#mostly my teachers because i didn’t really get to know many of my peers till senior year

[eebie]

lots of fun today. Im worn the fuck out from socializing but i had a good time. on our walk my friends gave me the low-down on everything that happened while i was away and among several humorous anecdotes (for example one of our friends getting into a physical fight in class) told me that my favorite history teacher this big soft-spoken black guy was back after what i thought was just him just straight up leaving. I was very open about my beliefs because he was extremely chill & apparently he keeps bringing me up to them and he wants me to come into class specifically to talk politics. god i miss him.. the most distinct thing i remember was him leaving a note on the grade for one of my assignments where he said he hoped i would find my crowd. he actually cared and would call shit out. one time a group of my classmates made a video where they tried to be funny playing as racial stereotypes and of course came across as tonedeaf & offensive, so he sat everyone down and leveled on how something like that would affect others. it was common sense but he was really patient in explaining it. the craziest thing is that he’s a pastor and also pro-choice

[yokelish]

Why Yo once read Harry Potter books (in translation) "Half-Blood Prince" and "Deathly Hallows".

I am not going to deny that I can be what kids call spiteful little cunt. So imagine the glee I felt when I realized that a. my peers (mostly classmates) were into Harry Potter at least enough to watch the movies and follow the story b. the books were finished but the movies weren't.

Now, I am shit at math and as a child I didn't like to read much fantasy due to lack of visual imagination. But since there was already a ground work in movies that would be of little consequence, I thought, and calculated that if I were to read the last two books in HP franchise over summer break I could ruin the next two-three years for approximately 20 kids. I really have to thank film makers for breaking the last movie into two parts.

And so, I got the books. My parents never protested about buying me books. Like if that bitch had hardcover and had pages inside, I could have it regardless. They never paid attention to the ACTUAL covers of the books which led to some INTERSTING ALBEIT INAPROPRIATE READINGS.

As a true fan, of course, I had to start with the least exciting book, which was Half-Blood Prince. The thing was, as I realized somewhere in the scene of Dumbledore drinking some green goo to get a medallion is that I didn't watch enough Harry Potter movies. I watched the first three and was like "yeah, it's good!". No. No, it wasn't. Too many character names, too many things about the world that I didn't know about. Why drink the goo and not like spill it into this green lake that literally surrounds you? Because magic means it has to be drank. Okay, why not make some magical or even non-magical animal drink it? Like, it's sad, sure, animal right and no-cruelty testing hooray, but a wise wizard doesn't have to lose his mind. And also... WHOMST THE FUCK IS THIS DUDE FROM BLACK (surname) FAMILY THAT I SHOULD CARE SO MUCH ABOUT? (Spoilers: Harry's Godfather's Brother.)

So, by the dumb rules of HP universe, I had to put down the book and re-watch all the available movies. Which was fucking hard back in the day since Netflix and Internet weren't a thing. Thus, I had to remember character names, locations, all that good stuff. Who the fuck is who and why.

So, going back to Harry Potter books. I am what you'd call a little fucking crazy. Like I can't skip chapters or pages in the book. A mental thing or something. If my eyes didn't touch every single word printed, the book wasn't read. And I didn't like that. So, despite my absolute loathing towards everything and everyone in Half-Blood Prince, I persevered.

On side note, the books actually made me appreciate the movies more. Because the dude who played Harry was charming and funny. And the movies didn't make me live in Harry's head. At times, he was an awful human being by choice. And people say "HE WAS AN ABUSED ORPHAN". So, like, every other hero in fantasy. They didn't have to be awful by choice. Alexander Hamilton, too, was an orphan, I don't see many of you here defending his shitty choices.

And it's not like my childish self wanted Harry to be perfect, no; I picked up Eragon soon after I was done with Harry Potter mostly because I wanted fantasy that would heal my broken soul. And Eragon was a dumb village boi. And he was thrown so much responsibility on him he couldn't handle it. He started by fucking up and he continued to fuck up till like book 3. A big lizard that hatched 6 months ago was smarter and wiser than Eragon. In fact, Eragon who was so ignorant and people-pleasing he accidentally cursed a newborn child. And even that once single moment of "shit I can never undo so it will haunt me forever" was a lot more powerful to me than Harry talking to his dead parents before going to face the Evil Overlord. Though, giving credit where credit is due, it could be also an issue of relating to a character. I doubt I would have found a magic stone that would bring the ghosts of my very much alive parents, but I did have a big mean mouth and I could say shit I regretted easily.

Anyway, back to the point. I found Half-Blood Prince an insufferable reading experience. Every single character, and especially Harry, every other progression and "plot twist" in the book just made me want to drop it. And remember, I am a very hecking young reader. I have no analytical skills, I didn't even have taste. I wasn't be able to tell what is considered "classic lit" from "modern lit". So many things just didn't make sense. Why do Death Eaters have that Skull and Snake symbol in the sky? It's like those cartoonish thieves who leave a note after a successful heist. Why does magic...works that way? Like, my dumb self, out of nowhere decided that being a good magician in HP universe was kinda similar to being a good athlete. Training, education, and some natural talent do the trick. And that wands were just instruments to channel magic. But apparently, a fucking stick can you hella powerful? There's the Queen Stick. The Stick of sticks. I think the Stick of sticks annoyed me more than anything. It's a shitty McGuffin for an Evil Overlord who came back from the dead.

The whole book felt like a fever dream, to be honest, and not even like fun one. It felt like the fever dream you'd get on malaria or something. I understood why Dumbledore decided to drink that green goo and lose his mind. I wanted that, too.

After finishing Half-Blood Prince and knowing what it was like to live in Harry's head, I moved on to the last book. Which was easier to read due to its cartoonish-ness. It was strange picking it up and having Harry leave on this lone hero journey to find Evil Lord soul pieces while also having moments like "a tale from a children's book that is actually Harry's heritage". The ceiling in their friend's house that is painted with their names, and then BOOM, evil dudes attack. A dude seeing an illusion of his "love interest" making out (VERY VIVIDLY THROUGH HARRY'S EYES GOD I HATED THAT SCENE) with his best friend and teleporting the fuck out of that middle of nowhere they were hiding in. An Evil Overlord giving the big I WON speech without checking for HIMSELF if THE BOY HE TRIED TO KILL EVERY YEAR FOR 6 YEARS IS ACTUALLY FUCKING DEAD.

So, yeah, I didn't like Harry Potter books. Well, the last two I actually read in translation. I still stand by the fact J.K. is a midcore writer since I tried to read her other books that are not HP (yes, they exist) in her mother tongue. I am glad I pirated them and never finished!

So yeah, after summer break, I told my classmates that I read four Harry Potter books, because a. I could lie like a motherfucker b. how would they check? And told them how it was going to end. I guess, because we were all young and spoiler culture wasn't such a big issue we just all kinda shrugged and went on with our day. It's also not that big of a reveal if you think about it. Evil Overlord is dead and the hero survives! How unexpected! No one gave a fuck about ginger twin dying.

But! Good thing is that no one was interested in watching any more HP movies outside of what they already watched. So, I ruined that for the movie industry. And no one ever talked about Harry Potter again.

Until our next summer break, and our homerun teacher giving us a summer assignment that included reading HP books. I was exempt from that. And no one did it! That was incredibly proud moment for me that came a year later! No one wanted to read the book anymore!

I single-handedly ruined the sales of HP books and movies in a small ass city. Word travels fast.

Next time, I'll tell you all about the time I argued with a dude about how Avatar: The Last Airbender The Movie was going to suck balls and how passionately he denied me.

[realfantasticalchaos]

The Timeline They Were Almost Friends

Words: 1,960

“You shouldn’t be pulling up the grass like that.”

Ted looked up to see Penny, the biggest snitch in school, standing over him. Normally he spent recess with his twin brother Felix, but today Felix was working overtime to impress one of the new kids. Cindy, or so Ted thought was her name. The two were over by the trampoline, which was free since Carla had study hall. Left to his own devices, Ted sat on the ground and began messing with the grass. It should have crossed his mind that the principle’s daughter would catch him vandalizing the playground.

“Sorry,” he muttered, unable to look Penny in the eye as he balled his hands into fists and placed them on his lap.

Then Penny surprised him by kneeling down and pulling up the grass herself. “Never mind,” she muttered, also not looking him in the eye. “This does make me feel a bit better.”

Now that she said it, Ted took a better look at her. Penny seemed . . . Not exactly sad. More like lonely. Well, that made two of them.

“Want to sit with me?” Ted offered, thinking it wouldn’t hurt. He wasn’t doing anything wrong, so he didn’t have to worry about Penny getting him into trouble. Besides, now that he was talking to her, he didn’t want to stop.

Blinking, Penny asked, “Do you mean it?” She said it carefully, as if she didn’t believe he really meant it.

“Yeah,” Ted answered. “You’re not the only one spending recess alone.”

“I did notice Felix has been spending a lot of time with that new girl since lunch,” Penny said, sitting a mere foot away from Ted. She sighed. “I was hoping to make friends with at least one of the new kids, but it seems word about me travels fast.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t be a snitch,” Ted suggested, playing with the grass blades he already pulled.

“I don’t want to be,” Penny replied, legs pulled in and crossed at the ankles.

“Then why are you one?”

“I . . . I don’t know? I don’t try to be. I just am, I guess.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Sometimes Ted would look to Felix and Cindy, sometimes he would study the grass he had plucked up, and sometimes he would look to Penny. Whenever he saw her, she had a faraway look in her eyes as if she wasn’t really seeing at anything at all.

“Ted, right?” she suddenly muttered. When Ted requested she repeat herself, Penny said, “Your name is Ted, right? I know Felix because we’re in the same class, but I don’t see much of you unless you’re by Felix’s side.”

“Yeah, I’m Ted.” He felt his face getting hot. For some reason, he was happy she knew his name.

When Penny smiled, Ted felt his ears and neck get hot as well. “Nice to meet you, Ted.”

“Nice to meet you too, Penny.” Wanting to keep the conversation going, Ted tried, “What do you normally do during recess?”

Penny shrugged. “Stand around, mostly. It’s not a lot of fun to play by yourself. You?”

It was Ted’s turn to shrug. “Whatever Felix wants to do, usually.”

“Never what you want to do?”

“No.”

“Hmm, I have an idea.” Penny jumped to her feet. “How about we play together? You can pick the game, and I won’t be alone. We’ll each get to try something new. Sounds like a great deal, if you ask me.”

It did seem like a great deal. Sure, there was risk in being seen playing with the principle’s daughter and the damage that could do to the Huxley twin’s image, but Ted didn’t think there would be too many consequences if that ended up being a problem. After all, it was a small price to pay when his other option was to spend recess all by himself. Not to mention his spending recess alone meant Penny would be doing the same. He didn’t want her to feel any more alone than she already was, especially when he found being around her enjoyable.

“What do you want to play?” Penny asked, offering her hand.

Ted took her hand and let her help him up as he answered, “Hide and seek.”

“Oh, I love that game!” Penny grinned. The fact they were about to play together had her mood jumping from melancholic to excited in the blink of an eye. “You want to hide or seek?”

“I want to hide.”

“Okay, I’ll stand over there”—Penny pointed to the spot—“and count to fifty. You have until then to hide.”

“You can count to fifty?”

“Yes, or at least I think so.” Penny pursed her lips before grinning again. “Just listen for the ‘ready or not, here I come,’ okay?”

Penny went to the place she pointed out, covered her eyes, and began to count. While she did this, Ted thought about where to hide. The swings were too obvious, and he didn’t want to risk being near the big tree in case any bees decided to sting him. Looking around, he stopped to consider the rock wall. That would be a nice spot to hide.

As he hid, he watched as Felix walked away from Cindy to talk to another new kid who just joined recess. They talked for a bit, their discussion too hushed for Ted to hear. Felix gave the kid something, and he ran off. It was just after Penny announced she was ready to find Ted that Felix approached her.

“Good day, Penny,” Felix greeted, as if it was normal for him to speak with the girl.

“Hello, Felix!” she responded, confused but still chirpy. “It is a good day, isn’t it? The sun is shining, and the—”

“Yes. Yes,” Felix interrupted. “Cut the chit chat.” Penny’s smile fell. “I heard a nasty rumor that one of those nasty new children has hidden some contraband by the big tree.”

“Oh, no!” Penny exclaimed, hand flying to her mouth. Ted heard that Penny took a knife from one of the new kids first thing that morning; he was sure worse things to be snuck into the school were running through her mind. “I’ll look for it right away!”

Then Penny ran out of sight. Brows furrowed, Ted wondered what his brother was up to. He didn’t have to wonder long before he heard Penny start screaming in pain. Before he could even react, Penny ran past him and through the gate. There were bees flying after her.

“Bloody good show!” Felix said, and Ted turned back around to see him again speaking with that new kid again. “Cindy will be quite pleased.”

“I’m happy you’re happy,” the kid replied, not appearing the least bit remorseful that he was a part of this.

At this point, Cindy walked up to the boys and told them how Penny’s cries were music to her ears. Ted listened in to all they said, feeling sick.  It was bad enough nobody liked Penny, but this was too far.

Immediately after the three were done speaking, Bob the janitor came out to give flowers to the new teacher. The adults didn’t speak long before they ran inside. That new kid followed after them a few minutes later.

Seeing there was no adult to stop him and Felix was still too preoccupied with Cindy, Ted walked through the gate and towards the back door to the principle’s office. He walked up the steps and rose his hand to knock, but froze when he heard Penny’s crying on the other side. The principle was speaking, but Ted couldn’t make out what she was saying.

Being the spineless clam he was, Ted turned around and walked away. Penny did not return to recess, and he did not confront Felix about the event at gym. Still, the dreadful feeling wouldn’t go away.

After gym, Ted saw Penny going down the stairs as he was going to the locker room to change, Felix staying behind to discuss business with Carla. Swollen bee stings covered Penny’s face, and her eyes were red from crying. When she noticed Ted, she covered her face with the textbook in her hands.

“Are you okay?” Ted asked, turning away from the locker room and walking towards the girl.

Penny answered with a muffled, “Go away.”

“Does it still hurt?”

Sniffling, Penny muttered, “A little.”

“I’m really sorry.”

At this, Penny dropped the textbook enough so that her eyes peered over the edge. “Why are you sorry?” she asked. “It’s not your fault.”

Even though he knew exactly whose fault it was, Ted decided against telling her. “I’m still sorry you were hurt,” he answered instead.

“And I’m sorry I said I would find you and then didn’t,” Penny replied, textbook covering her face again.

“It’s okay,” Ted tried. “The last time Felix and I played hide and seek, I spent two hours hiding in one of the closets. I only left after that because I really had to use the bathroom.”

“He didn’t think to check the closets?”

“No, he didn’t try to find me in the first place.”

“Didn’t your parents notice you were missing?”

“Hmm, no. Or if they did, they didn’t look for me.”

“That’s . . . sad.”

It wasn’t till Penny said such that Ted realized how depressing it was to admit his own twin brother faked a game of hide and seek just to get rid of him for a while and how his parents either didn’t notice or didn’t care. “Maybe we can try playing again tomorrow?” he offered.

“Yeah, maybe,” Penny replied, but she sounded doubtful.

It didn’t surprise Ted she didn’t believe him. Penny was, after all, the biggest snitch in school. Nobody ever wanted to play with her. She said so herself that she usually spent recess standing around all by herself. Somehow, Ted understood how she felt most days if not every day.

“Want to be friends?” he blurted out, not knowing what he was saying till the words fell from his mouth. His face, ears, and neck went hot all over again. Slowly, Penny lowered her textbook, revealing her swollen face and disbelieving expression. “Want to be friends?” Ted repeated, more sure of himself this time.

“You want to be friends with me?” she asked, whispering.

“Well, yes,” Ted answered. “I think you’re nice.”

A smile slowly spread across Penny’s face. She dug into her dress pocket and pulled out a bracelet. “I made this last night after I heard we would be having new kids go to school here,” she admitted, looking at the homemade jewelry. “I wanted to have a friendship bracelet ready in case one of those new kids wanted to be my friend.” The silent “None of them did,” hung in the air.

Extending her hand, Penny offered the friendship bracelet and said, “You can have it, if you want it. You don’t have to say yes.”

“No, I’ll take it.” Ted accepted the bracelet and instantly put it on his wrist. He smiled at the gift. Penny, the prettiest girl in school, gave him a friendship bracelet. “I’m afraid I don’t have anything to offer you though.”

“Don’t worry, your friendship is more than enough.”

Not knowing what to say, Ted told her, “So, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Of course you will, silly,” Penny replied. “Tomorrow is a school day.”

“Right. Um, want to hang out before the bell rings? I can show you my Monstermon collection.”

“Sure! I would like that.” Walking away, Penny waved and exclaimed, “See you tomorrow, Ted!”

Returning the wave, Ted, unable to stop smiling, replied, “See you tomorrow, Penny.”

Tuesday

(Again)

Author’s Note: I wrote this a couple months ago for fun with no plans to ever publish it. Then I decided, “Eh, why not? We need more Ted and Penny fics anyway.” Hopefully someone out there likes it!

[cowgirlontheloose]

Searching for God

In the beginning

     One late winter day when a melting sun spread like butter across the snowy field behind our house, my Mum, my little brother and I had a picnic lunch on the back veranda.  Our cat, Queenie, came too, twitching her plume of a tail, her eyes ablaze with stirrings of spring.

     We sat on a tartan blanket spread on the wooden deck. Dad had shovelled the veranda all winter and the green canvas awning would not be put up till May, so on that early March day, it was a sunny haven. 

     Mum lay back on her elbows and tilted her movie star sunglasses to the sky and sighed and said “I feel like a new woman!”  Although I was only six I knew what she meant.  It had been a long winter of dark days, of Dad away in Montreal or Chicago or Vancouver, of flu, colds and chicken pox and frequent visits from Dr. Church — Mum hovering in the background — with his stethoscope and big belly.

     I still remember a bath infused with something to soothe my painful pox, and how tenderly Mum wrapped me in a towel afterwards. Years later when I saw an image of Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus, I felt again the sensation of rising naked, streaming and itch-free from the water as my mother’s towelled arms reached for me. I don’t know why Botticelli took me back to that bath, or which one of us was Venus.  It wasn’t till I had decades more of life under my belt that I understood we both were. 

     But on that sunny winter day we nibbled ham sandwiches on white Wonder Bread and drank hot cocoa from a thermos. Icicles dripped and splatted from the eaves. We unbuttoned our wooly coats and listened to the happiness of chickadees and crows.

     Suddenly and with great conviction, I took my little brother’s face in my hands and said “Why Doodle-bug, you look just like God!”  From my mother’s reaction I knew I had said something noteworthy, but I didn’t know what and could not explain myself further. My small freckled brother only squinted into the sun with half a sandwich drooping from his mitt. 

In the middle

     For most of my 40s I volunteered for three, four-hour shifts a month at the Ottawa City Distress Centre.  People called for all sorts of reasons beyond depression or suicide.  I loved waiting for the phone to ring while I sipped tea and peered from the centre’s fifth story window at the beings striding or shuffling along below.  Perhaps I had talked on this very phone with one of them.  Or so I liked to think.

     I was good on the phones. For the first time ever, I found I could truly connect with people.  For one thing, I had to sincerely listen instead of, in my usual manner, wait for a chance to cut in and flap my gums.  There were no visual cues to cloud my judgement.  No clothes, accessories, hairdos or mannerisms to make me jump to unhelpful conclusions.  All I had to go on was a voice and a mysterious conduit that ran between us through wires, various switches, terminals and space.

     A woman named Alice called several times a week.  Her warm voice gurgled like brook water into my ear. In our many talks I never discovered much about her situation. I imagined she was in care somewhere, either with relatives or in a home.

     When Alice called, I could relax.  Sometimes I put my feet up on the desk and tilted back the chair, settling in for something sweet.  Depending on the day and who knows what else in Alice’s rich life, she claimed she was either pregnant with, or had recently given birth to, the baby Jesus.  Although this was 100 per cent unlikely, I rejoiced with her at this thrilling news.  She certainly never sounded distressed which made me happy for her.  Perhaps she called because her family or caregivers were tired of hearing about Baby Jesus. 

     My most unforgettable call was not from Alice, however, but from a manic depressive man who planned to kill himself.  He was not suicidal at the time, so there was no point in tracking his call and keeping him talking until police banged at his door.  Nonetheless, he had a plan and was committed to it.  His voice was reasoned, intelligent and also conveyed what I can only describe as certainty. 

     His family had stood by him through years of hell.  When he wasn’t weeping, he was on spending sprees:  once a race horse named Galveston Gal, although he knew nothing about the racing world; another time a stone mansion on 20 acres with tennis courts, a pool and three car garage.

         “I know they love me,” he said.  “I know they will cry a lot.  But time will take care of all that.  My wife will remarry and my kids will grow up in a sane home.” By then I was listening so hard that my forehead was on the desk and my eyes shut so nothing could get in the way.

     I said very little.  I think he was grateful for that.  I hope I said I love you, but I can’t be sure I did.  It was a long time ago.

Belonging

     On a Buddhist retreat a few years ago, our teacher told us to spend as much time outdoors as possible.  Each of us carried a magnifying glass and, besides being silent for the two week duration, we were instructed to examine everything. 

     “Feel your deep belongingness with all life,” he said.  “We are family.  We are woven on the looms of each other’s lives.”  So out we all went, dispersing into the 300 acres of leafy woods, eager to be at one with the universe.  Mostly I was relieved I didn’t have to endure endless sits in the meditation hall, waiting for the gong to sound and feeling like a failed Buddhist.  Roaming forests, fields and waters, especially on my own, was my favourite thing to do.

     I peered at moss, sand, fungi, petals, pine cones, webs, galls and gelatinous bird poops. The underside of leaves often held specks of mystery — possibly eggs or some minute creature perhaps waiting for an insect’s version of Godot. 

     Our teacher had set up an old Nikon microscope at the back of the hall. It was impressively heavy, and sat under a plastic cape, within a wooden box.  This we could use for “deeper looks” as he put it, waggling his eyebrows encouragingly.

     I had never used a microscope and my first zoom in on the carcass of a house fly caused me to holler “Holy Fuck!” which alarmed several steadfast meditators.  The fly was on its back and had a hole in its desiccated stomach.  I felt I was gazing into an echoing cavern beyond space and time.  Where the hell was I exactly?  Then I realized that a weensie spider — certainly invisible to the naked eye — was living in that cavern. There it lurked with minuscule glittering eyes in its dead fly home, doing whatever it had to do to keep itself alive and the world turning. I sat back with one hand clamped over my mouth.  This was too much. 

     For the rest of the retreat, I was glued to that Nikon. I continued to see worlds within worlds within universes. In my one-on-one sessions with our teacher I babbled on about my discoveries. The way he listened, looked at me, made me want to weep and sometimes I did. I knew he was used to it. One day I was raving about looking at the yellow centre of some daisy-like wildflower and discovering it was made up of tubes. Then I saw that tiny white creatures lived inside the tubes. They bustled in and out from tube to tube obviously with much on their tiny minds. My teacher’s smiled and said “…and if we could look even deeper, no doubt we’d find smaller creatures living in or on those creatures — and so on and so on.”

     For years as a journalist, I had been writing about the importance of biodiversity and how everything is interconnected. But really, what the hell did I know? It took a microscope and a dead fly for me to begin to understand what our teacher kept patiently pointing us towards. In his words:  “Looking deeply into our current situation, we can see that this place and this time are actually vast mysteries of creative collaboration that ultimately involve all places and times.”

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

The Bodyguard

Chapter Nine

Master List  |  Bucky Barnes Master List

Previous Chapter

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC  |  Word Count: 4678 Warnings: Fluff, Violence, Angst

This update brought to you by Coffee Updates courtesy of @justreadingfics . You can thank A for this mess. 

