#in this place they even let an israeli girl live and I’m pretty sure she was an IDF soldier before

[disco-cola]

the antideutsche german „left“ is an absolute disgrace and judging from all the unfollows i got when starting to post about Gaza (i made some posts about Palestine before in 2020-22 but sadly and admittedly not as intensely yet and I’m guessing they didn’t see that yet) by people i knew from real life „antifascist“ circles i am wondering if i might have unknowingly spent 3 years being surrounded by this awful kind who in my opinion are lowkey even more dangerous than full fledged right wingers bc those you can at least recognize immediately and they are pretty open about their racist views whereas antideutsche make you believe they are antiracist and antifascist and then they turn around calling everyone and everything criticizing israel „antisemitic“ and show their true islamphobic and imperialist faces, even going as far as calling anti-zionist jews antisemitic… they refuse to divide judaism from israel and when confronted with this flawed logic they can turn pretty vile too.

anyway sadly there is „antifascist“ poser centers who have thrown people out for wearing keffiyehs (in Leipzig, namely Conne Island who have previously cancelled a black US rappers gig who said israel is an apartheid state and posting about BDS like they then called him antisemitic and they also hosted a self-proclaimed „islam hater“‘s book presentation) and holding „against antisemitism“ events while denying anti-zionist jewish people entry at the doors (in Berlin, namely ://about blank). also the rote zora in hamburg is a zionist center posing as leftist. the rote zora got occupied today by a group of pro-palestinian protestors, calling out their racism and white supremacy (because ironically these places almost exclusively are run by white German activists) and alignment with the state force used against palestine protestors including jewish people, Palestinians and other BIPOC. If you call yourself anti-fascist and your center gets called out and even occupied by immigrants, BIPOC, jewish people and communists, then you are anything but that. They so WHOLEHEARTEDLY deserve this. Free antifa from antideutsche for good!!! (Also just dropping this here but those places have instagram accounts we could collectively swarm and call them out in their comments just saying)

[justkindaoverhereobsessing]

lord, help

After a little playground drama, Tony has to deal with the fact that Tali really is Ziva’s daughter—through and through.

For @why-did-you-just-lie-to-mcgee and @indestinatus, with whom I’m always getting into trouble. Also on ff and AO3

________________________

“Before I start talking, do you three have anything to say for yourselves?”

Arms crossed, Tony paces the short length of the dining room, watched closely by three dirty, nervous children. They’re sitting side by side at the table, chairs scooted close together as they huddle in solidarity, and they remain determinedly quiet.

“Alright then. Go ahead and tell me what you’ve done.”

None of them respond to this, either. 

Frowning, Tony pulls out a chair opposite his daughter and sits down. “Sweetheart,” he tries again, “I happen to know that you speak no fewer than three languages. I also know that you know I spent a lot of time in law enforcement… I’m pretty good at getting information out of people. You’re smart and you’re very eloquent when you want to be, so when I ask again, I expect a reply this time: what happened?”

Tali’s expression turns at once from anxious to defiant, and she matches her father’s earlier posture by crossing her arms. Then she looks away, silent as ever. 

“Well, Tali?” Tony prompts, feeling distinctly Gibbs-ish as he leans in and narrows his eyes.

Finally, Tali gives an answer, but it’s muttered mutinously under her breath and Tony doesn’t catch any of her words.

“What did you say?”

“I said,” she growls back, looking distinctly Ziva-ish, “that it wasn’t my fault.”

“Whose fault was it, then?”

“Gabriel’s. He started it.”

“What did he start? This would all be so much easier if you would just start from the beginning, baby girl.”

Tali huffs, glancing between her friends—neither girl looks particularly eager to jump in. As always, she has to do every dang thing herself! “Fine. We went to the park to practice, and—”

“Practice what?”

“Dad, you said it’s rude to interrupt! Ugh. We went to the park to practice krav maga. Gabriel saw us, and he asked what we were doing. I told him. Then he said we had to stop—we couldn’t do it ‘cause girls are weak!”

Tony files the ‘krav maga’ thing away to circle back to in a moment and focuses on the rest of the story. “And that started a fight?”

“Sort of.”

“What do you mean, ‘sort of’?”

“Well, I said ‘maybe someday you can work your way up to “weak,” too,’ and that started a fight.”

Tony has to look away for a moment to compose himself, certain that he’ll laugh if he keeps looking at her. “I see,” he manages after a moment, his lips twitching dangerously but his face otherwise kept carefully blank. “Who threw the first punch?”

“Gabriel did!” Tali’s friend Geneviève pipes up, looking braver now that it seems for the moment that they’re not going to be yelled at. 

“And how did you three respond to that, ladies?”

“We just did what Tali has been teaching us, all the krav maga stuff!” This one comes from the third girl, Dina. 

Tony glances back at his daughter, who suddenly looks a little shifty-eyed again. “How long has that been going on?”

Tali shrugs uncomfortably.

“Are you qualified to teach krav maga, Tals?”

“No, but—”

“Do you know how to do it safely so no one gets injured?”

“No, but—”

“Wouldn’t you feel bad if Geneviève or Dina was hurt because you didn’t know what you were doing?”

“Yes! But—”

“But you think it’s still okay to hold krav maga lessons in the park?”

Frustrated, Tali bangs her palm suddenly on the table top, making both of her friends jump. “Yes!” she cries. “Because Ima said that every girl should know how to fight! She’s been teaching me!”

Well, that’s news to Tony. “She has, has she?”

“I just said so, didn’t I!?”

It’s a pretty common consensus around the David-DiNozzos that Tali takes after her father in most things, but… every so often, on days like this, she proves that she’s most certainly her mother’s child. Her temper is usually the thing that gives it away. 

“Don’t snap at me, young lady,” Tony responds sternly, but honestly, he wants to laugh again. 

“Hmph.” Tali makes her displeasure known with a glower, and she thumps back in her seat. 

Letting her stew for a moment, Tony glances back and forth between the other girls. “Did she tell the whole story?”

There appears to be a little silent communication that happens between the two, and then they turn back to him and nod in unison. 

“You sure about that?” he questions, his tone warning them not to lie. “You had to think about it for a little too long before you answered.”

Geneviève frowns, considering. “It’s just…” She pauses. “Gabriel plays in the park a lot. He doesn’t play like the other kids, though. He’s mean.”

“Yeah, he’s a bully!” Dina concurs earnestly. 

A few feet away, the lock on the front door slides free and the door opens, but the girls have their backs to it and don’t notice. Dina keeps talking. “He pulls my hair sometimes. Gabriel, he…” she wrinkles her nose and says something else that’s definitely not in French, which is what they’ve been speaking from the beginning of this “meeting.” 

Over the girls’ heads, Tony sees Ziva’s eyes widen as she walks in, and he knows that she must have understood whatever Dina just said. “Do you say words like that to your own parents, Dina?” his wife asks pointedly.

All three girls jump and turn around guiltily. 

“I, um…” Dina stammers. Like Tali, she’s a multilingual daughter of immigrants, and she seems to have forgotten that Ziva speaks many languages—including Russian. 

Ziva holds her reproachful expression in place for a beat before relaxing into a small, almost conspiratorial smile. “I will not tell… because I am sure that you are right. I think he did.”

Dina smiles shyly back, surprised, and Ziva joins Tony on his side of the table. It seems that she somehow knows the basics of what went down in the park, so he doesn’t bother to bring her up to speed. 

“Well,” Tony continues, drawing the attention of all three ten-year-olds back to himself, “I’m glad that none of you are hurt—and I’m glad Gabriel isn’t, either,” he adds. “But while knowing how to defend yourself is a good thing, you should never resort to violence unless you have no other choice, okay? Three people against one really isn’t a fair fight.”

Dina and Geneviève nod seriously, but Tali just snorts and mutters something under her breath in Hebrew. Whatever it is makes Ziva let out a strangled noise—Tony’s pretty sure that the noise is an aborted laugh. This entire series of events has him feeling the same way, but someone has to be the bad cop here…

So he nudges Tali’s foot under the table with his own. “Okay, Tali-Tee?”

She sighs. “Okay, Dad.”

Feeling like his fatherly duty has been fulfilled, Tony relaxes a little. “Alright. Now that that’s cleared up, you can go play again, but please, Jackie Chan and co., at least try not to start any more wars.”

Tali perks up slightly. “We’re not in trouble?”

“Not this time. But if I ever hear about you initiating any fights, I’m shipping you off to live with Grandpa Gibbs. He’ll set you straight.”

Tali is well aware that Grandpa Gibbs is wrapped around her little finger, so she grins. “Okay! We won’t!”

“Yeah, no fights for us!” Geneviève agrees.

“We won’t punch anyone!” Dina finishes, and without another thought, all three girls have flounced back out the door to return to the park.

Left alone with just Ziva, Tony starts to laugh, scrubbing his face with both hands. “God... and to think I used to hate the fact that I never got to see what you were like as a kid! Now I not only know a baby Ziva, I have to parent her, too!”

Ziva chuckles as well, laying a hand on her husband’s back and drifting it up to squeeze his shoulder fondly. “You handled it well, do not worry.”

Tony lifts his head to look at her, amused. “I wouldn’t have had to handle anything if you hadn’t decided to teach her Israeli martial arts.”

Ziva shrugs, entirely unrepentant. “I think she should be able to protect herself, and besides… it runs in her blood.”

“I guess it does… Lord help me, the only mere mortal in the middle of two born-and-bred ninjas. If Tali’s already picking fights with bullies at ten, I’m not going to survive her growing up.” He rolls his eyes, but he catches Ziva’s hand from his shoulder and squeezes it comfortably. “Anyway, how’d you find out what happened?”

“I ran into Gabriel’s mother on my way into the building.”

“Bet she wasn’t too pleased, was she?”

“No, she was not. But I told her that if my daughter hit her son, she almost certainly had an excellent reason for doing so.”

“You’ve never liked that kid, have you?”

“Not at all.”

Tony snorts. “Well, maybe he’ll stay away from the girls now.”

“It will be to his own detriment if he does not!”

“I’ll say. Tali can be fierce when she puts her mind to it, and Dina and Geneviève… Those three have always egged each other on. You know they get a little crazy when they’re all together—it’s total chaos, more often than not.”

“I am glad that Tali has them.”

“Me, too. They’re good friends to her, even if they’re always getting each other into trouble.” Tony pauses for a second, remembering something. “Hey, what did Dina say?”

Ziva laughs. “To translate it delicately, she said something like ‘that reproductive-organ-of-a-male-walrus deserved to be hit.’”

“I like the creativity… very Russian. And what did Tali say, right there at the end?”

“She was arguing with you… you said that three-against-one is not a fair fight, but she said that is not true here because Gabriel is stupid enough for three people all by himself.”

That really makes Tony laugh, and in the end, all he can think to reply is a thought that he’s already expressed today: “Lord, help... that girl is going to be the death of me.”

He really doesn’t mind, though. 

[swanqueeneverafter]

The Once & Future Queen Pt.11

Land Without Magic. Past. October 24th, 2011. 8:15 A.M. Phuket. (August is in bed with a girl, sound asleep. He suddenly wakes as if in pain, sits up and sees his leg turning into wood. He turns around.) August: (Speaking Thai to his bed-mate:) “Wake up. Wake up!” Isra: (Looks at the clock, then reluctantly at him:) “It's only 8:15, go back to bed...” August: (Pointing at his leg:) “Look at this. Right here. Isra, wake up! Help me!” Isra: (Gets up half way and looks at him:) “August, it's early. I'm sleeping.” August: (Reaching out and touching his knee:) “Look, don't you see it?” Isra: (Looking up:) “I see your leg! Now please, be quiet...” August: “I need to go to a hospital...” Isra: “What the hell is wrong with you?” August: (Speaking English:) “I'm turning into wood.” Storybrooke. Present. (Henry lays beneath the food truck covered in grease and engine oil.) Tiana: “Is there a person attached to those legs under there? (Henry slides out from under the truck:) Hmm. Writer boy. What the hell are you doing here?” Henry: “Operation Food Truck.” Tiana: “Am I supposed to know what that means?” Henry: “It means that as soon as I get the engine running, I'm gonna install the fryers, and then I'm gonna go in the back, and I'm gonna get the -” Tiana: “Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait. Does this newfound industriousness have anything to do with a certain date you have with Ella later. Cause you know, she’s feeling pretty nervous about it too.” Henry: “No. I just thought that you two might appreciate an actual working vehicle.”

Tiana: “Oh. Hey, shouldn’t you be getting ready for that date? What time is it anyway? (Henry ignores this and climbs into the truck. Switching on the engine, the truck roars to life. Tiana chuckles in surprise as Henry also turns on the lights. Smiling:) Huh. You actually fixed it.” Henry: (Switching off the engine, climbs down to join her:) “Well, your confidence in me is astounding, Tiana.” Ella: (Entering:) “Wow! This is fantastic. Now I get why you stood me up. You must’ve lost track of time while you were doing all this?” Henry: “Yeah, it's, uh, good as new. And I didn’t forget our date.” Ella: “Then why-” Henry: “Consider it a parting gift. (At Ella’s blank stare:) Will told me what happened between you two. In Wonderland?” Tiana: “Uh, say what now?” Henry: (Grimaces:) “Ah, sorry Tiana. I didn’t mean to break it to you like this.” Ella: “Henry what are you talking about?” Henry: (To Tiana:) “It appears that Will and Ella didn’t quite spend all their time searching for answers, but rather finding other ways to entertain themselves in each other’s arms. (Tosses the keys to Ella who catches them:) It's all yours.” (Henry walks away dejectedly while Ella looks to Tiana in disbelief.)

Granny's Diner. (A small group has gathered while the Red Queen stands frozen like an ice sculpture in the middle of the diner.) Regina: "I just don't understand it. Even when she was the Red Queen, Anastasia was never known to be violent." Xena: (Dryly:) "Must be beginners luck." Regina: "I'm serious. By all accounts, the people of Wonderland were more afraid of the Queen of Hearts than Anastasia." Gabrielle: "Who's the Queen of Hearts?" Regina: (Coughs, then mutters:) "My mother." David: (While playing with his granddaughter's foot:) "Well, prior instances of violence or not, Anastasia was in the midst of terrorising the town before Elsa stopped her.” Regina: (To Xena and Gabrielle:) "Do either of you know why Anastasia might have been targeting you?" Xena: (Shakes her head:) "I've never met her before." Gabrielle: "She kept referring to herself as the Red Queen. In between using her magic against us I mean." Regina: "Well clearly there's something going on. Need I remind you that this is Ella's step-sister we're talking about here? That makes her family." Ruby: (Scoffs:) "Like that's a big deal. Everyone's related around here. (At Regina's look:) What? They are." David: "Family member or not, I think the best thing to do right now is keep the Red Queen on ice. At least until we find some answers." Ruby: "Will she be safe staying frozen like that?" Regina: "Ana's not the first person to have been frozen solid around here. (Circling the frozen woman:) I left Marian like this in my vault for weeks."

(Sitting at the counter, Lily tries to reassure Elsa.) Elsa: "I just feel so guilty freezing her that way." Lily: "Don't. You saw how out of control she was. If you ask me, Anastasia's lucky you were here to turn her into a block of ice." Elsa: "Really?" Lily: "Yeah, absolutely. I mean if it were down to me, I'd have turned her into a pile of ashes. Your way is much less messy." (Elsa smiles, then steals a french fry from Lily's plate.) Storybrooke. Past. The Final Battle. Main Street. (The family rushes to Emma’s side as she lays, unmoving, on the ground.) Henry: (Crying:) “I love you.” (Henry leans down and kisses Emma’s forehead, causing a pulse of magic from True Love’s Kiss.) Emma: (Opening her eyes, softly:) “I love you, too. (They hug:) I love you, too!” (David helps Emma to her feet and the family share a group hug. Catching a glimpse of something in the corner of her eye, Snow White looks over and spots the storybook laying in the road.) Snow White: (Picking it up:) “Henry! I think this belongs to you.” Henry: (Taking the book and reading the last chapter:) "When Good and Evil both did the right thing, faith was restored. The final battle was won. (Closes the book:) That’s it.” A Short Distance Away. (Running up the street towards the Sorcerer’s door, Emma chances a glance behind her to see her family all gathered together before pulling the door open and dashing through it.)

The Sorcerer's Mansion. (Arriving back at the mansion, Emma finds the Apprentice waiting for her with another storybook.) Emma: "So you're telling me that I'm the reason the storybook appeared at that exact moment?" Apprentice: (Smiles:) "That moment, and others. Come, we've still much to do." Storybrooke. Present. Main Street. (Ella catches up to Henry.) Ella: “Henry! Wait. (She blocks his path:) I don’t know what Will told you, but it was a lie.” Henry: “Yeah? Well he sounded pretty convincing.” Ella: “You really think I’m capable of such a thing?” Henry: “Well I don’t know, Ella, you tell me. You were pretty gung-ho about accusing my mother based on somebody’s word. So what am I supposed to think?” Ella: “I don't have feelings for Will. How could I? I love you!” Henry: “And I love you! It’s just... I don’t know what to believe anymore! Things haven’t been right between us for a long time.” Ella: “I know, we’ve both been so busy, we’ve hardly had time to be together. That’s why I asked you to come with me to Wonderland in the first place.” Henry: (Nods:) “Yeah, and I should have been there. I was just so wrapped up in making enough money so we could get our own place that I lost sight of what was really important. You and me, side by side facing things together, head on.” Ella: “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” Henry: (Pulling her in for a hug:) “I’m so sorry, about everything.” Ella: (Wrapping her arms around him:) “Me too.” Elsewhere In Storybrooke... (Staggering towards the library, Will tries the doors but they are locked.) Tiana: "Opening hours till 10:00." Will: (Bows his head:) "Very generous. (Turns to face her:) Tiana, I can explain." Tiana: "I didn't ask." (Tiana punches Will square in the face, causing him to fall back against the library doors and slide, unconscious, onto the ground.)

Blanchard Loft. Past. (Emma, Mary Margaret, David and Regina are looking for Henry’s storybook. David and Regina search the bedroom, Mary Margaret and Emma the closet. Regina opens one suitcase and looks inside searching for the book. It’s empty. David opens a chest. Shoe boxes are stored inside.) David: (Picks one shoe box and sets it aside:) “Why do women keep their shoe boxes?” Mary Margaret: (Overhearing the remark:) “Because after true love there is no more powerful magic than footwear. It has to be protected.” Emma: “Any sign of the book?” David: (Shuts the chest:) “No. I don’t think it’s here.” Mary Margaret: “You don’t know that.” Emma: (Carrying another wooden chest, she joins David and Regina:) “Maybe it’s in this thing. (Places the chest on the bed and opens it. Clothes are stored inside:) Some winter coats. Some scarves. The book is not in here.” (Emma sighs and lays back on the bed. At that moment, a pair of hands reach up from under the bed and covertly place the storybook inside the chest.) Mary Margaret: (Exiting the closet:) “Hang on. Let me check.” (After a short search, Mary Margaret is able to find the storybook.) Emma: (Confused, sits up:) “I don’t understand.” (As all eyes turn to the book, Emma scurries out from under the bed and crawls quickly out of the room on all fours towards the door in the next room.) Regina: “Can I see that? (Mary Margaret gives the book to Regina:) I know there are chapters on Oz in here. I wanna know who’s heart Zelena crushed to enact this curse. Because if there’s something she loved, that’s her weakness. (Regina exits the room. David follows her. When they enter the living room, Regina catches a glimpse of something in the corner:) Did you see that?” David: “See what?” Regina: “I’m sure I saw something. (Shaking her head, she returns her attention to the storybook:) Never mind.”

Land Without Magic. Past, October 2011. Hong Kong. (August sits in a hospital in Hong Kong, waiting for his leg to be examined.) Orderly: “August W. Booth?” Exam Room. Doctor: (August shows his leg to the doctor. To the doctor's eyes his leg looks perfectly normal:) “I don't see anything.” August: “My leg is turning into wood.” Doctor: “I think you should go.” August: “Wait, wait. Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa. I'll prove it to you.” (August puts his leg up on the table and stabs his leg with a scalpel.) Doctor: “No! Stop! Aah! (Speaking Cantonese:) Orderlies! Restrain him! Take him to psych! (The orderlies chase August through the hospital:) Wait! Get back here! Hey! Get back!” (Seemingly with no place left to run, August is grabbed from behind and taken into the stairwell. August spins around ready to fight then sees a woman standing before him.) August: “Who are you?” Mulan: “Someone who can help. I heard you yelling about your situation. And I work with a man who fixes those kinds of problems.” August: “What kind of problems?” Mulan: “The kind most people just dismiss. For the right price, he can cure anything.” August: “Who is he?” Mulan: “They call him the Dragon.”

[gardeningrobot]

i’ve been having a lot of thoughts about fans and fandom and lurkers and my friend V. rant under the cut.

