#not to be corny but all that matters is love and connection. your children miss you and have 6 different mental illnesses and premature

[7jdg6]

🦉Positivity owl reporting for duty! This was sent by a friend who wants you to smile as much as your posts make them smile. Please list five things that make you unique, four things you are super passionate about and why, OR three of your favorite memories. Feel free to send the owl to those who you feel deserve to smile🦉

Fuck it!! Ummm:

1. I’m 5’10” and enjoy wearing platform boots, idc. I will never blend in no matter how hard I have tried.

2. I am surrounded by cornfields, dairy’s, cotton, and dirt. My small “city” hosts an annual cotton parade every year. It’s the biggest event of the season, right behind the Christmas Parade. Numerous farming tractors and huge agricultural devices participate in the parades, as well as the garbage truck.

3. I’m an insomniac and I have an awful sleeping schedule, as well as an obsession with coffee and energy drinks. I used to be afraid of falling asleep because I would have intense nightmares of entities and being possessed. I’ve had sleep paralysis in which my history of self harm resurfaced in. It was very painful.

4. I used to read a lot when I was younger; I could finish a book within a day if uninterrupted. If I wasn’t disassociating or daydreaming, I was reading or listening to music. I used everything from art to smut to escape my tumultuous existence. These days, I’m more self-aware and I’m actually trying to live my life. However, I have a pile of books I’ve been meaning to read…

5. I am the only one in my family to dress “alternatively” and I stick out like a sore thumb. Ive always dressed the way I wanted and was even nominated for best dressed in high school. I lost that to someone who was actually very stylish.

As for my Passions:

1. I am extremely passionate about creating art. Art has saved my life in so many ways and I know many people can identify with that. I have sacrificed many things for my art and it’s the only thing I have in my miserable pathetic existence that gives me purpose. The number one person I create art for is myself. I owe this to my inner child.

2. I love connecting with people through my art. The media I consumed when I was younger helped distract me from all of the horrors of my reality. It inspired me to make my own stories. If the things that I make is able to replicate that very same feeling in other people, then I would have come full circle.

3. I am a hopeless romantic, I know that sound corny as fuuuqqqqq but it’s true. There are too many relationships that I’ve witnessed in my short life that fill me with dread and hopelessness. If I had to chose between what was offered and being alone forever, I’d die touch-starved but content. But if I had the opportunity to love someone and to be loved, unconditionally, passionately, and deeply, I’d crawl on my hands and knees for you. I’d wash your feet with my hair. I’d write you poetry and paint you, give you flowers whenever I could, I’d eat everything you are, all the fat and cartilage and toughness. You are water to my dry mouth. I LOVE YOU MORE THAN JESUS.

4. I am passionate about the unconventional, the contradictions, the unpalatable, the uncomfortable. Things that people usually have a hard time existing in. I don’t want to sound like some pretentious, edgelord jackass, but my art and my interests surround thoughts of self harm, deprivation, discipline and pain. Self harm can exist as depriving yourself of food, of cleanliness, of love, of touch, etc. I am just so full of pain!!! I don’t know how Jesus doesnt hate his father!!!

Might as well discuss the memories:

1. One of my favorite memories are of my friends in the eighth grade. I had the most fun I had ever had with those two. One of them had passed over 5 years ago and the other is a mother to 3 children. I can still hear their laughs. Gone like tears in the rain.

2. I guess it’s more like a feeling then a memory, but I miss the excitement I used to get as a kid. I would wake up to my mom cleaning and the front door open. It would be fall then, and the fresh cool air would deep in as I logged into my laptop to watch ledamonsterbunny. I would cut and dye my hair with my mom and watch YouTube videos in class with my friends. I haven’t had a crush since middle school. I do not miss the hormones though, nasty stuff. I was very unwell.

3. I miss being able to go shopping with my Grandma. I miss hanging out with her. I look at all of the videos I took of her and still feel like she was never real. I do dream of her from time to time! AND! I’ve just recently found a ring of hers that I thought I lost forever!!! She’s a part of my favorite memories, along with my Grampa making snow cones for me and my siblings and cousins.

[cinnaminsvga]

intermission • ii | moonblind

→ summary: When the love letter you wrote and submitted as an assignment is leaked to the entirety of your university, it becomes a race against time to dispel rumours and convince the seven suspected muses of the poem that they aren’t the subject before anyone realises that you are the author. Easy, right? Well… maybe not as easy as you think.

→ pairing: bts x reader (feat. jimin) → genre: college!au, crack, fluff, angst → warnings: exhibitionism, but not in a sexual way. more like in a public disturbance way. aka streaking.  → words: 4.4K → a/n: another drabble in between chapters to feed your soul!! this time, we’ll get to see some backstory to jihope before we dive into their full length chapter. and omo? is that angst i see? uh oh! 

— • masterlist | prev | intermission ii | next • —

–– 3 years ago ––

Jimin’s third Pop-Tart of the evening has just gone down his gullet when Hoseok knocks excitedly outside his bedroom window. Despite Jimin living on the second floor, it seems that the older boy had chosen to climb the precariously skinny camphor tree that connects their balconies in order to access his room. Regardless, Jimin slides open the window without another word while making sure to hide the box of sugary toaster pastries away from his intruder’s view.

Hoseok jumps down from the ledge, his recently dyed auburn hair awkwardly pasting itself to his forehead with sweat. He smiles brightly at Jimin, and extends his arms forward where he reveals a crumpled envelope clutched tightly in his fists.

Jimin lets out a loud burp, ignoring Hoseok’s disgusted grimace. “Worm. You stole Mister Sun’s porn subscription again?”

“No, you fucking idiot––” Hoseok whines, flopping onto Jimin’s unmade bed. He unfurls the previously ripped apart envelope before Jimin, dumping dozens of papers and glossy brochures all over his Anpanman bedsheets. “Look what I just got from the mail!”

Jimin stands up from his table, stepping towards Hoseok until he can make out the bright red seal of their local university on one of the crisp parchment papers. His heart races then, because there can only be one thing this letter could be about––and he hopes to god that it’s good news for the both of them.

Hoseok waits for his reaction, watches with glee as Jimin’s face slowly breaks into a blinding grin, his body radiating gladness for his dearest friend. He drops the paper to the floor before barrelling towards Hoseok, trapping him in a bear hug.

“Holy shit, hyung! You did it! You got in!” Jimin hollers, not caring to lower his volume despite knowing that his parents would surely scold him for the racket. How could he bare to kill his excitement? Especially when his best friend had just gotten the best news of his life?

Hoseok giggles, tapping Jimin’s shoulder to let him up a little. “Ooph, ease up on my windpipes, brat. It would be shit if you killed me before I even got to go to my first college party.”

“Not on my watch, you aren’t,” Jimin replies, getting off him but nonetheless keeping his arms wrapped gently around his shoulders. “You promised you’d take me with you.”

“Who said anything about me letting a baby like you drink?” Hoseok laughs, voice drunk on happiness. He leans into Jimin, watching the younger leaf through the rest of the papers as he sighs contentedly.

“But seriously, this is amazing! I always knew you could do it, hyung,” Jimin says, positively glowing with warmth. He speaks as if he wants to say something more, but he doesn’t. Hoseok doesn’t push (because he never does.)

“Yeah, well. I couldn’t have done it without my special cheerleader, my Jiminie,” he says sweetly. Jimin’s eyes crinkle from the force of his smile, nudging his friend with his knee as he continues to peruse the acceptance letter.

“Oh, shut up. No need to be corny with me. We both know that you’ve always been the better da––” Jimin freezes suddenly, when he gets to a particular piece of paper. His pupils are trained onto the wall of text, turning contemplative as he scans through it like his eyes are afraid to believe what they are seeing.

Hoseok sits upright, concerned. “Jiminie? You okay there?”

Jimin opens his mouth. Closes it. Blinks rapidly like he has spots in his vision. Then, he wordlessly shows him the paper that he was holding, allowing Hoseok to read what caused Jimin to go silent with shock.

Hoseok stares and he stares at the page, not quite getting it. “What am I supposed to be looking at?” he asks.

Jimin points to the bottom of the paper, where it states the tuition and scholarship that Hoseok had earned. He turns to look back at him, still confused, when Jimin’s finger lowers until it gets to the part where he finally understands.

“Oh,” he says, quietly. Perhaps, even a little guiltily too.

“Hyung,” Jimin murmurs, smoothing the paper and gently laying it to the bed. He turns to him, an indecipherable emotion flitting through his face. Hoseok swallows nervously. “You applied to become an English major?”

Sweat begins to build behind Hoseok’s neck. “Well––”

“No, that can’t be right. Maybe you got the wrong letter?” Jimin questions, turning the papers over to look for the mistake that had never been made. He grabs the torn envelope, reading the stark black ink stating “Jung Hoseok” and his home address of 18 years, and yet he still cannot quite believe it. He faces Hoseok, and asks, “Did you get rejected?”

Hoseok stares, wide-eyed, unsure on how to tell his best friend that he had been lying to him for months now. In his bliss-induced haze, he had forgotten all about the secret he had been harboring from him, how he had never applied for the degree that they both promised to apply for when they had been children. How could he face Park Jimin, when he knew that was both a liar and a coward?

Hoseok replies, so softly that Jimin almost misses it, “No. I didn’t get rejected.”

“Then? Why were you put into the English program? How do you explain that?” Hoseok hates the way that Jimin’s voice rises at the end, because he knows it only becomes like that when he can feel something is wrong. He knows that he’s about to be disappointed, betrayed.

“Jimin––”

“Hoseok-hyung, you’re literally one of the country’s best upcoming dancers. You’ve won countless national dance competitions. Why would they––” Jimin stammers, Adam’s apple bobbing as he tries to make sense of it all. “Hyung, what happened?”

Hoseok doesn’t know what to say. No, he does know what to say, but he doesn’t know how to say it. It’ll hurt, but not as much as it’ll probably hurt the only person who has ever believed in him. Hoseok is forced to look away, because there isn’t any other way to do this, not when he can see expectant eyes hoping for a lie he can never utter.

“I never applied for the dance program,” he says, finally. Rips the band-aid in one swoop, and waits for the blood to flow.

As expected, the pain is instantaneous, because Jimin’s never known how else to be. It would have been better if he had shouted, or pushed him––done something, because at least Hoseok would be giving him something to act upon. Instead, all he does is asks, in a whisper, “Why would you lie to me?”

“You wouldn’t have understood,” Hoseok says, but his argument is weak, even to his own ears.

“And what makes you think that when I found out eventually, I would have understood it better than if I had known before?” Jimin counters, lips trembling already.

Hoseok reels back, mouth going slack because honestly, he just doesn’t know. He isn’t thinking, and he certainly wasn’t thinking then. This all would have been easier if he had just learned to keep his big mouth shut––

Or perhaps, if he hadn’t lied in the first place.

“No, that’s not what I meant––”

“Then what did you think was going to happen, huh?” Jimin accuses, choking up as he tries to keep tears at bay. Hoseok senses the signs before he sees it, senses the oncoming waves of dejection that is sure to come. In another time, he would have been the one to comfort him during Jimin’s lows; to think that he has now learned how it feels to be on the other side of the equation.

