASK BOX 

Harry’s lost, very fucking lost. He’s stuck somewhere in the middle of New York of all places, and of course, he hasn’t a clue as to where he is nor does he know how to get anywhere. It was spur of the moment and Harry nearly regrets saying yes to Niall crazy proposition. He had called him hours before their plane departed, asking if he wanted to go to New York and Harry really couldn't decline (he couldn’t find it in his heart to, not with Niall on the other end of the line crying because he wasn’t able to return the tickets nor was he able to get a refund on the hotel he booked for the romantic getaway he planned for his girlfriend who of course broke up with him over text just before).

“Bloody fuck,” he yelled on the corner of an unknown street.

Harry was alone now because his idiotic best mate hadn’t been paying attention and hopped on a train without him.

“I swore you were right behind me, mate!” Niall had professed over the phone.

“I wasn’t Niall! You were ways in front of me, damn it!”

“Okay, okay. Let’s just calm down alright? All you need to do is get on a train headed s-”

Of course, only Harrys phone would die while he’s stuck in the middle of nowhere in a city he’s never been in while he’s without a charger.

“No, no, no! Fucking hell!” he screamed, pulling at his curls. He plopped himself on a bench and hung his head on the verge of tears. Harry was not a cryer, but with the stress of not knowing where he was and this anger he had begun storing toward Niall and his bitchy ex-girlfriend, crying seemed like the only logical thing to do.

“Yo, what’s the matter whichu, kid? Why you spazzin’?“

Without even looking up, Harry let it all out without a moment's hesitation, in dire need of a source to vent to not caring who or what it was.

“Well for one, M’lost for christ sake. Don’t have a bloody fucking clue as to where I am! My phones dead, my best mate jumped on a train without me, M’fucking hungry and it’s s’bloody fucking cold out here! Why’s it s’fucking cold?!” he concluded, out of breath from his confession.

“You’s a funny one,” the girl, he had concluded immediately, giggled causing Harry to look up.

“I’m (Y/N), what’s your name curly Q?”

“M’Harry,” he grinned, now admiring just how beautiful she was.

(Y/N) had a dark, rich, creamy complexion that Harry couldn’t stop gawking at; it reminded him of expensive chocolate he had once tasted while visiting Ecuador (a high school trip he submitted his payment for at the minute because his mom had been pestering him about how he never does anything fun and that he’d regret it later). She had long, dark brown and blonde braids that fell past her back and stopped at her bum that Harry yearned to play  She also had the prettiest eyes Harry had ever seen, they were a chocolate brown that seemed to be glowing due to the streetlights they had sat under. And to Harry, even though she had only spoken only a couple of sentences to him and laughed at his series of unfortunate events, he thought her voice was like velvet (she had a thick New York accent he thought was just the cutest). He could listen to her talk all day and he’d never complain. Harry loved everything about this girl and he knew nothing of her. He just thought she was really, really, really fucking beautiful.

“Odd name for an odd kid but still cute,” she smiled.

“Hey... M’not a kid. M’a grown man,” he whined only making (Y/N) laugh.

“Yeah sure,” she waved him off with yet another smile (Harry had come to really adore it by now) before zipping her jacket up and putting her hood over her head.

“It’s brick out here,” she shivered.

“Brick? What are you going on about, love?” he questioned, tilting his head like a curious cat (Harry wasn’t one for using slang).

“Just means cold babe, na mean?”  

His heart warmed at the use of “babe”. He knew deep down she didn’t mean anything by it but god, he loved to hear the word roll off her tongue (it was rather pleasing to him).

“N-na mean? I don't f-”

“It’s finna rain, sweets,” she hummed looking up at the sky.

Harry groaned in frustration and annoyance (not at (Y/N) of course), mumbling some curse words under his breath and tugging at his hair trying to figure out what the hell he was going to do.

“Erm, are there any shelters, perhaps, nearby I can go to? J-just until I can figure out what to do?” He questioned nervously,

God, he was so embarrassed. Harry was sure, absolutely sure, that (Y/N) had thought he was the biggest loser in the world right now. If his face wasn’t so red and bitten by the cold, she could actually see how embarrassed he was.