Penny woke up warm and rested. Her body was soft, lax, and she felt better than she had in months. When the quiet snore came from the chest beneath her ear, she smiled. It wasn’t the first time she’d cuddle up on Steve, but when she lifted her head, it wasn’t her clean shaven blond brother whose body she’d been resting against, but a scruffy-faced brunette.

The night before came flooding back and caused her heart to kick once hard before she closed her eyes and fought down the wave of angry nausea. The attack, Marcus, what she’d revealed to Bucky, all of it made her feel weak and tired, two things she couldn’t afford right now.

“Hey, dollface.”

She opened her eyes to peer at Bucky, a smile curling his lips.

His fingers lightly stroked the length of her spine. “Sorry about crashing on your bed. Must have dozed off.”

“It’s fine, Buck. I slept better last night than I have in a while,” Penny murmured, pushing off his chest to sit up, finding she’d wrapped her leg over his thigh in the night and it was trapped now between them. It was a rather embarrassing position to be in considering she was practically straddling his leg, but when she made to pull away, he flexed his knees. “James?”

“It’s too early to be up,” he said softly, pressing against her spine to make her sink back against him. “Go back to sleep for a while.”

Penny gave in and let herself return to his shoulder. “Are you trying to mother me after what I told you last night?” she asked, amused by his antics.

“And if I were?”

“I’d say it wasn’t necessary, but it feels nice all the same.”

“Pen,” he sighed and wrapped his arm around her to hold her tight to him.

“You don’t have to say anything, Bucky. I think we got it all out last night.” She threw her arm over his chest. “You and Steve are just so warm. It’s like sleeping with my own personal heater.”

“Happy to oblige,” he chuckled.

“Can I ask a question?” She buried her nose against him. He smelt delicious, just edible, and it stirred a flicker of flame in her belly.

“You just did, but you can ask another if you want.”

“God, you and Steve tell the worst dad jokes!” she snorted out a laugh then sobered. “You said Strucker shot you full of a bastardized form of Steve’s serum.” He went cold and still beside her. “Do you remember much of it? How they did it? Was it like with Steve and the Gamma rays?”

“Why you asking, Pen?”

“Curiosity mostly. Steve’s serum altered his DNA and increased his hormone levels. I’m just wondering if yours was the same. You’ve gotten bigger since I last saw you. Your muscle tone seems denser. You were always smart, but your mind is sharper, and your reflexes are faster like his. I’m just wondering if they used the same process, or if it was different somehow.”

“Pen… I don’t…”

She gently stroked his chest when his breathing accelerated. “It’s fine, Buck. Forget I asked. You don’t have to think about it if you don’t want to.”

He gave a heavy sigh and moved them so quickly she could only give a small eep when he rolled them over so she was on her back and he was propped on an elbow, peering down at her with those grey-blue eyes. His hand lightly rested on her stomach, but his leg had fallen over hers, holding them down with his thick thigh. “It wasn’t the same. No machines but the one they used to wipe my mind. Strucker pumped this blue-green sludge into my veins for three straight weeks. Every day was agony, and when my muscles and bones weren’t aching like someone had worked me over with a bat, my head hurt like it would explode.”

“Bucky.” She reached up and caressed his scruffy cheek.

He grabbed her hand and held it against his face. “I thought about you while I was there.”

“What? Why?” she gasped.

“Because the memory of the day I found you standin’ in Ma’s kitchen looking like an angel with your sunshine hair on your shoulders got me through a lot of long days. It was my best good memory. A little piece of home. Something to keep fighting for. There were a lot of days I really didn’t want to,” he said softly.

“I’m glad you did,” she whispered. “It’s what we do, right? Fight till the end?”

“Til the end of the line,” he murmured. “That’s what Steve said to me. We’ve been saying it for years, but he said it to me on the helicarrier, this man I knew but couldn’t figure out why. “I’m with you til the end of the line, Buck,” and we slammed into the ground.”

Too many memories haunted his eyes, prompting Penny to try and lighten the moment. “You’re just hardwired that way, I think. Maybe us Rogers get in under your skin like a tick you can’t get out,” she chuckled. “When you had your episode in my lab, you said the same thing. You knew me. Knew my scent.”

“Yeah, I do.” He lowered his head slowly and ran his nose along the length of her jaw, nudging gently to get her to turn her head and lift her chin. “Peaches and vanilla. I bought you peaches and vanilla for your birthday. There a reason you still use it, baby girl?” he asked as he buried his nose against her throat and inhaled deeply.

“I like it.” Penny whimpered when his lips skimmed her flesh. The flicker of flame in her belly grew.

“Is that the only reason?” he chuckled, lightly pulling on her earlobe with his teeth.

She bit back a moan and sank her fingers into his hair. “You gave it to me.”

“Pen,” he groaned, letting his forehead rest against her temple. “What are we doin’ here?”

“I don’t know, Buck, but I’d like to find out.” She turned her mouth up to his.

They’d barely skimmed together when the blinds opening startled Penny into pulling away. “What the hell?”

“Good morning, ma’am,” Friday said, her voice chipper. “I’d recommend a warmer outfit today as the forecast is calling for a chance of snow. Your emails have been sorted and categorized, and I’ve drafted responses I think are appropriate, they only need your approval before I send them off. The coffee is brewing, and if you wish, I can start the shower for you and Sergeant Barnes.”

“What the fuck, Friday!” Penny barked. “How the hell…?”

“Good morning, Miss Penelope.”

“Jarvis!” she shrieked. “How the hell are you in my house? What did Tony do?”

“Uh, Pen?” Bucky muttered. “That’s on me.”

“You?” She sat up and glared at him, looking sheepish and far too sexy on her bed. “What the hell did you do, Barnes?”

He flinched. “Pen, Friday needed help to follow the money. You said it yourself. She’s young yet. She thought Jarvis would make a good teacher.”

“And you didn’t think to ask before you allowed Stark’s highly advanced AI access to my files? My business? My life!” she screamed.

“If I may interject?” Jarvis asked.

“Not right now!” Penny hollered and swung her legs from the bed to stand up. The action was too fast, and dark spots swam in her vision causing her knees to buckle.

“Penny!” Bucky gasped, grabbing her before she got very far.

Penny waited for her vision to clear and came back to find herself standing between his spread thighs, his hands on her waist while hers tightly gripped his shoulders. “I’m fine.”

“You ain’t fine!” he snapped.

“I had a head rush from standing up too fast! It happens!” She tried to push him away only to be stuck there when his metal arm banned the backs of her thighs.

“Ma’am, if I may interject?” Jarvis murmured again.

“What?” Penny shouted.

“Mr. Stark made it abundantly clear I was not to “poke my nose” where it did not belong. Sergeant Barnes needed my assistance to follow the money, and I have assisted Friday in expanding her pathways. Her capacity for reason and logic are now on par with my own. I have shared much of my experiences with her, making her a capable and fully functional AI. She is now ready to assist you at work.”

Penny blinked rapidly. “Friday?”

“Everything Jarvis has said is true,” Friday said quietly, sounding like a scolded child. “He has not once ventured toward the secure files or servers.”

Rubbing a hand across her forehead, Penny sighed. “Thank you, Jarvis.”

“You are welcome, ma’am. Sergeant, the report is ready whenever you are.”

“Thank you, Jarvis,” Bucky murmured.

“Anytime. I shall return to Mr. Stark now.”

“He’s gone,” Friday said a moment later. “But he left a tether. A way to return if I need assistance or advice.”

“Friday?” Penny murmured. “I’m sorry I yelled.”

“It’s alright, ma’am. Sergeant Barnes asked my opinion on the matter. I suggested Jarvis. He simply contacted Mr. Stark. I’ll start the shower for you.” The water began to run in the bathroom.

“Is everything in your house computerized?” Bucky muttered, leaning over to watch the falling water through the open door.

“Pretty much,” Penny sighed. She brought her balled fist down on Bucky’s shoulder. “You should have asked first!”

“The information is time sensitive. I needed it done ASAP,” Bucky murmured as his thumb found the bottom of her tank top and slipped beneath to lightly skim the bare flesh of her hip. “So, about that shower?”

Penny snorted. “One kiss and you think you’re going to weasel your way into my shower?”

Something in Bucky’s eyes shifted, darkened, hardened. “Pen… I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want. If you tell me to keep my hands to myself, I’ll do it, but if you want something more? I wouldn’t say no.”

She sighed and shifted to sink onto his thigh. “A lot is happening right now, Buck. I’m not sure I can handle one more thing on top of everything else.”

He looked away, nodding slowly. It was ridiculously easy to see his posture change from one of tentative hope into disappointment.

Penny cupped his cheek and turned his face back to hers. “But the one thing I’m absolutely sure of? I like the feel of your hands, James. You touch me and my body does… interesting things. It’s never done that before, not for anyone else.”

“Never?” he asked, a smug tilt coming to his lips.

“Never.” She rolled her eyes. “Now, get out of here so I can get ready. I have three meetings, an ER to open, and who knows how many fires to put out. I want to get a handle on what Marcus is up to, then figure out who the hell I have to talk to in order to get this out in the open and make it clear it had nothing to do with me.” She pushed against him to get him to let her go, but he only held her tighter.

“Kiss me.”

She chuckled but rolled her eyes and kissed him lightly. “Let go.”

“Kiss me like you mean it, and don’t roll your eyes at me or you’re gonna regret it.”

Penny arched a brow. “I can if I damn well please, and you’re wasting water.”

Penelope Grace,” he growled and gripped her chin. “Kiss. Me.”

A thrill of excitement raced through her as her gaze dropped to his lips. She leaned in and brushed their mouths together before slanting hers over his and kissing him with a wealth of pent-up frustration. Her teeth caught his lip and pulled, then nibbled gently. She sucked on his tongue and carded her fingers through his hair. When his arm finally relaxed, she released his mouth and stood to her feet.

“You should go get ready,” she purred, sliding her finger over his lips before sauntering away into the bathroom where she stopped, lifted the hem of her top and pulled it over her head revealing her ice blue lace bra before looking back over her shoulder to see him still sitting on her bed. “Barnes, shower.”

“In a minute,” he growled. “This was just getting good.”

Penny laughed and swung the door shut only to hear, “Spoilsport!” bellowed from the bedroom.

***

Bucky watched her smile and nod as she shook hands with a dozen different people. He’d spent the morning going over the attendee’s of this hospital opening and then coordinated with their security to see only those people he’d okayed were included in the presentation. There were still more than he liked, but it was like she’d said. Penny couldn’t put her life on hold because someone, likely Marcus, had tried to kill her.

While he’d stood in his shower - half hard and aching - he’d asked Friday to give him a rundown on what they’d found with the money. It was as he’d expected. The money was being funnelled back into known Hydra subsidiaries. Without even knowing it, Penny had been funding the enemy for the past ten years. In total, Taft had stolen eighty-two million dollars from Penny.

When he’d returned to her room to tell her, all thoughts fled his brain for Penny had been rolling her stockings up. Sheer nude ones with bands of red lace wrapped high around her thighs. Then she shimmied, wiggled her fantastic little butt as she urged her fitted pink dress down her legs and stepped into another pair of those ankle breaking shoes. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

Hair up in a knot, hoops with crystals dangling from her ears, the high neck, low hemline, and long sleeves should have made her look prudish, but the fit, the way the dress moulded to her, how there were panels along her sides and around her waist with inlays of mesh just made her look so… chic.

She’d looked up and smiled, and Bucky had blurted, “You look like Office Barbie.” Then he’d squeaked, “I mean that in the best way!” before she could get mad, but Penny only giggled and pulled a coat of the same colour from her closet and slung it over her arm.

The coat had remained in the car, giving everyone an enticing view of her behind. A bag the same pale nude colour as her shoes hung from her arm as Penny smiled and laughed at something some pasty dude in a lab coat said. Bucky didn’t like how he was looking at her, but that had little to do with her safety and everything to do with his flirtatious smile.

He took another glance around the room and moved a few steps closer when she walked further into the ER. It was state of the art, designed and paid for by Penelope. Looking at it gave him the willies but only because he didn’t like doctors. Still, the entire place looked like something out of Star Trek. White with low blue lights. Rooms had clear walls which frosted with the flick of a switch. Digital charts floated on the wall just inside the room, and every bed was one of the diagnostic ones Penny had invented, allowing the doctors to see what was happening inside their patient, scan their blood, and check for internal bleeding without ever needing to leave the ER. It truly was incredible what she’d done here.

The ER was the first of its kind, and she’d given it to the hospital she’d spent so many months in all those years ago. The one where she’d lost her parents. The one which was now called The Sarah and Joseph Rogers Memorial ER.

Steve had been slated to be on hand for the opening but had been called away last minute on a mission, leaving Penny to handle the press on her own.

She looked confident and relaxed, at ease in her surroundings. But from the rapid beat of her heart, it was all an act, and when the flirty doc reached out to take her arm, Bucky slipped seamlessly between them. “Miss Rogers, we need to wrap this up.”

“Yes, of course. Thank you, Sergeant,” she smiled up at him. “Doctor Metcalf it was a pleasure speaking with you.”

“About that coffee?” he asked, shooting Bucky a glare.

“Hard pass,” Bucky growled, hustling Penny out of the ER.

“Bucky!” Penny hissed.

“What? You were going to give him some bullshit excuse that wouldn’t dissuade him at all. Then you’d spend the next three weeks to three months dodging his calls, texts, and emails until he got the hint you weren’t interested.”

“Jesus, Buck!” Penny stifled a laugh.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” he smirked.

“I can’t.”

He chuckled and stepped around her to check the exit to the waiting area beyond the ER. It was mostly empty. A few reporters lingered, but nothing he couldn’t handle. He pushed the door open and brought Penny in close. The hair on his neck was itching, standing up like someone had walked on his grave.

Bucky took another hard glance around. Something didn’t feel right, and he pushed Penny back through the door behind her.

“Bucky?”

“I don’t like it,” he murmured, eyes continuing to scan everyone in attendance. “Feels wrong.” Penny fell silent, but he could hear the rapid and unsteady pounding of her heart. “Stay with me,” he said as he turned away from the entrance and led her back into the ER. “Friday, I need eyes.”

The AI had taken over for Jarvis in the car, as well as following them into the hospital riding his phone. A small Bluetooth given to him by Penny allowed him to communicate with the AI without having to pull the device from his pocket.

“You are right. There was two armed personnel in the lobby and another across on the roof. I am moving the vehicle around to the ambulance bay.”

“Run facial recognition,” Bucky murmured. “See if you can get us some names.”

“Bucky?” His name was a whisper laced in fear.

He stopped and pressed Penny into the wall, ignoring the nurses and orderlies frowning at him. “Pen, we’ve got a situation, but it’s under control. Gonna change our exit route. Just stick with me and keep your eyes open.” Her heart gave a funny jump. “Pen, baby girl. I need you to breathe. We’ve got this.”

She gave a short nod. “Let’s get to the vehicle.”

“Dollface,” he murmured low, “I know you can shoot. You need to; there’s a gun at my back. No hesitation, Pen. Understood?”

Her face paled, but her eyes hardened. “Understood.”

“Good girl,” Bucky smirked and took her by the hand. “Still got those flats?”

“Yeah.” She reached for her purse.

“Sergeant!” Friday bellowed.

Bucky’s head snapped up, and the two men from the lobby were coming at them. “Too late now!” he shouted, jerking Penny away from the wall and shoving her behind him.

Three shots rang out, all pinging as he deflected them off his hand and arm while drawing his gun from inside his jacket. The two he fired back made sure neither man would continue to follow them. Screams filled the air. Bucky grabbed Penny by the wrist and ran down the hall with her.

“Turn right,” Friday directed.

He made the turn at a dead run, surprised when Penny not only kept up but did so in those ridiculous shoes.

“Take a left at the end of the hall and straight out the bay doors. The car will be waiting.”

“That a girl, Friday,” Bucky murmured, a smirk curling his lips. No wonder Stark liked his AI so much.

Then Penny gasped and stumbled, and she reached for her chest. The wild tattoo of her heart was all over the place. Bucky didn’t ask, just dragged her forward and up into his arms, but he’d put off asking long enough. They needed to talk about what the fuck was going on with her.

He hit the ambulance bay doors the same time the SUV pulled in. The door swung open, and Bucky thrust them both inside. “Drive!” he barked at Friday who peeled out with a squeal of tires.

“Ma’am, you must slow your breathing,” Friday said as the car made its way out of the hospital and into traffic.

“Breathe, Pen,” he encouraged.

Her lips were blue around the edges, her skin whiter than ever. The blush pink number she was wearing was doing nothing now to add to her skin colour.

“Her heart is working too hard, Sergeant. You must lay her down.”

Both front seats pulled all the way forward with a snap, allowing him to kneel on the floor as he laid Penny on the bench. “Is this a heart attack? Does she need aspirin or something? Friday what the fuck is happening?”

“Miss Rogers is-”

“No!” Penny croaked, hand still pressed to her chest.

Bucky glared at her. “Duchess, if someone doesn’t tell me what the hell is happening, I’m calling Steve and taking you directly to the SHIELD medical facility!”

She flinched and looked away. “I have a heart condition.”

“Since when?” he snapped. “Steve’s never said anything! Hell, if I’d known do you think I would have dragged you through the hospital like that? Or left it! Goddamnit, Penelope!”

“Shut up… Barnes,” she gasped and turned her face away.

There was such a wealth of anguish in her eyes; he bit back his sharp retort. “Penny, sweetheart, what’s going on with you?” he asked as he cupped her cheek and turned her to face him.

Ocean eyes locked with his and two words tumbled from her lips that shattered his heart.

“I’m dying.”

***

Bucky carried her into the house, straight into her office, and sat her with vigour in her office chair. “Talk.”

Once he’d gotten the wind back she’d knocked out of him with her declaration; he’d demanded answers. The how, the why, the when, but Penny had refused to answer any of them until they were home. It was hard enough to explain without pictures, and he would be the first person she’d ever told the truth too.

“Friday,” Penny sighed. “Pull up my scans,” she asked tiredly.

They flickered to life in the room, starting with ones from ten years ago and continuing every year until the last three had become every six months, then three.

“Shortly after I started Marquis I noticed I was having a few problems. Shortness of breath. Difficulty climbing stairs. I brushed it off as too many late nights, and too much stress, not enough exercise, but when it got worse, and I started having chest pain, I decided it was better to run some tests. That’s when I found that.” She motioned to the first image, causing it to enlarge and zoom in.

“Is that… metal?” Bucky murmured.

“It was a shard missed by the hospital. It had been there since the accident but was too small for the current technology to pick up. When I found it, it was lying parallel to the pericardium, the sack around the heart, deteriorating the lining, and was rubbing against the muscle tissue causing the pain. Of course, I had it removed, but when I didn’t start to feel better, only worse, I ran more tests.”

Penny tapped a few keys on her desk, and a news report came up. “This was our accident, mom, dad, and me. Do you see the logo on the truck that hit us?”

Bucky frowned and stepped closer. “Maverick and Sons, yeah. What about it?”

“Maverick and Sons was the name of a biohazard disposal company back in the day when hazardous waste had first become a thing. They weren’t incinerating it. They were burying it.”

His eyes widened in understanding. “They hit you with a truck full of medical waste?”

She nodded. “That piece of metal had been in my body so long, and was so nasty the infection began eating away at my heart. I drew blood, ran tests, but the infection is so prevalent no drug can touch it.” She waved her hand, and the images of her heart overlaid each other one by one. “It grows smaller and weaker every year, and now it’s accelerating. Ironic isn’t it? Someone’s trying to kill me, yet all they needed to do was give me six months.”

He sat down hard in the chair across her desk. “Six? And you haven’t told Steve?”

“I was waiting until I knew there was no hope left.” Penny stood and made her way over to the wall safe hung behind the family portrait and opened it. She returned to lean against her desk and hand him the red case. “This is the only thing that works to counteract the infection. A modified form of Steve’s serum. I made it from a blood sample years ago.”

“Why aren’t you using it then?” he asked angrily.

“I am. I used to get a year out of one dose. Then it was six months. Then three. Now… weeks.” She sighed and hugged her elbows. “It would work to regenerate ninety-five percent of my heart tissue. It’s not working anymore.”

“Jesus H. Fucking Christ, Penelope Grace Rogers!” he shouted as he shoved to his feet and loomed over her. “What the hell are you doing?”

She refused to flinch. “I’m trying to save my life, Buck. No different than you are.”

He stormed away, stormed back. Tossed her meds on her desk and thrust both hands through his hair. “You can’t do this.”

“I don’t exactly have a choice, Bucky,” she sighed, watching him run through all five stages of grief at once.

“You can’t do this, Penny.” He turned on her and took her by the arms. “You can’t. Think of Steve. He’d lose it if he lost you. There has to be something! Some way! Contact Stark! Tell someone, tell everyone! You can’t do this!”

He shook her gently, and Penny reached up to frame his face with both hands. “I’m not giving up, Bucky. I’ll keep fighting, but hope is fading fast.”

“A heart transplant!” he shouted, optimism filling his eyes.

“I tried that. Tested my blood against a tissue sample. The infection is in my body and attacks only my heart. It would just start the process all over with the new heart.”

“Then an artificial one!” he pleaded. “You’ve got lungs, why not a heart?”

“I’m trying, Bucky. It’s one of my projects, but I’m not there yet,” she said sadly. “It’s okay, James,” Penny whispered tears in her eyes. “Steve will be okay. He has you.”

“You don’t know that.” He shook his head, tears streaming down his face. “And I won’t be okay. You can’t do this to me, Pen. Not now. Not after finally finding you again. I can’t lose you.”

His mouth was on hers before she could respond. Frantic. Desperate. Needy. Penny wrapped her arms around his neck and held on, tasting the salt of his tears. When he released her mouth to gasp for air and tucked his face into her throat with a broken sob, all she could do was hold him a little tighter and make a new vow.

“I won’t stop fighting, Buck. I’ll keep looking for a way. I’m going to be with you…” She waited a long time for the whispered response to come, but when it did, fresh tears spilled down her cheeks.

His lips brushed her throat. “Til the end of the line.”

Next Chapter

Tag list is open. Please send an ask.

[ill-be-istj-if-no-one-else-is]

I did my best to put it in some kind of order but it got messy and I'm helpless about what I should write even after having read the FAQ and more than 20 pages of your posts so bear with me, please. The more I studied the functions, the less I know. So I'm really annoyed when people do things in a certain way because that's how it was done - there's nothing wrong with sticking to tried ways but everyone should think why they do it instead of mindlessly following a set path. (1/???)

A note to readers: if I may ask, please hold back your own sarcasm and such.

I don’t explicitly set a length limit anywhere for asks as most people stop at a fairly reasonable 5 or 6 - I’ve gotten extremely long asks only a few other times and those were mostly overnight for me so I didn’t get to weigh in in medias res, so while this person definitely needs to work on editing there’s some good content. Had there been anything egregiously offensive, ignorant, or annoying I’d have been much more brusque or I’d just have blocked them; this was a genuine misread of the situation. It’s really hard for me to define what’s good to send for typing; it’s very much a case of knowing it when I see it and I know that can be difficult for some people to interpret. Answer is below the jump.

Hi anon,

I may have had some mild fun at your expense; when I see someone is 10 messages deep and talking about Mamma Mia I have to say I have concerns about their ability to decide what is relevant information.

Anyway I’m going to answer this piece by piece. This will not be my, uh, least snarky answer; the cost of doing business of mbti typing with me for no money is that I like to enjoy myself. But I will attempt to also provide a good faith answer as you have some solid examples within all this.

I did my best to put it in some kind of order but it got messy and I'm helpless about what I should write even after having read the FAQ and more than 20 pages of your posts so bear with me, please.

As you can see I will not really bear with you but I do appreciate you doing some research

The more I studied the functions, the less I know. So I'm really annoyed when people do things in a certain way because that's how it was done - there's nothing wrong with sticking to tried ways but everyone should think why they do it instead of mindlessly following a set path. (1/???)