Hoseok licks his lips. “I-I didn’t think––”

“Typical,” Jimin says, bitterly. Hoseok flinches, having never heard him use this tone of voice on him before. Jimin gives him no time to recover. “Of course you didn’t think. Why on earth would my opinion matter? Did you really think I would’ve just ditched you if you had told me earlier?”

“No, but––”

“You made me think that we had an agreement with each other. You made me think that we would become the country’s best pair of dancers together. Together, hyung,” Jimin repeats, hurt dripping from every word.

“Jimin, we both know that was a promise we made when we were children. There’s no way we would ever have become better than everyone else––dancing our way to success has always been a foolish dream, and we’re both better off not pursuing it.” Hoseok says smoothly, his thoughts tumbling out through his lips like butter because he’s been repeating the same excuse to himself ever since he had submitted his university application. He knows, his parents know, and his teachers know that there is no future for him when it comes to dancing––it’s called a dream for a reason, after all. 

The sooner that he and Jimin get their heads around this fact, the better.

“I can’t - no, I refuse to believe that you actually think that way. Not when,” Jimin inhales, small fists clenched so tightly that they tremble by his thighs. “Not when I’ve seen how you dance. You can’t fucking tell me that you don’t love the way the music pumps through your veins, and how the energy of the crowd is like no other drug in the world. I’ve seen the way you talk about dance, hyung. You can’t lie to me.”

It’s true. He can’t lie. But damn, no one can stop him from trying.

“Jimin, I know this is hard to come to terms with, and I know you deserve more than a shitty apology.”

“Save it,” Jimin hisses, standing up from the bed. He marches over to the window, dragging the glass open and allowing the cold night breeze to chill the small bedroom. The papers flutter about lightly, almost mockingly.

“Get out of my house. We’ll talk again when I’ve cooled down.” Jimin says, throat tight with feelings left unsaid. Hoseok complies, jumping to the extended branch without another look back. He never thinks to ask for forgiveness, and Jimin isn’t sure if he would’ve given it to him, anyway.

Jimin shuts the window, and the room is silent once more. He shoves the papers off of his bed, sweeping them angrily under the rug for him to deal with later. For now, he needs to do something else to take his mind off of everything that just happened.

He flips his phone on, scrolling through his measly contact list until he gets to one of the latest additions in his roster. He never once thought that he’d resort to calling this person in particular. Then again, his stupid ass decided to become dependent on one person, so what else is he supposed to do?

The phone rings only twice before he picks up.

“‘Sup,” is what Taehyung’s deep voice greets him. Beyond the static, Jimin can hear the distant sound of Yoshi’s cheery voice in the background.

“Hey. You busy?” Jimin asks, fiddling with the ends of his sweater nervously. Wait, why is he nervous? Taehyung is the weird new kid that moved in just a few weeks ago. Surely, the stranger in the neighborhood should be the one sweating bullets right now?

“Not in particular. Why?” The distinct tune of game over music plays shortly after, and Taehyung curses quietly under his breath. A loud clacking sound follows after, and Jimin guesses that the other boy had thrown his controller away in disgruntlement. “Well. I’m definitely free now. You need something?”

“Well…” Jimin hesitates, unsure of what to say. That he had potentially lost the only friend that he’s ever had and now he needs a replacement, asap? Yeah, right.

Taehyung beats him to the punch. “You need a friend or something? You feelin’ lonely?” he asks plainly.

Jimin chokes on his spit. “N-no…” he mutters, pouting at being found out so easily.

Taehyung laughs, not unkindly. “Don’t worry, dude. I was just messing with ya. I know you and that Jung kid are pretty tight. He must be busy with college stuff now, right? He’s a year older than us, if I remember correctly.”

“Y-yeah. He is. I was just bored, is all…”

“Sweet.” Jimin can hear him grin through the speaker. “Meet ya in front of your house in just a sec.”

Just as Jimin is about to ask what he plans on doing, Taehyung ends the call abruptly. “Rude,” he says, huffing slightly. Well, guess he has no choice but to search for some pants to wear before making his way to his front door. (Has he been naked this entire time? That’s up to you to decide.)

It doesn’t take long for Taehyung to arrive, but Jimin does note of the way he is panting slightly when he finally reached his front lawn. He looks at him, concerned. “Hey dude. You okay? Why’re you so tired?”

Taehyung holds up a finger, back bent with his hands on his knees. “Ran,” is all he says, still struggling with his breath.

Jimin stares at him. “We literally live three houses away from each other.”

“We can’t all be Michael Phelps,” Taehyung retorts.

“He’s a swimmer.”

“Same thing. We all got lungs.”

Jimin snorts, patting him on the back. “Alright, Phelps. What were you planning on doing during this fine evening? I hope it has something to do with two fake IDs and maybe a couple of dollar bills.”

“What?” Taehyung gasps, staring at him in shock. “That’s the type of shit you do with Jung?”

“Nah. I was just messing with you. I only got a fake ID so I could vote.” he jokes.

“Same,” he replies without missing a beat. Jimin isn’t sure if he was joking. “But nah. I was planning on asking you to go out for a run with me. To let go of some steam, or whatever it is you jocks like to do for fun.”

“You want to go on a run? Dude, you literally almost died getting here.” Jimin points out.

Taehyung raises a finger. “Key word: almost.” He rifles through his short gym shorts (read: very very short shorts) for a moment, before dangling a pair of 80s-looking car keys at him. “I was thinking that you would do more of the running, while I drive beside you so I can keep you company.”

Jimin stares at him. Then, “Is this what you think healthy people do for fun?”

“Listen man. I ate rice with ketchup for dinner today so please don’t tease me.”

Jimin laughs, shaking his head. “You’re ridiculous.” he says, slapping the other boy on the shoulder. Taehyung hisses in pain, but is quick to hide it when Jimin finally fixes his gaze on him.

“So.”

“So?”

“Wanna go underage drinking?”

“Sounds fun, but I have a better idea,” Taehyung says, grabbing Jimin by the hand. If Jimin is startled by this near-stranger’s blatant invasion of his space, he doesn’t say it. Maybe because somehow, he knows that he can trust Taehyung with his life.

Well. Maybe not his life. Maybe his wifi password? Debatable. Still––

“What’s your idea, hotshot?” Jimin asks, but all Taehyung does is shoot him a boxy grin.

“Just keep walking, and follow me.”

Turns out, Taehyung’s idea isn’t all that bad.

Taehyung had found out from an older friend that there was an event being hosted by the nearby university at their open grounds that night. When they get there, hundreds of plastered university students are already milling about, so much so that no one seems to bat an eye that two high school kids were somehow making their way through the crowd and onto one of the makeshift bleachers.

“Everyone’s either too high or too drunk to care that we’re here,” Jimin notices, gazing at the surrounding “adults” as they clumsily found their way to their seats.

“Yeah. That’s just how old people are like all the time.” Taehyung hums, pushing off a young man and woman who both seem to be permanently sewn together by their lips. “Oops, guess these seats are free now!” he says cheerfully, patting the other space for Jimin.

Jimin can’t help staring at the large crowd, wondering if this is the crowd he’ll find himself in just a year’s time. “What is this event for, anyway?” It’s hard to tell, especially since there seems to be no signs of event coordination whatsoever. For all he knows, he could be a part of some cultish initiation or whatever.

“Oh, I don’t know. Some welcoming party to start the new semester? Who cares. We’re just here to observe,” Taehyung says, grabbing the popcorn bucket from another preoccupied couple in front of them. He offers some to Jimin, to which he politely declines. He shrugs his shoulders, popping ten of them into his mouth. “I mean, we only have a year left before we’re one of these braindead sacks of shit, so might as well have a head start and wreak a little havoc.”

“A year left, huh.” Jimin mutters to himself, brows furrowed. Taehyung pauses in his munching to observe his new friend, who is staring at the ground thoughtfully. In front of them, the sound of a cannon firing reverberates across the park, and the crowd jumps to their feet around them. Neither of them join the rest.

“You thinkin’ of something?” Taehyung shouts over the crowd, and Jimin can barely hear him. He shakes his head, ready to brush his concern aside, but thinks better of it. Why should he hide his feelings? He isn’t Hoseok, after all.

He shrugs his shoulders. “I don’t know, man. I just think I’m not cut out for this university life!” he yells, the crowd still going apeshit at whatever was happening up front. A man in a stereotypical toga overhears him, who turns to them in all his red face-painted glory.

“Bro! That was totally me in freshie year! Don’t worry, kid! We ALL want to die, and that’s what we call team spirit!” He hollers wildly, and a group of similarly dressed men beside him bellows back in agreement.

Taehyung laughs gleefully at their antics, while Jimin has to force a chuckle out just so the drunken toga-wearing troglodytes would look away from him so he can continue his spontaneous heart-to-heart session.

“Sorry. You were saying?” Taehyung asks, voice now at regular-ish speaking level now that the people around them have settled down.

“I was saying how I think I won’t be going to university. It’s just not the life for me, you know?” he says, and Jimin can admit that he was acting a bit bitter after what had just happened a few hours ago, but he wasn’t thinking sensibly right now. Or maybe, this is the most sensible that he’s been in his life.

Jimin doesn’t want to think too deeply about it, and luckily, Taehyung just gets it. He doesn’t pry, choosing instead to nod empathetically back at him and leaving it at that.

“That’s cool, dude. Maybe this can be your way of experiencing the uni life, at least one way or another.”

“Yeah,” Jimin says, chest hollow. He gazes to the front where a scantily clad cheerleader bats open a piñata filled with tampons instead of candy. Another piñata is filled with K-pop lenticular cards. The crowd goes nuts.

The two of them continue to watch the festivities unfold. Perhaps it is due to the lack of alcohol and other consumable vices in their systems, but they soon come to realize that this event is boring as hell. Everyone else seems to be having a good time, but Jimin cannot for the life of him fathom why watching five dudes sing the wrong lyrics to High School Musical is the definition of “a good time.”

Taehyung says it before he does. “Dude, this sucks.”

Jimin nods forlornly. “This sucks.”

Like the fiendish person that Jimin will soon come to know in the following years, Taehyung’s eyes glint with the unrestrained need to be a little shit. So, he offers Jimin an idea.

“Hey. You ever wanted to do a mildly illegal crime and get away with it?”

Jimin squints at him. “Not in particular. Why?”

Taehyung grins brightly. If Jimin didn’t know any better (which he didn’t, because he only met this kid a few weeks ago when his mother forced him to bring over some housewarming cupcakes to the new neighbors), he would have assumed that Taehyung is as angelic as they come. The type of person who sheltered abandoned puppies and volunteered at the local orphanages.

Oh, how wrong he was. Apparently, Taehyung is  the type of person to demand a newfound friend “take off your pants right now” without an ounce of shame. 

Like a sane person, Jimin refuses immediately.

Jimin tries again. “If you think I’m gonna drop my pants now and cause a scene to make you laugh, then you’ve got another thing coming.”

Taehyung tries again. “You and I both know this shit is boring as hell, and the only people with an ounce of artistic flare in their bodies is us, so why don’t you take one for the team and drop your pants?”

So Jimin stares into Taehyung’s eyes a little longer. They stay still, neither of them willing to back down. The raucous crowd around them is incognizant of the exchange happening right in front of them. Like many natural disasters, no one ever really sees it coming. Then:

“Why don’t you do it, then?”

“I’m not the one with the abs, am I?”

…

Somehow, that’s what gets Jimin.