Unfortunately for Harry, there were none within walking distance. By now, all of the local shops were closed and everyone was pretty much inside, sleeping by now, resting ready for whatever tomorrow holds. Now (Y/N) wasn’t heartless, she wasn’t just about to leave the curly haired boy out in the cold to freeze. In fact, she was probably one of the kindest girls New York had to offer but that doesn’t mean she couldn't “fuck a bitch up”, she would proclaim, if need be. She did feel bad for the cute boy though. He didn’t seem suspicious or dangerous in fact quite the opposite. She thought he looked rather cute, his nose and ears red from the cold, his curly hair poking from his bandana he had wrapped around his head. He resembled a real teddy bear in her eyes.

“You can stay at mines for tonight,” she blurted without a second thought.

Silence fell between them making her almost regret her offer.

“Only if you want, duh. Of course, you don’t have to Its just real cold out here and I just don’t feel comfortable leaving you out here alone all night, it’s mad dangerous at night.”

“Y-You sure, love? Really don’t want to impose. S’bad enough you're wasting your time sitting out in the cold with me,” he smiled, warming her heart.

“Oh, you’re buggin’ kid. It’s really no problem at all. Can’t have you freezing your balls off in the cold now can we, Harry?” She smirked. She quite liked the way his name rolled off her tongue. She liked his name too. (Y/N)’s never ever met a ‘Harry’ before.  

↫ ↬

“It’s kinda small but I’ll make it comfortable for you,” she mumbled, sticking and twisting the key into the lock, opening the door to her apartment.

Harry really adored (Y/N), he really did think she was quite lovely. He was so grateful for her; he’s never met someone so kind and trusting.

“Damn it. It’s brick in here too?! Fuck is going on with the heat?” she exclaimed rushing to the heater as soon as she managed to get the door open.

Harry just stood there, awkwardly at that, by the door, really unsure of what do. He didn’t want to be rude and just sit so formally. He just twirled a curl around his finger until she came back. He was extremely nervous and the last thing he wanted to do was seem like a weirdo or make her uncomfortable in any way. Harry thought he’d actually die from embarrassment if he did anything stupid in front of (Y/N).

“Hey, sit down get comfortable, relax, Harry. I’ll get you some warm clothes and I’ll wash your old ones,” she yelled from down the hall.

Harry sat down on her rather comfortable couch, he was almost excited to sleep on her couch. His body really is not meant to sleep on couches, it gives him a lot of back pains (Niall has had an earful of Harry's complaints in the past) but Harry didn’t care tonight, he had such a long day and he’s just grateful that he gets to sleep in a warm apartment rather than a cold park bench or some moldy motel.

“Here babe,” her smooth voice interrupted his thoughts.

“Thanks s’much, love. I really appreciate it,” Harry smiled, gently taking the plaid blue pants and a plain black T-shirt from her hands (they were decorated with two silver rings, one on her pinky and ring finger. Harry thought that was quite cute given that he also wore silver rings).

“Oh please, it’s not a big deal. I couldn't just leave you out there, babe,” (Y/N) poked the dimple indented in his cheek and giggled. She really adored his smile as he did hers, there's just something about those dimples that just made (Y/N)’s knees weak.

↫ ↬

“Oh, will you shut the fuck up about that! I was 8! I’m not telling you shit about my childhood ever again, Styles!”

(Y/N) and Harry had soon learned that they weren’t going to get any sleep, not with the constant noise of police sirens going off; it was about 12, maybe 1 in the morning? Neither of them knew, both of them too caught up in a game of spades (in which (Y/N) had to repeatedly remind Harry of the rules) and the two boxes of pizza (Y/N) ordered (even though Harry had begged her to let him pay, she insisted saying he was the guest), to even think about sleep

(Y/N) was born and raised in New York, The Bronx specifically. It was dangerous as hell to be living out there sometimes but man, did she love that borough nonetheless. She knew just about everyone in South Bronx, most of them were like family to her. The Bronx was her home and it was also the last place anyone would want to tour when they came to New York, so for the life of her, she really couldn't figure out how this six feet, teddy bear looking dude stumbled into one of the most dangerous boroughs in the state.

“Okay okay (Y/N) I guess I’ll let it slide,” Harry bit his lip, trying to contain his laughter (she had just told him about the time one of her big brothers scared her so bad she pissed herself and Harry couldn’t stop laughing).

