#prediction: my parents never told me they were proud of me will win and pay attwntion to me will loose by a mile

[deadtiredghost]

Which turtle is which tho 😂

Guys guys.

I know he touch adverse but rottmnt!Donnie do kinda be all of these???

[rainbowchip2003]

“and you’re ugly, just like your mom”

for @misslivvie !

word count: 1646

november 2nd, 2019

10:25am

*third person*

it was a typical morning in casablanca plaza. all of the staff had gathered in, and were going through their opening routines. in wild side inkorporated, it was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop. vince is always the last to show up, so it was just the tattoo artists for now. luna was making today’s playlist, while billy scribbled a design on some scrap paper. lennon, a nonbinary newbie, sanitized their station.

“what day is it?” billy asked lennon. 

“saturday.” they confirmed as they checked the clock. billy’s eyes drifted to the side in realization, while luna ran a hand through her multicolored mane.

“oh, shit.” she whispered.

“what?”

“we never told you this, but vince brings his daughter to work on the first saturday of each month!” lennon chuckled at the mental picture of the two hiding from a little kid.

“i’m sure it’s nothing to worry about?” the rookie giggled once more.

“imagine veruca salt but, like, maybe 5% less stable.” just then, vince came in with his daughter, liesl, ready for a new day at the tattoo parlor. liesl had her mom’s auburn waves, and her dad’s smile. she stared at her tablet, ears covered by a pair of lol surprise headphones. liesl even had a small, glittery purse shaped like a unicorn!

“morning!” vince waved before taking off his leather jacket, and helping liesl with her pink coat.

“good morning, vince!” the artists chimed in nearly perfect unison. the ginger never looked up from whatever was on her screen.

“...and liesl.” luna muttered. lennon took the opportunity to introduce themselves; they bent down to her level, and put on their friendliest voice.

“nice to meet you, leisl!” they said with a warm grin.

“...hi.” liesl greeted. unlike most children her age, she seemed unfazed by their punk appearance.

“i don’t think we’ve met; my name is lennon!” lennon put out their hand to shake, which she accepted.

“lemon?” the little girl asked.

“no, lennon, with an “n”.” they laughed it off, it was a common mistake.

“daddy, how much longer until the shops open?” liesl already started her whining kick.

“riiight about…” vince looked at the giant clock on the wall, only seconds away from opening time. “now!” at last, it finally struck 10:30, and casablanca plaza was officially open!! “here’s $20, go crazy.” vince handed her three $5 bills, and five singles. 

liesl let out a cheer as she ran out the door. whether her father was being sarcastic was a mystery; but alas, she took his word as gospel. in vince’s eyes, $20 was nothing; but to any six year old, it was winning the lottery! ironically, there was a patch on vince’s jacket that read “greatest father in the galaxy” under liesl’s birthdate.

she blended in with the first flood of shoppers just fine. liesl only gets to visit casablanca once a month, so she has to make the most of every trip. how does she do so, you ask? nothing much, she just makes people’s day a living hell. no one questions vince on why he lets his young daughter run around unsupervised. 

liesl’s first stop was thunderbolt coffeehouse, where she has her own signature drink. the beverage in question is 6oz of water mixed with the tiniest splash of white chocolate syrup. because it’s basically nothing, liesl only had to pay a dollar. having just opened, tommy was the only person in the store.

“good morning, liesl! the usual?” he adjusted his burgundy visor with a lightning bolt sewed on it.

“you know it!” she left a dollar on the counter to pay. tommy prepared liesl’s first of many mall treats. behind the display case, liesl noticed some brown and orange squares sitting atop a doily. “what are those?”

“pumpkin cheesecake bars.”

“i want one!” she demanded as she tapped the sneeze guard.

“you’re only allowed your special drink.” tommy said softly, yet firmly: “ ‘cause you nearly bought the place out, remember?” he referred to her first visit, where she blew all her money on thunderbolt fare, and didn’t finish most of it.

“can’t you make one exception for your favorite customer?” even liesl’s best puppy eyes weren’t charming enough for him!

“i’m afraid not.” luckily, tommy has more patience for her than anyone else in the mall.

“you’re so inconsiderate!” leisl scoffed as she folded her arms.

“it’s just what your dad told me-” tommy sighed.

“and you’re ugly, just like your mom.”

“sorry to hear that, have a free cheesecake bar.” he forked over the seasonal goodie, knowing mr. simmons would freak if he caught him. but hey, if it’ll get the twerp to zip it! she swallowed one bite of the pumpkin bar, and shoved it into her purse.

on her way to poisonous novelties, she saw that dee, her youth group leader, was here! she went over to his little cart, where he handed out pamphlets promoting the church.

“hi, mr. snider!” she doesn’t often see him anywhere other than the chapel.

“hi, liesl!” although she was the problem child of dee’s youth group, he still treated her with the same amount of respect as anyone else. “excited for service? as a belated halloween treat, we’re watching wishbone in the legend of sleepy hollow!”

“never heard of it.” liesl shrugged.

“i used to watch wishbone as a kid; i think you’ll like it.”

“are you giving out zebra cakes, or oatmeal pies after?” part of the only reason she even bothered going to service was because of the snacks dee would hand out.

“popcorn!” 

“ooh, i can’t wait!” “i’ll see you tomorrow!” dee waved to her, and went back to work. if only dee knew how she treated everyone else....

she went up the escalator, and ran into the candy store so fast, she didn’t notice bobby sitting behind the counter! her main priority was getting as many sweets as she could while staying within her budget.

“did you have a fun halloween?” he attempted to make some friendly small talk.

“yeah, i went as butterbean!” she boasted as she got a paper bag, “my costume had shoes, and wings, and even a wig!”

“that’s so cool!” bobby started to approach the young girl. “i, uh, was barney, the purple dinosaur!” he lied. the poisonous novelties gang actually went as steel panther, with him as lexxi. leisl was barely listening, as she wasted no time shoving random stuff to the bag. “don’t you still have halloween candy?”

“traded most of it.” suddenly, liesl reached into the container of marshmallow bananas, and started picking out the fluffiest ones with her bare hands! 

“can you not-”

“nobody eats these anyway!”

“you didn’t use the tongs, so you have to pay for that entire thing!” he wished he could be as intimidating and strong as bret, but didn’t have the confidence.

“how much?” at this point, liesl found it was best to accept her fate.

“$15.”

“can i keep them?” she asked as she handed bobby some wadded up dollars. his lips widened into an almost taunting smile, and just shook his head no.

liesl made her way to the foodcourt; she had just enough money for a basket of cheese fries. she topped the greasy goodness with ketchup, regular and lite mayo, and barbeque sauce. she walked to kiss kosmetics, on the other side of the mall, as she ate. liesl stood outside the door to find vinnie texting, while paul helped a customer match their foundation.

“you need to finish that before you go inside!” vinnie exclaimed, setting down his phone. the basket wobbled in her hand as she carried it with only four fingers. 

“i’ll be careful, i promise!” as predicted, liesl tripped over nothing and fell face first. she dropped the unholy sauce with a side of fries onto the once pristine white tiles. liesl rolled onto her back on the floor, and whined like she was half her age.

“if you think you’re getting out of here scottfree, you are sorely mistaken!” although paul didn’t have kids, he went full dad mode!

“i do what i want!!” liesl stamped her feet in exasperation. she made such a scene that someone started to leave!

“i’m calling your dad!” paul had both parents on speed dial, just in case. saturday used to be his favorite day of the week, but thanks to her, it’s thursday!

“get to cleaning.” vinnie rested some napkins and a spray bottle of tile cleaner on her stomach.

liesl dragged herself up and hastily began to pick up her mess.

“yeah, vince? this is paul; you’ll never believe what your daughter did today!” the tantruming redhead slammed the bottle on the floor. “we keep telling her not to come in with food, and she did anyway! she dropped whatever she was eating, and now she’s refusing to clean up.”

“i’m getting grounded for falling?” liesl threw her head back.

“you don’t think i know about what happened at the candy store?”

“what’d she do?” vince asked on the other line.

“i got a text from bobby saying that she took out all the marshmallow bananas with her hands. your wife needs to pick her up before she causes any more chaos.” 

“put her on.” paul came out, and brought the phone to her ear. “liesl, what did i tell you about manners?!” 

“there weren’t any signs…”

“you don’t need signs, you need common sense!” paul rolled his eyes.

“you march to the parlor, get your jacket, and you’re getting in mom’s car without a fight, do you hear me?!” 

“yes, daddy…” she sniffled. “bye, guys.” leisl hung her head as she left the store pathetically sobbing.

“good riddance!” paul sighed in relief, more than proud of himself for successfully setting the little brat straight.

[jefferoni-quotes]

Love, Thomas - Hamilton Oneshot

Ship: Jeffmads 

Based off Love, Simon

High School AU (obviously)

- - -

Dearest, Grey

July 18th, 2019, 00:03 am

The emails we share never fail to make me smile. I don’t know what it is, but there’s an air of mystery around our conversations. I crave something, more, a deeper connection than Wifi. But, I can settle for now. I speculate a lot, probably to much. I wonder day and night about who you are. Do you attend the very same school as me? Perhaps we happen to share a class, but I just don’t know it...

Sorry, I’m rambling. 

What I’m trying to say, Grey, is I think I want to know who you are. I’m intrigued by this other gay kid in my school. Or maybe you’re not even in the same state as me. I don’t know, you never specified. You’re a lot more closed in these emails than me. Maybe I share to much, I do tend to go off in tangents. But I have lots to speak about! With endless possibilities, why stop talking?

Anyways, I eagerly await your reply,

Yours, Magenta 

- - -

Magenta,

July 19th, 2019, 6:55 am

I can see where you’re coming from, but I don’t feel particularly comfortable disclosing my identity just yet. Maybe in the foreseeable future, we will be able to meet for real. Who knows?

However, I can say, that I’m in the grand state of West Virginia. Which just so happens to be the exact state that you live in. You told me that information, I promise, I’m not internet stalking you. I just have a good memory. I shall not say more than that at this point in time.

I apologise, I keep going back to the same point. haha...

How was your day? Have you “”came out”” yet?