You are walking back home from the nearby university event after having decided to leave early due to how unappealing the entire thing had been. You seriously regret letting your classmates pressure you into attending with them, since you know all of them had just wanted to sneak out for some underage drinking. You have never been into that sort of thing, and so you promise yourself to never go along with your friends’ harebrained schemes after this disaster.

You haven’t made it that far away from the open grounds, so you can still hear the deafening hoots of college students from where you stood. However, you are suddenly shocked by the sudden shrieks of terror, more striking than the previous ruckus with how absolutely terrified these screams sounded.

Curious, you turn to face where you had just been, craning your head for any signs of the source of the commotion. Your eyesight isn’t good enough to see that far, so you are quick to give up and shrug your shoulders. Must have been some weird performance by another group of college weirdos. What else is new?

You continue walking at a relaxed speed, not in a hurry to reach home when suddenly, you can hear the distant sound of bare feet slapping furiously against the pavement.

Having just watched a copious amount of unsolved murder documentaries the night before, you hasten your pace, almost ready to dash out of there when the footsteps start to grow louder and more distinct. Fully alarmed now, you are pretty much speed-walking by the time your would-be assailant seems to be inches away from you.

Daring a chance to look back, you let out a bloodcurdling scream as you see what appears to be a fully naked man running headfirst towards you. Your screech causes the man to yell back in surprise, and accidentally tripping all over himself and into the concrete. You wince at the sound of his nose cracking painfully against the sidewalk, but you have no chance to feel sorry for him because oh my god there was a literal naked man chasing after you!!!

But your stupid ass just HAD to interact with him, because you’re stupid and your head is made of air. Sorry, it be like that sometimes.

“Who the fuck are you? I’m going to kill you?” You say the last part like a question, because really, do you think you could kill a man? We already established that you’ve got an empty skull, so what the hell do you think you’d be able to do? Flail around like those inflatable balloon things outside car dealerships?

The man groans loudly, lifting his head up slowly from disorientation. Like you had guessed, his face is bloody where his nose had broken, but nothing else seems to be injured (but you can’t say the same for his brain, though.) He coughs, smearing his blood with his hand in a futile attempt to staunch the steady flow.

“Listen,” he begins, his voice sounding muffled due to the way his nostrils have pretty much collapsed into his face. You grimace at blood-shaped face print he had left on the sidewalk. “Sorry for spooking you. As much as I really appreciate death right now, you’ll have to redirect Satan to my doorstep for another time because I have to kill Kim Taehyung before I meet my maker.”

God, you are literally too tired to deal with this shit. “That doesn’t even make sense––”

He stands up all of a sudden, jumping to his full height with the grace of an Olympic runner. And by Olympic runner, you mean the ones from Ancient Greece when they’d compete all naked and oiled. Like this dude is. Except he’s all naked and bloodied.

You can feel the beginnings of a migraine starting to form. Hm... Maybe underage drinking is the answer. (It’s definitely not, but one can dream.)

He straightens up, nodding curtly at you. “Sorry, no time to explain. I must be on my way.” With one final salute, he sprints off, his toned legs carrying him farther and farther away until only the sheen of his pale ass can be seen from a distance. It twinkles, ever so gently under the moonlight.

“Wack,” you say.

And so, you went home.

The next day, on social media, the myth of the moon streaker makes its rounds. Everyone is wondering who it is, but no one seems to have ever seen that boy in their university before.

[+985, -23] omg… that was disgusting and inappropriate!! but… 10/10 would see again lol

[+759, -3] that ass though? it was beautiful… like the full moon… when will my boyfriend EVER

[+699, -1] lunar new year is officially MOVED to today… god bless that naked lil man. i love you.

[bluesfortheredj]

Modern Romance Chapter 30.

Excitement builds in my stomach as we make our way back to where it all began, our hands firmly linked together as we walk through the doors and into the main level where sits a huge fountain in the Turbine hall. We stand for a moment, staring at it with intrigue from our head on view of the installation, and out of the corner of my eye I see her raise her hand to the small yet oh so significant bump that’s hidden beneath her coat.

“Is everything alright?” I ask as I turn to face her.

“Everything’s perfect,” she smiles, meeting my loving gaze, “I just want them to know how special this moment is.”

“And why is it so special?” I grin, pulling on her hand and now wrapping my arms around her body as she cuddles into my body.

“We’re back to the scene of the crime, as it were,” she chuckles.

“You’d call it a crime?” I ask as I press my lips to her head.

“Well, you did steal my heart that day… And come to think of it, you haven’t given it back yet,” she laughs in embarrassment, “oh my god that sounded so corny!”

“It did, and I loved it,” I chuckle.

She slips from my grip then takes my hand and we walk towards the stairs so we can go up to the main galleries. I want to stop her, to pull her towards the lifts instead so she doesn’t exert herself, but I’ve already been scalded for making a fuss over her at least fifty times since we found out she was pregnant. It had been a light at the end of a very dark tunnel for us; she’d moved back home for a couple of weeks after a fallout over my ever changing schedule which would cause me to miss the debut of her first independent collection at a private showing, and I’d worried it would be the end of us. That was until she’d phoned with the news and after gunning it down the motorway to her parents’ house, we ended up talking everything out and realising that all that mattered was us; now a three instead of a two.

We take a silent walk around the galleries on each floor, me asking whether she needs to take a seat for a moment every so often and I’m met with the same exasperated gaze each time, sometimes even a little nudge in the ribs to go along with it. She gasps with delight when she spots works of art by the greats like Picasso, Kandinsky, Dali, and Monet, and quickly documents the moment by taking snapshots on her phone. I slip my own device out of my pocket to capture this moment with her; the side on view showing me the beginnings of her bump perfectly, and I take a few photos so that this day is always remembered.

“Hey, do you fancy some lunch?” I ask as I walk up to her side and place a hand on her stomach.

“I’m alright for the moment actually,” she replies with a smile, “come on, we have more exploring to do!”

“Ten more minutes, then I’m going to need something before round two of exploration,” I say, knowing that we’re already running late for what I had planned.

“Okay, deal,” she nods.

We wander into the next gallery as I take subtle glances at my watch to ensure it was literally only ten minutes before we headed up to the restaurant, but I can’t stay tense for too long as I watch the love of my life stare in awe at every single piece of art we pass, and it brings me right back to that first day; the day that unexpectedly changed my life completely. Our meeting seemed to set the course of our relationship, a happy accident that wasn’t planned in the slightest, and we’ve definitely always kept to taking things at our own pace rather than under the influence of anyone else.

Sure, we became a couple quickly then moved in together within a matter of months, but neither of us would change a thing about what happened, and we’ve learnt so much along the way. Now here we are, almost two years to the day since we met, and we’re here as a family instead of a couple. It’s mind blowing really, and we sure didn’t have any plans to have children so soon, but again it’s just the way things work with us; another happy accident to add to the rest, and we’re already overwhelmed with love for the little muffin growing inside her, as are our families.

“Right, food?” I ask after nine minutes.

“Yeah,” she sighs, turning to me with a tired expression.

“Are you alright?”

“I just need to sit down and have some food I think,” she says softly as she reaches out for my arm to steady herself.

“Woah there. Let’s get you a seat.”

I help her out to the chairs next to the escalators then sit her down so I can get the bottle of water out of her bag for her to take a few sips from, and she gives me a thankful nod as she drinks.

“Better?” I ask.

“Yes thank you. I’m okay, it’s just this little one draining my battery a little prematurely,” she chuckles, “they must be having a growth spurt.”

“Or maybe you should get to the doctor?” I suggest.

“You worry too much,” she smiles, “come on, are you taking me for lunch or not?”

She stands up with a slight wobble but brushes it off quickly as she links her arm through mine so we can make our way up to the restaurant where, unbeknownst to her, people are eagerly waiting for our arrival. I may have pulled a couple of strings when it came to hiring the main restaurant for a few hours this afternoon, but to be fair I don’t use my status for anything else so I think that this is allowed, especially for (Y/N) and what’s hopefully about to happen.

“Do you remember what happened here?” I ask as we go to the next floor up and walk off the escalator.

She laughs and nods, “how could I forget? It was here that you asked if I was listening to Queen.”

We shuffle to the side a little until we’re almost in the exact same place as we were before, and her hands run up the front of my coat until they’re resting on my shoulders.

“I have a little something for you,” I whisper as I reach into my coat pocket and my heart begins to beat at an alarmingly fast rate.

“You didn’t have to!” she smiles.

“Oh, I did. Trust me, I did.”

I drop from her hands until I’m on one knee in front of her with the small box now open in my hands and she instantly clamps both hands over her mouth as her eyes grow wider than I’ve ever seen them, then I see the tears before I’ve even uttered one word.

“I couldn’t think of a better place to do this than here,” I begin as people stop to watch us, “you’re the love of my life (Y/N), and I can’t imagine my future without you in it. So would you do me the honour of spending the rest of your life with me and becoming my wife?”

She nods fervently as tears fall over her wrists, then she manages to lower her hands so I can see her mouthing the word yes over and over again until I hear it come from her lips in a strained whisper. I sigh with relief before standing up as the small crowd around us cheers and claps, then I take the ring out of the box and slip it onto her finger, already looking forward to when I get to do this again on our wedding day. We kiss and the people around suddenly melt away into the background as soon as our lips connect, then when we part I gently wipe away those happy tears of hers as I blink back my own.

“Right, I think we need something to eat after all that excitement don’t we?” I laugh while I rub my eyes a little.

She nods silently as we walk past all the people who had gathered, giving them shy smiles while we make our way to the next level where everyone’s waiting.

“Oh, it’s closed for a private function,” (Y/N) frowns as she notices the piece of paper on the door.

“Let’s crash it then,” I grin, opening the door and tugging her in behind me.

“Gwilym!” she chuckles.

We walk in until I can see the gathering of our families at the far end, then cuddle her into my side as she notices them too with a loud gasp.

“She said yes!” I call out with glee.

The loudest cheers begin and everyone rushes towards us for congratulatory hugs, kisses, handshakes and squeals, and when I look over at (Y/N) she’s shaking with shock at everything that’s just happened. I did worry this would all be too much for her and the little muffin, and as I watch her stroke Jake’s cheek and thanks him for coming with his parents, I know we need to settle down and start eating so she can take everything in.

“Right, let’s all take our seats,” I project above the excited chatter just as the platters of food to pick from are served.

I quickly grab (Y/N) and take her left hand in mine to see that ring and make sure I didn’t imagine the whole thing, then she lifts it from my grasp and strokes my cheek softly, causing me to lean into her loving touch.

“You’ve made me the happiest woman on earth,” she whispers, “and I can’t wait to see you in the role you were always meant to play; a dad. I love you so much, and I want to thank you for letting that rowdy lot in on such a special day.”

We take a quick glance over at our families talking amongst themselves; my brother and his wife standing with Peter and Carrie while Jake plays with Lily and the other Jake of the family, and our parents fussing over the food as they fill their plates.

“I’d do anything for you,” I reply as I turn to face her again, “and to be honest, I have been planning this day since we met, so I had plenty of time to prepare.” I add with a wink, “Seeing you becoming a mum is the most incredible thing to watch, and I get to witness it everyday as that little bump becomes bigger which is completely mind blowing. Just when I think I couldn’t love you any more, you do something that makes my heart swell with adoration.”