I feel like people use this sort of language to be like “please don’t type me as a high Si user” when in fact this is EXTREMELY high healthy Si user. Thought it could be a lower Si user as well. Anyway, moving on

For example, it's sad how many people believe in God just because thats how they were raised without actually reading the Bible (no hard feelings to believers, I also believe)

I’m...not going to unpack that

I like to speak out loud some ideas with no thoughts of acting on them but some people tend to believe I'm dead set on the idea and it causes some misunderstandings. Also, I have at least 6 back up plans for my future in case some of them won't fly. (2/???)

Here’s the deal when people say they’ve studied EVERYTHING and then ramble on for a long time and can’t type themselves I often suspect the issue isn’t that they don’t know MBTI but that they need to learn themselves. Contingency plans tend to be Ne-Si; speaking out loud with no plans to act is pretty normal.

I plan on going to a country abroad in 2 years from now and I've already made plans what I want to see there. I have a list of places I need to visit arranged in order so I could visit as many places in the most effective way because I don't want to waste my precious time spend there. I also enjoy telling people about my plans of going there as it makes me really excited. The unknown excites me and I enjoy wandering around a city I visit for the first time because I don't know it.

I can’t type off of this specifically yet but it’s interesting because you have extremely detailed plans (more of a sensing thing) but for a trip that I can’t imagine you’ve finalized if it’s that far off.

Wandering around cities is great though, I agree with you there.

I'm also really good at remembering routes and getting to the destination. I like figuring out how to get there.

Maybe immature Si user actually? Getting really indignant about poor use of Si, plus that bit about the bible I said I wouldn’t unpack sounds like it could be as well especially if paired with Fe and/or Christian views of religion.

I'm a bit reserved at first as I need to test the waters before I decide I like someone. It takes me sometime to warm up but I actually enjoy small talk and feel tempted to speak to a cashier at shop or a fellow passenger at bus which isn't as socially acceptable at my country so I don't really do this - I don't want to come across as a weird person but at the same time, (4/???)

I'm not really bothered to play a social game and I often seem to be rude (resting bitch face, actually I'm not judgmental and I'm quite chill about most of things). I know in mbti e vs i isn't perceived in a traditional way but I identify as ambivert as most of people, heh. My introverted friends say I'm an extravert but extraverts find me a quiet girl. I'm also 9w1 if that helps.

Yeah I’m thinking ISFJ now honestly, not wanting to violate social norms, introverted but enjoys small talk, and 9w1 goes with ISFJ a lot.

I've been also always thought to be a smart one who knows a lot of stuff about many things (5/???)

I could say I'm a walking contradiction as I mentioned in my previous post btw I'm sorry I asked you to type me with a vague info, this time I put a lot of effort ♡ Oh god please don’t say you’re a walking contradiction, I truly believe your intentions are good here and I do not hold this against you but that phrase is what guys who think they’re going to make it in a band despite having no talent say in their tinder bios.

At first I was sure I'm Ne/Si but now I see a possibility of being Ni/Se.I often forget what I'm supposed to do as I've just done because I had this super relevant thing to write but I forgot, damn it.

You seem very nice and perhaps just sort of young so I would suggest...writing this in advance instead of stream of consciousness which might help you organize your thoughts and edit yourself a little? I’m writing this response in advance. Like 90% of my answers I write in a Google Doc and then paste it into the Tumblr askbox later. It’s great.

(6/???) I'm getting lost in the numbers

Hard same.

I'm also quite stubborn and I'll study a thing as long as it's needed for me to fully understand it - it drives me crazy when I study for an exam, I ask my friend for help because I don't understand the concept and she tells me I don't need to understand it, I just need to memorize it.

Sounds very much like Ti here, which fits the earlier typing of Fe-user.

I do things for 101% or I don't do it at all.

I’m guilty of saying this too; I think many people see this quality in themselves unfortunately and I’m not sure it ultimately means much.

I also have a friend who helps me to stay grounded as she remembers some stuff for me and I'm pretty sure I'll be lost without her (7/???) I didn't think I wrotesomuch

yeah...about that.

I'm quite oblivious on daily basis, I went through school hallway and didn't notice a big ballot box. I only notice things when i want to and it's not a natural thing for me. But when I do pay attention, I'm sometimes mischievous on purpose and enjoy pushing buttons of others. I work on not doing it, I promiseI have a great talent to focusing on irrelevant things and I struggle to do well in my infp teacher classes - even though I know I need a shitload of details from readings (8/???)

So here’s the thing: I really don’t think you use Ni. First of all, the stream of consciousness thing tends to be something Ni users don’t like to do in my experience: they like to edit. They also just...don’t sound the way you do? Like this is rambly but it’s coherent in a way an INFJ ramble of this nature wouldn’t be. You could be an INTP actually with rigid low Si and Fe instead of immature higher Si though. But I’m pretty confident at this point you use the Fe-Ti and Ne-Si axes.

One thing I do find funny, even though I suppose I set people up for it, is when I get asks that are like “here is the detailed description of when I didn’t notice a detail and here is what I didn’t notice”. Like, we do all miss things and while it’s more common in intuitives, my legally-blind-without-glasses Si-dom mother does this too because she can’t see for shit, so.

to do well in exam, I always choose things that aren't relevant to her. She's an excellent teacher and I enjoy her insights. As for Ni/Se, I'm amazed how many things my peers do without thinking about consequences. For example, I wouldn't drink till I'm unconscious because I know I would upset my parents. I perceived it as ni, might be wrong though.

You are wrong in that this isn’t Ni, it’s called basic self-preservation. I’ve gotten extremely drunk from time to time in my life but I have never gotten drunk to the point of involuntary passing out because that is when you fucking die. Your instincts are correct here, your reasoning about your parents is probably Fe, but your decision itself is not Ni.

(9/???) Now, I'm geniually sorry I wrote so much even though I'm not usually but this case is special

I appreciate the apology but this is something I often observe with people who use Fe: they’ll apologize several timesfor long asks or asks that ignore the FAQ or whatever, but like, they still do it. I’ve had to have this conversation IRL with Fe users actually, of “I’m really not looking for an apology, I’m looking for the thing you’ve apologized for to stop.” That is a whole other post about communication though that I may make tomorrow.

I'm also really into helping others[(what contradicts with my mischief, here we go again (I didn't like the 2nd part of mamma Mia as much as the first - it was too sad, I cried in the cinema and the holiday-happy-vibe was missing, it's off topic, isnt it, the second part is called mamma mia: here we go again and I liked the first part so much I watched it like 20 times and know all the songs by heart)] (10/???)

This was the point where I decided to start fucking with you and to turn off anon, not going to lie, because I hadn’t read the rest but I saw 10/??? after an off-topic post about Mamma Mia and was like “okay we’re going to finish it now”

Anyway from this whole thing I cannot decide if you are an ISFJ or INTP, but I’m going to guess INTP as the 9w1 might be what was making me think high Fe before.

[haikyuu-imagines-and-others]

requests are open oml! may i please request a scenario with single-dad!kuroo meeting his kid's kindergarten teacher(!s/o! kindergarten-teacher!s/o!) for the first time? gender-neutral pronouns, if that's alright? i lava ya!

!!!!!!!! Yes!!!!! I love this AU so much just because it’s so fun to read about! Honestly, I have 100% trust that my writing will NOT live up to what I’ve read about this AU… sooo yeah… But I hope you like what I’ve created for you anyway! Thanks for requesting! - Admin Satori

Kuroo Tetsurou:

Souma (Real/Genuine) - Son (5)

“Come on, Daddy! Sensei is gonna be really mad if we’re not there on time!”

Kuroo whined and turned over in his bed, covering his face in the pillows, using the fluff to muffle his sons complaining. “Nooo…. 20 more minutes, mom.” He groaned, his own voice muffled by the pillow under his head.

“Daaaaaad!” Souma sighed loudly before crawling onto the bed, poking the back of Kuroo’s head, “Dad, dad, dad, dad, dad, dad!” He chanted loudly, too loud for Kuroo to fall back asleep.

“Dad, dad, dad, dad…. Dad man the science man.” Kuroo’s loopy voice made itself known and he reached an arm out to pull his son against his body before he fell still once more. “Do we really have to go, little man?” Kuroo asked, he was so tired. So exhausted. Being a single father meant no breaks - his life was mostly made up of work, Souma, and sleeping. With a few meals sprinkled in between. Last night had been a really long night, too, since he’d been held in the office working on a new string of vaccine medications; It’d gotten so late, he’d called Bokuto to pick up Souma from school and babysit till he got home. If he was being completely honest with himself, he didn’t even remember getting home.

Souma whined loudly and pushed against his father, “Yessss we have to go! Sensei said she needed to talk to you about me! She said I’m the smartest kid in class!” He beamed excitedly, and the brilliance of his smile made Kuroo flinch away further into his pillows. “Come on, Daddy!” Souma pouted, feeling desperate to get his dad out of bed and on his way to school, not wanting to disappoint his teacher.

Kuroo let out a long groan as he slowly sat up in bed, holding his son to his chest as he tossed his long legs over the edge of his bed. “Whyyyyy.” He sighed as he set Souma on the floor, “Are you all dressed and ready then?” Kuroo asked around a yawn, reaching up and rubbing his very tired eyes, feeling like death itself. At his sons affirmative humming, Kuroo glanced at him to see he was completely ready to go. Dressed, primped, and organized to show off to his teacher. Kuroo frowned and slowly stood up, stretching out his arms and legs as he did so and letting out a content sigh at the sound of some of his bones popping.

“I’ve been waiting for you to wake up for forever, daddy.” Souma huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting, “Sensei is gonna be so mad… We’re already running late.” He looked down at his feet, his eyebrows furrowing in frustration.

Feeling a pang of guilt shoot through his heart, Kuroo reached down and ruffled his son’s jet black hair, “Hey, don’t worry, little man. Just give me a few seconds and we’ll go talk to your sensei about your big ole brain.” Souma looked up at his father with wide golden eyes, and felt a sense of soothing fall over his heart, and Kuroo felt his heart swell at the sight of a small smile on his son’s face.

“Kuroo-san? Souma-chan?” You stood outside the classroom as your favorite student came running up to you, wrapping his little arms around your leg and squeezing it happily, “Hello, little Souma-chan, I’m so happy you could make it.” You cooed, squatting down to his height and taking his little hands in yours, “Could you do me a favor?”

Souma nodded excitedly, “Yes, Sensei!” His expression was alight with pride, knowing he was the only one of his classmates that was trusted with your favors and errands. They weren’t large requests, or anything that would cause too much strain - just little jobs for him to run when he was done with his coursework. Which was remarkably faster than his peers.

You smiled gently at the boy, reaching up and stroking his black bedhead out of his face, “Could you run this paperwork to the front office for me? Iida-sensei should still be in his office. You know he doesn’t like to leave unless all paperwork is completed.” You rolled your eyes playfully, and Souma giggled in agreement before taking the paperwork from your hands and waving at his father.

“Be nice, daddy! I’ll be right back!” Souma called as he made his way to the front office.

Standing back up, you focused your attention on Souma’s father, Kuroo-san.

It was like his world had imploded on itself as soon as your eyes met his. It felt like a rush of fresh air washed over his exhausted soul, revitalizing him and making him feel like he was 18 years old again. He felt embarrassed, how could he have possibly thought meeting you in his state was okay? Then again, he hadn’t known you’d be a goddamn model, a goddess for his sons’ teacher. He coughed dryly and reached his hand up, raking his fingers through his hair roughly to try to make it presentable. But he was completely sure it still looked like he’d just rolled out of bed. Which he had. But he didn’t want you to know that.

You smiled sweetly at the tall man, reaching your hand out to shake his, “Good Afternoon, Kuroo-san, I take it you had a rough night?” You teased softly, raising your eyebrow at his ruffled appearance.

Kuroo felt a heat under his collar from his embarrassment, but brushed it off with his signature smirk, “Being a single parent isn’t as easy as it’s advertised to be.” He chuckled, reaching out and shaking your hand, feeling how soft and smooth your small hand felt in his. How different the textures were. The feeling of your skin against his, even as insignificant as the palm of your hand, caused a chill to go down his spine. A good chill. A chill of fate. “So… Uh…. Souma said you wanted to talk to me about his brilliance?” Kuroo asked, feeling a longing in his heart as soon as you’d pulled your hand back from the ‘too long’ handshake.

“I don’t believe Souma would use those words, per se, but yes. Essentially that’s what I would like to talk to you about.” You smiled fondly, motioning for him to follow you into the classroom, taking a seat behind your desk and watching as he awkwardly sat in the small chairs of your students. “Ah…. Kuroo-san…. There’s a full sized chair right there…” You pointed to the side of the classroom, his golden eyes following, a pink tint warming his cheeks. You covered your mouth to hide your amused smile, forcing it away when he brought the chair over to sit in front of your desk - his long legs now at a comfortable angle. “Souma is a very, very bright child…. Brilliant. He’s far ahead of his peers, and there are days where I don’t know how to challenge him in the course I’m teaching…” You smiled fondly as you stared down at your hands, “I don’t believe I’ve ever taught a child as well-aware as your son, Kuroo-san, which is why I wanted to ask if you, and Souma, would be interested in having him test out of kindergarten…. Possibly even first or second grade, as well.”

You looked up to see his reaction, and were met with wide golden eyes. “S-souma is that smart? You think he can test out of that many grades?” Kuroo asked, a mix of shock and pride in his voice, his heart beating a mile a second at the news of his son being so advanced. Of course, the innocent shock of a single father was soon replaced by his usual cocky personality. His awed expression morphed, very quickly, into a proud smirk and smug eyes, “Of course! He’s got his daddy’s brains.” He huffed, and you could physically see his chest puffing out.

Laughing quietly, you nodded, “Of course he does, Kuroo-san…” Your attention from the dorky, disheveled man was pulled to your classroom door when you noticed movement. “Ah, Souma-chan!” You greeted, watching the little boy sit in the small chair that Kuroo had been in not but a few minutes ago. He stared up between you and his father expectantly, “Your father has agreed to have you advance forward! Congratulations!”

Souma’s happy expression immediately fell as he realized what that meant. He looked between you and his father, his golden eyes getting wider and wider the more he realized how okay with this news the two of you were. “No!” He yelled, standing from his chair as a form of his protest. The negative feedback surprised you, and made Kuroo look at his son with confusion; He knew Souma knew advancing forward was a good thing, so his protest wasn’t something that had been expected. “I don’t want to move forward… I want to be in Sensei’s class forever.” He crossed his arms and pouted, tears already brimming in his eyes at the feeling of being pushed out of your class. “I want to be around Sensei forever…. She’s really nice to me.” Souma dropped his arms from his chest as he felt his tears overflow and streak down his cheeks, he looked over at Kuroo, and the sight of his baby crying made Kuroo reach out and pull him into his arms.

“Hey, buddy… Don’t cry… This is a good thing… Sensei said you’re so smart that you can move forward in school! You should be happy, little man.” Kuroo tried to calm his son, but the boy only shook his head.

“No, Daddy! I don’t care! I want to stay with Sensei!” Souma cried. He looked up at you to see your concerned eyes, and Souma suddenly had a brilliant idea. He tugged on his dad’s jacket, roughly, in a panic, “Daddy… Daddy! Tell Sensei…. Tell Sensei to be my mommy!”

Wooooooaaaaahhh this got emotional fast lol I was going to make it longer with more emotion, but decided y’all can request that once the ask box is opened… you know… if it’s something that’s wanted lol 

[britneyshakespeare]

who wants to hear a high school story

that wasn’t a question that was a warning

preface: i did almost no homework in high school. it’s actually amazing i managed to pass as many classes as i did. i test well but i got adhd so when i get home and the meds wear off yeaaaaah no work is getting done. i was a bright or at least bright-enough kid (why am i talking about this like it’s the distant past i haven’t really changed all that much since i was 16 im more or less the same now as i was then) i was just unreliable as hell. the worst part was i’d end up getting lower grades in classes i was good at and liked because i’d tend to put off those projects even more than the classes i didnt like, figuring i wanted to do them so i’d end up doing em anyway. generally speaking, i didn’t.

what little homework i did do, i did within the school walls during school hours. i did my math homework everyday in my lunch period (luckily i didnt have psshh friends to bog me down by socializing with me) so i almost always got that done. i also had some classes that i either purposely took at a lower level than i needed to, or some graduation requirements like health or tech which were not all that demanding and i’d have extra time after finishing work in those classes, to work on other things. oh and i never paid attention or took notes in my math classes. like, ever. math comes unfairly easy to me and i’d just write poetry and doodle in my notebook. what i’m getting at is that i had a lot of extra time in my schedule to fuck around.

so, it was springtime my sophomore year, and everyone knows what spring means in american educational curriculum: poetry season in your english classes! i don’t need to elaborate for my followers here you know by now if you read my ramblings that i fuckin’ love me some poetry. for an assignment we all had to present several poems to the class from a poet of our choice and explain them. it was part written, part presentation. and we had to explain about the poet’s life.

the poet we chose had to be two things: from no earlier than the 20th century, and not american. and that put me in a bind because i, unlike a lot of my peers who just weren’t into it, had quite a lot of poets i was passionate about. i mean i wasn’t familiar with every famous name in the history of poetry but i was a 16-year-old with a pretty serious pet hobby for a few years at that point. and all of my favorites at that time were mostly from the 19th century or before, or american, or both. (“but diana what about w. b. yeats dont you love that bitch?” i didnt start reading yeats till iw as 17 shut up im telling a story) i begged my teacher if i could do oscar wilde because strictly speaking he did live into the 20th century, but my teacher let me down gently that no, your sassy gay who died in 1900 and didn’t publish anything in the year he died would not qualify.

pre-yeats-discovering diana was upset. aggrieved, even. i don’t remember how i made the choice, but i did decide to do t. s. eliot because i heard he qualified and something about his work just resonated with me. his writing style. his use of metaphor.

and i didn’t do that project. i didn’t read a damn thing about t. s. eliot. in fact i can’t even tell ya now what those first two initials stand for.

thomas stearns. i looked it up. they stand for thomas stearns. i still don’t know all that much about eliot as a dude man i just read his poetry & i read it he didn’t seem to me to live a life as fascinating as an oscar wilde or a christina rossetti or even an emily dickinson when ya get into the details, so, like, whatever. great poet, not particularly interesting dude.

yeah. i didn’t do the project. i didn’t learn a thing about eliot the man.

until the the literal morning of that project being due. at that point i assumed i just was gonna not hand anything in and get a zero because ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ im useless.

but the tech class i had in first period was kind of a joke, honestly. all we learned how to do was basic microsoft office essentials and we’d like, copy some data into an excel sheet and email it to the teacher. so my ass always had extra time to fuck around in that class. like, at least 45 minutes.

i used that period to begin and finish the entire analysis of t. s. eliot’s poetry. i had to do, i think, at least 5 different poems and write at least a paragraph explaining their meaning and metaphor. and i printed it with 5-10 minutes to spare. it was a relief to, wow, actually get some goddamn work done and not fail a class that i liked and was competent in.

and then came time to present that day. there was one other guy in my class who did eliot so we presented together, not because we worked together, but to save time. he would read one poem and explain it and i’d do the same w one of mine.

so he reads his, gives a pretty okay explanation (for a guy who outright didn’t just not care for poetry, he claimed he hated it. yeah he’s a young conservative whatever they hate the arts anyway.) i read mine, give a damn good explanation, if i do say so myself.

and my teacher looks at us both like “and do you have anything to explain about eliot?” and internally im like “uhhhh he’s british” but luckily i let poetry hater guy explain that he was born in missouri and renounced his american citizenship and i was like. wow this is the one time in my life a conservative has ever been there to cover my ass.

anyway the only moral of this story is im both a distinguished and disaster bi and i’m so good at winging it im surprised i can’t fly. and i dont know anything about t. s. eliot i just like his work.

[thunderheadfred]

Writer Questions!

(tagged by @scientistsalarian - thanks dearie <3)

1. How many WIPs (Works in Progress) do you have? In terms of things with words on the page - three. Red Streak, Paradox, and Yellow Pollen. I have a few other persistent/stubborn brainstorm projects though, which may or may not ever see the light of day.

2. Do/Would you write fanfiction? That’s all I write, baby. 

3. Do you prefer paper books or e-books? For a pleasant reading experience, I prefer paper books because they’re much easier for keeping ADHD at bay (no apps) but lately I’ve been buying a lot of e-books because A) I want to support living sci-fi authors, specifically female and POC authors, and e-books can be very affordable on sale, B) e-books take up zero space and don’t have to be schlepped around in heavy, heavy boxes when you move and, C) I like to feel like Jean-Luc Picard

4. When did you start writing? Middle School. I did some creative writing before that (I legitimately submitted a Men In Black self-insert Mary Sue fanfic for a 4th grade writing assignment and got a decent grade. Also, in fifth grade I wrote a sci-fi short story that was so jam-packed with godawful action-movie one-liners and clichés that my teacher accused me of plagiarism) but I didn’t start writing in bulk until middle school. I wrote a lot of garbage fanfics in middle school. Oh. My. God.

5. Do you have someone you trust that you share your work with? My husband reads every word I write. I used to have him proof everything before I posted because I was so nervous, now I have the confidence to bypass him more often, but he still reads it all. Once or twice he has even left unsolicited reviews on AO3 lmaoooo. Also, a lot of kind fandom folks have offered to look over my work, which means everything to me, even if I don’t take everyone up on it. It took over a year for me to feel comfortable sharing drafts (or even brainstorms) with anyone in the fandom. Big props to the folks who have let me ramble, rant, and/or scream in their general direction. You know who you are <3

6. Where is your favourite place to write? I’ve probably written way too much in bed, at about 3AM. I don’t like that, and need to stop. Also because I’m so uptight and self critical, I tend to write first drafts while drunk, which is another Not Good habit. Thanks to the recent move, I currently don’t have anywhere I feel comfortable writing... thus no writing has been happening.

7. Favourite book as a child? Hmm. Wait Till Helen Comes spread through my elementary school like a persistent rash. Everyone read that thing. I think I read it twice? I was also fond of Dealing With Dragons.

8. Writing for fun or publication? For now, it’s more like “writing for practice.” Writing has rarely been fun for me. Rewarding, yes, but oh god. The work?? It’s like being trapped in a weird perverted push-pull of thrilling creative superpowers and unbelievable challenges. Someday I’d like to have something resembling an original idea because man, it’d be nice to get paid for this.

9. Have you taken any writing classes? I was in an extracurricular writing group in high school, which I really enjoyed, and I wrote a (very very bad) novel for my senior project. Did a creative writing class in a summer semester in college, which I also enjoyed, though I didn’t learn much, because it was mostly peer review. I have considered returning to college... again... (for the 3rd? 4th?? time???) to finish my degree and switch to English or Creative Writing. But... money? And also... eh?? Why? I’ve always believed if you’re dedicated, disciplined, and self-aware, you can teach yourself. (I’m currently zero of those things lmfao)

10. What inspires you to write? Frustration. 100% of the time. A story, concept, or characterization that I desperately want to see, but can’t find anywhere else. The frustration grows so unbearable that I eventually just have to... fix it myself haha.

Tagging @bunnythemonsterslayer, @kestrelsansjesses, @meggannn, @yourlocalpriestess, @autodiscothings, @theherocomplex, @tarysande and of course anyone who’d like to share!

[lubdubsworld]

Make it hurt. ( Then kiss it better).

Main pairing : Min Yoongi / OC 

Rated for language and explicit sexual content.

Genre : A/B/O Au .

Rating : 19+ ( excessive swearing and extremely explicit sexual situations)

Please refer to this : A/B/O Dynamics.

Status : Complete.

Summary : Min Jung fights her biology, her genetic make up , her body. But she can’t fight her heart. Especially when said heart keeps calling for a handsome Alpha with warm brown eyes and a breathtaking smile.

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 / Chapter 6

Chapter 6 ( Cont---d) / Chapter 7 / Chapter 8 ( Final)

Chapter 1.