V watched portrait of a lady on fire for the first time over a month ago. she fell in love with it, as she is wont to do; this happened with cate blanchett, and it happened with tina fey, and it happened with phoebe waller-bridge/fleabag. she finds people and pieces of media and loves them obsessively. there’s a fury to that loving: this huge force of love, this persistence. and as her friend, i've watched that love grow. the objects of her love reveal things in her through some strange phototropism: sometimes these things are shallow and narcissistic, yeah, but portrait is different. portrait inspired the kind of love that cuts clean through the calcified layers of a person, the cynicism and the insecurity and the jaded bullshit we accumulate to save ourselves. it hit something deep in her.

and she wanted to share it.

i’m young. i have a thing about not saying my age on the internet, don’t know why, but suffice it to say that my friend and i grew up with the internet. we’re decidedly gen z. this is where stan twitter kicks in.

twitter’s a different beast to tumblr and i don’t know much about it, except for the memes, mara wilson’s twitter, and that one israeli girl off stan twitter who refused to join the military. V knows even less. but V has all this love and nowhere to put it and so she decided to shut her eyes and cannonball in.

i’m largely a lurker in fandom, and in my general internet experience. it’s led to me developing some unhealthy habits. i grew up reading conversations between people from years ago, a ghost from a future and a place they’d never have dreamed could have been reading their rps in the comment section of their favourite author’s blog, a kid who clicked on the links to their blogs and read about their lives and hobbies and passions, this (retrospectively) extremely lonely little kid who wanted to connect but didn’t know how because they were all so cool and interesting and liked the same stuff as she did and

point is, i get lurking. i get not knowing how to talk to people.

and twitter’s completely different from blogger, and it’s different from tumblr, in that it’s so, so much more difficult to connect with a community straight away. you know? tumblr has tags, blogger has comment sections (although i don’t know how much of fandom-in-general grows off that platform, i just know my first one did), twitter is just yelling your opinions in >280 characters. or it’s sliding into those dms which has SUCH a huge stigma around it

so V is nervous!!! V is kind of terrified of actually approaching people, because this thing, this love, is deeply personal and it’s a huge, confusing 180 to go: wait, no, i don’t have to guard this. i don’t have to hold it so close and tight it fuses into me. i can let go here.

i don’t even know if there’s a point to all of this. i hope V finds a community of people who have feelings, a lot of them, on portrait. (she does film stuff, but fandom shit’s different from ~professional~ shit.) i hope she learns to speak about what she loves.

because i didn’t! i haven’t! i vastly prefer lurking and loving and sending the occasional page-long comment on ao3 than ~participating~, whatever the fuck that means! there’s a proclivity to just shut up and love quietly and hold it in, because that’s safer than saying it out loud. i don’t know whether lurking’s a symptom of that, or whether it’s exacerbated it, but it’s probably a little bit of both. i just think of all the time i spent lurking. how much wasted time. and a lot of it feels wasted, a lot of it feels lonely and isolated and led to some pretty dark places when i could have been, like, outside biking and swimming and climbing trees and shit.

i think if something reaches out of the screen and grabs you by the collar and demands your attention, if something cuts clean through you, if it feels revelatory- if it feels like seeing clearly for the first time, like breathing and realising you’ve been holding your breath your entire life- i think if it feels like that you hold on to it. you talk about that love. or you let it live and grow, you make sure it is unafraid. you don’t have to worry about where it’ll take you, because you know it’ll be good, that it is already good, that you’re nourished, not starved of something deep and true. you stop lurking.

i’ve found that through writing outside of fandom. i hope V finds it too. i don’t know if this is going to be The Thing for her, but still. i hope she finds it. i think she already has.

[were-cheetah-stiles]

The Recruit (Chapter 19) - Mitch Rapp

Author: @were-cheetah-stiles

Title: “Day 80″

Characters: Mitch Rapp, Brian Who Gives a Shit, Jenna I Never Bothered To Learn that Girl’s Actual Last Name, & Reader/OFC

Warnings: Mentions of scum of the earth ex-boyfriends, and then like some nice fluffy bullshit.

A.N.: fuck yea this is me calling my ex and the girl he cheated on me with out by their real names. WHAT’S GOOD, ASSHOLE. *walks away with ZERO shame or regrets*

Additional Note: I know I’ve said this before, but just a reminder that in the original form, the reader’s name is Willa and so that nickname i could not be bothered to switch to something less personalized. *not sorry*

Summary: Mitch and Y/n’s time in New York begins to wind down, but not before running into someone from her past and discussing the prospects of their future.

Chapter Eighteen - Chapter Nineteen - Chapter Twenty

"This sandwich is really good." Mitch said as he went in for another massive bite.

"Oh I know.. I love this place.." You looked around as you took a sip of your Italian soda. "I spent many, many late nights in this coffee shop finishing papers and studying. The, uh, staff used to know me so well tha-" You paused and looked behind Mitch, at the person who was ordering at the counter. "Oh god..."

"What's wrong?" Mitch's senses immediately went on high alert.

You leaned forward, your face filling up with red heat. "Uh... we haven't really talked about my past relationships, but I think we're about to have to.." You glanced behind Mitch again, and covered your mouth when you made eye contact with the man speaking to the cashier. "Oh shit.. okay, um, well, I dated a guy for about, all of college? Uh, I genuinely thought that he was going to be the man I was going to marry and I almost didn't join Stan at The Barn in order to start a life with him. We put a deposit down on an apartment in D.C. and a month before we were supposed to move in together, he cheated on me... was cheating on me... and moved in with the girl he cheated on me with... and they are both right behind you."

"Do you want to leave?" Mitch asked you, seeing you uncomfortably fidget in your chair.

"No, I would say that it is probably too late for that." You looked up. "Brian... Jenna..."

"Hey, Wallabee.. How are you?" The tall, handsome brunette man said, completely ignoring Mitch's presence.

You rolled your eyes openly for all to see. "I'm good.. How are... Oh, wow, you're engaged." You looked at the gold band on Jenna's finger. "Congratulations." You hid your hands under the table, and felt Mitch grab them. He looked you in the eyes as he pulled the rose gold, with a large quartz stone, ring off of your right hand and slipped it onto your left ring finger. He smiled and gave your delicate fingers a small squeeze. "I'm sorry, I'm being so rude, this is Mitch." You gestured with your right hand.

"Y/n’s fiancé." Mitch stuck his hand out and firmly gripped Brian's, who winced as he shook.

"Oh Y/n, what a surprise! Congratulations. Can I see?" Jenna laid out her hand in front of your face, waiting to see your engagement ring. You hovered your hand over Jenna's, not really wanting to touch the girl that you loathed for so long. "Oh....... it's.... unique." Jenna said condescendingly.

"It was her mother's." Brian said, grimacing and recognizing the ring.

"So what do you do, Brian?" Mitch asked, sizing up the man in front of him.

"I am the Executive Producer for C-Span 2 in Washington." Brian said confidently.

"I have a lifestyle blog." Jenna interjected without prompting.

You hid a smirk behind the sip of your drink. "What do you do?" Brian asked you.

Mitch spoke up, feeling particularly possessive and protective in that moment. "Y/n/n and I work for the State Department. Foreign Service Officers. We just got back from assignment in the Middle East." Mitch used your cover stories.

"The, uh, Secretary of State was just in the Middle East, wasn't he?"

You nodded. "Yea, we were helping him with the Israeli-Palestinian peace talks." You lied, trying to make Brian feel lesser for not even working at the main C-Span channel.

"Bri.." Jenna whisper-whined, growing bored of the conversation, and seeing their food waiting to be picked up at the counter.

Brian glanced over at the woman tugging on his arm. "Go grab it and I'll be right over." He gestured to their meal, and Jenna left with nothing more than a fake smile.

"Um, Y/n/n, can I talk to you outside for a minute?" Brian turned his body away from Mitch and spoke low.

You laughed quietly through your nose and smiled at Mitch, then looked up into the gorgeous green eyes that you once thought you’d look into forever. "I'm not sure what the point of that would be." You shook your head.

"You never answered any of my calls or texts or emails, I just want to talk to you really quick."

"I'm good, Brian. I have nothing left to say to you. I moved on." You smiled at Mitch, and he felt a zap of electricity hit his heart. He smiled back at you.

"Please, Y/n/n... You've gotta hear me out."

Mitch was bored of Brian's inability to take 'no' for an answer. He stood, smirking as he towered over the man in front of him, and watched Brian's eyes look down at Mitch's hands that he was wringing together. "I think you should go. She said she doesn't want to talk to you. Your fiancé is waiting at a table for you, so now you're being disruptive to two lunches. It was interesting meeting you." Mitch stuck out his hand to firmly shake Brian's again, and you hid your quiet laughter with your hand.

Brian grimaced at the large, strong and veiny hand waiting in front of him and decided he did not want to have his hand crushed a second time. He patted Mitch on the bicep, glancing up at his face as he felt the muscles under his jacket, and backed away slowly, returning his gaze to you. "Well, hopefully I'll see you around again. Nice meeting you, Mitch."

"Yea, probably not." You fake smiled at him as he turned around to join Jenna.

Mitch remained standing. "You wanna get out of here?" You smiled big and nodded. "Alright, let's go to the Met."

Brian watched as you placed your hand in Mitch's and the two of you stepped out of the cafe. Mitch opened the passenger side door of the Aston Martin DB5, parked in front, for you, and walked around the front to get in the driver's seat. You looked over at Mitch, not caring about what kind of show you were putting on anymore.

"You didn't have to do that with the ring." You twisted the thin and delicate rose gold band on your ring finger, and looked up at Mitch.

"It was the least I could do. He was a dick." Mitch grasped your left hand and brought it up to his mouth, pressing your fingers and the back of your hand against his lips. You smiled, melted into the seat and watched as Mitch pulled out onto the street, still holding your fake engaged hand in his lap.

Mitch watched you light up as you stepped through the doors into the Impressionist Painters section of the European Paintings, 1250-1800 permanent exhibit. He watched you bypass every famous Degas, Monet, Manet, and Van Gogh, and make a beeline for an oil painting of two young girls sitting at a piano. He saw your shoulders move up and down as you breathed a sigh of relief. Mitch made a mental note of how you looked in that moment. Your long hair fell in soft y/h/c curls over your shoulders and back. You held your black clutch and black satin bomber jacket in your right arm, your left hand playing with the fabric on the back of your short gray knit dress. He pulled your iPhone out of the pocket of his jeans and opened the camera app. He angled it so that you were squared in the center of the portrait in front of you. You glanced over your shoulder, hearing the camera shutter noise, and spotted Mitch snapping pictures of you. You smiled softly and at him and then began walking towards the next painting.

"Who is this?" Mitch asked, his lips lightly brushing your ear. He closed his eyes, wrapped his arms around your waist, and nuzzled his cheek against your soft vanilla scented hair. You rested your body against his and smiled.

"Pierre-Auguste Renoir. He's been my favorite since I was a little girl, and it's just been a long time since I've seen any of this in person." You grinned, and turned around. "You taking pictures of me?"

"Maybe one or two."

"I'm surprised, it's not like you can keep them in your room at The Barn."

"Yea, but we can print them and keep them in the safe at your apartment, right?" Mitch smiled down at you.

"You are so god damn cute sometimes, I don't even know what to do with you." You grinned and shook your head.

"You could kiss me." Mitch said as he pressed his tongue against his lips. You hooked your fingers around his maroon sweater and pulled him closer. You pressed your soft lips against his and felt them softly suck against your top lip. You inhaled deeply through your nose and felt the eyes of tourists and strangers falling on the two of you as you kissed in the middle of the room.

You pulled away and smiled. "Should we head up to the roof and get a drink?" Mitch sucked on his lips and nodded.

He walked over to you, leaning against the concrete ledge that overlooked downtown and Central Park South, and he placed your plastic champagne flute next to your elbow.

"Thanks, baby." You said with a small smile, the orange hue of the sunset glowing against your face as you stood on your tippy-toes to give him a peck on the cheek. "This was a nice day... started out kind of weird, but ended nicely."

Mitch took a sip of his beer and nodded, pulling your jacket closed as the wind blew through the rooftop garden on top of The Met. "I feel like, with the lives that you and I live, it's easy to forget that we're only twenty-five and we once lived normal lives that involved ex's and cousins and brothers."

You nodded and sipped your beverage. “You didn’t have to pretend you were marrying me this morning. I’m pretty sure Brian hated you from the moment he saw you at the table with me. You definitely already had him feeling like shit.”

Mitch reached out and touched your cheek, with a soft smile resting on his red lips. He didn’t say anything for a few long moments, just narrowed his eyes and smiled, clearly thinking of the right thing to say in that moment. Mitch finally licked his lips and tucked a hair that was being blown in front of your face behind your ear.

“I really wanted it to be clear to him that you are with me.. that you’re mine.” You bit your lip softly, trying to hide how big of a smile you actually wanted to unleash on him. Mitch dropped his hand down to your neck, slipping the tips of his fingers just barely under the fabric of your dress. He pressed his body against yours, the hand holding his beer pressed against your back. “I was twenty when I started dating Katrina..” Mitch shook his head and smiled. “I was a kid. I didn’t know anything. I still don’t know much but I do know that this feels different than anything else I’ve ever been involved in, and I do know that regardless of how little time has passed, I am falling for you, Y/n/n. I want a future with you.”

You blushed a furious shade of red, and you pulled a windblown hair out of your long eyelashes. You looked up at him adoringly. “I want a future with you, and I am falling for you, and I need you to know that I am invested in this… in us.”

Mitch smiled and nodded. He pressed his lips firmly against your forehead, and pulled you in against his chest.

I’m gonna miss New York... but we had to get back to the action at some point. 

@chivesoup @confidentrose @alexhmak @dontstopxx @iloveteenwolf24 @surpeme-bean @snek-shit @kalista-rankins @parislight @cleverassbutt @damndaphneoh @mgpizza2001 @chionophilic-nefelibata @ninja-stiles @sarcasticallystilinski @teenage-dirtbagbaby @mrs-mitch-rapp93 @alizaobrien @twsmuts @rrrennerrr @sorrynotsorrylovesome @lovelydob @iknowisoundcrazy @5secsxofamnesia @vogue-sweetie @dylrider @ivette29 @therealmrshale @twentyone-souls @sunshineystilinski @snicketyssnake @xsnak-3x @eccentricxem @inkedaztec @awkwarddly @lightbreaksthrough @maddie110201 @hattyohatt @rhyxn @amethystmerm4id @completebandgeek @red-wine-mendes @katieevans371 @girlwiththerubyslippers @theneverendingracetrack @snipsnsnailsnwerewolftales @runs-with-sciss0rs @ssweet-empowerment @fallenangel242 @hirafth @dailyburritos @mieczzyslaw @im-very-odd33 @anonimereader06 @itsamberh

[israxo]

A potential goodbye I’ll never send (edited)

I’ll begin from September 2017, a little Isra who was scared and excited to finally be in uni but away from home. There was so much anxiety, joy, nervousness, thrill and a heap of other emotions that this Isra felt before coming to uni.

She stayed alone the first day after settling in, she started getting used to her room and fell asleep crying that night because she already missed home. The next morning, she woke up happy to meet new people and decided to go up to flat 35 to finally introduce herself to the people she’d been chatting to in the group.

The kitchen was pretty much packed with flat 35 residents and co, I said hi and started blabbering away about my morning shenanigans and not having any milk. Your reaction made me notice you and I was almost caught off guard but I was drawn to you. Not at any point did I think that this girl would have the most heart wrenching and amazing first two years of uni life waiting for her.

Then I met you, someone who seemed like a cute nerd but also just a genuinely nice guy who’d make great company. We sat in the kitchen and spoke about the randomest things. I had fun. You made me laugh. You made me happy. You made me feel comfortable.

I’d never been on a night out before and you said you’d wait for me to get a ticket. You also said you’d go home with me if I didn’t. I felt so relieved to have met someone so lovely, someone who seemed to have a heart of gold.

We spoke everyday after that night out. We got to know each other properly, the likes and dislikes, the habits, the hobbies, the obsessions, the weird things, the funny things, all of it.

Then we got together towards the end of October, we broke up after 3 weeks. You weren’t sure how you felt, you wanted to ‘explore’ and I felt torn but I let you go. You called me a mistake. It hurts me to type this but at that time I brushed you off and let you go, you didn’t get to hurt me that time.

Time went on and on and on... you broke your phone and asked me to keep you updated on group meet ups so I would Skype text you updates of the group. But we started talking again from December till early January. We met up on the 27th of December and went to shake shack, I was so nervous to see you after ages but we spoke; it felt good to finally know how you felt and you reassured me that you’d figured out your feelings. I met your mum. I instantly loved her. I was so nervous but she was lovely. I met Mateo. I met your dad. I felt happy.

We started dating. After we got back to uni, everyone figured it out... we got back together. You made me happy. You seemed happy. We were inseparable, you were my best friend and my world. From the moment I woke up all the way to the moment I fell asleep again, you’d be on my mind if not with me. We were happy. We shared so many new experiences with each other. I made you my haven. My home. My safe place. My better half. I gave you all of me, made you my favourite person in this shitty world and hoped that I would be your favourite too. The movie nights and late night revision to talking until sunrise and just holding eachother on the down days. It’s like you were a language and I had mastered the art of you, I knew you better than I knew myself; how you felt even when I was no where near you, when you were anxious, when you wanted space, when you felt demotivated, when you were happy, when you got passionate about something, when you were hyper, when you wanted to be silly and childish.

We made so many memories, our relationship was interesting because we rarely argued and were with each other almost always but we got along so well.

6 months later. We broke up. I remember that day like the back of my hand and I can’t breathe when I think about it. I feel sick. We stayed up all night crying and talking, reassuring each other about how it was going to be after we separated. I believed you. I was in love. You weren’t. I was a stupid, naive girl to think you could value me as a friend when you didn’t as a girlfriend. I died every day we spent together after that break up. Looking at you made me cry because it was a constant reminder of how I’d lost my best friend, my boyfriend, my one person that I had no matter what. I wish that you could have been honest with me from the beginning, honest about your intentions and your feelings for me. We went on a night out, I had to act normal but I wanted to cry. I was broken.

Then it was time to leave galbraith, a year had passed so quickly and so much happened before we knew it. I felt the happiest and saddest in the blink of an eye. I cried so much that day, partly because I’d miss everyone but also because I knew everything would change.

It did.

We spoke over the summer. It was a bad idea. I missed you and didn’t care, I was irrational and you mirrored my emotions. You were my world, it was hard to let go this time. It hurt. Only I know how many nights I cried until I was exhausted, I cried myself to sleep, I cried and cried until I had no more left in me. We met up as friends which was nice, I still loved you. You seemed happier. You didn’t need me.

I was struggling. I thought I needed you.

Summer was over now. Second year was beginning. It was time to move into the new house, I wasn’t ready for this but thought I was. We fucked up. I regret living with you. It was hard, so hard, so hard that I can’t explain. You are toxic for me.

I did not want to see you or be around you let alone near you but I was fighting with myself because I still cared. Part of me hung onto some of the emotions. Some of the feelings. You seemed to have moved on. Talking to new people. Doing things with new people. I hadn’t moved on yet, I dealt with all my emotions. I don’t blame you, you didn’t love me.

I missed you. You were confused, you always have been but you didn’t tell me that. You consoled me with a lie. You told me you missed me. You didn’t miss me. Living in a joint space with you was torture, I was vulnerable and seeing you became crippling at one point. I lost all my pride. I lost respect for myself. I became so broken. You broke me.

But broken me picked up all my broken pieces and decided I’d have to put myself back together. It took a long while but I learnt to love myself again. I learnt that it wasn’t me. I learnt that I gave my all, from my time and effort to my whole heart. I handed you it. I’ve continuously said I don’t blame you but you dropped it like it was a toy and it shattered. I know this is a goodbye to you but also a massive apology to Isra because I let myself down; I put her through the worst and she didn’t deserve it.

I’m okay. I’m strong.

You’re okay. You’re happy. You’re strong.

I’m proud of myself for being able to bring out the best in you. If I brought out the best in someone who didn’t love me then I’d like to think I will be able to go above and beyond for someone who deserves my love and shows me the gratitude I do.

I don’t wish you the best but I don’t wish you the worst either. I wish you what you deserve. I wish you karma so you learn and grow. I wish you peace. You need to find yourself, do it.

Your mum is beautiful, she has a pure soul and from the bottom of my heart I hope she’s truly content someday. I’d like to think the least you could do for me is tell her that I will miss her.

Thank you for being an experience.

Take care and this is goodbye.

Isra.

[worldcakecakecake]

Feliciano and the King of Hearts

Chosen by the gods as the Queen of Hearts from the moment of birth, we follow Feliciano’s story as he grows into royal life, learns to rule, go against age old customs, and his relationship with his husband to be, the King of Hearts.

Chapter 1 I  Chapter 2 I Chapter 3 I Chapter 4 I Chapter 5 I Chapter 6I Chapter 7 I Chapter 8 I Chapter 9I Chapter 10 I Chapter 11I Chapter 12 I Chapter 13 I Chapter 14 I Chapter 15 I Chapter 16 I Chapter 17 I Chapter 18 I Chapter 19 I Chapter 20 I Chapter 21 I Chapter 22 I Chapter 23 I Chapter 24 I Chapter 25 I Chapter 26 I Chapter 27 I Chapter 28 I Chapter 29 I Chapter 30 I Chapter 31 I Chapter 32

Once again, I apologize for delay, I actually had this chapter ready for the last three days, but I couldn't even find time to post. Things have been really stressful. As always, patience and I hope you enjoy this chapter.

                                                    Chapter 33

His name was Haris, just Ludwig and Feliciano’s age, from the Israeli province, having joined this Joker group after having lost his entire family in a raid by once again Khaos’s men. That time it had been because they were begging for a define version of a tale that was well known throughout these parts of the Diamond Kingdom. Haris told them that his ancestors had been contacted by the Diamond Ace himself with a tale that they passed down with exactness throughout the generations. King Khaos’s men wanted it desperately and so it had caused Haris’s loosing of them when they refused to word it to men they knew could use it for danger. This particular group of Jokers had found him and had taken him into his care after he had nothing else to look forward to.

 “Do you know the tale?” Feliciano asked him curiously, leaning with a sweet begging in his eyes to know.

 Haris smiled and leaned just as close, watching around himself as to not let others hear, not even Ludwig, who moved ever so closer to them the more Haris and Feliciano got nearer.