“You’ve always had such a way with words,” she sighs with a smile.

“Are you two going to eat something?” (Y/N)’s mum calls over with concern.

We grin and nod over at her, then my eyes travel from (Y/N)’s face down to her stomach where my hand now rests.

“We’re coming,” I reply, “all three of us,” I whisper as my gaze lifts to (Y/N)’s glowing face.

[lostbutterflyutau]

When the Music Changes (Part 6)

Note: So this is the final (and shortest) part of this particular fic. Thank You to everyone who helped throughout. Because I would have never actually finished without the fandom’s help.

Secret Dances and Moonlight Kisses

Carla looked up curiously when he suddenly stopped and unhooked his arm from hers, watched as he stepped in front of her and took one of her hands in his. He set the other on her waist and pulled her in towards him, held back an amused laugh at the confused expression on her face.

“Gabe, what are you –?”

“What does it look like?” He teased as he started to move with her. “I’m dancing with you. You do like to dance, don’t you?”

She gave him a warm smile as she looked up at him through her lashes, stepped in closer and set her free hand on his shoulder, admitted as she began to move with him, “I love dancing. It’s – a part of me. Always has been.”  

Gabe returned the smile. He had learned a lot about her that evening, but that was something different. And far deeper than her troubles with moving or the specific way she liked her food. He knew she was an excellent dancer and that she always seemed content when she was dancing, but now sensed there was far more to it than mere enjoyment as he twirled her. He decided when she came back into his arms to at least ask, “It has?”

“I started dancing when I was four. Papa taught me most of what I know. And when we were travelling, I’d learn new dances,” Carla revealed. She didn’t know how or why. Maybe it was the lovely, thoughtful dinner? Or maybe it was the fragrant smell of the blooms surrounding them? Or…Could it be that she just felt at ease being with him like this? No matter the reason, she found that she didn’t mind sharing this. The soft look in his eyes let her know that he was genuinely interested in the story.

“So, your dad taught you how to dance?” He asked. She had said that she and Victor danced together and he even figured that he had helped her, but was still surprised to hear her say that he taught her most of what she knew.

Carla nodded. “He says that I insisted. Mama was – ” She stopped, quickly shut her mouth once she realised what she had said.

Gabe raised a curious eyebrow, moved to twirl her again. He had never heard Carla mention her mother. Nor had he ever thought to ask. But now that she had brought it up, he was curious.

“I don’t think you’ve mentioned your mother before,” He said carefully, noting how her grip on his hand tightened as tore her gaze away from his.  

“It just…Never came up,” She said, hoping he would drop the subject. It had been hard enough to tell her best friends about her mother. She had held off on that for months, and probably would have never told them if they hadn’t been worried enough to drop by on Dia de Los Muertos and been there to see her costume and altar. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to tell him. Granted, this wasn’t the first piece of intimate information she’d shared with him, but it was certainly the biggest. She bit her lip, considered her options.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Gabe reassured, gave her hand a squeeze. He didn’t want to press. Especially if it was painful, which it seemed to be given her sudden change in demeanor and the lingering tension between them.

Carla looked back up at him, breath catching when she caught the honesty in his eyes. She knew he’d respect her decision if she didn’t talk but there was also a part of her that did want to tell him. While this whole dating thing was new to her, the one thing she knew for sure is that she wanted him to be part of her life. Even the unhappy parts. Besides, he wanted to know more about her. All of her. And this was certainly a big part of knowing her. Mama’s memory was the reason she started dancing and never stopped. It was the one connection she had with her. The one thing that always managed to make her feel better when things were rough and stressful. She smiled softly at the thought, took in a breath.

“My mother – She loved dancing,” She confessed. “That’s how they met. Papa saw her doing a street performance fell for her right there.”

“Oh. So, Your mother was a performer?”

“Well…Not exactly. She was – well –” Carla paused. This was it. This was where he was going to start learning about her past. He was going to start to know her whole truth. She swallowed, continued quietly, “She was a traveling thief like my father. Street dancing was a way to earn extra money. She once told him that there was no use in wasting her talent. So, she made use of it. At least, until they could come up with their next plan.”

“Oh,” Gabe replied. “I guess you traveled a lot then. I mean, I know you did some, but…”

“More than some. I grew up on the road. Papa and I never stayed in one place for long,” She admitted.

He frowned. He suspected that she had spent some time on the run, but never thought that her whole life was spent shuffling around from place to place like that. Moving around on what he presumed were short notices. Never getting a chance to actually know anybody because both your parents were criminals and had to keep a low profile. It sounded miserable to him.

“That must have been lonely,” He finally replied.

She nodded. While she always had something of a companion in her father who was by her side in their travels, it wasn’t the same as having friends her own age to connect with. It was extremely rare that she was able to interact with other children beyond the occasional story time session or street game. And those were only allowed when her father needed a break from her. Then, there had been the sons of that group of thieves her father occasionally traveled with, but they were never kind to her. When she was little, they tried to push her around and ruin her dresses. When she got a little older, they turned to ignoring her all together until they met again a few years ago and deemed her attractive enough to flirt with. Their mothers had been nice, though. If it wasn’t for them, she wouldn’t have properly learned to do her hair or discovered how much she liked makeup. But, their interactions were few and far between, and every time she left, she never knew when she’d see them again.

She sighed, admitted, “It was. I mean, I always had Papa for company, but – ”

“What about your mother? She didn’t – ?”

“No. I – Well – ” Carla bit her lip again, willed herself to force her emotions back down. She had only ever said it a few times and it never got any easier. She thought for a second about not telling him even though she had already resolved to do so, but also knew that, if she didn’t, he would never know the entire story and she wanted him to know. Wanted him to understand her.

Feeling unable to face him directly, she flicked her eyes downward as she finally said, “I – I never met my mother. She—” She paused, swallowed back the tears she felt rising up. “She died giving birth to me.”

‘Wait…What?!’ He stopped their steps, eyes widening as he looked down at her just as she glanced back up, violet eyes sparkling under the moonlight in a way that would typically be considered romantic if not for the dull sadness within them. He immediately regretted even asking the initial question. If he had known that that was the answer, he would have never asked. “Carla, I – ” He tried to speak, but couldn’t find even a word to say. After all, what could he say? He knew it hadn’t been easy for her to tell him that. He’d seen the emotions flickering in her eyes as she considered her options, tried to figure out what to say and how to say it. He couldn’t imagine having never had his own mother around. But, Carla…She never had one. Victor had raised her on the road. Alone.

He thought to speak again, but the words still refused to come. Instead, he pulled her in closer, wrapped his arms around her in a reassuring hug that she easily settled into, head nestling against his chest as she appreciated the feel of his arms around her once again. He ran a gentle hand over her hair, waited for her to pull away first, saying when she did,

“So, it’s been just you and your dad from day one?”

Carla nodded. “I know what everyone thinks about him. And it’s not unfair. He has done some pretty awful things. But – ” She paused. It was true. Her father was a criminal, after all. He’d even passed down his skills to her. But, there was more to him than that. No matter the trouble they got into, he was always there for her. Even now, despite not approving of the changes she’d made to her life, he was still there in his own way. He responded to her letters. He’d sent small gifts for her birthday and Navidad. He even came to attend her graduation and style her hair beforehand.

She smiled at the thought, continued, “He’s a good dad. I mean, he is bad at some things. He can barely style my hair and isn’t the best with emotions, but he still tries. He raised me all by himself. Put me in cute dresses. Always made sure I ate first. He even taught me how to dance. Being away from him hasn’t been easy. There are times when I miss him terribly.”

“And your mother? Do you miss her?”

“All the time. Papa told me all the stories. From their first meeting to…the last kiss. Even though I never met her, he made sure that I knew her. And, this might sound corny but…When I’m dancing, I actually feel connected to her.”

Gabe took her hands in his. “That’s not corny at all. It’s…sweet,” He said, lips curving into a gentle smile as he continued, “I know it wasn’t easy, but I’m glad you told me all of this.”

“You…are?” Carla asked and titled her head slightly, the sadness in her eyes slowly fading into curiosity.

“Yes. You’re being honest. And – now I’m going to sound corny – But, I feel like I’m really getting to know you. I mean, I knew you were a good dancer, but I never knew how important it was to you.”

“It’s more than important it’s – ” She started.

“— A part of you,” He finished for her, recalling what she had told him just a few minutes before. “Right?” He asked, gave a light laugh at the blush tinting her cheeks as she nodded.

He smiled, suggested, “In that case, maybe we should finish our dance?”

“Only if we can try something faster this time,” She said.

“If you want. But, I should warn you, I don’t really – ”

She cut him off with a laugh. “You’ll be fine,” She encouraged as she took one of his hands in hers, guided the other one to settle on her waist. “This is the first dance I learned. If a four-year-old can master it, so can you. Just follow me.” She took one step and then another, carefully guiding him into following her through the sequence, which he picked up rather quickly even as their steps got faster and slightly more complicated.

He held back a laugh when she had to demonstrate his part when they separated for the individual parts of the dance. It took a few tries and some grumbling from Carla, but he eventually got all of the steps down and they were able to combine their two parts in the proper sequence, which ended with him picking her up and twirling her around while she laughed. She hadn’t done this dance in a long time and being able to share it with him felt special and…right. Her heart fluttered when he set his hands on her waist to lift her up. His eyes were gentle, as if he was trying to reassure her that she’d be safe. Not that she doubted him. He had saved her before, after all. And – she blushed at the thought – his arms were very well toned.

Though he had intended to take her hands again and ask about the next part of the dance, once he set her back on her feet, the only thing he could focus on were the violet stars staring up at him. The sounds of the rustling branches behind him faded as his focus shifted completely to her and the trust and adoration he saw tinting her gaze as the blooms surrounding them became a blur. He felt his breath and heartbeat quicken as he tentatively reached over, brushed away a piece of hair that had blown into her face.

Carla’s own breath hitched when his fingers gently brushed against her cheek as he moved the strand. It was such a small, simple touch, and yet, it made her heart catch. She felt the heat rising to her face as she started to study his and found herself trapped underneath his adoring gaze. It was the same look he had the night before. The look that told her that she was the only thing he was seeing. She wondered if he could see the same thing in her eyes as the world around her slowly faded away. The only thing she registered was the feel of his hands, both the one that had never left her waist and the one that had just returned there after leaving her face. Then there was the spark of desire flickering in his eyes as he smiled warmly at her that set her heart off at a gallop. She was struck by a sudden urge to draw him in closer, to pull him down to her and…

Wait.

Did she really want to – ?

Was this…?

It was.

This was the moment Elena had told her about. The one where everything stopped. The only thing she saw, -- only thing she felt -- was him and knowing that he felt the same way only made her even more certain that it’s what she wanted.

Reading the look on her face, he decided to take the chance again. After all, this time everything was different. There was a spark that hadn’t been there before, only nervous tension as they wondered what step to take after confessing their feelings. But now? Now they knew. He leaned forward ever so slightly, let his eyes ask the question for him.

May I?

She gave a small nod, cheeks flushing as she stared up into his eyes, breathed, “Kiss me, Gabe.”

She took a step forward, stretched up on her toes to meet him halfway, their lips molding to each other in a soft, lingering kiss. Carla’s mind went blank, and, as he gently pulled her in closer, she immediately understood why Elena had described it as melting as unfamiliar but welcome warmth made its way through her body. The moment his lips touched hers, all of her previous fears dissipated. Nothing seemed to matter except the two of them.

