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thewritingofspencerrose · 4 months ago

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mclaren masterlist : masterlist

New Addition

Lando Norris x OC Inspired by Mclaren surprising Lando with the puppies! I've had this in the drafts for a while, but was lacking a lot of writing drive lately, so we'll see if this gets me back into the groove!

The week began as they always do when we're just beginning the summer break.

Lan and I, lazying about the condo in the morning, simply enjoying each others company, before he is called off to MTC and I hop online for my asynchronis classwork.

It's our routine that I love so much, no matter how chaotic, before we take off on whatever adventures he has planned for us for the next few weeks.

Today was different though.

I spent the morning sick as a sailor, Lan holding my hair back and wiping my forehead with a damp towel. That is, until he had to go in to the MTC for a filming session, one he had convinced the uppers to allow Max to film for a Quadrant day in the life. His hesitance was written all over his face, but with a bit of convincing and the promise that I would invite a friend over, I was able to coax him out the door.

"It sounds like you've had a long morning," Kelly sighs with a frown, sitting across from me. When I had called her up, she and P were more than happy to come keep me company. There may be nearly twelve years between us, but from the moment Max and Lando introduced the two of us, it was easy to bring Kelly into my life as the elder sister I so dearly wished for as a child. And now she's here, her daughter's head fast asleep on my lap as I card my fingers through her hair.

"It's just that I am so rarely sick that to be this sick is more annoying than anything," I try to explain, "We're supposed to leave to travel with Martin in a week and I just can't keep being ill, my least favorite thing in life is feeling like I'm not up to my usual speed."

Kelly's eyes light up a bit, glazing over in a look of recognition. "Have you had any other weird symptoms lately? Anything you should keep in mind if you call the doctor?"

"Just some extra tenderness and I've been exhausted, but it's been a long few weeks with the double header and triple header nearly back to back," Its an explanation, one all of the girlfriends have discussed while sipping drinks over the weekends away.

The older of the two can't help but smile, "Dahlia, how about we run to the corner store and see about a test or two?"

A test? A test!

Oh my God.

"Baby? It's me!" Lan's smooth voice follows click of the door. He's always so loud while out and about, but home, with me, he's so soft.

It's why he's so good with kids at the track.

With Leo and Roscoe and Simba.

With me.

"In the kitchen, love!" In the kitchen with a bag that will change everything.

And there's a yip. A tiny little bark that has my brows furrowing and thoughts leaving my head.

"Lan? What was that noise?" Feet tapping against the ground, I can hear his approach as I step away from the cutting board, the yipping sound continuing. "Okay Lan honestly, what is that-"

It's his rounding the corner that cuts off the all the thoughts that have been spiraling through my head since Kelly, P and I took our little adventure.

He has a dog. In his arms. A little one that is squirming every which way, a collar the color of his race suit around its neck.

Lan has a hesitant smile, the same one he had when he asked me out way back when, and the same one I wasn't expecting to see today. "Surprise?"

My hands find him hips with little thought, staring him down. "Lando Norris, why do you have a dog?"

"I was hoping she could be the newest member of our family?" Oh he's in for something else in a minute or two.

She's is adorable, all happy and squirmy as she rests in whats basically the size of Lan's palm. It's why I move towards him, taking the little thing into my arms and letting her lap at me. "Where did you even find her?"

"Mclaren promo video for a shelter, I spent the morning with dogs and she just really seemed to like me! Stayed in my lap the whole time! So I couldn't just let her be taken back when I knew we could offer her a home!" He's stepping closer, breathe gently fanning over my head as he scratches the pups, his eyes meeting my own with a softness I wasn't expecting. "I know I can't commit to a real kid for a few years, but I was thinking that she could take that place in the mean time."

"About that-" I begin, knowing now is the only right time to mention it. "You know how I was throwing up all morning? And for the last few weeks?"

Theres a spark, the light recognition of an idea in his head, but all he does is nod.

"Well, I had Kelly and P over today while you were out, and we got talking as we do, and she suggested that I take a test."

"A test?" He's piecing this all together.

"A pregnancy test."

"And?" Tears are pooling in his eyes, and while we've discussed kids, we've never discussed the possibility of kids this early, while he's at the peak of his career. "You can't just leave me on a cliff hanger like that, Babe."

"What do you want the answer to be?"

"Babe," This may be the one time in Lando's life that he's stern out of bed.

"It was positive."

There's a pause, the longest of my life, if it wasn't for the fact it was only mere seconds before his arms are wrapped around me, nearly crushing the puppy between us who's only thought is to continue yipping happily. "Lan, baby, I'm going to need something verbal here."

His eyes are meeting mine again, tears trailing down his cheeks as his million dollar smile shines. His hands are still planted on my hips, keeping us close. "You could not have said anything to make me happier than I am right now," and there's so much emotion behind each and every word that I can't help but begin to cry as well. "We're having a baby!"

I can't help but giggle at his joy, "We are! And we have a puppy!"

His lips meet mine, before coming down and meeting the dogs head, nearly bouncing out of his skin. "This is perfect babe, we'll be able to train her and by the time baby Norris is born she'll be ready to be her best friend!"

"Her?"

"I'm calling it now," He states as if it's a matter of fact, curls bopping on his head as he moves. Our lips meet once more, smiles making it awkward like our teenage years, but with so much joy it feels infectious. "Oh my God I need to call Carlos!"

"You what?" There is no way Carlos is the one on his mind right now.

"I have to tell him that Pinon has a new friend! And I'm going to be a dad! He can stop making jokes about me being a child!" He may just be more enthusiastic about this than the baby or the dog. But he's Lando, and I'll give him a time for it later, because seeing him this enthusiastic is a sight too good to miss.

#the writing of spencer rose #original character #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 #best friends to lovers trope #lando norris x oc #lando norris #carlos sainz #new family #pregnancy #lando norris imagine

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kiatheinsomniac · 2 years ago

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hi kiaa!! i hope youre doing good and school is going good too :) dont overwork yourself pls girl 😩❤️

since requests are open i figured id come and request something!! how would the assassins (altair, ezio, connor, arno, and jacob) react to the reader being extremely sick? how would they take care of the reader? would they be scared of catching the sickness? etc etc. ❤️

☾ ⋆ ﾟ𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 / 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: yeee, uni's been fine! i'm done until september now so all I really have to do is pray I've passed all my modules (looking at you, spanish and latin american culture and italian history) and do my summer reading for next year's modules <3 and i make sure to never overwork myself on my blog! i really like what i do here anyway so i can manage lots of writing hehe 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: altaïr, ezio, connor, arno, jacob 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: very slight angst in Jacob's part

｡･:*˚:✧｡ altaïr ibn-la'ahad

♡ Altaïr takes a break from his work to look after you. When he knows you'll do alright on your own for a while, he'll go out to train for a few hours to stay in shape but that and cooking meals for you are the only times he'll be leaving your side.

♡ he'll do everything he can to keep your temperature normal whether it's tenderly wiping down your body with a cool, damp cloth while another is folded over your forehead or he's having to bundle you up with blankets while he spoon feeds you, he'll stay by your side to keep you company and will be reading books while you rest.

｡･:*˚:✧｡ezio auditore

♡ Ezio brings in whatever doctors he can find to look after you but he'll be hovering around in the meantime to make sure they're treating you well and being careful (he'll honestly treat you like you're made of glass).

♡ he'll stay by your side for as long as possible and even if he has to leave you in Claudia's or a doctor's care for the day, he's in the kitchen in the evening cooking meals that Maria taught him to make and then sitting on the edge of your bed to feed them to you while he asks how you've been and he tells you about his day.

｡･:*˚:✧｡ratonhnaké:ton | connor kenway

♡ Ratonhnhaké:ton will treat you himself for as much is in his ability to before he goes into town to call out a doctor to see you. He'll diligently follow any perscriptions that you're given and he'll put almost everything on hold to look after you. He grew up without a father, he lost his mother and his whole village - he's not going to lose you too.

♡ he'll make sure you get enough fresh air, enough water, enough to eat. He'll be making herbal concoctions for you to help you heal faster. He just wants to see you better again.

｡･:*˚:✧｡ arno dorian

♡ he calls in the best doctors he can right away. He doesn't want to leave your side and he'll take some time away from the brotherhood is he has to. He'll cook for you, light meals like soups or stews that are easier for you to eat in your current state.

♡ he'll read to you but he keeps his distance a little. He doesn't want the both of you to get sick because then he won't be able to look after you.

｡･:*˚:✧｡ jacob frye

♡ Jacob's never really been good at the caretaker role. Even when he was younger and Evie was ill, their father was the one to look after her while he was just left to his own devices. Jacob would always notice that he didn't receive the same level of emotional care from his father when he fell ill though.

♡ so, he calls in a doctor/nurse and follows all the instructions they give him to look after you. He doesn't care if he gets ill too, he'll cuddle with you and chat with you and he'll even sing quietly to you while cooling your forehead with a damp cloth or bundling you up in blankets. He'll basically care for you in every way he's advised and then in every way he noticed Evie got but he didn't from their father but he always wanted. He doesn't want you to feel the way he did.

☾ ⋆ ﾟlike my work? why not: ∘ buy me a coffee? ∘ commission me? ∘ join my taglist ∘ consider following/reblogging

🏷️@gojohater101 @ayameiris4 @veryfancydoilies @asuni921 @writing-noah @danielle-marie @minimisthios @tired-lime @ghostofpolaris @etherealsdreaming @loopycorn1123 @havatnah @firagirl @catou1305 @daddyadler @aarnodoriann @b3k1720 @asianbutnotjapanese

#✎ kia’s 2k event ༉‧ ♡*.✧#altaïr ibn la'ahad x reader #altaïr x reader #altaïr ibn la'ahad #altaïr #assassins creed x reader #ezio auditore x reader #ezio x reader #ezio #ezio auditore #connor kenway x reader #connor kenway #ratonhnhaké:ton x reader #ratonhnhaké:ton #arno dorian x reader #arno dorian #jacob frye x reader #jacob frye

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pedropascallme · 1 year ago

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The Good, the Bad, and the Better

Pairing: gunslinger!Joel Miller x f!Reader

Summary: "You stretched your legs when you got off the train, wondering how so much sitting could make your joints so sore. You had one bag, which was, truthfully, more than enough. You fit your entire life into the handheld leather case, and it felt both freeing and deeply, deeply woeful."

Content: Mentions of death, uuuh US cholera epidemic? gnc!Ellie because I said so. That's all for now. If I missed anything please let me know!

AN: hi I’m trying something new….felt the need to get Joel involved with a sexy lil cowboy AU. Full disclosure this was inspired by @qwimchii and the AMAZING gunslinger!ghost series she’s been writing (go support her work!!). Lmk if you guys want more of this in the future, I have….plans….for this story, to say the least, so treat it as an intro of sorts?

Jefferson Territory (Colorado), September 1847

The executor of your father’s will wore small bifocals, perched gently on the bridge of his nose. You bounced your leg, perhaps unladylike, but it was all you could do to steady your mind in the tight office that smelled of wood and purified alcohol.

You clutched your handkerchief to your chest, fresh out of tears to wring from your eyes and waiting to get the bequeathing over with. With breaths so deep they threatened the lace of your corset, you were able to look up at the executor, who had been kind enough to wait for you to give him the ok to continue.

“Alright, miss?” His voice was nasal, but not condescending. You nodded. “To my daughter, my only child and carrier of my good name, I leave my land in Texas; doing so in the hopes that she will live out her life there, with kin.”

The man stopped reading and looked up at you. That was all he had for you.

You hadn’t been expecting any more. Hadn’t even considered you would be getting any land—an unmarried woman with land, though, was sure to catch the attention of a gentleman, and you’re sure that your father had known that.

“Thank you.” You mumbled to the man, dry lips cracking under the moisture of the tears you had licked up. “Am I meant to sign anything?”

“No, miss.” He seemed sorry for you, and you felt a flare of anger at him in that moment; you were sick of hearing people speak to you so slow and soft, as if the weight of their words would knock you down and bury you along with your parents.

It hadn’t even been one year since the death of your dear mother, the woman who had brought you up like a proper lady, who had taught you your prayers, and the proper way to tie your hair up so that God would smile upon you along with the sweet church-going boy on the ranch next to your own home. Your family had been naïve in thinking that the cholera outbreak wouldn’t reach them in the west. When word first spread in the papers, it was a small number of people in the City of New York; your father was quick to dismiss the cases as God’s wrath upon those who didn’t appreciate the frontier, too busy with their fancy jobs and big-city values to go to church. But your mother fell ill that summer, vomiting and lethargic, and it wasn’t long until you watched the priest say his prayers over her coffin.

You admired your father’s will to keep going, until you didn’t. He kept busy, and you thought he would work himself to death—maybe that’s why he seemed so calm when he got sick, compared to the panic your mother had in her eyes in the days before she died; he knew he wouldn’t be on the mortal plane much longer, soul too deeply intertwined with your mother’s and ready to go where she went even in death.

So here you sat, in the same mourning clothes you had worn for the past 11 months, listening to this law man explain that he would be taking care of any other business that had to do with your father’s measly estate. You thanked him, giving him a polite curtsey before you exited his office and found your way back onto the street.

