#very last minute :P but since I made two entries today

[eolewyn1010]

#OCkiss24 - day 6

Today's entry to @ockissweek - we have a day's prompt of "reach", and I have two OCs here and a little writing. Don't think too hard about the setting; it's something-something vaguely low fantasy.

[some over 1200 words]

With a sigh, Daniechin dropped his head on the railing of his balcony. He was not getting anywhere with that. He had no evidence that held up against the baroness – her talking to a stranger during a ball was absolutely nothing; she was expected to socialize.

Daniechin frowned. Was she, though? Why was she already back on festivities with her husband dead for all of two weeks? Racking his brain, he pressed his forehead against the cold metal of the railing. She had been in a black dress during the ball, that much was true. A bejeweled, elegant gown with no sleeves and no back to speak of. Fair enough, she didn’t exactly put an effort into looking like a woman in mourning.

But that would hardly convince anyone that she’d put a hit on her husband. The baron was old and decrepit; he wouldn’t have lived for much longer anyway. All she’d had to do was wait. If it wasn’t in her particular interest for the baron to die now, it had to be in her mysterious friend’s…

A clang echoed, the balcony was shook momentarily, and Daniechin smiled sourly to himself at the presence of the figure next to him. He always came in over the balcony; Daniechin had never really gotten to the point of that. Perhaps he thought he appeared more trustworthy when he picked the balcony door’s lock instead of the front door’s?

“It would be by far the easiest to just get you before a judge so you could confess she paid you for the murder,” he said before he raised his head.

Amarzir leaned next to him, raising an eyebrow. “Sure, that oughta convince them, the word of the best assassin in the land,” he drawled. Then his gaze caught Daniechin’s, and suddenly he smirked his kobold smile. “But please, darling, do go ahead and put me in chains.” He held his wrists out to Daniechin, winking provokingly.

Daniechin rolled his eyes. It was impossible to get Ama to be serious for longer than a minute. But no, of course he wouldn’t arrest him here. Their truce was clearly defined; it began and ended at the perimeter of either of their apartments, and the balcony was still a part of his place.

Momentarily, Daniechin fought the urge to just toss that pain in his neck down into the street. It was not like he’d get hurt; Ama always had a safe landing – he was like a cat that way. But it would put him outside their truce and open the race again, and Daniechin would be busy for the night and could feel like the good Captain of the Guard he was, out there, chasing a criminal…and not going to bed with him.

When he didn’t say anything, Amarzir nudged him with the elbow. “She had a visitor today, by the way. I’m reasonably sure it was the guy she had that little conversation with back at the ball.”

Daniechin’s head snapped up. “What do you mean, reasonably sure?”

His sharp tone had Ama roll his eyes at him. No matter how long they played this game between hostility and concession, no matter how Amarzir flirted and teased and even cooperated, he insisted he was no Daniechin’s spy.

“I mean I wasn’t there myself. One of the guild mentioned it; they were around the place to steal some of the deliveries to the mansion’s kitchen.”

Daniechin grimaced. One should think he just got used to the casual mentions of illegal activities, after all that time with Amarzir, and yet…

“Anyway, so they described the visitor, smooth black hair, not very tall, cleanly shaved, and a fancy coat in black and silver that had their fingers itching. I’d say that was him. And here’s the thing: He came there in one of those Southern-style carriages. With the three-wheel construction – you know those, Dani?”

From the South. Neither of them had heard the man talk loudly enough on the ball to determine that he had an accent, but if he really was a Southerner- “They don’t have nobility down in the South; they elect their municipal government. If he’s from there, he can’t be a lord. What then, a rich merchant? Isn’t the baroness too snobby to associate with tradesmen?”

Amarzir set his chin on his crossed arms, leaning onto the railing the same way as Daniechin did. “Not necessarily. She married up the ladder; I’m pretty sure she was barely nobility to speak of before the union. She brought most of the money, the baron his title. Wouldn’t be shocked if she came from business herself.”

Silence fell between them, and Amarzir closed his eyes as if he wanted to nap away right there. All the way back when their little…meetings hadn’t been routine yet, Ama had said to him that he rarely slept anywhere else than his hideout, and only out of necessity, but over time he seemed to have gotten quite comfortable here. Daniechin wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Was he comfortable having a paid killer around? He knew what Amarzir was capable of. It was the whole reason for their hunt going on outside these walls.

“What was she like?” he asked abruptly to change track of his thoughts.

Ama’s eyes fluttered open. “What?”

“The baroness, the evening she gave you the contract. I can’t get to the reason why she would be happy to have her husband killed now instead of playing it safe and outliving him. Even if her business partner uttered the wish for it, what would give her the incentive to go through with it? Was the baron cruel to her?”

Amarzir tapped his fingers on the railing. “The baroness was very secure of herself,” he said hesitantly. “Cold. Smug even. You see, Dani, I’ve been assigned to abusive spouses and lovers before. And the people who pay me to take them out, they are either breaking to pieces already or seething with anger, just on the edge of doing the job themselves. She wasn’t desperate to get rid of him. Not the way…” He trailed off, turning his head ever so slightly away from Daniechin and the light of the street’s lampposts.

It was one of those things they just didn’t talk about. Amarzir maintained that, while he did kill for money, there were people he killed who deserved it. Without whom the world was a better place. Perhaps he was even right. But Daniechin had a law to protect and would always put that up between them.

And yet…Ama looked forlorn as he stood there, looked smaller than usual, looked cold. And for all the words they could make to deny it, they were allies. They would share a bed later on and perhaps even a meal. For all mistrust and all the fights down in the street, up here Ama was his lover and one of very few constants in his life.

So Daniechin reached out and pulled him close, Amarzir’s back against his chest, and while the sudden embrace got a surprised noise in return, it didn’t seem unwelcome.

After a moment, Amarzir wrapped his arms over Daniechin’s, and there was the content little sigh as Daniechin pressed his lips to the nape of Ama’s neck.

“I’m going to need you for this,” he muttered.

Amarzir nodded. “I figured as much.” It was his usual snark, but his voice sounded a little softer.

[aelaer]

First: welcome home & I hope you get the sleep you need to get back into your routines! Second: it's Feb. 2, a significant day to our beloved Stephen Strange. I know you're exhausted right now, and the timing is poor--but perhaps when you're up to, you could write a little one-shot about his feelings all these years later (is it 2022 or 2023?) on the anniversary of the accident that changed his life forever. Can't think of anyone better suited to write it! xx

This was sent a year ago but last month I planned to have it out for Feb 2nd, hah.

For canon, he comes back in 2023 in what I think was likely after Feb 2nd, so realistically he can address the anniversary again in 2024. It'd feel like only 3 years for him while, in actuality, it'd been 8. But when it comes to his experienced time versus actual passing time, Stephen's pretty messed up without the Decimation already (I'm not sure how I feel about the name of the "Blip" yet.)

The prompter also requested first person after I asked for more details, and I haven't ever written Stephen in first person so I thought I'd give it a go. I know first person isn't everyone's cup of tea, but if you're willing to give it a shot, call me very obliged.

Warning for canon compliance :P

——————

Staring Back In Time Rating: G (well, other than language)

An entry from the memoirs of Doctor Stephen Strange, Earth's Sorcerer Supreme, during his time as the Master of the New York Sanctum, several months after the Battle of Earth against Thanos:

February 2, 2024

Calendars don't mean as much as they used to. Once upon a time my life was ruled by the calendar. Consultation here, surgery there, society dinner over the weekend. Dates were important and generally set without change once marked down.

It doesn't work that way as a sorcerer. I keep a schedule, of course, one that marks down classes with apprentices and adepts and meetings with other Masters, never mind all the business outside of Kamar-Taj. But I learned early on that these set times shifted occasionally to accommodate the emergencies that the order often had to quash down, and it became obvious that as a Master, my schedule was more of a hopeful guideline than anything set in stone. Flexibility was a necessity.

Ever since my return to the living, keeping anything resembling a set schedule has been more of a laughable dream. Earth being the center of two universe-changing, Infinity Stone-powered events in a matter of hours did serious damage to the fabric woven about reality across the planet, and the Masters of the Mystic Arts are going to be dealing with the multidimensional repercussions for years to come. Nothing is predictable in my day-to-day anymore.

My relationship with time was fucked the moment I confronted Dormammu, so I can't say it's a large surprise that calendars have become mostly irrelevant.

If someone had told me that I, Doctor Stephen Strange, a man of order and precision, would learn to live with such unpredictability, I would have laughed in their face. But I'm not the man I once was (and thank God for that; that man was a dick). However, it's also because of this change that I didn't realize the day until it was nearly done.

I was reviewing my schedule for tomorrow, which I had set up on Google Calendar (Google had, naturally, survived the Decimation just fine, but like most other non-vital services, had many of their upcoming products delayed for years. But their email and calendar services continue to work great). Tomorrow's a Saturday, which means nothing in my world. My work continues on. The threats on our reality care little for weekends or holidays.

Still, it was only during this review, shortly before I planned to retire for the night, that I realized that today is February 2nd.

I won't ever forget the day, of course. It was both three years ago and eight years ago—or perhaps many lifetimes ago would be a more accurate description, though I lost track of time in both of my major journeys with the Time Stone. One day I'll write about them. Not now, but one day. Both memories are still too fresh.

The memory of the day of the accident, though? It feels both like yesterday and centuries ago. Some parts of the day are engraved in my memory like a film. I remember the last surgery down to the individual conversations. Christine's "thank you". Nick's watch. The cling of the bullet as I dropped it onto the tray.

I can remember my last conversation with Billy, too, in the car. Every damned word. But the drive itself is fuzzy, even in my head with my memory. I remember it began to rain during the drive, not beforehand, and I know the road was narrow and two-laned. I know I avoided a direct route to avoid traffic, driving first into Jersey before heading north and crossing the river again. But the rest is forgotten to time, or perhaps to trauma.

I was told that Billy was the first to call 9-1-1 as he heard the tearing of metal and shattering of glass before the connection was lost. The driver I hit—I learned much later that she escaped with only minor injuries—called a couple minutes later. But it was out in the mountains, dark, and raining. It took them hours to find me and extract me from the car.

Funny. Never thought I'd ever write about one of the worst days of my life like this. But I was told early on that personal journals were encouraged for all who stay in Kamar-Taj. Something about its therapeutic benefits was mentioned at some point. I only picked up the practice once I learned that each gifted journal was inaccessible to others until the time of their death, and after I mastered the art of enchanting a pen to write the words I spoke. Unfortunately this journal appeared to others after the Decimation, but Wong has reassured me that no one read it and it has since disappeared again from public view. 

Still, the point is that, one day, someone just might read this—account of a man who was part of an effort to save the universe. And it is difficult for a reader to judge my actions if they don't know how I was the one who ruined my life. My driving was reckless and stupid. I was running a little late, but it wouldn't have mattered in the long run had I been fifteen, twenty minutes, thirty minutes late. Not really.

Then again, I suppose it would have. I certainly wouldn't be here right now.

One could say that the accident and everything that has followed is some sort of penance for my hubris as a surgeon. I enjoy my newer abilities—quite a bit—but the responsibility that has come with them has not come without its own hardships and sacrifices. Perhaps the worst of the sacrifices were the ones I was unable to prevent others from performing, all for the sake of the universe.

Those sacrifices were made willingly, but I cannot help but feel responsible for them, regardless. 

During my first winter again returned to the living, when the days grew colder and my hands ached in the bad weather, and the only thoughts to accompany the pain were bitter, another thought was born. I was tempted, for the first time in a long time, to give it all up, restore my fine motor skills with channeled magic, and go back to the world I once knew, for a life much, much easier than this one is now. Even with all the troubles that had cropped up as people tried to reorganize a world that doubled in size overnight, it was miles away from the difficulties we were facing in Kamar-Taj.

Their sacrifices—the fates I pushed so many people towards—quelled the idea quickly. It did little to ease the physical pain or sting of guilt, but it lifted the temptation. And ever since that day, I have considered the situation and I don't think I will ever be tempted by the idea of giving up my duties for an easier, pain-free life again.

And I suppose that counts for something.

——————

(Hey look, my interest in geography's leaked again.)