If I could be anything but an omega, I would be happy , I thought miserably, puking out the remnants of last night’s dinner, gripping the edge of the ceramic toilet before stumbling back up on unsteady legs. I stumbled a little, moving to the basin in the corner and staring at myself in the huge ornate mirror. 

I grimaced. 

I looked like i’d been fucked by the entire football team. 

Glaring at my own face, I turned on the faucet, cupping my palms to collect enough water and splashing it on my face. I never wore make-up ( i got enough unwanted attention without it ) , and the water slid down my smooth skin easily. I grabbed a bunch of paper towels and soaked up the rest of the moisture before dumping the rest in the trash. 

It took me another few minutes to find the pills in my bag, dry swallowing the three huge tablets till my throat hurt . I stayed propped against the wall, waiting for the unwelcome fire in my belly to calm down. I felt uncomfortable, the slick still dripping out of me in an annoyingly distracting way. 

It was the third time this year. Third time that the supplements hadn’t done their job right. I’d gone into heat despite the suppressants and I was just really  really  lucky that there had been no Alphas around.

 i hung out with betas ( hang out being a very loose definition of me just breathing the same air as them ) and i also stayed the hell away from the  Alphas in my school. 

I pressed my palms into my flushed cheeks. 

There was an explanation of course. 

The doctor had warned me about it a long time back. 

 If you need to live surrounded by Alphas then you’re going to need stronger doses and your scholarship does not cover the cost of pills. You need to make a decision soon. There are plenty of omega Schools in Busal and Ilsan. Pick one and transfer out of Seulong High. 

 i bit my lips in consternation. 

Seulong High was the best School in the country and I’d worked my ass off to get the scholarship. The best part about the school was that it didn’t have a ‘ No omegas Allowed’ clause like the rest of the schools in the country. It wasn’t because they supported omegas or something : it was just that there were just five Scholarship seats and it was fiercely competetitive. Omegas did not get into the program . they never did. 

The school was reserved especially for Alphas and betas . Alpha m,en who belonged to super rich , powerul families. Chaebols, son’s of politicians , stuff like that. The girls were mostly taken , each one with an alpha or beta of her own. it was a precaution mostly, because Alphas could be unpredictable. 

there were no omegas here. 

Omegas were so incredibly rare that parents never actually considered letting them out into society. They were usually locked up at home, home schooled and mated off to an Alpha the moment they came of age. 

And maybe i could have been that way if my parents were still alive. But they weren’t. The only family i had was my step brother and it helped that he was a top surgeon in one of the biggest Hospitals in the country. But he was an Alpha and we didn’t hang out as often as I would have liked. 

Nonetheless , once every month I did check up with him .

I wanted to be a doctor. And that meant that I had to fight the system tooth and nail. So far , I’d done well. I was the top of my year. 

Everyone knew that I was a recluse.

Boys stayed away ( after three or four broken noses, umpteen kicks to the crotch and a very memorable broken rib ) , girls hated me ( like i gave a damn) and most importantly : Everyone thought i was a beta. 

I was one of the only three omegas on the Seulong High campus. And the other two were teachers ( who were the main reason i had manged to pass of as a beta the past year ) . They were both mated. This meant that they had no scent at all. 

Now me , on the other hand.... 

The suppressants were the only thing keeping me from turning into some sort of Alpha Kryptonite. If they ever lost strength in front of an Alpha, I would likely lose everything I’d worked for. 

 Everything. 

I felt nauseous just thinking about it. 

I could never actually leave Seulong High. I wouldn’t. And even if the suppressants were losing strength, I would just have to find a way to convince Seokjin oppa to get the stronger ones for me.

I couldn’t transfer out of this place. Just another year and i would become a medical student. I knew that. The dream was real, the endless nights of worry would soon be over. I would be free . 

All i had to do was hold on. 

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

“So, What’s the verdict?” I slipped my blouse back on, peering over the makshift partition and smiling brightly at my step brother. 

Seokjin gave me a glare. 

“I can’t believe you’re joking about this Min Jung . I told you to get off those pills and register in the program. You’re almost nineteen... How long are you going to go around unmated? Find an Alpha , get mated and go pursue your dreams or whatever.... Suppressants are dangerous and just look at your bloodwork! There’s an increase in every bloody toxin...!!! I want you to cut back on the dosage...”

I groaned.

“Seokjin...i can’t get mated now. I refuse to give an Alpha that kind of power over me! What if the creep decides he wants to stop me from becoming a doctor. i won’t even be able to say no!” I shuddered. 

Seokjin’s gaze softened mariginally. 

“Min, would i honestly let you marry a guy like that? i know so many Alphas myself.... You could meet a few of them.. date them for a while if you like... “ He said gently. 

I rolled my eyes. 

“And what if he imprints on me?” I glowered at Seokjin. “ Seriously you need to stop pimping me out to your friends! “ 

Seokjin glared back, affronted. 

“I’m not.. Jesus you’re the single most exasperating creature on the planet! I’m trying to stop you from dying a premature death! You’re eighteen already. Your heats are going to get stronger. your scent is already tangible. I can actually smell you ! And if I can.. so can other Alphas...“ He snapped. “ Are you telling me you’d rather get raped in some alleyway by some horny Alpha then meet a decent and legit one through me?!!” 

I sighed.

“the school nurse just thinks I need stronger suppressants.. you could just prescribe them for me...” i sulked. 

Seokjin snorted. 

“Like hell i will. I’m not an angel of death. Listen,. this is me being perfectly serious. There’s a Charity Ball for Autism on Friday. i’ll pick you up. Most of the Alphas there are young.. your age.... Quite a few of them aren’t even paired off with betas. I’ll introduce you to a few of them... They’ll love you... You can at least give it a chance.” 

“And if they all turn out to be jerks...?” I challenged, grabbing my school bag. 

“then I’ll prescribe the damn suppressants. But be warned.. i need legit reasons for you rejecting them...” He warned. 

“Fine!” I growled, “ Fuck, why do you have to be so reasonable...it makes me want to tear my hair out.” 

Seokjin grinned. 

“Be safe, bunny. I love you. You know that right?” 

“I love you too.. you big sap.” I muttered, bending down to kiss him on the lips. 

Seokjin growled low.

“i told you to stop doing that....You’re not eight anymore...” He sighed. 

I grinned and patted his crotch, making him yelp.

“Come on, we both know you only get it up for Jimin these days..” I winked. 

Seokjin’s eyes went wide as saucers..

“How did you-?”

“Have a great day,  Seokjinnie Hyung...”  i faux-moaned.. “ Check your voicemail message you idiot. Jimin’s recorded himself moaning your name! I’m traumatized for life. And so is anyone else calling you!!  ” 

Seokjin let out a whimper and dived for his phone and i laughed as i walked out. 

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

“I can’t believe your brother bought you this.” My roommate , Jieun whispered, fingers fluttering over the silky fabric of the gown with awed reverence.I rolled my eyes, concentrating on smoothing the lipstick across my plump lips, grimacing at the blood red tint it left behind. I hated dressing up. 

But I had promised Seokjin . And he had gone out of his way to send me a dress, make-up, stiletto heels and even a Cartier Watch and jewelry. 

 Dear Bunny, Look good tonight or i’m signing you up for the program myself, Love Seokjin xoxox.

 As far as threats went, it was pretty effective. I grabbed the curling iron on the dresser, carefully threading my sable brown locks around the heating elemnet, letting it curl my hair into bouncy curves that fell right over my chest. It was painstaking work but I manged to get it done by six. 

Slipping into the dress was easier, because Jieun helped. Still, the bare shoulders made me flinch. I wasn’t particularly pale and the suppresants helped curb the natural ‘ omega glow’ that people fawned over. But my skin still looked ivory white against the dark maroon of the dress. I slipped on the necklace, a simple ruby pendant, watching the locked rest right in the center of my cleavage. 

I stared at the finished result . Kim Seokjin had taken full advantage of having an International Designer for a boyfriend and Park Jimin had out done himself . 

Jieun let out a strangled moan next to me.

“Jesus fucking Christ , it should be illegal to look this good , Min Jung ... What the hell! You look like a fucking dream.... !” She whispered. 

I groaned a little.

 I had no use for my beauty. 

So far it had done nothing good for me :  unwelcome advances, groping hands, catcalls and lewd remarks. Speculation if perhaps my good grades had less to do with my brains and more to do with my ability to deep throat the professors. 

I wanted to peel off my clothes , chop off my hair and go sink into a bath , hopefully empty a bottle of wine and never see another Alpha again in my entire life. 

And the evening hadn’t even started. 

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

“Stop looking like you’re sucking on a lemon. And enough with the death glares ” Seokjin gritted out as I stared down  yet another Alpha who was making his way over with a very dopey look on his face. He was tall, dressed like every other man in the room and the half empty glass of whiskey told me he wasn’t entirely sober. He wasn’t bad looking (alphas seldom were ) but there was a hint of cigarette smoke and stale air , wafting from his direction and...no. 

Just no. 

 My glare seemed to work. He hesitated a bit. 

I stuck my thumb out, drawing it scross my neck in a slitting motion.

The young man stuttered in his footsteps, looked vaguely horrified and then turned on his heel and walked away.

Twelve down... countless more to go. 

“what the fuck are you doing?!” Seokjin hissed. 

“They smell like shit.” I deadpanned. “ every one of them makes me nauseous.” 

“You’re being so unfair... “ Seokjin sighed. 

“You expect me to spend the rest of my life with a guy who makes me nauseous?” I glared. 

“i think that you should..” Seokjin stopped abruptly, head tilting as he glanced over my shoulder. His gaze went wide and he gripped my forearm. “ oh, shit.” 

“what?” i whirled around but Seokjin grabbed my chin, firmly pulling me back to face him.

“Ow...oppa what the fuck..” i hissed, rubbing my chin petulantly and Seokjin hissed.

“That’s Mr. Min! One of the main investors in my hospital! He’s here with his son and his fiancee.... We’re going to have to go greet them. Please act like a human being ...” He begged. 

I rolled my eyes.

“you say that like I’m going to pick my nose in front of him or something.” I grumbled.

“i’m serious. Min Jae Hyun is a scary git and so is his son Yoongi.”

I froze.

“Min.. are you..? You mean Min Yoongi?” I stuttered.

“You know him.?”

 Holy shit.

 “Uh.. not exactly... He’s one of the seniors in my School” I managed. 

“Wait, he’s in  your  school?” Seokjin looked stunned. “ Does he know you’re a-”

“No! Oppa..he thinks I’m a beta ...  he can’t know... you can’t tell..”

“Shh... it’s okay bunny... You’re on the suppressants right? He needn’t know. “ Seokjin said reassuringly and I tried not to tremble. Sweat collected along my hairline and i already felt jittery. 

“Dr. Kim!!” A Rough voice called out and Seokjin gripped my wrist. 

“Come on bunny...”

I turned slowly and of course, my eyes immediately clashed with Min Yoongi. Lean and built like a dream, he stood dressed in a Valentino suit, shoulders framed perfectly in the smooth black fabric. He had ash blond hair, eyes a dark obsidian black and thin attractive lips,subtly smiling as he look the hand that Seokjin offered.

Next to him stood Jung Yuju, Yoongi’s fiancee and long time girlfriend. She gave me the annoyed look that beta females always reserved for omegas. 

The ‘ something dirty like you doesn’t deserve to look so pretty ‘ look. 

“Hello, Yoongi. Hello Yuju..” Seokjin greeted amiably.

“Hello hyung.” Yoongi drawled easily and his gaze shifted to me in a question.

“you look familar...” He said briskly. 

“This is my sister, Lee Min Jung... Bunny , this is Mr. Min and his son Yoongi. His soon to be daughter in law Yuju.” Seokjin smiled brigthly and i felt my ears burn as Yoongi smirked. 

He gave me a vaguely curious glance and his nostrils flared briefly. I felt his eyes change color briefly, tinted red for just a second and my heart skipped a beat. 

He’d scented me. He looked confused for a second, no doubt why he was smelling omega. 

But then he looked amused again.

“Bunny huh?” He drawled.

I couldn’t even unglue my tongue enough to glare at him. 

See, here’s the thing :

 Min Yoongi was exquisitely hot. 

Not just the physically attractive , oh he’s handsome kind of hot. 

I mean he is that. He has one of those naturally aesthetic faces, meant to be on billboards across the country. 

But more than that he .. smelled  good. 

But i also  know that the betas in our school, all the girls who pined after him , even his long term girlfirned did not know the effect Yoongi’s Alpha scent had on an Omega. 

The effect it had on me. 

the only time i’d been exposed to it was nearly eight months ago, when I’d watched him beat up some kid for bullying one of the freshmen. The exertion from the fight had made him sweaty and panting and his scent had been even stronger than usual. 

Strong enough to dig into my brain and take firm root there. And now, i could smell it again. not as strong as usual, probabaly because he’d sprayed on scent maskers for the event. But it was there nonetheless : pine trees and sunshine, rainstorms and black satin sheets. i felt the heat begin to lick it’s way up my spine, warmth pooling at the pit of my stomach, and then the tell-tale wetness threatening to drip. 

“You’re a junior, aren’t you?” Yoongi said casually and his voice was yet another nail in my coffin. He sounded raspy and drunk, half asleep and scratchy. The deep bass of his tone and the masculine voice rang through my body like a vibrato. 

And i knew on a practical level that it was my biology. Alphas have a differently evolved voice box. it gives them that dominant tone and omegas have the sensitive nerve endings that react to that particular voice. 

So, honestly , It wasn’t anything personal, the way his voice made me want to drop to my knees and wrap my lips around his cock, right there in front of everyone. 

it was biology. 

I choked on my own lust ridden thoughts and Seokjin gave me a curious glance. 

“Why don’t you join us at our table, Doc... We can talk a bit more about that proposal for another laboratory.” Mr. Min said briskly and Seokjin looked like he’d just received an invitation to dine with the pope.

“Yes.. Yes sir..” He breathed happily and i flinched as he let go of me. 

“Bun-” He stopped when i glowered at him.” I mean.. Min Jung, why don’t you stay with yoongi and Yuju...We’ll just..”

He was already moving away and i stood still, aware of Yuju’s stare boring holes into my skull.

“Please.. carry on , I’ll be fine by myself.” I said automatically and Yoongi didn’t protest, merely bowing slightly.

“Pleasure meeting you, Min Jung.” 

“Are you an omega?” Yuju said suddenly , eyes narrowed dangerously and i froze. 

I held her gaze calmly. 

“That is none of your business” I said loftily. 

Yuju scoffed.

“Oh please... Coming to a formal event dressed like a fucking whore. Only your kind could be that shameless.” 

 Your kind... 

I hated the way she said it, like i wasn’t even human. 

“Yuju.. you shouldn’t talk like that to- ” Yoongi began, moving as though to touch me and i knocked his hand away. 

“You don’t have to defend me..I can do it myself.” I snapped . 

i rounded on the bitch next to him. 

 “ It’s such a pity your father’s money could buy you those boobs but not a better personality.” I glared at her before turning to move away. 

Stupid fucking alphas and Betas!! they could all go die in a fire!! 

I’d barely taken a step before I felt a torrent of wetness on my cheek , all over my shoulders and down my chest. i stood still stunned as everyone turned around to stare at us. 

it took me a second to realize that she had chucked her entire glass of wine on me. 

“Apologize now, you filthy little  omega!”  She screamed , so loud that my ears rang. 

“Fuck , Yuju... Stop.. What the hell is wrong with you?” Yoongi grabbed his fiancees wrist and yanked her away while i stood there humiliated. 

Seokjin was at my side a second later.

“it wasn’t my fault... “ i started, voice wobbling but Seokjin merely sushed me , shrugging off his coat and tossing it over my shoulders before bowing stiffly. 

“Please excuse us...” He growled at Yoongi, eyes flaring red as he stared him down before pulling me away from both of them .

 i let him lead me out of the room and into the nearest rest room.

“I’m so sorry..” He said apologetically. “ I shouldn’t have brought you here...” 

“I didn’t even provoke her...” I felt my voice wobble. “ This is why i hate alphas!” I gritted out. 

“Come on , bunny you’re being unfair... Yoongi didn’t..”

“He’s engaged to her...” i sneered. “ No doubt he agrees with everything she believes. Probably thinks omegas are dirt.” I felt tears sting. 

It was unbelievable because I was actually wet, my underwear soaked because of that fucker’s goddamn scent ...and it didn’t even matter because he was a bastard and his fiancee was a class A demon. 

Min Yoongi could go to hell and he could take his bitchy girlfriend with him. 

“i know bunny... it’s alright. Come on.. you can stay with me tonight.” Seokjin cooed and i relaxed a little. Seokjin had a bomb apartment in one of the best localities in the city. i could at least drink some wine and relax in a nice warm bath and hopefully dream of a dead or dying Yuju. 

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

Seokjin’s guest room had the softest, plushiest mattress in the world. After a nice hour long bath and a glass of wine, i was relaxed enough to drift into a nice , warm sleep. So , when i woke up to jimin screaming, I almost screamed myself., 

“WHAT DO MEAN THEY’RE SUSPENDING YOU!!!”

“Jiminie... keep it down.. Min Jung’s sleeping...”

“THEY CAN’T JUST SUSPEND YOU BECAUSE A SPOILED LITTLE BITCH WENT AND TATTLED TO HER FATHER...!!” Jimin was screaming. 

I froze, sitting up so fast that my spine almost snapped.

What the...

I crawled out of the bed so fast my legs got caught in the blankets, my body landing on the carpeted flooor with a thud. i kicked away the annoying fabric and scrambled to my feet, grabbing the door and throwing myself out into the living space in disbelief.

“they suspended you?!” I choked in disbelief. 

Jin looked stunned to see me . And a little guilty. 

“Bunny.. wait..it’s not..” he began holding a hand up as though to calm me but i snarled in anger. 

“Why?” I felt my voice shake in misery. 

“It’s nothing. The Director thinks that just for two weeks, i should take a break because of what Mr. Min.. umm.. said..”

“Two weeks?!! They suspended you for two weeks because his bitchy daughter in law couldn’t act like a civilized human?” I said stunned. 

“Min jung... it’s not that serious.. i was thinking of taking time off anyway and...”

“I’m going to kill him.” I said, my entire body shaking in disbelief. 

“Oh, God. It isn’t  Yoongi’s fault. Min jung Please don’t make the whole thing worse..” 

“Worse?! They suspended you hyung.. You’re the most brilliant surgeon in the damn country and they suspended you over that little  spat ?! Who does he think he is?!  God?! “ I was shaking so bad that my teeth chattered. 

I turned on my heel and rushed back into the room, grabbing my clothes and stalking into the bath room. Every ounce of attraction i’d felt for the idiot had vanished, in it’s place seething anger and fury filled my heart. I could  put up with being bullied when it was me. 

But Seokjin was innocent . He breathed and lived for his job. to think that anyone would actually try to take that away from him... was unacceptable. 

Min Yoongi was going to get his ass whooped. 

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

I found Yoongi in the Music room. 

it took me more than an hour, hunting through every possible Alpha hangout to find the guy and now that i realized he was actually in the music room, playing the piano of all things, i felt so completely thrown that i just stood there gaping for a few seconds. 

“Min Jung?” He looked surprised to see me, pushing away from the piano to stand up and i came to my senses, trying to ignore the way his scent just  washed over me  like a bloody hurricane. 

“Who do you think you are?!” I hissed angrily. 

“What the-”

“You think you’re so great, just because you’re rich?! it’s not even your money! You were just lucky to be born his son. You’re just lucky you were born an Alpha.. Do you think you earned the respect people give you?” i spat out , fury coursing through my veins. 

“Min Jung, what are you-”

“You got my brother suspended?!! Because your evil girlfriend couldn’t act civil?!” I laughed without mirth. 

“it was a misunderstanding, i already-”

“I mean... honestly... what makes you better than omegas? huh? Are you smarter? yeah.. probably...but guess what...i’m smart too. I outranked hundreds of thousands of kids to be here.... I’m not an idiot... ! ” I was dangerously close to tears but i barelled on. 

“ Are you richer than me? Yes... but guess what.. some day i’ll be rich too. And unlike you, it will be  my  money.. money that i earned... I’ll be rich and powerful and unlike you, i’ll use that for good. I won’t bully people into stuff or fire perfectly hardworking doctors from their jobs just because my girlfriend can’t act like a decent human being!” 

Yoongi didn’t reply. . He just stood there staring at me . 

i wasn’t done. 

“ And guess what?? someday i’m going to be a doctor. And you know what i’m going to do? I’m going to find an end to this Alpha omega nonsense. I’m going to prove...once and for all that you alphas  aren’t in anyway better than..” i almost said me... catching myself at the last second..” omegas. i’m going to do it. Then you can all stop treating omegas like crap!! ” I growled. 

I panted, breathless from all the yelling and for a few seconds we just stood still staring at each other. 

And then his phone rang.

He casually pulled it out and glanced at it. 

And then he took the call, transferring it to the speakers. 

“Yoongi...?” It was Seokjin.

i startled.

“Yes, hyung...” 

“Yoongi,... your father called. He told me what happened .. Thank you so much buddy...” 

“Don’t mention it hyung..” Yoongi kept his gaze on me and i felt foreboding rise inside me. That didn’t sound good. 

“Listen.. Min Jung misunderstood what happened. She’s probabaly on the way there ...”

“She’s here.” yoongi said casually and i choked. 

“Seokjin oppa?” i said nervously.

“Bunny?! Oh God.. tell me you didn’t hit him or something!! “ Seokjin sounded nauseuous. 

Yoongi laughed softly. 

“No hyung.. She didn’t do anything. Just got here infact..”

“Oh thank God.. Min jung...I’m reinstated. Yoongi told his dad that it was all a misunderstanding and Mr. Min personally called and spologized for it. Everything’s fine so please spare Yoongi your fists of fury...” 

I felt my face flame red enough to catch fire. 

 oh, God, where was a lightning bolt when you needed one? 

“Hyung, i’ll call you back.” Yoongi hung up. 

I straed at him and then took a step back. i knew i should apologize. But i couldn’;t bring myself to say it. 

“I should.. um... just leave..” I turned on my heel , ready to bolt . 

i almost reached the door when his voice came out, low rumbling and an outright growl. 

“ Stop right there..” 

I froze, stunned when the syllables felt like bullets against my spine, pain hitting my nerves and making my entire body ache. 

I couldn’t move. 

 Oh, God no.

 He was using his Alpha voice. If there was even an ounce of doubt about the kind of guy Min Yoongi was, it evaporated. 

 He’s just like the rest of them. 

 I trembled a bit, willing myself to not move. To act like I was merely waiting for him to continue. Not like i couldn’t move. 

His voice rumbled over me again and it really did feel like little pricks of a needle up and down my spine. 

“Are you an omega? Tell me the truth...”  He was using the same voice, the one I couldn’t fight. 

But I was still on the suppressants and not  completely  helpless and although it took every single ounce of my energy, I took a deep breath, aware of the painful ache inside my skull.

“No, i’m not.” I whispered. It felt like Someone had taken a knife to my gut, the pain visceral and unbearable. It wasn’t in my gene to lie to an Alpha. 

Silence. My entire body felt taught, stretched like a rubber band. 

And then.

“If you’re so proud of omegas... why are you ashamed to admit it yourself.” He sneered. I shut my eyes. 

  “I’m leaving.” I said firmly. 

He chuckled softly.

“Leave. I’m not stopping you.” 

But he was. 

‘We both knew he was. 

I opened my mouth, ready to argue but the door slammed open suddenly, breaking the spell. i sagged a bit as Yuju stalked in. She took one look at me and launched herself at me. 

i was still weak from what yoongi had done and i went down like a rock, head hitting the floor with a painful crack. Stunned , I shoved her away and dragged myself up. Yoongi was reaching for me again.

“Are you okay Min Jung..?” He looked genuinely worried but i glared at him. 