 “I’m the last lone word of the tale,” he was proud, with a smug and even a glowing in his eyes that Feliciano found alluring, much to Ludwig’s eye roll.

 Feliciano took a great gasp, filling himself with enough reaction to show exactly the interest he had of this. “Can I know it? Can I know it?” He asked and begged like a child, crawling the ever closer to him, Ludwig near to scolding and moving him back. Haris chuckled, not seeming to mind of course, he had the attention of the arising Queen of Hearts all for him. The teasing smirk he had on made Ludwig feel like he was mocking him.

 “Jerusalem actually has a mural dedicated to the story, I can explain it to you well once were there,” he promised, and it only made Feliciano the more anxious to get there.

 After the opening Feliciano had made with Haris, others began to break their own shells, joining along in a circle of conversations, of laughs and cultural exchanges that even Ludwig was enjoying from.

 Their arrival to Jerusalem was not as quick as it had been to Cairo. They spent an entire day and an entire night traveling, not giving themselves time to stop and stall. Luckily they were equipped with enough food and water to enjoy inside, the magicians taking turns so each could take their rest and their own helping to the food that was brought and presented.

 They arrived to Jerusalem an early morning, the heat as intense as any other in the extend of the dessert. It was here that they decided on their stop, for movement to be given to their legs, re-supply, settle and rest well without the shaking and dizziness of the boats. Dua and Haris decided to act as tour guides around the city to Feliciano, later Ludwig after he realized Feliciano would have a lot of alone time with Haris if he didn’t. They both had visited enough to understand well the streets they walked in, the restaurants they ate, the sights, the few amount of art, but more importantly, the building that shone rather peculiarly on its own, the temple mount. It was to them the place that they thought the Diamond Ace first created the kingdom, its people, its creatures, its set of order and life. Entrance to the church inside was forbidden unless you were either a trained priest, the King, Queen, or Jack of the Diamond Kingdom. Still, there was a surrounding wall they could visit, decorated, acknowledge with prayers and love as a form of gratitude to their Ace. Dua and Harris didn’t pay much attention to all of it, they passed by crowds and helped Ludwig and Feliciano to push aside as they made their way to the true interest. Much to Feliciano’s surprise, it was actually a pretty deserted area, with enough space for him to move forward and gaze at its tallness that reigned with color, design, and story, unique in the entire wall and even city.

 The four Aces were presented at its top, and below, a story seemed to be told, with only two figures, surrounded only by the items that tried to explain it. Feliciano couldn’t understand, but Haris gladly began to tell to light up its meaning.

 “Long ago, our Ace of Diamonds had one day decided to take a peek through the doors that granted watching into our world. In this particular seeing, he saw the unfolding of a persecution, of a family being chased down, a young baby girl in their hold that they desperately tried to protect. The persecutors managed their holding, their attack, even the killing, but there was still the young baby girl. Although it was unbecoming for Aces to offer much help in the events of the human world unless it was those of their Kings, Queens and Jacks, he intervened and stopped any harm from coming to the girl. He learned her name was Zubaida, and he made sure she was taken to a family that took care of her, raised in a simple house hold where she lived with another adoptive sibling. Her sibling was jealous, cruel, and brought misery to the young girl every day ever since her arrival. She managed well to get her into trouble in the household, causing Zubaida to earn scolds and harsh punishments for them. It was a new temptation every day to run away, prayers to the Aces for escape, for relief, and the Diamond Ace answered by visiting, using the form of an angel, a vessel that could survive and be seen to the humans. He dressed himself as a blind beggar, testing Zubaida’s kindness, humility and even friendliness. She would always offer him help, give him food, talk on about topics that interested them both.

 Each day the Ace would give her words of wisdoms, things to help her continue on, believe in a better future that he worked to give her by these chats and words. She looked forward to them each time, their friendship growing like that of a grandfather and his granddaughter, their walks through the village known to all, which caused stories for people to tell.

 Years passed, Zubaida grew, a woman to which the kingdom could use to their advantage. War was alive, rampaging throughout the kingdom, and Zubaida offered her services for the defense of her province and kingdom. She settled off and left the small town she had grown up in, but not before promising to the old beggar the gift of lighting stones from whatever adventure this new path decided to take her on. She collected them from each of the provinces, even the kingdoms she visited, keeping it all in a chest, in it papers where she had written his sayings, the spells he taught her, all tied to a different stone that reminded her of them.

 Years later, she returned to her village recognized as a great war hero, welcomed in celebration and honors that she would have never expected from them. Eager she was to meet with the old beggar, but then she learned that he had died shortly after leaving. She was devastated, the chest of stones and words a gift that she was never to give, a weeping that continued on for many days.

 She then received the visit of another man, of her age, of beauty, of gentleness, presenting himself as a grandson of the beggar, seeking for the chest, for her own friendship, her love, later her hand, which she gladly took, their son then chosen to become the next King of the kingdom.”

 As Haris told, he pointed to the symbols, the connections, making both Ludwig and Feliciano understand more the live story the mural was telling.

 “But…wait.” Feliciano kept thinking, a question arising with those last words, Ludwig with the same wondering. “If the Ace of Diamonds was the beggar, he couldn’t have possibly died, and he couldn’t have had family enough for this sudden grandson to appear.”

 Both Haris and Dua chuckled, knowing well, always delighted to reveal this particular part of the story.

 “To this day, many actually believe that the handsome figure was just the Ace of Diamonds in another disguise, and thus the line of Bonnefoy use that excuse as to prove that their lineage is that of Aces and demi-gods,” Dua informed.

 “But in actuality, it’s wrong.” Haris knew, and he confided well in the truth his family was told generations ago. “The Ace quickly returned to his realm after he had exceeded his allowed time with the humans. In his court, he told stories of Zubaida, of her progress in the journey, her gaining of the stones and any of the heroic acts she made. An angel by the name of Hosni, who was actually in charge of placing decorative stones around the celestial castle, was enamored with her stories, always faithful to listening to them whenever the Ace began his telling. They say he fell in love with her by simply hearing them, every night reaching the doors of passage, tempted to take peeks of her, fall down and join in her adventure. After Zubaida’s return to the village, the Ace seeing the great amount of loyalty Hosni held for her, granted him access to the human world, in return that he offered protection, love, and trust, just like he had done as a beggar, to her. He had done so well, even in helping to create a temple in honor of the Diamond Ace, using the very stones she had gotten on her journeys.”

 Feliciano kept enamoring himself which each word of the story, eyes only on the mural as it seemed to come alive in his mind, those figures moving as if they were building that every temple around him.

 “And where is this temple?” He wondered.

 Haris sigh disappointedly, fault and anguish, close to tearing and gripping for a chance. “Not even my family knew where it was.” A tragedy that could be heard in the loss of life in his tone.

 “Many speculate that it was destroyed during the war of the blackened decades,” Dua continued, sensing her friend’s dread. “Once it had a define location, but now a days there’s nothing but rubble there, no design, no building, not even a stone, Haris and I have gone ourselves.” They both pouted, the memory a reminder of misfortune.

 “Are there any scrolls at least? Records? Anything?” Feliciano begged, hoping there was some sort of chance.

 “Absolutely nothing, all traces of it completely disappeared, because of it, some say that it never even existed.”

 “But why? Why would it get destroyed? Why would somebody take down something so historic and important?” Feliciano found no meaning.

 “Many says it was perhaps a design Hosni and Zubaida had made, something that angered, something that had to be hidden…” Silence settled as they tried to figure what it could be, as if a hint could be read in this mural instead.

 “It was something that surely Khaos’s men would have loved to know themselves, and they thought that with my family they could.” Piercing pain was in Haris’s eyes, surely in his mind the flashes of that day passing before him, weakening him, even a slight shake that he tried to control with the griping of his fists.

 Feliciano came close hoping he could give some sort of ailment, but a grab of his shoulder by Ludwig told him that it was best that he didn’t. He wasn’t sure how exactly he could react to it.

 “At least the story is still alive, at least people know about Zubaida, she’s praised along with Hosni as surely the Ace of Diamonds wants. King Khaos could destroy her temple, but he cannot destroy her legacy,” Feliciano said hoping it could give him the relief, the breath that his body needed once again.

 It worked well enough to stop his trembling, to let his figure compose straight, his eyes returning that gleam of hope, of expectation and wonder to fight on if even by himself. Like Zubaida’s legacy continued, it was in his to continue the story as his family had done well to do.

 “And I hope nothing will halt it,” he declared, with the breath that finally returned him back to normal.

 The rest were relieved.

 “I think it’s time for lunch, how about we take you to have some falafel, I know of a place that makes the most excellent one in the city.”

 Feliciano practically shouted with joy and eagerly moved them all forward, leaving the mural behind, but not in their minds.

  After that lunch, Gupta had found them and they headed back to their boats, once again off on the journey, content enough to know that their next stop at Tehran would be their last one. Throughout most of the day their treading continued, but late in the night they had to make a stop. All the magicians were indeed too tired from their rowing and wanted some time to relax. They circled all the boats around an array of large boulders that they could take as a form of shelter, they prepared a fire from which they all centered around, where they cooked their food and shared it along with drinks and chatter. Of course, Ludwig and Feliciano joined, Feliciano enjoying from this air of feast and liveliness, while Ludwig frowned as he always did, not understanding how this was rest when they were simply fooling and wasting sleep time.

 Some of the men and women took out instruments, drums, guitars, and flutes of their own, rare and weird for Ludwig and Feliciano, but still shinning beautiful and uniquely. They started playing, some humming along trying to mimic the very instruments, in union creating a melody that seemed to bring color to the nothingness of the dessert. Feliciano clapped along with some of the others, impressed then as some began to stand and join in dances around the fire. It was mostly those with the perfect amount of curves that joined, who their bodies had the flexibility to move like thin sheets of satin, like the waves of water or the passage of wind in these desserts.

 Feliciano was trapped, their hips moving in quite the provocative ways that he was surprised no other was being so shaken or moved by. Sure, some whistles were blown, some callings heard, but it never interrupted, it continued, a calling and showing of nature that was best not to intervene in. Soon enough Feliciano found his foot tapping, his own claps going along with a rhythm that the group did not fail to miss. They all smirked, a conjunctive idea that Dua showed by coming close to Feliciano, offering her hands into welcome. Feliciano trembled, close to denying, he couldn’t possibly, he knew nothing, it was not his culture, what if he did something insulting?

 “Come on! I’ll teach you,” Dua still offered, and Feliciano couldn’t hold himself from the temptation any longer.

 With a smile, a whisper of words to Pookie so he could remain in his original sitting watching, he moved forward to join along with the rest of the spinning figures. Dua and Feliciano took their spot to practice, she showed him all the exact movements, both moving together, incorporating themselves with the rest with each new forwarding step.

 To help them better move, many began removing much of their clothing, revealing arms, hips, and stomachs, some even their chests. Feliciano played along by removing many of his upper wear, his chest revealed to the cooling air, uncaring of the many wanting eyes he received, including those of his arising King.

 To Ludwig, it was all scandalous, how Feliciano smirked, how his hands moved freely as if calling for someone to caress that creamy expanse of his skin. His back seemed to wave to him, a movement to his hips that Ludwig never thought he would blush or even drool about. And Feliciano continued on, uncaring to how heated he got Ludwig, gripping harshly the cup he still held with his drink, trying to look away, trying to find some distraction, but everything, even the music, seemed to be calling his eyes to his arising Queen, to his allure, to his smile, his beauty, even his jealousy as he saw him thread a teasing finger in Haris’s hair as he passed trying to find a place to sit. Ludwig felt this sudden need to punch him if he dared join him in that array of too revealing dancing. Luckily, he moved away, laughing, joining some other members who continued to eat while they gladly watched. Ludwig eased, deciding it was best he enjoyed as well, although his eyes only remained on Feliciano’s appetizing figure, thoughts coming unto his mind that he tried so hard to hide ever since his growing sexual urges.

 Feliciano was a childhood friend, his arising Queen who denied his proposal, and he was-…just best to keep his thoughts away from such carnal and lustful thoughts, even with a continuing stare on him that Feliciano began to feel. In one moment their eyes met, and to both their surprises, neither looked away, they remained glued, readying, a certain power in them that had Feliciano moving the more seductively, the more arches, the widening of his mouth, of tongue licking his lips, and lastly, even a wink and a smile.

 That did it to Ludwig. He looked away, he stood, he moved back to the boats to find some of the water basins and drench his head in it along with the dirty thoughts. Pookie seemed to be chuckling as he flew behind him. Ludwig decided then to inspect one of the trunks, checking on the Spheres of Validity, but instead, the first thing he met was the red collar Gilbert had given him, the one that cut reproduction magic if one wanted to- he slammed the trunk closed.

 Of all the things that survived from the attack.

 After pondering, trying to focus instead on training exercises in his book, his usual physical training, he returned back to the group, all the figure now sitting, in silent speaking, the music dimmed, the group slowly falling into tiredness.

 “You never heard about Zubaida’s story?” Gupta asked Feliciano.

 “Until I came here, no, Hearts tends to focus mostly on their own,”

 “Understandable, many of the Hearts legends are incredible,” one complimented.

 “Romulus’s tale is one of my favorites,” Dua said as she finished her last drink for the night.

 “How do you feel about him being one of your ancestors?” Haris asked, close and near, angering Ludwig as always.

 “It’s…really not something that changes anything about me. Like to all of you, Romulus’s tale is just another story from the many I’ve heard, although more in tied with me since he is one of my great grandfathers and a symbol of my family…but…that’s about it, I’m more curious about other things,”

 “Like what?”

 “Like…knowing about my great grandmother instead, Augusta.” The question was still alive in Feliciano’s mind even after the months that passed. It surprised Ludwig and earned a raise of his head.

 Feliciano was still nowhere close to knowing, disgrace slouching him, slightly hating his ignorance and the very world’s for not letting her own story be more alive, for him to know, for him to see, and maybe he could finally get why…-he gazed over to Ludwig, who quickly turned away once he saw him trying to connect their eyes again. After that last smile and wink, it was best not to revive anything else between them.

 “Romulus’s wife, his Queen at the time,” they all at least recognized, but no other words where shared of a beginning of a new story, an idea, a telling.

 “Yes…I…need to know much more of her.” He gazed over to the mark on his finger, as if it could hold some hint, as if it could tell him. It was a mark given to him by the Aces after all, that all Queens held, surely even Augusta.

 “Isn’t she the one about the song, the one…um, the one you Heartians are always singing!” Haris tried to remind.

 “What’s it called, um, be mine, accept to be yours, accept to be-” Gupta continued to guess.

 “Accept to be mine,” Feliciano corrected.

 “Ah yes! That one!” Gupta pointed.

 “That’s all it is, a song.” One only about her love and loyalty to Romulus.

 “A lovely song still,” Dua dreamed.

 The players began to try and play the song in their instruments from what they knew in memory, but in honesty it wasn’t tuned, it was lost, and even pretty hurtful to the ears. Feliciano had to save this before it became any worst.

 From one of his well-protected pockets, he took out the golden chest, his music box, what he decided would always be on him, especially after the attack at the train. He opened, all silencing for the melody that began to play. Feliciano let it sound for the duration of the whole song, for the players to learn, to tune their instruments, blow and beat in the right ways that would fit along with the tiny thing in the arising Queen’s hands.

 “I’ll journey and see beyond the lines of our kingdom

Never a fear to be lost, never a fear to fall

In pleasure, I will take the mysteries of what I could meet

If you accept to be mine, my Queen.”

 Feliciano found himself singing, once the chest went back to repeating the song after it first ended.

 “No heat, no cold, will stop me of my search

No sun, no rain to go against my strength

Just promise me your hand

And love me in our eternity.”

 He wanted it to be a whisper, but he couldn’t control the feeling it gave him, which heightened his voice for all to hear, stopping once he noticed that an eerie silence settled, all eyes on him, attentive to his voice. He became shy, nearing to close the chest.

 “Please, no!” Dua stopped him.

 “Continue,” Haris asked him.

 Confident, he smiled, and continued on, new found bravery that helped him enunciate the song.

 “My sun, my moon, my land, my love

I know it’s a journey you will overcome

But I don’t need you to go so far

I want you here to kiss me.

 Would you want all the gold I will find for you?

Would you like the songs I will bring from afar for you?

Would you accept me as your shield?

And would you want me always by your side?”

 The players began to join in Feliciano’s singing, just as beautiful as the chest, as loving, as serene, bringing to all quite a relaxation that made them all begin to lean down to the ground in rest.

 “I don’t want any of the riches you will bring

I don’t care for any of the songs

I only want you to hold

I only want your arms around me.

 Bring me your love, your kisses, your loyalty,

Your passion, your hope, your defeat,

Your promise, your weakness, your strength,

I will keep it all in my heart.”

 Ludwig was just as taken by the spell of his voice, by the familiarity of this song, memories of their dances, of the many times they sang. He couldn’t help it as he began to word it under his breath, truly silent, his eyes pretending to be ignorant to the figure that shone above everything with his singular song.

 “I’ll journey and see beyond the lines of our kingdom

Never a fear to be lost, never a fear to fall

In pleasure, I will take the mysteries of what I could meet

If you accept to be mine, my King.”

 The players knew it was over, laying down the instruments, yawns shared, stretching, tired eyes that wanted nothing more than their beds. Feliciano closed his music chest and guessed it was time they should all head to sleep.

  Some rested on their beds on the boats, others camped out on the ground, but they all awakened the same the next morning, some with headaches, with back pains, or their bodies hurting, potions shared between them to ail it. Ludwig and Feliciano this time helped with everything that was needed to pack back into the boats, the two of them now friendly in the group after the small feast last night. They chattered aimlessly between themselves, Ludwig distracted in his conversation with another fellow, but it didn’t stop his gaze from spotting something that flared him to his furthest anger.

 Feliciano had been helping Haris with picking many of the tents, in the process, they had picked one together without noticing, pulling each other until they stumbled together, too close, laughing, Haris gracefully detangling Feliciano from himself with a single move of his arm, which maintained a hold, a smirk, a wink, one that reddened Feliciano’s cheeks. Feliciano moved away to work on something else, leaving Haris behind to look at features from Feliciano that was definitely not in his right to see. Ludwig instantly dropped what he was doing, harsh steps moving toward him, loud enough for the other to turn away from whatever he had been starring at. Haris grew fearful, for the look and stance Ludwig was directing at him showed nothing else but killing intent.

 “Listen, I’ve had enough of this,” Ludwig harshly pointed, all his facial lines meeting in one pierce of anger that seemed to shine with the purest of fires. “I don’t know what game you’re playing at, or what you’re trying to achieve here, but it’s one you’re forbidden to and you’re threading too dangerously on. Feliciano is an arising Queen, my future Queen, and you will do well to stay in your line, not get any closer, or even spare him so much as a glance from now on, because I swear, I will-” he didn’t finish it, because that’s when he noticed the silence that fell, all the eyes that starred at him, dumbfounded and wide eyed to witness the arising King of Hearts get so defended, so maddening and well…-Harris could only chuckle despite.

 “Easy, easy, you really need to calm down, your highness,” he seemed to mock, which maintained some still firing anger in Ludwig. “I admit, Feliciano is adorable and a pleasure to be around, but I am aware clearly that I should not let it go too far. There is nothing between us but teasing and maybe some small flirts, but not enough to worry, not enough for you to suddenly go rampaging.” Now Haris was clearly maddened, rolling his eyes, trying to keep calm in his voice; if he threaded too dangerously things could become more violent, and he really did not want it to reach that height. “As long as I’m concerned, Feliciano denied his marriage to you, and for now, you have no entitlement as to who he could be with. If I want to flirt with him, I will, because between the both of us, I actually know how to do it right without hurting him or slinging insults his way and still treat him like the respectable arising Queen he is.” He returned the same anger in his eyes, that Ludwig did well to stand strong against, both actually fearful to the other, but neither would hint it to all the eyes that starred to them. “Don’t go around preaching who he should be with or not after you failed yourself to reach that accord. If you really loved him- as well all already know you do-” That was the push, that was the sudden weakness he showed, and Haris couldn’t help but grin at it. Really, it was so obvious. “You would stop being so possessive and jealous and actually do something righteous and loving to earn him as any man or woman should justly do,” he shouted in fierceness, hoping that it would be something that would remain well in his head, that would remind him, that would hopefully change something in his behavior that Haris found so annoying.

 With a grunt he remembered he had work to do, so he moved away back to business, even with the several eyes on him that he tried to ignore.  Ludwig could learn to be uncaring to the rest as well, but he could not ignore Feliciano’s, which he spotted as soon as Haris moved away.

 It was startled, fearsome, a frozen expression in his spot, proof enough to Ludwig that he had seen and even heard all of this confrontation. The embarrassment really hit him then, the indiscretion, the trembling, the gripping. At least his anger had subsided, but in it replaced embarrassment and fault, a wish to return everything and not make him seem like the heartless fool he already knew Feliciano saw him as.

 The brunet came closer, nervous steps, hoping he could tell him something, hoping he could make him realize. “I’m sorry but…he was right,” Feliciano was courageous enough to admit.

 Ludwig only nodded, too embarrassed to look him in the eye at the moment, anybody’s eyes actually. “You don’t need to apologize for it…if anything I should be the one to…” their eyes met, and Ludwig was lost, he was conflicted, he was weak, he wanted to erase, he wanted to distract, so he turned once again, forget it as everything. Feliciano sigh disappointedly and tried to hide his groan.

 “Let’s just…get on the boats and…leave.” Feliciano agreed to that, both deciding to board together, if even with distance between them.

It was only one more stop.