You didn’t have much left in Jefferson Territory. You made the short walk back to your family’s home with your head down, ignoring the coaches that passed on their routes and the women who spoke in hushed tones when they saw you walking all by your lonesome. "Poor thing", “just a girl,” “should have been married off sooner.” You wanted to bite back at them, tell them you’d rather die along with your parents than ever abandon your family and run off with some boy just to mother ungrateful children who would in turn run off themselves. You were happy, at least, that your parents had died in your presence; you couldn’t imagine the suffering had you been gone from their home, the pain after being there with them when they took their last breaths was bad enough.

You walked through the door of the house, careful to close the door and lock it how your mother always told you—even without her present, you knew she would appreciate the little things. You appreciated them, too, now, more than you had ever thought you would.

“Auntie?” You called out to your father’s sister, hearing a bustle in the kitchen and smiling for the first time that day; your aunt was a wild woman, never married and never sitting. Her kindness was perhaps the only thing that motivated you to wake up every morning without your parents. You found her kneading dough, moving her whole body over the clay-like clump with a force, upper half covered with flour. “Auntie.”

She turned, noticing you for the first time since you arrived back home. “Welcome home, little one!” She greeted you, and you watched her run a hand over her forehead to combat the sweat running over her eyes, leaving a trail of flour over her brow. “You doing alright?” She turned back to her ball of dough, leaning an elbow into it, anticipating your answer.

You just sighed, pulling up a chair close to her and studying her movements, unsure of how to tell her just how alright you were; it was like you had no emotions left, your heart a husk keeping your body moving with nowhere to go. Not nowhere, maybe.

“I got land in Texas.” You were quiet, and her movements stalled.

“Texas?” She quirked a brow and slapped her hands together, sending flour to stray over her apronless front. “Who got you land in Texas?”

“Papa.”

“Your daddy had land down there?”

You shrugged, “That’s what the lawyer said. Said it’s all mine, now.” You hadn’t yet absorbed the news, unsure of what to do with yourself or your earnings.

“War’s bad, little one,” your aunt huffed, not angrily, but with a concerned look spread over her face, “not much use with Texan land until Mr. Polk can figure out how to appease the folks down south.” You nodded, aware of the conflict and uneager to get anywhere near it. “Still…” Your aunt looked at you now, the black fabric of your dress bunched up over your knees with the specks of white dust she had covered you with.

“Still?” You questioned, feeling a wave of anxiety cross you.

“…Nothing left for you here.” She spoke quietly, barely above a whisper, looking you dead in the eyes.

“You’re here!” You felt trapped, scared, but mostly confused. She of all people would be the only one to condone such an outlandish notion—dropping everything and running off to a war-torn territory away from everything you ever knew—but you had hoped she would appeal to her more realistic side in this particular matter and tell you to forget the whole thing before dinner.

“I’m not staying, little one,” her eyes were pleading, “got my own life, got people in other places to look after.”

You felt tears well in your eyes, appalled that you had any water left in your body to cry out today. “I don’t want to leave…I don’t want you to leave.” You felt yourself begin to cry again.

“I’ll never leave you,” she whispered, the ghost of a smile on her lips, “but I can’t stay in Jefferson Territory…got plans back east.”

“East?” You practically yelled it, offended that she would leave the life your extended family had built in Jefferson Territory despite the unease that churned in your stomach whenever you thought of living out your own life in the same spot you'd known since you could toddle.

“East.” She was calm, balancing your abject terror. “I’m sure you’ve noticed I’m not exactly cut out for…roughin’ it.” She emphasized the last words, using the accent your father had worn so proudly. “I got friends in New York—going out to be with them…it’s safer there, easier.”

You were enraged; the one final person you trusted was abandoning you for a life you couldn’t ever imagine. It was safe here, you were safe here—with her, and your mother, and your father. “Well, I’m sorry I’m not a big city fool like you!” You felt yourself tremble, “I’m sorry you’d rather have it easy than live the life God gave you!” You were seeing red, standing now to lord yourself over her and make her seem as small as you felt. It didn’t work, and she looked at you now like everybody else did—full of pity.

She let you cry, sobs taking over your body and forcing hiccups up your throat. You shouldn’t be mad at her, you realized, couldn’t be mad at her; she was a grown woman, with wants and needs, and maybe someday you would be, too.

“Take me with you.” You pleaded through sniffles, wiping your nose on your sleeve in a move that your mother would have tutted you for. Your aunt stayed silent, placing a hand on your head to smooth over the hair that had come undone in your rage.

“I would,” she explained, “but I don't think you...I don't think you'd enjoy it any more than you enjoy it here. Not now, at least. Not yet." The pity in her eyes faded to reveal the compassion she had for you, and you nodded into her chest when she pulled you into her, acknowledging the truth she had spoken. You wouldn’t know up from down in a place like New York; too many people, too much smoke and noise. You let her hold you for as long as she would, soothed by the hand she combed through your hair and the way her heartbeat thrummed in your ear. Maybe someday.

“We’ll get you a train ticket,” she murmured above you, chin resting on the crown of your head, “I know a fella in Texas—real gentleman, cross my heart—and I know he’ll have a place for you away from all the ruckus.”

“Cross your heart?” You asked her to promise once more.

“Cross my heart, little one.”

~~~

Texas, October 1847

You stretched your legs when you got off the train, wondering how so much sitting could make your joints so sore. You had one bag, which was, truthfully, more than enough. You fit your entire life into the handheld leather case, and it felt both freeing and deeply, deeply woeful.

Your aunt had arranged for her associates (her words) to pick you up, show you around, and help you to your new home, but she hadn’t given you much of a description; you had no idea who you were looking for, or what they might look like. All she had done was give you a name. You felt small, already sweltering in the Texan heat and feeling out of place in your black mourning gown. Maybe it would be ok, given the circumstances, to forego the entire outfit, and simply wear a veil, but you felt that the only thing grounding you was the way you were dressed, the reminder of why you were here in this dusty sand-and-brick station.

You looked around, not minding the jostling of the people passing you to get to where they needed to go. You tried to identify anybody that might look as if they were waiting on a lonesome orphan, but all you saw was a pool of sweaty businessmen and women in large hats.

Attempting to find a map to get the lay of the land, you turned a corner, and collided into the chest of a tan man with long black hair and a hint of a mustache.

“I’m terribly sorry—” You felt yourself go bright red, already a nuisance and you hadn’t been in Texas for all of ten minutes.

“Woah, there,” the stranger tipped his hat down to you, offering a wink and a toothy grin, “no harm done, ma’am.” He patted down the front of his vest, smoothing out any wrinkles that remained from the collision. “Y’look lost.”

“I am lost,” you straightened your posture, trying not to seem so inconsequential compared to those around you, “Um—I’m looking for…Mr. Joel Miller?”

The man in front of you laughed, and he flashed the same toothy grin again. His laugh came from his stomach, and you watched him take his hat off to fan himself after he calmed down.

“Found her, El!” He called over his shoulder and a shorter, much younger boy appeared; he was wearing the same style of hat but was much paler than the man who had yet to introduce himself. His clothing gave away how young he was—that, and he was shorter than you, with a babyface and nary a whisker on his chin. He looked almost feminine up close, and was clearly quite a few years your junior.

“Oh, I’m sorry—you’re Mr. Miller?” You closed the confused ‘o’ of your mouth to form the question.

“No, no no no—I’m Tommy Miller,” he put his hat back on, “Joel’s my brother.” You nodded, trying to appear as though you understood the series of events that were taking place in front of you. What an odd introduction to the people whose care you were in. You had never questioned the company your aunt kept—she had her life, and you had your own, much more conservative one. Still, you began to think that these men had just as little an idea as to what you were doing here as you did. “’N you’re Tess’s girl.”

“I’m her niece,” you clarified, “my parents are dead.” You winced when the words came out, unsure of why you felt the need to share that with a man you had just met. Surely he must have been aware by now, and if he wasn’t, why would he care?

Tommy let out a low whistle in lieu of an apology. “Best get you goin’ then, girly.” He turned on his heel, encouraging you to hurry after him through the crowds. El grabbed your sleeve in a manner that, although gruff, was clearly meant as reassurance.

“Mine are, too,” he spoke softly, and his voice was similarly feminine to his face. When you gave an inquisitory glance at him, he continued, “My parents. They’re dead, too.”

“Oh,” you tried to think of a way to make the subject more lighthearted, aware of how tiring it got to hear constant apologies for something out of everybody’s control, “so you’re not—”

You didn’t even have to finish your sentence; El had anticipated your question from miles off. “Do we look related?”

“Well…no…” You muttered, embarrassed by how obvious the answer was.

“They’re like…well,” the younger boy mulled over everything he could say, but instead placed his arm in yours and laughed, “you’ll see.”

~~~

The ride back to the Miller’s land was long and bumpy—or maybe it just felt that way with Tommy looking back on you and El to ask various questions and soothe any anxieties, though it wasn’t as much help as he had thought it was. You taught El cat’s cradle with a string you had found in the cart, and it amused you for long enough before you switched to cards instead. El was shocked to hear you didn’t know how to play poker, and tried to teach you blackjack before Tommy reprimanded him for trying to corrupt you; you opted for go fish instead.

The cart came to a short stop in front of a rundown shack. There was a horse tied to a post with three feed bags in front of it—the extra two, you assumed, belonged to the two horses pulling the cart you were in.

Tommy helped you down, and you were careful to pat down the front of your dress when your feet touched the ground, not wanting to look unkept in front of new company. El jumped down behind you, making quick strides towards the door of the cabin. You and Tommy followed suit, with the older man taking your arm to lead the way.

When the door opened, El swore. “Jesus H., Joel!” he jumped backwards when a large figure stepped over the threshold and onto the dirt outside, “Scared the hell out of me!”

“Language, young lady.” The man in the doorway was tall, with a chest and shoulders to match his height. He was older than Tommy, and had the salt in his beard and dark hair to show for it. He wore the same hat, but didn’t have a full outfit on, with only the pants of a gentlemen to go with his undershirt and heavy boots.

So this was Joel Miller.

You were so focused on the new addition to the group that you almost didn’t catch what he had said to El—“young lady.” Tommy, still holding your arm, sensed your confusion.

“Well, cover’s blown,” he laughed, and El rolled his eyes. Taking off his hat, you watched thin, curly locks of hair come down to frame his face, and when you looked under the dirt and grime that coated his skin, you saw a little girl.

“El’s short for Ellie,” El laughed, tossing the hat in the air and catching it before walking past Joel to go inside.

You were almost more confused now than you had been.

“Little girl living with two grown men, wearing men’s clothes?” Tommy read the look on your face, trying to offer an explanation, “she’s a natural at bein’ a boy—‘n it draws less questions.” You nodded.

Joel continued to stare at you, and you couldn’t help but feel exposed to him despite your body being covered in the modest dress you had on. He was riddled in scars, and his tan skin flexed under his white undershirt; he looked so masculine, and it frightened and excited you in a way you decided to repress. He strolled over to you, taking slow steps and examining you with dark eyes that looked like honey under the Texan sun. He stopped in front of you, and you let go of Tommy's arm to curtsy, unsure of what else to do under his gaze.

“You’re Tess’s girl.” He said it with more confidence than Tommy had when he found you. Joel didn't bother returning the friendly gestures of introduction you had extended, shifting his weight on his heels and letting his eyes drag over your face.

“I’m her niece.” You clarified as you had at the train station.

“I know, darlin’.” He smirked down at you, and the way it was painted on his face made him look almost predatory. You offered a weak smile in return, hoping he would mistake the blush creeping up your face as a sunburn. He grunted something that sounded like approval.

Joel turned around and walked in after Ellie, leaving you with Tommy.

“Don’t worry,” Tommy took your arm once more, “he’s like that with everyone.”

You didn’t know if you liked that.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou #tlou fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction

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townsenddecades · 4 months ago

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Winter comes softly upon them this year. It starts with chillier days, and one morning, when they wake, the world outside is covered in snow. The family bears it with equanimity; their summer harvest has been good enough for their larders to be decently stocked.

Malika stays tense, ever waiting for Clement Dudley’s return, but when the snows begin to fall, it buries that apprehension like it does the countryside. Travelling is much harder in winter, and she doubts that he will make the effort. She is sure he can find entertainment much closer to home.

The whole situation has left her anxious enough that she feels continuously ill and tired; at least the hopes that her fractured relationship with her husband and her uncertainty about the future are the cause. She does her best to hide her body’s weakness from her family, but she is sure that some of them notice.

Amye and Malcolm, now just shy of twelve years old, do their best to find ways to distract themselves from their parents’ tension. For Amye, that means caring for the animals and spending more time with her little sister Adeline, whom she does her best to entertain. She is not so sure about having her own children in a few years’ time, but playing with her sister is great fun.

Malcolm spends two months at his Aunt Anna’s home in the city, to receive some proper instruction in The Watcher’s teachings, as well as in reading, writing and some other skills. While there, he makes the acquaintance of some other boys his age that dwell in town; a fisherman’s boy and the son of one of the earl’s men at arms. He especially tries to befriend the latter when he hears that he wants to follow his father into his profession. Being a man-at-arms might not be like being a knight, but keeping the earl’s family and the city streets safe still sounds like an important duty, and far more interesting than staying on the farm. Maybe Uncle Robert would be able to help there.

Benjamin has been spending time at the tavern more and more frequently in the past several months. He knows it’s cowardly to run, that his farm and children need him, but he can’t help it. Being at home, looking at his wife and knowing that she has been sharing another man’s bed, knowing that he consented to it, is unbearable.