“You’re a bastard. every single one of you.!! You just deserve eacth other !” I snarled, dragging myself up and getting the hell away from him. 

I didn’t stop running till i’d locked myself in my room.

And it was only then did I let the tears fall. 

 Author’s Note : Whew... tiring. Did you guys like it? i would love to have some feedback. 

[aleatoryalarmalligator]

Life Story Part 52 (it’s been too long)

And so, after leaving my old life behind for a new school in Moscow, being that I for the first time in my life was taken away from my repetitive, abusive and small system that I had always known, I found myself at odds with myself in a way I had never really had to be before. Leaving Kendrick behind, though it might have been born from some kind of strange illusion that Kendrick alone was my only problem and that leaving that town would automatically boost me into stardom the likes of which those who had always known me could never have possibly imagined. This turned out not to be the case. But it still did me unimaginable good and is the reason I am able to write and conduct myself. Honestly, having left Kendrick when I did, having met the very specifically trained teachers that I was introduced to might have been one of the few things that kept me alive as long as I have been. It's most definitely the reason I am here, able to write about my life as I am.

I was busy getting on with my new life, but that doesn't mean that for one single instance, Zack wasn't still somewhere in my thoughts, and it might have been one of those tiny facets that helped me struggle through my new life in the Moscow alt. School. I still thought about Zack everyday, every morning I woke up to get ready for school and every night as I waited to sleep. In the night Kendrick air, I could sometimes hear the screeching of the wheels of a car so dilapidated it was a wonder it even drove. And I knew in my heart of hearts, it was Zack, at least half the time. And every time I looked up at the blue sky, I had this almost eerie imagine in my mind imprinted of looking up at him from the curb in front of the school parking lot, the trees in the backdrop an impossible golden orange, the sky a profoundly deep baby blue, and his eyes peering down at me. They say that feelings fade with time. Instead, it almost seemed as though the feelings I had had in my early teens only became more and more in depth the more that I grew. And it wasn't going away. I loved Zack still. I imagined he was partying with his friends, and surely by that time had more or less forgotten about me – while I was in class trying to get the gist of a new form of thinking that was exploding everything I knew and forcing me to face myself in a way that separated me from my lower middle class, upper lower class roots. It was very painful for me – it certainly didn't bring the best out at me at times, an in many ways to feel separated from myself, even more so than it separated me from everyone I had ever held dear.

And in that lonely sadness, I guess some spiritual desperateness sank in, and I tried my very best to reach out to him psychically some how in secret. And though I never saw Zack, I almost felt like he knew. There had to be some reason for us meeting in life. What had happened had not been ordinary. The fall of 2003 had been – looking back from 2005 almost supernatural in nature. Nobody knew that I was still in love with Zack. I guess for most people, something like that just couldn't make sense with how their emotional make up existed in the world, and I have always been one to sentimentalize everything to death. It was so born from my innermost mind, in the places that precede formed thoughts. I always felt that he received my brainwaves, at least subconsciously. I really believed that we had made a meaningful connection, like an eternal bond that could not be broken. I felt like he thought of me too. I don't know if that was truly my psychic knowing, or if it was simply something I made up to make life seem more meaningful. But that is how it was then.

Sarah used to work for this couple that lived up in the hills. Their names were Matt and Greg – a gay couple (controversial to the small town of Kendrick) that worked for the university and have nice jobs and a bit of land they lived on. Sarah's mother often times did work for them, and Sarah occasionally went up there as well to make extra money -often to pay for our gas, which I feel she ended up paying for more than I did. There was one day that I went up there to work with Sarah, and it was to be my first real day of hard work. This isn't to say that I hadn't been a hard worker up to that point or that I had not been given tasks that were challenging for me. Work for me was more commonly me standing in place, suffering in slow motion for no pay. And I had always been one to shirk physical labor – not so much out of laziness, but a feeling of defiance at being forced into things. Also, I had never been paid before. The work I had done over the years had always been my father using me as free labor, and there never seemed to be much of a connection for me between getting paid and doing stuff. It was something I had never entertained before really. Sarah told me that she was going to do some work up there that needed done and they needed a second hand. And they promised 10$ an hour, and I had never even been paid 3$.  W got paid to carry these ten foot boards from a pile out in their driveway, all the way to this barn that was down the way, and then we needed to nicely stack them perfectly – which took us eight hours, and I nearly fell to pieces.

I made 80$ doing it, which of course I wasted – as I had rarely ever had that much money on me and didn't quite understand that charms of holding onto money and desperately wanted to spend it. You don't know how to be rich until you've had money. I distinctly recall that Matt and Greg's home was beautiful, and they were both – though fairly introverted, very nice as well. The inside of their house was rustic and old and new at the same time in this really tasteful way that demonstrated class. There was a lot of unconventional aspects of their house – rooms that you had to use a ladder to get to, there was a spiral staircase. Perfect light came in through the windows in some rooms that was an artists dream – you can't beat natural light. It was a very pleasant home – even though it was out in the middle of nowhere.

And then one day, I received a visit from an old friend, someone I never thought I would see again. I was sitting at my computer, minding my own business when I heard a knock at the door. There was a blonde girl standing there – who looked familiar and didn't at the same time, with another girl I didn't recognize. It was Rachelle, my childhood friend who moved away when I was in fourth or fifth grade – after which everything went to hell for me. She had come to visit with er mother in a very rare trip up north. The other girl was a friend of hers from Twin Falls. They had made a rare trip up here to see some people, and she had decided to knock on the old door to see if I still lived in the same home. I was sort of in shock, and I think in this really weird way, sort of defensive – which does sound rather odd, but it had been painful to lose her as a friend. It had certainly been one of the first major kicks in the teeth life had dished out to me in my early life. In my young mind, I had had to make her not exist anymore. It was the only way for me to carry on and start anew. And her standing at the doorway was the reminder that Rachelle was every bit alive and dynamic as she ever had been – we had simply been forcibly removed from each other's lives and we had on our own taken drastically different paths. It might too have been because I knew I had been the one who had stopped writing her. Rachelle had actually written me a few times in the first year or two of her move, and it had been I who had not responded to her letters, which must have hurt her feelings... And I had built walls around that discomfort. So for Rachelle to simply exist in real life after seven years was emotionally confusing for me and caused me to probably seem really dull and closed off.

I ended up traveling to the park with her and her friend. For the most part, it was a little awkward for me. I was clearly a much different person. I was very alternative, I liked The White Stripes a whole lot. Rachelle was very chatty, but mostly about how excited she was to be joining the cheerleading team, and how she had done some bad things, but was now getting her life back on track. She liked what was on the radio, she thought the guys in boy bands were attractive. She loved partying. She had recently lost her virginity, and like most young girls when they lose their virginity, it was mostly all that she wanted to talk about. I could tell her about the poetry of my unrequited love, but it was somehow so far removed from her exploits even though it was also on the topic of romance that it didn't seem proper to mention it. There are a lot of girls in school who, if you haven't slept with someone or intend to very soon, the feelings just don't seem that interesting in and of themselves, or relevant.  And that was the sort of girl Rachelle was. And with everything that had happened with me all the years, I found it was difficult to relate to her. She'd partied a lot. I had spent most of my time secluded in my bedroom, hiding - contemplating. It was strange dynamic. And at one time, we had been nearly identical. If I had been older of course, I could have breached that border fairly easy, as I now have a sort of understanding that Paris Hilton and Quasi Moto have more in common deep down than one might think. But those terms of understanding didn't occur to me till a bit later on in life.

It ultimately ended as a brief and empty hello and a brief and empty goodbye. And of course, as I mentioned a while ago, Rachelle died on her 21st birthday of an Oxycontin overdose.

There were some things that disappointed me about my new school; it bothered me that nobody hated me – I was emotionally ill equipped to handle being assumed an equal to the degree that it seemed to border on mental illness for me and I longed in many ways for the times in which I stood before a classroom full of conservative right wing cowboys, basic small-town cheerleaders and a few methheads sprinkled in – all of whom hated me and gave me strength and a sense of purpose for that very reason. I needed to be hated. It's kind of how I came to be a person. It was the fish tank water that I was acclimated to, however unhealthy. To have people who looked you in the eye, who complimented your t-shirt, who listened to what you were saying it was all too much. I had never experienced such cognitive dissonance before in my life with who I thought myself to be versus how I was being treated, and I reacted like an insane child. It didn't show too much, but at times it did, and if anything kept me back from doing my best, this was probably my number one reason. I instinctively needed to be hated. It was also quite hard that I would have to read in front of my new classmates and actually do my work while I was in class rather than slack off as I had been for the last six or seven years. I had social anxiety to the extreme – to the point it almost caused me to pass out, and the only cure for it is if I knew others hated me – which would instantly both energize me and pacify me. It was a major culture shock for me not to be the weird one anymore. I had troubles not taking it as some kind of insult that people didn't regard me in some way as being the most despisible edgy one in the room anymore.  

But I also was the work itself and how one came to prove anything that really got to me. I was those first three months of school, unable to conceptualize the meaning of a thesis.  I understood the point nor the technique of it. I was sixteen and had no idea what anyone needed to prove anything for. I had always believed in whatever I felt was right. The idea of questioning one's sources of their beliefs was honestly something that nobody had ever suggested to me, and I emotionally apposed the very idea of proving your point with logic. Of course, to a degree we all use logic and the scientific method in life to ascertain information on a practical level, often without realizing that we are doing it. But to me, you killed art when you had to explain why things were the way they were. I was deeply offended at the idea of proving a thesis and I felt like the teachers in the alternative school were at war with who I was as an individual.

And maybe from a realistic standpoint one could argue that a person really doesn't need to be able to conceptualize and prove a thesis to get by in life. Most of our human ancestors didn't need to understand how to build a belief system grounded in reality. They relied on their perceptions and instincts. And in those perceptions and instincts, it can be argued that they were privvy to great truths. And much can be said for the beauty that is to be harnessed from the imagination of human beings, though it also is very much a matter of opinion, since that same form of thinking was what brought about religions and any excuse in the book to be all too cruel to one another. And I still don't meet many people who really truly want to be right in life for the sake of truth seeking. Most of the people I know who aren't very logical in their approach in life, want to be right so they can feel powerful or validated. It's also very discomforting and ego bruising. When you take a step into the world of logic, your perceptions are faulty and you are no longer the center of the universe.. It's a way of living that is very much rooted in personal experiences. This was literally all I knew. I don't think I ever applied logic to my beliefs. Silently, be I right or be I wrong, I was always basing all of my life decisions, my identity, my means of maneuvering through life only on gut instinct and assumptions alone. If I turned to someone else, I took what they said as if it were gospel, and I had only ever really done that with Zack. I was right because I was right. I didn't want to be made small by a world in which my ideas needed to be challenged.

However, I will still argue that personal experiences, feelings and gut instincts are not worthless in academia as some might argue. They are the source of what we even conceptualize and maybe still the first place we should look to when we are sorting out the intricate building blocks of ideas. As twelve years have passed since my time in the alternative school, I now don't see logic and emotion as being at odds with one another as I once did. Understanding music theory doesn't make someone a worse musician, nor do those it make those who don't understand music theory bad musicians. The perceptions of the common, dull and uneducated are not worthless. Their feelings and output has some value to the whole. I do not wish to cast aside the characters in my life who made me who I was up till the age of sixteen or what they taught me. But at the age of sixteen, I was forced to take an uncomfortable step outside of myself, and this step back was a turning point in my life that set me aside from the rest of my family. For many if not most young people around the age I was then, drugs and sex are the life changers. For me, it was actually learning to ask questions and to find answers which ended up taking me on a very philosophical path.

So, for this reason, my first major paper was a dismal disaster, and the second one was only a little better. We didn't get little multiple choice papers for homework. We really were only given three or four assignments for an entire semester, and those assignments had to be done well. They didn't accept D's. I had sometimes in life gotten by as a D student, and they had a system where D was not acceptable. You got 75% or higher, or you failed. It was as simple as that. I couldn't also just not do the work. If you didn't do the work, you would probably fail, and they would kick you out of school for it. So I knew I had to try. We had to go back over what we had done and assess our own work for weeks. We had to spend real time researching. And of course, I was so insecure with challenging my own assumptions and being made to feel wrong and all the insecurity and feelings of worthlessness and powerlessness that came with that that it was quite unpleasant for me at first, and made me panic emotionally and react quite rudely towards my teachers, who patiently put up with my ignorant retorts to their sensible attempts to gently adjust me to a world that I for the first time in my life, had to actually try at and put forth participation in.

My first essay was so dumb. It was basically, based on what Zack had told me, that freemasons ran the planet. I didn't know why I believed it, other than Zack had said it. I didn't even have the understanding to break it down to world economics, governments, war, media. I had no way of breaking down this argument because I didn't know how, but emotionally it was personal for me, since I wanted to hold onto everything Zack had once told me as being golden and pure and all-truthful. Why would I break a gift from someone I revered so much?

This was where I first came head to head with Mike, my teacher. These classes of his that we took I soon learned were more than your conventional classroom lessons. This school was low-key dedicated to reprogramming lower class kids, often from bad homes into actually being able to articulate their own thoughts and feelings and to make decisions that were complex and helped us escape our own destiny's. His goal was to take poor kids with little hope – such as myself, and turn us all into far more than what the public school curriculum wanted of us. He wanted to train us to excede the kids in public schools and actually ready us for college level work. So our essays and lessons were modeled after second or third year college courses in a university. Mike was a very rare sort of person in this way. I must have been a painful student to have. I made things really hard. I knew I was being manipulated and of course I fought back. But I owe him a lot – he was right and I was indeed wrong.

Mike also didn't much like or care for our parents – with the exception of a small handful in the room. He made it known, but was really crafty and close with us about how and why he felt that way. And for most of us, him and his wife Jenni, the school counselor who we signed up for the school in the first place with, they really were far more like parents. He seemed to study us and understand us like most teachers and parents never did. And he was able to work with each of us on an individual basis to help us become the most we could be. His intentions, I am more or less positive of, were to intentionally meant to systematically brainwash us against our alcoholic, selfish, overworked, lower class, methed out, emotionally crippled aged bitter crazy parents. So we could not only not only feel divorced from our troubled upbringings, but we could also become different people than they were. I think, in his own way, he wanted to rebuild society – though I am sure he knew it would not be enough. He went about this whole thing in a way that was very under the radar. We all learned to trust Mike and Jenni more than our families. Mike, Jenni, Mary Kay and the rest knew all of our personal lives. They knew more about us than our parents did. Soon, the school itself seemed more like home for me than home did – so even though I fought back against the school, the school became were I lived psychologically. I actually felt safer at school than I did anywhere else. Added to that, was I never was home anymore except at night to sleep and put my make up on in the morning, so I rarely saw my father or even my siblings. On weekends I spent all my time up at Sarah's house, and often times I just slept there instead. I was rapidly becoming a different person, or maybe it wasn't so much that I was becoming a different person, but I was molding into the person I had the potential of becoming.

I had of course, no way to prove that freemasons ran the planet, and by planet, what did I even mean? I spent an entire month looking at conspiracy theory websites, quoting them as fact, and siting no sources. They contradicted one another. They were often times written by anonymous unstable communists, or anonymous unstable right-wingers. I didn't even know how to make a real distinction. Often these articles didn't even have an author. They put Alex Jones himself to shame. We would sometimes be taken to this library that was part of the university. I think it held the title of the biggest library in the state of Idaho. It was many stories tall, and the stories themselves seemed enormous. You could easily spend a lifetime in there. It might have been one of the best places I had ever been to. Even in this library, I only found a few books that were about freemasons, and all of them were very difficult reads, often times talking about the different chapters of freemasons. What's more, I grew to learn that many of the old people in the town of Kendrick were masons. I knew them well, and there was no way that any of them held any malice or even enough understanding of society to have any real influence in it. In the end, I had a twenty page essay written about nothingness. My sentences didn't even flow very nicely. Out of all the students in that class, I seemed the most doomed to failure.

Perhaps, had I picked very specific ways of presenting the issues I seemed to think I believed in, and I had pulled them apart piece by piece and only picked one avenue that was provable, I might have had better luck instead of taking on the whole world. Heck even if freemasons did run the whole planet (they don't), it would have been impossible for me to make the case with the limitations that I had. The paper I ended up slaving over and handing in was worthless. And over the course of a grueling month, 120hours spent on this paper, a part of me was defeated. I fought with Mike the whole way. It took hours of one on one time of him sitting down with me, asking me questions, breaking down my mental frame of mind just to try to understand me enough to know how to communicate with me, and I fought him for most of it – because it hurt my pride to admit that I didn't know things. I wanted to prove to Mike that I was really somehow above the rest of the classmates – me, the conspiracy theorist – the one with her eyes wide open and the rest living in complete ignorance. They were prisoners of their own ignorance, and I some kind of truth teller. It really was something.

My second paper was on something almost as bad, but a little better. After the first month of writing and research, I wanted to pick something I actually cared about. The whole freemason thing, trying to research and find proof of the impossible had made me realize instinctively that believing in the conspiracy theory was something I did because Zack had wanted me to believe in it, and also because it fulfilled some kind of void in my own feelings. It represented that I did instinctively understand that there were things wrong with society. And as much as I didn't understand this on the first day of school, history was indeed very important. Mike gave me a C, even though we both kind of knew I had turned in a D- paper at the very best. The paper was absolutely ungradeable. He gave me the C because he knew I had problems at this point, and I think even the act of me finishing an assignment was such a jump from whatever I was used to, that he had to see it as a major improvement from who I had been when I first walked into their school. He didn't want to fail me before I had a chance to improve on what I had learned. The first paper was more of a lesson in life than it was a lesson of academics.

My second paper's thesis was about grunge music – again, something I cared about but indirectly related to Zack, only in the fact that he had always gone for being Kurt Cobain's twin. I wanted to point out that bands like Nickelback, Three Doors Down and such somehow took elements of grunge and somehow made it plastic and turned it into some kind of cliché product that sounded terrible. I focused mainly on how much I didn't like these bands. What I might have been trying to get at, though I lacked the knowledge or understanding on those terms, was to demonstrate the folly of how movements form and how they become their own worst enemies. I might have been making a case against capitalism, and against consumerism. I might have wanted to demonstrate or point out that integrity in art makes the end product better. But how could I prove any of that without actually having a philosophical opinion of Aesthetics that I could demonstrate and prove? Stand behind the fact that a band like Creed still does suck to me, how does one demonstrate that something factually sucks outside of their own perceptions of it. How can you possibly know if something is externally 'good' or not? I was an objectivist because I didn't know how to question myself. I just believed that when something felt good, or seemed good, it was good.

So then, I spent another month writing another enormous paper. I had thought that sifting through old music magazines, old articles about the bands I liked from the early 90's would be enjoyable, but it turns out, I hated writing about music. Who knew, since I love writing and I loved music, and I still write about it to a limited degree. But a lot of writing on art, film and music is pure hype and has no baring or meaning whatsoever. It could do little to prove my objective theory that what sounded good was good. As much as I hate Creed, how could I even really demonstrate what I was trying to say. I think the idea truly came to me to write about grunge from a place where I just wanted to talk about how awesome Mudhoney was. Because that was really all there was to it. I wanted to make my case.

I think if I wrote this paper today, I could have made some very valid points by pointing out how modern music is sold, advertised, how it is written, who decides what will be a hit. It is almost political and economic in a way. I could have taken it to the study of aesthetics itself and argued some kind of point. But I wouldn't have the egotism it took to think it was worth my time these days. I don't care if you like Creed. People can like whatever they want, and what doesn't speak to one person can mean an awful lot to another. I am not some kind of musical taste genius who has the right to go about trashing others tastes. Yes, I still have some opinions, but I grow everyday. There isn't too many days that roll by where I don't find something about my previous understanding that wasn't incomplete or incorrect in some way, and that's a good thing – not a bad thing. I really was just trying to prove how special I was for my interests here. It was coming from a far more legitimate place than the whole freemason thing came from, but it still was egotistical and lame. And spending this second month looking at a paper I was so tired of writing I could barely tolerate it, made me take the much needed step down from my pedestal. Mike gave me a C+ on this paper, and it probably was a C+ this time.  I had gone through the grueling task of citing my sources, and being thorough in a few small points I tried to make, as limited in understanding as those points actually were.

On a side note, Mike also hated that kind of music so that helped. Though he had never really been into grunge. Mike was all about English punk music from the late 70's and early 80's. His favorite bands were The Jam and Billy Bragg.

I sort of hated Mike for the first month in a half. He had a way of getting inside your head. He was always ridiculously passionate about teaching us, ridiculously thorough in explaining or answering our questions, and he seemed very dedicated and relentless. I wasn't really allowed to escape being reprogrammed and nothing like this had ever happened before. As for Sarah, she struggled through it as well, but she was a lot more clear minded when it came to picking topics that weren't over the top egotistical that wouldn't destroy her mental framework. She ended up writing about atheism, which is a lot easier to examine, read about and write about than what I picked was. She didn't come head to head with Mike like I did. It wasn't that I ever yelled at Mike. I just tried to be obscure, was sarcastic when he asked questions. I would just shake my head no at him. I would likely be embarrassed if I had a visual of my proud ignorance and reactionary emotional response to everything he tried to help me with.

Many of the other students had been going to school at the alternative school for years, and working through these essays was something they were capable of doing. Many of these kids I would have assumed were somehow inferior to me in some way, they had drug issues, their were a few pregnant girls in the mix. Their lives were rough. Some of them were emancipated or had mental health problems. I had problems too, but I had this way of dealing with it that was almost like I was somehow perfect and other people were less than me. It had come upon me slowly growing up. It wasn't that I was not humbled often, or a kind person. I was. But I had learned some bad habits of believing myself to be superior – half of it based on Zack telling me I was special. In reality, my fragile baseless sense of superiority probably made me more fragile than the rest of these students.

These young girls and boys I went to class with were ten times tougher than me, more emotionally balanced – and had had it rougher than me in many ways. Even if their problems were ongoing and made their lives difficult, even if they had criminal records and babies at home who they didn't know who the fathers were, they were much more balanced than I was. They knew their own faults and worked on them everyday. They said what the felt and their was a sense of honesty and care that they put towards one another. I was far more lost then them, and after awhile, I came to realize this for what it was. And most of them understood what it meant to prove their point with evidence. They also struggled with Mike at some point, but they figured it out. And Mike had taught a lot of them how to care. They often chose to write about problems related to the criminal justice system, healthcare, the environment, the war on drugs – the kinds of things that impact the poor the most, but somehow seem to be the least understood by the poor and those who are most effected by it. Things I knew very little about. I had struggled, but instead of facing what had happened, I had somehow been taken in by a fantasy land around the time that I had met Zack. I was actually put to shame by these warrior like other girls, and Mike was creating informed citizens out of these so called leftovers of society.

He also didn't let us treat each other badly. Nobody was ever rude to me for that entire year. There were no situations where I was sexually harassed. I was given space. People were good natured towards me. I didn't have a lot in common with these students. Many of them were into the Grateful Dead and third wave ska. I just wasn't. By nature, I tend to be a little bit more exacting and darker by nature. But they were all nice to me. The few who didn't seem to be able to know how to be kind left within three weeks. As soon as he saw one young guy say something rude to another girl, he looked that boy straight in the eye during class, told him to take his things and leave. He didn't give warnings. You either respected one another or you left. There was even a time when one of the stranger girls in the class who seemed to have emotional outbursts every four seconds, who came from an abusive environment and seemed to want attention often wrote an essay about how much she loved her grandfather. She started crying in class as she read it, and due to the highly emotional nature of this essay, many people in the class – though they said nothing and didn't react openly, seemed taken aback and nervous by her essay. It probably made a few of them make microexpressions of distaste. You can feel that very clearly in a room of people. Mike didn't let this pass. I never knew a teacher who jumped at this. He explained what we had done, and he warned us all that he could tell that we had judged her and laughed at her and made her feel anxious and small. We didn't need to say anything. We had done it with our eyes.