“Now here’s an important question that’ll really decide if I actually like you or not,” she rolled her eyes.

“Yeah okay shoot, curly Q,” she grinned, laying a seven of hearts on the stack.

“Do you drink your tea with milk or no?”

She immediately crinkled her nose in disgust.

“Fuck is you talk bout Styles? I don’t drink no wack ass tea” she giggled.

“Fuck is- are you talking about (Y/L/N),” he tried to copy her but failed miserably as it sounded absolutely ridiculous coming out of his mouth.

“Aww, been in New York for only a day and you’re already talking like me, cute!”

“Oi, shut up!” he stuck his tongue out, pouting, only making (Y/N) laugh harder.

“You’ve been laughing at me ever since I told you I was lost, you’re s’mean.”

“Nobody’s mean, you’re just too sensitive, baby,” she smirked.

Harry was quite embarrassed. (Y/N) had been calling him pet names (lover, sweets, sweetie, etc) ever since they had walked into her apartment and each time Harry’s stomach fluttered and he blushed (luckily for Harry, (Y/N) was oblivious to things as such).

↫ ↬

“That show was shit love,” he snorted.

“Shut up you just don’t understand it,”

Somehow, someway (Y/N) had talked Harry into watching an episode of Black Ink Crew: New York (a crazy reality tv show (Y/N) had been invested in since the first episode aired) after they had finished their game of spades (Harry was and still is confused about the rules and lost horribly).

“There was just a lot of drama. I couldn't keep up with all of it!” Harry groaned, resting his head on her shoulder taking one of her braids into his fingers and twirling around his long digits it as he imagined doing so when he first laid eyes on her.

“That’s why it’s good, babe! I’d rather watch someone else’s drama then have some in my own life,” she yawned.

“You’re tired, button?” Harry questioned, beginning to feel bad for keeping her up so late into the night.

“Just a bit, doesn’t matter, I’m sleeping out here anyway. I got the bedroom ready for you so just go in there when you’re ready to go to bed.”

“You- love, you’re not sleeping on the couch and M’not sleeping in your bed (Y/N),” he argued.

“Go get in the bed Harry, you just too tall to sleep on my couch,” she smiled, laying on the couch and wrapping the blanket around her small figure.

Harry just stared at her as she began to fall asleep. He was completely infatuated with this girl and he hadn’t even known her for a full 24 hours. No one in his entire life had been so nice and inviting to him. He hadn’t ever met someone who he wanted to be around all of the time, who he needed to be around all of the time. He couldn't understand why, even if she only meant it in a playful way, her calling him babe made his stomach flutter and made his cheeks rosy red. Harry couldn’t understand any of it and it annoyed the hell out of him, he ended up falling asleep on the couch along with her.

↫ ↬

“Jesus Niall I don’t know and I don’t really want to wake her up, she looks s’peaceful sleeping,” Harry whispered into the line while leaning on her kitchen counter.

“C’mon, you’re gonna to have to wake her up soon. Haven’t a fucking clue as to where you are mate! Got the whole day planned before we leave tomorrow,” Niall whined into the phone making Harry roll his eyes.

Harry really was in no rush to leave (Y/N) just yet. Quite honestly, he was so upset when she fell asleep he just stared at her and played with her braids and listened to her mumble every couple of minutes to pass the time because he didn’t want to waste his last couple of hours with her sleeping.

Harry was so engrossed in his phone he didn’t even realize she had woken up nor did he feel her arms wrap around his body until she mumbled a “good morning”.

“Oh good morning, pet. Didn’t even know you were awake yet,” he smiled turning to her.

“M’hungry,” she mumbled again, pressing her cheek to his shirt.

Harry’s heart sped up and his face began heating up (it annoyed Harry how much of an effect (Y/N) had on him).  He took this as an opportunity to play with her hair again, he was really in love with her braids. Harry just thought (Y/N) looked so damn pretty with them he really couldn’t help himself. She really was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, that would explain why Harry creepily watched her sleep (but he’d never tell a soul, not even Niall, that he did that to a woman he’d just met).

“I’m sorry, I’m like all up in yo personal space.”