Better to spend his evenings drinking than to face that. And now that there are no fields to care for until spring, he spends more time there than even before. He can tell that his long absences upset Malika; in previous winters, they have used this time to be together more often. But that was before.

He honestly doesn’t know where their marriage is supposed to go from this point. Despite everything, she is the mother of his children and an indispensable part of the farm. And he loves her, still. Despite everything. They will just have to learn to navigate it somehow.

What he doesn’t know, yet, but what Malika comes to realize in these months that her illness is indeed not solely due to her anxieties. She is absolutely certain that she is with child. What she isn’t certain about is who the father is.

Prev: 1324, Day 3, Part 2/3 <--> Next: 1324, Day 4, Part 1/3

#townsend legacy #ultimate decades challenge #the ultimate decades challenge #the sims 3 #ts3 #udc: townsend family #udc: gen 1 #1320s

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misc-obeyme · 8 months ago

Note

I'm going on a tangent because i thought of silly things, I think I might try writing the next part tonight after work. This probably takes place way before what's currently going on in my rambles.

I'm imagining I impulsively bought something online and had to cut down on coffee (what did I buy? Who knows. Probably concert tickets for fob. I was scraping by when I bought those tickets last year 💀). I think it'd take Mammon two weeks before he finally caves and texts to ask if I'm okay. I sheepishly explain my purchase and why I haven't been around, and get left on read.

Later in the day, Mammon shows up to the shop with a coffee and a box of various pastries. He's blushing hard as he shoves the box towards me but gently sets the coffee down. I'm completely puzzled, and it's the first time Mammon has ever set foot in my shop. He goes on to ramble that he wasn't worried or anything, just had some leftovers and decided they should be able to tide me over and make up for lost orders.

The longest I've ever gone without stopping in is a week when I went on vacation maybe in the summer to visit family? But I had let him know ahead of time. And the other time was four days, and I texted him "i promkse ill wakenip ealry timorrow" and it was sent at 3 am, typed exactly like that. He texted back "ya better be asleep by now. Dumbass. Not like i miss ya or anything either." He replied back after 5:30 ish when getting up for the day. I did keep my promise and showed up, even if I definitely looked out of it.

That was supposed to be a silly scenario but now I'm thinking of the actual concert date taking place after they start realizing their feelings for each other (the cutting back scene was during the presale). And them getting worried about me going alone. But ticket prices are insane the closer to the date since I originally bought mine during the presale, and the seat I snagged managed to be on the floor. So even if they wanted to join, they'd have to shell out a lot of money, and wouldn't be sat next to me.

Unless ....... Mammon had an older brother, who was working for someone else.... who was the ceo of a company, and said company was sponsoring the tour.....and could get them front row seats together...... Only in fiction can things work out like this !! 🤣 Imagine your first concert also being a date. Crazy.

also thinking about nicknames. The most common one is 'treasure' from Mammon, and I usually use that for my character. Maybe 'lucky charm' for solomon? as long as it is, it's cute. I gotta brainstorm

- ✨ anon

OHHHHH but I love Mams being all cute and blushy and bringing you pastries! Absolutely adorable! And that text... not like I miss ya or anything!! Yeah yeah, you keep tellin yourself that buddy!! LOL.

Concert date concert date!!! I am all about it lol!

Isn't it amazing how convenient things can be in fiction?? Listen, it's not like it'd never happen irl! People always complain about how things seem to "work out" just right in fiction, but yo. That happens in real life too, friends. Just nobody's complaining about it because there is no Almighty Author pulling the strings!

Anyway, slight tangent there but the point is I say it's perfect!!

I think "lucky charm" is cute! Maybe it sometimes gets shortened to just "lucky" I think that's cute, too! Ahh nicknames make me soft lol!

#as always I am here for it #obey me #obey me mammon #obey me solomon #✨ anon #misc answers

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shadecrux · 2 years ago

Text

On The Wing - Chapter 1

https://open.spotify.com/track/0RLwgks1gHQzXeIkaJIpHr

Next Chapter ┃

˚ * •̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙* ˚＊------💜 💚 💜------＊* •̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙ *

°•★Pairing: Bucky Barnes x femaleartist!reader

°•★Rating: NSFW (this chapter is SFW future ones won’t be)

°•★Tags: strangers to lovers, fluff, angst, first meetings, romantic tension, flirting, pet names (doll, sweetheart), brief homophobia mentions, bisexual reader

°•★ Words: 1755

°•★ Notes: It’s me, ya girl back with some more x y/n fanfic!! This is gonna be 6 chapters altogether, already written, all based on a song I haven’t been able to get out of my head for weeks now. I hope you enjoy!! I had a lot of fun with this AU. No beta, literally just finished writing it, all mistakes are mine.

//CW FOR THIS CHAPTER// There is a brief mention of y/n being disowned by her family for being bisexual.

~All writing unless otherwise noted is my own. Please do not post or reupload my work to other websites without my express consent. I do not consent for my fics to be used in AI creations. I do not own any of the characters featured in my works unless they are stated to be OCs.~

All of my fanworks are intended for adults aged 18 and up only! Minors please DNI. ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48744160

˚ * •̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙* ˚＊------💜 💚 💜------＊* •̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙ *

Breathe and ill carry you away

Into the velvet sky

And we’ll stir the stars around

And watch them fall away

Into the Hudson Bay

And plummet out of sight and sound

The open summer breeze

Will sweep you through the hills

Where I live in the alpine heights

Below the northern lights

I spend my coldest nights

Alone awake and thinking of

The weekend we were in love

—------------------------------------------------

Unpacking. You always hated unpacking, hated everything to do with moving into a place, for that matter. You never intended on staying for long, and it felt like such a chore. Often, you would choose to simply live out of suitcases, but you had always had somewhere else to go, some next destination in mind. But not this time. Things had been going well when you arrived in Calgary. Your paintings were selling, your busking was lucrative enough to afford you a nice little studio apartment in the city. You didn’t need much after all. A place to stay, food in your belly, and your art supplies - you would rather save your money for experiences, and for getting you to that next destination. For years, you were living your dream, traveling the world, making art. You got by mostly via selling your wares at fairs and on streetcorners - paintings, jewelry, pottery when you could access a studio to use. Sometimes you did custom work on commission. It was amazing how many people wanted portraits of their cats and dogs, you always thought. Then the recession hit. Unemployment spiked, wages stagnated, and layoffs were sweeping their way through the Americas, leaving many struggling just to make ends meet. People weren’t buying luxury goods the way they used to, and before you knew it, you were struggling too. There was nothing else for it, so you found whatever jobs you could - which, as a person who had spent the last seven years of their life as a transient artist, traveling the world with no real work history or credentials, relegated you mostly to minimum wage work, or labor jobs that weren’t as picky about the people they hired.

You had to move out of the city and found a small town up in the mountains and an even smaller one-bedroom house that was being rented out at a ridiculously low price due to it being relatively isolated - a 20-minute drive from the town proper, surrounded by deep forests. Dirt road, no cell service, satellite TV, and internet - for most it would be undesirable at best. For you, it was a respite from a world that no longer seemed to have a place for you.

It never really felt like it did - you grew up as a military brat, constantly moving from place to place, never setting down roots, never making lasting friendships. You were the black sheep - of your family as well as every school you had ever gone to. The weird girl, the one nobody really understood. But you had your art, and you had your dreams - you wanted to see the world, to drink in life and put it on a canvas. You were counting the days until you turned 18 and could leave, but you didn’t get that far.

Your family had kicked you out, disowned you at the age of 17, after catching you and your at-the-time girlfriend, holding hands and smooching on the back porch when you thought no one was home. Her family would have done the same to her if they had found out - so with nowhere else to go, you struck out on your own. And it had gone well - until the financial crash sent the world into a tailspin, that is.

There wasn’t much to unpack, all told. Three suitcases and an oversized canvas bag into which you stuffed your entire life - clothes, art supplies, rolled-up canvases pulled from their frames to make it easy to travel. Some sparse camping supplies for those nights you couldn’t find a better place to sleep. You had been doing this long enough that you had it down to a science, and you were very efficient.

Clothes were stuffed into drawers, toiletries into the bathroom, and the metal cups and plates and cutlery you traveled with barely taking up any space in the kitchen. You had little in the ways of personal effects, save for the photographs you took and the small handful of trinkets you had collected in your journeys. Stones, little sculptures, silly magnets and keychains, and shot glasses documenting all the cities and countries you had been to.

You laid them out on top of the dresser in the bedroom and, with a wistful sigh, flopped down onto the bed with your back against the headboard, stacks of little plastic envelopes, and started flipping through the pictures you had taken, reminiscing on those better, brighter days. It was a pleasant enough way to pass the time, and it brought a small smile to your face, gave you a way to forget your current circumstances - for a while at least. Until you landed on the album that you usually avoided looking at - New York City. The place where you had met, and lost, the only man you had ever loved.

—------------------------------------------------

You were at Coney Island one bright and beautiful day - it had been a lucrative few days so you decided to reward yourself. It was early, and Luna Park was just beginning to fill up with guests, shouts and laughter, and excitement buzzing in the air around you. As you walked along the midway, only some of the game stands were up and running, while others had workers bustling around them, still setting up. As you passed nearby one of those, a group of children rushed past, knocking into you, the nearest employee, and one of the legs of the awning that the employee had been about to secure. It buckled at one of the joints as he fell, and the entire metal sheet came crashing down. You screamed and tried to scramble away when a strong set of arms wrapped around your waist and yanked you, forcefully out of the path of the falling awning just in time. Whoever it was had grabbed you from behind, setting you down gently on your feet and taking hold of your forearms as he did so to make sure you were steady before letting you go. “That was a close one… you alright there, doll?” Something about the gentleness of that voice and the soft, gravelly undertone struck you, and your stomach did a little jump as you turned around to face your rescuer only to be left momentarily speechless at the sight of him. He was tall, handsome, with bright blue eyes that seemed to pierce right through yours. “... I- I think so.” You stammered, your mouth suddenly feeling very dry. You saw over his shoulder the employees now battling with the awning, which had bent badly in its impact against the side of the building, and the building itself now bearing deep dents in the surface where the edges had collided with it. “God, if you hadn’t been here…” You looked up at him in shock, a shudder running through your body. Adrenaline still flooded your system as you realized just how much danger you had been in moments before. “That thing might have killed me…” “Right place, right time I guess.” He grinned, the smile slipping from his face as he noticed the way you were shivering as shock set in. “Oh hey…sweetheart, you’re shaking. Here… let’s find a place to sit down.” You mutely nodded and took his offered arm, letting the man lead you over to a nearby outdoor dining area and guide you to one of the unoccupied tables. “Here - can I get you anything? Maybe some water?” he asked gently. Chewing on your lip for a moment of indecision, you eventually nodded sheepishly. “Yes, please…” “Say no more.”

Before you could formulate any words of protest he was off, leaving you with a few moments to catch your breath and reorient yourself while he waited in line. By the time he returned your heart rate had calmed at least slightly, and he slid the little plastic cup across the table to you to drink. Your hands were still shaking as you raised the cup to your lips - the water certainly helped with your dry throat, though you still weren’t sure if that was the fault of the scare or the absolutely gorgeous man sitting across from you at the small metal table. “I don’t think I got a chance to properly introduce myself back there.” The man said with a crooked grin, extending a hand across the table to shake yours. Calloused fingertips slid over your knuckles as you clasped his hand, sending a spark of electricity up your arm. “James Buchanan Barnes, at your service. You can call me Bucky, though. All my friends do.” Giving him your name in turn you raised a brow at him, managing to not sound like a babbling idiot. “Are we friends now, then? We have only just met…” “Well, I saved your life back there.” He flashed you a charming smile in return. “I think that makes us something. Dunno what quite yet.”

That smile. You thought your knees might actually buckle, the way he smiled at you, the way his hand lingered a bit too long on yours before he dropped it back onto the table. Here you were, in the most glamorous city in the United States, surrounded by beautiful, successful people… and the most gorgeous man you had ever met was making eyes at you. Was this real life?

“So, are you here with anyone?” you hedged. “I don’t want to be holding you hostage here. I think I’ll be alright.” “Nah, my buddy was supposed to join me but he couldn’t make it. So it’s just me. I’m all yours, for as long as you want to tolerate me.” He grinned. A shy smile split your lips then, and you replied, “I think I’d like to tolerate you for a while longer… if you want to stick around, that is.” The way his eyes lit up made you feel slightly faint, a fluttering in your chest that heated your cheeks and warmed you from the inside.

Soon the two of you were walking together, side by side through the park. And if you kept straying a little too close to him, brushing your arm against his, it was only to make sure you stayed close to your personal guardian angel.

And if he took your hand a bit too often, helping you up and down some stairs, maneuvering you out of the way of crowds, well… he was looking out for you, after all. The carnival structures had already proven themselves to be dangerous, and he took his duty guarding you very seriously.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x yn #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky x reader fluff #bucky x reader angst #bucky x reader smut #eventually #there will be smut #modern au #soldier bucky #artist reader #shades fics

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ginnyw-potter-archive · 1 year ago

Text

A recap of 2023

so this is the year I wrote. I wrote more than I have ever done and so I thought it would be nice to look back on 2023 and look a little further back as well.