Lastly, I struggled with my diet. Over the summer, I had been free to starve, to control everything I ate and did. I had managed to lose fifteen pounds even with the mysterious health problems of being unable to lose weight like most people. Spending all this time in class prevented me from getting the exercise I needed. I craved sugar so much it made me shake. And there was always free cake in the kitchen. So I ended up eating too much cake. I probably needed the calories. I spent money on ice cream. If I didn't eat the adequate amount of sugar, I found I would feel frantic and mentally unstable. I needed all the focus I could get to focus on my essays. And so, I started gaining weight again. At times, I would become frustrated and angry. I envied how thin Sarah always managed to stay. It seemed unfair. I felt ugly, and not being able to do the dieting and exercise I needed.

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[forevermizu]

Too many thoughts

For the past several day, I've been in a really bad rut mentally with my anxiety and depression. Finally kind of crawling out a bit but my brain just has too many thoughts going through it and it's been extremely overwhelming. So here's just a rambling vent post to try and get some of it out. And obligatory on mobile so please excuse any spelling or grammar issues.

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Sometimes I wonder if part of my problem with my mental illnesses is based on where and when I grew up. Middle of fucking extremely conservative, end of the D.A.R.E. era, anything different is scary and wrong and you are wrong for being different Midwest nowhere U.S.A. And of course, as my beautiful lady luck willed it, I was different.

My mom used to say all the time, "She'll break down into tears if you even look at her wrong." Not in those exact words mind you because my mom was way better at phrasing it than me. But she was right. I was "sensitive" to an extreme. If I saw someone glance as at me, it might look like I was given the side eye or a stink eye. My brain would jump to, "Oh god. They're mad at me. What did I do? I don't know! I don't want them to be made at me!" And I would start tearing up. Oh I tried not to, getting madder and madder at myself that I was crying which just made me cry harder. And the other kids noticed so I became a target to bullies. I mean, I also made amazing friends, but the bullies would see me trying not to cry and decide that I needed to be put down further because nothing makes little kid bullies feel better than the tears of another.

And, mind you, that I had been this way my ENTIRE childhood. Like, I literally do not remember a time that I was not this "sensitive". Heck, I remember being like 4 at preschool and running to my mom at pick up because it was my turn to lead the pledge that day and none of the other kids would do what I said and even the teacher just sighed and told me to forget it and sit down. Then I was mocked the rest of the day because of how bad it went and how hard I was trying not to cry.

But everyone just told me to suck it up. That I need to stop being a crybaby and then it would get better. Like I wasn't already trying. Hell, in first grade, I accidentally stabbed myself with a pencil and started crying because it fucking hurt. We were reviewing the alphabet because it was like the first week or so of school and this was back when kids didn't have to know how to read and write before kindergarten. The para was trying to help me while the teacher kept going and asked for the next kid to give an example of a word that started with C.

"Crybaby. Cause (me) is a crybaby."

I had just stabbed myself with a number 2 pencil and was bleeding. The para had just noticed that the lead had broken off in my hand was still there. I felt like I was justified in crying. But the rest of the class didn't agree cause they all laughed. My teacher did tell them that that was very mean and took away a few points for some kiddie reward thing but that was kind of it. The para found a bandaid and slapped that on my hand and we went on with the day. Never went to the nurse either. I still have that piece of pencil lead in my hand and can still see it. So yay for a permanent reminder...

My friends were awesome and tried to help me but I don't think any of us realized that something was actually wrong with me. Looking back, I realize that I've always had some form of anxiety. Doesn't make any of it better but it gives me something to explain why I was the way I was. But back then, I didn't understand that other kids didn't freak out from looks because they just saw them for that. Looks. They didn't see the train tracks as a foot trap or every clap of thunder as a sign that a tornado was going to come. They didn't worry about what others thought as much because they could push it off better than I could. But I couldn't.

I had trouble falling asleep because the quiet let my brain wonder. So I started watching TV till I passed out not to stay up, but because I wanted my brain to stay quiet. Well, mostly for that reason. Toonami and Adult Swim was awesome for little me.

Anyways, like I said, my friends were awesome but when I looked around and saw what looked like everyone else hating me, it did a number on my self esteem and confidence. I just wanted others to like me. So, when all the teachers would praise me for being so smart or that I did something well, I soaked it up. I was a teacher's pet. And when the anti-bully movement swept through and told us to tell a teacher whenever we see bullying. Bet you can guess what happened next.

I became what everyone called a tattletale. If my peers didn't like me but I thought my teacher's did, I always went to my teachers for any issue. A kid knocked over my sand castle? Teacher. A kid called me a bitch (yes. In elementary school). Teacher. I heard some girls gossiping about another student. Teacher.

I didn't really stop to think how the other kids felt being told on. I just went to the teachers because that was what I was told and they already didn't like me, so what was the worse that could happen?

Well, it got worse for one. And soon some of my teachers started getting annoyed with me and saying that I just needed to stop...being me. Grow a thick skin. Stop provoking them. "If you stop being a tattletale, they'll like you more. Nobody likes them."

But they were the ones that told us to come to them when we saw bullying or if we were being bullied.

By the end of 4th grade, I think the only thing that kept me remotely sane was my few friends.

But our town has an overpopulation of the schools. They are constantly trying to shift around how the kids are separated out because none of the buildings can handle them all. Like, there were 5 or 6 elementary schools in town but only one middle school. So to help integrate and break up the amount in the middle school, we had intermediate school for 5 and 6th grade. There were 2 of these. My best friend went to one and I went to another. The rest of my friends were in completely different classes and I never saw them.

Suddenly, I was alone in school. Very quickly, all the kids grew to hate me, throwing me down to the bottom of the food chain. And the teachers either didn't care or didn't like me. This is about when, looking back, that I think my depression really started to develop. From about the age of 10 to 12ish, I was alone. Sure i made new friends but not in my class so i still didn't have anyone in the room to depend on.

Another important detail is, at least for where I grew up, this was when people didn't believe that depression was an actual thing. That it was a made up illness for lazy people. That everyone got sad. They just need to sack up.

Looking back...I showed WAY too many signs of depression that I really should have been noticed and diagnosed back then. But everyone just thought I was "sensitive".

And, because of what was being expressed by others, I angrily denied that voice in my head that said that maybe there was something to this depression. That maybe that's what was wrong with me. But that couldn't be right. Even if depression was real, what did I have to be depressed about? I had three square meals a day, pets, my parents loved me and my sister and were still together, I didn't have any reason to be depressed. Even when my mom had a heart attack. Even when my grandma died. I still had so much. How could I be depressed?

This was about when mother nature threw her hand into the lot and granted me my horrendous period. Suddenly, now I was always anxious, always depressed, but I was also always angry at everything. I was just...done with it all. When my grandma passed, I had to go through mandatory "grief therapy" in school. It made me miss my bus every day so my mom had to pick me up and had to sit and wait until she finished work to go home. I think this was about when I started to maybe think something was wrong about me.

But what could I do about it? I had seen commercials about medication for depression late at night but D.A.R.E. had beaten me over my head that ANY drug, including medications, was the absolute worse thing you could ever do. Medications were for people that needed them to survive. That had "actual" things wrong with them. Any other use of any type of medication was bad and just like using crack or meth.

Besides...telling anyone that I needed help would only bother others...and really, the only thing I could think of that would make it any better was if I just stopped existing. But whenever those thoughts came up, my anxiety would spike because, y'know...death.

My sister says I finally grew a back bone at the end of 6th grade but not really. I was still just as "sensitive". My hormones just made me respond in angry instead of crying. I still cried, but I was just so angry all the time. This continued through 7th. I didn't ask for help because what could I even do? There didn't seem to be anything that would ever make any of what was going on in my head better and easier to deal with.

Then my mom had another heart attack and we had to move. We moved to a smaller town and suddenly, while everyone still kept their distance and I didn't fit in, I wasn't hated. I could breath a little because yeah I was different, but there weren't as many others to worry about. I made new friends and created my own niche group. I was still constantly anxious and depressed and angry, but it was...better.

I met others that suffered from depression and were on medication. They seemed so happy and not...tired like I was from fighting all the time with my brain. It had gotten better during the day, but the silence of night brought with it thoughts of death. And I hated it. Hated myself for them. Others were managing, why couldn't I?

...I haven't gone to bed without the TV or youtube on since 10th grade...I'm 26 now...the silence brings too many bad thoughts. White noise makes my anxiety spike though. It has to be listening to some sort of talking.

But it was better during the day, most of the time, so that was good. Other than my friends, I avoided anything that would put me in large groups because I didn't want to deal with all that stress again. My mom still gives me shit for not joining the Honors Society because it would look good on my college applications.

Eventually, I got pretty numb to the world around me. The only things I really cared about were my friends and family, anime (yes I was a weeaboo/otaku), and writing. Some days, those were the only thing keeping me going.

Eventually, I met my future husband through fanfiction (go figure) and it started getting better. College sucked, but at least people finally noticed that I needed help. I finally got told that I didn't have to keep fighting like this. I started going to therapy and got.put on meds.

And holy shit, it was like overnight. I still had times of being anxious or depressed but no where near as bad. I could hold conversations without always being worried about how I came across or double meanings. I could start falling asleep without thoughts of death, though I still need something playing. I unlearned bad habits I developed to cope and learned new ones.

But more than that, I watched as the same world that had told me that I was wrong change to be more accepting of mental illnesses. I didn't feel as alone because others were going through similar things. I finally got to see that I wasn't wrong. Just different.

I still look back to when I was growing up and wonder how different everything could have been if just one person growing up had said that this kid needs help.

Well, I guess they might have. According to my mom, my teachers complained to her about having me tested for then ADD, now ADHD. And she did. But the docs said I didn't present the right symptoms. Except nowadays, docs realize that girls present with different symptoms to boys. Soooo...maybe something would have been noticed if they knew that now. But who knows.

---

Sorry for the long rambling post. Just needed to get it off my chest. Might delete it later.

[thrilla-in-mcgilla]

THE FINAL POST

To everyone who thought that this blog was dead, you were mistaken. Yes, I have risen from the emotional shambles that was moving out of residence, and as I [start to] write this post I will be sleeping in my bed in BDot for the first time of the summer. Essentially, with this post, I’m hoping to hit some of the highlights of the year, but mostly it’s just going to turn into one long [and I mean looooong] sappy post dedicated to all of the friends that I’ve made along the way. So buckle your seatbelt ladies and gents and let me walk you through my first year of university.

One of the things that always gave us something to look forward to was going to Arvind’s concerts. If you remember, Arvind is my friend who is in the music program at McGill, and he plays the flute [most of the time at least]. The first concert of his that we went to was on November 2nd, but we went to many more throughout the year. In second semester, Arvind wasn’t placed in one of the major ensembles, which was very upsetting, but also meant that we got to see him perform in the university chorus, yes that means singing. All of us marked it down in our calendars, and I thankfully captured the song with hand motions on video [Come Sweeeeeeeet Death]. Despite being constantly challenged by his teachers, Arvind definitely pushed through first year and is no doubt on his way to becoming the best flutist at McGill. 

Towards the end of our first semester, we started having frequent game nights, where uno was by far the most popular pick. Through our game nights, many new catchphrases were created, such as: “oh is that not good for you?”, “cAn’t gO?”, “don’t trust Michael, don’t trust Michael [to the tune of frere jacques]”, “eeYEAHHH”, and many more that I’m probably forgetting. This was especially helpful to help us all deal with the stress of final exams, and “uno in 503?” was a question that would often appear in our group chat [503 was Anna and Sayaka’s room number]. I know, I know, really? You guys stayed in to play uno instead of going out to some party? Most of the time, yes. I can’t believe it either.

Soon after first semester was over, the Owl’s Nest realized that our residence’s dining hall was just not going to cut it for the rest of the year, and we started eating at other dining halls much more frequently. Speaking of food, group outings became a defining feature of my friend group, and we would often plan dinners or brunches at our favourite restaurants weeks in advance [so that we could save our money haha]. Universel was definitely our favourite breakfast place, and I’m pretty sure all of us took our parents and friends there whenever they were in town. Fisshu, although we only went twice, was a delicious sushi restaurant, oh my goodness I can taste the maki from here, yum. Moving on to the more classic university experience, late night trips to Tims, or orders from  Chef on Call [their veggie burger gets an A+ from Michael, Sena and I], were probably a little too frequent than we’d like to admit. Yes, that’s right everyone I am still not eating meat, and I’m quite proud of that fact so please try not to eat chicken wings in front of me or I might cry (I won’t eat them though, Michael stop judging me). 

As I mentioned in my last post ions ago, I was a part of Hall Council this year. After the Halloween event, we had many more successes. We hosted two coffee houses [like mini talent shows], a winter formal, another beer pong tournament, a residence wide month long elimination game called Gotcha, a free food event, and a “Flashback to Frosh” event. I’ll insert videos of my friends and I performing at coffee house, I have some talented pals let me tell you! While hall council meetings were almost always a little bit chaotic, and we had our fair share of drama, I wouldn’t give up my experience on it for the world. We had so much fun running events for our peers, and I got to spend so much more time with my friends doing things that we love [i.e. being in charge haha]. Our council advisors said that we were one of the most cohesive councils that they’ve ever worked with, and I think that our ability to work well together really showed. Even though we were a group of almost 30 people, which was challenging at some times, we really made things happen. Between running our own events, and going to the events hosted by other councils, we all had a really good time within the residence community and I’m really thankful for that. 

(Sena helping me set up the photo booth for the winter formal)

(A VERY low quality photo of Sena, Anna, Myself and Emma [wolves], at IRC’s Blackout, Whiteout event)

(Kaya and I tabling for ERC’s sustainable eating initiative)

(Anna and I at the Flashback to Frosh event)

(Emma [wolves], myself and Anna at IRC’s Wine and Cheese night)

(My delicious beverage and I at our final council outing)

(The entirety of Hall Council at the Halloween event)

(Coffee House performances)

Moving on to RezWarz, which I mentioned in one of my very first posts, there were several events throughout the year that contributed to the accumulation of RezWarz points. The first notable one is the IronChef competition. A team from each of the residences [or most of them], competed against each other in a cooking competition, where they had to cook both a protein and a vegetarian plate within a time limit, making sure to incorporate a few of the mystery ingredients. My friend Anna [who you should recognize from previous posts] competed alongside my friends Himanshu and Flemming, and they WON! It was very exciting for everyone involved, other than them who were actually competing because they didn’t even want to win! The winners of the first round would represent McGill in the next level, which was taking place at the University of Massachusetts. While they were very reluctant at first because of the time commitment that competing would mean, they decided to go, and they even got third place! Winning the IronChef competition was pretty remarkable for a few reasons. For one thing, C4 does not have any kitchens for students to use, so Anna, Flemming and Himanshu had to practice for RezWarz in another residence’s kitchen, and only for a few hours. Additionally, winning the IronChef competition meant a TON of RezWarz points, putting Carrefour Sherbrooke in FIRST PLACE. But this was not the last competition, so we had to fight really hard to try to stay on top. 

(Anna, Himanshu, and Flemming holding their prizes!)

Our final RezWarz challenge was to create a lipdub, which, if you’re unfamiliar, is basically a crazy upbeat video where a bunch of people dressed in funky outfits lipsync to the camera in one take. C4 had managed to hold its lead in RezWarz up till this point, but it was really important that we made a really awesome video in order to secure the win. I had always wanted to make a lipdub video, so I kind of made this project my baby, with the help of wolves [that’s what we call my friend Emma if you haven’t caught on by now]. After making the track that we would be lipsyncing to, creating a shotlist of where each song would take place, and assigning the people who would “sing” each part, it was time to film. Filming, while very tiring, and not quite as crisp as I would’ve liked it to be, was a success. I then poured the rest of that night into editing and after probably around 15 hours total working on the lipdub, it was complete. The winners of RezWarz were to be announced in a couple of days at council dis-orientation, as well as the highest scorers for the lipdub. As it turned out, we won the lipdub, and as a result, WON REZWARZ! I’m sure it doesn’t sound like that big of a deal, but it really was for us. This was so ridiculously exciting for myself, all of my friends, hall council, and C4 as a whole. I hope I haven’t talked it up too much, but attached below is the C4 Lipdub. I know that this will be something that my friends and I can look back on for years to come, so I’m really happy that it turned out so well. 

Next up on my list of bullet points, birthdays! The Owl’s Nest knows how to celebrate a birthday. After Emma and Michael’s birthdays which I already mentioned, we celebrated 4 more birthdays throughout the year [Sorry Arvind and Sena who have their birthdays over the summer]! We celebrated Anna’s birthday on November 15. Anna booked us an airbnb for the night, so that we could cook ourselves a meal, and bake some desert to boot! Overall the night was a lot of fun, between screaming the lyrics to every ABBA song, to Michael blaming the tomatoes for the mediocre pasta, to eating a delicious brownie with ice cream, to playing board games, to trying to make eggs in a pot in the morning, we had a blast. Next up on the 30th was Jonathan’s birthday. For his birthday I collaborated with his girlfriend to hold a surprise party for him in my room while she was in town. We went out and bought all the decorations: streamers, a banner, balloons, noisemakers, glow sticks, the whole nine yards. I spent a couple of hours setting everything up in my room, and I gotta say it looked pretty good considering it was just me [for the most part, that’s right Michael, you barely helped]. I swear he almost peed his pants so it was all worth it! 

The next birthday was actually none other than yours truly! As you might have seen on facebook, for my birthday I decided I would like to go skating in old Montreal. But first, we stopped at A&W so I could grab the beautiful beyond meat burger with sweet potato fries hehe. After a treacherous walk in the cold we finally made it to the rink, which was stunning. I had to reteach myself how to skate for the first while, but once I got it, all was good. The walk back was much less pleasant, all of the owls had to defrost when we got home, but it was worth it [right guys?]. Writing this has reminded me that I’m the old lady of the group, and now I feel weird, but that’s alright, admire the photos.

Finally, the last birthday that we celebrated of the year was Sayaka’s! For her birthday we all went out to a Japanese restaurant [she’s the tiny Japanese one if that wasn’t obvious], and then we came back to rez and had a little party. By little party, I mean we got a little too drunk in my room, but that’s fine. We already have plans to visit Sena and Arvind for their birthdays so they won’t feel left out, don’t worry! 

Before I move on to the really sappy stuff, here are some various photos of various fun things from throughout the year that didn’t really fit with the topics above.

(Myself, Michael, Sena, Anna, Arvind and Sayaka after the St. Patrick’s Day Parade, heading out to the Irish bar)

(Wolves, Michael and I went to the Montreal Youth Climate March that was observed by hundreds of thousands of students around the world)

(Wolves, Anna, Sena Lili and I at our first [and only] frat party)

(Sena, Michael, Arvind and I before heading to upper rez for a party with Michael’s friend from home)

(A photo taken on the walk home from karaoke. It was around -25 degrees and also the middle of a snowstorm [and also the night that Arvind and I ended up taking Michael to the hospital for a stomach bug])

(You can’t really tell, but a few of my friends from rez went across the street to protest the protestors who blew airhorns everyday at 10am and 3pm for months)

(From when Sena, Michael, Arvind and I met up in Toronto over the Christmas break)

(A picture of Arvind, Sayaka, Jonathan, Anna, Michael and I with the head chef of our dining hall at the holiday banquet)

(Self explanatory)

(Sena and I counting worms for our biology project)

(An awful photo but an incredible night. We had just had “camp council” which is basically just code for hall council getting drunk with the floor fellows. We were going to go out to a club or something, but instead we ended up having a massive snowball fight on McGill’s lower field, which was definitely 1000x more fun)

(From the night I climbed Mont Royal to take some photos)

(Michael and I at what turned into our favourite bar, McKibbins)

(Taken on one of our last nights together in Rez)

(It’s always snuggle time)

(My roommate Delal and I, right before I moved out of residence)

Okay here comes the really sappy emotional stuff, so feel free to skip ahead if you’re not up for it. I want to write little open letters to the people who made my first year away from home so incredible. So here it goes. 

To Sayaka:

Our little Japanese! It’s so hard to believe that at one point you were just the crazy roommate of twin #1 that was moving into 503. You are definitely nothing like what those twins said you would be. What we gained instead was a caring, sweet, GIGGLY new friend that we could adopt into the owl’s nest. Whether it was scream-laughing too loud in the dining hall [I can still feel Ahmed’s intense gaze], or singing a little tune, or looking at anyone with those big eyes, you’ve always had such a positive attitude, and I think we could all learn from that. I will always remember standing in line for warehouse and you asking if you could touch my hair hahaha. A few things to clarify: no you are not 6 feet tall, I live east of you not “up”, the easter bunny has nothing to do with jesus, and so on. However, if you ever need anything, I will always be around to support you, how could anyone abandon the little one and make her japaNESE MAD. I have lots of love for you, and you don’t have to ask to pet my straight hair anymore, I give you eternal permission!

At the end of all these little open letters I’m going to say the song that reminds me of each of the owls, and since musical theatre is something we could always bond over, the song that makes me think of you is Poor Unfortunate Souls. While I was barely in The Little Mermaid AT MY HIGH SCHOOL, I’m so mad I missed you performing as Ursula. Although, I totally cannot imagine little ole you performing as the big nasty sea witch. I guess that’s just some Disney magic for ya. 

To Jonathan:

Obviously, our friendship started with quite a few boulders to overcome. It definitely was not easy all of the time, but I’m really glad that we both stuck to the nest, because it just wouldn’t have been the same otherwise. We all know you as drunky jack, or white bread, and I truly hope those nicknames stick around, they’re just too funny lmao. You were one of the first people that I ever felt comfortable around in residence, ever since that night that you, Arvind, James and I walked around in search of an SAQ before we landed in Tims. From the way that we stayed up just talking for hours that night, there was absolutely no way that we wouldn’t remain friends. Don’t lose your spirit. Sometimes throughout the year it was clear you were a little down, but whenever the white boy dance moves were busted out, everyone had the chance to smile for at least a second. Try not to be a stranger. 

A song reminds me of you [and obviously first year in general], is Body. There was something about drunky jack in the first week of school that just screams body, so I think it’s a perfect fit [the video of you at beach day, yikes].

To wOlves:

I remember thinking that I would never even get the chance to meet you. What crazy struggles getting that study permit (or whatever it was hehe). I also vividly remember meeting you for the first time and thinking “damn it this girl knows more memes than me”. You literally started flossing in the middle of the room and I just - wow. And you already know how impressed I was that day that you gave that man directions, not in french, no, in SPANISH. We definitely got a lot closer throughout second semester because of our favourite men [who helped us find the aREa of the potatOID]. I see a lot of myself in you, from our taste in bOys, to our taste in music, to our taste in sporcle quizzes, we’ve got a lot to talk about. You’re always there to laugh at my sarcastic side comments, and let me tell you I will always be there to laugh at yours. Some days I swear our minds are linked together. You overcame a lot this year, and I’m proud of you for that. As soon as we get back to Montreal, you, Sena and I must have a cuddly movie night, okay?? I absolutely loved screaming harmonies with you every chance we got, we gotta jam more now that Shelby is fixed and ready to play more Billie. I swear we’ll give you a better birthday party this year, but come on, we tried. One day, ONE DAY, you will perfect the mOve, and I will be there to capture the moment in all of its essence. We have many more inside jokes to create [haha eh :P] so I don’t know what you were planning buuuut you’re not going anywhere. You’re also the only one in the nest who’s movie taste I trust [come on Sena, you want to watch an action movie again??]. We need to do a day where we watch each others favourite movies, even if it’s a lot of them! I’ve thoroughly enjoyed our movie dates over text message and we better keep doing that all summer, it makes me feel less lonely! I love you like you’re my child and I will keep screaming at you not to eat timbits during shabbat [shabbafe bampus hehe]. I swear one day we will run into linear algebra boy and simultaneously confess our love for him, but until then we can only dream. Don’t forget your worth. I love you so much my little wolf.