[jennamustafa267]

Creative Non-Fiction Final Draft

                            Secrets Of The CobbleStone Streets 

   In the summer of July 2016, when I was fifteen years old, I took a rather interesting trip to Italy with my grandma (Tata), my Uncle, my Aunt, two baby cousins, and my uncles’ mother in law. We traveled to three different places. First Venice, then Florence, then Rome. Out of three Florence was my favorite. The days would get pretty hectic trying to balance out two grandmas and two children. Regardless it was still a trip that I cherish deeply. 

   It was about to be the one year mark of my mother's passing, which was August 2015. We were on our way back home from Palestine and she had a stroke on the plane. She was only 43 years old, and it was completely unexpected. So my uncle decided he wanted to do something special for me and my grandma for all the stress we endured over the last 11 months. 

   When I first lost my mother I didn’t quite understand why it happened or how I would ever be able to heal. The entire trip me and my uncle (My moms’ brother) would be talking about how much she would have loved Italy. Everything from the chic boutiques to the savory pasta and fresh salad.  Nonetheless, we were together enjoying it for her and to honor her. My mother was the perfect daughter and sister. The majority of my upbringing, I was surrounded by my father’s family. My maternal aunts and uncles all lived in different states and my grandparents lived in Jordan. The only times we got together were only for short periods of time for family weddings.  It was refreshing to be able to spend some time with them as they continued to tell me stories and little things about my mom as we toured the city. 

   One night, in particular, my aunt and uncle went out to dinner and left the kids with me and their grandmas. However, my grandma and I did not feel like being confined to the hotel to stay and babysit. Florence was a historical and beautiful city, that we just wanted to explore some more.  My grandma and I conceived a plan to pretend that I- was the one that wanted to go out but my “Grandma didn’t want me to go alone.” So, we made sure Carla (My aunts’ mom) was all set with the kids and we left to venture out. We did not tell my uncle that we were leaving simply because he would have told us “No.” He would have just been worried about us being alone in a foreign atmosphere alone at night. We kept it our little secret. 

   Our hotel was right next to the long, calm, glistening Arno river. It’s clear blue color has turned almost golden as all the street lights reflected off the river. There was no breeze in the air, but it was just comfortable enough so you weren't sweating. The streets were filled with noise and people. Every corner had a musician, playing either their guitar, piano or violin. The restaurants were filled with people gazing at each other in love, sharing plates of pasta, or families laughing drinking wine. The street flourished with tourists. My grandma and I are two of them. Stopping at every storefront to admire the merchandise inside like the jewelry made out of Murano glass, vintage clocks, or the classic sweatshirts that read, “I LOVE ITALY”. There was a violinist playing his own rendition of an American classic “Sweet Caroline” by Neil Diamond. He had a keyboard and would have the audience surrounding him sing “SWEET CAROLINE!!” We stopped to watch some street performers dancing to an unfamiliar Italian hip hop song. We stopped to watch them for a minute and gave them a few Euros to respect their grind and display our appreciation.  

   There was very little conversation exchanged between me and my grandma. We were just taking everything in while we could. We walked at a slow pace, arm in arm. It wasn’t until I asked her to tell me stories, that we could not stop talking. She shared with me memories of what my mother used to do when she was my age, like how she would impersonate Steve Urcle or play as The Little Mermaid in the pool. We shared laughs over the old times’ of when she used to visit me when I was younger, about 6 years old and I acted like a complete brat. She told me how she wanted to sleep in my bed but I put up the biggest fit and refused to give up my bed for anyone. My grandma also explained some Islamic teachings to me and made certain situations easier to understand. Such as stories about Prophets and their wives. Their lives are supposed to be an example for us Muslims. The feel of the cobblestone streets made it fun to walk slower. Something about the round feeling on the bottom of my thin sandal made it much more fun to walk on. The cobblestones were slightly warm, acting as a healing agent to how sore my feet were from all the walking previously done that day.  

   We walked past this gelato place, the gelato in Italy was the richest, sweetest, creamiest and dreamiest gelato in the world. But, for some reason I did not want … neither did my grandma. Instead, I treated us both to a cup of fresh, juicy watermelon. Nothing like the fruit and vegetables back home in America. Everything in Italy seemed better. The food everywhere in every shop and restaurant was organic and bursting with flavor. The people are calmer than those back home in New York. No one was rushing or shoving you. They were all just minding their own business and going about their day. 

   Tata’s knees started hurting her, something that was familiar to me. Tatas’ hands were as soft as the inside of a rose, I felt her weight on my arm more and more as we walked indicating that she was getting tired and we should probably pick a spot to pick. But I didn’t mind, there was warmth radiating from her arm on to mine. We snapped some pictures and took a rest sitting on a bridge above the Arno river. There were a few people also sitting on the bridge. This one lady next to us noticed our hijabs (Headscarf) and asked us where we were from. When we told her Palestine, she excitedly told us she was from there too. Her name was Salam and she was with her husband, they both are from a town right next to ours in Palestine called Beit Hanina, and lived in Brooklyn. It was the strangest thing. All four of us agreed that the world was extremely small. The fact that we never ran into each other in New York, yet we so happened to be sitting on a bridge at the same time in Italy. We let them go on their way, being that they were on their honeymoon and wanted to enjoy each other's company. 

    There was a small moment of silence as I pondered about how strange things (like meeting that couple) happen and how it was all meant to be. And it drew me back to how that moment of being alone with my grandma in Europe was meant to be and how it will most likely never happen again. This is an opportunity to just have a deep conversation with her and speak to her about anything I wanted to know, 

   “Tata, how were you able to handle the grief of momma?” I asked her with apprehension not wanting to make her upset. My grandma was the one my mother always went to, so I felt it fitting to ask her, even if I was wary that it would make her upset. But to my surprise, she answered,  

   “When you have a strong trust in Allah (God) plans, you will understand that this was always meant to happen. He will not give us anything that we can not endure. You must have patience and trust to be able to get through anything. Thank Allah for everything.” 

    I looked at her completely in awe. Stunned, that there were no tears building up in her eyes or even a crack in her voice. This was a woman who was talking about her own daughters’ death. It is her faith that is helping her push through this. I, however, could not respond. I knew if I spoke it would just drown in tears. The lump in my throat was too large to let anything out. 

   She continued, “You know, she was too good for this world. We did not deserve her. She’s right where she belongs now. And one day we will all be reunited.” she continued. 

   When she said “We will be reunited” it really made me think that I need to remain the proper Muslim girl that my mother would want me to be. 

   I just admired her as she spoke and gave her a big hug. She was completely and truly right. It put everything in perspective for me. It made the anger I had built up after losing my mother disappear. She made the world make sense again. My grandma had an answer for everything. No wonder my mom was as perfect as she was. She had a great mother to look up too. 

   “This means so much to me,” I expressed to Tata, “You are so strong and so brave to be able to handle all of this and I love you.” I gave her a kiss on the cheek, 

   “I love you too,” she said. 

   We watched the amber color river flow. Tata then started to tell me about how she grew up. Living in Palestine at the start of the war was a very disquieting time for her. She explained to me how she practically had to escape from her home and keep moving from village to village in Palestine until she reached a place where the Israeli army would not be able to harm her and her family anymore. She even explained to me that she lost her newborn baby sister on the way.  Yet another thing that is so admirable about her. Before we knew it the streets slowly became quieter and less busy. After we both yawned, we hugged again and made our way back to the hotel, right before my uncle came back.  That night I realized how truly strong-spirited, faithful, and exceptional my grandmother is. She is my ultimate role model and I hope to grow to be just like her.

   Overall we should all learn to appreciate our family while they are around. I understood my whole family was hurting after the passing of my mother, but I was so worried about everyone else I forgot to try and deal with the grief myself. People would just talk to me and it would go in one ear and out the other. I was too busy thinking about if my brothers and my father are okay. I’m so beyond grateful to have had this walk with my grandma and for her to have been able to explain to me her grief. But it had to take us venturing off on our own to fully connect and help me grieve better. 

[basseyblog]

There are two videos on YouTube of Dame Shirley Bassey’s performance at the Royal Albert Hall in London for mr. Gorbachev 80th. birthday party. Songs: ‘Diamonds are forever’ and ‘The lady is a tramp’.  She sounded and looked amazing. (With special thanks to Susan)

From Bloomberg.com:

Storming Shirley The good-bad, stop-start energy was flagging until Dame Shirley Bassey stormed in and bellowed “Diamonds are Forevuuuuuh!” She gave everyone an object lesson in old- fashioned razzle-dazzle and in jump-starting a catatonic audience. They should market her as a defibrillator.

From WalesOnline:

Mikhail Gorbachev celebrated his 80th birthday at a star-studded charity gala in London last night, where he honoured Sir Tim Berners-Lee, the founder of the internet as a “man who changed the world”.

The former Soviet leader personally chose Sir Tim, CNN founder Ted Turner, and Kenyan engineer Evans Wadongo, as the winners of the inaugural Gorbachev Awards.

The Mikhail Gorbachev – The Man Who Changed The World gala at the Royal Albert Hall was hosted by Kevin Spacey and Sharon Stone.

It featured performances from Dame Shirley Bassey, Katherine Jenkins, Bryan Ferry, Paul Anka, Melanie C, Valery Gergiev and the London Symphony Orchestra.

Arnold Schwarzenegger, the former governor of California, Lech Walesa, the former Polish president, and actresses Goldie Hawn and Milla Jovovich were among stars who made a red-carpet entrance to the event.

Also due to attend were Israeli president Shimon Peres, former Prime Minister Sir John Major and England football manager Fabio Capello.

Proceeds from the evening were to be donated to the Raisa Gorbachev Children’s Institute for Transplantology and Haematology in St Petersburg, and to Macmillan Cancer Support.

The Gorbachev Awards were presented in three categories, intended to reflect the former Soviet leader’s own achievements in the world. Mr Gorbachev, who turned 80 earlier this month, is widely credited with ending the Cold War. He won a Nobel Peace Prize in 1992.

The three Man Who Changed the World awards were:

Gllasnost, awarded to Mr Turner for his “contribution to the development of the culture of an open world”. Mr Turner, 72, is known not only for founding CNN but also as a philanthropist who donated one billion dollars to the United Nations.

Uskorenie, awarded to Mr Wadongo for his “contribution to the development of modern science and technology”. Mr Wadongo, 25, from Kenya, invented a solar-powered LED lantern at 18.

Perestroika, awarded to Sir Tim for his “contribution to the development of global civilisation”. Sir Tim invented the World Wide Web in 1989.

Mr Gorbachev said: “These three people have each, in their own way, changed the world for their fellow men and women in ways which affect all our lives.

“Each and every one possesses the ability to make a difference and the Gorbachev Awards have been established to those people who achieve this and to provide inspiration to all of us to try.”

The evening’s finale was due to be the debut performance of a song called Changing The World For Us All, written by Paul Anka and Andrey Makarevich and performed by the two men alongside Katherine Jenkins and the Turetsky Choir.

The evening’s co-host, actress Sharon Stone, said of Mr Gorbachev: “He has carried himself presidentially through the world since, doing good things around the world and carrying his desire to be a good citizen through his life.

“I’m very honoured to be asked, I’m very honoured to help to introduce all of the extraordinary people who are here to honour Mr Gorbachev.

“It’s an amazing thing to have been a child and growing up and seeing a country that we were at odds with – and now to have an extraordinary opportunity to go to that country and then to work with this particular man, doing good works around the world. It demonstrates to us that there really is no need to be at odds with anyone.”

Mr Turner, speaking as he arrived the gala, described the former Soviet leader’s achievements as “peacefully ending a Cold War and letting the republics of the Soviet Union democratically leave because they wanted to, and saved millions of lives and another world war”.

He added: “That’s pretty good, don’t you think? And that ain’t all he did – that’s just some of it.”

Former Spice Girl Melanie C, who performed at the event, said: “He’s an incredibly inspirational person and I’m just really honoured that I was invited to be performing for him here tonight.

*********************************

The Moscow Times:

It was a bizarre evening in the Royal Albert Hall.

If you had ever been asked who would attend the 80th birthday celebration for the last Soviet leader, Mikhail Gorbachev, it is unlikely that you would have answered Shirley Bassey, the Scorpions and one of the Spice Girls.

But they and many more stars were in attendance for a birthday party late Wednesday — a concert and an awards ceremony with the grand, almost James Bond title of “Mikhail Gorbachev: The Man Who Changed the World.”

Arnold Schwarzenegger, conductor Valery Gergiyev, former Polish President Lech Walesa and Israeli President Shimon Peres were among those who joined Gorbachev as well as Mel C — formerly Sporty Spice — as the night moved from the cheesy and over-the-top to touching and back again in the blink of an eye.

“I never expected to live until 80, but now I take on the responsibility of living until I am 90,” Gorbachev joked in a short speech at the start of the evening.

The nigh-on four-hour event was hosted by — again, who would have guessed it — actors Sharon Stone and Kevin Spacey, who spoke in front of a neo-classical column decorated with pink curtains.

They tried but failed to do an impression of Academy Awards ceremony hosts, Spacey the joker doing impressions of Bill Clinton and Jack Nicholson but sadly no voices relevant to Gorbachev’s time in office, and Stone the ditzy co-host with a number of dress changes. Hearing both of them continuously mangle various Russian names and concepts added a level of surreality to the event, which was attended by numerous Russians.

Announcing that Andrei Arshavin and Roman Pavlyuchenko — football forwards from Arsenal and Tottenham Hotspurs, respectively — were in the audience, Spacey mangled their names to unrecognizability and then tried to get laughs with the hoary joke about a “perestroikas” [pair of strikers] being present.

The evening began with a film showing world figures such as Nelson Mandela and Mother Teresa with schmaltzy quotes about changing the world before moving on to Gorbachev drawing applause from the black-tie crowd who had paid up to £100,000 ($160,000) to be at the event.

Aging German rock band the Scorpions sang their song “Wind of Change” about the political changes in Eastern Europe and brought tears to at least one audience member. No tears came when they followed that up with their song “Rock You Like a Hurricane.”

But the fact that the night was taking place in London rather than anywhere in the former Soviet Union underlined the fact that Gorbachev remains a divisive figure in his homeland, where many fault him for changing their world. Not that many at the show appeared to realize that.

There were many tributes to Gorbachev, but the hosts in particular seemed to be bent on just saying the phrase “the man who changed the world” or talking of how Gorbachev had allowed to Russia to become “free and democratic” over and over again.

Some in the audience, and surely Gorbachev himself, who recently chastised Vladimir Putin for backtracking on democracy, may have felt the huge gap between rhetoric and reality on the night.

The total Hollywoodization of Gorbachev’s role came when Russian pop group Khor Turetskogo (the Turetsky Choir) sang the African-American spiritual song, “Go Down, Moses,” only to change the lyrics to “Gorbachev, Let My People Go.”

This was followed by Mel C singing the famous Nina Simone song “Ain’t Got No/I Got Life.” The singer tweeted before the show that she would be singing the word “boobies” before lots of dignitaries that night.

Outside Albert Hall, a small group of protesters held up a banner saying “Gorby, help us reload perestroika!” Meanwhile, Soviet dissident Vladimir Bukovsky’s lawsuit to have Gorbachev arrested for his crimes as Soviet leader was rejected by a London court.

A few weeks before, at a reception at the British Embassy, he noted, with false modesty perhaps, that he would have preferred to have just “sat in a corner” for his birthday, and that it was his family who was behind the event.

That may explain the eclectic line-up on the night.

One of the few poignant moments came in a short film showing musician Andrei Makarevich playing the guitar as Gorbachev sang the words to a love song from the 1940s, accompanied by photos of him and his late wife Raisa.

Actress Milla Jovovich, who was born in the then-Soviet republic of Ukraine, also gave a more heartfelt speech to Gorbachev that brought her to tears. “When I left the Soviet Union in 1980, we were sure that we would never return to be able to see our loved ones again, and now we are able to reunite with friends, so thank you,” she said.

Each of the prizes at the awards ceremony was meant to correspond with the three buzzwords of Gorbachev’s time in office: “perestroika,” “glasnost” and “uskoreniye,” or restructuring, openness and acceleration.

The prizes went to, respectively, CNN founder Ted Turner; 25-year-old Kenyan engineer Evans Wadongo, who developed a solar lamp for poor Kenyans; and Sir Tim Berners Lee, the British scientist credited with inventing the Internet. Lee’s award was accepted by his brother.

Proceeds from the event are set to go to a cancer charity named after Gorbachev’s wife and to Britain’s Macmillan Cancer Support.

Veteran singer Paul Anka finished the show off with a swagger and nimbleness that belied the fact that he is not much more than a decade younger than Gorbachev.

After singing “You Are My Destiny,” his 1957 hit, which the Gorbachev family had personally asked for, he sang his most famous song, “My Way.”

“I originally wrote this song for Frank Sinatra, but it’s indigenous to you,” Anka said rather awkwardly before blasting out the song.

And then fake snow fluttered down on to the crowd at the end as Anka and Makarevich sang a song they had jointly written about Gorbachev and about changing the world.

Here is the video that our own blog team member Susan made at the Royal Albert Hall for mr. Gorbachev’s 80th. birthday concert. Susan was one of the lucky fans that got a ticket for the event.

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  Dame Shirley Bassey performs at Gorbechev 80th. birthday party -2011- There are two videos on YouTube of Dame Shirley Bassey's performance at the Royal Albert Hall in London for mr.

[rey-129-fan]

Isra Character Bio

So I finally sat down and wrote out the full bio for Isra!  Woo!!  Now a lot of these answers are based on the events up to chapter 5 in The Scion, so slight spoilers for the first arc.  Also, a lot of these questions are answered by Isra herself, though when she can’t, I labeled them with a WOG so you know that’s my answer.

Character bio template can be found here: http://yeahwrite.co/post/24774343500

ORIGINS & FAMILY:

Name: Isra Luana Douglas

Nickname: Bakagou likes to call me shadowy bitch.  Flint prefers Ningyo.  Flint’s is my favorite.

Reason for name: Isra means nocturnal journey, which given my dad’s family quirk, fits really well.  It was also suggested by a family friend, though I can’t remember who.  Luana was also tossed around, but according to Mom, she didn’t think it would fit as well.  I agree, and am glad they went with Isra and not Luana.

Birthday: February 13 (Aquarius).  I especially love it when it falls on a Friday.  If only Japan had the same superstitions.

Age: 14.  I will be 15 in time for the Entrance Exam.

Gender: Girl, she/her.

Place of birth: Honolulu, Hawaii.

Places lived since: Mustafa, Japan.

Parents’ names, backgrounds, occupations: Galen was my dad’s name.  I don’t remember what he did before he died.  Zoey was my mom’s name, and I think she was a pediatric nurse?  She was really sick for the last year she was with us, so I can’t really remember what she did either.

Number of siblings: Flint is technically considered my brother, since Sophia adopted me and we grew up together.  I don’t really remember Jack, since we really little when he died with Dad, but according to Sophia, we were close, like twins generally are in their early years.

Relationship with family: Dad’s side is pretty much gone.  Mom’s side, outside of Sophia and Flint, are all dicks and can never speak to me again, and I would not care.

Happiest memory: There was that time Mom was well enough to be out of the hospital in time for my birthday, so we went down to the beach and built sandcastles.  Mom wanted it to be a big party and invite all my friends, but I really just wanted her, Sophia and Flint.  Mom even got me a book I really loved, while Sophia got me this game that I could play with Mom when she had to go back to the hospital.  Flint showed me how to bodyboard in the waves, and even let me try his board.  After we had dinner, and then a cake.  Mom let me have her piece, and then laughed because I got it all over my face.

...That was the last time Mom got to celebrate my birthday.

Childhood trauma: I guess having both my dad and brother dying before I was even 4.  And then mom got sick and died too.  Then the CHI targeting me because of my “villainous” quirk.  Honestly, the deflating grades is probably the least bad thing to happen to me, though the school in general was full of dicks.

Children of her own?: I’m 14.  What kids?

PHYSICAL

Height: 5’6.5” or 169 cm.  An inch taller than Izuku.

Weight: I thought it was rude to ask a person their weight?  I guess maybe about 150 pounds.  That or 70 kg.  I don’t know, I don’t weigh myself regularly.

Build: What?  I guess I’m fit, and I don’t have much in way of hips or chest.  I’m 14.

Nationality: American, White.

Disabilities: Um… chronic pain in my leg, though only affects me if I did a lot of running.  Sophia thinks I might have ADHD, but I’ve been diagnosed with depression, anxiety, and PTSD.  The second one’s been around since I was little, and mostly shows itself as being unable to talk in certain situations, particularly in schools and around teachers.  I’ve been working on it, and I can use my quirk or sign language to communicate, I just can’t speak.  I’m on antidepressants for the others, and am mostly fine.

Complexion: Tanned, no freckles.  Definitely have acne, though it’s mostly on the shoulders and back.  No notable birthmarks.

Face shape: Face shape?  I mean, I guess it’s round?

Distinguishing facial features: Given that I’m white in Japan?  Eye Shape.

Hair color: Violet, though the tips go black when I use my quirk for long periods of time.

Usual hair style: It’s normally down, though I tie it back when working out.  There is this annoying strand that for some reason stays short and tends hang between my eyes.

Eye color: It’s a light grey most of the time, though turns black when I use my quirk.

Glasses? Contacts?: I have glasses.  Aizawa-sensei says I may need to get contacts when I get into high school if I’m going to become a hero, since glasses will just get in the way.  I get that, they just feel weird.

Style of dress/typical outfit(s): Loose, long, baggy.  I prefer graphic tees, but they stand out like a sore thumb, so I tend to stick with solid cool colors.

Typical style of shoes: No heels.  Covered shows that I can slip on and off are great.