I used to write fanfic, I think I started about 14 years ago. I am not a native speaker and my English definitely needed some work then. I also have so many qualms about my old writing (I apparently hadn't found out about paragraphs yet), but we all have to start writing somewhere.

I stopped writing little by little, feeling burned out and completely stopped in 2018 (for various reasons). I don't think I wrote anything at all in 2019 or very little. In 2020 I dipped my toes in again with a few oneshots.

End of 2021 is when I started writing again and finally came back to writing Harry Potter fanfic. I started out with a longfic of 70K words! It was a struggle and I think it's like a muscle that wasn't being used. A Guiding Light is the fic that got me back in and I posted it throughout 2022.

And then I started two new fics because I was inspired again. I started posting those at the end of 2022/start of 2023. Knight of Mine and Peverell's Progeny have both surpassed the word count of Guiding Light with ease. It was never my purpose to get to a certain word count, and it is not what I focus on, but going from nearly 0 words in 2020 and slowly increasing, it's amazing to see myself putting out so many words.

And as well this year I focused less on what things I think people want to read and got a little more self-indulgent and it is so rewarding. It really makes me enjoy writing it even more.

My mental health has been shit before and it really took a nose dive in 2018, but this year I finally started feeling like myself again. My anxiety has gotten so much better and in turn I have been sick way less (although I did knock it out of the park at the start of the year with about 5 weeks of various illnesses) so I feel like I can enjoy life more in general. I am not sure if my writing helped me get there or if I am writing more because I am feeling better. All in all, I think writing has been helping me get through various things and it is one of the only things I enjoy doing consistently.

I haven't kept exact track of how much I wrote in the last year but based on my AO3 statistics as they are today (26th of Dec), I think it's safe to say that 2023 has surpassed all the others before.

You can see the majority of what I wrote, 414K of a total 541K, has been posted in the last year. It's crazy to think about. A lot of people found my writing as well this year and it's been so amazing getting that feedback ...as well as crazy paternity guesses with emojis, begging me for horse smut (that is still a no-you know who you are) and bribing me to update early... they really do make my day and some of you are too funny for your own good.

Looking ahead a little, I want to see what else I can achieve in the upcoming year. I am not setting any specific goals for myself other than continuing to work on my ongoing fics and not starting too many new ones (*pushes Pirate AU back under the bed*) Buut I am curious how much writing I actually get up to and so I made myself a little tracker.

Bullet journaling is the only other hobby aside from writing that I seem to be able to do consistently. I just kind of fell out of it in the summer of 2022 and finally picked it back up again for 2024. I think when I wasn't writing, it was a good different outlet for me and I still enjoy it. It simply slipped out of my habits, especially when I moved out on my own last year and I was too focused on keeping up with chores and other stuff. Now I am a little more organised, so I do hope to keep it up. It will also force me to do something else than writing once in a while, which is probably healthy for me.

This tracker looks a little chaotic, I know, but i wanted to get everything on one page. Maybe next year I can tell you exactly how much I wrote.

And word counts are nice but I think improving is also important and I do feel like I have managed to learn a lot of things this year and I will continue to do so in the coming year. I take great inspiration from other people's writing. I always get inspired when I read an especially good fic (which often ends up with me starting a new WIP, send help) and I discover new ways to put in descriptions or how to phrase something a certain way. And talking to other fic writers on here, or discord, is also where I learn a lot. A ton of you are so talented and it is such a joy to be able to discuss things, pick your brains and get feedback. Sometimes I just learn things by reading along to someone else's discussion. Sometimes you find answers to questions you didn't know to ask!

I also want to thank my beta readers, who have read so many words this year. They are so FAST and then apologise for being slow. I cherish them so much.

If you read up to this point, thank you! If you've read a fic of mine this year, thank you as well. If you left me kudos or comments, recced me... you get a little kiss on the forehead.

If you have achievements of your own this year that you are proud of, do share them! (Reblog or send me an ask, I want to hear about it!) Let's celebrate all the work you put in!

#writing #fic #personal

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sabraeal · 2 years ago

Text

All That Remains, Chapter 11: The Prince and the Princess [Part 1]

[Read on AO3]

Written for both Obiyuki Bingo and also a very, very overdue birthday gift for @lusakina, who has nearly waited a year for me to be able to sit down and write this. It’s a slightly shorter chapter than these typically are, but this one needed to be more of an interlude between parts...

With a flourish of the pen, the girl escapes.

That is how a story would tell of this, wouldn’t it? A grand climax racing into the gentle arms of a denouement. An exultant cry of victory followed by a blank page.

Our fingers straddle the border between two words; one in which there is the possibility of failure, and the other which brings us the relief of success. It is so easy for us to turn the page, to shift from those dire hours to the moment of safety. A girl escapes, and in the space of a breath, she is far away, only pale echo of that danger buried beneath the next step of her journey.

There is no time to dwell on the between; on the sleepless hours wondering whether you will awake to the sounds of stomps and shouts, of whether you can afford to stop to catch a breath or must chance a push onward, hoping your own legs won’t give out beneath you. On the page there is only room for failure or flight, and anything in between...

That is where the story abandons you. Escape is only a small sliver of survival, and the the rest, the rest--

Is living. And oh, that is by far the hardest part.

Lata taught her how to ride on one of the sparse spring days in Lilias; Shirayuki had been the one to ask, only a day or so before, and he had huffed, at least it might make you more useful. A tepid response, one she thought had been as polite a refusal as a man like him could come, until she bumped into him in the courtyard, mouth wrapped halfway around a good morning, before he hauled her off to the stable.

Unlike most of her studies, riding did not come easy. No, instead it came in fits and starts; months of taking two steps forward and ten steps back until one day her amiable little mare broke out into a canter, and Shirayuki kept her seat. Good, the professor had grunted, hunching his furs up around his ears. I thought I might just wash my hands of this and let that poor excuse for a knight cart you around like luggage.

Please, my lord, Obi had called from his perch on the fence, a gloved hand pressed courteously to his chest. She would be my precious cargo.

Whatever he chose to call it, it was baggage, and if there was one thing Shirayuki refused to be, it was a burden. Riding might not come easy, but she had kept with it until not even Zen could find a flaw with her seat, and yet--

And yet, beside Kiki she sits a graceful as a rock in a bucket; unlikely to tumble out but by no means proficient. At least, not the way she thought she was. That’s the difference between learning a good seat and being born to it, she supposes, which wouldn’t matter at all if the moment Kiki slowed them to a trot, she didn’t feel as if her own backside would fall off.

“Catch your breath,” Kiki tells her, voice raised no louder than the susurrus of leaves around them. “We’ll need to keep moving.”

A protest hones itself to a point at the tip of her tongue-- there’s no need to stop, it wants to say, I won’t slow you down-- but Kiki only stares at her, kindness leaving her no quarter. The fight sloughs off her like a skin-- no, like a gown, ill-fitting and heavy, made for someone else. Another Shirayuki, one more used to saddles and stirrups, who spent her days toiling in the gardens and summers riding across the North, who hadn’t been afraid to throw a blanket over dewy grass to stare up at the stars.

Not the one who had wasted two seasons trying to slip into a smile that pinched at the seams. Who hadn’t let her friend simply disappear while she chose which spoon to stir her tea.

Nails bite into the flesh of her palms, sharper than she ever kept them in Wirant. She’d needed them short, then; longer ones were liable to break, for dirt to get caked deep within the bed, but in the palace...

Ornamental, Haki had called them, hanging polished nails over the divan. The same as Shirayuki had been, when all the flounces settled. Nothing more but another face to decorate its halls.

Her breath steams in the air, a gasping specter that dissolves as soon as it appears, never quite solid enough to grasp. Glancing over her shoulder, the lights of Wistal still shimmering past the dark ribbon of the river, she feels much the same. Insubstantial. Hardly real. That if she just reached out she could touch those glittering lamps as if they were no more than shards of wunderocks, meant to settle in the palm of her hands and never burn.

The city’s so tame from so far away.

“We should go back.”

It’s barely more than a whisper, a toneless sigh into the night, but Kiki’s stare cuts to her, sharp as the blade at her waist. “Shirayuki. You have just fled the palace and its protections.” The night blurs the details of her expression into shadow, but the angle of her brows says sharp, skeptical. “Are you really so eager to return?”

“I-I didn’t say we should go back t-there.” She skips over her words like a stone on a still pond, hands clenched tight around her reins. “I just meant...the market. Or maybe one of the pubs. Somewhere...”

Somewhere there’s something left of him, she doesn’t say. There’s no point when Kiki is already shaking her head, gold shimmering silver in the moonlight. “You do understand, don’t you? We cannot go back. Not to the palace, not to the market...not to Wistal at all.”

“But that was the last place Obi was seen,” she insists, stomach as knotted as the leather strap in her hands. “If we’re going to find anything, it will be there. If we leave now--”

“Obi has made some...questionable decisions in the past” --the wrinkle between Kiki’s brows discourages further inquiry-- “but if he was trying to slip out of Wistal under the Watch’s nose, he wouldn’t stop for a drink.”

Her mouth works-- wasn’t he supposed to be a slither-outer? a man who abandoned his post to make a fool of himself in every tavern before he’d crawl back into our good graces?-- but that venom stings even her own lips, a set of lies too raw a wound in her to even scrape out a single sound. To pretend she could believe that of him for a moment, even just to win her way--

You do know that house plants don’t drink champagne, she informs him, poking her head around the improbable girth of this fiddle leaf fig. Even if it does reside in a manor house.

Gold flashes up from where he crouches, startled, flute hanging limply from his fingers. It’s only a moment before it smooths into an easy confidence, into a grin that’s right at home with all these silver platters and crystal glass. It’s either this or off one of these fancy little balconies, and I got to say, there aren’t ladies walking out from beneath these leaves. Well, except you, Miss.

His playfulness is contagious. You could just drink it, if you need to. I doubt this would give you anything more serious than a case of the hiccups. She leans in, conspiratorial. In my professional opinion.

You may be the granddaughter of a bar, Miss, but never on the streets I’ve visited. A corner of his mouth twists as he levers himself to his feet. Then you’d know that the only knife you carry with you is a sharp one.

--It would be a betrayal. Another way for her to turn her back on him, to forget the man he’d become over these past six years, the one who-- who--

So, it was worth having? Just asking makes her stomach lurch, like holding her foot over a precipice, trying to judge the distance down. It’s just a necklace, just Obi, and yet she’s tangled up in anticipation, breathless for that tilt of his head, that soft flicker of a smile.

Of course. Both fondness and confusion add an airiness to his laugh, as if his answer were as certain as the ground beneath their feet, or as necessary as the air between them. It would have been just for the fact that you lent it to me.

--It’s impossible.

Not that he loved her; of course he did, but in the way a key loved its lock, or a hand might miss its pair. The way she felt when she walked the streets in front of her grandparents’ old pub and heard laughing through the glass. She was a best-worn glove, a favorite meal, a half-remembered chorus to a lullaby.

She was home, the same way he was for her. And to think of it as the same as the knights in the palace tapestries, kneeling at the feet of their mistresses and longing, to think of it as desire...

They’re mistaken, is all. Of anyone, she knew him best. If his feelings had changed, then surely she would have noticed, she would have known--

You don’t know anything about me, Miss.

Her breath catches, painful in her chest. “But we don’t know where to look. If there’s a lead, then--”

“There’s nothing left to find of him there.” Each word hits her like a whip crack, a lash she’s not braced to take. “They will be looking for you, Shirayuki. Not now, but in the morning...”

In the morning, one of Haki’s maids would bustle into her chambers, throwing curtains wide and informing her of the gowns the consort had set out for her perusal. But today her hands would sink into the covers and find no flesh beneath it, no young lady to dress as her mistress pleased. No, there would only be a haphazard bundle of silk and velvet and down, and then, then--

Kiki’s eyes narrow as she gazes back, a hunter gauging the distance between her and her target. “It will take them time to search the grounds, to realize...”

That she was gone. No, that she, of her own volition, had left.

Kiki’s mare nickers as she leads her head around, back to the road ahead. “We should use what time we have wisely.”

It is simple to have purpose when there is trouble at your back, when there is the promise of menace nipping at your heels. One step yields to the next with such ease that it becomes nothing more than an instinct, heedless of fear and of good sense. Forward is so much more tenable as a directive than a decision.

Second thoughts are the luxury of those whose stories have an after.

Night passes into day, and what once seemed a steady, sustainable pace turns relentless. Kiki turns them off the main road at first light-- we can cover your hair, but two women riding hard is a rare enough sight still-- leading them first through fields of tall grass and wildflowers, so many Shirayuki is tempted to ask for a rest, if only to replenish her stocks--

But the grimness of Kiki’s jaw stills the words on her tongue.

It’s not long until fields give way to scrublands, and scrub gives way to the first stirrings of a forest, its canopy blotting out the sun’s heat as it climbs to its zenith. To her eyes, it seems untouched, a primordial kingdom of leaf and bramble and vine, but Kiki quickly picks out a hunter’s trail in the brush, leading them deep into its cool embrace.

It’s only then that Kiki lets their pace slow, that she lets her mare come to a panting halt. “We’ll stop here. The horses need to rest.”

There’s no block for her to dismount to, but Kiki provide a knee-- and then a net of arms in short measure, once Shirayuki’s leg fails to swing over and becomes a slow, terrifying slide.