I hate the term coming out. I don’t think I should have to come out. I should be able to go home and say to my dad, “I got a date.” And he be fine with me going off with a guy. Not that i’ll ever get a date of course.

What’s your opinion on this?

- Grey x

- - -

For Grey,

July 19th, 2019, 7:41 am

Oooooh, and x at the end! I do feel special!

I’m glad you remembered I told you, because I forgot I did. I probably would’ve told you 10,000 times before I finally noticed I’ve told you before.

Coming out? Yeah, haven’t done that. My parents are super conservative and would most likely not be overjoyed to have their son come out as a “gay”. I don’t know if I eve will “come out.” I like your point, but society is heteronormative. Everyone just assumes who we are, and it’s not fair.

You know what we should do? We should come out together! Both of us, come out to our parents. Rip the bandaid off, ya know?

Sincerely, Magenta x

- - -

My Dear, Magenta,

July 19th, 2019, 4:06 pm

Maybe... how and when do you propose we do this?

- Grey x

- - -

Dearest, Grey-Senpai,

July 19th, 2019, 5:28 pm

Tomorrow, as soon as we get home. Walk in the door, turn around, shout up the stairs, “IM GAY AND NOW IVE CAME OUT IM GOING OUT!” Then go hang with some buds or whatever.

Yours, Magenta xx

- - -

Darling, Magenta,

July 20th, 2019, 4:21 am

1, kindly never refer to me as “Grey-Senpai” ever again.

2, that’s a very... forward way of coming out... but I like it! It’s a deal!

3, today marks seven months of emails! Happy seven months haha :)

Forever, Grey x

- - -

To, Grey-pai

July 20th, 2019, 4:29 am

1, suggestion noted and changed.

2, today is an important day then... scared? Cause I sure am... I’m fucking terrified... I can feel my heart in my throat.

3, Happy seven months is a very “coupley” thing to say, don’t you think? But despite that! Happy 7 months!

4, why are you up at 4 am?

Sincerely, Magenta xx

- - -

For my dear, Magenta,

July 20th, 2019, 5:09 am

1. That’s not really any better, but I shall deal with it.

2. It really is, I’ll keep you updated.

3. I’m sorry, I apologise if I made you feel uncomfortable. I’m very sorry, just don’t be mad ha ha... 

4. You were up too, little hypocritical. But if you must know, I was doing Biology homework. My teacher is very strict and she expects homework to be done in a day. I had sport practice so I had to do it at 3 am.

Are you ready? You said you had conservative parents, do you think they’ll be mad? I know my father is rather accepting, but I don’t really know...

Much love, Grey-pai x

- - -

Grey-pai,

July 20th, 2019, 12:47 pm

I’m glad you’ve decided to accept the nicknames. Don’t try to fight it, as you really won’t win. 

My parents are kinda shitty, but I don’t think they’ll be mad. Most likely shocked into silence, to which I will storm upstairs, lay face down on my bed until my sister comes upstairs and says my mom wants to talk to me. They’ll be unsure, but accepting. 

You play sports? What ones? I play too, but I’m intrigued by what you do. Sorry that I’m prying.

Homework at 3 am has been proven bad for the mind. And if your biology teacher is like mine, I can relate. She’s, quite frankly, and excuse my French, a bitch.

Good luck today!

Yours, Magenta x

- - -

My dearest, Magenta,

July 20th, 2019, 1:39 pm

At least your family will respect you! I’m 99.99% sure that you’ll be perfectly fine!

I’m on the athletics team, but I’m honestly terrible at it. It’s not prying. I’ve realised that I don’t share much about myself. I don’t know why I was hiding so much, I want it to feel like you know my personality. Maybe not my face. I don’t want our relationship to change drastically. Over time... I don’t know... I’m horrifyingly bad at making decisions.

What do you play? I’m curious how sporty “Magenta” is. I don’t believe I’ve ever mentioned how much I like that both our names just so happen to be our favourite colours. Well, I assume magenta is your favourite colour. I know grey is the colour I love. 

I realise its a horrible idea to try and learn in the middle of the night, but I don’t have any other choice. I don’t want to ruin my perfect score by receiving a detention.

Good luck to you too, Magenta!

Love, Grey xx

- - -

Darling, Grey-pai,

July 20th, 2019, 4:34 pm

I’m currently standing outside my house, and typing this email to distract myself from the bile rising in my stomach. I don’t know why I’m terrified. I’m not so sure why. I know they’ll be fine with it. Perhaps it’s the terror of sharing such a long kept secret. I don’t really know.

Looking in through the window, they’re all watching TV. This feels too... normal. I’ve been taught by society that this should be a big thing! A huge announcement. But no. It’s too... boring. I don’t know.

I’m going inside. Wish me luck, 

- Magenta xx

- - -

Magenta,

July 20th, 2019, 4:41 pm

Good luck.

I’ve told my dad. He’s cool with it! And I’m so happy!

PS: What sports do you play?

Love, Grey xx

- - -

Dearest, Grey,

July 21st, 2019, 1:34 am

I needed it. My exact prediction came true. They were silent then my ma hugged me and pops patted my back. He said he was proud. They’re accepting! 

Congrats to you too!

Love, Magenta x

- - -

Lovely, Magenta,

July 21st, 2019, 1:54 am

CONGRATULATIONS! YOU GO!!

I’m so happy they’ve accepted you!

Sports??

Much love, Grey xx

- - -

Darling, Grey-pai,

July 21st, 2019, 8:33 pm

I’m so happy too!

Love, Magenta xx

- - -

My Dearest, Magenta,

July 22nd, 2019, 00:33 am

I’m so proud of you! I’m so impressed that both our families accepted us. I really wasn’t expecting it from the South to be perfectly honest. 

All my love, Grey x

- - -

Magenta,

July 22nd, 2019, 00:34 am

Also, would it be weird if I said I think I know who you are?

- Grey xx

- - -

Grey,

July 22nd, 2019, 00:41 am

What? 

Yours, Magenta x

- - -

Dearest, Magenta,

July 22nd, 2019, 00:47 am

You’re on the running team and the volleyball, right? You won gold in the last sports event for both. Friends with that John Adams guy?

Love, Grey x

- - -

For, Grey,

July 22nd, 2019, 00:52 am

how.

what if you’re wrong? what if you’re right? then i’d want to know who you are. but you’re not wanting me to know. that’s not fair, grey. it’s not fair.

- Magenta

- - -

Dear, Magenta,

July 22nd, 2019, 00:58 am

I’m sorry. If I’m right, we can set up a time and place to meet. If I’m wrong, I apologise. 

Lots of love, Grey xx

- - -

Grey,

July 22nd, 2019, 1:01 am

When and where?

Love, Thomas x

- - -

Thomas slammed his laptop shut and pushed it down to the edge of his bed. He ran a hand through his matted, mop of curly hair and exhaled slowly. He thought about if he’d made a horrible decision, but tried to shake it off. The light from his screen peaked through the cracks. He slowly dragged it up to him, the covers crumpling as he did. He pulled the top open.

- - -

Dearest, Thomas/Magenta,

July 22nd, 2019, 1:12 am

Carnival, 9 pm. Tonight. See you there.

- Grey x

- - -

Grey,

July 22nd, 2019, 1:14 am

See you there.

Love, Magenta xx

- - -

He wiped the sleep from his eyes and turned his computer off. He placed it on his bedside table and flicked the bed sheets up to his chin. Thomas laid down, letting his hair fall over his face. He sunk into it, treating it like an ocean of emotion that he could drown in. A place where, once he reached the sea bed, he could lie in peace, without worries or feelings. And eventually, he lulled off to sleep.

Thomas woke up before his alarm and shut it off. It was a Saturday, and he still had 15 hours until he met his long term... lover? Crush? Love? What were they? Hell, he didn’t even know Grey’s name. What if he was some crazy, 50 year old stalker? Then again, he was fast and could either run away or fight. 

No matter. He had 15 hours. 15 hours.

Breakfast.

14 hours.

Sitting inside.

13 hours.

Going outside.

12 hours.

Running practise.

11 hours.

Still running.

10 hours.

Lunch.

9 hours.

Panic starts.

8 hours.

Panic intensifies.

7 hours.

Panic calms.

6 hours.

Internet.

5 hours.

And a phone call with John Adams.

4 hours. 

Phone call ends.

3 hours.

Argument with Alexander through Twitter.

2 hours.

Quick toast dinner. And then start changing.

1 hour.

More panic.

0 hours.

And he made it. Thomas looked down at his phone discreetly, sticking his hands in his pockets. The browned up grass pressed beneath his feet as he stepped. Someone tapped his shoulder.

“Hey, Thomas! What’s up!” John Adams grinned and leaned on his shoulder.

“Nothing. Just... waiting for someone.” Thomas smiled at his feet.

“Ooooh! Is it that Grey guy you told us about?” John nudged him with a cheeky wink, wriggling his eyebrows like caterpillars.

Thomas shoved him playfully. “Shut up. But yes, you’re right...” He sighed lovingly. “I’m scared.”

“That’s normal, dude.” John assured him, looking over. “When’s he supposed to be here?”

Thomas looked down at his phone again. “Ten minutes ago.”

“Huh.” John clicked his tongue with uncertainty, stepping forward so three girls could scatter past him. “Well, he doesn’t know where you are, for a start. Just give it a bit. He’ll turn up.”

And so they waited.

And they waited.

And then they waited some more.

In fact, it was around 10 pm when Thomas ushered into the big wheel. He hesitantly took a seat, weary of the fact that they were simple wooden benches with a metal bar to clutch onto.

He looked over at the two people that made him do this. Shortly after John had arrived, Maria had too. And she knew something. “Why are you making me do this?”

“Trust me, babe!” Maria yelled, rubbing her hands together with excitement.

“I swear to god...” Thomas mumbled. He was at his wits end, and very close to just giving up and going home.

“Ticket for one, please.” A voice called out of the silence, and the sound of change clanging against the ticket booth echoed.

A weight slid in next to him, and Thomas looked over as the bar was secured. “Grey?” Thomas questioned softly.

“Hi, Magenta.” He smiled graciously, looking straight on as the wheel started turning.