Health: I’m generally in good health and don’t get sick often.  When I do… urgh.

Grooming: People wear clothes that are already dirty?!  Yuck!  Anyways, I tend to shower once a day, and my clothes are cleaned regularly.  Hair is brushed a couple times a day, but I don’t do anything fancy.  I do have to also wash my face before bed, but I don’t wear makeup.  Pretty sure it’s against school rules anyway.

Jewelry? Tattoos? Piercings?: Pretty sure those are against school rules.  I don’t like jewelry that much, and don’t care for piercings.  As for tattoos, I’m in Japan.  Tattoos aren’t seen… favorably here.

Accent?: I guess it’s close to Standard American, with a bit of Hawaiian?  At least in English.  According to Izuku, my Japanese sounds pretty American, though I do have the r down.

Unique mannerisms/physical habits: According to Sophia, I tend to bite bottom lip when I’m concentrating.  I tap my foot when impatient.  I also tend to walk quietly and my shoes get really worn out by the balls of my feet.  My quirk tends to act up when I’m nervous or stressed out.

Athletic?: Training to become a hero, and Mom insisted that Flint and I take martial arts after Dad and Jack...

INTELLECT

Level of education: Third Year Middle School, which is about equivalent to a Freshman in High School in America.

Level of self esteem: I know I’m smart, I know I have a good quirk.  I also know that I’m not the best.

Gifts/talents: I have a nice strong quirk, and I tend to pick up on things quickly, especially if there’s a clear pattern.

Shortcomings: ...I really have a hard time speaking aloud, especially around strangers.  I also don’t like putting up with other people’s shit and will call them out, which some people don’t like.  It’s led to a couple of fights.

Style of speech: Um… I guess pretty informal?

“Left brain” or “right brain” thinker?: I prefer to be pretty logical, but according to Yagi-sensei and Aizawa-sensei, I can come up with some really odd ideas.  Don’t know what they mean, after all, how else will Izuku learn not to block with his elbows without a bit of pain?  Trust me, if you want strange ideas, get Izuku started on one of his quirk ramblings.  Some of his theories and ideas can be pretty out there.

Artistic?: I like art, and doodling helps me concentrate.  Flint has been pushing me to try drawing.

Mathematical?: Oh math?  That’s easy.  At least the tests and classes would be if I could understand what the teacher is asking.  I know he’s doing it on purpose, but it gets really frustrating when on tests, he throws in kanji that I almost never see, without the hiragana.

Makes decisions based mostly on emotions, or on logic?: ...There are people who can make decisions based on logic without it taking forever to decide?

Neuroses: What’s neuroses?  ...Oh.  Um, I do have extreme anxiety, and have since I was little, hence the mutism.  I was also diagnosed with depression, and was maybe not in a good place before I met Izuku… And I do have PTSD after CHI.  I’m working on it with a therapist and psych, and I’m doing a lot better, but I do have moments were I just… reset to a couple of years ago.  I wish I could get better faster.

Life philosophy: Go out and do what I want to do.  Life is too short for regrets.

Religious stance: The stories can be pretty interesting.  I just don’t believe in that stuff.  And if I find something funny in the story, I will laugh, sacred text be damned.

Cautious or daring?: Depends.  I’m not as cautious as Izuku, but I’m nowhere near as daring as Bakagou.  Then again, that’s probably a good thing.

Most sensitive about/vulnerable to: I really don’t like people judging others about their quirks.  I also am very sensitive about my own quirk.  I don’t like not being able to use it if I need to.  It’s probably the main reason I don’t feel fully comfortable around Aizawa-sensei after Izuku realized who he was.  I just… had a bad experience when I wasn’t able to use my quirk.

Optimist or pessimist?: I think I’m more a realist.  I prefer the thought of prepare for the worst, hope for the best.  I do like looking for the bright side of something when things are shitty.

Extrovert or introvert?: Mix.  Crowds are tiring, but I do like hanging out with Izuku, Flint, Aunty Inko, and Sophia.  Aizawa-sensei is good too, but Yagi-sensei can be draining.

Level of comfort with technology: I know how to use the devices I come into contact with, but I would not be able to fix them.  Breaking them is easy, though, especially if I’m allowed my quirk.

RELATIONSHIPS

Current marital/relationship status: Single.  A little busy with school, training and studying.  Plus all the kids at school are jackasses.

Sexual orientation: ...I don’t know.  I don’t quite understand what everyone means by hot and wanting to bang someone.  Not even Izuku could really explain it in a way that makes sense.  Oh well, Sophia doesn’t seem too worried about it, so maybe it’s not so bad.  (WOG: She’s ace/aro, just hasn’t quite realized it yet.  She’s 14.)

Past relationships: None.

Primary reason for being broken up with: Kinda need to have had one to be broken up with.

Primary reasons for breaking up with people: Again, need a relationship for a break up.

Level of sexual experience: Um, virgin.  I haven’t dated at all.

Story of first kiss: I haven’t really thought about it.  I don’t know, maybe after a romantic date?  Do people seriously think about this stuff at my age?  I thought that was just a thing for stories.

Story of loss of virginity: Um, what?  I’m 14.  I haven’t given it much thought.  I guess if I meet someone I really like?

A social person?: I don’t have many friends, but those I do I will fight for.  Most people are put off by the mutism, and I really don’t like interacting with strangers, especially in large crowds.

Most comfortable around: Hard to say, but if I had to pick, Izuku.

Oldest friend: Hina.  Jack and I met her back in daycare.  We were together until I moved to Japan.  We’re still in touch.

How does he/she think others perceive her?: I think the mutism puts a lot of people off.  I also do tend to pick fights, though most of the time they’re asking for it.

How do others actually perceive her?: WOG: A lot of people see her as a haughty foreigner who befriended the quirkless freak who wants to be a hero.  Toshinori and Aizawa see the hard worker she is, and how protective she is of Izuku.

VOCATION

Profession: I’m a student, about to become a hero-in-training.

Past occupations: I didn’t know there was an occupation before student.

Passions: I like learning, and I want to make sure no one feels hopeless and alone.

Attitude towards current job: It depends on the subject.  I do like learning, when the teachers are competent and will actually treat their teachers fairly.  Orudera sucks ass.

Attitude towards current coworkers, bosses, employees: Most of the other students are assholes who I wish would leave Izuku alone.  Seriously, what did he do to them to warrant all the shit they put him through?  Don’t answer that, I know they’re just entitled assholes who need to feel better about themselves and are just taking it out on him.  Teachers aren’t much better, though if Aizawa-sensei is any indication, UA is a million light years better.

Salary: Wait, I’m supposed to be paid?  Jesus, all my schools were full of dicks if they were skipping out on my paycheck.

SECRETS (Every character–no matter how minor–should always have secrets!)

Phobias: Abandoned buildings remind me a bit too much of CHI.  I also don’t like being in hospitals, though I’m better there than abandoned buildings.  Also I don’t like being unable to use my quirk.  Honestly, if Aizawa-sensei were to erase my quirk, I’d probably have a panic attack.

Life goals: To become an Underground Hero.

Dreams: To save others so they don’t have to feel helpless.

Greatest fears: Being unable to protect the ones I love.

Most ashamed of: Those months between CHI and becoming friends with Izuku.  I really, really wasn’t in a good place.

Most embarrassing thing ever to happen to her: Oh god, there was this one time where we were showing Flint’s friend Naotsu Todoroki how to have fun at the mall.  Well, my shoes came undone, which Izuku pointed out.  Now I never trip on them, so I just rolled my eyes.  Then we go up the escalator.  Just as we’re stepping off, the escalator decides to eat my laces.  Nearly broke my nose and had to get new shoes after that.  Flint could not stop laughing for the rest of the day.

Compulsions: Checking a new location and new people with my quirk.  Just constantly checking that my quirk is working.

Obsessions: I guess my need to constantly make sure my quirk is on and working counts.

Secret hobbies: I like to read and doodle.  Most of my free time is spent studying and working on my Japanese with Izuku.  He also likes to drag me to his hero fights just so he has someone to help him analyze and bounce ideas off.

Secret skills: Good at martial arts, being just below first dan in both judo and taekwondo.

Past sexual transgressions: ...what?

Crimes committed: I guess quirk usage?  Does that count, cause everyone breaks that law, and you don’t really get in much trouble, so long as it’s not for vigilante/villainous stuff.

What she most wants to change about her current life: I’d kinda like not to have all the shit wrong in my head.  Also wouldn’t mind having my parents and Jack back.

What she most wants to change about her physical appearance: My hair is a little noticeable.  I’d probably just change it to be like a black or dark brown, something that’d blend into the shadows a little better.

DETAILS/QUIRKS

Daily routine: Get up, get ready, drag Izuku to school (hopefully without running into any hero fights on the way), nap when I can, doodle or do homework in the classes where the teacher won’t let me sleep, have lunch with Fujita-sensei and Izuku, after school go and train with Yagi-sensei and maybe Aizawa-sensei, go home and finish my homework with Izuku.

Night owl or early bird?: Night owl, oh so much.

Light or heavy sleeper?: Apparently I’m a pretty heavy sleeper, even when sleep walking.  Sophia’s given up on waking me and just puts me back in bed.  Thank god our front door is locked.

Favorite food: Strawberry Bon Bons are the absolute best.

Least favorite food: You give me anything with even the littlest amount of spice and I will break all the toes in your feet.

Favorite book: Flint had me read this book a few years back called Blue Skin of the Sea, and it was pretty good.  I don’t have much in way of favorite books, though.

Least favorite book: If a book is so bad, I will drop it within a few chapters.  I guess I’d have to say Warriors got pretty bad after the first couple of series.  And there was that bear series the same author wrote that wasn’t that good.

Favorite movie: A classic, but The Princess Bride.  I have a few memories of curling up with Mom, Flint and Sophia just laughing at it.  Haven’t watched it in years.

Least favorite movie: I swear to god if Izuku makes me watch that All Might movie again, I will put him in a fucking choke hold.  That or make him watch Watership Down.

Favorite song: Oh god… If it’s just musical pieces, Hopes and Dreams from Undertale.  But if it needs words, either Kuraiinu’s English Cover of Peace Song or Sora ni Utaeba by amazarashi.

Least favorite song: 100 Years, by Five for Fighting.  My homeroom teacher back in 6th grade insisted on having us sing it.  Just thinking about it reminds me of her.

Coffee or tea?: Tea, particularly non-bitter.  Caffeine doesn’t really work on me anyways.

Crunchy or smooth peanut butter?: Smooth, with a nice glass of milk.

Type of car she drives: I don’t know.  Something useful, but would blend in.  Mm, maybe a bike?

Lefty or righty?: Righty.  Though maybe I should learn to use my left more, it’d be so useful.

Favorite color: Light purple, lavender.

Cusser?: I learned a lot of Japanese ones from Bakagou.

Smoker? Drinker? Drug user?: I do have an antidepressant subscription, but nothing really beyond that.

Biggest regret: ...I really wasn’t in a good place before I met Izuku.  I just regret how much I worried Sophia and Flint at the time. 

Pets?: Don’t have one.  Wouldn’t mind a cat.

[anavoliselenu]

claim me chapter 14

“I heard through the grapevine that you were working on something similar at C-Squared,” he says, referring to Carl’s company.

“I was,” I say, then decide to take the plunge and tell him the truth about what happened. It pisses me off, but it’s not as if I’m the one who did anything wrong. “I was on the team that pitched the C-Squared product to Justin.”

“Is that how you two met?”

“No,” I say. “We actually met years ago in Texas. We reconnected at one of Evelyn’s parties.” I don’t mention that Carl had sent me into the party with the specific goal of attracting the attention of Justin Stark. That had been my first clue that Carl was an asshole. And many more clues followed in quick succession. “At any rate, the pitch went great, but Justin declined to invest because he knew about this Israeli product, though he didn’t say his reason at the time. By then, he and I had gone out.” Once again, my cheeks heat, because “gone out” doesn’t even begin to describe the things I had done with Justin.

Bruce, thankfully, doesn’t appear to notice my blush. “And Carl blamed you.”

“And fired me,” I say with a thin smile. “He’s not high up on my favorite people list.”

“To be honest, Carl Rosenfeld isn’t high on anyone’s favorite people list.”

I smile, immediately more at ease.

A moment later, Cindy steps into my office with an envelope from a local messenger company. There is no address. I, of course, am certain it’s from Justin. Considering the way Cindy hovers by my desk, she must think the same thing, and she’s curious about what the world’s sexiest billionaire sends to his girlfriend.

I’m curious, too. But since this is Justin we’re talking about, I’m not opening it with Bruce and Cindy standing there. I set it firmly on the corner of my desk right next to where I have put the framed picture of Justin and me. “Insurance paperwork,” I say nonchalantly, before turning back to Bruce and rattling off the first relevant thing I can think of about the Suncoast meeting last week.

Finally they are both out of my office, leaving me to, supposedly, settle in to work. I immediately reach for the envelope.

I open it, peek inside, and find my own pink scarf.

Okay …

Then again, at least now I have an excuse to call him. Not that I actually need an excuse.

Unfortunately, I only get his voice mail. “Hey,” I say. “It’s me. Thanks so much for the scarf. It suits me perfectly. How on earth did you know? I had a great time yesterday,” I add, then hesitate a moment before continuing. “And I thought you might want to know—I’m wearing a denim skirt, a purple T-shirt under a denim jacket, and absolutely nothing else.”

I’m grinning when I end the call, and it takes some doing to focus on the specs that I pull up on the laptop I’ve been issued by Innovative. After a while, though, I get into a groove, and it’s not until one of the guys on my team pokes his head in my door that I realize I’ve been engrossed for hours.

“I’m going down to grab a sandwich,” he says. “Want anything?”

“Alex, right?”

He nods.

“Mind if I tag along?”

“Oh. Well, sure. Okay. Yeah. I mean, I’m just gonna get something downstairs and bring it back.”

“Sounds perfect to me.” I grab my purse and follow him to the elevator. He’s tall and so skinny that I’m guessing I have at least ten pounds on him. His hair is cut short, almost into a military buzz, and he’s wearing a T-shirt announcing that Pluto is still a planet. On that, I agree wholeheartedly, and I tell him so.

It is as if I have opened the conversational floodgates. By the time we reach the lobby, I know everything about him except his Social Security number and have been invited to join his World of Warcraft guild anytime.

“So you’re dating Justin Stark,” he adds, as we cross the lobby to the small cafeteria. “That’s cool.”

“I think so,” I say politely, but I can’t help but cringe a little. I am starting to realize that by being Justin’s girlfriend I have taken on more than just Justin. I have parked myself under a microscope. For someone who has lived most of her life behind a mask of polite indifference, it is not the most comfortable place to be.

“Yeah, so the sandwiches here are pretty good,” Alex says, and I am grateful for the change of subject. “The pizza kind of sucks, though.”

“Salads?”

“Beats me,” he says. “I don’t do rabbit food. Meet you back here?”

I nod, then head toward the rabbit food area. I’m waiting for the server to put together a Cobb salad for me when a familiar-looking Asian woman steps into line behind me. I’m trying to place where I’ve seen her before when she points at me and says, “Innovative, right? You’re the new girl.”

“Selena Fairchild,” I confirm. “I’m sorry, I’ve been introduced to about a million people, at least it feels that way. I don’t remember your name.”

“No, no, we haven’t met. I work in the building. Lisa Reynolds. I’m a business consultant, and I’ve known Bruce for years.”

I suddenly remember where I’ve seen her. “You were in the lobby on Friday,” I say. “At one of the tables.”

“I usually am at least once a day. I can’t live without coffee, and I like to get out of the office. Here,” she adds, then digs in her purse for a business card. “If you ever want to sneak downstairs for a latte, give me a shout.”

“Thanks,” I say, genuinely pleased. I haven’t met that many people since I moved to Los Angeles, and I’m psyched to have a potential friend in the building.

I promise Lisa I’ll give her a call this week, then head upstairs with Alex. I want to get back to work, but I also know I should get to know my team. I suggest that we eat in the break room, but I have to confess that I am relieved when he tells me that he’s going to eat at his desk so that he can play WoW.

I’ve finished the salad and am deep into an analysis of some troublesome code when Justin calls. “Hey,” I say. “Did you see that article in Tech World?”

“Talking shop, Ms. Fairchild?”

I laugh. “What else should I talk about? The scarf you sent me? Your skill at picking out gifts has become a little rusty, but I guess there is some logic. If I already own it, I probably already like it.”

“You make a good point,” he says. “I’ll keep that in mind for future gifts, too. At the moment, though, I was hoping to talk about the very interesting piece of correspondence I received this morning.”

For a moment, I have no idea what he could be talking about. Then I remember the drive in the Bentley. Oh my.

“Are you in an office or a cubicle?” he asks.

“An office,” I say. I swallow, recalling all the things I wrote in that letter.

“In that case, my dear Ms. Fairchild, I think you should close your door. For that matter, I think you should lock it.”

“Justin, I’m at work,” I protest, but I do as he says.

“What a coincidence. So am I. Imagine my surprise as I’m reviewing my morning mail. Requests to speak at business conferences. Investment opportunities. Real estate proposals. All intriguing opportunities, but none so enticing as what I find when I open a simple letter sent on my very own stationery.”

“Justin …”

“You have a way with words, Ms. Fairchild. I was quite relieved that my assistant was at her desk when I read your letter. I don’t know that I would have been able to hide my erection. You really are quite a little minx.”

My brows lift. “A minx?”

“I can still remember the sound of your voice,” he quotes, “so smooth I almost came just from the sound of it. And the cool leather against the hot skin of my ass. Even then, I wanted your hands on me, your cock inside me. I barely knew you, and yet I wanted to submit to you utterly.” He says, “Yes, I think minx is a very accurate description.”

“Oh.” Hearing my own words read back to me, I have to silently agree. “I was inspired.”

“I’m very glad to hear it. When I ran across the scarf in the apartment this morning it reminded me of you, and after I got your letter, I thought that I should return it right away. You see, we didn’t really let that scarf live up to its potential.”

“We didn’t?” My mouth is dry.

“No,” he says, softly. “But I intend to make up for that. There are a lot of things one can do with a scarf. A lot of things one can do with fringe. The delicate brush over your erect nipple. A teasing stroke over your hot cunt. I promise you that we’ll fully explore all of the various possibilities.”

“Um.” I swallow.

“Wear it today and think about what I’ll do with it tonight.”

“Tonight?” I ask, as I drape the scarf around my neck.

Justin laughs. “I’ll pick you up at seven,” he says. “I’ll have you naked by eight.”

I float through the rest of the afternoon, though I do manage to partition off my Justin thoughts so that I manage to accomplish some work. My head is down as I step off the elevator at the end of the day. I’m reading a text from Jamie detailing exactly how amazing Raine is, so I don’t notice Carl until he steps right in front of me.

“Selena.”

I freeze, momentarily caught off guard. Then I regain my senses and start walking again. “We don’t have anything to say to each other.”

“Wait,” he calls. “Please.”

Maybe it’s the “please,” but I pause just before the exit. I don’t turn around, but I hear him hurrying up behind me. “Two minutes,” I say, then step out the door and wait under the building awning.

He slides in with the exiting crowd and joins me outside. I don’t say anything. I just stand there, my face blank, my arms crossed over my chest.

He has a paper tucked under his arm, and he holds it out to me as if it’s an apology. I don’t take it, but I glance down and see that it is the same issue of Tech World that Bruce brought into my office earlier. I meet Carl’s eyes, and remain silent.

“Dammit, Selena, I didn’t know there was any other company in that market.”

“What is it you want, Carl?” My voice is icy.

“I just—well, I may have acted rashly.”

Ya think? I want to shout the words and slap his face. With effort, I remain quietly stoic.

“It’s just that, I thought you were fucking Stark.”

I am on the verge of boiling now, and I want nothing more than to get away from this toxic little man. But I force myself to conjure a thin smile as I lift my chin just slightly. “I am.”

Carl actually looks embarrassed. “Right, right. I mean, yeah, I’ve seen the pictures of you two and all that. It’s just that, well, I thought you had a fight. Or that maybe Stark thought that you and I had a thing going.”

“I promise you he thinks much more highly of me than that.”

“Dammit, Selena, I’m trying to apologize here.”

“Is that what this is about?” I’m genuinely surprised.

“I fucked up, okay? I was stupid and I blew the whole thing out of proportion.” He runs his fingers through his hair, making it stand on end and giving him an even more harried appearance. “I acted rashly, and I’m sorry.”

I cock my head, trying to hear the part that he’s not saying. “We’re talking about more than firing me, aren’t we?” My skin prickles with worry. “What did you do, Carl?”

“Oh, hell. Other shit. You know.”

“I don’t know,” I say. “All you said was that you were going to fuck Justin over. So what did you do?” My left hand is closed into a tight fist, my nails biting into my palm. It is only through a supreme force of will that I am remaining calm. “Dammit, Carl. What other shit are you talking about?”

He stays silent, his expression unreadable.

“For Christ’s sake, Carl, why did you come here in the first place?”

He sucks in a gulp of air. “You know how Stark paid Padgett off, right? And now Padgett has to keep his mouth shut.”

“How do you know that?” Eric Padgett was threatening to go public with his theory that Justin had something to do with his sister’s death, and Justin actually wrote a check to shut the worm up. It’s not something I like to think about. More than that, the terms of the settlement were supposed to be confidential.

“I know a lot of things. Padgett did a lot of talking before he got Stark’s money. And most of his talking was to other people with an ax to grind against Stark. Trust me when I say that I realized pretty fast that Padgett was the least of Stark’s worries. There are a lot of people who want to see the shit fly.”