I've always wondered where Stephen actually crashed mostly because New York City is *flat* and those mountains were *very much not flat*. I figured out the bridge that he crossed to get out of the city (there are like, 21 bridges that lead out of Manhattan) was the George Washington Bridge, and it leads to New Jersey—but that's not necessarily useful because it can quickly turn back into New York state if you turn north. We also know he crashed down into a body of water, which *might* be the Hudson, but also might not, but that the body of water is to his left, which narrows it down a bit. But again, not much. And the site of his crash is so dark in the videos and screenshots that I can barely tell what's on it. It looks like a bridge and some industrial building, so the Hudson's a good guess, but otherwise? Well, basically I turned on the topography part of Google maps and started searching.

The 202 on the east side of the river just north of Peekskill (again in New York) matches the movie road's windiness, height, and closeness to the river, and even has a bridge that could be just to the north of the crash site. Unfortunately the railing's off and there's no industrial building thingy by the bridge. It also makes the route out of the city via George Washington Bridge make no sense. Like the Stark Industries area in LA in the films, it's probably a completely fictional landscape.

But as I wasn't able to find a better locale that was still close enough to NYC to direct an emergency helicopter to, my headcanon for this scene is that he left via George Washington bridge to avoid some major traffic or something, crossed the river via the 287 a bit further up north to get back to the east side of the river, then went up the 9 to the 202. Unless someone who lives in the area can find the actual road he was driving (if it's real), this is what I'm gonna go with. (And if someone DOES please let me knowwwww). Funny enough, I don't see him getting led to *his* hospital totally unrealistic, because he'd need a very talented orthopedic surgeon with a specialty in hands to come in, and generally speaking a patient can be helicoptered to another hospital where such a surgeon is available. If Stephen is working at the Metro-General, it's likely they can afford a large cast of talented surgeons. So I don't think Nick was necessarily the lead surgeon in his case, just one of many necessary surgeons.

[lovelucybradford]

I Pretend You’re Mine (4)

A/N: Hi all! I know it’s been a while. Unfortunately adulting sucks and I was so caught up in my work situations that I had no more left to give. Thankfully, the writer’s block has gone away (for now). I planned to have this up on Valentine’s Day, butttt *writer’s block*. So, to make up for it, I’m (hopefully) giving you two chapters this weekend. Chapter five is a continuation of four; it was just so long that I decided to split it into two parts. Hope you enjoy, and thanks for all the love! 

Masterlist

Tags: @empath-bunny​

@ityagirljay​​

@wolfarrowepz​

@supernatural-crazed-girl

Chapter Four: Drag Me Headfirst, Fearless

As soon as the plane landed on the tarmac in sunny Florida, the reality of Rosalie’s upcoming situation had hit her like a freight train. She’d been a nervous wreck since. Rosalie jiggled her leg so much on the Uber ride to the port of call that Stiles, the human form of the Energizer bunny, had placed a hand on her knee and urged her to stop. At that point, Rose figured she’d better cool it before she completely lost her resolve and ‘jumped ship’, so to speak.

So, Rosalie began listing things that she could count on in an attempt to center herself. It was something that the woman had been taught and perfected over many years of intense therapy sessions. She rattled off the list in her mind as she concentrated on the quickly passing palm trees on the side of the highway.

Things That Rosalie Could Count on For the Trip from Hell:

One: Knowing Rosalie’s stepmother Evelyn, who made her career out of creating high-class soirees such as this, everything would be meticulously planned out, down to the minute. If it were up to her, she’d even plan the times that they could use the toilet.

Two: Rosalie would most likely be the talk of the event, until the gossip hounds found something, or someone, juicier to bite into. The last time that she had seen the relatives, all twenty of them (minus her Uncle Joe and Aunt Natalie, who wanted nothing to do with her father), was three days before Drew and Rose had their untimely breakup. Drew, who was more family to them than Rosalie ever was.

Luckily, if she had to go through hell, at least…

Three: Rosalie’s support system would be with her 100%. She had Lydia to give reassuring hand squeezes and the family subtle insults. Her brother Levi who, as much of a jackass that he could be, would defend his sister’s honor to the (metaphorical) death. Stiles and Rose would lounge around the open bar and mock her Uncle Tom as he attempted to ‘dance’, or Aunt Sarah who would undoubtedly flirt with Derek.

Derek… Rose’s confidante, her best friend, her anchor, who hadn’t spoken a word since they stepped foot on the extravagant vessel.

Rosalie could chalk it up to being so breath taken from the scenery that Derek had nothing to say. Even Stiles had repeatedly commented “Holy shit this is so bougie” ten times in the last five minutes. (Not that she couldn’t agree. Her  father Jason was the poster child for ‘go big or go home’) To be fair, it was beautiful. The atrium was adorned floor to ceiling in shades of gold, a large diamond chandelier smack in between two beautiful staircases.

Staircases that gave Rosalie an eerie sense of déjà vu. Only because she had seen something bearing a high resemblance to them in a movie featuring her fictional doppelgänger, a fellow redhead who shared Rose’s name.

Part of her wondered if this was her father’s idea of a sick joke. Rosalie had always said that Drew and her were ‘Jack and Rose’. Turns out Drew was more of a Cal Hockley than a Jack Dawson. As for Rosalie, she was still Rose, forever searching in that freezing sea for her Jack. She should have known that she and Drew were doomed to sink beneath the waves.

Sink beneath the waves… Rosalie’s heart began to pound faster as she grabbed ahold of Lydia’s wrist, relying on her cousin to guide her through the maze of humans and staircases to the staterooms.

Derek and Stiles walked ahead of the two, the former’s back stiff with tension.

Was he predicting, too, that this plan of theirs would go down like the Titanic?

Or was he dreading playing Rosalie’s lover in front of a ship full of pompous asses and the occasional normal person?

Derek normally exuded confidence, from the strong set of his jaw to the way that he entered a room. At that moment, he looked more like a frightened schoolboy than a man with enough swagger for their whole friend group.

His blatant anxiety just heightened Rosalie’s. Before she could really process it, Lydia was pulling her arm away and gently shaking Rose’s shoulder.

“Rose? Rosalie!”

Rosalie shook her head, clearing her thoughts and focusing on the hazel of Lydia’s eyes. “Hmm? Sorry.”

Lydia let out a puff of air, blowing upwards the tendrils of hair that weren’t securely fastened in her high ponytail. “We’re here. Go settle in and we’ll meet you in a bit.”

Lydia then shoved Rosalie towards Derek, who caught her with a hand on her elbow. He took the key card from Rose’s sweaty palm and slid it into the slot on the handle, opening the door to a stateroom with a balcony overlooking the crystal sea. The stateroom… with one bed.

Rosalie tried not to hyperventilate thinking that Derek and she had to share that.

“You can take the bed,” Derek commented as soon as he too laid eyes on it.

Rose ignored him, deciding to handle that situation later, flopping full-bodied onto the plush mattress. The white comforter smelled like a swift ocean breeze, and she couldn’t help but press her nose further into it.

“What is it with you and smelling things today?” Derek chuckled.

Rosalie threw a nearby pillow at him, her face still buried in the bed. “Shut up, asshole.”

The bed shifted to the right of where she lied, the fabric dipping a foot away. That made her feel better. At least if they had to share it like when they were kids, there would be enough space between the two of them so that things wouldn’t happen. Which Rosalie would make sure of. Well, sober her would make sure of it. Drunk her could not be trusted.

“I didn’t hear a word you said, but I assume it was something along the lines of ‘you’re an asshole.”

Rose rolled onto her side. “Close, but no dice…” She lost the train of thought as her eyes caught on a glittering cardstock pamphlet lying between the two of them.

Martin Family Reunion 2019

Day 1: Thursday, June 13th

5:00 pm- Disembark from Cape Canaveral

7:00 pm- Welcome Cocktails in the Stardust Lounge, Deck 6

All must attend.

Proper Cocktail Attire required for entry.

Rosalie groaned so loudly that a masculine laugh resounded from the other side of the wall.

“What?” Derek responded to his friend’s displeasure. Without a word, the woman passed him the pamphlet, watching out of the corner of her eye as his beautiful olive eyes took in the itinerary. His face contorted into a sour expression, and he put down the paper at once.

With a pat to Rose’s thigh, Derek got up from the bed and grabbed his wallet and the aviator sunglasses that were resting on the vanity table. Her eyes followed his form, waiting for some kind of explanation as to where in the hell he thought he was going.

“You and Lydia have fun getting ready. Stiles and I are going down to that bar we saw in the atrium.”

Rosalie gaped, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “Wh—what? What about—”

“Would you chill? I’ll be back before seven. I need a drink before I see The Stepford Family.”

Rosalie snorted rather unattractively at Derek’s choice nickname for her father and his new family. Evelyn and her daughters certainly were like characters dragged out of The Stepford Wives film.

Derek was about to leave the room, when he paused, two fingertips grazing the golden door handle. He turned his body slightly to face Rose, a mischievous look in his eyes.

“It’s all-inclusive, right? Everything we buy with the key card goes on his tab?”

She assumed that by ‘his’, Derek meant her father, Jason.

“Yup,” Rosalie replied, popping the ‘p’.

“In that case, I’ll make sure to get the most expensive liquor that they have,” Derek smiled deviously, lazily waving the golden keycard.

She was momentarily distracted by his pretty face, and the familiar but unwanted fluttering in her stomach. By the time Rosalie snapped out of her thirstiness, he was gone.

__________________

Rosalie stumbled in her Louboutin’s for the sixth time, looking quite like the person who’d had three shots of Whiskey that was bottled before she was born.

Derek, the one who actually had, so smoothly wrapped his arm around Rose’s waist for support. The heat of his palm warmed her skin, even through the mint green cocktail dress she was wearing, but it was the last thing on her mind.

With every step that they took towards the wooden double doors at the entrance of the Stardust Lounge, the more Rose’s stomach churned, and her vision blurred. Eventually, her heart pounding through her ribcage was the only sound that Rosalie could hear.

Rosalie stopped abruptly, frantically searching for a bathroom, for a garbage can, for a balcony that she could jump off of.

Derek continued walking but was pulled back by the hand that was grasping Rose’s still figure.

 “I can’t do this. Oh god, I can’t do this. I think I’m going to throw up,” she breathed shallowly, the urge to vomit slowly creeping up her throat. Rose hastily removed Derek’s grip from her waist, struggling to find her balance, and teetered towards the opposite wall. Before she could go very far, Derek’s rough hand was in hers, squeezing it in a likely attempt to bring Rosalie back to center.

“What?” She heard Lydia begin, but Derek had silenced Lydia instantly with a rushed command of “Go, stall for us. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

“Hold your breath, Rosie!” Stiles called as Derek led a dazed Rosalie to a cream-tiled room.

Stiles’ advice brought Rose back to the time, years ago, when Lydia had told her that she’d kissed Stiles mid panic attack after his dad was shot pursuing a perp.

“When I kissed you, you held your breath,” Lydia had said to Stiles.

Rosalie had thought it romantic at the time. So romantic. But she prayed that Derek didn’t try that trick on her. Rose couldn’t handle it, not when…

Derek grabbed hold of either side of Rosalie’s face with both hands, forcing her to look at him.

“Rose. Rosie! Look at me. Breathe,”

His face so close to hers just made her breathing speed up, not slow like he intended.

“Fuck Rosalie,” Derek voiced, sounding almost as breathless as his best friend.

He nodded once, then took a deep breath through his nose and out through his mouth, his eyes never leaving Rosalie’s tear-stained face. “Breathe with me, babe. In, out.”

She tried to follow his lead, but only to appease him. Rosalie couldn’t stand that desperate look in his eyes, the frantic shifting of his gaze, or the tense set of his jaw. The thought of him being in pain like that, even emotional pain,it physically hurt her.

“Good. Good, Rosie. Keep going.”

She took a few more breaths through her nose, the world-ending feeling lessening with each exhale.

“You good?” Derek questioned, his thumb rubbing lightly up and down the woman’s cheek.

Rosalie nodded softly, still not having the breath to voice any thoughts.