“Sorry,” she gasps, clutching hard to her shoulders. “I didn’t realize that my, er, I mean...everything’s numb...?”

Her only consolation is that Kiki’s huff is at least amused when she finds her feet. “No need to apologize. We rode for a long time. Longer than we should have.”

Obi used to complain that too much time in the saddle made him bow-legged-- like some sort of hedge knight, Miss-- but it’s not until she hobbles across the clearing, too much space between her thighs, that she understands it.

“Oh, did we? That’s good. I mean--” there’s no comfortable way to rest; to stand means suffering her trembling legs, to sit only worsens the numbness “--I thought so, but if we were really riding for so long, then we would stop to switch out the horses...”

Kiki shakes her head, expert hands never slowing as she rubs down their mounts. “They’ll check the roads first, the post stations where it’s likely we’d need to stop. And any groom worth his pay will know these are from the royal stables, which means he’ll be the first to tell them what he knows.” Her mouth gives a wry twist. “Horse thieves always pay well.”

“But we’re not...” Kiki spares her a long, dubious look. They certainly hadn’t asked to borrow a pair of His Majesty’s finest mounts. “Are you so sure there will be anyone coming after us? Izana said that if I left, that I would be-- I’d--”

It should go without saying-- even now, the burden of his gaze weighs on her-- if you break this agreement, there will not be another offer.

She clears her throat. “I don’t think he’d be sending anyone for me.”

“Not Izana.” Kiki stretches out the words with care, the kind that warns of a ‘but’ before it can round the corner. “But Zen will turn over the whole city to find you.”

“Ah...” She hadn’t accounted for that, no. Not for Zen, who so often complained of tied hands, of how his brother’s wants ran roughshod over his own, using what little power he could bring to bear. “But Izana would never let him. Not when he was so clear...”

“Which is why this will all happen so quickly.” Kiki turns to her, as grim and serious as she had been in the stables. “Before Izana can hear of it.”

Her fingers tremble against the trunk, bark biting into flesh to keep her upright. “N-no. He can’t do that. When Obi disappeared it took him weeks to even get a single search party...”

Beneath the black of her jacket, Kiki’s shoulders tense. She does not speak but brace, and that is enough to draw Shirayuki up short, to remember--

A knife strapped to a belt. A seed pressed into her hand. Ah, she’d forgotten how easily a healed wound can run fresh, if she only pulls off the scab. “But he never sent anyone. Not for Obi.”

“Shirayuki...” A sigh soughs through her teeth. “We should go.”

But it cannot last forever. There always comes a time where fear banks, when tempers have cooled and the ceaseless war drum of the heart fades. And all that is left...

Is you.

Day fades into night again before Kiki allows them to truly rest, not just pause to catch a breath or let the horses drink. Their pace had been slow through the forest, careful as they picked their way along the knotted trails, but their mounts are exhausted, pulling at their leads as they plod into the clearing. Shirayuki can hardly blame them; she nearly balks until Kiki reaches for her, more falling from the saddle than dismounting it.

No matter how she might insist that she bore the mark of Tanbarun in her strong shoulders, or that heaving bags of soil from the cart to the greenhouse made her as capable as any of the male scholars, Shirayuki is hardly heavy. A girl her size might make Suzu stagger-- I can’t leave him on the walls by himself, Obi had confided once, grin peeking over his scarf, he’s got more in common with a sail than stone-- but even with the brunt of her weight slumping over her like a sack, Kiki is only driven back a step, solid when she plants her on the ground.

“You’ll have to forgive the accommodations,” she huffs, one half of her mouth hooking into a smirk. “I’m afraid it falls just short of royal.”

There’s no silk sheets or pillows of down, that’s for certain. But Kiki lays out her cloak to cover the soft sponge of the forest’s undergrowth, plumping her pack to make a kissing cousin to a pillow, and oh, what Shirayuki would have given for such luxuries during that breathless flight across the border, all those years ago. She stumbled upon that forgotten manor after a half dozen nights of only rocks and roots to lay her head on, with just that little hood to keep her warm.

“Ah, don’t worry about me,” she murmurs, unclasping her own cloak from around her neck. “I’ve slept on worse.”

Kiki’s smile stretches tight over her teeth. “Of course.”

Never one to need to fill the air with noise when silence would do, Kiki gathers their leads, nickering quietly at their mares as they tamp at the ground, impatient. Lata had taught her how to care for tack-- as any good horseman should, he sniffed, turning up his nose at the university’s groom-- but there’s a practiced efficiency to Kiki’s movements, almost meditative, that suggest any of her fumbling might only get in the way.

Still, Shirayuki isn’t about to stand idle. Not anymore.

“If you’re going to take care of the horses...” Her slippers shuffle, uncertain, beneath the hem of her skirt. “Should I gather some wood for--?”

“No fire.”

Shirayuki blinks. Wistal may be warm, even into its winters, but its nights still grow cold late in the season, enough that some mornings leave a lick of frost on the windowpanes. “But it will get cold soon. The sun’s already--”

Kiki shakes her head, sharp. “We can’t risk the smoke.”

She doesn’t so much snap as rasp, a dire note scraping her voice raw. Kiki has stood tall before kings and traitors both, and yet her whisper is nothing more than a live nerve that her desperation skins open. And it-- it seems so silly. They aren’t running from some first’s prince’s wounded pride, from four dozen of the kingdom’s most loyal knights and a half dozen dogs, but...

“But it’s only Zen.” It’s strange that she’s the one to say it, that in this twilight of her escape, she’s the one to speak sense. “He won’t hurt us. He’ll just...”

“Convince you.”

Her mouth falls slack. “I...?”

“Zen loves you.” It’s stunning how easily Kiki can say such a thing when Zen never had, when it had always been something hidden in the wrinkles of his smile or the longing in his eyes. “The fear has never been that he would hurt you. It is that you will listen.”

Shirayuki wants to protest, to say there would be nothing he could say to convince her to abandon Obi now that she’s set herself on his trail--

But even now her heart leaps to her throat not in dread but anticipation as she imagines Zen stepping into the light of their fire. Hope sears as he kneels before her, the fire casting his pale hair golden as he tells her, it’s all been a mistake. The anguish would turn itself to earnest apology in his eyes, and he would say that they can do this together, if only she would come back with him, if only she would stand by his side.

A breath shudders from her lungs, so full of wanting it burns.

It is so easy to say that she would not turn her back on Obi again, but three months ago, she would have sworn no one could get her to forsake him the first time.

“Right,” she rasps, chest tender beneath the hand she presses to it. “No fire.”

Oh, how easy it is for the doubts to set in, when it is only your tender heart to stand against them.

These are not Lilias’ nights, so cold that even a warm pan beneath the pallet and a heap of furs can’t keep the chill out, but they do have to press close beneath the weight of her cloak, tucking it tight around their shoulders and back, scrunching to keep their feet beneath it. It’s hardly the first time she’s had to huddle for warmth under the blankets, tucking deep into open arms to keep out the elements, but she’s used to a warmer body beside her, a furnace wrapped in flesh. And Kiki, well--

What do you expect? Obi lilts into her ear, as soft as he always spoke beneath the stars. Miss Kiki’s got a reputation to keep.

Her body is weary, bruised and battered from the ride, but even still-- her heart leaps when Kiki lays next to her, the sweet scent of lilac wafting from where her hair knots at the back of her neck. For a moment, it feels like that night so long ago, when snow had pressed at the inn’s windows, and her heart had raced from how close she had come to-- to something in that room. Not with Kiki, but with Zen, the pillows collapsing in among them and the urgency to see, to know had pressed her in for that next kiss. Her lips stung from it, tingled, and she had wanting nothing more than to say something, to ask if it was right that she felt so torn between her head and her heart.

But instead she had stared at the nape of Kiki’s neck, where her hair parts around skin like waves around a breaker, and worried. The same as she does tonight, as she does the next, and the night after. She is a font of concerns, an endless well of anxiety that burbles through the early morning hours, ceaseless until the sun rises.

You understand, don’t you? Even now, she feels Kiki’s fingers at her ankle, a single thoughtful tap on her boot. What all this might cost when it’s over?

If you break this agreement, Izana warns her, his tone implying fine print, there will not be another offer.

Think about what you might lose, the silence urges her, sounding more like Kiki than any words ever have. Think about what you might not get back.

Her fingers clench tight in the wool of Kiki’s tunic. But what about you? she wants to ask into the soft skin of her nape. What do you lose, coming with me?

Kiki is a royal knight, an aide to the second prince, the heir to Seiran. Soon to be married, too, after her father’s summit. One so important that it even peeled Zen’s aides from him, one Kiki herself is supposed to be handling the arrangements for.

And yet here she is, with her. Because a princess needs her knight. Except Shirayuki has never wanted to be a princess, and Kiki...

Must have her reasons. Good ones. The kind Shirayuki wants to know, to understand--

But instead her body betrays her one last time, and all its anxiety abandons her for sleep.

Oh, how stories never speak of this part, of that space between the wanting and the knowing. A woman wakes from her thousand year slumber in the arms of her true love. Children outsmart a witch and find their way home without a single wrong turn.

A girl escapes the garden of a sorceress, and stumbles straight onto the trail of her boy. No doubts, no second thoughts, no leads that have gone cold over the long months she spent, a prisoner in paradise.

How much easier it must be to suffer knowing that there is purpose to it in the end. How much easier it is to go forward, when every step will lead you true.

It’s impossible for her to say how many days it take for them to travel through the forest, or how many more there are before Kiki leads her back to a road. Obi had always been the one with the map in his head, unerringly leading them through hill and dale and drift; Shirayuki had only followed, putting her boot prints beside his own, a matched set.

It’s only the hangings above the inn’s door that give her pause when they pass it, that remind her that they’ve been here before. They’d run across this very courtyard with rain dogging their heels, standing in front of the desk soaked entirely to the skin. The five of them, traveling back from Tanbarun, breaths caught up in laughter as they skidded to a stop in the tile. It’s impossible, she thinks, that they could have been so young only such a short time ago.

“How about it then?” Kiki grunts, voice rough from disuse. “Would you like a bed tonight?”

Her back would certainly appreciate it. “They had baths here, too, didn’t they?”

For the first time in days, Kiki’s mouth curls toward a smirk. “You know, I think they did. Good ones, too.”

Strange, is it not, how we never know the precise moment the story finds us again?

Steam curls thick in the air, a palpable curtain between her and the bath. A welcome one; it’s been so long since Shirayuki last removed her dress that the cuffs stick to her wrists. It’s a miracle of the humidity-- and her own ingenuity-- that it peels away, leaving pink skin in its wake.

“Oh.” The warmth of the bath clings to her as thick as any cloak, coaxing out a sigh. “Where...?”

“Leave it,” Kiki urges her from farther in. “The maids will look after it. If there’s anything that can save those things.”

She hums, uncertain, letting the fabric hang from her fingers. This is her own sweat, her own mess; it hardly seems right to expect someone to clean it...

But she wants to deal with it even less. “All right.” The gown drops into the fog, lost. “I’m coming.”

When it is not just our own will that moves us forward, but the narrative, pushing us inexorably to the next turn of the page.

It’s a good, solid scrubbing that Shirayuki gives herself; she’s no stranger to the sort of dirt that a body can gather over a day’s work, but this, this is a week’s accumulation of grime and filth. It doesn’t wash away so much as flake, chipped off by the application of horsehair and grit until the only think left is pink, scoured skin beneath.

“We’re alone,” Kiki assures her through the partition, one pale foot sliding a sudsy bucket beneath. “If you want.”

Shirayuki blinks for a moment, staring down at the bubbles uncomprehending--

“Oh.” She reaches up, unwinding the towel from her head. It’d be generous to call what’s under it brown, let alone red, but with a good wash, well... “Thank you.”

Kiki hesitates. “I’ll meet you in the bath.”

Even in the most mundane of moments, the times in which we feel the most off the trodden path, lost and left with only our hopes to guide us, we can be so close that only a step would traverse the space between. That only a breath could speak it into being.

How many times must we come close to relief, and then never know it? How many doors must close while we hope for a mere window, all unknowing?

If Shirayuki had thought the steam thick before, it is nothing to how it rises from the actual bath. It might well be a curtain for how well it shields the edge from her; she risks a few toes at first to feel for it, and with a steeling breath, sinks a whole foot right down to the knee.

It’s hot, enough that the fresh skin these prickles with pain before the heat soothes it away. Her other leg follows, then the rest of her, sinking down into its warm embrace.

As much as it stings, it’s pleasant as well. As if she’s been made new again, the Shirayuki of the palace washed away, and leaving behind only her.

And then, when we least expect it--

“Caw, caw,” the crow says, swooping down to the little girl, “Good day, good day, little one, what brings you here?”

“Well, well, well.” A lithe body slides into the pool, tawny trailing after her like a comet’s tail. “Didn’t think I’d find a fine young miss like you here.”

--We are found once again.

For better or for worse.