Thomas looked down, then at the boy. “James, isn’t it?”

“That’s right, Thomas.” James smiled, gingerly letting his arms hang by his sides. Thomas’ gaze fell to them, and he reached out, taking James’ hand in his own.

“So, it’s really you?”

“Yes.”

“Wow.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No, but it’s a good thing I always thought you were cute.” Thomas confessed as the ride got higher, eventually stopping at the top, letting them see the view. The moon was rising in the dark sky, which was glowing with street laps and stars. Fireflies buzzed below them and James turned to glance at Thomas.

“I’m glad.” He said happily.

Thomas shifted in his seat to face James properly. “Hey, can I...” Thomas moved a little closer, giving James a chance to say no, or pull away.

James’ face broke out into a grin. “You may.”

He closed the gap, and let his hand cup one of Thomas’ cheeks, the other curving around his waist. Jefferson moved his hands to the same comfortable position, keeping his eyes fluttered closed.

And after ten seconds or so, they pulled back, the distant whooping of Maria, John, Peggy and Aaron rising up to meet them. It became clear that James had dragged his friends along for emotional support too.

“So, how does a movie sound, Grey?” Thomas asked with a beaming grin.

“That sounds wonderful, Magenta.”

- - -

Whoops I got carried away.

Oneshot requests are open too, drabbles are short and dumb, Oneshot take longer. Please please please, when requesting, specify if you want a drabble or oneshot! Thank you and I hope y’all enjoyed!

[prorevenge]

An old story of fruit and revenge.

I should preface this by saying it was several years ago (It’s a story from middle school and I’m working on my PhD now), but it was the height of my vindictive career. I was in 6th grade and my vice principal was a real creep. He isn’t really the main villain of this story, but it is important context, let’s call him Mr. Suspicious (Mr. S). Mr. S was the coach for the middle school cheerleading squad (I know, right?) and so everyone in the cheerleading squad basically had his permission to do whatever. They routinely got passes to be out of class, hanging out in his office (I know, right?), and generally do whatever. Overall, the rest of us were pretty resentful of them for basically having the run of the school, and a little creeped out at the whole situation.

I was easygoing in middle school. I never really got picked on and I never really picked on people. I played soccer, did pretty well in class, and minded my own business. The story I’m about to tell doesn’t really involve me getting revenge on someone who wronged me, but being a revenge consultant for a friend who got screwed. We will call my friend Hermione; she was very quiet and sweet, but not very assertive. We played soccer together because the club I played for at the time was so small that they had to combine the girls and boys teams into one. The culprits and the recipients of vengeance will be called Draco, Crabbe and Goyle; they were the leader of Mr. S’s cheerleading squad and her two best friends.

Back then we ate lunch as a class and had assigned seats. My teacher had a planning period or something during lunch so Mr. S was the direct overseer of our class at lunch. For the first two quarters I had a seat assigned near nobody I knew and just ate in peace. Draco Crabbe and Goyle could sit wherever they wanted because of course. We had our seats reassigned after winter break, and by sheer luck I ended up sitting next to Hermione. I learned that all year, Draco Crabbe and Goyle had been sitting across from Hermione on purpose and stealing her food. In particular, Hermione’s mom always packed her a bag of strawberries and they took them every day and ate them in front of her. Mr. S knew this and did nothing about it, in fact it seemed like he was proud of it.

The first time I saw this I tried to grab the bag as they took it and got detention for it. During detention, I basically sat in a classroom and chatted with my teacher about how unfair it was that the vice principal had bullies under his personal protection. She seemed really uncomfortable talking about it, but she didn’t try to argue with me, and I never got reprimanded for saying it. I got the impression that she knew what was going on but was afraid to lose her job. At the time she had a child with medical issues and probably really needed that job, so even in hindsight I think I would have done the same thing in her shoes. At this point, I decided to take the law into my own hands...

I told Hermione to hold on for a few days, and that I had a plan. I didn’t tell her what is was, but as soon as I got home that day I got to work I asked my parents to get strawberries the next time they were at the store (I really love strawberries, so it was a win-win). My parents both worked late at the time, so once I had the strawberries, I began preparing my revenge in solitude. I microwaved some chocolate leftover from Christmas with some milk like you would if you were making chocolate-covered fruit. This fruit had a little something extra though. I grabbed a bottle of dawn dish soap, and a cup of liquid laundry detergent, and mixed them together in a bowl. After that I coated a handful of strawberries with soap slurry and toasted them, drying the soap out so there was about a millimeter-thick layer of soap on each one. I “accidentally” burned some toast later so that the odor would be covered (sorta). After that, I coated the strawberries with chocolate and put them in a sandwich bag. Before school started I traded Hermione’s strawberries for my retribution berries. Predictably, at lunch, Draco, Crabbe and Goyle took the strawberries out of her lunch, saying that she “wasn’t hot enough for them” (middle schoolers are not renowned for wit). I stared off into space, smiling internally as my plan went off more perfectly than I could have hoped. The berries were pretty small, so Draco and Crabbe had basically swallowed them before the soap kicked in. Crabbe started spitting up on the table and they all started gagging and running out of the room. I didn’t get to stay and see what happened because Mr. S figured out what happened and dragged me and my friend away.

We got dragged in front of the vice principal and (importantly) the principal, to whom the whole situation was news. I explained everything that happened, the assigned seats, the strawberry stealing, the fact that nothing had been done about it, and the fact that we hadn’t technically done anything wrong but bring gross food to school as part of our lunch. What was meant to be my crucifixion turned into Mr. S getting reprimanded and forced to take a lower-paying job at the district office (away from kids). I got a lot of shit for that for the next two years, and in hindsight I am glad nobody died because I didn’t check to see if any of my poisons were, well, poison, but I’d say it worked out pretty well. Also Hermione started calling me “Count” (in reference to the Count of Monte Cristo) so that felt pretty good.

TL;DR: Steal my friend’s food and eat it in front of her? Prepare for that food to be disgusting.

(source) (story by kwanzatree)

[80srockher]

Yuri on Ice Re-Watch and Live Commentary, Episode 11: Gotta Super-Supercharge It!! Grand Prix Final Short Program!

My thoughts, they overflow.

The cutest ‘Choose Your Fighter’ menu, ever!

Well look-a-there. The kiss seen around the world is in Yuri’s grand prix replay reel. 

I was NOT expected those faces to show up in the opener. Freaked me out, tbh.

Ok, I suppose that’s a thing in skating…?

Then again, Sarah seems just as confused by that statement.

Also, Mickey, just sit there and be quiet, hm?

Ahh, this is what Victor wants Yuri to remember.

And he’s determined to make his coach proud.

Wow, Minami is the ultimate stan-er. 

I mean…

If this ain’t romantic then my name is Steven Q. Urkel.  And it’s not.

Rawr.

So, Yuri is more comfortable with admitting he wants to win than ever before.  JJ leads the field in jumps, but a few tweaks to his routine may give Yuri an advantage. 

Why, yes he does.  And watch him talk you into it.

Yuri Katsuki is 1,000 - 0 in getting his way from Victor Nikiforov.

Well, doesn’t this harken back to ep. 10?  Victor said he has faith in whatever Yuri decides.  Here’s the follow-through.

Thanks, in part, to you, coach.

These are Victor’s words. He’s quite an erudite observer, is he not?

Two graceful gazelles quad-flipping in tandem.

Unfortunately, Yuri’s hand touches the ice when he lands.  I think we all know him well-enough by now to predict how he’ll react to that.

Meanwhile, Mickey. Stop.  Looking.  For. Reasons.  To.  Touch. Sarah.

Minako+Mari = Me

Of all the expressions of the fam watching from home, this is my favorite.  Hiroko knows what’s coming. 

This expression, right here.

Victor feels Yuri’s disappointment – his frustration at wanting to perform to his utmost capacity – as keenly as Yuri, himself.  These are emotions he likely hasn’t had to experience in quite some time.  Observe his inner dialogue:

“Dunno.  Don’t really care.”

Victor reflects on having been able to surprise everyone when he approached every program like a new beginning.

However, he was running out of new beginnings; lacking in inspiration from a routine existence.  

The quote in this cap is telling.  Victor was wrong about being able to find new strength on his own. 

Yep.  Becoming Yuri’s coach has benefited Victor and Yuri, both.

Probably a pep talk on how perfectionism stands in the way of greatness.  But that’s just a suggestion.

Yay, we get more of the skaters’ back stories in this next-to-last ep.  Phichit has always been adorable.

So… did Celestino move with him to Thailand?  Is Phichit his only skater, now?

I love how Phichit draws inspiration from Yuri.  Unfortunately, the only thing keeping Yuri from fully acknowledging it is his own sense of self-worth.

Darn, the camera just missed me in the far, far, far upper corner.

Awww, bby!  You were great!

As intimidated as he might have by Phichit after his performance, Yuri will always support his bestie.

I mean… really?

And the two parental guardians back there are just going to stand there and let that happen, huh?

Boggles my mind how or why anyone puts up with Yurio’s behavior.  But okay, I guess.

LOL @ Mari.  Yuri’s Angels has a seat at the table for you.

Nerves.  Everyone, except for Victor, it would seem, has them.

Hm… there’s another competition before the Final?  But, yay for Guang-Hong taking home another medal!

Guy to Yurio’s right is kind of a snack, too.

This is Lilia speaking. Why Yuri isn’t reflecting on this himself as he skates – like the rest of his competitors do – I’ve no idea.

So, this is an interesting POV from Yakov.  Lilia mentions in a voiceover how people shine brightest when they seek to understand what kind of love sustains them.  During a section of Yurio’s routine, Yakov can’t help but subconsciously compare him to Victor.  This has several implications, IMO: one being that Yakov’s love for Victor was a source of strength for Yakov, himself.  Another is that Yakov had never seen Victor shine brighter than when skating. That’s… rather sad, actually, because we know that competing began to eventually drag Victor down.

Yet another implication is that Yurio is the next generation’s Victor.  This deserves more elaboration; probably in ep. 12 commentary.

Their faces, here. Just…. LOL.  It takes a lot to surprise them but Yurio managed to do it.