“(Y/N) s’fine, really.”

“We can go to the city if you want. We could get some brekkie at a nice restaurant,” he offered, forgetting all about Niall’s plans for the day.

She just nodded and smiled.

“You can take a shower first, it’s gone take me a minute to figure out what I wanna wear today,” she grinned.

(Y/N) was so excited, not only because she was going to get some food in the city but because she was going to be able to spend the morning and hopefully, the afternoon with him. She wanted to show him around, take some memorable pictures, and hear some more crazy childhood stories with him, Gemma, and Anne. She just wanted to be around him as much as he wanted to be around her; they craved one another in every way.

↫ ↬

“(Y/N), I swear on everything if you take another bite of my fucking pancakes, I’m gonna f-”

“You ain’t gone do shit, Styles cause you ain't about shit,” (Y/N) was nearly in tears because of how hard she was laughing. They’d been cracking jokes from the moment they’d left (Y/N)’s apartment, to the train ride, to the bus, and now in the restaurant.

Being in New York really brought something out of Harry, a new attitude and a new perspective. Being with (Y/N) made him more observant (given that he’d almost gotten run over by a taxi while he was crossing the road before the sign said walk). He enjoyed being in the city. Even with it being his first time there, it felt like home and Harry can’t decide if it’s (Y/N) or if it’s just the vibes the city held that made him feel such.

“You’re quite annoying, y’know that (Y/N)?” she rolled her eyes and stuck her fork into Harry's pancakes again.

“Shut yo goofy ass up, you know you love it.”

Harry just looked down and grinned, he did love it but he just didn’t want to admit that to himself just yet. This moment with her was perfect. He lifted his head, his eyes met with (Y/N) typing on her phone and god, did she look beautiful. Maybe it was the sun bouncing off of her chocolate skin, or the way her braids were styled, or maybe it was just the contrast of her skin and her red shirt that made it just impossible for Harry to stop staring at her.

(Y/N) lifted her head from her phone and smiled fondly at him.

“You’re staring again, goofy.”

“S-sorry you just look...” he paused

“I look...?” she smirked.

“Beau-”

“Harry, mate is that you?! God, I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” Niall interrupted them.

Harry nearly choked, turning to meet his Irish lad.

“Nearly turned the city upside down searching for y- Oh? Who might this be eh?”

“I’m (Y/N), you must be Niall, Harry’s told me all about you.” she smiled, introducing herself to the enthusiastic blonde boy.

“So sorry you had to deal with Harry here, I know he must’ve been a pain in the ass.”

“Oh yeah, definitely the worst,” she teased.

“Oi, M’right here,” Harry whined, pouting like a baby.

“Oh gosh, didn’t even see you there mate.”

(Y/N) and Niall began laughing making Harry a tad annoyed and a bit jealous of how well they were already getting along (which he knew they would, both of them have similar goofy personalities, however, it still annoyed him).

“Niall sit down, have you eaten anything? You can get whatever you want, it’s on me,” (Y/N) offered.

Niall sat down next to Harry and began conversing with (Y/N), asking her about her life, how old she was simple casual topics. Once the two of them got to talking there was no stopping them. (Y/N) thought Niall was so adorable she had made it a point to constantly call him cute throughout their entire conversation, and Harry didn’t like that at all. They were cracking jokes, telling childhood stories, talking as though they’d known each other for years and that just didn’t sit well with Harry. He didn’t want her to become close with Niall, he only wanted her from himself. Yes, it was selfish but Harry really didn’t give a damn, (Y/N) was his even though she wasn’t.

“Niall,” he interrupted the both of them

“What are you doing here?” he pressed.

“Hm?” Niall’s gaze lingering on (Y/N) to long for Harry's comfort.

“Oh yeah! I’ve been calling you all bloody morning so I could come to get you! I told you I had plans for us today and you didn’t answer mate!”

Harry had been ignoring Niall calls since him and (Y/N) boarded the train on purpose. He didn’t want to leave (Y/N) even though he knew he was going to part ways with her soon.

“Harry, why you ain't tell me you had made plans with Niall? I could've gotten you back to him sooner babe,"

"Yeah lad, been blowing up your line all morning! Could've sent a text or something," Niall chimed in, making Harry roll his eyes.