#obiyukibingo23 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #fairy tale au #all that remains #snow queen au #my fic #ans #this took so long because i truly wanted to join back up with the story frame before it finished #and i tortured myself for SO LONG thinking this chapter wouldn't be long enough without it #and then like halfway through the first scene i was like #oh no the whole pacing of this chapter is literally like...an interlude #the point is that this is the part of the story where the narrative has abandoned shirayuki #because this isn't the INTERESTING part #and it can only come back in at the end #YES IT TOOK ME LIKE 7 MONTHS TO REALIZED THIS #I DUN WANNA TALK ABOUT IT

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dullahandyke · 2 years ago

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cant be bothered to make mulitple posts. have one post with many contents, it is like a treasure chest. also whoops got long teehee take a readmore

BOOBS. boobs. tits and boobs. soft and eueueuugughghghgh fun to squish and heavy and smell nice. society if i had someone to fool around with. kissing doesnt sound that appealing but if i played w someones boobs it would fix me i think. sorry. not sorry actually #liveyourtruth. whaever im 19 i can post abt whatever i want n what i wanna post abt is boobs

not to hammer home an old thought but god i wish i lived in a town or a village or a city... theres literally fuck all to do here unless i wanna bug my parents for a ride into town so instead i just sit inside n its kind of detrimental to my social life n indepence. like on the plus side, i might have considered taking up vaping in a calculated 'swapping one vice for another' way if living in the middle of a field didnt make getting my hands on any on a regular basis so utterly implausible, so like its good detterant in that way, but also like man do you know how psyched i would be to be able to walk to the cinema. walk to any store where i could buy things. u know how long google maps says it would take to walk to my local library? two hours. cant even go anywhere to hang out on a whim or without enough reason to justify bothering my parents abt it. like all going well ill hopefully be in the city for college come september but like. killing and bitingggggg

graduating in a week and AUGH on one hand out the gap waheyyy only a month until exams are DONE FOREVER (until college) but on the other hand, fuck man im never gonna see this school again, i barely hang out w my friends outside of school unless its someones 18th which in practice means that after the debs thats IT!!!!!oh my god im going to DIE, i need to go find cliodna on instagram so i can follow her because shes nice. ill be sitting in random classrooms in school lately n be hit w the fucking melancholy because im like oh boy soon i'll never see this place again and its like... intellectually i know that i am not one to dwell on shit like this after its happened, as evidenced by the 'oh god my friends are all going off to college, itll only be me and the kiddies in the youth theatre next year' crisis i had last spring, after which i was Fine Actually and rarely even thought of the ppl who left bcos i have the object permanence of a 2 month old, and in practice this summer is gonna be the same as every summer is and i didnt see a single one of my irls during summer last year and i was fine but like.... idk man knowing its the end.... kills

speaking of which, oh my GOD the leaving starts in *checks watch* 22 DAYS. FUCK. like the points i need for my course are actually pitiful like but 🥺 wanna do good... do i regularly and loudly disparage the english course and maintain that the only real measure of one's writing capabilities is your own evaluation? yes! do i still want a H1? also yes! it would be the easiest thing in the world if i was less opinionated but luckily i AM that opinionated. also god. biology the day before history.... death. ive not been paying attention to either class for literally the past few months, im gonna have to kick it into high gear when i graduate bcos lbr im gonna get my shit together enough to pay attention until im not in school anymore.

thinking about boobs again. would like to hold some. an irl's school shirt keeps shifting so i can see her boobs thru the button gaps and im heeueuugueugh

eating a mini viennese ice cream or whatever its called n its good 👍🏻 hard to type w tho

boobs again. hhhahwhauhghah!

my ass hurt. done.

#vent #<- ig #long post

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thisisnotreallife · 14 days ago

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The Cancer Journals, Part XIV:

How to Help a Loved One (or Stranger!)

This week, I start the final drug for my endocrine therapy cocktail. I found out on Friday that the drug, ribociclib, causes hair loss—and that I can’t eat any grapefruit or pomegranate for the entire time I’m taking it, which we expect to be five years.

So.

So today I made a grapefruit cake, and I’ve been chugging my favorite grapefruit bubbly water while I can.

I plan to get myself a paloma before I’m no longer allowed and have a grapefruit for breakfast each morning until I start the medication, too.

Honestly, I feel compelled to ask a medical professional if I need to wait for the grapefruit to flush out of my system before I start the ribo Rx, I’ve had so much of it…

It’s a good thing it’s not pomegranate season!

The grapefruit & pomegranate moratorium is—unfortunately—a hard and fast no. The fruits have something in them (an enzyme, I believe the oral chemotherapy nurse said) that binds to something in the drug, making it difficult for the body to process it properly and leading to a build-up, which can ultimately cause things like liver toxicity.

I let myself be bummed out for about a day and a half, and then I had to admit that having a zero-tolerance policy on grapefruit and pomegranate for the next five years is better than both liver toxicity and a breast cancer recurrence.

So, we take the ribociclib.

And we look forward to a grapefruit and a pomegranate party in five years.

Anyway, as promised, I wanted to wrap up this chapter of my cancer meander not with a grand statement on having and undergoing treatment for breast cancer, but rather with a more practical piece of writing.

When people get sick, or when people experience a death or similar world-shifting event that shakes their foundation, friends and family are quick to tell the afflicted to let them know how they can help.

It’s a wonderful offer—well-intentioned and usually quite genuine.

But the thing is, people who are struggling aren’t thinking clearly about when to ask for help, or whom to ask, or for what.

They just feel overwhelmed—by the illness or the loss and the way that the world just keeps on turning and the bills show up in the mailbox and the fridge keeps getting empty even though they keep going to the store and getting food over and over again and the laundry and the dishes pile up and they still have to get their work done. And shower, too!

So.

So, I thought I would pull together a list of the ways that Patrick and I were supported by our loved ones since we first shared my diagnosis last summer.

If you’re reading this, you likely show up somewhere in the list below, though I didn’t include specific names.

So, thank you for that. Of course. 🫶🏻

My oldest sister and her family came over for a ½ day just before my first round of chemo and knocked out a massive list of things I’d written up that Patrick and I hadn’t been able to get around to around the house since my diagnosis five weeks earlier.

· My other sister sent soup and mac and cheese and chocolate chip cookies for Patrick and me to have the weekend after my first round of chemo.

· My colleagues and boss sent fresh groceries delivered to our home just before round 3 of chemo.

· Local friends brought us a homemade meal of carnitas just after the first round of chemo.

· Another friend made our Meal Train site for us, which allowed folks to send donations or sign up to send food.

· My sister signed us up for a meal kit delivery service that we were able to turn on and off based on our needs.

· My sister also set up a GoFundMe, which allowed people to donate directly to us. We were able to use these funds on medical costs not covered by health insurance (I was spending probably $200 extra a month on supplements my oncology team wanted me on based on my bloodwork and best practices for cancer patients!) and for takeout when I didn’t know what I wanted to eat until I needed to eat immediately after chemo rounds.

· My sisters also helped with administrative tasks that I delegated to them when I just couldn’t do it myself and didn’t want to burden Patrick on top of him caring for me and working, both full-time—like when I needed an immediate and highly effective birth control method as soon as possible after my diagnosis so that I didn’t get pregnant before cancer treatment started, and my oldest sister called Planned Parenthood to schedule the appointment on my behalf.

· My mother-in-law asked her friends—most of whom are strangers to me—to send me birthday cards before my birthday in September. Some of them continued to send them on through the holidays, too. One included a drawing by a little 5-year-old girl who wanted to send her love; it is currently on the fridge (obviously).

· My boss sent a seatbelt pillow for the car before my port surgery, before I even realized I’d need it.

· A friend sent a Tupperware of homemade cookies and a book of poems along with a sweet card that I have framed.

· Another friend sent me a care package before my first chemo round and included items that showed she had done research on what might be helpful for a breast cancer patient, like scar cream and wooden utensils in case metal ones tasted gross post-chemo. So thoughtful!

· Another friend whom I got to see just after my port surgery gave me a little totem that we call Whimsy Frog, who traveled with me to every chemo round I had to go through.

· My sister brought me rocks she gathered and polished from shorelines and riverbanks around the Pacific Northwest whenever she visited, and I carried them with me in my pockets and have them placed around my house, for luck.

· A friend sent the most beautiful and healing care package, filled with the crystal that I took with me to each round of radiation, a necklace she had worn herself through many trials she walked through, and a clear glass frog that now sits in our living room.

· Another friend sent a cozy scarf and a pack of socks with a cat on them and some tea and sweet little bookmarks to cheer me up and keep me comfortable after my last round of chemo.

· Another friend who was diagnosed with the same kind of breast cancer five years ago sent me a sweet coffee mug and a cozy blanket and some “Fuck cancer” cat socks.

· The mother of a friend of ours from graduate school whom we lived with in Seattle a decade ago sent “comfort pillows” specifically designed by a breast cancer survivor she knows who runs a nonprofit providing support for breast cancer survivors and patients in the western Massachusetts area, along with several other sweet items.

· My sister found and sent the most perfect post-mastectomy support kit that included pillows and drainage bags and other sweet and thoughtful items that made the days following my mastectomy much, much easier.

· One of my mother-in-law’s friends, also a breast cancer survivor, sent a hand-crocheted prayer shawl and two hats she made for me, along with a book of letters written to women with breast cancer that she said brought her much comfort during her own cancer meander. We’ve never met, but she was so caring and thoughtful.

· Another friend sent me an email that meant so much I printed it off and stuck it above my desk so that I would see it every day.

· My oldest niece watched TikTok and YouTube videos so she would be able to help me put on my wigs. She also bought me some of the cutest hats I’ve ever seen.

· Anonymous little treats also came in the mail from time to time, from “Suck it, Cancer!” chapsticks that I have stashed all around the house for use to a 2lb bag of coffee beans.

· I received many beautiful flowers deliveries from friends and family after diagnosis, following my first chemo and my last chemo and in-between rounds “just because,” and post-surgery. Flowers were always, always appreciated.

· My sister sent a basket of living plants after my mastectomy, and it felt so wonderful to come home to alive things.

· Online support in the form of likes and comments was always also so appreciated. It might sound cheesy, I know, but each one meant a lot to me and each one still does.

· One of my sisters came to stay with us a few days after my mastectomy. It was nice for Patrick to not have to stop what he was doing every time I needed a glass of water or a snack, since I could ask my sister for her help, too.

· When my sister visited after my mastectomy, her best friend drove down from Seattle and stayed here for a couple nights, too. She had done some research on the best foods for post-surgical recovery and made a protein-packed loaf of banana bread and a protein-packed chicken sausage and tortellini and vegetable soup that we survived on for a few days. Before she left, she and my sister cleaned our house for us and did our laundry. What?! If you don’t live nearby and can’t travel to help a loved one in person, if you can afford to set up a laundry service for pick up and drop off or a cleaning service to come regularly to take care of basic housekeeping and occasional deep cleaning needs, those services would be incredibly helpful during a time of need.

I’m sure that I’ve forgotten something. We received so many wonderful gifts and acts of kindness and support that I couldn’t possibly list every one of the wonderful things that friends and family did for us.

What helped Patrick and I the most over the last six months was people taking the time to send a message of support or to do some research to figure out how they could help in other ways. It was people following through on those offers for help in tangible ways—and in intangible ways, too. It was not having to say “we need some help,” because—of course, absolutely—anyone dealing with cancer does. Always.

In any case, the point is, I’m compiling all of these acts of love and care in the hopes that the next time one of your loved ones receives a scary diagnosis or loses a loved one or otherwise needs your love and support, you don’t need to ask how to help.

I hope that, instead, you can show up—unannounced or with due warning, depending on your relationship—with a homemade, nutritionally-appropriate meal and do a load of laundry.

Or send a bouquet of flowers and a pair of cozy socks.

Or a message of love and encouragement or commiseration that your friend or sister or nephew can hold in their heart when things feel especially tough.

#writing #puttinghereforposterity

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meginator · 1 year ago

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2023 - thanks for the growth!

The refreshing part about this time of year is looking back. I write everything down in my calendar throughout the year, then at the end, it's like a little summary in the palm of my hands. Would you like to join me in looking back?

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Spring

At the start of the year I was rather hopeful with a few new friends by my side, but unfortunately they didn't end up being the friends I thought they were. One of these friends even became my roomie for awhile, but that crashed and burned in less than a month with the police involved and everything. Lucky me.

After that fiasco I got even closer with my other friends, the kind of friends who show up and make the time. On another positive note, I joined my Strata Council in February and became the President soon after. In April I celebrated owning my home for a year with free club seat tickets to the Canucks game along with a gift card from my boss, go Canucks go!

Summer

My summer was spent working 6 day weeks between two jobs, having a few more shitty dates, and getting way too many blood tests. However, it wasn't all bad! I got to explore Whistler a few times, go to the Airshow with my family, travel to Ontario to visit my second cousins, and finally feel at home again in Harrison Hot Springs. It had been years since my grandma passed and our place at Harrison still didn't feel the same, but this year I brought a friend and I was able to find that connection once more. I miss my grandma, and I miss my grandad... but I cherish every moment now that I get to spend visiting my uncle because it no longer breaks my heart to be there.

Fall

This Fall I was still working 6 day weeks, but I did manage to visit Osoyoos for the weekend. Here I was able to rest and recoup, for a few days anyways. I got some edibles and topicals to help me relax AND I got a new ear piercing! I even managed to nap, how crazy is that?!

Having two jobs wasn't all bad though, I really enjoyed the experiences I've had with my catering crew. I even got to attend an award show this year and met some actors from Virgin River, the 100, and a few Hallmark films. Another cool event was hosted on a massive yacht, I want a yacht now.