Victor watching himself at 15.

These are Yurio’s internal thoughts.  Well, that’s not shooting for Agape now, is it?

Meanwhile, Yuri’s been searching for Victor and he finds him… paying attention to someone other than him.

118-decimal-point-something-something is like… the highest score we’ve seen in the show so far, I believe.

Sarah is genuinely Yuri’s friend, whether Yuri thinks so or not, lol.

Chris, the human red light.

Victor’s attention is arrested by the rest of the skaters, which is a blow to Yuri’s self-confidence. What Yuri doesn’t understand is that Victor is so sure of Yuri’s new trust in his decisions that he doesn’t feel the need to constantly reassure him.  For perhaps the first time in the series, Victor has taken the time to really appreciate the athletes as a spectator.

However… Yuri is still Yuri, Victor.  YOU are a large part of that newfound trust in himself.

However…… it would help if Yuri told Victor that.  But, Yuri is still Yuri.

Sigh.

This is Chris’ house(?) I’m assuming it’s an apartment building.

Overconfident much?

Look at Chris’ cat carrier. And the carrier he’s carrying.

You may not have won the Final yet, Chris, but you are the gold medalist of double entendres.

So, Chris outscores Yuri.

Victor is happy for Chris. Yuri is not happy at all.

I’m about to relieve Yurio of both his feet.

Aww, baby’s first Davai.

And it’s for Otabek. Go, Otabek!

I really like this music. And Otabek is a very technically skilled skater, having already shared a podium with Victor.  

He doesn’t have Yurio’s grace, so he plays to an entirely different set of strengths.

This is Yuri’s observation. And he’s right.

This is the first time Victor’s ever paid attention to Otabek, someone he competed against and who medal-ed just beneath him and Chris.  LOL! This is growth for him, actually. However, Yuri (being Yuri) feels inadequate in comparison.

This isn’t pro-wrestling, JJ.

Wait a sec… what’s Otabek doing in JJ’s thoughts?  Why, it’s almost as if JJ feels threatened by him.  Inneresting.

As opposed to another type of pressure?

Wow, people certainly make lifetime commitments at a young age in this universe.  JJ is only 19 or so?  Yuko’s only two years older than Yuri.  And Yuri himself… well half the series is about him and his soulmate.

This is some spooky imagery, tbqh.

Did y’all drug test JJ before the stepped on the ice?

Folks, I was one of JJ’s girls that day.  You can conquer those demons, JJ!

Indeed.  Internal battles are the hardest to fight, which Yuri is intimately aware of.  Good on him for realizing others struggle just as much as he does.

These are Yuri’s thoughts. Such progress from last season when he was so down on himself for coming in last at the GPF.  Yes, Yuri, you managed to make it to the final six TWICE in a row!

Ha!  The dude with the flag.  He’s the most invested person in that arena.

That’s rough to know what you’re capable of yet not live up to it.

Isabella!  I was wrong about flag guy; THIS is the most invested person in the arena.  No wonder JJ wanted to marry her within the year.

Unfortunately, Isabella is also an enabler.  LOL.

Ha ha, what a cute, jokey moment between the lovers.  So sweet. So affectionate.

Nothing, Victor, forget he ever said anything!

Yuri Katsuki: undisputed champion of f’ng up his own damn life.

These last ep’s have been ripe for the screencapping, apparently.  One more to go!

[mrtroy]

The Quiet Satisfaction of Cutting Grass

When I was a kid, it always boggled my mind how my old man could cut the grass on a warm mid-summer’s evening while wearing long pants. Every once in a while Pops would wear shorts, but often times, I’d watch him go back and forth across the back yard in his Levis. My ten-year old self couldn’t fathom how anyone could wear long pants in 80-degree weather. And yet, every Sunday and every Thursday, my dear old dad trudged his way through the 1/3rd acre lot of the only home he’d ever owned. Mowing.

The cross-cut was always his specialty. One direction for a first pass, and then the opposite perpendicular just after. Not only would he wear long pants, but he’d also do twice the work For the life of me, it never made sense.

Into our early teenage years, my brother and I were taught very carefully the artisan craft of mowing the yard at 724 Potomac Avenue. My dad wasn’t a member of the grounds crew at Wrigley Field, but apparently, no one told him.

After cutting the yard, he’d edge, trim, and weed-wack until his ankles were a dull light green. Then he’d sweep – and in later years enlisted a leaf blower to clear any stray grass clippings from within 25 yards of a paved surface on our property.

And so, this is how my brother and I learned to take care of a lawn.

As teenagers, we’d mow the lawn from time to time, but mostly, our yard was used as a temporary training ground to learn how to cut the lawn with the ultimate goal of being able to cut other people’s lawns as a weekly summer job.

I had two weekly customers, and the spending money was just enough to pay for trips to Dairy Queen, or to buy baseball cards with my friends.

A few times in the Spring of 1998, I was trusted to mow our lawn as Pops was recovering from a knee replacement surgery. At first, in his truest of forms, the old man got out behind the mower and was determined to soldier on after his surgery. After proving to himself that he was indeed capable of doing it, I think my mom convinced him to have me do it every so often as a way of giving him some rest as he was healing.

I can vividly remember trying so hard to mow in straight lines during those weeks. Pops absolutely loved being able to stand on our back patio after finishing up the yard and admire the lines created as the direction of the grain of the grass alternated up and back. Dark green going one direction, and a lighter – almost white – going the other.

His lines looked something like Rembrandt. At first, mine were a bit more Jackson Pollack, but, as time passed, they got a little more orderly. I learned how to maneuver the mower – always one of Sears’ Craftsman – deftly around the numerous flowerbeds in the back yard. I got the hang of putting a little more pressure on the left side of the handle in order to get the front right side of the mower deck to pop up to avoid hitting the exposed root protruding from the earth under the large silver maple tree at the back of our lot.

As I grew older, and had more activities, I wasn’t expected to mow our lawn with any regularity, however, there were always times where I’d be asked to pinch hit for a week here or there. Many of my friends had to cut their family’s lawn every week, and they hated it. They thought I was the luckiest kid around to weasel my way out of lawn duty more times than not.

My dad likes doing it I always told them.

As I would say those words, I would shake my head a little bit. Who actually liked mowing grass? Sure, I had gotten better at it over the last few years, but I definitely wouldn’t classify it as something I liked…

But, if I ever asked him about it, my dad always emphatically reaffirmed the fact that he did indeed love cutting the lawn.

It’s relaxing, he would always say. I enjoy how it looks when I finish. I love when the yard looks good. It makes me feel good about the entire house.

I don’t think I’d ever seen him happier than the time one of our neighbors up the street put their house up for sale, and their realtor took a picture from their yard looking into ours with the caption, ‘majestic back-yard view with garden-like neighboring yard.’ I’m somewhat shocked he didn’t frame the real estate listing…

I mowed the yard on and off into and through college, and even a few times in my early twenties as I was living at home after college saving for the first house of my own.

Despite everything he tried to impart on me, I never quite developed Pops’ love of lawn care. When I learned that all the yardwork at my first townhouse was going to be covered by the homeowner’s association, I counted this as a win. My dad joked that I could probably mow the common area between shared driveways if I wanted. Everyone in the family knew he wasn’t kidding, although he got a pretty funny look from my realtor after the agent realized this wasn’t actually a joke.

A few moves later, I worked my way into a house with a yard of its own, and, you guessed it, mowing duties to match. Pops and I stopped in at the local Home Depot where we picked me out a shiny new Toro lawn mower.

He beamed with pride as we rolled it out of the store, and he couldn’t help himself but to fire it up for the first spin around my new yard. Never mind it was my house, he was going to christen the new machine, so help him God.

I laughed as he went. With each pass, he’d yell out some feature of the mower as I stood in the driveway trying to conceal my laughter. I couldn’t hear a word he said, but I know every word oozed with the type of enthusiasm I hoped I one day had for any topic – let alone cutting grass.

--

It’s coming up on two years since I’ve lived in a house with a yard, so I don’t do any mowing these days.

I’ve never missed it. When it rains, or I have to be out of town for days or weeks at a time, I never worry if my neighbors are silently critiquing my lack of lawn manicuring skill as they look at my unruly lawn from their living room windows.

As I was prepping that house for rent this last rent cycle, I did a little maintenance on my Toro mower. She was still in pretty good shape, and I have to admit, I did get a little satisfaction flipping her over and scraping the dried grass out from the underbody of the red machine. Those sentiments came and went quickly though as I gassed her up and got her ready for the renters who would now be responsible for cutting the lawn. Silently, I wondered when I might mow a yard again. Soon? Not soon? Either way, I didn’t figure to miss it.

And I didn’t

However, that next time mowing came today, and it was quietly satisfying.

My parents are out of town putting their National Parks Pass to good use and asked if I wouldn’t mind coming over to their house to take care of the yard while they are gone.

Sure, I said. What else would I say? I agreed that I would come over on the weekend after they’d been gone five days and take care of it.

Part of me figured that by mid week, I’d be dreading my assignment. Lawn mowing isn’t hard, but it does take time, and it’s not exactly the most exciting weekend activity a person can do.

But strangely, I didn’t begin to dread the looming task by mid week. The forecast was calling for rain on Saturday, so I decided to come straight from work on Friday night and knock the task out before the rains came.

As I punched the entry code into the keypad on the side of my parents’ garage door, I realized I couldn’t remember the last time I had mowed this yard. My boyhood yard.

As the garage opened, I saw that Pops had acquired a new mower since the last time I had noticed. No longer a Craftsman model, he was now the proud owner of a Troy-Bilt machine. How fitting that a Troy – especially a proud one – would buy himself a Troy-Bilt mower. I smiled. He was so predictable…

As I wheeled the mower out of the garage and pulled the cord to start the engine, unexpected emotions came over me. The Troy-Bilt roared to life after two pulls on the cord. When was the last time I had mowed THIS yard?

And wouldn’t you know it, coming right from work on a Friday now, I was wearing jeans as I began. I stopped in my tracks thinking about how many times I’d given my old man a hard time in my head for wearing jeans to mow the lawn… And yet, here I was…

I looked around at how much more lush the trees and shrubs were that surrounded the yard. The basic foundational elements were the same as they had been when I had first mowed the yard in the late 90s, but a lot had also changed.