Sis, you already know what your song is. No Flex by our favourite boys TMG. I feel like this doesn’t need any more explanation. [my body count up in the double digits (11), I got a TEXT, that’s all, no further comments thank you].

To Avinash Arvind Krishendeholl [the Indestructible Lotus]:

Wa-ow, what a year it’s been eH? First of all, thank you for being everyone’s emotional support dog, you’re probably one of the most dedicated friends that I’ve ever had. I probably would have cried myself to sleep many times this year if it weren’t for you. I don’t know what it is about you, but I think that everyone can just automatically sense that you’re trustworthy even when they first meet you. I felt instantly heard by you, and that’s a very special quality to have, and I mean it. I know we kid all the time, but I actually want to take the time to be completely honest with you in this little message because I feel like I don’t tell you enough how much I appreciate you. Arvind, you’ve really felt like my partner through the year and I know that a lot of the nest feels the same way. You’re the safety patroller 1 to my safety patroller 2, and I feel like it works for us. That first crisis really bonded us, I think it became evident to both of us that we are both the type of people who won’t just go to sleep if we feel that any one is in danger that we can help. We’re problem solvers my dude. I know everyone says they don’t know what they would do without you, and that’s just become something that people say casually, but seriously. You were a grounding force for all of us, someone that we could go to for actually anything. Whether it be conflict within the group, conflict with someone else, just a bad day, a big paper due, or even wanting a good laugh and a bite to eAT, you were there. You were there if I just wanted to sit in a room with someone else, or if I wanted a shoulder to cry on, and I hope you feel that I can be the same for you when you need it. Beyond all of this sappy crap, you’re seriously a force to be reckoned with. I know this year was tough for you in music [seriously why would they put a flutist in a choir, Schulich wyd??], you have the ability, and the perseverance to do absolutely anything that you want. I actually can’t wait to see what the future holds for you because whatever it is you end up doing, you’re GOING to dominate, no doubt in my mind. Your section would be incomplete without a mention of all of your catchphrases so here we go: what are we gonna eat NOW, wait why’d the mood change, L-O-L, sAAAd, I have received communications from Mr. McIntosh, you want some cUHrry, im JOKING im joking, gUUUYS, senAAAAAAH, waaow, in FAAAACT, the power of seven theorem states, that’s a fallacy, what’re you gonna do gIRL, OPE, wait why’d you look down, I’m on a diet, let’s get the gOO, knowing me knowing you ahah, chef?, I’m in mUsic, now wHaaat are you doing, bwaaaaaah, ooooozgayyy, weeeeeelll??, heeeeet [hoot hoot], schWWIIING, the sweet meats, motion, notice, stOP gUYS, eeeeeYeaaah, Kaaaaaasssidyyyy Michael saaaaaiddd, heLLO, just a petit quelque chose, I am holding a notice in my left paw, proceed in B flat minor. Nest don’t punish me for forgetting a bunch, he’s a very quotable boy. 

Your song was already mentioned in this post, and I believe it is very fitting Knowing Me, Knowing You [ahaaaah]. Anything ABBA will remind me of you and Michael instantly, for obvious reasons, but I chose this song because it became one of your catchphrases and I think it suits the two of us the best [you know me all too well]. 

To Shishtar:

I get to tell you all of the things I love about you everyday next year in our cute little apartment hehe. But of course I will give you your space here as well. I am proud to be the first fluent speaker of Sennish [other than the creator herself]. I know Arvind and Michael give you a hard time, but they just don’t get you like I do. I hope you don’t mind that I totally latched to you during frosh, but I think it worked out well for both of us, what do you think? If you go back and read some of my first posts, it was all Sena all the time. I can’t wait to live with you in just a few months. It going to be like having slumber parties every night, and oh my the DECORATING! I had so much fun every single time we went out together [that might be trouble hehe] you’ll always be my best dance partner. I know that no matter what I’m feeling I can go to you and trust that you’ll feed that emotion back to me. If I want to laugh, you’re in, if I want to cry, you pull up the audition videos, it’s really a good set up we’ve got going. I want you to know I will always always always be here for you. If a shishtar is in need, a shishtar is here for her, those are the rules. I just know we have so much in store for us and our friendship and I can’t wait to do it all. I feel like you’re the friend that I can adventure with, you’ll never turn down a good time [unless you’ve already drank too much and can’t make it out lmaoooo]. I’m so happy that we raised our worm babies together, even if that experiment was VERY questionable! I wonder how they’re doing now actually, probably thriving. Let’s not carry soil back from across the city again though, that was not too much fun. I will now go into some roommate vows. As your roommate I pledge to always repeat myself when you say wait..WHAT?, and only get annoyed at it sometimes. I promise to cook you breakfast when I get the chance, and more importantly, teach you to cook some things other than “thin meat” and “cubed chicken” because that has to be a crime. I promise not to force you to every bafe tuesday [only some], and to help you study when you need it. There’s more, but I’m sure we’ll cross those bridges when we come to them. I can’t wait to take the next step in our friendship, even if our landlords are trash. We’ll manage. [AND I CAN’T WAIT TO SEE THE JONAS BROTHERS WHAT THE HECK]

The song that I chose for you may be surprising, because it is not a Sena song. I picked Electric Avenue, because of that one Cafe Campus tuesday that we went to. One of the first songs that came on that night that got us bopping was electric avenue [which I captured on video]. I just know that I’ll never be able to hear that song without thinking of you and that night, even if it ended with us running full speed in the wrong direction! 

To Michael:

We all know how much I love you, but I guess I’ll try to scratch the surface with words. Not that your ego needs to be stroked any more than it already is, you are definitely one of the smartest people I’ve ever met. You somehow just know so many things and you are able to talk intelligently about virtually anything. I don’t know why, but you seem like a completely different person now than from when I first met you. I still remember us wandering around together at RezFest, going back up for more samosas [eyeeeah], but to be completely honest I didn’t think that we would really become friends. That day I kind of felt like I was a placeholder until you found the people who you actually wanted to be friends with, which sounds sad as I write it, but I was happy to be that. Much to my surprise, you stayed with me the whole day, and we hung out with almost everyone who would soon become the nest [first the dean’s list though hehe]. I’m absolutely honoured to be your friend, and honoured that we’ve shared so much with each other starting with beach day. You’re passionate. That’s something that I really admire. Even if nobody wants to hear it sometimes, there’s not a chance you’re shutting up about wave particle duality, and that’s something I respect [even if sometimes it drives me crazy] about you. You don’t give up easy either. Not getting into McGill didn’t stop you from coming here [yes I had to bring it up hahahaha], and that mentality drives you, which I have mad respect for. The fact that you can’t sing doesn’t stop you from spewing nonsense about the circle of fifths [hehehe right @Arvind?]. In all seriousness, you are more than aware that you mean so much to me, and I appreciate that you standby for my moments of existential crisis. You don’t give up on me even when I act insane and I am very thankful for that, because lots of friends would take a step back, but you persist. Your sarcasm and sass makes me laugh like no other. I know you’ll never stop making fun of me for knowing so much about astrology, but that’s so libra of you. Try not to be as much of a doormat living with Arvind as you were living with Grant [yes, you were a doormat, even at the end], although I’m sure Arvind won’t try to see how high he can pile his clothes, so you’re already ahead of the game. Oh I almost forgot! Thank you for helping me in my pescatarian adventures. Having someone else so close to me live the same lifestyle really helped me out, especially every time Arvind ordered chicken wings. Along the same lines, thanks for always backing me up on my environmental speeches to not only the nest, but in council too. Just like I said with everyone else, I can’t wait to make even more memories with you, and I hope that you’re in my life for a long long time, because I don’t know what I would do without you!

No surprises here, the song that reminds me of you is The Chain, although this might as well be any Fleetwood Mac song. This is unrelated but just so you know, my gramma just said “there’s chippy” as a chipmunk ran around the backyard and I thought that that was an odd coincidence. But yes, listen to the wind blow [insert incredible bass line]. 

To Anna:

My dear sweet Anna. I’m not crying you’re crying!! You have kept my life interesting from literally the moment I met you. Please go back and read one of my first posts from the first night when you went on about your boy troubles, what a night. From that moment on you’ve filled my life with so many interesting and emotional moments. I think that everyone remembers the night that you said that this friendship probably won’t even last a month, and look at us now baby. We all have gone through so much this year as a group, and I know that a lot of that had a huge impact on you. You may be small, but by god are you tough girl. The amount of bullshit that you have gone through this year is remarkable, but you’ve never given up on any of us. You and I have gone through our fair share of trouble, but never once did I question that we would resolve whatever it was and be stronger than ever. We both confront problems the same way, so that means that whatever the problem is, it will be solved in record breaking time. You’re the one person who I always go to with the hot gossip and I feel like we could actually talk for hours about nothing. But for real back to the toughness thing, you endure so much. You’re very independent by nature, but it always surprises me that you are able to stay alone so far away from everyone. You have done so much for me this year and I doubt you even know it. I feel like you always understand whatever it is that I’m going through better than anyone else. I won’t forget the time in my room that we literally just read each other our poetry and cried on each others shoulders. You can sniff out when I’m upset and you’re so good at comforting me and making me feel loved. Okay I was joking before, but I seriously am crying now. It was so hard for me to leave your room particularly because I feel like I was safest to be myself in there. We spent so much time in 503 that it was my home away from home. You also always gas me up?? Like thank you girl because you know that sometimes I need that validation! I always trust you for that fashion advice because you shop so much that you must know what looks good by now [hehehe]. For real though, you’re so incredibly beautiful inside and out and I’m so proud to call you my friend. You’re simultaneously like my daughter, sister, sometimes my mom and always my best friend and that’s quite remarkable I’d say. Stop doubting how smart you are! You are doing great just where you are, you’re meant to do this, don’t let anyone tell you different. You’re strong. I literally can not wait to share every single little thing with you the moment it happens, so if you don’t mind, I would love to do just that for a long long time. 

My song for you is one from our girl dodie, it’s Human. Every time I hear this song it brings me back to the two of us sitting in your room just feeling the feels. The lyrics are true. Paint me in trust, I’ll be your best friend. Love you so much my tiny little friend. 

Okay that concludes the sappy letters to my best friends. I’m sure you’re tired of reading at this point, and I’m tired of writing, so to finish off this blog post I thought I would let a video fill in the blanks. For those of you who don’t know, I have been taking a one second video every day since October of 2017. This has turned into an amazing way for me to look back on the memories made throughout the years. So here is my collection of one seconds for my year in Montreal, starting with move in day!

Thank you for keeping up with me this year, even though I totally slacked on writing these posts. Long story short, I’m absolutely in love with Montreal, and with McGill. So thank you for caring and staying tuned for the Thrilla in McGilla, catch ya next year!

[ferociousqueak]

Family Resemblance, Ch. 7: Gravity

And now for the newest installment in the Shepard family saga! Thank you, as always, to @servantofclio, @thievinghippo, and @pagerunner for their awesome beta work and endless support <3

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7

Chapter 7: Gravity (2165)

(noun): a very serious quality or condition; the natural force that tends to cause physical things to move toward each other

#

Alli jumped out of the rapid transit and leapt up the steps to Ms. Sana and Ms. Dess’s apartment building. The clunk of the container holding left-over birthday cake in her school bag reminded her to walk more slowly. She’d been hoping to save it for Dad, but Mom said it would be stale soon, and Dad still wouldn’t be back for a week at least. She didn’t know if Ms. Sana had ever had birthday cake before, but Mom said she would still like it.

It had been a quiet birthday, with just the two of them. Mom had asked if she wanted Ms. Dess and Ms. Sana to come over or maybe anyone from school, but she’d said no. Alli liked Ms. Dess and Ms. Sana and even a few of the kids she’d met, like Kardi and Segundus, but . . . well, she just wanted Dad there. He’d never missed her birthday before, and between the move and his last-minute assignment, they hadn’t gotten the chance to do something before he left. He wasn’t even allowed to send her a message just to wish her a happy birthday. N7s didn’t usually get clearance to send unsecured messages when they were deployed.

Alli had stayed up till midnight, just in case he was planning on surprising her. At 1 a.m., Mom finally said Alli had to go to bed.

Mom did her best to make a birthday cake, but it didn’t turn out very well. The frosting was too thick and it stuck to the cake and pulled it apart into crumbs. It tasted fine, but it wasn’t anything like Dad had ever made for her. Maybe he’d try to make another one when he got back. Maybe then she’d have other people come over too. Maybe then their new place wouldn’t be a disaster area anymore.

Stacks of boxes and packages arrived every day as Mom tried to fill in the empty space. Mom was working through it on her own, so it would probably be fine soon enough. But it still wasn’t home. It was too open, too big, too . . . much.

Mom and Dad said she’d get used to it after a while, and she believed them. And mostly, she was. When she was focused on her schoolwork or when one of her new friends was being silly at lunch, the newness and strangeness of everything didn’t sting so much. But then she’d come home to high ceilings and large, empty rooms, and the feeling of being out of place would come rushing back.

Alli frowned and decided not to think about any of that. She was on her way to a lesson with Ms. Sana, and if she didn’t concentrate, she wouldn’t be able to levitate even a pencil.

The elevator ride up to Ms. Sana and Ms. Dess’s apartment always seemed like it was never going to end. Their building was tall and fancy, and they were at the top of it. When Alli asked if they were rich, Mom had just smiled at her and said that, knowing Ms. Sana, there were likely more than just credits being exchanged. Then Alli asked what that meant, and Mom just said she’d explain when she was older. (Because that wasn’t annoying at all.)

Alli took the cake container out of her bag and suddenly felt self-conscious. It was probably all messed up (well, more messed up), and Ms. Sana lived in such a fancy place, she probably wouldn’t want it (and Ms. Dess wouldn’t even be able to have any of it). Alli quickly shoved it back in her bag. She should just throw it away instead. Dad would make a better one when he got back.

When Alli finally got to their floor, Ms. Sana opened the door wearing a great big smile, just like she always did, and it made Alli feel a little less anxious.

“You are right on time, as usual,” Ms. Sana said, ushering her into the apartment. Boy, if Alli thought their new place was big, it was nothing compared to Ms. Sana’s apartment. “You have an excellent sense of punctuality, ma’dulcissi. That skill is good to acquire early in life.”

Alli didn’t really know what to say to that. Was being on time a skill? Didn’t everyone do that? She could feel herself getting nervous again, and she blurted, “I brought cake.”

She wanted to kick herself. So much for throwing it out. Oh well, not much use in hiding it now. She pulled out the container from her bag again and held it up to the asari. “I think I squashed it on the way over, though.”

Ms. Sana’s eyes brightened when she took the container. “Oh yes! Your mother mentioned something about sending a dessert with you.” She chuckled. “I supposed she wanted to make sure it got here before you gobbled it up. She said it was your birthday recently.”

Alli nodded. “I’m eleven now.”

Ms. Sana shook her head and turned to lead them farther into the apartment. “I sometimes forget how quickly other species have to grow up. When I was your age, I was half your size and hardly aware of the world at all, beyond whenever I was tired or hungry or bored.” She turned into the kitchen and put the container in the fridge. “And if you were a salarian, you would be almost done with your education and nearing the end of the physical maturation stage of your life. I imagine most of your salarian classmates were born well after you, and yet here you are, peers.”

“One of my teachers is a salarian,” Alli offered, not sure if she was understanding the point Ms. Sana was trying to make.

“Yes, I know,” Ms. Sana said. Alli wondered briefly how she knew, but before she could investigate further, Ms. Sana put a hand across her shoulder to lead her into the training room. Well, that’s how Alli thought of it—it was open and had no furniture in it, but she didn’t know if it had been like that before Alli and her parents arrived on the Citadel. “Shall we get started?”

She didn’t even need to respond before Ms. Sana started setting up several objects for the day’s exercises. Alli set down her bag and kicked off her shoes, already getting lost in thinking about what the training session held for her.

Without turning around, Ms. Sana asked, “Is there a place for your belongings?”

Alli felt herself blush and moved quickly to put her shoes where they were supposed to go and set her bag in a bin in the corner. When she was done, she took her place in the middle of the room and moved into the now-familiar first position.

Silently, Ms. Sana nudged Alli’s arms and legs into place. “Let us just start with position technique, for now,” she said when she was done. “It will warm up your body’s memory.”

Alli had gone through these positions hundreds of times—mostly on her own at home, following recordings and vids that Ms. Sana sent to her, hiding them as instructions for classical asari dancing. She’d followed the examples exactly, and Ms. Sana had said she’d done really well, given how little training she’d had. But nothing beat having her teacher right in front of her, moving her hands and elbows and shoulders into the right place. This was only the third face-to-face lesson they’d had, but Alli already felt like she was much better than she had been on Arcturus.

When Alli had gone through the ten different positions seven times (she was starting to sweat a little now), Ms. Sana finally said, “Good. Now close your eyes and concentrate on the block in front of you. Reach into the middle of your mind to see it, and let everything around it fall away. Concentrate only on the block and on what you wish for it to do. Now, move from first position to second.”

Alli could feel the numbing tingle in the base of her neck and in the palm of her hands and her fingertips. She kept her eyes closed and her movements slow. Ms. Sana said she didn’t actually need to move her hands, that her being a biotic meant she could technically do everything without moving a muscle. But these exercises connected her biotics to physical memory, which made them easier to control. Alli was mostly concerned with suppressing her biotics right now, but she had to admit that being able to move things without touching them was actually pretty fun.

A thunk told Alli she’d lost her hold on the block.

“You are not concentrating, Allistair,” Ms. Sana admonished her. “Return to first position and begin again.”

Alli resisted a frustrated hiss and moved her arms back to where they had been, pulled back with her fist closed at her hip. It wasn’t actually hard to lift the block, but she’d done it so many times—even on Arcturus—that it just wasn’t interesting. The only way it could be fun again was if she were trying to lift a krogan.

“This is boring, Ms. Sana,” she said and opened her eyes. She could hear the whine in her own voice and nearly winced. It’s not that she was complaining—she just wanted to do something new, something more challenging. “When do I get to do the fun things?”

Ms. Sana tried for a stern glare, but Alli could tell she was trying not to smile. “What fun things would you prefer to do, Allistair?”

She shrugged and resisted the urge to kick the ground. “I don’t know. That singularity thing looks pretty neat.”

Ms. Sana crossed her arms and looked at Alli for a long moment, her lips pressed into a thin line as she considered. “All right, ma’dulcissi. Let us try for a singularity.”

Alli felt her fingertips already warming with excitement. A singularity! Even Kardi couldn’t do that!

Ms. Sana began to move Alli’s arms, hands, hips, and legs. She pushed her feet into position and when she was done, Alli began to measure her breathing, just like Ms. Sana had instructed her from the beginning of her training. She felt the air rush into her lungs, and she felt it push past her lips as it left her body. Her mind slowed down, and her muscles loosened.

“Good,” Ms. Sana said, nodding. “Close your eyes and focus on a single point one meter in front of you. That point is gravity itself. It is a singular point in the universe where space and time fold in on each other infinitely.”

Alli kept her eyes closed, but she felt the corners of her mouth turn down in a frown. “That’s kind of a lot to think about, Ms. Sana.”

Ms. Sana’s words were soft, but her voice was firm. “Your mind is not small. Focus, Allistair.”

Alli went back to her breathing and tried to picture what Ms. Sana was saying. The best she could do was think of a piece of paper folding itself again and again until it couldn’t fold anymore, until it was tougher than steel. She didn’t know anything about space-time—well, not much, anyway—but she knew it had rules. Even if you couldn’t break rules, you could still manipulate them, make them do what you wanted if you thought about it hard enough. Maybe space-time was the same.

She was distantly aware that Ms. Sana was moving beside her, but she did her best to keep her thoughts on folding paper and bending rules. Her head and neck felt hot, and the sweat beaded behind her ears. The smell of ozone filled her nose, but she kept her breathing deep and even regardless.

Ms. Sana’s voice almost startled Alli, despite its gentleness, “Open your eyes, Allistair.”

Slowly, Alli dared to crack open one eyelid. Twirling in front of her was the block she’d dropped earlier, floating and turning around a single point. It dropped almost immediately, and Alli wished she’d opened both eyes to see the scene fully and in all its glory. She’d done it! And on her first try!

“Your concentration still needs work. One day you will need to set a singularity with both eyes open. But that was an excellent first try.”

Alli felt giddy. A singularity! However short it had been, it had been a real singularity!

She felt Ms. Sana’s hand grip her shoulder, and she broke her glance away from where it had been fixed on the spot where the block had just been floating. Ms. Sana was smiling brightly at her.

“You did very well, Allistair,” she said. “Take a break for now. Eat something. We will try again in a little while. For now, however, be proud of yourself. A singularity is not an easy feat.”

Alli nodded and grinned, but she didn’t say anything. Without realizing it, she’d lost her breath and was now panting. This whole biotics thing sure wasn’t easy, but it felt good! Her sessions with Ms. Sana always felt like opening a pressure valve.

She followed Ms. Sana into the kitchen, where she pulled out the cake container. When Ms. Sana lifted the lid, Alli could see the frosting smeared everywhere, but that didn’t seem to bother Ms. Sana. She took out two plates and put a piece on each, smoothing out the frosting almost effortlessly. She set a plate and a fork down in front of each of them and nodded at Alli to eat.

“You are progressing very well, Allistair,” she said as she dug into her own piece of cake. “You still need to work on your concentration, but the ability is there.” She frowned as she took a bite and chewed it slowly. “We need to start thinking about what happens next.”

Alli swallowed hard. “What do you mean what happens next? You show me something else and I learn it. Isn’t that how we’re supposed to do this?”

Ms. Sana shook her head. “I am no biotics master, ma’dulcissi. I am a middle step. I am teaching you based on how I remember learning, and your needs as a student are rapidly exceeding my abilities as a teacher.”

Alli felt her face go cold, and her appetite plummeted before she could swallow another bite. “But, if you don’t teach me, who’s going to do it? Am I going to have to go to Brain Camp?” As much as Alli wanted to appear calm and mature, her heart was racing.

Ms. Sana set her mouth in a hard line and put a hand on Alli’s. “Biotic Acclimation and Temperance Training would be good for you. You would have instructors who are trained in biotic pedagogy—” Ms. Sana stopped, perhaps reading the fear that Alli was trying so hard to suppress. “If you do not wish to go to BAAT, I will do my best to keep you here.” She leaned back again. “I have an acquaintance here on the Citadel who runs a dance school. As far as I know, you would be the only human pupil, so the true nature of your lessons could remain discreet. If you do well enough, you might even be able to get into a dance school on Thessia.” She paused and looked down at her hands. “You will not be able to hide your biotics forever, Alli. Very soon, you will need an amplifier. Dancing will help you, but it is not a permanent solution.”

Alli poked idly at her cake and avoided looking at Ms. Sana. Why was she telling her all this? Was she going to tell the Alliance or something? Was she getting tired of her? Had she talked to Mom already? They’d only just started training together in person. Was she so eager to get rid of her?

It was possible Ms. Sana could guess what Alli was thinking because she reached over and squeezed Alli’s hand again. “I will continue to teach you what I know for as long as you wish,” she said. “However, I would prefer it if you received better instruction when I no longer have anything of value I can teach you. What you have is a gift, not a curse.” Alli had to try very hard not to bark a laugh. “The Alliance is afraid of what it does not know, but that does not mean you have to be. It takes courage to learn because you must be vulnerable to grow in the necessary directions. I can see you growing comfortable, Allistair. It will not be tomorrow or the next day, but soon, I will be doing you a disservice by continuing to teach you.”

She removed her hand from Alli’s and, smiling gently, brushed her hair behind her ear. “You can be afraid if you need to be, Allistair, but do not let that fear stop you from doing what you need to do. You have people who love you and who will always be here to guide you. Myself, of course. Ms. Odessus. Your mother. Your father. Take comfort in us if you cannot find it within yourself.”