Harry was so damn annoyed with him. Why couldn't Niall come at a different time when Harry wasn't in the middle of telling her how beautiful he thought she was? Why couldn't Niall come at a time when they weren't at breakfast? Why’d Niall have to come now and take all the attention from him? Why couldn't Niall come at any other time than this? Harry knew he was going to have to reunite with him at some point, he knew he going to have to leave (Y/N) and go home which is why he just wanted to enjoy his last few hours with her alone.

“I... I just wanted to eat before I came back with you Nialler,” he lied.

“Well hurry up and finish what’s left on your plate. Gotta catch a tour at 11! S’ten twenty now, and we’ve still gotta take a bus to get there,” Niall instructed.

Harry looked up and locked eyes with (Y/N) who gave him a small faux smile.

“You guys should probably get going. I don’t think cute pie here would be too happy if you missed your tour.”

“Thank you! Someone who understands, now let’s get going H,” Niall grabbed his arm, ready to get going to the very expensive tour of NYC he paid a generous amount for (Niall wasn’t too keen on wasting money so he wasn’t about to let Harry blow through seventy-five dollars so easy).

↫ ↬

“Can I at least walk you to the train station?”

“You’ll be late for you tour babe, Niall really wants to go,” she smiled sympathetically.

Harry really really really didn’t want to fucking leave. His stomach sank and his mouth became incredibly dry. He'd known her for less than twenty-four hours and he was nearly about to lose it

“Well (Y/N), it was really nice meeting you. Again, m’sorry you had to go through the pain of sleeping in the same flat as Harry here,” Niall joked, earning a small laugh from (Y/N).

“Ah, you’re buggin’ it was really no problem. It was nice meeting you too cute pie,” (Y/N) smiled, pinching Niall’s cheeks before giving him a short friendly hug.

Harry frowned when it was his turn, the moment he had been dreading since she sat down on the park bench with him last night was finally happening.

“Don’t make that face babe. We’ll see each other again, you’ve got my number so you’d better use it or else I’ll be tight, m’kay kid?”

He sighed deeply and mumbled, “Okay”.

She pulled him into a bear hug, both of them wrapping their arms around one another not wanting to let go. Harry took one of (Y/N)’s braids and twirled it around his finger again for what seemed like the last time. He inhaled her vanilla perfume, desperately to remember small details about this girl before he left.

“This isn’t goodbye goodbye. Just... Goodbye for now, okay?” she tried to cheer him up, seeing how upset he was.

“Next time you bored and in need of somebody to talk to, or if you ever end up in The Bronx again just call me,” she grinned (Harry really adored her smile, it was one of the main features he was going to miss about her).

They unwrapped their arms around one another.

“C’mon Harry, we’ve gotta go!”

“Bye (Y/N),” the words tasting bitter coming from his mouth

“Bye babe, I’ll see you when I see you,” (Y/N) flashed him one last smile before turning and walking to the train station, Harry turning and walking to Niall.

Harry had a shitty start to his mini vacation that was totally unplanned but he’d, without a doubt go through it a million more times if it meant he got to see her again. (Y/N) was special and Harry would soon understand why his stomach fluttered every time she called him babe, why he was so entranced while playing with her braids, and why that his next trip to New York would be more memorable than the last.

[diasabookpbet1984-blog]