As I always had, I started to the north side of the driveway and completed this section of grass first. Immediately, I noticed how smoothly this new mower ran. A few seconds later I started to go down that path of, ‘back when I first started mowing this yard, the mowers weren’t nearly this nice…’ – but I stopped short. I’m not even 35 yet, I can’t be starting that kind of things…

I moved to the south side of the driveway a few minutes later and began navigating some of the newer features the lawn now featured. I’d mown around them before – later in life – but I remembered back to when the birch tree didn’t have as much foliage surrounding its base. I could picture our family bulldog waddling around near it, his tongue nearly hitting the ground as he did.

The front yard isn’t big, and it only took me a few minutes to level the south section…

Moving to the back yard, I pushed the mower down the brick sidewalk that connects my parents front yard to its back. The surrounding flora had grown so much since I’d last done this, I was barely able to maneuver the 23-inch wheelbase around a bevy of ferns, spruce trees and other assorted plants I couldn’t name.

The trees in the back yard were so much bigger and fuller than I last remembered. I’d been in this yard regularly over the last few years – even in the last few months – but there was something different about mowing it. I noticed more. It felt more significant.

Again, I began mowing in a familiar fashion. One complete ring around the outer edges of the yard. Along the contours of the flower beds and up against the limestone the bordered the patio. The back yard hadn’t changed as much as the front had, and I was immediately struck by how much smaller it seemed. Teenage me always dreaded the backyard because it seemed so big, and ‘took a long time.’ In actuality, it took 22 minutes and minimal effort.

I surmised somewhere during the middle portion of those 22 minutes that it had probably been about twelve years since I’d mowed this grass. It was probably during my last summer of college that I’d done it.

I thought about the things in my life that had changed since then. The things I had learned. I thought a lot about my parents. They had been in their 40s and 50s then. Both are in their 60s now. They’re in the process of planning to retire and move away from this house they’ve occupied for 35 years.

I came to the raised root near the silver maple tree – the same one where I had learned how to raise one side of the mower to avoid clipping the root. Instinctively, I pushed down on the left side of the mower’s handle. The right front wheel popped up. The root was avoided. Not bad, I thought. I’ve still got it…

As I finished the yard, I felt a sense of pride in being able to come over and mow it for my parents. For hundreds of weeks in my youth, I’d had baseball games and camping trips. I’d gone away to school, and had at one point even spent 42 consecutive days on a road trip across the west cost of the U.S.

That fact brought a nice little piece of symmetry as I thought of my parents roaming around Colorado and Utah for the next few weeks.

As a kid, I didn’t always have the capacity to realize all that my parents did for me, and it’s been a nice little bonus of growing up – coming to the realization that adult responsibilities are hard, and the value in their consistency and commitment to just keeping the house running, or keeping my brother and I on track with school and other activities.

One thing I always struggled with as a kid was emptying the grass clippings from the bag on the back of the mower into a yard waste bag. As I went to do it this evening, I discovered something amazing: a little handle on the back of the mower’s bag that allowed you to easily grip the bottom of the bag as you emptied the cut grass into the refuse bag. Whoa. This was big. The angle it created to empty the clippings was immaculate, and they easily slid into the brown paper yard waste bag with no issues and no mess.

I can only hope some neighbor somewhere could have seen the smile on my face as I was doing this. Ha! Talk about a goofy thing to witness.

As I swept the driveway, I was extra careful to get every stray clipping off the concrete and into a flowerbed somewhere. If there’s anything my old man takes pride in, it’s the presentation of the lawn after the mowing has been done. The old blue-handled broom seemed a little shorter now, but it still did a number on the stray blades of grass as it brushed them out of sight.

I wheeled the mower back into the garage, put it in its spot and looked forward to being able to do this again next week. By then, Mom and Dad would likely be in Missouri on their way back home. I’d be happy to see them, and happy to relinquish my mowing duties.

I don’t miss mowing, and I am at peace with the fact that over the next year or so, my parents will move out of their house and bid farewell to their yard after 35 years.

But, boy, for these few times while they’re gone, it sure felt great to cut their grass.

[trulymadlysydney]

Harry Styles’ Natal Chart Analysis

So many of you have been asking me to do this forever and I finally finished it and decided to post it! It’s quite long but quite worth the read.  (And very interesting.  Especially if you want to see what you have in common with him!) 

A general note: none of this is written from any bias or from what we as fans already know. It was taken from websites and books that I own, as well as my own knowledge of the signs and how they affect a person.  Read this willing to note the positive AND negative aspects of his personality. 

Please feel free to ask me any questions about my own personal feelings/interpretations of this, or chime in with your own! 

Without further ado and below the cut, here is... the Natal Chart of Harry Styles.

 Sun: Aquarius, Fourth House  -Sun sign is the most basic aspect of you.  Your personality in simplest terms.

- his Aquarius sun makes him, in simple terms, dreamy. His mind is often far away. Seemingly detached, but not really. Hopeless romantic but too afraid to ever show it for fear of seeming vulnerable. Loves love and is absolutely infatuated with the idea, but scared of it. It's a sign of weakness in his mind.  Silly sense of humor. Artistic. Seemingly unafraid of what people think, but far more insecure than he lets on. Ahead of his time, can come across as strange. Must have his freedom, even in a relationship-- which tends to frustrate lovers. Very faithful to friends and lovers, but cannot communicate. Struggles with connecting to others.  Feels claustrophobic when stressed. Tendency to be a leader.

 - The fourth house is responsible for an individual’s roots. He knows what he wants but likely has a slow and steady progression. Success through small steps. Individuals born with the sun in this house means that they had one parent who was more dominant in childhood. He had a very bright childhood, driving him towards making a family of his own. He is very interested in the traditions of his family, and passing down heirlooms and values. Interested in anything connecting with land. Likely to work in a small traditional restaurant at one point. He must have a solid foundation of family to live. He wants a family of his own that he can protect but also rule over. 

Moon: Libra, Twelfth House  -Moon sign is the inner you.  The you that you don’t show to other people.  It is the way you think, perceive, and feel things.  It is how you see the world, and very few people see this side of you. 

-he hates to be alone. Willing to make a lot of sacrifices for someone he genuinely loves. Enjoys debate.  Incredibly charming, often found flirting. Finds flaws in relationships-- platonic or otherwise-- very easily. Willing to argue with a partner until he wins.  Pays lots of attention to details.  Typically quite overindulgent. Never predictable.  Must take his time analyzing potential outcomes of a decision.  Puts family above all else.  Tends to let lose when he is too stressed. Incredibly aesthetic tastes.  Quite forgetful.  Hates aggression.

-Extremely sensitive and intuitive.  Will always hide emotions.  Tends to be very vulnerable.  Probably clairvoyant.  Possibly has many phobias. Incredibly empathetic and sentimental.  Feels like a martyr often because he gives so much to others and feels they do not give as much back.  Tends to sleep walk on nights when the moon is bright.  Tends to disappear and spend long periods away from others because he is afraid to get too close. Very close to his mother, but likely not in his childhood years. Incredibly strong, vivid imagination.  Tends to get lost in daydreams.  Prone to insomnia-- especially during full moons.   Easily hurt, but will not express it. Very good at nurturing others. 

Rising: Libra -Rising sign is the mask you wear to the public.  It is people’s first impression of you, and how they perceive you to be-- even if it is not who you really are. 

-Charismatic as anything.  Attracts everyone. Tends to have many problems in personal relationships, but hates to be alone. Doesn’t know what to do with himself when alone. Willing to do anything to preserve a relationship on the rocks.  Hates conflict.  Cares deeply about appearance.  Incredibly persuasive and easily places blame on others. Tends to argue a lot if they don’t feel they can just be themselves.  Enormous fan of art, music, and literature.  Can appear shallow. Romantic and very gracious, and hardly ever told “no.”  Negative traits include being occasionally antisocial, vain, and indecisive. Has many friends.  Constantly worried that he isn’t coming across as his best.  Tries to be all things to everyone.

Mercury: Aquarius, Fourth House -Mercury is how you communicate and express yourself, whether through words or otherwise.  It also controls how you decorate your living space. 

-Enjoys breaking rules.  Has a knack for stirring things up.  Enjoys contradicting others by giving his own perspective.  Always ready for a debate.  Detached.  Can appear intimidating, but is delightful to be around.  Quirky/eccentric as hell. Hates schedules but is very organized-- even if his organization skills only make sense to him.  Fascinated with scientific progress. Loves to pull pranks. Incredibly humanitarian and very involved in social reform. Witty, but beyond stubborn.  Excellent writer. More loyal to concepts than he is to people. Loves debating.   -Very focused on family. It’s likely that his mother encouraged him to speak his mind from a very early age.  Likely that one or more of his parents were dedicated to educating him and making him love learning. Likely has an office in his home in which he can work. Strong attraction to history, archeology, geography, and ethnology.  Firmly attached to the culture he grew up in.  Hates new things-- very hesitant to accept change.  He must be careful to not become obsessive and overly fanatic about the things he knows. Struggles to be more flexible.

Venus: Aquarius, Fourth House -Venus deals with love in the sense of how you feel it and express it through your words.  How you show it.

-Open-minded, always focused on the future.  Desperately strives to be seen as rebellious and unique.  Does not follow the mainstream.  Is attracted to unconventional relationships.  Doesn’t want to follow the rules, but wants to make his own. Quite detached in relationships at times.  He wants a strong basis of friendship in a relationship first.  He hates public displays of emotion. Enjoys shocking his partner with his habits and ideas.  Gets crushes very easily, but struggles falling in love.  Once he commits, he’s in it for the long run.  He doesn’t enjoy a clingy or high maintenance partner. MUST have a bit of space to survive.  Treats anyone and everyone with respect.  Gets noticed because he is different. Does not dwell on old lovers. Always fun to be around.  Tends to get married far later in life because he enjoys exploring. He must have intellectual stimulation from a partner. He enjoys stirring up controversy. -Prefers to stay at home rather than go out. Loves to decorate his living space because he is so attached to it.  His home is his security.  Must always have his home clean.   Tends to try and recreate happy childhood memories in his adult home. Invests a lot of time in his family’s joy, but if he feels he is not being appreciated by them he can become passive-aggressive.  Loves to make his home romantic and inspiring.  A very positive home.  Enjoys flowers.  