Even the romantic starlight faded into the background as Gabe became wrapped up in everything that was her. The taste of the fruity drink they’d been sharing that still hung on her lips. The heady scent of her perfume. Her body pressed against his. Her heart racing in time with his own. This wasn’t his first kiss. He'd kissed a few girls before. But none of those times felt like this. He felt like he couldn’t get enough of her. And, as close as she was, he still wanted her closer.

The kiss came to a gentle end with Carla giving a soft, girlish giggle as she looked into his star-flecked gaze. She couldn’t remember ever feeling like this. He made her feel special and wanted in a way she had never known before and she liked it. A soft smile played at her lips at the thought as he started to speak, his voice drawing her attention back upwards.

“So…Um…” Gabe started, unsure of exactly how to word the question or if he should even ask. “How was…I mean – Did you –?”

Heat flooded Carla’s face when she realised what he was trying to say. Her hand instinctively moved upward, fingers gently toying with a piece of hair as she said, “Oh. I – Um – I don’t think one is enough to make a proper judgment.” She paused, her smile returning as she glanced up at him through her lashes, “Maybe I need one more?”

He smiled, nerves fading off as he drew her back in. The first time he’d been gentle, not wanting to push too far too fast. This time, he pressed a little harder, putting his feelings into a kiss that she eagerly reciprocated and returned with equal vigor. He wanted to laugh as he thought that, for a girl who had never been kissed before, Carla was good at it. She put as much feeling into it as he did and he loved every second.

Pulling back just enough to look into his eyes, breath intermingling with his, she breathed, “More.”

This time, she took the lead, claiming his mouth with hers before he had a chance to even think of a viable response. Her hands slid from where they’d been settled on his chest up, up, up until her arms were looped around his neck as his finally moved from her waist and came around to settle on her back.

He pulled her in even closer, reveled in the feeling of her in his arms as his tongue slid past her lips, gentle but demanding, taking even more of her.

“Wow…” She murmured when he pulled back and reality slowly started to set back in. Part of her wondered if it was all a dream. Thought that there was no way she deserved all of this. Not after the things she had done to him and his friends in the past. But the other part…The one that registered the feel of his hands running along her back and the dazed look in his eyes, prayed that, if it was a dream, no one would wake her up.

He chuckled, brought a hand up to gently caress her cheek. “I’ll take that as a good sign?” He teased and then put a finger to her lips when she tried to lean up again. “If you keep doing that, we’ll never finish our dance.”

Her lips curved into a coy smile. She tilted her head slightly, batted her eyelashes at him. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He laughed again, shook his head as he thought, ‘You’re too cute.’

“Come on,” He encouraged. “You have to at least show me how this one ends.”

“Or we could slow things down again,” Carla suggested. Showing him the remainder of the dance wouldn’t be difficult, but it would involve having to separate from him again when she would rather stay right where she was in his arms.

Gabe smiled when she took a tiny step forward and settled her head in the crook of his shoulder. He knew that was her way of telling him that he didn’t have a choice in the matter and decided that he didn’t mind as he settled his hands back on her waist and started to move with her.

Though there were a few bumps early on, the evening had turned out amazing. They hadn’t been interrupted by either the weather or other people. She admitted that she loved the idea of a picnic and didn’t have any complaints about the food. He’d even learned most of a new dance and some very important information about her life. Then, there was that kiss. Her first kiss ever and she chose to give it to him.

His smile widened at the thought as he found himself being brought back to earlier that afternoon when she had made that confession to him. She’d said a lot of things then. Things that, for the longest time, he thought he would only hear in his dreams. But, while he was glad to have those thoughts confirmed in reality, there was still one that lingered in the back of his mind.

“Carla?” He asked softly.

“Hm?” She murmured.  

“Can I ask you something?”

She didn’t respond, only lifted up her head and shifted so that she could look up into his eyes.

“You know how you told me that you read my thoughts before?”

She nodded.

“Well, I’ve been wondering…If you already knew how I felt, why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

Carla felt her face go hot the moment she processed his words. Why did he have to ask that question? Why now when everything was going so well? It wasn’t a hard question. Not really. It was answering it that was hard because it meant that she was going to have to admit more insecurity to him.

“I…Well – ” She paused, took in a breath to calm herself as she realised that she had already revealed far more than she wanted to that night by telling him about her mother. Compared to that, this was easy. “I was – scared, you know?” She finally admitted after a brief silence. “Even knowing that, I was still scared you would say ‘no’ and well…” She trailed off, shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. What matters now is that…I’m not scared anymore.”

He didn’t have to reply with words. He let his feelings of love and admiration for her come through in a gaze that she stared deeply into, entranced by both the emotions dwelling in his eyes and the way the moonlight made those emotions shine through as they leaned into each other to share one more lingering kiss.

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5)

[spoonfulsof]

─ if someone wanted to really understand you, what would they read, watch, and listen to?

READ | I Was Told There’d Be Cake by Sloane Crosley or Girls in White Dresses by Jennifer Close.  WATCH | Gilda or The Prince & the Showgirl  LISTEN | 32 Flavors by Alana Davis, Paris Nights / New York Mornings by Corinne Bailey Rae.

─ have you ever found a writer (whether books, journalism, and/or comics) who thinks just like you? if so, who?

No one thinks like Sugar Motta, but I’m sure there are people who wish they did. 

─ list your fandoms and one character from each that you identify with.

I don’t really ‘do’ fandoms. But, like, the walking dead fandom is pretty legit. Anyway, Cher from Clueless? Totes relatable. It’s hard being fabulous when everyone thinks you’re just a spoiled rich girl. Apollonia from Purple Rain. The girl was just trying to make it and men kept floggin’ her. Carrie Bradshaw from Sex and the City. Regine from Living Single. And she’s not a character but I relate to Marilyn Monroe on a spiritual level. 

─ do you like your name?  is there another name you think would fit you better?

My name fits me. I’m sweet, taste great and make everyone happy. 

─ do you think of yourself as a human being or a human doing? do you identify yourself by the things you do?

This is weird. Like, we’re all doing things. So, you really can’t escape one or the other, can you?

─ are you religious/spiritual?

Not really, no.

─ do you care about your ethnicity?

Should I? Like, does it matter? I mean, of course, I do. My mother was the first Iranian woman to win Miss America, which is a huge deal but my fam likes to pretend it never happened. My dad tries his hardest to distance himself from our heritage. Like, between shoving the American culture down our throats and kissing the ass of every white man that comes his way, it’s hella annoying. I just wish we were more about our Persian life other than speaking Farsi from time to time. 

─ what musical artists have you most felt connected to over your lifetime?

Beyonce, Corinne Bailey Rae, Ariana Grande, Rachael Yamagata, Haim, Lana Del Rey & Donna Summar. 

─ are you an artist?

Are stars artist? Cause if so, then definitely. 

─ do you have a creed?

Everything that I need is either already in me or it is coming to me. 

─ describe your ideal day.

Okay, so, like I’m in NYC, shopping all morning, then enjoying brunch with my faves, spending the rest of the day at the spa and then goin to the hottest clubs all night. Rinse and repeat. Or I’m totes cool with something hella corny like a lazy sunday in my room, enjoying my favorite books and movies. Whatever. 

─ dog person or cat person?

Dogs, duh. Cats are so bitchy. 

─ inside or outdoors?

Depends. I enjoy the rain inside my home but I enjoy the sunshine in the outdoors. 

─ are you a musician?

I don’t play anything but like, I can catch a beat pretty well. 

─ five most influential books, movies, tv shows, comics, over your lifetime.

A Gangster’s Girl was an iconic book. Sweet Valley High was ahead of its time and the comic Saga is pretty dope. Like, I don’t have to name anything else. These are the only things that matter. 

─ if you’d grown up in a different environment, do you think you’d have turned out the same?

God, I don’t even want to think about that. 

─ would you say your social media is a fair representation of the “real you”?

Of course, it is. 

─ what’s your patronus?

Probably like an Elephant or Swan. 

─ which Harry Potter house would you be in? or are you a muggle?

I can’t answer this. I’ve never seen Harry Potter.

─ would you rather be in Middle Earth, Narnia, Hogwarts, or somewhere else?

What ... what does any of this mean?

─ do you love easily?

Sugar has got love for everyone, so I guess, yes. 

─ list the top five things you spend the most time doing, in order.

Shopping, eating, working, being fabulous and offering up great life advice.

─ how often would you want to see your family every year?

I’m lucky to see them every day. My family in Iran, I’d love to see more if they didn’t completely hate me. 

─ have you ever felt like you had a “mind-meld” with someone?

Like, once. But I’m pretty sure it was Santana and we were both drunk and on the nose candy. 

─ could you live as a hermit?

Hell no. I could not hide all of me all the time. Like, I just couldn’t do that to the world. They don’t deserve not to see me. 

─ how would you describe your gender/sexuality?

cisfemale. a straight up bisexual. 

─ do you feel like your outside appearance is a fair representation of the “real you”?

I’m just as pretty on the outside as I am on the inside. 

─ on a scale from 1 to 10, how hard is it for someone to get under your skin?

10. I remain unbothered. Sorry if you’re mad. 

─ three songs that you connect with right now.

Sweeterner -- Ariana Grande. Life’s a Bitch -- Radiant Children River -- UMI. 

─ pick one of your favorite quotes.

“Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius and it's better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring.” -- Marilyn Monroe. 

[roselyopinionated-blog]

15 Things To Remember During Your Highschool Years

1. Take pictures.

Take pictures of anything and everything. Take pictures of your friends on a night out when your hair is down and you’re full of happiness. Take photos without makeup on. Take photos with your family, they wont always be around and they wont always look the same as they do now. Take photos of all your future boyfriends and keep them. Take photos of adventures. Blurry or not keep them to look back on.

2. Sing and dance in the shower every night.

Make an effort to sing and dance in the shower. Tell your self every night to do it until it comes naturally. Listen to your favourite songs, listen to old songs, listen to new ones and explore the music world. Pretend you’re on a world tour concert, pretend you’re Beyonce, do anything but just remember to sing and dance. It can really boost your mood and your confidence!

3. Read more.

Go to the local library and borrow out a book. Its actually more fun than it sounds. Find something you love.. cooking, sex, art, mystery? There is literally a book on anything, find one and read it. Really get into it, make time for your book. Read blogs, read articles, read peoples life story’s. Force yourself until it becomes a habit and you find a love for reading.

4. Write

Write letters. Write to your friends about how much you love them. Write to all the teachers who motivate you. Write to your mum and to your dad. Write to your siblings every birthday. Just write. Writing is a great way to express emotion and too many people get caught up with phones and text messages these days that a letter means so much more than what it used too.

5. Fall in love

Fall in love, whether that be with a person, an animal, a hobby, a book, a movie or your favourite food. Allow yourself to fall in love with a face, a body, a soul, a human. Fall in love with the weekends. Fall in love with the way the ocean moves or the way the stars shine.

6. Heart break and change

Allow change. Change is okay. Let it be. Take it as a way of learning. You’re young, make mistakes, fall in love, even if its for a short amount of time. let your heart get broken, just remember to let it heal again, it makes you grow. It builds you up and it teaches you new lessons. Change and grow.