October also pulled at my heart strings when I got to reunite with an old friend. It's amazing how much time can pass, but your feelings remain.

Winter

December has been a big one for me, as I'm a Sagittarius and this ol' gal turned 30 this year. It meant everything to me to be surrounded by friends & family on this memorable day. Last Friday my dad took me snowshoeing and then we met up with the rest of the fam jam for dinner. Then Saturday night I met up with 9 of my close friends for drinks and appies before we headed into downtown to party. I don't know how we did it, but we celebrated until 6am. We were straight wildin' out there! I am beyond grateful for my friends and family that made my celebration special, and I'm happy to say that I even met some boys. I know, how scandalous!

This month has more to come with Christmas events, but I am grateful for the year I've had so far... even if it was really testing me at times.

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

As I sit here listening to LOTR music, it reminds me how much of a journey life really is, and how it's supposed to be. This year I got a heartfelt reminder of how important it is to make time for loved ones. Between Ontario and Harrison I realized how grateful I am for everybody in my life, and how truly important it is to make the time.

Make. The. Time.

Another important message I got this year was health. I tried to focus on my fitness this year but it really took a back seat to stress, illness, and anxiety attacks. These are things that I will be working on in 2024. BALANCE IS KEY! I know this, and yet I failed. It's okay to fail, but you have to acknowledge it in order to make the necessary changes. Next year I hope to prioritize this more, because that's exactly what needs to happen.

Balance. Is. Key.

Through and through I can say that this year was challenging but also hopeful, and I can see my growth as I repeat situations and react differently. I'm still happy with who I am and where I'm headed.

Are you ready to start your next chapter?

#memories #looking back #goodbye 2023

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d3n4sh1aaaa · 1 year ago

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December 20th, 2023. 2:56am

Sometimes I get so fixated on the quality’s I value and love in other people, the little details and characteristics that draw me in. But I’ve never took the time to write about myself, introduce myself, the amazing qualities that make me, well.. me. I don’t give myself enough credit and take the time to recongnize how truly an interesting person I could be. Tonight I’d like to introduce me. Write about all the little facts that probably no one has paid attention too. I’ve gotten so used to people lusting over me and seeing only a specific potential where they’ve never invested into who I am. I’d love to write about the positive things along with negative.

Hello, my names denashia

I love writing. I’ve had a deep passion for writing ever since I was 9 years old. I love the beauty in being able to express yourself with using meaningful words.

I love lemon scented and clean linen candles. I get this from my mother of course

I love to sing. I purposely sound horrible infront of people due to my anxiety and fear of judgement. Along with singing, I’m deeply consumed by the art of music. Music has always been my muse. It’s a form of therapy that’s unexplainable. I’m truly big on forming deep connections and bonds with people in my life when it comes to comparing, introducing and sharing favorite artist. Music will always be a huge part of me that I’m deeply passionate about. I may sound dramatic, but there’s moments I feel blessed to be able to listen to a certain song or artist that I feel a connection too. Down to the rhythm and beat, to of course the lyrics. I inspire to write music one day and be as inspirational to others as they’ve inspired me.

I got my first guitar when I was 11 years old. I’ve been playing on and off for years but due to my mental illness I was never able to teach myself more and invest as much as I wanted too.

I love horror films, serial killer documentary’s and anything to do with thriller. I can sit and watch anything to do with those topics for a full day and forget about the world. I’m also a sucker for romance movies.

I love white cheddar snacks. It could be literally anything, if it’s white cheddar I’ve probably had it already

I love reading books about love and healing.

I’m so infatuated on the idea of love. I love the idea of being in love. I find myself craving a type of love I think I’ve honestly never experienced, sometimes it hurts. I know how hard and deeply consumed I’ve been in love but it was never reciprocated. The way I love is harmless, passionate, and beautiful. Romantically or platonically, I’ve given out more love than I’ve ever received. I know once day I’ll eventually be given the love I give out and so much more. I know I deserve that at the least.

My favorite animals are dogs, very basic but I’ll happily interact with a dog before a human.

I’m deeply terrified of any type of insects.

My love languages are touch and giving. I always want to be held or hold onto someone. When I find interest or recognize that I’m starting to have feelings for someone I show it by giving anything and all that I can. I study your favorite things, I’d want to cook your favorite food, bring you to your favorite places, ect. Even as a friend. I love seeing people happy and satisfied.

I love going on long drives with the music on full blast. I find myself driving all along my state alone on days where I’m not working and need to feel something.

I’ll travel for a beautiful scenery. The warmth I feel in my body being able to witness sunrise on an early summer morning is a feeling I long for during the off seasons.

I love the color pink.

One of my long term goals is to become a social worker and help families out of shitty situations.

I love learning about anything that has to do with psychology.

I’ve got my heart broken a total of three times.

I started getting into my spirituality when I was 21.

That’s only a few qualities I’d like to share for now. My next post will be about more of the negative things that come along with me.

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noramoons · 3 years ago

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better left unsaid.

pairing: kim seungmin x g/n reader

genre: academic rivals to lovers (?)

rating: T/13+

warnings: language, academic-related pressure, food mention, mentions of illness, brief mentions of parental issues

word count: 3.6k

summary: kim seungmin is a thorn in your side. being paired up with him for your midterm presentation is the absolute worst thing that could happen. isn’t it?

Admitting defeat is one thing.

You'd say you're typically gracious about it. It's not something you like doing, certainly, but you're usually pretty good about being able to tell when it's your time to bow out.

Admitting defeat to Kim Seungmin, however, is unthinkable.

It's impossible, actually. He's been a pain in your side for nearly an entire year now, and you'd thought you'd escaped him. Wasn't the whole point of going to a large university like this that you wouldn't see the same people all the time?

He'd been in a creative writing class with you your first year of college—your very first semester, that you'd gone into so happy and doe-eyed until you'd had the misfortune of sitting next to Kim Seungmin. Know-it-all didn't even begin to describe him—he made it a point to try to answer nearly every question your poor professor gave to the class (the questions you didn't beat him to, that is; you certainly weren’t going down without a fight). He'd make not-so-subtle comments about his grades to you, and you'd turn right around the next week and make the same comments about yours—piling on the extra credit assignments and additional references to get another point higher than him, just like he'd do to you with the next assignment. You did nothing but antagonize each other, even despite you constantly bringing up the fact that he was the one who had initially started this whole hellish competition—but it didn't matter. Both of you were determined to see the other shut up for once.

It was an absolutely brutal fifteen weeks—but the two of you both managed to end that semester with a 96, even after each of you went to the professor individually and begged for any more extra credit (she, of course, refused). You hadn't been able to settle your score with each other then, but the class was over, and you hoped to God you wouldn't have to see Seungmin in any of your classes again (or ever in your life, hopefully).

The winter break came and went, and you practically held your breath for the entirety of that first day back as you walked into each of your classes—but every single one of them had been beautifully, blissfully Seungmin-free. You'd been able to narrowly escape having any classes with him that spring, or even seeing him at all on campus. You'd nearly forgotten about your previous academic rival by the time the summer had arrived.

But now it's fall again—and you lock eyes with him the minute you walk in your first classroom.

Seungmin smiles at you from the first seat by the door, the closest to the professor's desk. "Running late this morning, are we?" he asks.

You force a smile across your lips as you try to distract yourself from the pit of despair opening up in your stomach. "There's still five minutes before class starts," you remind him coolly.

His smile only grows. "You know what they say. Early is on time, and on time is late."

You fight back against the feeling of your skin crawling as you pass him wordlessly to sit on the opposite side of the classroom. What was he doing in this class, anyway? It's just another required elective for you, a contemporary music history course that you had figured would be an easy elective to take.

Music history.

Seungmin's a music major, you remember absentmindedly.

Shit.

You're not going to put up with this again this semester. Last fall was hell, to put it lightly—and while you certainly didn't have to stoop to Seungmin's level back then, you certainly weren't going to just let him brag to you any way he wanted—and so the vicious cycle had kept the two of you ensnared. But you were determined not to let that happen again.

Your decision to sit as far away as possible from Kim Seungmin works fairly well, at first. You bite your tongue the first several weeks when he pointedly volunteers to answer any and all of the professor's questions, staring a hole through you from the other side of the room when you don't immediately try to one-up him (ah, if looks could kill...), you don't say a word when he loudly announces his perfect score on the first quiz of the course to his friends around him—in other words, you keep to yourself. And it works. For a while.

It's the fourth week of the course when your professor announces the topic for the midterm right before class ends for the day: a presentation on a contemporary music era of your choice. Well, not just your choice—the midterm is a group project. And of course, the final nail in the coffin (since this class is clearly aiming to send you to an early grave) is that you can't pick your groupmates. Your professor will, and it will be at random. He'll announce the groups next week, presumably so you can all begin working on the material for the midterm as soon as possible.

You try to quell your nerves on the way home from class, taking a deep breath while you force yourself to unclench your jaw. It's not a huge class, but it isn't the smallest you've been in, either—considering the size, there's likely going to be at least four or five groups. The odds of you and Seungmin being in the same group are extraordinarily slim.

It isn't until the end of class Monday that Professor Kang finally gets around to announcing the groups. They will all be groups of three, he informs you, but since your class has an even number of students, there will be one group with just two classmates.

He goes down the list rather rapidly, and your heart begins to sink when you don't hear your name in the first several groups of three. By the time Professor Kang calls out your name, you realize, in a split-second moment of horrified realization, that you haven't heard his name yet, either.

"...and Kim Seungmin. That'll be our last group. You guys are all more than welcome to get your topics submitted early, but they're due for my approval by at least Monday. Alright! I hope you all have a good weekend," the professor says, turning back to his desk with a smile.

It's a nice sentiment, but you imagine you won't have a good weekend again for the rest of the semester. Is it too late to consider transferring schools?

You don't even make it down the hallway before there's a tap on your shoulder. "Funny seeing you again," he says, and Seungmin's voice is so close to your ear it nearly makes you jump. You spin around in the hall to face him, a fake smile neatly displayed across your cheeks. Your sparring matches with Seungmin have resumed—and by God, it's like muscle memory—how easily you're able to fall back into war with him.

"It is funny, isn't it?" you say, teeth clenched. "If I didn't know any better, I'd think you asked the professor to make sure we ended up in the same group—especially considering that we're the only group of two."

He raises his hands above his head in mock self defense. "Hey, I wouldn't dare. Professor Kang said it was going to be randomized from the start—I wouldn't even think of interfering with that. It is interesting that it ended up like this though, isn't it?" he adds, laughing a little. "Do you believe in fate, Y/N?"

"Fate?" you repeat, letting out a scoff. "I don't really think that's any of your business. I have half a mind to go back in that classroom and ask Professor Kang if you really did beg him to be in the same group as me." You stick your bottom lip out in a show of false pity. "Kinda pathetic, don't you think?"

But Seungmin doesn't falter. "I told you I wouldn't do that. It really is just fate, or you and I are just both incredibly unlucky. And come on, I know you know what kind of student I am—you think I'd try to interfere with a professor's course materials? That's against the academic code of conduct, you know," he says, grinning once more.

You set your mouth into a firm line in an attempt to keep yourself from saying anything worse. "Okay," you say, finally—finally bowing to the unbelievably shitty situation you've found yourself in. "Okay. Fine. We're in the same group for this midterm, so let's just get it done as quickly as possible. Meet me in the library on Thursday on the 3rd floor, by the farthest window. 3:00 p.m., sharp. Don't be late."

Seungmin's grin widens. "I wouldn't dream of it."

~~~

Despite all of Seungmin's arrogance, you can at least count on him to be timely—he gets to the library even before you do on Thursday, passing you as you walk up the staircase with a syrupy sweet smile.

You want to throttle him.

"What were you thinking for the topic?" he asks, setting his backpack down on a chair beside the window as he moves to sit down.

You narrow your eyebrows at him as you move to sit across from him. "You're asking me? I'm surprised you haven't written the entire project already and aren't snapping at me for not participating."

Seungmin smirks. "No, I haven't done that. Have you thought about it yet?"

This is a game. It has to be. Kim Seungmin is not seriously asking for your opinion—that implies he actually cares about it. "I...I'm not sure. I was thinking the 1960s? Everything was so tumultuous politically at the time, and it showed pretty obviously in the music. There's loads of examples to choose from that we could form a presentation around."

Seungmin thinks about your suggestion for a brief moment before he nods. "Okay, sure. That sounds good to me."

You let out a short laugh before you can stop yourself. "I'm sorry...who are you?" You lean across the table to lay a hand against his forehead. "Do you have some kind of mind-altering fever?"

He swats your hand away, but there's still a grin on his face. What the hell? "No, I feel just fine. It's only the two of us in this group—there's no point in arguing about the topic when the presentation's only a month away. If the grades were individual, I'd just let you suffer, but they aren't. So this," he says, gesturing vaguely at the space between the two of you, "is the best way to assure we both get a good grade. There will be plenty of other smaller parts of the presentation we can threaten to kill each other about, but agreeing on the big picture is important. So I just figured I'd defer to you."

To say you're stunned is an understatement—but you know not to second-guess Seungmin, so you try to shake off the look of pure shock on your face as much as you can. "Well...okay," you finally say, laughing a little nervously. "As long as you're sure you're okay with that."

He nods. "I think it's a good choice. And you're right that we've got plenty to choose from—did you have anything that came to mind first?"

The hours practically fly by as you and Seungmin spend the rest of your library session brainstorming your midterm project. He knows nearly all the songs you bring up, of course—and he lends you an earbud so you can listen to a few of his suggestions, too. They aren't bad.

Your next two midterm sessions go almost just as well. Seungmin had been right—the two of you do bicker profusely about the minutia of the presentation, on who should say what, on who should get credit for which point about a song you both already knew, on whether "The Beatles" looks terrible in blue Brush Script font (it does)—but you're still able to move past all those after some mostly relaxed arguments (you were not budging on the font issue, and Seungmin threatened to toss your laptop down the library stairs). Both of you are extremely pleased with how far you've come along on the presentation (and how maybe not-so-impossible it is to be around each other. Or how nice Seungmin sometimes looks when he's focusing on his writings—and in truth, nice barely begins to cover it. But you have every intention of taking that observation to your grave).

Your third session, a week and a half before your midterm, does not go anything like the ones before it.

You know you're doomed the minute you try to sit up in bed that morning—try being the key word there. The immediate pounding at your skull causes a groan to pass your lips before you're even aware of it.

You push tentatively on your sinuses beside your nose, and the pressure there nearly makes you want to cry. Judging by the clammy feeling of your sweaty skin clinging to your pajamas, you probably have a fever of some sort, too. The realization settles in your chest like a weight.

You've got something—no doubt about it.

You let out another sigh of disappointment before rolling over to grab your phone. You text Seungmin that you won't be able to make it to the library today, and then silence your notifications. He doesn't need to know anything else. For now, you're just going to focus on the sudden heaviness pushing down on your eyelids and sleeping off whatever the hell this is that you've somehow contracted.