Mars: Aquarius, Third House -Also deals with love, but the physical aspect of things.

-Very hard to figure out because he love to surprise others.  Original and unique. Very proud of his independence and would have it no other way. Surprisingly very stubborn.  Constantly changing any patterns he notice in his behaviors. Scatter-brained at times. Typically the dominant one in a relationship.  Non-conforming, detached, and willing to let you be yourself. Completely willing to try anything in his sex life, but constantly changes his likes.  If he’s into something one day, he’s not the next.  Loves to experiment.  Loves to act out fantasy and is all about a connection of the mind in sex.  Excellent at separating love and sex if need be.  Incredibly into phone sex/sexting because all power lies in the imagination.  He craves excitement.  -Incredibly active mind. Loves to argue.  Very sarcastic and provocative humor. Even if he knows he’s wrong, he will not admit it.  It takes much effort to make him nervous.  He has a button that, if pushed, can easily trigger fury.  It’s likely he fought with Gemma often in his childhood, because Mars is all about conflict and the likes.  Admittedly seeks trouble just for the sake of arguing, but overall keeps this impulse under control.  Its likely his time at school was not peaceful.  Likely that he was bullied.  He is hyper-energetic and feels restless because its hard to release his mental energy.  

Jupiter: Scorpio, First House

-Attracts good luck.  He has incredible intuition, imagination, and compassion.  Very easily able to read between the lines. Wonderful at giving advice and empowering others. Incredibly fascinated with mysteries, metaphysics, things that are sacred, and sexuality.  Goes through a “spiritual death” and emerges brand new at least once in his life.  Very secretive and serious.  The reason he is so successful is because he can reach deep down and get to the heart of something. Very determined to succeed.  Very passionate and intense. Appears shallow, but is not at all.  Attracts very good business opportunities, and enjoys learning about that side of things.  Has to always know the truth.  Enjoys controlling others and/or having power.  -The first house controls the body and character.  It is responsible for the appearance.  He has beautiful and noble characteristics. Constantly smiling for others, with a strong sense of humor.  Contracts large companies.  Needs to work on his over-confidence.  At the same time, he must work on his over-generosity.  He is always willing to help others, but is easily taken advantage of in the process. Heals from his sicknesses quite quickly.  Likely to have a long life, but only if he keeps his feet on the ground. 

Saturn: Pisces, Fourth House

-Very sensitive; often feels defenseless.  Paranoid because he sees the negative side of things quite often.  Very sensitive, and tends to feel like a victim. Finds security in religion or their beliefs. Must learn to trust more. Must learn to be less defensive. He makes many sacrifices, and feels very obligated to help those less fortunate than him.  Likely struggles with difficulties in his feet.  He may stand strange or have pain in his foot bones often.  His body may be oversensitive.  -Feels he must take care of his parents.  Probably did not have a very easy childhood.  His mother is likely very serious when approaching life.  He may feel his emotional needs are not fulfilled. Likely very close to one of his grandparents. Issues likely lie with extended family. Likely has a hard time selling his houses or property. 

Neptune: Capricorn, Third House

-Reserved when it comes to fame. Has likely always dreamt of wealth/power. Tends to make money off of his imagination.  Must think things over.  Excels at dealing with details, but tends to lean towards secrets. Tends to shut himself away from the world. Reflects on spiritual matters, and is inspired by legends and masters of art, music, and literature.  May come across as not having enough compassion, but it isn’t true.  Loves having authority.  -Chaotic mind.  Doesn’t enjoy any occupation dealing with numbers.  Incredibly intuitive, has a difficult time focusing. Strongly connected to writing; poetic abilities.  He can appear calm and cute. He typically earns much sympathy.  Likely prefers nicknames; loves to preserve a fictional persona under which he presents his work to the masses. Frequently daydreaming when he should be working.  Usually late to things. Likely had challenges in school. Likely a collector of some sort. Enjoys the unusual such as flea-markets and small businesses. Usually too shy to ask for help. 

Pluto: Scorpio

-Strong emotions, which tend to guide reactions.  Strangely empathetic.  Fights for human rights.  Knows how to take hidden things and give them attention.  Has a talent for helping the unconventional become accepted.  Interested in different things, such as the occult, sex, the mind, death, genetic engineering, and cloning.  Has surprisingly dark thoughts. Tries very strongly to remain positive in all things, to the point he may be in denial. Willing to face his own scars as well as the ones he has given others.  Constantly questioning the rules.  A bit manipulative. 

Midheaven: Leo

-Almost ALWAYS achieves what he sets out to achieve.  Knows that his persistence will pay off.  Needs to watch his arrogance. Incredibly ambitious.  Easily able to appear content, even if he is not. Known for his generosity but if he feels insecure, he can tend to be stingy.  Takes negative banter too seriously at times.  Very stubborn. Knows how to make people feel appreciated.  Must have a good mental space.  Takes things incredibly personally, easily insulted. He has the tendency to attract more powerful people than him that may overshadow him.  

[saint-ambrosef]

A bit of an update on me, if anyone cares.

I had a hard time last night, cried until I couldn’t anymore. I lost it especially when Mom said that Tuesday was my grandparents 61st wedding anniversary. Every time I stopped sobbing, and started to get it together, I’d remember that I’ll never see him smile or hear one of his stupid jokes again. And then I’d cry some more.

My grandfather was always very supportive of me. Every time I’d say goodbye, he would always say, “I’m proud of you, miss.” Would talk about how smart I am, and how I’m too beautiful and will break lots of boys’ hearts.

I saw him for the last time Wednesday night, almost exactly 24 hours before his death. Grandpa was a little out of it, but trying to comprehend and pay attention as I nattered about my trip to Boston, and he asked if I looked at any of the colleges around there (he was a little confused and forgot I’m already committed to UD). But I did say we drove through Harvard’s campus. “It’s pretty appealing,” I admitted. “I’d love to go there for law school, but I doubt I could get in.”

He just smiled, squeezed my hand (he was so cold), and said, “I know you can do it, miss. You’re smart enough.” Despite his varying levels of comprehension, there was only clear conviction in his eyes as he said that. Then he made a joke about how the heck I got so smart these past years, and laughed.

Grandpa was the first who predicted I’d go into law. I remember being nine and an argumentative little snit, and he laughed and told my parents, “She’s going to make an excellent lawyer one day!” I hated the idea at the time. But he was so right. And if he believes I can get into Harvard Law, then I damn well am going to try my very best to meet that doubtless belief.

He keeps cropping up. I wonder if he’s in purgatory right now, or already in Heaven, watching over me right now. I was eating the golbutski I’d made last night (talk about bad timing), and thinking, “Oh Grandpa might like these, they’re soft enough that they won’t hurt his gums!” And then remembering.

Or earlier, I decided to try once again to get into running, and was about to head to our complex gym. Mom texted me a picture of an old newspaper clipping, found as they were going through his stuff; it featured a teenage Grandpa, with the headline, “Hanovich wins first place in first school track and field meet.” It seemed almost like a sign.

He was a good man. Received his Last Rites last Friday when they almost lost him to kidney failure. He outlived all of his family; his parents both died when he was young, and his last sibling died last year.

I miss him a lot already. It’ll be strange to see Grandma but not Grandpa.

Thank you to those who prayed for my grandfather. My dad just called and told me he passed sometime today. I don’t know any of the details.

I’m in shock. I told him I’d see him again today.

[drlindamurraytenacity-blog]

Dr Linda Murray

Direct Disobedience---Father was very strict with rules about our behaviour. There were two dominant classifications of bad behaviour. Direct and non-direct disobedience non-direct disobedience were stupid things that we did and had not been told specifically not to do. Direct disobedience, on the other hand, were behaviours that we had been specifically told not to do. Direct disobedience was the greatest of the crimes and punishment was of significant magnitude to fit the crime at hand. We were all usually careful with directly disobeying either of them but especially my father. If he had told us not to do something then he considered us warned. Lieing in any form was also deemed direct disobedience. I rarely faced my father’s wrath and anger but the boys faced it frequently. Kevin took the worst of it though. I followed the rules as well as I could the majority of the time. This is part of the reason that Desy hated me so much. He had no idea what was really going on I behaved because if I didn’t she would make my father pay. I was especially careful of not breaking the stepmonster’s unspoken rules. Discipline was swift if we ever got out of line. If were disciplined at school, and my father thought the school representative was correct, we would get twice the punishment at home since this was also considered to be direct disobedience. Like I have said this never happened to me but for the boys this could get ugly. More on this later,  if he thought the school representative was in error. God help them.

Punch in My Stomach---When I was about nine to eleven years old I had a bit of a pot belly of baby fat. My father was not happy that I had this pot belly and decided that it was because my stomach muscles were weak. So made a habit of punching me in my stomach with this knuckles whenever he saw me not controlling my stomach muscles. I learned that I needed to keep my stomach muscles hard all the time I was with him. I hated it. But I did learn not to let my little pot belly show. Eventually, I out grew the baby fat. In grade six I grew six inches in the year and all of my baby fat was gone and he stopped hitting me in the stomach. In the mean time I had developed a strong set of gut muscles. In fact, when I was a bit older, I could actually have my father stand on my stomach muscles and I would move his entire weight up and down with flexing my stomach muscles. He was proud of me for being able to do this but I think that there must have been less painful and abusive method to teach me this lesson.