She leaned back on the countertop, feeling the coolness of the tile and the mirror behind her. Rose hadn’t noticed before, but they were hiding from the family in a large single bathroom. Rosalie laughed to herself. It wasn’t the first time that she’d had a mental breakdown next to a toilet. And it probably wouldn’t be the last.

“Thanks,” Rose commented hoarsely, not daring to look at Derek in fear of what he might think of her. Weak was the only word that came to mind. “Sorry for freaking out. Never thought you’d have to console someone in a bathroom, did you?”

Derek snorted, and Rose’s heart dropped a bit at the sound, thinking that he was mocking her. “Actually, you’re not the first crying woman that I’ve held in a cramped bathroom.”

She raised one brow at him, a wordless cue to elaborate.

“I may or may not have had a girlfriend with a pregnancy scare back in college.”

“Of course, you did,” Rosalie said before she could really think about it, heart once more dipping in her chest. What was she thinking, pretending to be engaged to someone like Derek Hale?

Derek Hale, who could have any woman he wanted. Who would think that he would settle for someone as quiet and average as Rosalie?

“Hey.” Derek stepped in front of her, further away than he was minutes ago, but not by much. “Never apologize for being human, for having feelings and fears. Especially not to me.”

All Rosalie could manage was a small smile, to which he reciprocated with one of his own.

“You’re still the strongest woman I know. Stronger than Cora, stronger than mom—”

“I don’t know about that,” she replied playfully.

Derek rolled his eyes and continued on with his motivational speech, every word loosening the tense muscles in her shoulders. “Yes, even my mom. But don’t tell her I said that. Hey, if you’re worried about your family, then fuck them. They should be thankful that you’re even here after all the shit they threw at you.”

Rosalie nodded, fingers playing absently with the sapphire ring on her left hand—thinking about the last time she had worn a diamond on the same finger. And the man that put it there. Who took it so easily and put it on someone else. Not just someone else: Ashleigh.

“No, I can see it in your face. You’re worried about seeing Drew again, aren’t you?”

Damn him for being so perceptive, and for knowing her so well. Rosalie went to deny it but found that she couldn’t lie to him.

“You know what, we’ll walk in there, I’ll see him, and you know what I’ll say?”

He was smiling again, grinning ear to ear like he thought he was hilarious. It was so rare to see him like that that she humored him just to keep that smile on his face.

“And what will you say, may I ask?”

“’Me thinks thou art a general offence and every man should beat thee.’”

Rosalie couldn’t help herself as her head swung back in a fit of giggles. “Oh my God, Derek Hale. You are such a dork.”

“Ah,” he countered, holding up a finger, “You can’t say that. Not when you totally got my joke.”

Rosalie beamed up at him. “Ok, fine. We’re both dorks. Happy, Derek the Bard?”

“Yes, princess. I’m enthused. You ready to go?” Derek gestured with a thumb towards the door. The door that lead to the hallway. The hallway to the Starboard Lounge, where all of Rosalie’s family would stare at her like she was some rare creature on the auction block.

“No,” Rose said weakly.

Derek rolled his eyes again, a look that Rose was more familiar with than the Cheshire Cat grin that previously lit up his face. “Yes, you are.”

Rosalie stared at herself in the large, lighted mirror, checking over her face and hair for damages. Trust Rose’s family to point out a single flaw in her appearance. She looked mostly put together, save for the tiny specks of black mascara under her eyes and the slightly faded red lipstick. Rose grabbed a paper towel from the dispenser on the wall, wetting it and dabbing under her eyes until all of the mascara smears disappeared.

Satisfied, Rosalie tossed the towel in the garbage bin and grabbed her clutch. “Do I look okay?”

Derek’s eyes swept her form, taking in everything from the pale white of Rosalie’s untanned legs to the lace of her dress, to the retro curls in her hair. She suddenly felt self-conscious, even more so when Derek stayed silent.

Rose nudged him with her elbow, hoping he would say something, anything, and end this deafening silence. His eyes flicked back towards Rosalie. “You look beautiful.”

She opened her mouth to protest, to tell him that she knew he was just saying that because he’s her best friend and he has to.

“I mean it, Rosalie,” Derek added firmly.

“What about me? Do I look good enough to fit in with high-society?” Derek asked, hand sweeping down his body.

Rosalie took it as an unashamed excuse to study him. The unbuttoned suit jacket that he wore hugged his biceps so nicely that it was hard to not stare at them for too long. The white shirt under it was buttoned, except for the two closest to the top that were left open to show a peek of dark chest hair.

In short, he looked like a snack, and damn was Rosalie hungry. Not that she could tell him that, of course. So, she just repeated what he already knew. “Of course. You know you’re hot.”

Derek’s eyes widened, his ears turning slightly pink. “You think I’m hot?”

“You think you’re hot.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Um, yes you do. You get that look on your face when you’re flirting with girls like ‘I’m sexy and I know it.’”

“God, that was one time Rosalie! It guess I will never live it down.”

Rosalie snickered at the memory. “No, you won’t. Now be a good pretend fiancé and help me walk.”

“Why the hell are you wearing those stilettos if you can’t even walk in them?”

“Lydia made me.”

Derek said nothing, knowing that there was no arguing with Lydia Martin. He offered his friend his arm, ever the gentleman. In turn, she placed her hand in the crook of his elbow, trying not to get too distracted by the muscle under it.

[woollyslisterblog]

1834 August Wednesday 6th

I fear the enormity of this entry made for a transcribing pause. AL has now applied the new measurement unit of parasols to accacia trees. We and AL learn far more than is necessary about fruit farming, land measurement, holiday rentals and chimney top making. By the time AW objects to the flea ridden auberge both her and I have lost it. Make of this encyclopedic entry what you will. Frankly, I’d have barred the bedroom door after today’s info onslaught.

no kiss not with her at all - fine morning - F68 in my back room at 10:10 - breakfast at 9 - Ann still poorly her bowels no better - had our host M Bernard - he fancied the 11 minerals I had left out of the box = 20/. so I took only 4 for 6/. – quartz upon chaux carbouté 3/., cristaux de quartz 1/., spath pésante, bartye, d’annouay 1/., pierre ollaire 1/.

he calls set-e-ra is what our cocher called stèré – a setĕra = 900 toises carrés but they commonly go here by the journal (plural journaux) = 2/3 of a setĕra or 600 toises carrés - terre à chauvre is worth 3000 francs a setĕra - terre with vines and bled = from 2000/ 2400 francs a setĕra - tear de vigne = francs 1800 to 2000 francs a setĕra - the vine-hills (as at his own campagne) are what they call mi-côtes (i.e. demi côtes) - M Perrier has no land that he (M Pérard) knows of but at Vizille and none there but what belongs to the Chateau and may have from 60 to 80 seteras - but it is the Chateau which makes the land valuable - in buying land one has to consider where it is terre battie, or not; that is, terre with a good house on it, or not - where there is a very large quantity of land, the house is generally given in - where there is not much land, of the house is a consideration - the chateau at Vizelle valuable as being a large manufacturing - filature de coton and employing now 200 to 400 oeuviers - wheat is sold by the boisseau weighing 42 lb + or - according to the goodness of the wheat - it is now 4/50 per boisseau should be 6/. to enable the farmer to pay his way comfortably - M Perard gave 22,000 francs for his campagne (has 17 setĕras) and has laid out from 36,000 to 40,000 francs - wants 10,000 francs for all the trouble he has had the 28 months since he bought it, and asked 70,000 francs but his wife does not wish him to sell - he will assure the estate producing 100 louis = 2400/ per annum without making anything of the house - it is situate in what is called the Beauplan –

took a guide, and out, (left Ann although) at 11:50 to the chateau fort or Bastille on the high compact limestone rock north of the town - had got a considerable way above the engineer’s house when he himself came and I was obliged to turn back and ask leave of the commandant - vexed enough - but could not help it - went back the engineer with me - and shewed my passport - made my story good - the commandant very civil asked me to take bev[erage] en eau sucré and this the which I declined - went a good way up with me - gave me note to the lieutinent in command at the top, and asked me to stop at his and take something on my return and I promised to call - I counted above 350 steps and forgot to count those perhaps 20 or 30 to the very top, and the others lower down - besides all that traversing I certainly mounted 400 steps - very fine views of the town

about halfway and at the very top at 1:30 magnificent view of the valleys of the Isère and Drac - the former winds near the town in large folds - very beautiful - staid 10 minutes under the boiling sun enchanted with the view - the Graissivaudan valley at the apex of the angle stands Grenoble a very fine rich (deserving all of its praises – the fine high Savoy mountain snow-ridged on the east rather hid by clouds but the range hills of hills beautifully thrown together with pointed round elongated all shaped tops - everyone should go to the top of the chateau - from the higher mountain above it the town would be marked by the castle – heated as I was, I was well repaid –

down at the old tower, where lives the engineer and his wife, at 2:30 - very civil - hoped I should go and see them again - gave me a nice little nosegay from their flower pots on the top of the tower - he lost his right arm in Spain at the taking of Valentia (Valence) and - has 1500/. a year pay and 300/. gratification and lives, rent-free of course, in the tower – a taker of roads came in - said the new road to Marseille by Claix, Vizelle etc would be finished in 4 or 5 years as also the new road to Italy by Bourg d’Oisans, Grave, Madeleine, Lauzet etc to Oulx and Exilles and Souza would be done in 5 years - 10 leagues done - 30 more to do the road is done to beyond Bourg d’Oisans- 1/4 hour at the engineers ‘Mr de Matheis, Garde du Génie, Chevalier de la legion d’honneur, à Rabot’ – born at Turin - gave me his address written very well with his left hand –

and returning went to the marbrier, near the good stone bridge ‘Bernard fils Marbrier, rue du no.12, près le pont de Pierre, à Grenoble’ - 1 chimney piece very pretty dark coloured ground much veined with yellow - found in a ravine near Grenoble a - no quarry of it - called brêche de tez, la cheminée conte 150/. transport to Paris 12/. and 15/. to London perhaps 30/. would engage it at 50/. - but what would be the duty? - could furnish 10 or 11 specimens of Grenoble marbles, or marbres du pays of the Dauphiny alps 3 1/2 inches carrés 1/4 inch thick at 3/. each –

home a 3 1/2 - paid all and off from l’ hotel des Ambassadors, Grenoble, at 4:35 – A-[Ann]’s bowels indisposed all the time – the town too low, and near the river - so glad to be off - like the neighbouring hills exceeding for living on - not at all disappointed with town or country - the town a good provincial town, though not handsome - had no time to see the musée - beautiful drive along the river winding tolerably near for some distance - at 5:35 having driven a very high by-road alighted at Campagne of our horte of a vignoble about 1/4 mile from the road (right) - formerly belonging to the Chartreux - shewed us the cave and the great 2 or 3 fontres (casks that 30 men could stand in at once) they left there, and the wine press - still perfectly good (of oak) though a century or two old – rez de chausée a good salon with cabinet for two beds at one end, and two other pieces [rooms] (small) – au 1er distribution with kitchen above, a bel? to be let – the [fermin?] under the same roof and the kitchen and 2 or 3 pieces reserved for his wife’s father and mother - I asked if the tenant could have a garden - no! But M Pernard would give him half the produce of the garden - this rez de chausée 1er well furnished for 1000 francs a year – for la belle saison May to October exclusive – everything really very nicely arranged –

find 7 1/2 foot parasol (in English umbrella) accacias, planted last November looking beautiful - had them from Martin Burdin Chambéri, at 24 sols per tree - and all sorts of rose-bushes at 12 to 16 sols each - find large 7 1/2 ft blueberry trees at 10 sols each – would he sell them to me at that price – M Penard will get and send me off to England as many as I please at the price he himself paid - the leaves of a fine young well headed mulberry tree sell for 20 to 30/. for the season – manure (engrais) (horse manure) very dear - had just 6000 francs worth into his land – but vines a hot thing themselves and did not do with a hot manure - wanted a cold one – la laiche bauche the best - the coarse ready grass (vide line 6 p 128) - too much horse dung bad, too hot -shewed his pavilion with great pleasure - pretty painted in fresco -an Italian from Turin did it and him and two men 2 1/2 months doing it for 600 francs - Ann sadly tired of so much talking she did not understand - but liked the place very well –

off again at 7, and at Voreppe (fine beautiful drive as before) a shabby little town at 7 1/2 - in the rough road coming away had lost the shaft’s bolt or staple - the blacksmith having waited for me (I was bargaining with the woman of the Inn, but she was trop exigeant and 36 minutes were lost) - off from Voreppe at 8:06 sorry not to staid the night but Ann thought we should have fleas in such a looking auberge and I determined not to give the woman more than 21/. for the night and breakfast tomorrow as though had little to give us for dinner and wanted 25/. - a pity to have to drive in the dark - fine rocks high and perpendicular we passed close under soon after leaving Voreppe, then fine shaped-hills and wood were dimly seen - alighted at l'hotel des Cours, chex Bearne at Voisin, at 9:40 - very good large room with two cabinets à un lit, at the end of the room - very comfortable - the master of the house very civil and reasonable - would object to nothing - would have all to me - and take my price - nice little supper- very fine day at 11:40 till about 5:00 p.m. then a shower and afterwards a few drops F70°at 12:10 tonight Not with her tonight

[paulvibe]

The Assistant (Paul McCartney x Reader) Pt. 5

Words: 3.6k

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy (if dat bothers you)

A/N: I’m not a nurse or doctor by any means, so I apologize if any of the information isn’t accurate. this is a fan fiction, not everything is going to be completely true or real. With that note, thank you and enjoy <3

October 1968

Four weeks and 6 days later, your menstrual cycle hadn’t come. You’d been expecting it only a week after you and Paul had sex; yet, it seems her train is incredibly late to the station. You’d called the doctor last week in a panic, however they couldn’t find an opening until Thursday; two days away. Then you’d really know if you were expecting, or if it just happens to be a freak thing. You hoped it was the latter. 