If you try to push it, they fire for "other" reasons, or for no reason at all in an at will state. You try to get legal counsel, and the person you suing has more resources than you and will completely own you in court.You may not have noticed, but rich companies and people own you. The only way you could possibly think different is if you grew up in a well off family with the resources to stand up for their rights.SwoopDoop_ScoopHoop 3 points submitted 5 days agoHe also only had 210 yards throughout the entire season, averaging out to 16 yards a game. I used to have very oily skin (pre accutane) but it now feels much more 장수출장샵 "normal" and balanced. I use CeraVe Hydrating Facial Cleanser (am) and Peter Thomas Roth Glycolic Solutions Cleanser (pm). For moisture, I use Peter Thomas Roth Water Drench (am) and CeraVe PM Facial Moisturizing Lotion (pm). Issue is how it asks does something make you MORE "X" when playing violent competitive games versus the followup does something make you MORE "Y" when playing non violent cooperative games. Typically, I don feel any difference between playing non violent cooperative games and violent competitive games. I recognize that they are just games. I think of it like movie inflation, like when an old movie was super popular for its time but the ticket prices aren the same as how it is now, so it seems that new movies sell more. Now with kpop, back then having 100m views on a kpop video is impressive but with the rise of social 장수출장샵 media, groups can easily get over 500m in no time at all.It will always be different for each generation, whether it be YouTube views, concerts or album sales. Each gen will always have a meaningful impact on the next gen.Hinterlyn 29 points submitted 4 days agoIt so cheesy, I love it. 2 standard and Thunderbolt 3, while the other one only supports the Gen. 1 standard. The key difference between Gen. Look it up online for your state. There should also be an option on the site to file an ethics complaint. I would definitely launch a formal complaint. For the record I think you should have accepted the ring as a precious keepsake. However, I also think he should have sounded you out on what you wanted before proposing. A sensible way to handle it would be to have a conversation later about how it was not a style you choose to wear every day and maybe choose another ring later for general wear maybe a matching wedding set? or consider having the stones reset.. Elaborate though this outfit was, it paled in comparison to the spectacle of actually being on the beach. In fact, women of the era were expected to go into a small wooden house (fully clothed), which could be rented on the beach. Once safely tucked away inside this "bathing machine," she changed into the bathing costume, only daring to emerge after the house had been pulled into the water by a team of horses. A deficiency of both spleen qi and heart blood produces dizziness, poor appetite, and fatigue, with a pale face and tongue. This pattern often appears in students after excessive studying. The standard formula for this pattern is Kwei Be Wan. I'm looking to kick start and have a much healthier and happier 2019. My goals are to reduce my drinking, get a diet that works for me (ideally I'm thinking something lower carb and CICO focused) and to continue 3 x week strength exercises (using strong curves beginner program), with a yoga/walking/swimming on alternate days (with Sunday's off). I recognise this is hitting it hard, but this is genuinely how I see my future ideal life being.

[atlanticcanada]

Enfield, N.S., dancer in final stages of Michael Bublé dance competition

Eight-year-old Brooklyn Pothier is just as lively as her dance moves.

“It’s just my destiny [to dance],” Brooklyn said. “I love to dance so much!”

Her father, Brian Pothier, says dance is a passion she’s been drawn to since the tender age of two.

“We first noticed that she was jumping around and dancing on her own, just with the music that we had on,” Brian said. “Then when she got older, we realized there might actually be something to this.”

Now others are taking note of the Enfield, N.S., dancer’s talent.

Brooklyn is in the final stages of a North American-wide dance competition hosted by Michael Bublé.

“He’s my favourite singer now,” said Brooklyn. “I like love him now!”

The contest, which was launched in September, is in anticipation of Michael Bublé Week on “Dancing With The Stars” later this month.

Contestants were asked to submit a dance video to Bublé’s song, “Higher,” which Brooklyn choreographed on her own with her mom’s assistance.

Brooklyn’s six-year-old brother, Emmett, who has no formal dance training, also stepped in to help with a supporting dance role in the video.

“Our little guy is quite shy. so to see him supporting her in something she really wanted to do definitely made us proud of both of them,” Brian said.

Brooklyn in currently in the top 25 of the competition, but needs votes from the public to secure a spot in the top 10.

“Every person I see is voting for me and I just feel very thankful that they’re voting for me,” Brooklyn said.

Her family recently had the chance to see Bublé in concert in Halifax where the Canadian crooner made a lasting impression – autographing her sign and leaving behind a souvenir of sorts.

“He threw us one of his sweaty towels,” said Brooklyn.

The winner of the competition will get a trip to Los Angeles for four, including tickets to the “Dancing With the Stars” finale on Nov. 21, tickets to Disneyland, a one-on-one FaceTime with Bublé, as well as a private dance lesson with famous choreographer Derek Hough.

However, Brooklyn says the true prize would be making her family proud.

“We’re probably going to be so happy,” Brooklyn said. “My mom is going to cry in happy tears!”

Voting for the top 10 ends Tuesday at midnight.

To vote for Brooklyn and Emmett, visit the competition's website.

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