"Children can’t predict the consequences of their actions . . .  How long do you have to pay for this? . . . You have to forgive that 9 year-old girl for not being able to carry a burden or a responsibility that she should never been assigned in the first place.” Dr Phil

Kevin and Lying----My baby brother Kevin just couldn't win. He was only one when my mother committed suicide. I did the best that I could being only five myself. I did dishes, bottles, and diapers and was still my brother’s keeper when I was eight. After all he was my ‘birthday present’ and ‘my responsibility’. I tried hard at least. Kevin took forever to walk and my father said that he was just lazy. The kid was just not a winner in everything. He started so far behind that I doubt he could ever pleased our father. When he started school it became evident very early that he was having difficulties. He struggled. He just couldn't do anything right as far as my father was concerned. Finally they realized he had a vision problem and required ‘coke bottle’ glasses. Great, now he  had really ugly glasses with which to contend. Kids can be cruel but having my father use this to ridicule him must have been even more devastating. Kevin, like me, wet the bed into his teens. I had the same problem but I didn't get reamed out from my father. Kevin would hide his wet pajamas under his pillow. He was so ashamed and my parents tortured him about it. Kevin also lied about everything, including situations where there was no doubt he had done something wrong. He used to lie with such conviction. I used to be able to tell when he was lying but he did it so often that my father assumed everything he said was a lie. My father used to call him the 'lying four eyed piddler'. Whenever Kevin lied, or my parents thought he was lying,  about anything he would be punished (spanked with a slipper or belt). My father would tell him he was going to get two hits for the ‘crime’ and one for each time he lied about it when questioned. I remember on one situation clearly. I was standing in the kitchen close to Kevin and my father was sitting at the kitchen table. Dad would keep track of the number of times he lied and he would get one extra stripe for each lie. He would even write them down on a piece of paper so Kevin could see what was coming. I’m not certain how long this would go on but I think it stopped when he reached a maximum of 20 stripes. Im not sure of this limit though. When the inquisition phase was over, and he had been found guilty of the crime, he would get sent to his room to wait until my father came in to administer the punishment. Then he would have to get on his knees and lean over the bottom bunk of the bed and my father would hit him on the bottom with a belt or slipper the exact number of times he was told he would be hit. My father would count out loud each time he hit his bottom. My father left the door open to the boys room when this was happening as a warning to the rest of us and to maximize the embarrassment for being punished. There was never any significant ‘physical damage’ done to my brothers on these occasions. Their bottoms probably hurt for a while. I think the majority of the damage was psychological. This whole process was carried out in a very calm systematic manner. It was not like my father went into a rage or anything. He never hit the boys anywhere but on their bottoms. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not condoning this punishment but corporal punishment was an accepted form of punishment at the time and I still think it can be used to terminate really bad behaviour if used judiciously. I would always wince and cry on the inside whenever heard Kevin being tormented and there was nothing I could do about it. I feel guilty, I didn't protect him better. But I was also just hanging on to sanity by a fine thread. I was close to losing control of my life let alone his. I can't imagine how life was like for him. At least I did well in school and was clearly my father’s favourite. I payed for this with the stepmonster though and when she disciplined me she would take it out on my father or slap me hard on the face. It was wrong but that is how it was. I could not understand why he continued to lie. He knew he would be hit only twice if he said he did the crime but he kept lying until he reached the maximum penalty. Why? He was not even bright enough to minimize his punishment! He must have known that he would be found guilty, all the time, or my father would not have accused him of the crime in the first place. My father would know the ‘truth’ of the situation before the inquisition. I think Kevin may have been displaying some early signs of some form of dissociation.  It's no wonder he was a bit fucked up. I do not remember hearing I Love You or getting a real hug from either of them. More on this later.

“Memory is a complicated thing. A relative to truth but not its twin.” . . .Barbera Krigsoffer (sp)

Wednesday Nights------When we were kids dad had this ritual thing on Wednesday nights. We all had to have a shower/bath twice a week at a minimum. We had to bath on Sundays and Wednesdays. After our baths he would cut our fingernails and clean our ears. This continued until I was about 12 as far as I can remember. I would hate this I was a nail biter and I would not have nails to cut off. I would get into trouble each time. He would give me shit every time and tell me that it was a dirty habit. It was something I just couldn't stop doing. It was almost compulsive in nature. I would maintain this behaviour for a long time without understanding why I did this. Later, when I was taking a behaviour modification course I realized why this behaviour was maintained. It is possible that this was the only thing in my life that I could control at the time. Desmond had the opposite problem. My father was always ragging on him to cut his nails and come to the dinner table with clean hands. Finally my father came home with a petri dish. He scraped under Desmond's nails and put the scrapings into the dish and put the dish away in a cupboard. About a week later he pulled the petri dish out of the cupboard and showed us all of the things that grew in the dish. It was gross, but it didn't seem to impact Desy at all.

The Bike and the Principal----I completed my elementary education in St. Avila School. The school was close to home and the principal was great. So were most of the teachers. I had begged to bring my brothers bicycle to school one day and my father had given me permission. When I was in fifth grade I was coming home at lunch I ran into three boys who were pushing me around and messing with Desy's bike. The worst of the two was Jeff. He bullied everyone he could. The other two boys Willis and Chris I had never had any trouble with before. It almost seemed out of character for them. They managed to tear off the licence on the bike and bent a spoke on one of the wheels. I was in tears as soon as I got away. Not so much that they had picked on me but because Desmond's bike had been damaged while in my care and this would probably mean that I would never get to use it ever again. When I got home my father was very angry about the damage and the boys picking on me. He got all of the information and told me it was up to me if I wanted to report the behaviour to the principal. He explained that it could get worse or it could stop the bullying. I said that I was angry now and wanted to talk to the principal. So after lunch we walked to the school and had a conversation about the incident. Then I went to my class. Shortly after classes started for the afternoon the intercom summoned Willis, Chris, Jeff, and I to the principals office. The principal pulled Willis and Chris in first and I could hear them getting strapped 3 or 4 times. Once the Principal was finished with them he then called Jeff and I into his office. He then proceeded to strap Jeff on the hands until he cried in front of me. I don't remember Chris and Willis getting into more trouble all the way through to high school. Jeff on the other hand turned out to be a hell of a bully. But he never bullied me again. I met once again when he was in his late 20s and he had not forgotten the event.

[achaionrp-blog]

Presenting TAEHYUNG KIM! Making his Achaion DEBUT, he holds the mantle of ACHILLES, THE ARTIST. Some of the fans say he looks a lot like TAEHYUNG KIM. Welcome to Achaion: The Best of our Heroes. Let’s take a closer look at this hero’s performance.

Tactics: Taehyung is not the brawniest of men. Standing at 179cm and weighing about 63kg, he could stand to gain some muscle. Though physically not the strongest, the boy runs like the devil, relying on speed and quick thinking to carry him out of dangerous situations. He tries his hardest not to battle. Not because he is unable to, but because he knows that a temper lost means control is lost, and all of his fury will emerge with no restraint towards his opponent. He has little talent in fistfighting, whereas a natural talent for using swords and spears lies in him. He has an eye for predicting an opponent’s moves in battle after a while fighting them. When it comes to lighter challenges and overall publicity, the young man uses his charm to form alliances and gain popularity, preferring to have others do the dirty work for him. A princely attitude and confident stride captivates people. The idea is to not waste energy or make enemies.

Harmatia: Taehyung, as mentioned before, is rather shrimpy. He is not particularly tall nor particularly strong, relying on weapons, speed, and tact to make his way through the show alive. In addition, while his hot temper may drive him to winning in battle, it also causes a great adrenaline rush which physically debilitates him. He has too much energy and tension within him during periods of rage to move his body properly, losing even more strength—that he already lacks. The boy, thanks to his upbringing, is used to people doing his bidding; though he doesn’t look at this as manipulation. A lack of insight and consideration towards others in this regard causes him to appear snakeish, and spoiled when he doesn’t get his way. Taehyung is also easily lured into traps wherein vulnerable people or his loved ones are used as bait. If a child, animal, or his best friends are in trouble, he will go to them without thinking about the possible consequences. Above all, his achilles is perhaps his greatest downfall; this he injured as a child, leaving the area as a particularly sensitive spot that could take him down in battle easily. For this reason, he hides his disadvantage closely.

i. They say a child is a blessing, brought into this world to sprout fruition unto society by its own little hands. But what will those hands bring? Perhaps they will save lives, as natural-born healers. Perhaps their voice will be carried into the wind with the birds, the notes of a child’s song reaching high and touching hearts. Though, perhaps in this life, too, there are children who bring agony onto others; not by the will of the young, but as a byproduct of whatever evils fill their environment. An adult, towering over any little one, may let their offspring fly and reach for the stars—or cut off their wings before the child is aware that they have the means to take flight.

This predicament is not uncommon. Such is the case of Kim Taehyung, born from the womb of an avaricious woman who was once wed to a somewhat more benevolent man; though it would not seem as if the boy had a very difficult life to the unknowing eye. From the first cry sprung into the world, the child had his every need met. The best-trained, most expensive doctors and nurses catered to the infant, born in the most prestigious private hospital of Seoul. He would later be taken home to a living space people only dreamed of, desperately climbing up the socioeconomic later in hopes of at least making ends meet their whole lives while a little prince need not do anything but exist as the son of an influential family. An heir to the throne indeed; why must the boy ever lift a finger in his life when an entire staff of cooks, servants, and maids have been at his whim since birth? Though one supposes that this is how it must be, when the child’s mother and father alike are so preoccupied with maintaining their riches. Taehyung was no exemption from that category of action—the maintenance of wealth, sired entirely for this reason.

Yet a bit of pity is spared for the child on behalf of his father. Mother was rarely in the picture from the beginning. Tired of her husband after giving light, and having other matters to tend to, the woman packed her bags. Taehyung’s sole female figures in life from that moment on were the family’s home employees. Of course, he knew what his mother looked like, what she was involved in. It wasn’t like she didn’t pay him monthly visits. She was beautiful; her long, jet black hair, necklaces falling at her pale collarbones, accessories worn so casually that were worth more alone than the life investments of others. Back always perfectly rect against all sorts of laces and silks, she would tower over him for the first half of the his life. That very contrast in power never left Taehyung’s side even when he outgrew her, however.

“Be careful with your mother,” he would be told. “She has alliances and connections she should not be proud of—yet she always has been.”