 Ever since that night you’d been avoiding Paul, on top of Klein watching you like a hawk. All because of that stupid breakfast you let Paul talk you in to. You felt it was ridiculous-- Klein's behavior-- it's been over a month since then and he was still acting like a boob. Maybe he just didn’t like Paul, I mean the battle for a new manager was an intense one. Between Paul wanting Linda’s father, and the other three wanting Allen Klein solely because the bass player didn’t want him. Since that event, Klein has had a vendetta out for Paul.

 As for today, Ringo had asked you to come to his estate for business. You hoped it was going to be a simple day; all of the stress you’d been gathering over the last month probably wasn’t healthy, and to be honest, you really needed a break. You arrived at his home shortly after eleven this morning, greeted by two rambunctious boys and a very tired Maureen in the kitchen.

“Good morning, love.” You gave a reassuring smile to the woman as you took off your coat. She blew a chunk of fallen hair from her face and smiled back at you.

“Hi Darling, Richard is in his study.” She spoke softly, preparing lunch for the boys. You nodded at her in response, loving the fact she never called Ringo by his nickname, and continued on your way to the man's study. Once there, you knocked on the door and entered the room.

“How’re you?” Ringo asked while sitting at his desk and shuffling through some papers. The drummer’s home was beautiful. His office was large, he’d had bookshelves built in and a fireplace sat against the opposite wall. Tall windows let in natural light and white curtains donned them. Two armchairs sat in the corner near the shelves and a small table between them with a lamp. 

“I’m alright.” You answered, sitting down as well. Although you were not feeling alright. Actually, your brain was on a meltdown due to the possibility of being pregnant, and all you wanted to do was scream to release some tension. Ringo glanced at your face after you answered, sensing something wasn’t right. He raised a brow but you looked away from him, and down into your purse pulling out your notebook. The drummer has always treated you the sweetest, he almost acted like an older brother; without the relentless teasing. 

“So, we’ve got a few meetings, and I need you to book some solo studio time.” He responded, jumping right into the topics for the day. “I also need to buy flowers for Maureen while we’re out.” The man leaned back in his desk chair and sighed softly, looking around the room. 

“What kind of flowers?” You responded, pen in hand.

“Let’s do roses.” He spoke. You finished writing the notes down, then looked back up at the man. He was studying a few papers on his desk. Ringo looked tired, he must've felt the pressure of the upcoming concert. The boys had decided to do one last show, but as of right now it was still three months in the future, and they didn’t know where to hold it. There was also the strain of playing live after months and months of not. 

--

Ringo and you left to his meetings after an hour at his home. You’d played with the boys after they had their lunch, as well as took care of a few business calls while you were at it, then you and the drummer took off. The two of you currently sat in the backseat while Ringo’s driver, Bill, drove you. In a different car, Ringo’s bodyguards trailed behind as for a little protection; They showed up to the man’s house right before you took off. 

As you sat in the car, your mind couldn’t help but wander off. You drove by a few beautiful, newly built homes on your way causing visions of you and Paul with a small child to come to thought. The bassist was playing with the child while you sat on a couch, enjoying the moment. You could hear laughter and music, which resulted in a warm feeling to overcome your stomach. ‘Maybe a baby wouldn’t be so bad’ Your conscious gently whispered. Of course, the image in your head was overly romanticized compared to the true reality of having a child. 

You were brought back to reality by Ringo repeating your name. You quickly looked at the man who had a gaze of concern splashed across his face.

“Are you alright, darling?” He asked softly. Subconsciously your arms wrapped themselves around your stomach as a quick thought of the possible pregnancy raced across your mind. 

“Yes, I’m sorry, I didn’t get enough sleep last night.” You lied with a dismissal shake of your head. Ringo furrowed his brows, but didn’t press more. He did, however, give you a second, possible third, glance before focusing on a different topic. Sure, he’d changed the discussion, but you still felt a tightness in your chest. ‘Two more days, (Y/N), two more.’ Your brain gently repeated, then you’d know for sure. It was truly the unknown that was making you anxious. There are so many options you have to consider once you do know. Will you tell Paul? Or just have an illegitimate pregnancy. Would Paul even want to be involved? He seemed pretty occupied with his career and Linda. What about your own career? Will you have to quit and find something else? Will you even have enough money to support you and a baby? As of right now you made splendid money working as the boys assistant, but The Beatles aren’t going to last forever. There were so many open ends, it made you physically ill. Or maybe that’s just the morning sickness kicking in. 

Ringo and you arrived to a random office building you’d never been to before. Bill got out and opened the door. The drummer climbed out first, then held a hand for you to grab so he could assist you. Ringo’s body guards then showed up behind the man, keeping an eye for crazed fans. The press must've gotten word about where the Beatle was going to be, because flashes started to blind you as you two entered the building.

The entry to the building was large, an elevator and door to the stairs was on one side of the wall. Near it sat a little water fountain on a buffet table with flowers on each side. A single, quite ugly, rug lay from the entrance all the way to the end of the foyer where the main floor offices began. A little reception desk was right near the door and a small, older woman sat behind it. Her hair was styled in a bouffant with a bow tucked neatly between her bangs and poof. She donned glasses as well as, a colorful button up dress.

“Mr. Starkey! We’ve been expecting you.” The receptionist spoke, after seeing you guys enter. She quickly stood up from behind her desk, holding several papers in her arms. The woman guided you and the drummer to the elevators, then after that to the office Ringo was expected in.

--

After a full day of meetings, Ringo and you currently sat at a quiet restaurant a few miles away from the man’s homestead. It’s a small joint Ringo frequents a lot, especially with Maureen and the boys. The locals didn’t really care that he was a Beatle, so they paid him no mind. The interior of the building was a little boring, basic tables and chairs covered the floor. There was a small host desk where the register sat and an older lady was waiting behind it. Cheap art was hung on the walls for added flavor next to the kitchen door.

“I am right tired.” The drummer commented, taking a sip from a beer he’d ordered. You sighed, watching him drink. You’d kill to get to enjoy a beer.

“I know how you feel.” You responded, gently sipping your water. The ambiance of the small restaurant covered your silence for a few minutes. Glasses and silverware could be heard clinking, as well as the quiet murmur of people talking. Ringo studied you for a moment, sensing something was bothering you.

“(Y/N), you’re worrying me, lass.” He commented, leaning more towards your figure. You sighed and looked down to your lap. So, it really was that obvious how bothered you were right now. ‘Maybe it’ll feel better to tell somebody,’ your conscious spoke. You bit the inside of your cheek, before taking a deep breath.

“Ringo I-,” You paused, taking in a deep breath. Ringo has acted like an older brother to you, ever since you got hired; he was sweet, gentle worded, and kind. You didn’t know if it was because the other boys nearly tore you apart with their needs and demands when you first started, and he felt you needed a break, or what. Whatever the reason, it felt nice to have at least one ally. 

“Go on, love.” He added. You were silent for a moment before you spoke up. 

“This is a big secret, okay? You can’t tell anyone.” The man’s eyebrows shot up after your comment. He then nodded his head, urging you to continue.

“Alright, here it goes… P-Paul and I slept together over a month ago,” You paused again, looking at Ringo. He had a shocked look on his face, but tried to brush it off as to not wary you. “And, I’m… I’m… late.” You whispered the last word, leaning forward. Ringo twisted his head in confusion, but then figured it out as he let out a gentle ‘ah’.

“Does the lad know?” He then asked. You shook your head ‘No’ and held it in shame. Ringo’s hand began to rub the side of your arm as a comforting gesture. “It’ll be alright, love. Do you know for sure?”

“I have an appointment Thursday. I already asked Klein for the day off.” You answered the man. He was about to speak, but the waitress carried out your meals. She placed them onto the table, asked the basic questions, then walked off. You began to eat, Ringo as well; however, he kept a concerned expression every time you two made eye contact. 

“Are you going alone?” He asked quietly, genuine emotion laced his tone. You shrugged your shoulders in defeat.

“Well, yeah. I don’t have any family in the city, no girl friends...” You furrowed your brows, “Oh my god, you guys are my closest friends… My bosses are my best mates.” The last part came out in a whisper. 

“Well, that’s alright, love. I enjoy your company.” Ringo let out a chuckle, despite the mood being low. His little laugh, without fail, caused a small smile to cross your face. 

The moment passed however, and the mood turned somber again as you continued to eat. You two sat in the ambiance for a while, finishing out your meals. Ringo flagged for the check, paid, and then you two left. His bodyguards escorted you to the car, even though hardly anyone was around. Once in the vehicle, Bill turned on the radio to drown out the silence. 

“Oh, we’ve got to get Maureen’s flowers.” You commented, looking at your little notebook. 

“Bill, take us to that flower shop on seventh ave.” Ringo spoke up, then thanked you for reminding him. You quietly sorted through a few papers Ringo had gotten from his meetings, organizing and highlighting important sections, while the drummer looked out of the window. The beautiful countryside whizzed passed, though it's turned brown and dead for Autumn. 

“Are you really doing this on your own, (Y/N)? Are you going to tell Paul?” The drummers voice came out barely above a whisper. You set down the materials in your hands and looked at him. His droopy blue eyes gazed at yours, full of care.

“There’s nobody else,” You answered quietly. “And, I don’t know yet.”

“He deserves to know.” Ringo deadpanned. You sighed, knowing he was right and bit the inside of your cheek. 

“I’ll tell him when I’m comfortable, and I don’t know when that’ll be…” You finished, looking back down into your lap. Ringo sensed your pain and pulled your head so it was resting on his shoulder. You accepted the embrace, enjoying the company of another warm body. You hadn’t felt that since… Paul. 

“I’m going to send Maureen with you to your appointment.” The man said gently. You sat up off his shoulder to respond.

“No, Ringo, really. It’s alright, I’ll go alone.” You fought. Why did you want to do this on your own so bad anyways? Maybe it came from your parents pressuring you to be independent. Ever since you were little, they’d always told you to do things on your own. You paid for college alone, you bought your first car alone and now this was a new challenge to face on your own. 

“She’s been through this twice now darling, please. It’s alright to have help.” His mellow words caressed your chest, and you felt the tightness release a little. You paused before answering.

“Okay.” It was the quietest you’d been the whole conversation. Ringo nodded, rubbing the back of your hand as comfort. 