Her stomach was doing somersaults at the thought of the Alliance finding out about her biotics. Maybe Ms. Sana was right, though. She would give this dance school thing a try when Ms. Sana said it was time. Maybe it would trick the Alliance like she hoped, but if it didn’t? Well, Mom and Dad were Alliance, so it couldn’t be that bad, right?

Somehow that thought didn’t settle her insides any.

“Okay,” she said after a while. “But can I just think about it for a while? I don’t think I’m ready yet.”

Sana nodded. “Of course. Take the time you need, and I will be ready when you are.”

#

Hannah hated moving. She’d moved across the UNAS more times than she cared to remember as a kid, and the uprooting had never been pleasant. The actual traveling was exhausting, and everywhere they went she had to answer the same tired questions about where she was “really” from; the divisiveness of the question seemed to worsen the farther north or south they went.

More than anything, though, she’d hated the packing and the unpacking. At least with the Alliance, moving to a new housing assignment was quick and clean. A couple footlockers and maybe a few boxes for personal effects, but not much else. The old housing unit you left was identical to the new housing unit you entered. Easy peasy.

Unfortunately, there was no Alliance housing on the Citadel, so they’d had to accept relocation and living stipends to find their own accommodations instead. Sana had been ecstatic that Hannah would be moving to the station and had been their proxy in acquiring a new apartment for them before they arrived. When Hannah walked through the front door for the first time, she was taken aback by how open everything seemed and needed a moment to adjust to the new floor plan. Then she’d realized that it was open because there was no furniture, and she’d had to bite back a string of expletives at the thought that they’d have to furnish the place on their own. And with Michael already on assignment, she was going to have to do all of it on her own whenever she could find an hour or two free during her evenings.

The lack of furniture and other wares notwithstanding, Hannah found that she liked their new home. The ceilings were higher and the rooms were wider; she felt relaxed here and like she could move unhindered. Alli would be able to “dance” to her heart’s content and never have to worry about elbowing over a vase or a bookcase or whatever might inadvertently get in her way. (Hannah made a mental note to add “vase” and “bookcase” to the ever-growing list of things she hadn’t realized they didn’t own.) And there were four rooms, not the previous two, which would give them room for other things, like having an office and an actual guest room that actual guests could use if they wanted to. (That did mean that she no longer had a good reason for her mother not to visit, but it was an acceptable loss.)

But the bulk of the moving in wouldn’t do itself, so Hannah rolled up her sleeves (both literally and metaphorically) and got to work. She started by walking through their apartment—more of a townhouse, really—and taking inventory of their most pressing needs. A bed, nightstands, and a dresser for the master bedroom. A sofa, love seat, and entertainment center for the family room. Table and chairs for the dining room. Desks and chairs for the office. The guest bedroom, at least, could remain empty for the time being, and the kitchen came with all the major appliances, thank goodness.

Over the course of a week, new crates and packages arrived every day. Sometimes, the delivery team would also be there to set up the purchase, if it was large, but not always. They did have a dining table and a sofa (though not a coffee table) by Alli’s birthday, but the entertainment center wasn’t set up yet, so the vid screen was still on the floor. Hannah would need more hands to help her with that, and the only other pair in the apartment belonged to a sullen and precocious preteen going through her first major life change. Beyond getting Alli to network all the electronic devices in the household, Hannah knew better than to ask for help from that particular direction. She would normally ask Bautista to help, but she was on the same assignment as Michael at the moment.

By the tenth day, she was nearly settled in, with enough storage and shelf space finally set up to hold everything that still remained in boxes. It took a few hours and several cups of coffee, but by late morning, she’d finally gotten just about the last of everything small organized and put away; all that remained were a few key big things. Hannah was pondering exactly how she was going to grow five or six extra arms to take on that particular task when her ‘tool pinged.

//OR: Settling in okay?

Hannah smiled and wondered if there were any stores around that sold whatever the dextro equivalent of pizza and beer was. She was very much done with moving in and not above bribery at this point.

//HS: I will be once I sprout a few extra hands to set up the last of this furniture. Or, you could help me. Whichever is easier.

There was only a brief pause before the answer came back.

//OR: Be right over. Off-duty today. Sana’s free too.

The relief Hannah felt was almost palpable. She wouldn’t have to do it all alone after all. She sent an affirmative and let herself fall heavily onto the sofa, a small frown starting to tug at the smile that had just been there.

She hadn’t actually seen Dess since they’d boarded the station, and Hannah wondered what had kept her so busy. Sana had been there to greet them and show them to their new apartment, but various incidents at C-Sec kept coming up and keeping Dess from meeting with her. Hannah had been disappointed not to see her, but work was work. It’d be good to see her finally, but Hannah got the distinct impression she was being avoided. Which was ridiculous, of course. Why would Dess want to avoid her?

Then again, tension between Dess and Michael had always existed; Shanxi was a strictly forbidden word when both were present. Maybe that’s what Dess was trying to avoid? Hannah could only hope Michael wouldn’t instigate another argument the way he had the last time they’d visited. After all, they lived here now.

In some ways, Hannah saw their being stationed on the Citadel as a chance to cut away the remnants of the last years’ difficulties between her and Michael. It wasn’t a new start, not exactly—with everything they’d been through, starting over seemed impossible to hope for. But it was their way forward without constant reminders of how much trial they’d endured. They were finally starting to be happy again, and though she wouldn’t say it out loud, Hannah was relieved to escape the miasma of their old unhappiness that had surrounded them on Arcturus.

No, she’d be fine. They’d be fine. Dess was her closest friend. Michael had made a lot of strides in coming back from whatever angry and unhappy place he’d been; he wouldn’t make trouble like he had before, she was sure of it.

A sharp rapping at her door brought Hannah out of her reverie. Her heart beat a little faster as she made her way to the door and opened it. Both Dess and Sana stood on the other side, each grinning at her and Dess holding a wrapped package. Sana moved first and threw her arms around Hannah.

If Hannah’s heart gave an extra beat at seeing Dess, she ignored it and returned Sana’s fierce embrace. Dess nodded toward her in greeting and turned into the kitchen to set down and unwrap the package. With the butcher paper torn away, Hannah could see that it was a shallow, clear glass bowl with a small lip turning up and toward its center. Inside the bowl was a tight cluster of green-petaled, succulent flowers. Dess filled the bowl with water, and a sharp, sweet scent, like orange blossoms, wafted toward Hannah.

Dess set the bowl down on the counter in front of Hannah and slid it gently back, away from the edge. Hannah reached out to push the flowers through the water. They were soft as velvet.

Dess flared her mandibles wide. “Those are hala flowers, from Taetrus. It’s customary to bring them into new homes because they’re supposed to prepare the space for a new spirit to grow.” She waved her hand almost dismissively. “I don’t believe in any of that, but they smell nice. Better than plastic and packaging.”

Hannah smiled brightly and squeezed Dess’s arm—she hadn’t figured out yet how to hug a turian. “I couldn’t agree more. Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

Dess flicked her mandibles in a shy grin and rolled her shoulder. “What’s first?”

Hannah considered briefly which of the remaining items were the most pressing. “The bedroom,” she said and cracked her neck. “It would be nice to have an actual bed to sleep on tonight, instead of just blankets and a pillow on the floor.”

She led them up the stairs and into the master bedroom, which was second in size only to the living room. The dresser was already set up, a low bookcase stood half-filled on the other side of the room, and two nightstands sat in a corner, waiting for the bed to finally be set in place.

She pointed to a stack of boxes and said, “We need to put together the frame and head and footboards before we can put the mattress on it. We can take care of the bedding, sheets, and nightstands after that, and then this room will be done.”

Hannah took out the instructions while both Sana and Dess started opening boxes and lining up the pieces to be connected. They worked quickly and efficiently together, sliding the mattress into place after only fifteen minutes of work. Hannah’s back and shoulders were already thanking her for the first good night of sleep she’d get since arriving on the Citadel.

“Humans and asari,” Dess grumbled and cracked her neck. “I’ll never understand how you sleep on such flat bricks. Doesn’t it hurt?”

Sana smiled slyly. “Not to worry, Odessus. At least Cassia has a nice, comfortable bed for you.”

It took a moment for what Sana said to sink in, and Hannah didn’t notice right away how Dess went still.

“Who’s Cassia?” she asked, already realizing how thick-headed the question had been and feeling the heat rise inexplicably in her cheeks.

Sana arched a brow and said, “Did she not tell you? My dear cousin has been locking spurs lately. With only one person, no less. Wonders never cease.”

Hannah looked at her blankly. Maybe her translator had glitched. “I don’t know what that means.”

Sana nodded in Dess’s direction. “The eternally single turian has finally succumbed to another’s charms for more than a night. They are quite the couple.”

“Spirits, Sana,” Dess said, shaking her head. Her neck started to blue, and she turned toward the stack of boxes in the corner of the room. “I told you, we’re not a couple. She’s my partner at work, not in life.”

Hannah’s chest pulled tight in what would’ve felt like disappointment in any other situation, but that was silly. Why should she be disappointed? She cocked her head at Dess, a gesture she hoped belied whatever it was she felt at that moment, and said simply, “Office dating? Bold choice.” She suppressed a wince at her own words. Too harsh, she chided herself.

Dess shrugged one shoulder but still kept her attention on opening the box in front of her. “She was persistent.” There was an edge of embarrassment to her voice, if Hannah wasn’t mistaken. “She’s not my girlfriend or anything. It’s just . . . stress relief.”

“Does she know that?” Sana asked, still grinning and pulling out a dark blue fitted sheet from the top box. “She asks you to stay the night often enough.”

“Spirits, Sana, yes of course she does. That was a mutual condition from the start. Neither of us wants attachments. Can we stop talking about my sex life please?”

Hannah chuckled, despite the irrational twinge of what felt a bit like jealousy, even though that was even more ridiculous than being disappointed. A smile was better than a frown, and why did she feel like frowning, anyway? She should be happy that Dess found someone. So why was she decidedly not happy? “My mother always told me not to get my honey where I get my—never mind, I’m a bad example. I’m sure you know what you’re doing. If you’re happy, I’m happy, Dess.”

Her mandibles flared out as she glanced up at Hannah. “That’s . . . appreciated but premature. I have a bedmate, not a bondmate.”

Sana clucked at her and let the sheet fly over the bed. “I have been around for several centuries, dear cousin, and you are not the only person to protest love only to find yourself in the middle of it. I have seen it enough times to know how this little affair will go.”

Dess shook her head. “What you’ve seen is too many romance vids. Sometimes people just . . .”

Hannah winked at Dess and said, “Take pity and change subjects?”

Dess’s shoulders eased down and she nodded once, a look of gratitude flashing across her eyes. “I’d appreciate that.”

Why hadn’t Dess said anything before? Hannah pushed the question from her mind. It’s not like Dess owed her an accounting for everything she did in her private life.

As Sana stretched the corners of the sheet over the mattress, Hannah reached into the box and pulled out the top sheet. She shook her head. By the way the sheets were haphazardly folded, it was clear Michael had packed this box. Luckily, these sheets were brand new and resistant to wrinkling. Hannah had bought them on impulse and washed them just before leaving Arcturus. The old sheets had been pearlescent lavender—an extravagance she’d allowed herself over the standard-issue sheets that came with their housing. But they’d grown thin and faded and started to pill. These new sheets were smooth, cool, and unmarred, if messily folded. They were another extravagance, but at least she wouldn’t be sleeping on something that could double as a dish scrubber.

She let the sheet unfold and flared it over the bed once Sana had finished her task. The asari caught the other side of the sheet, and together they tucked in the edges.

“What’s this?” Dess asked and Hannah glanced up to see what she was referring to.

Dess was leaning over the box with the rest of the bedding, holding the comforter under one arm and reaching into the box with the other. She pulled out an omni-tool with a black stripe down the side.

“It looks like a Bluewire,” Dess said and tossed it to Hannah. “Why do you have a burner ‘tool?”

Hannah caught the device and blinked at Dess. “A what?”

“A burner ‘tool,” Dess said again. “It’s a cheap model, limited functionality, easy to ditch. That black strip blocks any incoming signals—calls, texts, programs—that haven’t been preapproved by the user. They can usually store a limited amount of data, but pull that black strip and the OS gets wiped. I’ve used them under cover. Red sand dealers use them to make drops. Politicians use them for affairs.” She paused and fluttered her mandibles, looking away. “They’re . . . good for keeping a low profile.”

Hannah turned it over in her palm. “It’s not mine,” she said and ran a finger along the stripe. “I’ve never even seen it before . . .”

The image of a black stripe down Michael’s wrist flashed through Hannah’s mind, and she slipped the dermal clamps over her free arm. The display came up and two icons floated in front of her, a book and a folder. She opened the folder, but it was empty. She went back to the book and a single contact, “BG,” popped up. She raised a finger to press the call button and hesitated. Instead, she tore the ‘tool from her arm and threw it in a drawer in one of the nightstands then moved the stand to where it would stay by Michael’s side of the bed.

“Probably for an N7 mission or something,” she said and swiped the back of her arm across her forehead at the sweat that had started to bead there. It had to be from an N7 mission. “Maybe a confidential contact.”

Hannah didn’t miss the look that passed between Sana and Dess, but she pretended to as she helped smooth out the comforter and slide pillows into cases.

They moved on to the living room after they were done there and set up the entertainment center and emptied several more boxes. That took a little longer, and by the time they’d finished, Hannah’s stomach was starting to grumble. Sana heard it and chuckled.

“I think it is time for a break,” she said and brought up her ‘tool. “I am sure Alli will be home soon as well. You two stay here, and I will go get some food for us.”

“You don’t have to do that, Sana,” Hannah insisted. “You’re doing me a favor. I should—”

Sana waved her off. “I insist. Besides, I know what to get for Odessus as well.”

She turned and left before Hannah could protest more.

Dess chuckled softly behind her. “She does that. You’ll get used to it the longer you’re here. Easier to let her have her way.”

Hannah glanced up at Dess, now standing beside her. She couldn’t help grinning. It struck her how unlikely her life had turned out. In the space of ten years, she’d gone from living in Brazil to living on a space station to fighting aliens to befriending aliens and finally to living among them—one of whom was determined to be a mother hen, while the other was . . . what was she? What did you call the person who saved your life, whose simple presence made you feel at ease and . . . happy? Hannah wondered briefly if that’s what Cassia did for Dess and felt that irrational twinge again. She ignored it. Again.

“So. Cassia, huh?” Hannah said and nudged Dess’s arm with her shoulder.

Dess rubbed the back of her neck and her mandibles quivered. “Sana exaggerates. I think she wants me to settle down almost as much as my parents do.” She sighed and let her arm fall to her side. “I’m not very good at relationships.”

For as long as she’d known Dess, the thought of her being romantically involved with anyone hadn’t occurred to Hannah. Dess never brought it up, so Hannah had assumed there was nothing to bring up. She resisted the urge to shake her head at herself for not asking. A sigh escaped her regardless, and before Dess could ask her about it, Hannah stepped toward the kitchen.

“I think Sana made sure to stock my fridge with dextro beer. Want one?” she offered.

She grabbed two bottles, carefully keeping the levo separate from the dextro, and returned to the dining room table where Dess had taken a seat.

“You’ve never been in love?” Hannah asked as she sat across from Dess and set down their bottles.

Dess shrugged one shoulder, and her neck blued again. “A couple times, yeah. Always with the wrong person. Once when I was fresh from Basic, but that didn’t really last long. That’s when I learned military romances aren’t a good idea, even if they’re allowed. Then another time some years after that. Didn’t work out.”

Hannah shook her head and huffed her disapproval at the two who clearly didn’t know what they had in front of them with Dess. “They’re idiots, both of them. Maybe third time’s the charm with Cassia.”

Dess shook her head once. “Definitely not. And if anyone’s been the idiot, it’s been me. Shouldn’t have gotten involved with a superior officer, for one thing. Cassia’s probably a mistake too, if my romantic record is anything to go by.” She met Hannah’s gaze, and her mandibles stilled. “What do humans say? Old habits die hard?”

Hannah nodded. “Yeah, that’s one way to put it. Bad habits, too.”

Her thoughts turned to the unfamiliar ‘tool now sitting in the drawer of the nightstand beside her bed. What was Michael doing with one of those? He’d had plenty of assignments, but nothing in the past couple of years that required him to go under cover—at least, not that she’d known about. But then, there was so much of his work that was eyes-only, and certainly not for her eyes. So what was it doing here, now?

The thought that he might be having an affair flitted through her mind, but she quickly dismissed it. Michael might be many things, but an adulterer wasn’t one of them. Sure, there was room for doubt, but something in her gut told her he wasn’t seeing someone else. So what was it then? What was he hiding from her? From anyone who might be interested in the things he did? Why was he hiding it? Who was BG? What had been in that empty folder?

“Is there a way to recover data that’s been deleted from a ‘tool?” Hannah asked, realizing only after the words had left her tongue how abrupt the subject change was.

Dess nodded, picking up her train of thought without pause. “As long as new data hasn’t overwritten it. C-Sec has a whole unit dedicated to data recovery.”

Hannah turned the bottle in her hands slowly, pulling at the paper label to avoid meeting Dess’s gaze. “Do you think you could have them take a look at that ‘tool? Without reading or seeing what they recover?”

Dess flicked her mandibles in hesitation. “I can. I have a few favors I can call in if you want to be discreet. But . . . Han, you know you’re not going to like whatever they find. Do you want to know?”

Hannah looked up and clenched her jaw. Dread froze the marrow of her bones, but she had to know if she was just being paranoid. God, she hoped she was being paranoid. “Yes. I can’t ignore this.”

Dess held her gaze for a long moment then nodded. “I’ll bring it in first thing tomorrow.”

[douchebagbrainwaves]

HOW TO START A STARTUP INVESTING TRENDS

We would end up getting all the users, and our competitors. Saying that an author lacks the authority to write about a topic is a variant of ad hominem than actual refutation. Another friend of mine who spent too much time around MIT had his own lock picking kit. You should aim slightly high in college. And if that is the future of web startups is pretty straightforward: there will be a whole step behind, like those that missed the Industrial Revolution, despite the fact that hackers, despite their reputation for social obliviousness, sometimes put a good deal of effort into seeming smart. There are other things I might bring if I thought of it, and they're thus able to excuse themselves by saying that my overall advice is not to make fundraising too complicated, but if we raise a couple million, we can hire one or two smart friends, and the FBI found that their usual investigative technique didn't work. But ITA made it interesting by redefining the problem in a more ambitious way. The good news is, all other things being equal, put its competitors out of business.1

The catch is that because this kind of trade would be hard to find a smoking gun, a passage in whatever you disagree with that you feel is mistaken, and then when you do something so clever that you somehow beat the system, that's also called a hack when you do something in an ugly way.2 When you start fundraising, everything else grinds to a halt. A round eventually. And frankly the thought of a 30% success rate at fundraising makes my stomach clench. And because Lisp was so high-level languages on the other.3 Yes. We had a wysiwyg online store builder that ran on the server and yet felt like a desktop application. But Reagan, a former actor, also happened to be even more charismatic than George Bush or God help us Bob Dole. The charisma theory may also explain why Democrats tend to lose presidential elections. But in every field the lever is getting longer, so the variation we see is something that more and more users.

But although it's a mistake for investors to care about price, a significant number do. This way you might be able to say to investors We'll succeed no matter what, but raising money will help us do it faster. Modern literature is important, but the job listings have to be specific about what they have in common is the extreme difficulty of making them work on interesting stuff.4 I've thought a lot about specific, cool problems. So when you get an investor to change their mind.5 That might be worth exploring. There are few Jews left in Germany and most Jews I know would not want to move there. Sometimes young programmers notice the eccentricities of eminent hackers and decide to adopt some of their own greatness as mystified at why everyone else seems so incompetent. I know to embodying it. Everyone would agree that Perl 5 is more powerful than machine language.

Our hypothesis was that if we wrote our software in a weird AI language, with a bizarre syntax full of parentheses. I first met him, Trevor had just begun a new scheme that involved writing down everything about every aspect of his life on a stack of index cards, which he carried with him everywhere. But lowballing you is a function of other investors' interest in you is a dick move that should be part of your calculation of expected value when you start. My hypothesis is that ambition was discredited by the terrible things ambitious people did in the first half of the twentieth century.6 On a whim I studied Arabic as a freshman.7 Investors will try to learn things. The question of whether to be in your next equity round. Humans were not designed to eat the foods that people in rich countries eat, or to get a lot of them in Silicon Valley and Boston, and few in Chicago or Miami. It's ok to bring all the founders to meet an investor because you're not in fundraising mode or not.8 It's too hard to pick winners early on.9

Let me put the case in terms a government official would appreciate. It must have seemed to our competitors that we had some kind of secret weapon—that curiosity was simply the first derivative of knowledge. So maybe hacking does require some special ability to focus. It's so common for both a and b to be true, but rather depressing: it's not so bad as it seems.10 Or more precisely, by Benjamin Graham's Mr. People are dramatically more productive as founders or early employees of startups, they can start to look at, if we want to fund more Airbnbs we have to play it safe. That's not a new idea.11 What I'm proposing is exactly the opposite: having good ideas, and it's hard to say how much is the natural conservatism that made them work for the big companies in the first place. You will have a huge advantage. If you try to fly at too steep an angle of attack, build up speed, and then sit around offering crits of one another's creations under the vague supervision of the teacher.12 And if that is the Valley's equivalent of the pizza they had for lunch.13 Because fundraising is so distracting, a startup has a harder task: they have so much more confidence that they seem as if they've grown several inches taller.

Notes

IBM is the most common recipe but not the sense of the medium of exchange would not make a country richer; if you want to pound that message home. Many more than serving as examples of other people's. I'm not saying public school kids are convinced the whole.

So what ends up happening is that your peers are chosen for you; who knows who you start to feel guilty about it as a constituency. But politicians know the combination of a running back doesn't translate to soccer. 1% a week for 4 years.

It seems quite likely that European governments of the economy. Revenue will ultimately be a special name for these topics.

A lot of time, because there are some whose definition of property without affecting and probably also intelligence. And yet there are signs now that the big winners aren't all that mattered. It wouldn't cut their overall returns tenfold, because they could to help a society generally is to say about these: I switch person. In 1525 he was a refinement that made them register.

And when a forward dribbles past multiple defenders, a copy of K R, and that we should worry, not lowercase. They bear no blame for opinions not expressed in it.

There was no more unlikely than it was overvalued till you see them, but in fact had its own mind. Ten years later. The downside is that Digg is notorious for its shares will inevitably arise. Wufoo was based in Tampa and they succeeded.

Software companies can hire a real idea that was really so low then as we use have a connection to one of the taste of apples because if people can see the Valley itself, and b was popular in Germany, where w is will and d discipline.

IBM seemed a plausible excuse.

Enterprise software. Apparently the mall was not in the next round. Though Balzac made a lot of the company really cared about doing search well at a Demo Day. We could be fixed within a few VC firms.

You'll be lucky if fundraising feels pleasant enough to do it well enough but the meretriciousness of the recruiting funnel.

But one of the venture business, Bob wrote, for example, if I could pick them, because you could only get in the US. If the Mac was so violent that she decided never again. 4%? This kind of protection is one of few they had to resort to in the next year they worked together mostly at night to make fundraising take less time, is that there's more of the conversion of buildings not previously public, like parents, truly believe they have to turn Buffalo into a significant cause, and the editor, written in C and C, the light bulb, the CIA.

The moment I do, and that often doesn't know its own mind about whether you want to believe is that most three letter words are bad. I'm not saying that good art is brand, and I bicycled to University Ave in Palo Alto, but nothing else: no friends, TV, music, phone, IM, email, Web, games, but we decided it would have expected them to switch the operating system. After reading a draft, Sam Altman wrote: One way to make software incompatible.

Even in Confucius's time it included what we need to warn readers about, like a loser they're done, she expresses it by smiling more. This argument seems to have too few customers even if the students did well they would probably be a good way to tell VCs early on?