“You included,” I snap.

“Not me. Not anymore. That’s why I’m here. I get it. I got the whole thing wrong and I screwed Justin and I screwed you. I’m saying I’m not the only one.”

“Who, then? And what shit?”

He shakes his head. “Just tell Stark that he may not see this one coming.” He makes a rough noise in his throat. “I was blown away when I learned who Padgett had lined up with an ax to grind against your boyfriend.”

I stand very still. He’s scaring me more than he probably knows. “You won’t tell me who?”

“I’ve said everything I’m going to. I’ve played my part, and now I’m getting out of this mess. Whatever happens isn’t coming from me, I can promise you that.”

“Then why did you come here at all?”

“Because telling you is like telling Stark. It’s a small world, and I burned a bridge I shouldn’t have.”

“And you think this is going to fix it?”

“No, but I think it’s a start.” He meets my eyes. “Tell Stark to watch his back.”

“I’ll tell him,” I say, proud of myself for keeping my voice from shaking. “But he always does.”

18

I am actually wishing for the paparazzi as I walk toward my car. At least then I could be pissed off at them instead of worried for Justin.

The second I get in my car, I reach into my glove compartment for my phone charger so that I can call Justin, but the damn thing isn’t there. I forgot to put one in my briefcase, so my phone hasn’t charged at all today, and it’s almost dead. I dial anyway, figuring I can talk fast, and am relieved when Justin picks up immediately.

“I ran into Carl,” I say without preamble.

“Ran into him?” His voice is low and measured and very, very ominous.

“As in he came to Innovative and waited for me in the lobby.”

“Are you okay? What did he do?”

“I’m fine,” I assure him, because I can hear both the worry and the temper. “He wanted me to tell you to watch your back.”

“Did he? Tell me everything he said, exactly how he said it.”

I comply, relating the conversation in as much detail as I can manage.

“And he wouldn’t tell you any more?”

“No,” I say. “Do you have any idea what he’s talking about?”

I hold my breath, wondering if Justin will cite the thing going on in Germany. Or the tennis center. Or even the Eric Padgett settlement. There are so many things that this could be about, and though I haven’t got a clue, I am certain that Justin does.

But when he speaks, he tells me nothing. “I think this is Carl’s way of blowing smoke.”

“Why would he do that?” I ask.

“You said he wants to rebuild burned bridges. What better way to do that than to warn me about some upcoming danger?”

“Because there’s always some sort of danger for a man like you,” I say, picking up the direction of his thoughts.

“An angry competitor. A fired employee. A stolen patent. And then Carl comes along and tells me to be on guard, and when I next notice some nefarious deed, I will think, oh, isn’t it lucky that Carl warned me. I guess the little prick isn’t so bad after all.”

I laugh, because Carl is a little prick and nothing is going to change that. But the laughter doesn’t erase my worry. “So you’re really not worried?”

“I make it a point not to worry,” Justin says. “There’s no profit in it.”

“Justin—”

“Stop,” he says gently.

“Stop what?”

“Stop worrying about me. You’re wasting precious energy.”

“What else am I going to do with it?” I ask airily. “It’s not as if you’re here beside me.”

He laughs. “Good girl,” he says. “Where are you?”

“The parking lot. I’m going to hit the grocery store and go home.”

“Good. Can you do me a favor and pick up some—”

And that is when my phone decides to die. I curse it, but at least I got to talk to him about Carl.

Even though Justin isn’t troubled, I am, and it stays on my mind as I poke through Ralph’s, grabbing coffee and ice cream and other staples of living. I’m sure I’m forgetting something, but as my list is on my dead phone, I’ll just have to wing it.

I end up with two plastic bags full of various essentials, and after I park my car at the condo, I leave the parking area and follow the sidewalk around to the front stairs. There’s a crowd gathered there, and it takes me a second to realize that they are waiting for me.

Shit.

I may have been in the mood to confront them earlier, but that has passed. All I want now is to get inside, eat ice cream, and wait for Justin.

I square my shoulders, make sure every trace of emotion is wiped off my face, and soldier on.

Immediately, they swarm me.

“Selena! Selena, look over here!”

“Was the portrait completely nude?”

“Does it have the usual Blaine elements like bondage?”

I’m breathing hard, and my body feels suddenly cold and clammy. I don’t understand where these questions are coming from, and I’m afraid—so very afraid—to think too hard about it.

“Why did you do it, Selena? Was it for the money or the thrill?”

“Selena! Can you confirm that you accepted a million dollars from Justin Stark to pose nude for an erotic painting?”

I freeze, too horrified to take another step, as camera flashes burst around me. I feel sick, and I am certain that any moment now I’m going to throw up.

“Have you ever posed nude before?”

“Is the painting a reflection of your sex life with Justin Stark?”

“Why did you agree to be tied up?”

They’re all around me, circling me, and I reach out for Justin’s hand, but of course he’s not there. My knees feel weak, and I have to force myself to stay upright. I will not fall, I will not react, I will not give them the satisfaction of knowing they’ve gotten to me.

But they have. And as variations of the same questions are thrown at me—as I try to get to the stairs but can barely move even an inch—I know that I’m going to scream soon, just for the shock of it. Just so I can get away.

A loud squeal cuts above the din, and for a moment I think that I have screamed, because suddenly the crowd is parting, and I look up and gasp.

Justin. He’s running toward me from the street, his black Ferrari left idling in the road. And if I have ever been uncertain about Justin’s capacity for murder, I no longer am. I see it in his eyes. In the line of his jaw. In the tenseness that fills every muscle of his body. Right then, in that moment, he would kill to protect me.

He reaches out and grabs my arm, and I’m so relieved he’s here I almost cry. He pulls me roughly to him, and hooks his arm around my shoulder, holding me close as he shoves us through the crowd toward the car.

He tosses the groceries onto the floorboard, then gets me settled in the passenger seat. As he straps me in I see something break inside him. “Baby,” he says, and though the word is barely loud enough for my ears, I hear the apology and the bone-deep regret.

“Please,” I whisper. “Let’s get out of here.”

He’s in the car and accelerating toward Ventura Boulevard before my mind even catches up. His right hand is on the stick, but once we’re on the freeway, he reaches for me. “I’m so sorry. The painting. The money. I never thought—”

“No.” The word comes out sharper than I intend. “Later. Right now, I want to pretend that it didn’t happen.”

The look he gives me is heartbreakingly sad. For a moment, we are silent. But the stillness is broken by Justin’s single hard smack of his hand against the steering wheel.

“Who did this?” he asks. “Who the fuck leaked this?”

I shake my head. It still feels like cotton. I realize from somewhere outside of myself that I am not coping well.

I slide my right hand down so that it is between my body and the door, and then I clench it tight into a fist, letting my manicured nails dig deep as I squeeze and squeeze.

I bite my tongue, drawing blood.

And I wish—oh, how I wish—that I still had that tiny knife I used to keep on my keychain.

“Look at me,” Justin snaps.

I comply. I even smile. I’m starting to get some control back.

I take a deep breath, relieved that I’m functioning. But oh god, oh god, this isn’t going to stop. It’s out there, and they’re going to keep coming, and it isn’t going to stop.

“Carl,” I whisper. “This is what he was warning me about.”

“Maybe, but I don’t think so.”

“Who then?”

“Does Ollie know about the painting?”

“No!” The word comes fast and hard, but then I immediately falter. Could he have found out somehow? “No,” I say again. “And even if he did, he’d keep quiet. I’m not the one he wants to hurt.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Justin says darkly.

I swallow, because Justin has to be wrong. Even if he’s right about Ollie being in love with me, surely Ollie wouldn’t do this just to get back at me for being with Justin. Would he?

I close my eyes because I can’t stand to think about it. “Who doesn’t matter,” I say, tightening my fist again. “It’s out there.”

Justin doesn’t answer, and we drive toward downtown in silence, Justin’s anger so thick it fills the car.

“How did you know?” I finally ask.

“Jamie. She’s home. Apparently she had to push through them, too, and they were asking her about the painting. She pretended not to have a clue, then called you.”

“My phone’s dead,” I say numbly.

“I know. She called me when she couldn’t reach you, and I tried you, too. When I couldn’t get you on the phone to tell you to stay away—”

“You came to rescue me yourself.”

“Fortunately I was in Beverly Hills and you made a stop before going home.”

“Thank you,” I say.

He turns just long enough to glance at me, and his smile is sad. “I will always protect you,” he says. “But this—”

He cuts himself off sharply and I see his knuckles turn white as he grips the steering wheel. I understand. He can’t protect me from this, and he hates that.

Frankly, I’m not crazy about it, either.

Justin stays quiet until we enter the apartment. But the moment we do, he lashes out. In one fluid motion he grabs and hurls the ornamental vase that holds the floral arrangement that is the focal point of the foyer.

“Goddammit!” he shouts, the crescendo of his voice underscored by the tinkle of shattering glass hitting the floor and the splash as water flies everywhere.

I do nothing but stand there. I know how he feels. I want to lash out and break something, too.

No, that’s not true. I don’t want to lash out, but I desperately wish that I did. I wish that I could grab a glass trinket and throw it hard against the floor and take comfort in the fact that it is my hands and my power that have caused it to shatter.

But that is not what will satisfy me. Those shards of glass would not be an end for me, but a means to an end. And I would not be comforted until the glass is cutting a line in my flesh, and I have latched on so tight to the pain that it erases all the other horrors around me. Those horrible camera flashes. The jeers from the reporters. The embarrassment, the humiliation, and the knowledge that no matter what, for the rest of my life, this is never going to go away.

I shiver, feeling so very fragile, and I imagine the weight of a knife in my hand.

No.

With effort, I force myself not to cross the room and pick up a piece of the broken vase. Instead, I look at Justin, who stands with clenched fists and real anguish on his face. “It will be okay,” I say, because that is the kind of platitude that people say, even if they don’t really believe it.

“Screw okay,” he snaps. This is the temper that was so famous in his tennis days, and that has fueled his reputation for being dangerous. A sharp brittle breaking point that got him in too many fights and left too many scars, including the dark eye that is now looking at me with a bitter, resolute anger.

“None of this should be happening,” he says. “I should be able to protect you. I should be able to keep my bastard of a father out of my life and out of my car. I don’t want him or his shit near me, and I sure as hell don’t want it near you. And as for the rest of it all over the goddamn globe—”

He cuts himself off, and for a moment I think that it is out of his system.

It isn’t. “I should be able to keep your secrets as well as my own. But then again,” he adds with a mirthless laugh, “that’s crashing down, too. Goddammit.” He lashes out so fast and hard that he puts his fist through the drywall.

I gape. “Well,” I say. “That’s going to need more than a broom and a dustpan.”

He stares at me for a moment, and then his shoulders begin to shake. It takes a moment for me to realize he’s laughing. Not because it is funny, but because he is overwhelmed.

I want to hold him; I want to help him. But I can’t even help myself.

I draw in a trembling breath, and realize that my hand is curled around the end of the pink scarf that still hangs around my neck.

Slowly, I tug the end of the scarf until I have pulled it free. I wrap one end tightly around my wrist, then hand the other end to Justin. He takes it, though I see the question in his eyes.

“Tie me up,” I whisper. “Spank me. Tell me exactly what you want me to do. Do whatever you want. You want to lash out? Lash out against me.”

“Selena—”

“Please, Justin. You can’t control the world? So what? Control me.” I meet his eyes. “Please,” I say, and I hear the tremor in my voice. “Please,” I whisper. “I need it, too.”

“Oh, Selena.” He cocks his head, looking inside me to where all my secrets lie. “Need?” he clarifies. “Or want?”

I lick my lips, as if that will make the words come easier. “You told me once that if I ever needed the pain that I should come to you. I’ve broken that promise twice.” I point to my hair, and then the tip of my finger. “So yes, Justin. I need it. I need you if I’m going to get through this. And I think you need me, too.”

For a moment, he says nothing. Then he runs the scarf through his fingers. “I believe I told you on the phone that I had plans for this.”

“Yes,” I say.

He stands still, and looks me up and down. His gaze starts at my feet and travels oh so slowly up my body. He does not touch me, but still my body burns merely from the passing of his glance. I let myself go, surrendering to his power over me. Over my body. I want this. I want Justin and his strength. I want his touch.

Mostly I want him to make the rest of the world go away.

He continues his heated inspection, his face as dark and hungry as a wolf, and just as dangerous. He will consume me, and so help me, I want to be consumed. I want to disappear—I want to go somewhere that only Justin can find me.

My legs are weak, my sex throbbing in anticipation. Tiny drops of sweat form between my breasts, and my nipples strain against my T-shirt.

I keep my eyes on his, and my mouth goes dry, my pulse kicking up its tempo. He is no longer the Justin who jokes and teases, who holds and soothes me. This is not a man who will reveal his secrets to me or to anyone, and he is certainly not a man who will explode outward into a fiery rage.

No, the man standing before me is grace and control personified. There is power in his touch, power in the slightest look. He is a hard man who commands a billion-dollar enterprise, and right now I am simply one more thing that he owns.

I bite my lower lip. I am not disturbed by the thought. On the contrary, my body is tingling with awareness. To be owned by Justin Stark is heady stuff.

“Take off your clothes.”

I comply, shedding my jacket, then pulling the T-shirt over my head. Because we’re playing the game again, I am not wearing a bra, and when he sees that, the tiniest of smiles touches his mouth. I unzip the skirt next and let it fall around my feet. It is as if the hundreds of times he has seen me naked are forgotten. I feel shy and awkward. But when I see the way his eyes take me in, I feel beautiful.

“Spread your legs,” he says, and when I do, he goes down on his knees. He holds my hips, then presses a soft kiss just above my navel, and that simple touch sends shivers running through me. My body is on fire, alight with anticipation. I reach down to bury my fingers in his hair.

“No,” he murmurs. “Cup your breasts. There you go, baby,” he says when I comply. “Stroke your nipples. Are they hard?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“Good,” he says. “I want them harder. I want them so tight that just brushing a fingertip across your nipple shoots fire all the way down to your cunt. What do you say?”

“Yes. Yes, sir.”

He smiles up at me, a smile of praise and promise, and then he turns back to my bare abdomen. His lips brush over me, lower and lower until he is tracing the neatly trimmed line of my pubic hair. And then lower still until his tongue laves my clitoris and I have no choice but to break Justin’s rules and grab hard to his shoulder, because if I do not, I will certainly topple over.

His tongue is merciless. Teasing me, fucking me, hard and demanding until I explode, my body a storm of sensation.

He is kind enough to keep me from falling, urging me down to my knees in front of him. “You taste amazing,” he says, then kisses me as if to prove the point. The kiss is deep, but all too short.

“I’m going to fuck you, Selena,” he says. “Right here, right now. Hard and fast, until pleasure rips through you like a cyclone. And then we’ll start again, slow and easy, letting it build and grow like a tiny seedling into a massive tree. Do you know how long that takes, Selena? Can you imagine a pleasure that lasts for an eternity?”

My mouth is dry, but I manage an answer. “With you, yes.”

He chuckles. “Good answer. Now unfasten my jeans.”

“Yes, sir.”

I’m so turned on that my fingers actually fumble with the button fly of his jeans, but I manage, then spread the denim and stroke my fingertips over his cock, still trapped behind the cotton of his briefs.

I hear Justin suck in air, and I relish the knowledge that as much power as he has over me, I have the same over him.

“Good girl,” he says. “Now take it out and turn around. On your knees, Selena.”

“Yes, sir,” I say, but I have another plan. I slide my hand into his jeans and over the bulge of his briefs until I find his fly. He is thick and hard and as soon as I shift him, his cock bursts out as if desperate to play, too. I know I’m supposed to turn around—and I know that I’ll undoubtedly be punished, but I can’t resist the temptation.

I lean forward and draw my tongue up the velvety length of his cock. He tastes salty and male and delicious, and when I hear him groan and say my name, my body seems to open up. I close my lips over the bulbous head, tease him with my tongue. Slowly, I take more of him into my mouth, then pull back, letting my teeth graze ever so lightly over him.

I rest my hands on his hips, and I can feel his body start to shudder. I raise up higher on my knees for a better angle. I want to take more of him; I want to make him come.

@.}

[movietvtechgeeks]

Latest story from https://movietvtechgeeks.com/selena-gomez-goes-deep-weeknd-plus-r-kellys-concert-problems/