--

TWO DAYS LATER

You arrived to the Starkey residence three hours before your appointment. You thanked the cabbie, and shakily closed the door. You felt a shiver up your spine from the cool November air as you walked up to their door, and knocked. A subtle ‘Come in!’ sounded from inside, and you slowly entered the house. Maureen must've been expecting you. As soon as you walked through the foyer, a blonde mass of hair startled you by giving you a hug. Her warm, motherly embrace caused a small smile to form across your face as you hugged her back. 

“How’re you feeling?” She asked softly, pulling away but keeping her hands on your arms.

“Nervous.” You responded, shedding off your jacket and hanging it on a coat rack next to the door. The woman nodded, and rubbed your back while guiding you two to the kitchen. She had you sit at the counter while she set a kettle on the stove top. You couldn’t hear anyone else in the home, causing you to wonder if she’d gotten a babysitter for the day. 

“Where is everyone?” You asked Maureen quietly. The woman handed you a cup of water before answering. 

“Richard is at the studio, and I sent the boys to their Nana’s for the day.” You nodded and took a small sip from the glass. Maureen studied you for a moment, remembering how she felt with her first pregnancy, Zak. She was scared, of course, but at least she had Ringo. She couldn’t help but feel a minor amount of pity. Another poor girl hurt by Paul, so many come and gone.

“Must be nice to have some quiet time, yeah?” You asked her, fidgeting with the glass. 

“Yes, but after a few hours I start to miss them.” She nodded, with a laugh added. You stayed silent for a while in contemplation. Your nerves wouldn’t let your body calm down, no matter how many deep breaths you took. Your mind was racing as the fate of your future depended on this appointment. The kettle began to whistle, and Maureen quickly took it off the stove. She grabbed two tea cups, filled them with water, then added tea bags. She slid one over to you with a warm smile.

“Have you felt morning sickness yet?” She murmured after taking a sip.

“No, not yet.” You responded, also taking a sip. Thank god, ‘not yet’. 

“I didn’t feel it until my 8th week with Zak.” She spoke softly, smiling at a picture of her first born on the wall. “You’re still pretty early into your pregnancy, love?” She added.

“Yeah, I hit 5 weeks yesterday.” You responded. Your hand rested on your stomach, though there wasn’t any change to it.

“Enjoy these beginning stages. Like when your boobs come in before the rest of the bunch. Richie didn’t leave me alone for days.” Maureen laughed, causing you to chuckle as well. Maybe Paul would relish a larger cup size to… enjoy. Maybe he would pay attention to you more. 

--

You and Maureen chatted for a bit more and finished your tea before heading to the hospital. The ride over was an anxious one, even the decaying-- for winter-- countryside couldn’t distract your mind. Nor the radio that the Starkey’s second driver, Ted, had turned on. Maureen would occasionally give you a reassuring pat, or rub on your arm and then smile when you gave her attention. 

Once you arrived at the hospital, you two found the maternity ward and Maureen helped you check in with the front desk receptionist. You then sat in the waiting room, filling out a clipboard explaining the reason behind your visit. A few other women waited as well, one was really pregnant- she must’ve been nearly there- and the others seemed only a few months in. Cheesy waiting room music played over some speakers which was accompanied by murmured voices, telephones ringing, and magazine pages flipping. Maureen reassuringly patted your leg, while picking up a magazine herself. Your nerves were really beginning to build now, and a tight tension could be felt across your chest.   

After about a twenty minute wait, your name was finally called. Maureen gave you a reassuring pat, encouraging you to go by yourself. The nurse gave you a warm smile as you stood up and approached her. She seemed like an older woman, donning a typical nurses uniform-- a knee length white dress with a little cap-- Her hair was tied neatly into a bun and she held a clipboard with a pen. 

“Good morning, how’re you today?” She asked softly, leading you back to a private exam room.

“I’m alright, just a little nervous.” You responded with a hesitant chuckle.

“How come?” She asked politely, gesturing for you to sit on the exam table. 

“Well, you know why I’m here.” You said in a quieter tone. She glanced over the clipboard in her hand, and then nodded with a quiet, ‘ah’.

“I have three lovely children, two girls and one boy.” Her face warmed up as the thought of her children crossed her thoughts. You sighed a little, wanting to be as excited as she. Why did this scare you so much? I mean, there were plenty of reasons, but you wanted to be excited. You wanted to be okay with what was happening, and your future. Maybe different circumstances could cause a mood change.

“How old?” You asked as the nurse began to take your vitals. She started by getting your temperature, then blood pressure. 

“My oldest is 15, my middle is 11, and my youngest is 9.” The nurse answered, never wavering a smile from her face. “Is this your first?” She then added while guiding you to the scale to gather your weight and height. 

“Yes, it is.” You murmured, feeling butterflies gently flutter around your stomach. 

“I remember how scary it was.” She sympathized, giving you a reassuring look. She then grabbed an empty cup with a screw on lid and handed it to you. “Fill this up to the line as best you can.”

You nodded and the nurse led you to a nearby restroom. You quickly did you business and then returned back to the exam room where she was waiting. She grabbed the sample from you and placed it onto a tray.

“We should know within a few hours, if not today then tomorrow.” She spoke softly. Her face gave you a warm, motherly glance as she gently placed her hand on your arm and gave it a reassuring squeeze. You nodded, biting the side of your cheek to distill yourself of nerves. 

“Thank you,” You responded, giving her an uneasy grin in response.

“Whoever did this to you should realize what he’s putting you through, darling. I can sense how upset you are.” The nurse spoke quietly, leading you back out to the waiting room. You felt a bit taken aback by her comment but shrugged it off, knowing she was only trying to be helpful.

“Thank you again,” You spoke, once out into the waiting room. The nurse smiled and gave you a nod before exiting behind a door. You took a deep breath and spotted Maureen, walking over to the woman. She gave you a big smile with two thumbs up as you approached her.

--

You didn’t get the call until the next day. You’d been waiting anxiously by the phone all morning, hoping they’d ring before you had to leave for the studio. Just before you were about to leave is when the news was broke to you, you dashed across your apartment and swiftly picked up the phone out of breath. You were pregnant.

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

A/N: hi thanks for reading <3

here is my Master List and Part 6

[dorky-arsene]

Day 3 -- Reunion

@shuakeweek 

Welp, here’s the Day 3 entry of mine, using “Reunion” as the main sort of theme and “Meeting” as a secondary theme! This time, I feel I’d rather go with a fic. Also, kinda-sorta major spoilers for Persona 5 under here, since the endgame context is needed for this one. :p

Uhh, consider this one a Teen-rated fic, I suppose.

The first time Goro had ever met Akira, was because of that cat. It was pure chance his ears caught those words, and he realized upon retrospect that maybe he shouldn’t have heard them, yet did so anyway.

A voice like no other he’d heard rang out that day, and the thing he’d heard clearest was..

“...I wanna go to that pancake-looking place we passed on the way here!”

He’d decided on a tiny detour, as he knew the building just well enough by now to check out whose voice had spoken. The detective soon heard more talking among the group of people he heard chattering down the hall, so he kept his hold on his briefcase and kept going.

Yet, when he reached that bit of hallway at last, wanting to inquire about the pancakes thanks to his hunger, Goro lost his train of thought for a few moments. A distraction, as he’d called it in those days, presented itself to Goro. He locked eyes for the few moments he’d fallen silent with another teen, one of the three he saw in the hallway. His eyes seemed to Goro like a brewing, quiet storm behind his glasses, a tone of grey the detective only really saw on days a thunderstorm hung over Tokyo like uncertainty on his mind. The teen’s hair seemed akin to a bird’s nest, but was a very good shade of black, shining like a polished diamond in the lighting of the TV station’s otherwise bland halls.

Goro mentally shook the distracting attractiveness of the boy out of his mind temporarily to greet the teens, consisting also of a young woman with a hoodie around her waist and crisp blue eyes and platinum blonde hair, as well as a more rule-breaker sort of teen around the same age as the dark-haired one, with thick eyebrows and clearly dyed-blonde hair that turned out the color of a bright golden yellow.

“Excuse me, but I couldn’t help noticing your uniforms,” Goro settled on, recognizing the plaid all three teens wore. “Are you students of Shujin Academy?”

“Yeah, whatddya want?” asked the blonde male teenager, turning to him. His shirt was bright red, a little distracting, but much like any punk on the street Goro would hear about.

“Ah, well..” Goro began, walking forward again before continuing. “I happened to be passing by, so it seemed polite to greet you. We’ll be filming together, after all.”

The blonde-haired female teenager seemed to open her mouth to speak, but to Goro’s own surprise, the teen who’d caught his eye first spoke. “I think my homeroom teacher told me. You look familiar.. I’ve seen you on TV a few times.”

The voice of that teen seemed much different than the voice Goro had first heard, and it just further made the brunette so curious that he walked forward again, plopping himself in a way into the very middle of the three teens. A foreign, but not unpleasant, fluttering filled Goro’s heart at being told he was familiar, but he smiled pleasantly as always, to hide the strangely mortifying feeling of being known already to someone he’d practically just met who happened to be attractive as hell.

“..Hah, where are my manners? My name is Goro Akechi,” he said, instead of clarifying why he was on TV so often as he’d planned. The dark-haired teen seemed to catch on, somehow, and gave the slightest head tilt, a smile appearing on his otherwise neutral-looking face.

“Don’t worry about it, Akechi-san,” the teen said, but before Goro could let his cheeks catch on fire, his phone embarrassingly went off with the default ‘pili’ noise his P.A.D. came with. From looking at it, the embarrassed detective finally had his escape for the time being, so he backed off, putting his phone away.

“A-ah, I really was just passing by, my apologies,” he excused himself, finding that his palms had suddenly become wetter under his gloves over the past minute. “I’ve got a briefing for tomorrow’s recording that I have to attend. Goodbye now..”

As he’d turned around and began to walk away, Goro felt a very, very brief weight in his left pocket after a few feet, but he didn’t get around to checking it until he’d already ran to the elevator and closed the decently ancient doors. It was a slip of folded-up paper, and upon unfolding it, there was a phone number written on it, just that and a name. It, somehow, had been written in under a second, so it was just readable enough to tell the basic numbers and kanji of whoever wrote it..

Akira, the name said. No surname, just the name alone besides the number. Thanks to being all alone, Goro let out a shaky breath, feeling his cheeks flare up in warmth. How’d this end up in my pocket..?? How strange..

                                                    ---

It was terribly hard for Goro to be in Yongen-Jaya again, many months later, after all that had happened. His wounds still hurt terribly, and after so long of being away from the public’s eyes, the detective had made his return. Shido’s reputation was well and shattered, but so was his own reputation (according to Sae), and he’d have to rebuild it slowly. At the very least, people at least weren’t heckling him and some of the social media hellstorm had quieted down by now, so that was good..

That was when he saw Morgana again, when he walked alone in Yongen-Jaya, for the first time since his defeat in December since somehow landing himself in the hospital until today, right on Valentine’s Day. The cat began to slink his way into the familiar alleyway leaning to Leblanc.. and for some reason, Goro found the urge to follow. The pancake-brown haired teen readjusted his new orange-brown coat and walked forward, as quietly as he could and as carefully as he could, as to not aggravate his many bruises and cuts that still haunted him.

So, eventually, Goro made it to Leblanc. It was, by his own interna; admittance, pretty damn late for coffee considering it was evening time, but he deeply missed the place, deeply missed him. Goro had tried so hard to get better just for him, and he wasn’t even sure if the guy was out of prison yet. At least, he’d been in prison by Sae’s words when Goro finally woke the hell up back in January..

Swallowing his anxiety, he stepped into the cafe, the bell chime dutifully ringing as he entered. Goro saw surprise flash in Sojiro’s eyes as he stopped in front of the door, on the welcome mat, with his hands in his coat’s pockets and a whole heap of worry burrowing into his stomach.

“H-hello, Akira. Honey, I’m home.”

Akira turned at the sound of his own voice, eyes widening as he tried to keep back what Goro assumed to be relief and mourning and a hint of disbelief from shaking him. Goro could see Akira’s lip wobble, and already the detective felt tears start to escape his eyes once he blinked a time or two.