7. Keep a journal

Keep a journal and write everything In it. No detail is too little. Write about your day at school and how you sat next to your crush in science. Write about how the old lady smiled at you in the shopping centre. Write about your mum. write about your friends, your crush, boyfriend, your family, the people around you and yourself. Don’t leave anything out. Write about your feelings and events. Just write.

8. Get up

Get up and out of bed on a Sunday. Go to your local church and experience what its like. Go to coffee or walk along the beach. Hangout with friends and use your legs while they still work. You are promised nothing. One day you will be cooped up on your couch and you’ll wish you moved while you could. Make memories and use your time. Spend less time on your phone and lay in the sun instead.

9. Make mistakes

You're still young. Let there be room for improvement. You don’t have to have your whole life planed at the age of 16. Make mistakes. Get into trouble. Get caught. Rules exist and they make perfect sense but no one remembers a good night sleep. Don’t obsess over perfection. Talk during class sometimes, have a cheeky beverage, who cares if you fail one exam? Create memories you can turn into a story you can laugh about later. Take risks.

10. Learn about the world

When its 10pm at night and you cant sleep, research about the crimes happening, research about volcanos and natural disasters around the world. educate yourself on the world you live in today. Watch the news. Learn about refugees and children who are missing. Grow and nourish yourself with knowledge. Learn about the stars and space. Learn about whales, crystals and magical things too.

11. Make a change

After researching about the world, make as step forward to make a change, whether thats not using straws anymore, or buying a reusable coffee cup to help stop pollution because no matter where you are from or where you end up one day, this earth will always be your home. She provides for everything you need to stay alive and you owe her your all. No matter what you believe in, you need to fight for the birds and the trees, the bees and the rivers. You need to fight for it all. Imagine being 80 years old when all you can do is watch the news, only to see the same problems reoccurring.

12. Make acquaintances friends

Make conversation with the girl you sit next to in maths but don’t talk too at all, find something in common and talk to her about it, bond, make friends,

its easier to make friends in school then it is in a nursing home. Friends are good, they give you a reason to go out on adventures on the weekend. Be friends with everyone.

13. Get off your phone

Get off your damn phone. Take a break. Put it away. Connect with the world and take it in. yes, take photos and make memories, but don’t over do it, when your friend is talking to you, put your phone down, really listen to what they are saying. Spend time with family and just give your brain a break.

14. Make a bucket list

Bucket lists are looked upon as silly and corny. Make one, write down everything you want to do in the next year, the next 10 years even, whatever, just write a list and tick them off as you do it. Make it a priority to tick some off. Have easy ones on there, and also have ones you have to save up for. Accomplish them and tell the stories later.

15. Be appreciative

Appreciate what you have, little or small. Appreciate the people around you and what they do for you. Show your thanks, use your manners and show you mean it. Buy your mum flowers after a long week and call your nana to talk about how she is. don’t let time slip by. Message your best friend an inside joke and tell her you love her. Show people you care and that you’re thankful for them.

[jswdmb1]

You’ve Got A Friend

“Ain't it good to know you've got a friend?”

- Carole King

I recently made it known on my music blog of my love for WXRT’s Saturday Morning Flashback.  I didn’t post a playlist this past Saturday because I have been caught up in the year that was featured and can’t narrow a list of songs down.  My reaction to the year caught me off guard because I wasn’t even around for it - 1971.  Still, it was a fascinating year in the amount of significant and timeless music that was produced and song after song kept coming that really got me hooked.  That, however is not what this post is about (though I promise the playlist is coming).  Rather, it is about the song featured in the title to this blog that came out that year.  James Taylor had the hit with it, but it was initially recorded and written by his friend Carole King for her album Tapestry.  She wrote it in response to the despair of Taylor’s “Fire & Rain” from the previous year as a way of reassurance that no matter how bad things get there is always someone you can count on.

As I continued to immerse myself in the Rolling Stones “Sticky Fingers” and other songs from 1971 by greats such as Al Green, The Who, and of course John Lennon’s “Imagine”, I kept thinking about how King’s message contrasted so starkly with the times.  There was a war raging that was killing thousands for an unclear purpose.  Leaders and politicians were betraying the trust of the public on an almost daily basis.  Clashes between people of different races, genders, religions, sexual orientations, and more were on full display and sometimes violent.  Finding a friend during times like that must have been awfully hard no matter how much Carole or James sang it so sweetly.  As I pondered this, I took a break to see a movie that ended up putting some of it together.

The movie is a documentary of the life of Fred Rogers titled “Won’t You Be My Neighbor?”  I am not going to give you a review of the film or tell you much about it because I am insisting that you go see it yourself and draw your own conclusions.  As a matter of fact, I think this should be required viewing for every single person in the country right now. While the movie is a straight-up biographical documentary, it beautifully frames his life in the context of a world that has turned quite sour.  It’s relatively easy to put the pieces together that what we are missing now more than ever is Mr. Rogers’ primary message of love towards our neighbors and to also love ourselves.

Now, many of you may already feel like you know everything you need to know about Mr. Rogers from watching his show as a child and find his sentiment pretty corny.  The movie does not hide the fact that his show was simple with low production values.  What will come as a surprise is how that simplicity and kindness was somewhat of a cover for Rogers to tackle some of the toughest issues not just of that day, but those that still affect us today.  A scene early in the film, which I won’t disclose to avoid diminishing its impact, was filmed as part of his first week of production in the late 60′s, but is eerily relevant to this exact moment.  When you see something like that, you realize that there was way more to what he was doing then snappy songs and sock puppets.  You also come to appreciate the pure genius behind his methods of delivering simple, honest communication to kids - all with topics others wouldn’t touch on or off TV.  

I also find it interesting that during this revolutionary music phase of 1971 was right as Mr. Rogers shot to popularity on a newly created PBS (which he basically single-handedly saved from Nixon’s budget axe).  The documentary proves that Mr. Rogers not only did not shy away from the volatile subjects of those days’ current events, but he tackled them head on to help children get some grasp on a world that seemed completely out of control in the hands of the rest of the adults.  His message was clear: I am here for you, I love you, and I am listening.  Essentially, he was telling kids that you’ve got a friend.  Again, the message is simple, but the context in which it was delivered was bold.  There’s a word that you probably don’t associate with Mr. Rogers often - bold.  I guarantee whether you agree with his message or not, I’ll bet that you come to that same conclusion that this man had some major guts after you watch this movie.

Still, as I left the theater, I couldn’t help feel absolute despair.  Mr. Rogers has been dead for fifteen years and any advancements we made as a society under his watch in terms of openness, togetherness, and civility have eroded to just about nothing.  Where are we going to find that friend on TV to help us through these challenging times?  I’m not sure that I have an answer, but I do not think we can give up on the message Mr. Rogers delivered his entire life that every person has something that makes them special and we should all do our best to find that in everyone we meet.  Personally, that is going to be a tall order for me.  My cynicism runs so deep and I admit that I get just as caught up as anyone in the divisive nature of our country right now that I find it hard to believe everyone can be good.  I also let my blood boil when I see politicians I hate do things that I think are wrong and get angry at the world and others when things don’t seem to be going my way.  I am frustrated that I have let it all get to me and don’t really want to let that go.  

Maybe, though, we don’t need to start with everybody or those we see on the news and instead should first focus our energy within.  I think a lot of the meanness, hate, and anger in the world right now is coming from people with a deep sense of pain.  The pain may be physical or mental, but there is no doubt that a lot of people really hurt right now.  To me, that pain then manifests itself into a rage that has to be turned outward to protect themselves.  It starts because we are fearful of loving ourselves.  We don’t want to look past what we think the world wants us to be, but if we did, I think we’d find that specialness we each have that Mr. Rogers was talking about.  Essentially, we need to shut down the noise around us and just listen ourselves honestly and objectively.  Once we do that, then we can start caring for ourselves and treating ourselves kindly and that might ready ourselves to do it towards others.  It seems to me that anyone who would acknowledge and accept the good within them would have an awfully hard time being too preoccupied with hate and rage towards others.

The next step would be showing that love towards others and being the friend Carole sung about.  As an old saying goes, you don’t need to change the world, just your little corner of it.  Start with your family.  Could be a spouse, your kids, a sibling, maybe a parent.  When was the last time any of us can say we really stopped to take the time to understand their feelings in these troubled times.  Carve out some time to spend simply talking about stuff.  I know that for me, it has become therapeutic to spend time with my wife and kids talking about a wide range of topics often over a meal.  I know I bore them to tears sometimes, but I also know I have been better about listening and trying to understand them as the individual people they are.  This is really poignant with kids as we tend to discount the fact that they have feelings too.  They feel some of the same emotions we adults have and need someone to listen to them just as much as we do.  At a minimum, even if they are just being nice and not really listening to me (a common thing, I’m sure, for anyone who spends a lot of time with me), I hope they see that I am always willing to talk (and more importantly listen) and will be there if and when they need me.

Of course, this doesn’t have to just be with family members.  It could also be with good friends, a neighbor, or maybe someone you know at work or school who just needs someone to talk to.  I find the best setting to do this is over a great cup of coffee at a quiet time of day.  When you get together with whomever you choose, let them do the talking and really listen.  One of the most fascinating parts of the Mr. Rogers movie has to do with the power of silence and self-reflection, both of which he used often.  It’s interesting to me how both can be powerful parts of a conversation if you let them come naturally.  It is amazing how wonderful it can be sometimes to have a pause in all of the chatter to process things and thoughtfully reflect on what you may have just heard.  And, when someone you are with sees you are not afraid to stop and listen or really think about what they are saying, it is impossible for them not to let them feel your love for them.  It’s the old less is more adage, but it is incredibly powerful.

I’d apologize for the preachiness of this post, but anyone who reads this blog (or is still reading this particular entry) already knows that I can’t help it.  I am really not trying to lecture, but to try and offer some hope to those who aren’t sure that we can reverse the trend of mean-spiritedness and anger that has become the rule in this world.  Whether this is inspired or not, I can’t say, but it has been hard for me not to feel the power of the connection between the music and times of 1971 along with the gentle message of Mr. Rogers that was coming along right at the same moment.  While both are long gone, the legacy of those songs and the endurance of Mr. Rogers’ message of peace, love & understanding can live on if we want it.  Maybe it’s too much to try and do it everywhere with everyone, but we can sure start in our little corner of this world with the people to whom we are the closest.  And, if you’re not sure where to turn, call me and I’ll be your friend....just so long as you are buying the coffee (cream, no sugar please).

Have a great rest of your week and please go see that movie.

- Jim

[lawrencedienerthings]

Coronavirus stole traditions and passages. But we can let love — and the moon — connect us.

#newyork🥂 🎈 🎁 📦 🐌 📦 📦 🌃 👝

more news https://northdenvernews.com

Today, I mailed a package to my daughter. She will soon be celebrating her first birthday since moving to New York City and she’ll spend it in isolation in her apartment. 

I also drove across town and dropped off a present for a friend who turned 79 today. I put the gift bag on the bench outside his home, and we spoke for a few minutes at a safe distance. It was good to see him, but hard not to give him a birthday hug.

A friend recently wrote about how heartbreaking it is to mourn the passing of her favorite aunt when she can’t come together with people to celebrate her aunt’s life. Another told me she called off the trip she and her husband had planned for their 40th anniversary. 