Selena Gomez goes deep on The Weeknd plus R Kelly's concert problems

Ever since they started dating a few months back, both Selena Gomez and The Weeknd have kept their relationship pretty private. However, in her recent interview with InStyle magazine, Selena gave readers a bit more insight into how she feels about her famous beau. InStyle enlisted the “Fetish” singer to star on the cover of their September issue. Inside the magazine, Selena is featured in a spread, as well as an exclusive interview, in which she talks candidly about her 90-day hiatus from the spotlight (at the end of 2016) and her new relationship. In talking about her break from Hollywood, Selena explained, “I went away for 90 days, and it was the best thing that I ever could’ve done. I had no phone, nothing, and I was scared. But it was amazing, and I learned a lot.” You may remember, Selena checked herself into a rehab facility where she was treated for exhaustion, as well as issues surrounding her mental and emotional health. The songstress went on to add, “I was in the countryside and never did my hair; I took part in equine therapy, which is so beautiful. And it was hard, obviously. But I knew what my heart was saying, and I thought ‘OK, I think this has helped me become stronger for other people.’” When asked about her relatively new relationship, Selena admitted that she sees The Weeknd not only as her love, but also as her best friend. The former Disney star elaborated, "I don't depend on one area of my life to make me happy. It's really important for me to love and nourish my friends and family and to make sure that I never get influenced by a guy. I've wanted to be in a strong headspace for years, and I really wasn't. Before, I was so young and easily influenced, and I'd feel insecure. You want someone to add to your life, not to complete you, if that makes sense. I'm lucky because he's more of a best friend than anything else." Officials in a Georgia county want an upcoming concert by R. Kelly canceled after a media report accusing the singer of mental and physical abuse against young women. The Fulton County Board of Commissioners sent a letter this week to Live Nation asking the entertainment company to cancel Kelly's Aug. 25 concert. Live Nation contracts with the county to plan and promote events at the county-owned amphitheater just outside Atlanta. Messages seeking reaction from Live Nation to the letter weren't immediately returned Friday afternoon. Commission Chairman John Eaves told reporters Friday that he was troubled by a BuzzFeed News report last month, which quoted parents and several women alleging that Kelly forms relationships with young women interested in the music industry and then mentally and physically abuses them. An attorney for Kelly told BuzzFeed that he denies the allegations. Eaves said board members decided to ask the concert promoter to cancel the event after hearing from "many" county residents who objected to holding it the public-owned site. "They object to their tax dollars providing a stage for an entertainer who is repeatedly in a swirl of controversy surrounding the sexual exploitation of women and underage girls," Eaves said. Eaves said even though Kelly hasn't been charged with or convicted of any crimes related to the media report, he felt comfortable speaking out "on a moral basis." But he acknowledged that Live Nation is contracted to book and promote concerts on the county's behalf and has the final say about whether the event will go on. He said county officials aren't considering any legal action. Local activists who also spoke at Friday's news conference said they will protest outside the concert if Live Nation doesn't cancel. They argued that letting the event go on uninterrupted sends a message that sexual exploitation won't be punished. Well…I can’t say this latest split comes as much of a surprise… On Thursday, Real Housewives of New York star Luann de Lesseps announced that she was getting a divorce from her husband, Tom D’Agostino. After just eight short months of marriage, the reality star took to her Twitter page to share the news with fans and followers. Luann posted, “It’s with great sadness that Tom & I agreed to divorce. We care for each other very much, hope you respect our privacy during this sad time!” Luann de Lesseps, Twitter post: https://twitter.com/CountessLuann/status/893167910138589184 Unfortunately for Bravo, the reunion show for Real Housewives of New York was shot before Luann and Tom decided to split. Media outlet TMZ reports that while Luann acknowledges the ups and downs of her marriage during the reality special, there is no mention of an official divorce during the reunion. While it is nonetheless sad, a lot of fans and friends of Luann were not expecting her relationship with Tom to last. Unfortunately, their relationship was very rocky from the start. Not only had Tom been involved with two of the other Housewives (Ramona and Sonja) before dating - and subsequently, marrying - Luann, but he was also spotted making out with another woman the night before his and Luann’s engagement party. Since there is no divorce talk from Luann during the reunion show, here’s hoping she pays a visit to Andy Cohen’s Watch What Happens Live to spill some of the details about her and Tom’s sudden decision to part ways. A liberal advocacy group that targeted Glenn Beck and Bill O'Reilly for advertiser boycotts in the past now has its sights set on Fox News Channel's Sean Hannity. Media Matters for America said Friday it will begin asking Hannity's advertisers to shun him and will ask thousands of its members to also contact companies. The group is setting up a stophannity.com website and plans to hire a plane to carry an anti-Hannity banner in the New York area. His Fox show "really has moved beyond just being a conservative viewpoint to state-aligned disinformation and propaganda," said Angelo Carusone, Media Matters president. "If we don't do it now, Hannity will only get worse." Fox had no immediate comment on the effort Friday. Hannity, a survivor in a tumultuous year at Fox and President Donald Trump's most prominent media supporter, called one similar effort against him a "kill shot" designed to get him fired. In the spring, Media Matters published a list of Hannity's advertisers, and while it stopped short of advocating a boycott, groups like the Democratic Coalition Against Trump did. Only a handful of advertisers responded. Conservatives launched a campaign against MSNBC's Rachel Maddow, which met with a similar lack of success. Hannity's opponents were energized by a lawsuit filed this week alleging Fox fabricated quotes to back up a story suggesting a Democratic National Committee staff member killed last summer may have been involved in a leak of WikiLeaks documents. Fox retracted the story in May. Hannity was a proponent of the theory, although he didn't mention it when it came back in the news this week. Hannity's suggestion this week that special counsel Robert Mueller may have broken laws regarding conflicts of interest, and the frequent appearance of Trump's lawyer on his program, proved the tipping point in launching the new effort, Carusone said. "Ultimately, we were forced into this position," he said. With the initial effort against him in the spring, Hannity told the Huffington Post that "nobody tells me what to say on my show. They never have and they never will." "There's nothing that I did, nothing that I said, except they don't like my positions politically," he said. "They'll try to ratchet up the intensity of their rationale. It does not justify an attempt to get me fired. And that's what this is. This is a kill shot." Beck's Fox News Channel show was slowly choked by advertiser defections. The campaign against O'Reilly moved swiftly before his ouster in April, but that was primarily due to publicity about harassment charges against him, rather than his political viewpoint. Hannity has no such personal scandal attached to him, so even Carusone acknowledges that he's got his work cut out for him. "It's going to be a much bigger lift," he said. "It's going to take more time and research." The music video for the No. 1 hit song "Despacito" has a new record - it's become the most popular clip on YouTube of all-time with more than three billion views. YouTube announced Friday that Luis Fonsi's ubiquitous song with Daddy Yankee has surpassed previous record holder "See You Again," the song by Wiz Khalifa and Charlie Puth from the "Furious 7" soundtrack. "Despacito" became an international smash hit this year, topping the Billboard Hot 100 chart. The record-breaking video does not include the popular remix with Justin Bieber; that version has been viewed more than 464 million times. "Despacito" is on track to become the first video to reach three billion views on YouTube. The video is also the most "liked" video on YouTube. Two murals showing an oversized President Donald Trump have appeared on Israel's West Bank separation barrier, just yards from where the elusive artist Banksy decorated a hotel earlier this year. The new drawings popped up on the edge of Bethlehem, the Palestinian city where the barrier largely consists of a wall of towering slabs of concrete. In one scene, Trump is shown hugging and kissing a real Israeli army watchtower built into the wall, as his left arm reaches around the tower. Little pink hearts flutter from Trump's mouth. In another drawing, Trump is depicted wearing a Jewish skullcap and placing a hand a wall - a scene taken from the U.S. president's May visit to Jerusalem's Western Wall, the holiest site where Jews can pray. A cartoon "thought bubble" next to him says, "I'm going to build you a brother," a possible reference to Trump's plans to build a wall between the U.S. and Mexico. The murals were signed "lushsux" - a signature that according to a 2016 report by the Australian newspaper "The Age" has been used in the past by a Melbourne street artist. The artist was among those who participated in a Banksy show in Britain in 2015, the report said. A Twitter account in the name "lushsux" published the mural of Trump with his hand on a wall on Monday. The second mural was seen by an Associated Press cameraman for the first time Friday. The new graffiti is just a few meters (yards) from "The Walled Off Hotel," a Palestinian-run guest house that opened earlier this year and sarcastically bills itself as having the "worst view in the world." The nine-room hotel was decorated with Banksy's trademark political murals, including one in "Banksy's Room" that shows a masked Palestinian and a helmeted Israeli soldier in a pillow fight. Israel began building the barrier a decade ago, at the height of an armed Palestinian uprising, saying the divider is needed to keep suicide bombers and gunmen from entering Israel. Palestinians say the barrier, which slices off about 10 percent of the West Bank, amounts to a land grab. Israel captured the West Bank, Gaza and east Jerusalem in 1967. Several U.S.-led Israeli-Palestinian attempts to negotiate the terms of a Palestinian state on these lands have failed. Trump said early on in his term that he would try to broker a deal, but has not offered a way forward. You probably think you know everything there is to know about Kim Kardashian and her siblings. But there is a little-known prequel — the twisted story of her parents Robert and Kris’ tempestuous marriage, which was marked by rampant philandering and scandal. Author Jerry Oppenheimer’s book “The Kardashians: An American Drama” (St. Martin’s Press, out Sept. 19) reveals patriarch Robert’s infatuation with Elvis Presley’s ex-wife Priscilla, Kris’ repeated infidelity and Robert’s confession to his pastor that Khloé Kardashian wasn’t his biological daughter. Here are the highlights from the book: Forever immortalized as the stand-by-his-man supporter of pal O.J. Simpson, Robert Kardashian rose to notoriety when he served as a legal consultant on the “dream team” that won the athlete a not-guilty verdict in his infamous 1995 murder trial. Robert, a born-again Christian of Armenian descent, was born in 1944 to a wealthy Los Angeles family; he would later distance himself from the clan’s corrupt meatpacking empire. Despite standing a mere 5-foot-8 and being stricken with a thick white hairline streak in his otherwise jet-black mane, he was considered one of Beverly Hills’ most eligible bachelors in the 1970s. Born in 1955, Kristen “Kris” Houghton came from “redneck” roots and was raised in San Diego by her tough-as-nails maternal grandmother after her alcoholic father left when she was 7. By 12th grade, Kris wasn’t dreaming about prom or college, but looking for a man — a rich one. High-school pal Joan Zimmerman thought Kris’ mom, Mary Jo, was “kind of pimping her out” when the 17-year-old started a relationship with golf pro Cesar Sanudo, who was more than 10 years her senior. That ended when Kris met Robert — who thought the teenager looked like a young Natalie Wood, despite a necklace that read “OH, S – – T” — at a horse-racing track and cheated on her boyfriend with him. As Jack Spradlin, a friend of Sanudo’s, said: “[Kris] saw a far better financial opportunity with Kardashian than with Cesar.” Still, Robert thought Kris was too young for things to be serious and soon dumped her for Priscilla Presley. He may have been besotted with the famous ex-wife of Elvis, but she only went out with Robert because “she had no one else to go out with,” according to a cousin. A worldly and “kinky” Presley groomed Robert, telling him how to dress and what kind of car to drive. The relationship, however, would never escape the specter of her famous ex. Robert “complained to a friend that while he was making love to Priscilla, she would get incoherent phone calls from [her ex-husband] Elvis ‘and she would put the receiver on the pillow between them and let him listen,’ ” Oppenheimer writes. Robert aimed to turn Priscilla into “the perfect Armenian housewife.” “Priscilla once tried to make dinner for Robert because he kept asking her,” said Joni Migdal, his friend since childhood. “She cooked asparagus, and she made this, and she made that . . . She went out of her way to make it perfect for him, and he hated it.” Priscilla was insulted. Soon, she told Robert: “I’m not going to marry anyone until Elvis dies.” He wasn’t lonely for long. A heartsick Kris, by then an American Airlines flight attendant, had been destroyed by Robert’s relationship with glam Priscilla and readily took him back, moving into his Beverly Hills manse right away. He was a lawyer and entrepreneur who made a killing with one of his investments, driving both a Rolls-Royce and a Mercedes; she was scraping by and had nothing to her name. Still, her fancy beau refused to give her money for anything, including much-needed new tires for her old Mazda. “She needs to learn the value of a dollar,” Robert told Migdal. Ironically, this would backfire on Robert after he married Kris in 1978. Once they shared bank accounts, she would rebel against his prior constraints by becoming monstrously extravagant. When she dropped three grand on a single belt, her husband was apoplectic: “Can you f – – king believe that? Who needs a belt for $3,000?” Where he failed to mold Priscilla into the perfect submissive housewife, Robert was determined to succeed with young Kris. Friends told Oppenheimer about how he was “totally turned on” by the 1975 movie “The Stepford Wives.” “[It] was the model for Robert’s marriage to Kris,” said Migdal. According to another friend, “He had a fantasy about being able to dominate women.” As a way of grooming his high-school-educated bride, Robert gave her self-help audiotapes to teach her how to throw a party and decorate for the holidays. “Kris would say, ‘Oh God, I have to finish these tapes before the week is out because we’re going to talk about them,’ ” recalled friend Larry Kraines. Robert, who had adorned his car with a fish insignia to show his born-again status, kept copies of the Bible on his nightstand, on his desk and on his person at all times. While Kris attended church with her husband, Robert’s pastor, Kenn Gulliksen, harbored doubts about her sincerity: “I just sensed that Kris saw in Bob a kind of gold mine. Robert was a very generous man, and that was . . . good for Kris.” After daughters Kourtney and Kim were born (in 1979 and 1980, respectively), the family moved into a 7,000-square-foot estate in Beverly Hills’ most “prestigious” section, complete with tennis courts and a duck-shaped swimming pool. Kris’ audiotape lessons had paid off, and the home became “party central.” They often hung out with Robert’s friend, O.J. Simpson. Sometimes, Simpson would have Kris call a very young girl — “possibly still in high school” — whom he was seeing, in case her parents answered. Then she would hand him the phone. It seemed the family was flourishing. Robert had sold one of his businesses, the trade publication Radio & Records, “for a bundle.” But with the 1984 arrival of their third child, Khloé, the couple couldn’t ignore an elephant in the room: They hadn’t had sex during the time she had to have been conceived. Gulliksen recalled that “it was my strong impression from him that [Robert] loved Khloé very much, but he said it in a way that implied that ‘She’s not my blood daughter.’ ” He was unwilling to take a DNA test to confirm it, and told Migdal that “whoever her father is . . . she is my child.” Years later, his two subsequent wives — Jan Ashley and Ellen Pierson — attested that Robert claimed that Khloé wasn’t his biological daughter. Soon, Kris’ affairs would be more out in the open. Despite all the blessings — and bling — of a charmed Beverly Hills life, she became “bored and rebellious.” After getting a new pair of breasts, she reportedly decided she wanted freedom. “Kris would tell Robert, ‘I need to go out. I need to have fun,’ ” Migdal said. “[She] was coming home at two and three in the morning drunk, and she would tell Robert, ‘I have four kids and I have not lived life.’ ” (Son Rob was born in 1987.) Kris began seeing a soccer player, Todd Waterman, introducing him as her boyfriend at parties and paying his bills with Robert’s money. Waterman recalled that a young Khloé would go with them on dates: “She’d be in the back seat of the car.” Once, after Kris told her husband that Waterman was her tennis instructor, the two played on the Kardashian court while Robert watched. But soon enough, Robert caught Waterman and Kris “three different times,” she said, including at the other man’s apartment and on a restaurant date. Upon finding them together in Waterman’s car one time, Robert jumped out of his Mercedes with a golf club in hand. “He took a swing and whacked the back of my car,” said Waterman. Kris told him to “keep driving — [Robert] might have a gun in the car.” Another time, as Simpson stood by, Robert phoned Waterman and yelled: “You just f – – ked Snow White! Do you know what you’ve done to this entire universe, you asshole? Now you . . have to deal with me.” The Kardashians finally divorced in 1991. Months later, Kris married Olympian Bruce Jenner, her “best lover.” Jenner — who decades later would transition to being a woman named Caitlyn — had already wed twice before. After his first wife, Chrystie Crownover, left him, he stayed for a while at the Playboy Mansion. “Bruce became like one of the Bunnies,” said a longtime mansion regular. “One night he’s boogieing in a tux with the girls at a dress-up party, and the next night he’d be like one of the girls and all dressed up — makeup, hosiery, high heels, the whole nine yards. I thought he was just being funny, like when Milton Berle used to come on TV in drag.” He may have been one of the most famous athletes of the 1970s, but by the early ’90s Jenner “had little money . . . and was living in a dumpy little house.” When he moved in with Kris, Jenner brought along his parents. “Simply put,” Oppenheimer writes, “[Kris] was ‘very pissed off,’ according to friends.” She would, apparently, get over it, however, with the two going on to have daughters Kendall (in 1995) and Kylie (in 1997) and star together in the reality-TV series “Keeping Up With the Kardashians.” Robert, meanwhile, was about to become a household name. After bosom buddy Simpson was arrested in 1994 for the murders of his ex-wife, Nicole, and her friend Ron Goldman, Robert chose to steadfastly support him, showing up to court nearly every day as a member of the athlete’s legal “dream team.” He wrote a letter to Kris and his kids in 1995, once the trial was in full swing: “I truly believe in O.J.’s innocence, and unless they find him guilty, I will continue to support him . . . Please be understanding.” Kris, who had been one of Nicole’s closest friends, was “furious” with her ex’s defense of O.J. (Years later, Kourtney would get into the University of Arizona with an essay titled “My Parents Were on Opposite Sides of the O.J. Simpson Trial.”) Elsewhere in Robert’s life, reactions were mixed. Some friends and colleagues deserted him. “No one ever turned their back on someone like they did on Robert over the O.J. thing,” recalled Migdal. People would spit on him while he was in his convertible. On the other hand, he often got “celebrity treatment” because of the public fascination with the televised trial, snagging the best tables at Beverly Hills restaurants. Roger Moore sought him out to chat. Actor Rod Steiger sent wine to his table. Robert hoped that Al Pacino or Robert De Niro would play him in a future O.J. movie. (Little did he know he would instead end up with David “Ross from ‘Friends’ ” Schwimmer.) The fallout from the trial took a toll on the entire Kardashian family. But the kids were moving on with their lives — and the apples didn’t fall far from the tree. By 2000, Kim was a bride at age 19. Robert was “upset” when Kim wed her first husband, Damon Thomas, who is African-American. According to an Oppenheimer source, Robert said: “I know these black guys, and I know they love white pussy. O.J. always brags about how much he and those guys get. The problem is my kids are liberal, maybe too liberal, and I have no one to blame but myself because I introduced them to Uncle O.J.” In 2003, Robert was diagnosed with esophageal cancer; when he died some eight weeks later, he reportedly weighed 80 pounds. Before he passed, Priscilla Presley called to tell him she loved him. “It brought tears to his eyes,” Oppenheimer writes. Years later, after Robert’s kids became world-famous, his widow Ellen Pierson — who was said to have frozen out his closest friends — sold off excerpts of what was allegedly his diary, in which he wrote about Kris and Waterman’s sleeping together in his bed and leaving their kids unattended while she “screwed all night.” It detailed Kris’ allegedly abusive nature, describing her as pulling Kourtney’s hair and twisting her arms, also claiming that “scared and nervous” Kim had also been beaten by their mother. Kris sued Pierson in 2013 on the basis of copyright infringement, claiming that Robert’s kids owned the copyrights for his diaries. Pierson filed legal papers for defamation, emotional distress and civil conspiracy to defame, claiming the Kardashians only filed their lawsuit for use as a plot point for their TV show. The copyright claim was settled in 2014, when Pierson returned the diaries to the Kardashians, who also collected $84,000. Robert’s friend Kraines insists the late man would be as “proud as punch” of his girls today. “Would Robert have liked Kim’s sex tape, and all that horses – – t? Probably not. But would he have liked the fact that they have made a tremendous amount of money? Definitely!” As for Kris, who divorced Jenner in 2015, sources say that she wants to follow in the footsteps of another reality-TV star. The now-divorced mom of six has told people she wants to run for political office — on a platform of advocacy for single moms — saying she and Donald Trump have the same kind of DNA. “If Mr. Weird Hair can do it, so can I,” she’s reportedly said. According to a “credible source”: “She has so much confidence that talking about the presidency one day isn’t out of the question for her.”

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New Post has been published on http://www.lifehacker.guru/tough-love-stale-sandwiches-awaiting-affection-and-writing-a-way-out-2/

Tough Love: Stale Sandwiches, Awaiting Affection, and Writing a Way Out

You’ve got problems, I’ve got advice. This advice isn’t sugar-coated—in fact, it’s sugar-free, and may even be a little bitter. Welcome to Tough Love.

This week we have some kids who don’t like sandwiches for some reason, a teen who isn’t sure how to ask girls on dates, and a young professional who wants to write and isn’t happy with her current circumstances.

Keep in mind, I’m not a therapist or any other kind of health professional—just a guy who’s willing to tell it like it is. I simply want to give you the tools you need to enrich your damn lives. If for whatever reason you don’t like my advice, feel free to file a formal complaint here. Now then, let’s get on with it.

This Father’s Picky Kids Are Bored with Their Sandwich Lunches

Dear Patrick,

My kids are getting sick of sandwiches for lunch. The school lunches are terrible, so they won’t eat most of those. I’m trying to figure out some alternative options that give them nutrition and fulfillment. Any and all ideas are welcome, as a lot of my ideas are turning out too time-consuming or too expensive.

Your biggest fan, by volume,

TheRevanchist

Hey Rev,

I’m not a parent, but the fact you’re even taking the time to bother with this is a serious display of patience in my book. I mean, if I were you, I’d tell my kids exactly what I was told: “You can either eat what we give you, or you can not eat.”

I didn’t even get the option for cold lunches and happily ate the school’s weird, rectangular, plastic pizza almost every day. I drank the nearly expired, lukewarm milk, chewed through unnaturally sweetened gelatin desserts that had developed that weird tough outer skin, and relished beef and cheddar days because the processed nacho cheese overpowered the flavor of old roast beef just enough to make it a passable meal. And to top it all off, I worked in the school cafeteria kitchen to cover the cost of my own questionable lunch.

Besides, there are so many wonderful types of sandwich, I don’t understand how you can get sick of them. They’re cheap, easy, fairly nutritious most of the time, and I think your kids should just eat the damn things. Frankly, if they’re old enough to complain, they’re old enough to make their own lunches! Not every meal is a smorgasbord of your greatest mouthwatering desires. Sometimes food is just fuel so you can go learn shit.

This Inexperienced Teenager Doesn’t Know Where to Start With Dating

Hey Patrick,

I am 19 years old and am getting frustrated with the lack of intimacy I have experienced with girls. I have had some physical experience, but nothing consistent. I am currently at university, I am in pretty good shape, and I have an okay social life. I have also been told I am good-looking by someone who isn’t my mother, so I think I look okay and do make some sort of effort. I meet new girls on a regular basis now because of university, and I don’t have an issue talking to any of them, but I am really struggling to connect with them. It just doesn’t feel like they are ever all that into me or are interested in sticking around.

I do have a theory as to why I’m struggling, of course. I am originally from Israel. I have been moving back and forth for a while now and spent half my life there, but right now I live in Australia. I always found Israeli girls a lot more straightforward and easier to engage with. I found that when an Israeli liked me, she would always make the effort and made it really obvious. Are Australians just more timid? Or are they just not attracted to me?

Beyond that, I feel like, because of my lack of experience, I don’t know how to make things happen. I have zero dating experience and I only really know how to make things happen in a party environment. I never asked someone on a date before. I don’t know what the socially acceptable way is. And I find it impossible to know when a girl likes me or if any of them do. I have no idea how to get from the dating phase to the physical stuff. What sort of stuff do you do on a date anyhow?

Sincerely,

Desperate Down Under

Hey Des,

So you’re 19 and frustrated because you’re not getting any action? Join the club, they have jackets. I’m only kidding—they’re not jackets, they’re pretty pink sashes that read “Please love me.” I think I have mine buried somewhere in my closet.

It sounds like you’ve got a good chunk of the important basics down: you take care of yourself, you’re socially adept, you don’t look like a hairless dog, and you put yourself in social positions that allow you to meet new people. All good things!

But here’s the problem: you’re waiting for girls to walk up to you and tell you that they like you. That’s ridiculous! I can’t speak for Aussie girls specifically, but if they’re anything like American girls, they aren’t going to do that. It happens sometimes, sure, but they’re more apt to send signals and drop hints, which, for a clueless dude like you, is like tossing a coded message into the ocean only to be found by a blind dude hundreds of years later.

Israeli girls may have been easier to approach and engage with, but now you have to make the effort—and make it obvious. Girls may very well be attracted to you but think you don’t like them because you’re not pursuing them, or totally ignoring them in hopes they’ll magically figure it out. I just picture you standing in the corner at a party, sipping your drink, muttering to yourself “none of these girls like me,” and it makes me want to scream. In fact, I just did, but you can’t hear it because this is text. Here, this helps get my point across:

Now, before we go on, I hope by “make things happen” you mean start a positive, loving relationship that may or may not lead to intimacy. Because if you mean something else by it, or if you’re looking for tips on how to become one of those sleazy, pickup-artist garbage people, you’re approaching this all wrong. But I’ll go ahead and assume you’re just a nice timid guy who’s looking for a way to get a handle on dating. Moving on.

Asking someone on a date is actually the easy part, my man. You simply ask if they’d like to grab coffee/get a drink/go to an event/hang out with you sometime. That’s totally socially acceptable. It’s actually the lead up to the asking that’s the real hard part. You need to learn how to read people: the things they say and the way they move. There are tons of guides out there on how to tell when someone is flirting with you, but honestly, the best way to get a feel for that is through trial and error. Strike up a conversation with a nice girl at one of these parties or university events and see where things go. If she’s smiling, laughing, touching your arm lightly, and clearly enjoying your conversation, ask for her number, or see if she’d be interested in meeting up sometime. She might not be down, but rejection is a reality you’ll have to face. It’s not personal (even if it feels like it is), so don’t take it that way, and move on. If she says yes, plan a date that gives you a chance to talk and interact so you can get to know each other better.

If going through this process face-to-face seems like too much for you, try dating apps! The people you find on those are actively looking for dates—well, most of them—and it gives you a dedicated space to practice talking to women and feeling out whether they’re interested in you or not. It’s not quite the same as talking in person, but every little bit of practice helps.

In regard to “getting to the physical stuff,” I feel the need to clarify things for you again. There’s no “dating phase” and then a “physical phase.” You make it sound like there are levels you have beat on your way to the sexy boss fight in a video game, or that you have to do hard time being around someone before they let you run free in their garden of unlimited pleasure.