“..Akechi? Hoo boy, it’s.. it’s been a while since you came in,” Sojiro commented hesitantly, rubbing the back of his head. “Akira.. well, he.. hm.. How do I put this..”

“W.. Welcome h-home!” Akira finally sputtered, abruptly interrupting Sojiro, and he finally succumbed to his decidedly relieved tears as he rushed forward, sliding right past Goro’s arms and burying his face into the crook of the other’s neck. Yes, the dark-haired boy who had taken Goro’s heart was crying, but Goro swore he saw a smile break out in the split seconds before the taller of the pair let out a small “Oof!”, feeling some of the wind knocked out of him.

Even so.. Goro couldn’t help himself but embrace Akira in return, feeling the shorter teen tremble slightly with his happy sobs and occasional sharp hiccups. Goro did feel a twinge of regret for being unable to tell Akira he’d been alive this whole time, as Morgana made some groan noise and attached to his leg as a way of saying “Apologize for breaking Akira’s heart!”.

“I’m sorry, Akira,” Goro humbly sighed, as if to answer the implied demand of the black cat’s claws poking through his jeans, squeezing his eyes shut and holding the dark-haired teen just a bit tighter. “I’m sorry for not telling you sooner about my recovery.. I should have..”

Akira huffed, his tears soaking right into Goro’s sweater vest, the one the shorter teen had complimented about 50 times 4-ish months ago. “S-shut it, Goro.. I’m glad you’re okay. I.. I could barely take not having you around, in prison and all.. It hurt, Goro..”

“I’m here now, though.. I’m not planning on going anywhere anytime soon, either..”

At that, Akira huffed again, giving a light punch to Goro’s side. But, Goro knew that wasn’t really meant to hurt, and the further huffs now registered as some sort of laughter. Well.. It didn’t really work completely, though, as right after that Akira just hiccuped again, lifting his head with flushed cheeks and a nervous smile. “You -hic- goof.”

Sojiro took that moment to walk towards the two teens, shaking his head. “Seems like he’s gotten some hiccups.. Oh well.

Akira, take over for me, will you? I think I’d best leave you two to catch up.”

Morgana detached himself from Goro’s leg, flicking his tail. “Hey, Akira, don’t get too blubbery when you tell Goro, alright? I’m gonna be with Boss, but if anything goes awry, tell Futaba and I’ll come right back.”

With that, Sojiro stepped out of the shop with Morgana, and after a minute Akira detached from Goro, rubbing at his eyes with his sleeve. An awkward silence settled over the little cafe, and it still smelled faintly of coffee and curry. Akira, definitely so, and the warm smell of the stuff now attached to Goro’s own clothes thanks to the intimate hug.

After a while, Akira turned back towards the counter, shakily sighing with another awkwardly placed hiccup. “U-uh.. Hey, you can -hic-.. sit if you’d like. Do you want your usual?”

“..Certainly. Some curry would be nice, too. Hopefully it’s better than that damned hospital food,” Goro joked, removing his jacket and heading to a booth seat. “At any rate, at least you give a damn about nutrition and flavor..”

Akira snort-laughed, the tension he’d seemingly had before lifted from how he stood while setting everything up like normal. “I’ll make this curry extra good, then, if you just got out of the hospital today. W-well.. It’s also Valentine’s Day, so.. So d-don’t tell Boss I’m changing things up, okay?”

“Changing things up?” Goro inquired with a head tilt, his now too-long hair brushing against his cheeks. Admittedly, I’ve got to improve my look.. Nearly 2 months’ time does not do favors for maintaining one’s hair. Especially since Akira’s seeing the result of that.. Maybe I should’ve cut my hair before I went here..

“I mean, I made a dessert for you, since you like sweet stuff,” Akira clarified, as if in a mumble. “I made it anyway, j-just in case.. well, if you did come..”

Goro smiled at him, feeling his own cheeks go a rosy pink. “Akira.. That’s very sweet of you. Oh.. er.. I brought you something as well..”

Akira didn’t say anything to that or Goro’s goofy attempt at Akira’s preferred brand of humor, but Goro could see a brighter flush of red covering the teen’s cheeks as he prepared the coffee, curry and what Goro could distantly see had to be some kind of.. cake? Goro wasn’t entirely sure, as the dark-haired former thief kept standing in front of it a lot.

Maybe it’s meant to be a surprise, Goro thought to himself, thinking of the chocolates he’d picked up from one of the shops in Shibuya, with the intent of mailing them to Akira anonymously originally earlier in the day. The chocolates in question were somewhat expensive, a premium sort Goro had picked for being relatively bitter. They just happened to have ground coffee in the middle in a salted caramel.. and to Goro, they seemed much like Akira.

...

After what felt like an eternity of silence and the little sounds from Akira fixing up the coffee and curry and mystery dessert item, Goro heard the apron-clad Akira place plates and cups onto the booth table. There was two of everything, including the dessert itself- a little lava cake, from what it looked like, which had a little heart made out of strawberry syrup.

“..A-ah, is this some kind of romantic dinner?” Goro asked, smiling slightly in jest, in Akira’s direction. “How charming, Akira.”

Akira flushed red, shuffling into his seat and looking away shyly as he began to explain, all while twirling the ends of his curled bangs. Well, I guess I got it on the nose.. Makes sense, for Valentine’s Day.. But for me..?

“D-duh. And surprise..?

Lava cakes. They were a little simple to make, but I thought you might like them. Not sure if it goes with the curry, but.. Oh well.”

Goro took that moment to try the lava cake first, feeling a little rebellious and quite curious. Well, and he just really wanted some damn sweets, as he was pretty deprived of that in the hospital. The soft cake didn’t disappoint, and he was greeted with actual, real strawberries, a pleasant freshness coming along with the sweet syrup the strawberries came with, pairing nicely with the rich chocolate.

The detective knew he was grinning the second he put that bite in his mouth, and he felt the expectant gaze of Akira, hearing the teen’s pleased exhale.

“Oh, goodness me, excuse my manners,” Goro suddenly mumbled, putting down the fork that came with the lava cake. “You did really well with this cake, Akira. And fresh strawberries? A smart move, really. It makes this so much better than it already is, haha.”

Akira’s expression was something like art to Goro when he’d said that, a little pride and a lot of joy appearing in how the other teen smiled and directed his warm gaze at Goro. “T-thanks..”

The meal, after that, went quiet, until the curry and lava cakes had disappeared off their plates, leaving just the coffee. Goro felt a little nervous now that they were very much alone to their own devices, and now that he technically had no excuse to stick around besides the coffee. It was already a bit late by now, and the brunette sat awkwardly where he was, trying to think in his head of how he wanted to confess to Akira.

“..It’s a little quiet today,” Akira finally spoke up, seeming equally nervous as Goro felt. “Well, kind of. I saw a bunch of people bringing in their dates in today.. I kinda wish I had a date of my own..”

“Akira..” Goro hummed, putting a hand to his chest. “To be honest, uhm.. I’m not that experienced myself, I’m afraid.. B-because of my status, I never really was.. uh.. Encouraged to date.”

Akira, of course, went back to twirling his dark, curled hair, frowning timidly and not looking Goro in the eyes. “H-hey, Goro..? You won’t laugh if I tell you t-this, right..?”

“Of course not, Akira. I don’t want to breach your trust again like that. I promise I won’t laugh.”

The teen’s head lowered more, and his cheeks went pink. “W-well.. uh... The lava cakes aren’t the only thing I prepared for today..”

To Goro’s surprise, the teen shuffled something out of his apron pocket, a simple heart-shaped box, and he placed it on the table, right in the middle and right within range for the long-haired detective to take.

“Y-you see..” Akira began, his flushed cheeks becoming redder as he spoke, and his words breaking up with stutters. “U-uhm.. I.. I learned how to make chocolates for your sake. I m-made them myself. T-the box, I got from Yusuke. H-he said he was delighted to try and make something like that... I t-tried to pay him, but he insisted no..”

Goro gazed upon the heart-shaped box. Now that he looked at it, it appeared to have a look sort of like the striped malachite he’d seen Yusuke sporting way back in November, back when he’d been in the Phantom Thieves for awhile. Well, the wavy striped pattern was mostly in reds, golds and whites instead, roughly the same colors as his own secondary Metaverse outfit. Carefully, he pulled them towards himself, looking at it with a careful awe.

It’d clicked, suddenly, what must have been happening behind his back, besides that idiotic plan that could’ve had Akira killed. All that time..

“..Y-you.. You made the chocolates and had Yusuke do all that.. f-for me?”

Akira nodded, shyly smiling. By now, Goro was surprised the confessing teen’s cheeks hadn’t caught fire already, from how dark the red got, and the red had even spread to his exposed, pierced ears, brushing the tips as if Yusuke’s red watercolor had blossomed over.

“I.. I want you to have this, then,” Goro surrendered, pulling out his square box and sliding it across the table. “I.. well, I obviously hadn’t had the time to make mine homemade, b-but.. E-er, take them before I die of anxiety!”

“...” Akira didn’t say anything, wordlessly, taking the chocolates. Then, he smiled, seeming giddy as he got up from his seat and planted himself next to Goro. He held the detective’s given chocolates close to him, as if they were a Treasure he’d taken from a Palace, and he didn’t look at Goro directly, although Goro could feel the reciprocated happiness radiating off the dark-haired teen.

“I... T-thank you, Goro..” Akira finally said, scooting himself even closer and depositing his head on Goro’s shoulder, since he was tall enough to lay there. “I didn’t think y-you’d confess to me today, too.. but I’m glad y-you did. ..Jeez, I.. I can’t really think straight right now..”

Goro rolled his eyes, before putting an arm gingerly around Akira’s shoulders. “I think you shouldn’t have to anymore, Akira. I’m happy you love me back, too.. L-like I said though.. t-this is new to me.”

Akira snorted again, at Goro’s little joke, before closing his eyes and contentedly rubbing his head against Goro’s arm like the cat-person he was.

“Hey, Goro? Don’t move too much, please.. It’s sacrilegious to move a c-cat off you, y-you know,” the dark-haired teen joked, grinning madly. To Goro, Akira now seemed much at ease, since they’d reciprocated their feelings, and he seemed to go back to the silly jokester Goro knew him to be when comfortable enough.

“Of course not,” Goro hummed, then chuckled, his own self trembling with the laughing for a moment or two. “I’m comfortable right here, if you are.”

“Good, ‘cuz I’m not moving an inch, Goro Akechi,” Akira replied, shifting himself so he was in a little more of a comfortable way of sitting, even if his legs sort of hung over the edge of the booth seat awkwardly. “Oh, a-and.. Come visit me, will you? I’m still heading home to my hometown since my probation’s over and stuff..”

Goro grimaced at that, sighing disappointedly. Oh, that’s right.. Akira said his probation originally ended in March.. How could I have forgotten that..?

“..I’d forgotten, admittedly,” he confessed, and Akira looked back at him again, his smile fading. “Hm.. Surely there’s got to be a legal way to ensure you stay here, in Tokyo..”

“Argh.. Goro, please don’t break the law.. Only I get to do that,” Akira huffed, sticking his pink tongue out at the long-haired detective. “Besides, unless my parents say I can stay, I’ve gotta go back. Plus.. won’t you be busy with detective stuff..?”

“I’m on medical leave until the end of the month,” the brunette rebutted, turning himself around to hug Akira in some awkward placement of limbs. “Hrm. Maybe if you’d let me stay in Leblanc for the rest of the time, will that make up for it? I m-mean.. we did pine over each other for so long.. The least I could do until you leave is to make up for all that wasted time..”

Goro’s now-boyfriend grinned, closing his eyes again. “We can cross that bridge when we get there, then.. I’m fine with your suggestion til then. Morgana’s just gonna have to deal with it.”

“Damn right,” Goro agreed, gently putting his head on Akira’s. “And one more thing, honey.”

“Yeah?”

Goro gently kissed the mass of ink-black curls, still smiling, and he held Akira close to him, quietly enjoying the warmth the other teen radiated. “I love you, Akira.”

“..I love you too, Goro,” Akira replied. His voice was soft, but Goro could hear that the words held a sincerity he’d rarely heard until now.

...

I had a romantic evening with Akira..