~~~

It's dark by the time you open your eyes again, but that may just be from the sudden thunderstorm you hear outside. You're awakened by the unceasing buzzing of your phone on your nightstand.

< 2 missed calls from K.S >

K.S

> hey.

> you know the midterm's in less than 2 weeks right

You roll your eyes. Why couldn't he just read between the lines?

y/n

< i do actually

< i'm rlly sick. haven't even left my room today. i'll catch up on monday

You're just about to lay your phone back down when you feel it buzz. Already? Doesn't he have anything better to do?

K.S

> and i'm sick of ur excuses

> i'll be by in 15

Your eyes widen slightly at that. He'll be “by?” By your apartment? He doesn't even know where you live—

No, you realize in horror, he does. He had dropped you back home after that very first brainstorming session for the midterm you two had.

Well, it's not like he'll be able to get in, you think, trying to calm yourself down.

And sure enough, you hear a knock at the door almost exactly fifteen minutes after you'd gotten his text. You let out an indignant sigh before picking up your phone again.

K.S

> i'm outside

y/n

< seungmin i feel like shit

< pls go back home, i don't want u getting sick too

K.S

> it's raining

y/n

< i literally couldn’t care less <3

K.S.

> is this ur spare key under the mat?

You shoot up in bed, but it's too late—you hear the lock clicking and the door turning by the time you've wrapped a blanket around yourself and dashed into the front hallway, ignoring the pounding at your temples as you do so.

Seungmin waves from the doorway. "I brought soup. Can I come in?"

You look him up and down. He's nearly drenched from standing outside, so you quickly run into the laundry room and hand him a towel before beckoning him further inside.

He thanks you for the towel, drying his hair after handing you the bag he says contains chicken noodle soup. You glance at the writing on the bag—it's from your favorite restaurant.

You look up at Seungmin. "I love this place."

"I know," he says, in that slightly irritating matter-of-fact tone. "You came to that second study session with a drink from there."

You narrow your eyes at him. "You remember that?"

He blinks at you slowly. "Of course."

Of course?

"Anyway," he continues, "you look like shit. You weren't kidding."

You make a face. "Thanks, Seungmin."

"You're welcome. What have you had to drink today?"

You look down at the soup bag, avoiding the frown developing across his lips. "Nothing."

You don't have to meet Seungmin's gaze to know the look of slight irritation on his face. But why? It's never been directed at you out of concern, if all things, before. "Have you had anything to eat, either?"

You don't answer.

He lets out a small hmph. "You must really be sick, then. I thought you'd be smarter than that."

"Seungmin, I really don't think—"

"Where are your cups?" he suddenly asks, and you look up to find him opening nearly every cabinet in your kitchen. What the hell is wrong with him? Is he sick too?

"Um...second cabinet from the fridge," you answer after an unusual beat of silence, and he pulls a tall pink cup out, filling it with water from the sink before gesturing with his head towards the couch in the living room.

"You up for eating?"

Up for it is an understatement—you're practically starving. So you follow his lead onto the couch, pulling out the soup container and the plastic utensils after taking a few sips of the water he wordlessly sets in front of you.

Seungmin stares at you from across the couch as you open up the soup container. "None of your friends wanted to come by and drop off food? Or anything?" His voice is unusually gentle—you almost don't recognize the tone in his words at all.

You gather up another spoonful of soup instead of answering. "No," you say finally, decidedly. "They didn't." Truth be told, you don't have that many friends to begin with—diving headfirst into your studies in the way that you have over the past year means you haven’t had time for much else.

Seungmin's eyes narrow, but he doesn't say another word until you finish your soup. The warmth of the food fills you from the inside out—you're practically more drowsy now than you were this morning. "I, um...I think I'd better go back to bed," you say, softly.

Seungmin nods. "Sure," he says, understanding. "I just wanted to make sure you were okay. I'll see you on Monday, alright?"

You grab his wrist as he starts to stand, overcome by a sudden emotion. You aren't sure if it's the fact that you've been alone all day, or if you're overwhelmed from whatever this is you've come down with, or if Seungmin's gesture has touched you more than you'd expected—either way, he stops moving the instant you touch him. "Seungmin," you start, not quite meeting his gaze. "Can you, um...can you stay?"

He stares at you for a moment, just long enough for you to form an apology at the tip of your tongue before he nods. "Yeah," he says quietly, nodding as he sits back down. "I'll stay."

You practically melt back into the couch beside him, your head gradually falling onto his shoulder as he raises a tentative hand to gently stroke the hair at the crown of your head.

It's not long before he feels you falling asleep, lying heavier against the side of his body, but Seungmin doesn't mind in the slightest. He's not sure how long you'll be asleep for—he's never been sick like this, not that he can remember, but he knows he wouldn't want to be alone if he felt this badly. And he's downright irritated that none of your friends bothered to come by—aren't they concerned? Is he the weird one for caring about whether or not you were okay, somehow?

But he has a sneaking suspicion in the back of his mind on why he's been so concerned. Seungmin knows why he felt his heart sink with disappointment when you told him you weren't going to be able to make it to the library today. He's enjoyed getting to work with you over the past few weeks, even when the two of you are bickering loud enough to cause the passing librarians to hiss a harsh shush as they walk past. He likes being around you.

He likes you. He's spent long enough denying it.

He was stupid last year—pushing himself to get all A's at his parents' urging and dragging you along with him, creating a stupid rivalry between the two of you just to fulfill what his parents wanted from him. You're smart—so smart, and not just academically. You keep up with him, outsmarting him more than half the time, if he's being perfectly honest—and it pushes him to be better, too. He wants to be better—to be better at talking to you when you aren't just intentionally teasing and annoying each other. To maybe keep talking to you even after the midterm is over, if that's something you would even consider.

Seungmin glances down at your head against his shoulder, at the soft curve of your chin tucked against him, at the gentle rise and fall of your even breaths as you sleep peacefully beside him.

Maybe he'll tell you what he's realized, how he really feels when you wake up. For now, though—he's satisfied with this, you lying safely and contently beside him.

Everything else can wait.

taglist: @petrichor-han @kangroo-chan @ot7lonelylover @lilacdreams-00 @mainexiii @awkwardnesshabitat @lotus-dly @elizabeth11moreno @nerdysl-t @seung-scrittore

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eponymous-rose · 2 years ago

Text

I'm gonna do this again because it turned out last week kinda went off the rails without it and the little bit of accountability is super super helpful.

Monday!

It's a busy week! It's also my birthday week! Let's do this!

E-mail with coffee: sent a prospective grad student a congratulations on her admission to our program. I'm really hoping to hire her, but I do need to consider whether I might want to admit two students for this position and just get the extra funding for the second one elsewhere if both decide to come. Hmm. Confirmed coffee on Friday with the wonderful admin I've been wanting to befriend for a while - finally we'll interact outside of paperwork! Sadly Wednesday's seminar speaker is ill and won't be able to present - I'm leading the seminar so that does add up to a little less work for me, which is the silver lining there. One of my student groups is struggling to grab data from the weather station they built on the roof because the dang software doesn't work on Macs - managed to coordinate getting them a loaner PC laptop from the department, whew. Completed two letters of reference for an undergrad student applying to internships. Somehow managed to double-book a meeting and gave one a heads up to cancel. Showed my availability for scheduling a PhD defense for a student whose committee I'm on. One of the speakers for my seminar series sent a somewhat passive-aggressive e-mail to the department chair to let him know his info's not up on the website yet. Department chair forwarded it to me, I replied with, essentially "hold your dang horses, your talk isn't until mid-March". He replied back with a sheepish apology. All good.

Formulated my list of essential stuff for this week:

finish Wednesday's (and next week's?) lecture(s?)

prepare next week's homework & key

work on grant proposal

work on commissioned review article

So excited that we're finally to the part of the class that I have taught before in past years! Great lecture today about statistical data analysis. Hurt everyone's brains with the Monty Hall problem. Showed a lot of XKCD comics, got some laughs. Good times. Answered some student questions on the homework assignments, looks like everyone's on track to ace this one as well. This is a really strong class and I'm very proud of them!

On to a virtual meeting with my peer mentoring group! We talk about how utterly wild it is that different departments manage research funding in completely different ways. I vent a bit for the umpteenth time about having to rely 100% on grants to pay my grad students (bigger departments often have student funding provided if they TA, but we just don't have enough classes to sustain that). Easily the biggest source of stress in my life right now is running out of funding for my students: "in order to pay your graduate students, you have to receive a major grant" "cool! how likely am I to get one?" "success rates are about 1 in 15" "uhhhh" "also the applications (if you manage to find a perfect match for your research) take about 40-60 hours to plan and write and it's not work that's looked at formally as part of your tenure review so you're actively taking time away from research" "uhhhhhhh" "and you won't find out if you have been awarded the grant or not before you have to make the decision to hire a student so you just gotta gamble on it" "UHHHHHHH" "you don't get paid in the summer either unless you pull in 2-3 grants that can each cover one month max of salary so I hope you're not putting well over 50% of your take-home toward rent in one of the worst markets in the US or anything haha." It's A Lot. But it's very helpful to talk to people about it!

Realized I left my half-finished Wednesday lecture on my computer at home so I can't work on it during my break between meetings. Shoot, guess that's a tomorrow problem. At least I can work on the homework assignment! This one was an absolute nightmare last year but I think I've come up with a way to simplify it while still hitting all of the learning goals. It's complicated but hopefully very satisfying and builds on everything they've learned thus far. Even with the simplification, I'm definitely expecting some traffic in office hours next week. Opted not to include the more tedious section of the homework because I've tested that particular skill amply in the earlier assignments this quarter. Ran through it once on my own, sent myself the key, then posted the homework and the submission portal for their online module for next week, so all I'm missing now is the lectures.

E-mail break! A professor at a small university nearby wants to bring in a grad student from my group to talk to her class about tornadoes! I have someone in mind (who is both a great presenter and also could use a little confidence boost to get back on track with his research), but of course he's working remotely on the other side of the country, so it's time for a quick check to see if a remote presentation is possible. Checking in on my seminar speaker for next week - project title and abstract up on the website, phew. She's a grad student, so I should find out if her advisor can introduce her or if they want me to do so (and if so, I gotta do some digging for fun facts to share!). Got an invite to a lunch with the faculty & chair where we're going to be brainstorming our next faculty hire, so I gotta be there for that (also because free food)! Surreal to think that we might be hiring my colleague for the next 30 years. It's... kind of intimidating and I definitely want to be in the room for that discussion. Aha! A reply already: virtual talk is fine, so I put the professor and my grad student in touch.

Nice virtual meeting with my former postdoc advisor - we commiserate for a while over his recent illness, but he's feeling better now so we quickly jump back to talking research. The small grant I was awarded recently actually dovetails with some of the broader research ideas he and I had been talking about, so I'm gonna keep him in the loop on that!

Up next: a meeting with my two undergraduate research interns. They're coadvised by my colleague who is flying research aircraft on the other side of the country right now so it's just the three of us. Due to holidays and conferences, this is actually the first time in 2023 we all managed to meet! We go over some paperwork to make sure they get college credit for this research. They're spinning their wheels a little bit but I had them shoot off a couple emails while I was there to start them getting their data ASAP. We then chatted about severe weather we'd all witnessed. One of the students mentioned she's been saving the candy from my office candy bowl for whenever she forgets to bring lunch to campus and now I'm realizing I should maybe get some protein bars or something for some variety.

All good stuff. There's a seminar in 15 minutes but it's a chemistry seminar so... I may just sneak home a bit early.

Tomorrow: no meetings (maaaybe one remote meeting), so work-from home! Should be able to get the last bit of coursework done for the week so I can start on my research to-do list.

#eponymous academia tag

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