My husband and I cancelled our trip to see our nephew graduate from high school, since the ceremony will no longer take place. All around us, people are giving up the rituals and traditions that mark the milestones in our lives.

MORE: See all of our Write On, Colorado entries and learn how to submit your own here.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the men and women of the World War II generation whom I’ve interviewed over the years. Many of them told me the same story with minor variations, how a woman would look up at the moon and wonder if her husband in a POW camp was looking at it, too. Or how a soldier in a foxhole would imagine his wife standing under the same moon thinking of him. 

This shared memory never ceased to get to me. I think of all the soldiers and sailors who missed the births of their children, and all the women back home who marked their anniversaries by dancing alone in their living rooms. Maybe it sounds “corny” to some people, but to me, those stories went to the heart of separation, that need to have something that still ties us to each other.

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OUR UNDERWRITERS SUPPORT JOURNALISM.   BECOME ONE.

Beyond all rituals and milestones and traditions there is love. That’s what it always comes back to. For those long-ago sweethearts, it wasn’t the moon that connected them. It was the love they imagined traveling to the moon and then shimmering down on their far-flung lovers. 

It was silly, of course, and overly romantic, but it was necessary. In a time when nothing felt certain, the moon was always there. Love was always there. In life, in death, in sacrifice, and in joy, love is always there.

Don’t just let your milestone moments slip by during this pandemic. They still matter. You still matter. Stop and feel the love that is coming to you. Find your own way, no matter how silly or simple or romantic, to breathe in that love and breathe it out again. 

Find your own moon to stand under.

Teresa Funke is an author, speaker and coach who has written seven books on World War II. This piece is reprinted from her blog “Bursts of Brilliance for a Creative Life.”

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I feel this, hard. Hard Working Husband’s Wife Yes, he’s working Shirt. I’ve got no parents, one out of state sibling with no kid experience, and my husband is an only child with extremely unreliable/selfish parents. I get jealous of my friends with support systems all the time. I get upset that they have access to free childcare, emotional support, and financial safety nets especially when they don’t seem to appreciate their favorable situations. However, I really enjoy the fact that I don’t really have to share my baby and love how close and connected my husband and I are with him. I never get to see my husband (we work opposite schedules to avoid daycare) and that is challenging for our marriage, but luckily we were together for 8 years before the kid came along so we’re extremely solid, just miss each other often. I, like you, am and intend to always be fully committed to supporting and helping my children no matter what. We both seem to know how lonely and difficult it is to be an island.

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Has anyone got any advice? Hard Working Husband’s Wife Yes, he’s working Shirt. I’m currently 30 weeks with my first no family, no friends and my partner works full time. I’m already depressed and struggling at the thought of being alone and not coping too well. Does anyone have any advice on how to get through? I’m so scared and so alone. Consider joining moms groups where you can meet other mothers who are in your position. You have got to make friends! Get out of the house regularly. Have a psychiatrist researched and ready to call if you have trouble with postpartum depression. It will be okay!! I moved to a new country then got pregnant almost straight away. I didn’t know anyone. What really helped me were mothers groups. I joined a few. I joined le Leche league for breastfeeding, a local church group, a baby class I had to pay for and another group as well. It really helped me. I didn’t go to all of them all the time and I ended up dropping out of the church one (it was too religious for me) but it made me feel much less isolated and I made friends I still have as well.

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If you are planning to breastfeed, going to the breastfeeding classes with the baby can be a great way to meet other moms. Hard Working Husband’s Wife Yes, he’s working Shirt. You might need to be more outgoing if you’re normally shy. Ask for numbers and make connections. Most public libraries have story time. Take LO there and introduce yourself to a few people! Chances are they live in the area. Mom groups online if you are comfortable with that! I would suggest getting out as much as you can. Even being outside alone with the baby can feel less lonely than stuck in your house. Plenty of walks if weather permits, parks, etc. I’m so sorry and I know it feels lonely and difficult but I literally posted on Instagram to ask if anyone with kids wanted to hang out and I got a response from my husband’s high school friend and now I hang out with her often! Do your best to reach out. People will reach back more often than you think.

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My BabyCenter Birth Club was seriously my social lifeline for the first 4 months. Hard Working Husband’s Wife Yes, he’s working Shirt. Also Peanut is an app that’s specifically for making likeminded local mom friends and I highly recommend it!  Also, we’re all here! I know it sounds corny, but we all have at least one thing in common here and no matter what each individual situation is for us, at the end of the day motherhood is always a little alienating and isolating. What you’re feeling is normal, but never be ashamed to reach out for help from the resources available to you. Ask your doctor if there are any postpartum depression groups in your area or any other kind of support group. I joined a pod group and I think it saved my life… I wish I would have joined before I even gave birth because I could have really used the support.

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[chxxymm]

seven - a letter to my friends

“Cause if you jump, I will jump too, we will fall together.” Oh my friends, if you are reading this, maybe it’s the loneliness of being by myself or the sugar from the soy bean milk I just had that’s kicking in but whatever it is, something is fuelling this disgustingly corny post so stick around, buckle your seat belts and listen the fuck up.

My first real friend wasn’t until the age of 12, her name was Jennifer, if you’re reading this hi, I miss ya. A lot of people go through fake friends, bad friends, peer pressure or what not, I am an extremely lucky person because none of that stuff has ever really happened to me. I’ve heard you are the average of the 3 people you hang out with the most and somehow, I’ve always hung around the best.

If you’re reading this, there’s probably a fond (or maybe not so fond) moment when we met. Did we meet at school, at work, did we match on Tinder until you realise I was a weirdo? No matter how long ago or how recently we met, I probably think about you a lot, if not, everyday. 

It wasn’t until this last month, when I decided to embark on this journey of “finding myself” (HAHAHHAHAHAH GOOD JOKE MAN) that I came to realise that “myself” was a lot more than just me. As I was telling my mate yesterday, in Melbourne, I am surrounded by so many people, up to the point that sometimes it was overwhelming trying to catch up and see all my friends on a regular basis. It’s a pretty drastic change to what I’m experiencing now (100 to 0), however, I’ve been given the opportunity to connect with my mates on a LDR level, (wow, as I am typing this I am getting a bit teary) every message of “how is taiwan r u fat yet” or constantly asking me if I’ve met any decent boys yet (haha the answer is no) or whatever, really, truly, are the highlight of my day. In fact, I feel BECAUSE of the distance, my friends now call me with their troubles, FaceTime me, tag me in memes or even make Tinder social groups with me to make sure I am on the right track with making friends. (Hilarious, I know).

But in all seriousness, my friends will be future teachers, accountants, doctors and lawyers, they will own companies (some already do), some are producers, musicians, photographers and artists. I think the best thing about friendship is not only the fact that you will always have someone who is there for you at every down moment in your life, but they are just as happy for you when you achieve something great. If you and your mates aren’t making each other better people, then what’s the point? My mates are honest (“Isabel, hate to break it to you, but you’re a 4 out of 10″), they are loyal (“look Isabel, you’re annoying but I still put up with you”) and they love me (“Isabel, I fucking hate you sometimes”).

I really enjoy having genuine connections with people, which could be why Taiwan so far, has been pretty disappointing as a whole. I miss having d&ms with my friends in the car, driving up to the mountains to have a durry (lol sorry mom), having a a good bitch at some nice, but arguably overly expensive brunch place or just having a group of my mates come over for some board games.

Every day I sit at my (depressing AF) desk looking at polaroid photos in my cubicle thinking about how fucking grateful I am to have you guys, something I never have done before. I think about how you all have shaped my life and brought me joy that money could never buy. I think about every roast that I had to endure or every annoying nickname that I have grown to not hate as much. As I grow older I can only appreciate every moment even more, knowing that although these things won’t last forever, (inevitably people will get married, have children, and we may not see each other as often) I really, really cherish what we have now. 

If you, my mate, every think I am too busy to talk to you, which I know some of you think, it’s not true. I can’t believe some of you still have to ask me “are you free?” or “dude, can I call you?” Mate, I will always answer your call. So many of my mates have reached out after reading my blog (mostly from concern, but I really am fine LOL). You know I am always here to listen to you have a bitch, I am here to talk about your girl (or boy) troubles, I am always here if you have anything you want to talk about, no matter how big or small, no matter how long we haven’t talked, or if we have never really talked at all.

Thank you all for making me a better person, for putting up with my bad story telling, for maybe forcing yourself to laugh at my bad puns and jokes, for taking all my sob stories seriously, for still reading my blog even though you’re usually like “wtf is this shit”, for bringing me back down to earth but encouraging me to follow my dreams when needed. I appreciated all the times we went all out clubbing or drinking, but also the times we just sat in my bed and did nothing at all, all times you gave me advice and all the times you took mine. In a massive generalisation, all my chick friends are hilarious, smart, beautiful and genuinely make me want to be better people. My guy mates make me realise that there are good people out there, so for every fuck boy I meet on Tinder I realise there are just as many kind, thoughtful and soft guys out there. Thank you for hitting me up on Facebook, thank you for chucking me a few likes on Instagram to let me know you’re thinking about me, thank you for messaging me on WhatsApp to make sure I haven’t died yet.

I just want the best for my friends. I want them to find their other halves, I want them to achieve their dreams, I genuinely want them to be happy and always be the best that they can be. To share all your good and bad moments with me, that to me, is one of the reasons why I think I exist. That’s the love I’VE felt from my friends and what I feel from them right now everyday in this god forsaken hell hole (haha), they have supported me from before, and for every day of my journey in Taiwan thus far, thanks guys for showing me love I didn’t think I deserved. 

My ride or dies, (if it’s my driving, it’s definitely die)

If I haven’t told you for awhile, I love you to death,

Isa xx

[ageofwrathrpg]

Name: Fyodor Grigorovich Kadinsky Age: 37 Ability: Telepathy Faction: LESYAS as SPY Faceclaim: Lee Pace Availability: OPEN

THE STORY || CW: Death, Transphobia

Fyodor Kadinsky is quite accustomed to hiding. Even before his birth, his mother hid her pregnancy due to scandal and birthed him privately, secretly. A popular politician, it would have been apocalyptic had her fling with a criminal convict been made public to the common populus. Instead, she hired private teachers to homeschool her child in a home far from the public eye. And though she was rarely home, she made constant efforts to show Fyodor that she loved him. They all seemed fake, though. As Fyodor aged, and learned the meaning of the feeling ‘transgender,’ he kept this secret from his doting mother. Though there was no reason for him to, Fyodor feared his mother’s rage. At twelve, when he realized he could walk through her mind like a doorway, his fear was warranted: she was involved in conservative politics, and preached transphobic, xenophobic, and sexist policies. She would never accept Fyodor as her son. And so he bathed in his secrecy, hid his true gender and vila-status from her, learned the proper etiquette of deception, and smiled when he wanted to scream. All the while, his mother tied bows into his long, flowing hair.

It was four years later that Fyodor’s mother found out her precious ‘daughter’s’ secret, as one of his tutors fitted the pieces together and informed her in a hushed voice. Miss Kadinsky, they had said, I would like to speak with you about your son. Fyodor’s mother was furious, and send him immediately away to his grandparents’ home. There, she reasoned he would learn respect and common decency. Instead, he found refuge amongst two aging Vilas. They taught him the most important lesson of his life: to never be ashamed of who he was. Because of them, he had a family, and not only did his confidence improve, but his happiness did as well.