---

END

[melinathurmond]

*This Time For Rhetoric.*

In this entry, I will examine the critical questions: What central narrative does this artifact tell through its rhetorical elements? In doing so, what values does it promote and ignore (who does it include and exclude)? In which ways is this narrative (ethically) productive for society, in which ways is it limiting, and is it more productive or limiting? 

To investigate these questions, I examined the 2020 Super Bowl halftime show performed by Shakira and Jennifer Lopez as my rhetorical artifact. This halftime show creates an ideology of important cultural and personal values that ultimately teaches the audiences of facts and rituals pertaining to the artists cultures by using common dancing techniques, songs to represent their citizenship within the United States, and costumes that portray particular customs of their home countries.

Since 1967, two teams in the National Football League have played for one night to determine who is the best in the league and wins the trophy. The Super Bowl halftime show is one of the big elements of the Super Bowl each year. From artists ranging from Bruno Mars to Maroon 5, these performers are paid between $24-$30 million to put on a riveting fifteen minute show. Shakira and Jennifer Lopez come from Latin and Colombian backgrounds that molded their performance. Lopez, 50, was born and raised in The Bronx by two Puerto Rican parents. She grew up singing and dancing in order to stay out of trouble and create a life for herself in the future. Most of the dances she gave off the bat were at home with her family, performing classic Puerto Rican style dances. Lopez started touring at the young age of seven, with her parents' support to follow her dreams. Shakira, 43, also known as Shakira Isabel Mebarak Ripoll was born in Colombia and spent a majority of her childhood there. Much like Lopez, Shakira started a specific type of dance at a young age. She toured most of her hometown and surrounding cities doing belly dances to the doumbek, which is a classic colombian rhythm that accompanies this type of dance. Both singers take massive pride in their heritage and have captured audiences around the world with their take on commemorating their culture and moving forward with their career in America. 

Foss (2014) defines a narrative as ���our experience[s] so that we can make sense of the people, places, events, and actions of our lives” (333). Narratives are crucial to our everyday living and ongoing stories that are created and passed on through centuries. Narratives, in their simplest form, can be illustrated through books, films, songs, short stories, novels, etc., according to Foss (333). In the video, Lopez and her daughter teamed up to do a duet portraying the significance of being a Puerto Rican in the United States. They did a beautiful rendition of “Born in the USA” while Lopez strutted her feathered Puerto Rican and American flag jacket. This paints a picture that Puerto Ricans are still very much apart of America and our culture, despite the separation. This also symbolizes the importance of culture in the Lopez family and the pride they take in their heritage. 

Lopez and Shakira both reign from different backgrounds, but mesh their performance to make those fifteen minutes come together. One of the four key concepts to make a narrative a narrative, according to Foss (2014), is that “it must be about a unified subject” (334). At the end of the video, Lopez and Shakira come together to perform Shakira’s world famous song “Waka Waka (This Time for Africa)”.  Though the culture that is evident from this song depicts neither of the cultures that the women portray, they came together for the last two minutes of the performance to dance coherently as well as perform as one. This significance illustrates the collectivity that nations have with America and the richness they bring to the country, regardless of background and story. They give a sense of togetherness with the crowd in the stadium as well as the viewers at home who were watching. 

This picture of cultural pride can have its advantages and disadvantages. One advantage is that this video can also mold the ideologies of America. If the Super Bowl halftime show can create this idea that we are all one and there are no borders, then it can be presumably perceived that America welcomes all. Shakira and Lopez identify and portray women of all colors through their performance, taking pride in their heritage. This can also be a disadvantage because it is unrealistic. It is impossible to have one country agree on an idea fully, and from the looks of it, we know that the United States is seemingly split. Another advantage that can be seen through this narrative is that it educates society on cultural aspects that may not be their own. Through the body rolling, extremely technical footwork, and “noises” that Shakira made into the screen, these are all aspects of tradition that Americans may very well be naive to. Foss (2014), talks about theme and asks the question, “How obvious and clear is the theme”(338)? Through this, though, Americans can educate themselves and become more aware of the importance of these customs. While this video could have been uplifting and powerful for most people, some people felt like this could have been too much of a statement. A disadvantage of this clip can be the sole fact of family friendly viewing. The Super Bowl can be a family get-together occasion and with this performance, it could evoked a lot of negative emotion for these families. The flashy outfits, provocative dancing, and foreign words did not sit well with most viewers. Without knowing the context behind their dancing and songs, Americans, in general, were not satisfied with the choice that NBC made to produce this show. 

Singh (2010) identifies the importance of culture in new media. She mentions this “fantasy” that the media, in any form, creates about culture and how that alters the way we see things and how we become close-minded to our own beliefs and rituals. She says, “Today [the] media offers value judgement about the desirability of superiority of some transmitted elements which determine the direction of change from one corner of the world to the other” (87). Whatever native country one may be from, most of the time, these people are accustomed to believing the ideologies only from their culture, which can put a damper on the way that other people express their culture. This can help explain the disadvantages of this narrative. People are narrow-minded to other cultures and rituals and it could often be defined as ethnocentrism. This also helps explain what people are and are not seeing from this performance. Culture is also a very specific and delicate thing, so what we see on screen is not often what we get. We saw a beautiful performance shaped by background and intensity, but we also have to recognize that there is much history and explanation behind each step and song. 

Overall, the Super Bowl halftime performance show was a spectacular mesh of culture, unity, and values that meant something to both Shakira and Lopez. This clip emphasizes importance in views as well as open-mindedness to other cultures. While both sides can be argued, this clip understands the importance of background and illuminates what America should pride itself on.  

Foss, S. K. (2004). Narrative Criticism. Rhetorical Criticism (3rd ed.) (pp.333-341). Long 

Grove, IL: Waveland Press.

NFL. (2020, Feb 2). Shakira & J. Lo's FULL Pepsi Super Bowl LIV Halftime Show. Youtube. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pILCn6VO_RU

Singh, C. L. (2010). New media and cultural identity. China Media Research, 6(1), p.86-90. 

[elle-stevens]

The Break Up Blog - Day Twenty Six

It’s official: I hate my nasal passages. 

It’s like there are furry kittens growing inside of them, that’s how sensitive they are today. Not that I’m allergic to cats or any other furry mammals; at least, I still hope that’s the case. I have heard that some adults develop latent allergies later in life that they didn’t have as children. Wouldn’t that just be my luck if that happened? 

While I sneezed my brains out nearly all day, I carved out time to do a few creative and productive things. First, I made scones for breakfast; I haven’t baked scones in nearly two years. This is the first time I made them while living abroad by myself. Granted, I left them a little too long in the oven, so they came out firmer than usual. But for a first attempt in a miniature oven, they weren’t half bad, especially when I spread butter and strawberry jam liberally all over it. My colleague, N, expressed a love for scones the other day at work and I thought of her while baking this morning. 

So when I decided to do my grading for my students’ journals at a cafe instead of at home, I asked N if she wanted me to drop off some scones for her near her home since it was en route to where I wanted to go. I left my apartment 15 minutes later that what I initially told N, but the traffic was kind to me and I got to the meeting point early enough. N had a harder time getting to me after doing her grocery shopping. There’s all kinds of roadworks and construction happening in my city these days to build more subway lines and the neighbourhood close to where N lives is completely discombobulated, including all the bus stops that have shifted over slightly to make way for the construction walls. 

Anyway, N finally met me and I gave her the scones, which she was happy to receive. It seems like she’s really stressed about work since she and C are part of the recruitment process that hires new foreign teachers at my school. There have been some issues with visa paperwork and flight bookings for a new hire that has many of my colleagues completely stressed out. Thank God I don’t help out with visa paperwork at my job; I’d be two blinks away from being carted away in a straitjacket if I were. 

N had to rush off to her Chinese class and I made my way to a cafe she and C frequented the week before. The cafe has cosy decor inside and a terriffic balcony section above where you can sit outside. Sadly, the balcony was closed today; the cafe probably only opens it up in the evenings when they serve dinner. So I sat inside and did my grading, which was still nice and cosy. 

The grading itself was more stressful than I initially planned. Maybe I just over-thought it and did more than I needed to. But it took me close to 4 hours to check and correct 38 journals as well as give each student feedback and a rating based on their writing. I know that H meant well when she planned for us to do weekly journals with our students. But the plan was meant to be executed at the start of the school year and it’s already the second semester. Plus, she made C design all the journals in different formats and colours for each grade instead of just ordering ready-made journals from a publication house. Now H wants us to critique each student’s writing every single week and only give them positive feedback so they stay motivated to keep writing in class. If I have to climb up more people’s asses and kiss them from the inside, including those of my students, I might never see the sun again. 

Nevertheless, I forged on and managed to finish all my grading, even though I was hungry and the cafe suddenly didn’t serve food. But they had a menu which not only had drinks displayed on it, but food as well. So naturally I was confused that there didn’t appear to be any food. I wrapped things up and tried to call my Dad to wish him happy birthday. After all the delays with my money transfers, I was happy that I managed to send my siblings some cash to help pay for my dad’s gifts and the family brunch. But the signal was really crappy on my phone since I was outside and waiting for the bus to take me home. I managed to get back to my neighbourhood after 18:00 and made a stop at the grocery store to buy tomatoes, mushrooms and garlic. N gave me some French bread earlier, so I made some bruschetta for dinner. Not the healthiest meal to have, especially right before going to the gym, but it kept the hunger pangs at bay since I inadvertently skipped lunch. 

My parents and siblings ended up going on a drive around the beach, which gave me enough time to have a good session at the gym almost unimpeded, shower and then head home. I even had time to go to work beforehand to pick up the new headband I ordered for the gym that I used for my workout. Unlike last week’s ultra-crap fat-loss regimen, I practically aced it the second time around tonight, which kept me in good spirits. 

I got home after 21:00 and called my Dad again. With most phone conversations, I don’t always know what to say to him. I don’t know why, I just run out of safe topics quicker with my dad than with my mom. My mom and I aren’t as close, but we find ways to talk about very superficial things like who’s a new and upcoming contestant on ‘Idols’ or what new wave of crime hit my old neighbourhood this time around. I’m closer with my Dad, but it’s hard to grab time with him to have a good heart to heart. Still, I was in an excellent mood and the conversation flowed well, especially when we talked about dishes we’d been cooking in the kitchen lately. It makes me realise how much I miss my Dad these days. 

It was great catching up with my mom and my siblings too; I feel bad that P and G have been treated to my depressing and morbid side too much lately. So it felt good to ask how they’re doing and make lots of silly jokes to keep the mood light.  Even though I wished I could’ve been home with my family celebrating my dad’s birthday today, I’m happy they’re still able to have fun without me too. Sometimes I feel guilty about being so far away from home, but I know my family loves and supports me no matter. I’m really lucky and it’s time that I start acknowledging and embracing it more often. 

Throughout my busy day, I still thought of X on occasion. When I walked to the grocery store earlier, this called ‘Loving Strangers’ by Russian Red started playing in my iTunes library. That brought up a flood of memories all related to X. I actually liked that song long before X and I even became friends, but I put her onto it and it eventually became one of our songs that epitomised our relationship. The song is from a soundtrack for this lesbian romance movie called ‘Room In Rome’. It’s about these two women who meet at a bar in - you guessed it - Rome, and end up spending the night together in a beautiful Roman hotel room. It wasn’t the best acting in the world, but the chemistry between the two actresses was on sizzling and the movie had a scintillating soundtrack too. 

Anyway, X and I both loved the song and the movie and watched it together a few times over 3 years. When I visited her the first time in the Philippines, we stayed a lovely 5-star hotel for our last night together. Unintentionally, we acted out a few romantic scenes from the movie. Like dressing up in fluffy bathrobes after taking a swim in the hotel and staring out the window together at the city skyline. Of course, we improvised with other things, like slow-dancing in our bathrobes to Coldplay’s ‘Sparks’ and ‘Loving Strangers’ in the middle of our hotel room. 

That night was so bittersweet for me because my flight back home was at 4am (I still don’t know why I booked that absurd flight time), so X and I only had a few hours together in that hotel room before I left her. I felt like Cinderella on the night of the ball with the Prince. For those first few hours, everything felt magical and wonderful. But as soon as the clock struck twelve, reality kicked in again and it was time to go back home in my pumpkin carriage. 