Taehyung never really understood the depth of those warnings until he was older. There weren’t many more subtle ways of being told one’s mother came from a line of capofamiglia’s. The boy’s father knew that she visited Taehyung once a month solely because she wanted him to continue making profit for her through that long chain of mobsters without her doing the dirty work. His father’s intentions for him weren’t much different. Afterall, the aging man knew he could not work and run the family business forever. What better method of securing money and power than having a male heir?

Mr. Kim, naturally, knew that inheriting such a massive business and continuing to run it smoothly was a big feat for one child. Not to mention that he would constantly be in danger from envious competitors—as such, the man, in what he saw as an act of noble charity, decided to occupy his mansion with young business trainees. Boys that ranged anywhere from seven to twelve years old in order to match Taehyung’s age range piled in from one day to another, all competing in hopes of becoming the little heir’s designated business partner some day. As an only child, surrounded exclusively by older people hired to cater him, the sudden existence of so many boys his age was riveting. Maybe he could finally play with others! He could make friends! Dad said it was okay to talk to them!

“Eat with them, live with them, bond with them. If you don’t like a single one of those kids, just tell me. They’ll be taken care of.”

Taehyung was only nine, but he knew what his father meant. Afraid of what would become of the boys if he didn’t pay attention to them, the curious young one spent much of his time with his companions. On the first day, he introduced himself shyly. When he was met with loud greetings in unison, he was a bit startled. All of them seemed so excited to meet him, to be near him, even just to look at him. He figured they were just happy to meet someone new, the same way he was. Maybe their parents didn’t really let them play with most kids, either. What Taehyung saw before him was a lonely child’s paradise: clusters and bunches of boys by his side, ready to talk to him and have fun whenever he wanted them to.

In between tending to the trainees and doing whatever he wanted on his own, Taehyung spent a significant amount of time with his father a day. This checking-in of sorts once a day was his father’s method of ensuring that the little heir knew his way around business. Granted, the formula for success at that scale was largely just inheriting assets; but the boy needed to know the ins and outs of business regardless of product. Sure, the family lived off of selling their personal brand of cellphones and other electronics, but they knew that Taehyung could choose to launch new products of his own in a different market. His father, in addition, did seem to genuinely care about his son’s well-being—at least much more than the child’s mother ever did. Such is why the man decided to take him aside one night and tell him of the newest trainee set to arrive the next day.

“Tomorrow morning there’s going to be a new boy arriving, a little older than you. He’s eleven. Son of an old friend of mine.”

“Okay..”

The man sensed the confusion and hesitation in his child. He coughed, prompting Taehyung to sit down with a wave of his hand.

“I’m not telling you about this one just because he’s my friend’s kid. There’s something else…”

“…”

ii. Taehyung stares at Aiden when he arrives. It isn’t judgement, though he doesn’t tell Aiden that.

Over time, Taehyung had grown accustomed to the boys kissing the very ground his majesty walked on. The child’s paradise he had once dreamed of crumbled under him after he had spent much time observing the others. They didn’t seem to treat him like they treated each other. When Taehyung suspected that they treated him with favoritism, he wondered if it was true, and why. His father had never told him that the children were there almost solely with hopes of becoming his future vice-president of sorts. The boy just figured they wanted to do the same things his father wanted him to do—he never suspected that they had other, sneakier intentions in mind until he was around them for months. Growing tired of the act he felt the boys put on, he would find solace alone. He cherished the time he spent with his violin. The little one had been playing it since he was five.

Yet with a newfound suspicion, the little prince observed the cafeteria one day, waiting for everybody to pile in. What would they act like when they thought he wasn’t looking?

Chatter filled the room quickly, noisy kids rough-housing each other, laughing, merrily conversing without a care. More than anything, there looked to be a sort of fluidity among the boys; a natural atmosphere where nothing was forced. They tugged and rumbled at each other, teasing and poking and enjoying. Taehyung peered through the slim crack of the door. Already big eyes widened even further, his heart dropping to where he felt it stiff and heavy in his empty stomach.

Letting himself lean a little too forward, the door creaaaaked open, every pair of eyes in the room on him; except, this time, it didn’t feel like it normally did. It was as if a switch was turned on in the rest. Their backs straightened, hands either kept to themselves or on their food. Quickly, they fixed their expressions of surprise and grinned at the lone boy, still standing at the entrance.

“Taehyungie! Taetae! Come sit with us!–er, sit wherever you want, I’ll move seats!” The boys stood from their seats, indicating to him that he could sit wherever he pleased.

Only one didn’t move a muscle–or look at him much, for that matter.

Ah, the new kid, who did…

Wordlessly, Taehyung carried himself with confidence until his little legs reached their destination. Staring straight at the newest addition to the bunch–Aiden, was that his name?–he sat down as one of the servants brought his food.

“Hi. I’m Taehyung.”

iii. Aiden was the only one of the boys who had ever dared to treat Taehyung like any other human being and not as the second coming of Christ. Aiden did not look at him with money hungry eyes, a gaze instilled into the other children by greedy parents who had their children well prepared to stroke Taehyung’s ego. The indifference, the normality Aiden treated him with was what Taehyung had longed for, yet it still baffled and intrigued him that he was not being treated with utmost delicacy. If anything, Aiden looked pretty wary of him, though he looked pretty wary of the other boys, too. Still, the heir was determined to get the older boy talking. Curiosity killed the cat, but Taehyung didn’t care. He knew what Aiden had done, just not the details of it. Yet he wasn’t afraid. The thrill of figuring someone out and having them not want to kiss the ground he stood on tugged at him.

If there was one thing Taehyung had to thank the other boys for, it was acquiring proper social skills and becoming fully confident in himself. God knows where the charm came from; his father said it came from the very woman that delivered him, though Taehyung didn’t like to hear that. But it was thanks to this that the boy found the gall to talk Aiden’s ear off. When Aiden wouldn’t attend class, Taehyung would look for him, never taking a “go away!” for an answer. The two are awkward at first, but the young prince eventually got Aiden to come around until they talked day and night. They would attend classes together, play together, eat together. Taehyung found that Aiden was Korean-American, and it was his first time stepping foot in Seoul. In addition to the English classes the heir’s father enrolled him in, Taehyung learned to speak the language thanks to the other boy. Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. Aiden eventually opened up to Taehyung about everything; including what happened when he was seven, and why he was at the mansion when he had no interest in business. The boy accepted it—and so Taehyung’s first true friend came about in his life.

iv. Years passed and Taehyung chose Aiden as his right-hand man when the former was fourteen, the latter sixteen. The other business trainees packed their bags in disappointment and envy, though some remained with the hope of still making connections. All of those years spent pursuing empty money without striving for passion pay would prove to be a waste for most of the trainees.

It was a year after the two officially became business partners that Taehyung’s mother started to pay longer, more frequent visits to him. Funnily, it was when Achaion–this new popular survival show offering a gargantuan prize–first aired in 2011. The boy was fifteen and hardly thinking of money. His mother wasn’t too happy about him choosing Aiden as his partner when she heard about the decision, but the woman let it go. The gears in her head turned, stirring up something more sinister than a mother should ever think up.

v.  Mother’s visits became more frequent, her reasons unknown to Taehyung. He had no idea that the woman, eyes cold and black as ever, had ruined the good relationship she had with the neighboring mobsters; owing them a ridiculous amount of money that she could never hope to come up with herself despite her lineage. Her only option was Taehyung joining the famed Achaion. She didn’t know what his chances were at winning, but she invested in classes for him that would train him for all sorts of fighting, pressuring him into joining the show more and more with every season that passed.

Taehyung attended his combat classes diligently, though not very willingly, amidst his high school, and then university, classes. He found that he was surprisingly good at old-style battle with a spear and sword by his side–but he didn’t want to join Achaion. He didn’t want to fight people, he didn’t want to die that way, he didn’t want to do all of that for more green paper. Why, for that very reason, when it came to university admissions, he had chosen to major in music! Not business, not marketing, not communications, not economics, engineering—he wanted to make music. He joined the school musicals, the orchestra, performing, singing, dancing, acting; if he could be anyone but himself even in those short moments, he would do anything for the stage. More than that, the musicality of all of it embraced him, wrapped him in warmth, a venusian escape from the distastefulness of reality. The violin was perhaps his first love–always by his side, even before Aiden became the one always next to him.

Because of that, because of his need to assert himself as Kim Taehyung, an artist, an individual, ridding himself of an identity pushed upon him, he didn’t apply to Achaion. Despite his mother’s insistence, he refused to.

Little did the young prince, at a beautiful age starting to embrace manhood, know that contestants could mysteriously compete on the show without having ever applied; so long as somebody pulls some strings behind the scenes.

vi. It was a Monday. Morning fog covered up what would have been a blinding light through his window, yet he stirred, knowing his academic day would begin in just two hours. Heavy eyelids struggled to fully open, but his father’s lifelong saying had been drilled into Taehyung’s head since infancy. Manners maketh man, Taehyungie.

Fine, it’s time to get up.

Propping his legs off of the bed, the cold of the floor touching his feet finally awoke him. He looked to his roommate’s bed, empty. No surprise. Aiden had early morning classes. The schedule of a nurse-to-be was rigorous. By the time Taehyung had awakened for his first class, the other male was usually back at the dorm with something for the both of them to eat before the musician took off.

Standing up with a stretch of the arms and a comfortable yawn, Taehyung set off to prepare himself for the day.

Instrument–check.

Car keys, phone, wallet–check.

A stylish outfit? Of-fucking-course–

All that was left was to wait for his friend. Playing around on his phone at the kitchen table, the young man’s device vibrated in his hand. A small icon at the top of the screen indicated that it was a new message. But from who?

[SMS] Birth Lady: Congratulations, honey! You’ve been accepted into Achaion’s season for 2018!

What?

Everything goes black before the boy could even process what was in front of him.

vii. He didn’t know what happened between that sudden moment and his arrival on set, but before he could ask what was going on, he awoke to his best friend and multiple staff looking at him with worry. No, in Aiden’s eyes lied more than worry–they looked like fear. And for the first time in his life, Taehyung felt it, too.

“Aiden. Where the hell am I–where are?– We?”

A cameraman gave a small laugh in the corner, holding the filming device more like a weapon than a tool.

“You’re on Achaion, kid.”