Physical stuff is part of dating, and it will usually happen organically. I get that you’re frustrated, dude, but don’t make getting physical your main goal. You’ll set yourself up for disappointment, more frustration, and you’ll be missing out on the exhilarating bliss of truly getting to know someone. Also, it’s sad, gross, and desperate—and women can smell desperation from a mile away. Let feelings and trust build up as you spend time together—then, when the time is right for you both, you won’t have to “make things happen,” they just will.

This Young Professional Is Buried in Debt But Wants to Write

Hey Patrick,

I am miserable. I’m 26, I have 6-figures of student debt, and I’m currently working in a strong industry making a decent salary, but it’s an industry I don’t give one fig for. I’ve been working here 3 years. My misery is getting to the point where I come to work and stare at my screen for about 30 minutes because I just can’t bring myself to work.

My student debt is an important part of the problem because it’s what’s keeping me stuck: without it I wouldn’t have an issue pursuing my dreams of working as an entertainment writer, but as things currently stand, I need to be making the amount I’m making now to keep my life functional. (Note: I already cut back on extraneous things in life; I live with my parents and don’t do too much to save as much money as I can.)

I’ve gotten to the point where I feel that life isn’t worth living because what use is a life where you can’t do anything because spending money is off the table, you hate your work life, and you hate your home life because you’re stuck with your parents to save money?

I don’t want to feel like this anymore: I want to be happy, or at least content, so I’m thinking the place to start is with getting a new job. The problem is, I came into my current industry basically out of college and now I feel I’m not qualified to do anything other than what I do now.

I’ve been scouring job boards and LinkedIn for opportunities to no avail. Even assistant jobs require previous experience, and again, I need to ensure a job will pay at least as much as I’m currently making…

What should I do to change my fortunes? I’m open to almost any career in entertainment, not just writing, but it’s damn near impossible to get a foot in the door (I live in LA). Should I, given the circumstances, shoulder my misery for the sake of my paycheck and stay put? Should I take a pay-nothing/pay-little job with hopes the paycheck will increase over time as an investment in my own happiness (but at the risk of my credit and overall financial standing)?

Best,

Miserable TV Junkie

Hey Junkie,

Life is worth living. In truth, that’s all it’s really good for. That said, if you are actually having suicidal thoughts and not just being hyperbolic, please call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline at 1-800-273-8255. Do it for me, do it for your family, do it for your friends, do it for yourself. I’m not asking, I’m telling.

Now then: you’ve got tons of debt and you’re stuck at home, but you’ve also got a decent job that pays well. You’re already better off than a lot of people I know! You may not like the work you do, but a good salary at your age is hard to find, and it’s the fastest way to pay off those miserable student loans. Besides, the sooner you pay those off, the sooner you’ll be free to explore other careers and lifestyles. It sucks now, but it won’t always suck if you stay vigilant. Don’t go chasing happiness—it will backfire. And don’t go changing jobs on a whim thinking it will solve all of your problems! I’ve researched this quite a bit and psychologists warn against taking plunges like that and “ripping off the band-aid,” so to speak. You’re better off trying to make the best of where you’re at for now and enriching your life in other ways. It sucks, but you can endure, trust me. Lots of people have done it.

Also, living with your parents might kill your vibe a bit, but it’s also an opportunity to spend more time with them while you have them. Later on you’ll probably be grateful for every extra second you got, even if it meant having less of a social life. You might want to thank your lucky stars they’re willing to let you stay with them too. Adjust your perspective a little bit, Junkie, and you’ll realize things aren’t all that miserable.

And you don’t have to just sit around, crying into your blankets, moldering in your room at home. There’s plenty you can do during this time—like writing! You want to be a screenwriter (I’m assuming)? Then start writing! You don’t become a screenwriter by wanting to be one. Get a free screenwriting program like Celtx or WriterDuet, find a good book on screenwriting rules and formatting, and focus all these emotions into some top-notch drama! By the time you’ve paid off your student loans, you could have a nice portfolio of feature screenplays, TV pilots, and spec scripts that just might get you into a writer’s room.

If you’re wondering why this is your best course of action, here’s some hard, fast truth. First, you need to know you still have plenty of time to get into the entertainment industry, especially as a writer. I have several friends who work in television and film (no, I won’t put you in touch with them), and I’ve also spoken with or heard from a lot of screenwriters at panels about how they got to where they are. You’d be happy to hear that very few of them started off as a writer or PA or anything like that right out of school. In fact, most of the people in “the biz” I know moved into it laterally and didn’t even study film in college. So, regardless of what you’re doing now, it’s totally possible down the line. That’s the good news.

The bad news is there are really only two ways to move into entertainment. Laterally, as I mentioned, which, in your case, would probably require you to know someone. IT REALLY IS ALL ABOUT WHO YOU KNOW. Or starting from the bottom and crawling your way up, which would definitely not provide the pay you need to tackle those loans. Like, not even close. DO NOT DO IT, at least not until those loans are paid off.

So how do you meet people in the business who can help? Look for writing groups, events, or festivals focused on screenwriting. Join, show up, talk to people, share your writing, ask for notes, offer to give notes, network with cool people, and develop rapport with those who are willing to take you under their wing. Be prepared to have your writing torn apart and lit on fire in front of everybody, and expect a lot of resistance when you’re new and inexperienced. Don’t give in. Buckle down, Miserable TV Junkie, work on your craft, funnel your emotions into words, and make the most of your job until you can dig yourself out of this temporary rut.

Quickies

Because I just don’t have the time or patience for all of you…

Hard Truther asks:

Hi Patrick,

I want to dole out no-nonsense advice to people because I’m a thousand times better at fixing other people’s problems than my own. I also get right to the crux. I want to call it Hard Truth. However, I don’t have a platform in which anyone will write me for advice and someone already has this Lifehacker column called Tough Love that sounds similar.

Should I even bother? If I should, how do I get an audience and submissions?

Nah, don’t bother. Next!

Mare says:

Dearest Paddy,

I’m struggling with a quarter-to-mid-career crisis. I want to move from IT to perhaps data science, and I have a shitty Physics degree at least, but my academic life was a blur of depression and anxiety.

Please kick my ass and tell me I can do whatever I want once I put my shriveled little brain to it…

Mare, you can do whatever you want once you put your shriveled little brain to it. Expect a kick in the ass in the mail. I’m on fire! Order up!

You gain 100 experience points. Level up! asks:

I live in LA. Dating is horrible and I am over it. Seriously, I was on a TV show for dating and nothing panned out. Also, I am never going to be able to afford a house here. I want to try a new place with new experiences where I can buy property and live a good life, hopefully meeting a special someone and exploring my hobbies. I am not running from anything, [I’m] happy with life. I simply want to live somewhere other than LA. I work in tech, what would you suggest?

Wait… You DIDN’T find true love on a reality TV show?! Gasp.

I live in LA as well, and dating can be pretty horrible here (Oh you’re an actor slash model? Do go on!), but it can also be pretty awesome. I’m not sure how much worse it is here compared to other cities. So I don’t know if dating is a great reason to leave, but you definitely should if you want to buy property and not pay and arm and a leg for it.

You work in tech? I hear Raleigh, North Carolina isn’t too shabby. Neither is Austin or Dallas, Texas. Maybe even check out Colorado Springs.

That’s it for this week, but I still have plenty of blunt, honest advice bottled up inside. Tell me, what’s troubling you? Is work getting you down? Are you having problems with a friend or a coworker? Is your love life going through a rough patch? Do you just feel lost in life, like you have no direction? Tell me, and maybe I can help. I probably won’t make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, but sometimes what you need is some tough love. Ask away in the comments below, or email me at the address you see at the bottom of the page (please include “ADVICE” in the subject line). ‘Til next time, figure things out for yourself.

©

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New Post has been published on http://www.lifehacker.guru/tough-love-stale-sandwiches-awaiting-affection-and-writing-a-way-out/

Tough Love: Stale Sandwiches, Awaiting Affection, and Writing a Way Out

You’ve got problems, I’ve got advice. This advice isn’t sugar-coated—in fact, it’s sugar-free, and may even be a little bitter. Welcome to Tough Love.

This week we have some kids who don’t like sandwiches for some reason, a teen who isn’t sure how to ask girls on dates, and a young professional who wants to write and isn’t happy with her current circumstances.

Keep in mind, I’m not a therapist or any other kind of health professional—just a guy who’s willing to tell it like it is. I simply want to give you the tools you need to enrich your damn lives. If for whatever reason you don’t like my advice, feel free to file a formal complaint here. Now then, let’s get on with it.

This Father’s Picky Kids Are Bored with Their Sandwich Lunches

Dear Patrick,

My kids are getting sick of sandwiches for lunch. The school lunches are terrible, so they won’t eat most of those. I’m trying to figure out some alternative options that give them nutrition and fulfillment. Any and all ideas are welcome, as a lot of my ideas are turning out too time-consuming or too expensive.

Your biggest fan, by volume,

TheRevanchist

Hey Rev,

I’m not a parent, but the fact you’re even taking the time to bother with this is a serious display of patience in my book. I mean, if I were you, I’d tell my kids exactly what I was told: “You can either eat what we give you, or you can not eat.”

I didn’t even get the option for cold lunches and happily ate the school’s weird, rectangular, plastic pizza almost every day. I drank the nearly expired, lukewarm milk, chewed through unnaturally sweetened gelatin desserts that had developed that weird tough outer skin, and relished beef and cheddar days because the processed nacho cheese overpowered the flavor of old roast beef just enough to make it a passable meal. And to top it all off, I worked in the school cafeteria kitchen to cover the cost of my own questionable lunch.

Besides, there are so many wonderful types of sandwich, I don’t understand how you can get sick of them. They’re cheap, easy, fairly nutritious most of the time, and I think your kids should just eat the damn things. Frankly, if they’re old enough to complain, they’re old enough to make their own lunches! Not every meal is a smorgasbord of your greatest mouthwatering desires. Sometimes food is just fuel so you can go learn shit.

This Inexperienced Teenager Doesn’t Know Where to Start With Dating

Hey Patrick,

I am 19 years old and am getting frustrated with the lack of intimacy I have experienced with girls. I have had some physical experience, but nothing consistent. I am currently at university, I am in pretty good shape, and I have an okay social life. I have also been told I am good-looking by someone who isn’t my mother, so I think I look okay and do make some sort of effort. I meet new girls on a regular basis now because of university, and I don’t have an issue talking to any of them, but I am really struggling to connect with them. It just doesn’t feel like they are ever all that into me or are interested in sticking around.

I do have a theory as to why I’m struggling, of course. I am originally from Israel. I have been moving back and forth for a while now and spent half my life there, but right now I live in Australia. I always found Israeli girls a lot more straightforward and easier to engage with. I found that when an Israeli liked me, she would always make the effort and made it really obvious. Are Australians just more timid? Or are they just not attracted to me?

Beyond that, I feel like, because of my lack of experience, I don’t know how to make things happen. I have zero dating experience and I only really know how to make things happen in a party environment. I never asked someone on a date before. I don’t know what the socially acceptable way is. And I find it impossible to know when a girl likes me or if any of them do. I have no idea how to get from the dating phase to the physical stuff. What sort of stuff do you do on a date anyhow?

Sincerely,

Desperate Down Under

Hey Des,

So you’re 19 and frustrated because you’re not getting any action? Join the club, they have jackets. I’m only kidding—they’re not jackets, they’re pretty pink sashes that read “Please love me.” I think I have mine buried somewhere in my closet.

It sounds like you’ve got a good chunk of the important basics down: you take care of yourself, you’re socially adept, you don’t look like a hairless dog, and you put yourself in social positions that allow you to meet new people. All good things!

But here’s the problem: you’re waiting for girls to walk up to you and tell you that they like you. That’s ridiculous! I can’t speak for Aussie girls specifically, but if they’re anything like American girls, they aren’t going to do that. It happens sometimes, sure, but they’re more apt to send signals and drop hints, which, for a clueless dude like you, is like tossing a coded message into the ocean only to be found by a blind dude hundreds of years later.

Israeli girls may have been easier to approach and engage with, but now you have to make the effort—and make it obvious. Girls may very well be attracted to you but think you don’t like them because you’re not pursuing them, or totally ignoring them in hopes they’ll magically figure it out. I just picture you standing in the corner at a party, sipping your drink, muttering to yourself “none of these girls like me,” and it makes me want to scream. In fact, I just did, but you can’t hear it because this is text. Here, this helps get my point across:

Now, before we go on, I hope by “make things happen” you mean start a positive, loving relationship that may or may not lead to intimacy. Because if you mean something else by it, or if you’re looking for tips on how to become one of those sleazy, pickup-artist garbage people, you’re approaching this all wrong. But I’ll go ahead and assume you’re just a nice timid guy who’s looking for a way to get a handle on dating. Moving on.

Asking someone on a date is actually the easy part, my man. You simply ask if they’d like to grab coffee/get a drink/go to an event/hang out with you sometime. That’s totally socially acceptable. It’s actually the lead up to the asking that’s the real hard part. You need to learn how to read people: the things they say and the way they move. There are tons of guides out there on how to tell when someone is flirting with you, but honestly, the best way to get a feel for that is through trial and error. Strike up a conversation with a nice girl at one of these parties or university events and see where things go. If she’s smiling, laughing, touching your arm lightly, and clearly enjoying your conversation, ask for her number, or see if she’d be interested in meeting up sometime. She might not be down, but rejection is a reality you’ll have to face. It’s not personal (even if it feels like it is), so don’t take it that way, and move on. If she says yes, plan a date that gives you a chance to talk and interact so you can get to know each other better.

If going through this process face-to-face seems like too much for you, try dating apps! The people you find on those are actively looking for dates—well, most of them—and it gives you a dedicated space to practice talking to women and feeling out whether they’re interested in you or not. It’s not quite the same as talking in person, but every little bit of practice helps.

In regard to “getting to the physical stuff,” I feel the need to clarify things for you again. There’s no “dating phase” and then a “physical phase.” You make it sound like there are levels you have beat on your way to the sexy boss fight in a video game, or that you have to do hard time being around someone before they let you run free in their garden of unlimited pleasure.

Physical stuff is part of dating, and it will usually happen organically. I get that you’re frustrated, dude, but don’t make getting physical your main goal. You’ll set yourself up for disappointment, more frustration, and you’ll be missing out on the exhilarating bliss of truly getting to know someone. Also, it’s sad, gross, and desperate—and women can smell desperation from a mile away. Let feelings and trust build up as you spend time together—then, when the time is right for you both, you won’t have to “make things happen,” they just will.

This Young Professional Is Buried in Debt But Wants to Write

Hey Patrick,

I am miserable. I’m 26, I have 6-figures of student debt, and I’m currently working in a strong industry making a decent salary, but it’s an industry I don’t give one fig for. I’ve been working here 3 years. My misery is getting to the point where I come to work and stare at my screen for about 30 minutes because I just can’t bring myself to work.

My student debt is an important part of the problem because it’s what’s keeping me stuck: without it I wouldn’t have an issue pursuing my dreams of working as an entertainment writer, but as things currently stand, I need to be making the amount I’m making now to keep my life functional. (Note: I already cut back on extraneous things in life; I live with my parents and don’t do too much to save as much money as I can.)

I’ve gotten to the point where I feel that life isn’t worth living because what use is a life where you can’t do anything because spending money is off the table, you hate your work life, and you hate your home life because you’re stuck with your parents to save money?

I don’t want to feel like this anymore: I want to be happy, or at least content, so I’m thinking the place to start is with getting a new job. The problem is, I came into my current industry basically out of college and now I feel I’m not qualified to do anything other than what I do now.

I’ve been scouring job boards and LinkedIn for opportunities to no avail. Even assistant jobs require previous experience, and again, I need to ensure a job will pay at least as much as I’m currently making…

What should I do to change my fortunes? I’m open to almost any career in entertainment, not just writing, but it’s damn near impossible to get a foot in the door (I live in LA). Should I, given the circumstances, shoulder my misery for the sake of my paycheck and stay put? Should I take a pay-nothing/pay-little job with hopes the paycheck will increase over time as an investment in my own happiness (but at the risk of my credit and overall financial standing)?

Best,

Miserable TV Junkie

Hey Junkie,

Life is worth living. In truth, that’s all it’s really good for. That said, if you are actually having suicidal thoughts and not just being hyperbolic, please call the National Suicide Prevention Hotline at 1-800-273-8255. Do it for me, do it for your family, do it for your friends, do it for yourself. I’m not asking, I’m telling.

Now then: you’ve got tons of debt and you’re stuck at home, but you’ve also got a decent job that pays well. You’re already better off than a lot of people I know! You may not like the work you do, but a good salary at your age is hard to find, and it’s the fastest way to pay off those miserable student loans. Besides, the sooner you pay those off, the sooner you’ll be free to explore other careers and lifestyles. It sucks now, but it won’t always suck if you stay vigilant. Don’t go chasing happiness—it will backfire. And don’t go changing jobs on a whim thinking it will solve all of your problems! I’ve researched this quite a bit and psychologists warn against taking plunges like that and “ripping off the band-aid,” so to speak. You’re better off trying to make the best of where you’re at for now and enriching your life in other ways. It sucks, but you can endure, trust me. Lots of people have done it.

Also, living with your parents might kill your vibe a bit, but it’s also an opportunity to spend more time with them while you have them. Later on you’ll probably be grateful for every extra second you got, even if it meant having less of a social life. You might want to thank your lucky stars they’re willing to let you stay with them too. Adjust your perspective a little bit, Junkie, and you’ll realize things aren’t all that miserable.

And you don’t have to just sit around, crying into your blankets, moldering in your room at home. There’s plenty you can do during this time—like writing! You want to be a screenwriter (I’m assuming)? Then start writing! You don’t become a screenwriter by wanting to be one. Get a free screenwriting program like Celtx or WriterDuet, find a good book on screenwriting rules and formatting, and focus all these emotions into some top-notch drama! By the time you’ve paid off your student loans, you could have a nice portfolio of feature screenplays, TV pilots, and spec scripts that just might get you into a writer’s room.

If you’re wondering why this is your best course of action, here’s some hard, fast truth. First, you need to know you still have plenty of time to get into the entertainment industry, especially as a writer. I have several friends who work in television and film (no, I won’t put you in touch with them), and I’ve also spoken with or heard from a lot of screenwriters at panels about how they got to where they are. You’d be happy to hear that very few of them started off as a writer or PA or anything like that right out of school. In fact, most of the people in “the biz” I know moved into it laterally and didn’t even study film in college. So, regardless of what you’re doing now, it’s totally possible down the line. That’s the good news.

The bad news is there are really only two ways to move into entertainment. Laterally, as I mentioned, which, in your case, would probably require you to know someone. IT REALLY IS ALL ABOUT WHO YOU KNOW. Or starting from the bottom and crawling your way up, which would definitely not provide the pay you need to tackle those loans. Like, not even close. DO NOT DO IT, at least not until those loans are paid off.

So how do you meet people in the business who can help? Look for writing groups, events, or festivals focused on screenwriting. Join, show up, talk to people, share your writing, ask for notes, offer to give notes, network with cool people, and develop rapport with those who are willing to take you under their wing. Be prepared to have your writing torn apart and lit on fire in front of everybody, and expect a lot of resistance when you’re new and inexperienced. Don’t give in. Buckle down, Miserable TV Junkie, work on your craft, funnel your emotions into words, and make the most of your job until you can dig yourself out of this temporary rut.

Quickies

Because I just don’t have the time or patience for all of you…

Hard Truther asks:

Hi Patrick,

I want to dole out no-nonsense advice to people because I’m a thousand times better at fixing other people’s problems than my own. I also get right to the crux. I want to call it Hard Truth. However, I don’t have a platform in which anyone will write me for advice and someone already has this Lifehacker column called Tough Love that sounds similar.

Should I even bother? If I should, how do I get an audience and submissions?

Nah, don’t bother. Next!

Mare says:

Dearest Paddy,

I’m struggling with a quarter-to-mid-career crisis. I want to move from IT to perhaps data science, and I have a shitty Physics degree at least, but my academic life was a blur of depression and anxiety.

Please kick my ass and tell me I can do whatever I want once I put my shriveled little brain to it…

Mare, you can do whatever you want once you put your shriveled little brain to it. Expect a kick in the ass in the mail. I’m on fire! Order up!

You gain 100 experience points. Level up! asks:

I live in LA. Dating is horrible and I am over it. Seriously, I was on a TV show for dating and nothing panned out. Also, I am never going to be able to afford a house here. I want to try a new place with new experiences where I can buy property and live a good life, hopefully meeting a special someone and exploring my hobbies. I am not running from anything, [I’m] happy with life. I simply want to live somewhere other than LA. I work in tech, what would you suggest?

Wait… You DIDN’T find true love on a reality TV show?! Gasp.

I live in LA as well, and dating can be pretty horrible here (Oh you’re an actor slash model? Do go on!), but it can also be pretty awesome. I’m not sure how much worse it is here compared to other cities. So I don’t know if dating is a great reason to leave, but you definitely should if you want to buy property and not pay and arm and a leg for it.

You work in tech? I hear Raleigh, North Carolina isn’t too shabby. Neither is Austin or Dallas, Texas. Maybe even check out Colorado Springs.

That’s it for this week, but I still have plenty of blunt, honest advice bottled up inside. Tell me, what’s troubling you? Is work getting you down? Are you having problems with a friend or a coworker? Is your love life going through a rough patch? Do you just feel lost in life, like you have no direction? Tell me, and maybe I can help. I probably won’t make you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, but sometimes what you need is some tough love. Ask away in the comments below, or email me at the address you see at the bottom of the page (please include “ADVICE” in the subject line). ‘Til next time, figure things out for yourself.

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