Nine years later, the unspeakable happened. A drunken driver tore them away from him, quick as a gunshot, and twice as bloody. Within mere days of their deaths, he dropped out of university, was harassed by his mother for ‘stealing’ her inheritance, and attended a very grim, rushed funeral. It was there that Fyodor was approached by Andrij Sazonov and Viktor Mazur, a pair of older Lesyas who knew of his grandparents’ history and offered him a chance to follow in their footsteps. Though he accepted their offer, it wasn’t without hesitation. Though he had certainly heard the unnerving horror stories, the idea of being killed for what he believed in sounded incredibly courageous, but courageous was never something he’d considered himself to be. His present grief allowed him to look past his fears, and when he eventually did take the Lesyas up on their offer, he was almost immediately swept into their ranks and trained to compete with the best of the best. It was only natural that he showed an affinity towards blending in with the rest of the crowd, something that made it easy for him to do one particular job: undercover observation.

THE CHARACTER

Fyodor isn’t to be underestimated. While he puts on a good show of being meek and unnoticeable, there is undeniable power in his veins that he isn’t afraid of showing off. He’s a sympathetic person and radiates a pleasant, agreeable aura, but there’s no shortage of passion in his body, and no ounce of his ability has gone without use, whether through actions or words. He takes pride in everything he is, but remains grounded in his actions. It’s hard to upset him and it’s certainly not worth attempting to do so.

CONNECTIONS

Lucius ‘Kir’ Viktorovich Ikashev - Kir seems to constantly be in awe of the range of Fyodor’s power, and has more than merely hinted at wanting to recruit him as part of his inner circle. Fyodor isn’t convinced; as far as he knows, he’s already there. After all, he knows more about the man than even his right hand, and that’s (mostly) without even digging in his head! It’s their proximity that that nags his conscience into a guilty trance at Lesya meetings and early mornings, but Fyodor couldn’t leave him if he tried – or if he wanted to, for that matter. 

Natalia Pavelovna Lazareva - When they first met, Fyodor thought that she was a sweet cat much like his own, and tried to pick her up. He was left with deep wounds from her claws and a fear of her that he dares not show. He’s more than aware that she despises him with all of her cruel little heart, but if she were on fire and he had to take a piss… he might just consider putting her out.

Yana Czarevna Grekova - It was a relief to find out that he wasn’t the only telepath on the Lesya line, and when Fyodor approached her, it was with the offer of friendship. Knowing that they shared the same power, their bond was immediate and strong. Six years into their friendship, they still call on each other when they need a pick me up. It’s not unusual to find them sharing nonvocal stories over tea and corny jokes that only Fyodor laughs at. It’s a telepath thing; you wouldn’t understand. 

Lena Antonevna Spektor - It’s not exactly a secret that Fyodor loves children, and though Lena is just beyond the point of being considered an adult by the public eye, Fyodor still sees her as a youth. It’s no lack of respect on his behalf – believe him, he’s seen what she can do – but rather, admiration, or longing for what he’s given up. While he’s certainly not her father, he sometimes pretends to be, and he treats her like one of his own. Fyodor is as open with Lena as he can be and loves her to pieces. He’s even got a slurpee machine in his home for when she visits.

Ekaterina 'Kat' Radimevna Kozlova - If it wasn’t for Ekaterina, Fyodor wouldn’t be writing half the shit he does. As a co-worker and friend, Ekaterina has served as Fyodor’s source of inspiration for all the years they’ve known each other. As his muse, Fyodor is awed by Ekaterina’s serpentine grace and attention to detail. When Fyodor is lacking ideas, Ekaterina has proved to be quite adept at weaving stories of her own.

[[ More Connections ]]

ETC

Fyodor has a cat… well, sort of. It’s more that the Rostek manor’s library has a cat on patrol for mice and he’s taken to calling it his own. Her name is Lana and she loves stealing Fyodor’s pens.

He’s very, very reluctant to go to the doctor, and is quite unnerved by the idea of surgery. The idea of being put under and left in the hands of others terrifies him to no end. As a result, he is years behind on checkups. He will do everything in his power to brave illnesses on his own before crawling to professionals for help.

Fyodor is a licensed massage therapist, mortician, and accountant and has worked several other jobs before being assigned to the Rostek Manor. Working at the library has been the least demanding business he has been part of so far.

Fyodor is a freelance writer and publishes everything but his most impressive works under pen names. He’s written everything from nonfiction to romance to high fantasy, but refuses to do any commissioned work for the press. 

Fyodor’s loyalties are blurred. Though he had originally been sent to spy on the Rosteks, part of him has grown so accustomed to hearing their line of thinking that their mantra has bled into his personal beliefs. Sometimes it’s hard for him to distinguish others’ thoughts from his own. (Sometimes it’s hard for him to distinguish between being “equal” and being “superior”.) He wonders if he’s in too far over his head.

[words-by-andy]

June 30th, 2017:

Jay Z, 4:44 (2017) Best Tracks: “The Story of O.J.,” “Legacy,” “Smile” Weakest Track: “Kill Jay Z” Rating: 8.8/10

I’ll be honest: when I heard that Jay Z was possibly putting out an album a month ago, I didn’t care. When I heard that Jay Z was definitely putting out an album a few weeks ago, I didn’t care. When the minutes trickled after learning that the album had actually gone live, I still didn’t care. It’s just how I felt. Kingdom Come jaded me, Blueprint 3 hurt me and Magna Carta tarnished my ability to ever trust again.

Yet, we live in an age where opinions fly as fast as the wireless connectivity that transmit them, and as many with connection to the human race quickly heard, the word had come in: J-Hova was back.

So I listened. And listened. And listened more. This process reoccurred not continually through the whole album, but through every single song. It was like watching a movie and re-watching it just to realize how much shit you missed, and there was plenty. The wisdom, the wordplay, the ripe vulnerability and the punchlines to match — they were peak Jay, albeit in an entirely new form. The legend was not just back, but powerful enough to make you forget that JT is probably still out there somewhere adorned in his Barney’s suit and tie.

So, to commemorate this grand moment in rap music, I can only do one of the things rap fans loved to do the most before RapGenius made it all too simple: decode the fuck out of fire ass bars. And so we begin.

– – –

“Y’all on the ‘Gram, holdin’ money to your ear. There’s a disconnect, we don’t call that money over here.” – “The Story of O.J.”

Let’s begin with what is arguably one of the most iconic bars rapped since SahBabii famously pondered the health-conscious, “How you suck dick, but don’t eat string beans?” At first glance, the lyric seems simple enough. Compared to Jay Z’s wealth, your Instagram photo of you purposefully gazing at the floor like a thot with a stacked bundle to your ear is pitiful. Not only does Jay not admire it, he also refuses to call your wrinkled paper money. He’s rich, you’re on Instagram. Point taken. cNow, let’s look into the actual pose described itself. Why is the unnamed flexer holding the cash stack to his ear? Well, because as the age old proverb goes, you got to pick up when the money is calling. Maybe for fear the money’s service will be busy later? Who knows. Nonetheless, herein is where Jay Z makes his message clear, primarily by going full “hold up, I’m about to enter a tunnel, my reception is really bad” levels of I can’t hear you. There’s a disconnect, both financially and in terms of hypothetical cell phone reception. At this point, Jay is so far into the tunnel of real wealth, he is now unavailable to literally call that money. Let it be known that vain cash bundles hold no place in Jay Z’s metaphorical contact list. 

“Drug dealers and abusers, America likes me ruthless. My therapist said I relapsed, I said, “Prehaps I Freudian slipped in European whips.” God sent me to break the chain.” – “Smile”

With all honesty, these might be my favorite lines of the whole album. There’s so much to unravel here yet the message is so clear, which is Hov’s M.O. to a T. In these lines, Jay counters his portrayal in the white media as a criminal by reaffirming the reality that he’s earned his overwhelming success through music and a tight business acumen, and all with instinctive ease, or as he refers to it, “Freudian slips,” a term coined by famed psychoanalyst Sigmund Freud describing moments or words spoken by accident that reflect ones subconscious desire. Creating classic albums, founding and running a major label, landing Beyonce, developing an entertainment conglomerate, creating an artist-friendly streaming service, landing Beyonce — all these came to Jay intuitively from his desire to succeed, along with his desire to break apart the chains of structural racism (as represented by European whips) and the obstacles he endured. And he made it all look easy. You see that? That’s god-level poetry.

“Slappin’ out of the toy, the separation is clear. In my rear-view mirror, objects is further than they appear. Oh yeah, I was born with a pair, Playin’ for high stakes. Norman caked, he looked up and out of the Lear.” – “Smile”

There’s two very important innuendos to break down here. cTo begin, we have to call back to Drake’s 2016 dud Views and pick apart a small shot tucked in “Weston Road Flows,” a couplet that reaches with the sentiment: “You number one and I’m Eddie Murphy, we tradin’ places / Look in the mirror, I’m closer than I really appear.” With a track-record for subliminally calling out Jay (debatably the greatest of all time), there’s no confusion as to who that line was for. So, Jay being Jay, clears up the misinformation with two simple retorts: 1) the separation is VERY clear and 2) you’re still far as shit. In this way, not only does Hov want Drake to know he’s in fact not Eddie Murphy, but he wants him to know he’s probably also not Dave Chappelle, Chris Rock or even Kevin Hart. He’s Katt Williams or something, you know, somewhere in a separate caliber kickboxing children.   cAs for the second part, well this deserves recognition for being just about the most middle aged reference I’ve ever heard in a rap song, sans all the corny dad jokes Kanye’s been dropping since “so many Aunties, we should have an Aunty team.” In this impeccable confection of words, Hov lets you know he has balls, and as such, plays for high stakes. The reward? Well, he (referring to himself as ‘Norman’) made a shitload of money and is now looking out of a Lear jet — a play on the name of iconic television producer, Norman Lear, the man responsible for shows like Sanford and Son, All in the Family and practically every other ’70s sitcom you watched on Nick At Nite when you stayed up too late. It’s a punchline so deeply representative of Jay almost being 50 and old as hell, yet he flaunts it while simultaneously letting you know he’s still rich and talented. Genius.

“Marcy me, streets is my artery, The vein of my existence, I’m the Gotham City heartbeat” – “Marcy Me”

It’s no secret that Jay Z will go to any length to put on Brooklyn’s Marcy Projects. He shouts the project building out in every record, and even goes out of his way to distribute toys throughout the houses every Christmas. To Jay, the Marcy projects are what Gotham City is to Batman. In his eyes, it his duty to protect the name and legacy of the place he called home. It’s sacred to him (hence the ‘Mercy Me’ flip).

Yet, at the same time, this acknowledgement works both as a statement of intrinsic love for his old tenements and also as recognition that the Marcy houses very much so represent his darkest days. No matter if the streets flow through him like veins and arteries, as they are what gave him life, the play on vein/bane/Bane is left purposefully enough to fuel the Batman analogy. Those same buildings he knows and love were the same that gave him his first job peddling crack and acted as a backdrop for the reoccurring violence he faced growing up. Like Bane to Batman, the houses could’ve very much presented him with untimely death, as they did with timely strength.

Make no mistake, Jay Z is a real life superhero.