Being with X always felt like a beautiful dream that I was eventually going to wake up from. Now I’m finally awake and it’s still disorienting knowing that we won’t have more beautiful memories together or new shared experiences to make life a little sweeter than it was before. But I’m trying my best to move on and only focus on the crappier aspects of X’s personality to make me miss her less. What I need is to just land myself a hottie Sugar Daddy or Sugar Momma with low self-esteem on the next go-around with a relationship and hope to God they never get clued in on the fact that they could do better than me. Don’t get me wrong, I know I’m a catch in a lot of respects, but I am also a hot mess. I’m a slow learner, but I’m getting better and wiser with time. 

Shit, it’s past midnight and I’m starving. I’m trying hard not to snack late at night, but I haven’t been eating well lately because of stress and my depression kicking my proverbial butt. Does this even still count as a diary entry for 7th September? 

Since I’m making up the rules for my own happiness now, I say it still counts. And from here on out, I’m gonna do whatever the hell I please. 

[magicallibary]

Diary of The Unreal Gem

A/N: I wanted to try something different so, I went with a diary format for this one and I quite like how it came out. It’s also left to your interpretation a bit: you decide who the main character is and their relationship with the male in the story. So, hope you enjoy and have a great rest of your day :D

Word Count: 1681 Words Warnings: Character feeling uncomfortable and scared (there’s probably more but I don’t really know how to frase it :P)

Summary: After a seemingly fun trip, this diary’s owner’s friend/lover/other starts changing rather quickly. To say the least, they’re worried about him.

May 10th, 2019

I’ve never felt this confused before. I knew he was acting a bit off since a while ago, but, I never expected it to go this far. By ‘this far’ I mean, I’m becoming scared of him. Everything still feels really strange; almost like I’m living in a strange nightmare.

In the 8 years I’ve known him, nothing like this has ever happened. So, why now? I feel like I know or, use to know but, why can’t I remember? It’s all so bizzare.

I guess I’ll have to flick back through these pages, while he’s sleeping. I think he still sleeps, anyway. I’m not entirely sure. But, if I manage to read back, I should probably be able to piece something together. At least, hopefully.

April 2nd, 2019

We had a wonderful day today! We went to this awesome exhibition about different discoveries from around the world and we even got a private tour of the place and got to touch some of the things! All for free! How generous is his friend, right? I couldn’t believe it when we got told all of this. Because, he has a friend who works in caves, he explores and discovers amazing things so, when they opened this exhibition he invited him to see the amazing gem he found a few years back. A friend told me her brother saw it once. It’s called the Unreal Gem. Some say, the first person who saw it went insane, that his personality began changing in the matter of seconds. But that’s just a story.

Sadly, I didn’t get to hold it. Only he did. The gem was extremely big and a shiny green color. I didn’t get to see it properly; our explorer friend said ‘it was too dangerous for me.’ I only know it must have been amazing since he looked at it for a very long time, his green eyes wouldn’t leave it!

Sadly, he’s acting a bit distant right now.

When we got home, I tried to ask him what the gem was like and he gave me a very short response. Something like: ‘yeah, yeah, really pretty.’ His eyes didn’t meet mine as he spoke and they haven’t since, which is strange, since he always looks at me while we talk.

I guess he’s just tired. I hope he gets a good night rest and, hopefully, he’ll be the same cheery person he’s always been. And that I love.

April 9th, 2019

He’s acting extremely strange now. In just a few days it’s gotten way weirder and I’m starting to get worried by it. I’ve tried to ask him about it, but he’s completely ignoring me. I feel like I’m talking to myself. I miss our chats and our lovely conversations, now that he barely looks at me. I’ve even tried to get his attention but he won’t budge out of his in trance-like state. He’ll sit on the couch and look straight ahead for hours at a time, sometimes I get the feeling that he isn’t even blinking.

For some reason I feel like that gem is what did this to him, but, that doesn’t really make sense, does it? I’m really trying to find out what’s wrong with him, I have been for the last few days. It’s proving to be extremely difficult, though. I just want him back; I really miss him.

April 18th, 2019

There’s a strange smell around the house still; the same that started two days ago and it’s still there. I can’t really describe it. It’s not particularly horrible but it isn’t nice either. I’ve never smelt anything like it. It sort of smells like a chemical but not entirely; it’s too strange to simply be a chemical. It’s not too strong, not in any way over-powering but, sometimes I have to go outside to get rid of it for a moment. After a while it makes my thoughts become foggy. I even start forgetting things easily; it’s really messing with me.

I also haven’t seen him in days. He just suddenly disappeared a few days before the scent began. It makes me wonder if he’s the one responsible for it. It wouldn’t really surprise me if that were true. Until I know though, I’ll keep trying to find out what the source is. Wish me luck.

April 29th, 2019

This morning I woke up and I think something is missing. Something that used to be here but isn’t anymore.

There’s the smell of the spring flowers coming through the open windows, which makes everything feel a little bit better. Unlike him, today. When I first saw him this morning, his clothes were different. By different, I mean completely different. I grabbed my phone to check if I was right- just in case I was going mad- and he’s never worn anything like that.

A dark red shirt covers his chest but the bottom of it looks like it went through a shredder. His pants seem to be completely made out of black leather, similar to his black and purple toe-length coat. Metal chains are hung around his body, some wrapping around his limbs and one even wraps loosely around his neck several times. The dark colors make his eyes look brighter; a bright green that feels like it would grab your complete attention if you look at them for too long.

I better go- he just called after me and something tells me I should listen to what he has to say.

May 3rd, 2019

It’s getting worse.

He’s barely eating now. I say ‘now,’ I honestly can’t remember if he ate yesterday or not. He’s still not going outside, he won’t even look out through the closed windows. Also, I haven’t seen him change his clothes since the day he completely changed them. At least I think so.

He’s noticing me more now. I’m not sure how I feel about that. At some point in the past, I would’ve welcomed his attention, the small touches his fingers would do across my arms. But, again, I’m not so sure now. When did that get so sinister?

He’s also whispering to himself more. I’ve never been able to understand what he says, though. I’ve really tried. Additionally, he won’t let me inside his room anymore, the door is locked all the time and I can’t get it opened.

He is chatting with me more, which gives me hope that, after this lowest point is over, he’ll begin to slowly get better. I sure hope that’s right. I don’t know what I’ll do otherwise.

May 8th, 2019

If I thought it was bad before, I had no idea how bad it could get.

Before, he wouldn’t go outside but, now, he isn’t letting me outside of these walls. Not even to the backyard. Also, that strange smell is back but, it’s stronger now. Way stronger. So strong that it feels like my mind is thinking less and forgetting certain things for a few minutes before turning itself on again.

Sometimes, he locks himself up in his room and suddenly starts screaming. Like he was in pain. At first, I’ve tried getting inside the room, but, I can’t. I’ve tried everything: lock picking, force opening it, maybe even kicking it down; nothing works.

Now that I’ve given up on that, I’ve tried to escape while he’s inside, but, that doesn’t work either. As soon as I even begin to open any door, the screaming would stop, the house becoming extremely silent. In the span of seconds, he’ll be besides me, his hand rising from the back of my neck to the top of my head, where my short hair starts.

He’ll sometimes lean in real close, his lips brushing my ear slightly and whisper something. I can’t seem to recall what he whispers, but, I know he does do it. Why can’t I remember?

Other times, he’d simply grip my wrist and pull me away from the door, gently. He’ll let go of his tight hold as soon as I sit down on a chair. Then, his large hands would rest on the sides of my face, his greens hiding behind his eyelids as his lips would brush a quick kiss on the crown of my head. Usually, this action would be considered nice, even safe, in fact, I once loved it when he did this. Now, though, his lips feel colder, like his stare, that use to be welcoming and that seemed to wash a sense of safety over you. Those times feel so far away that I’m actually beginning to think I’ve imagined it. But, how was it so real?

I just want to close my eyes and escape this horrid nightmare.

May 13th, 2019

If anyone finds this, never, ever look or find the Unreal Gem. Don’t let anyone find it.

The effects of the smell have banished and I remember everything now. I did a bit of research about the gem, which was my original concern and I found something. The information about the gem gets past around and the people who hear about it are the ones who suffer. The person who hears about it, one of the people they know and care about, will somehow look at the gem. This causes their personality to change completely. They’ll begin to lose themselves in the effect of the gem. Soon enough, they’ll change so much that they’ll become controlling, hurtful and so much more. If you’re reading this and if you’ve read some past entries, then, you know about the gem. I’m so sorry.

I’m currently hiding in my room, I’ve locked the door and I can hear his loud steps walking around outside. I can’t really tell how far away he is, but I know he can’t be that far away. I can feel my hands begin to shake, I’ve never been so scared of a person before.

I don’t wait. Is that the door opening? Alright, he’s coming in! Don’t look at the Unreal Gem. Please. Pleas-

[magistralucis]

🔀 :0c

🔀 Maroon 5 - Payphone

I’m at a payphone trying to call homeAll of my change I spent on youWhere have the times gone, baby, it’s all wrongWhere are the plans we made for two

Here are some voicemails long since deleted by Franck Rivoire.

Voicemail 01: Recorded Jun 26, 6:23pm

Gesaffelstein: Monsieur Rivoire.

G.: [Short pause.] Good afternoon, Monsieur. The Chairman conveys his regrets that you couldn’t be here today, and he hopes that you’ll be well soon. [Pause. Shuffling of papers.] Your article is still due on Friday, of course. Specifically the one from when you visited Nantes. Alone.

G.: [Small intake of breath. Five seconds.]

G.: … That will be all, save for one more message from the chairman. There will be a party at some point in the next month or two, to celebrate his first full year at the office. The date is not yet set, but the announcement came an hour ago; it was only right to let you know. [Pause.] You will find out more as the days pass, I imagine. As far as I know, it will be held at a function room in one of the hotels nearby. Plus ones are permitted, as are friends. We are encouraged to bring some as he is quite intent on making an impression.

G.: But then, of course. I forgot.

G.: [Quiet snicker, followed by a markedly lowered tone of voice:]

G.: You don’t have any friends now, do you, Franckie?

[END VOICEMAIL]

Yeah, I know it’s hard to rememberThe people we used to beIt’s even harder to pictureThat you’re not here next to me

Voicemail 02: Recorded Jul 18, 10:16pm

Gesaffelstein: [Inaudible murmur for the first twenty seconds. Sound of water running in the background, perhaps a bathtub. Radio and TV both on, one of which is the evening news, full volume; all of those sounds are so loud as to drown out the foreground noise, G.’s own voice included. G.’s voice is increasingly stifled with emotion as the recording goes on.]

G.: - not a writer, not a journalist, and definitely not an artist. I know you’re watching the story too, even if you aren’t taking my calls; you hear that, Franckie? You want me to turn the volume up from this end? [Does not.] Because I know you’d hate to miss it. Imagine going out of business because the mayor of goddamned Nantes sued you for slander. [Laughter.] 

G.: Oh, it’ll pass. I mean, there’s fuck all to do in Nantes; you were just the convenient target, just be sure to thank the chairman for bailing you out later. Yeah? They only didn’t name you out of some theoretical respect for your dignity, but really, you aren’t shit, Franck Rivoire. Not that you needed to hear it from me for the hundredth time, but what the hell. [The tap is abruptly shut off.] Have a present. Why not! It’s our one month anniversary - of you breaking us up! I’m so glad we made it, Franckie, let’s be miserable together forever! [Bitter laughter. Faint splash of water.] 

G.: Jesus Christ.

G.: [Continues to laugh, until he begins to sob instead in earnest. A full minute passes before either the TV or the radio is shut off, though the other remains on in the background.]

G.: Franckie. Franckie... why?

[END VOICEMAIL]

You say it’s too late to make it,But is it too late to try?And in our time that you wastedAll of our bridges burned down

Voicemail 03: Recorded Aug 12, 3:30am

Gesaffelstein: [Slurring very heavily throughout the recording; clearly intoxicated. Pronunciation unclear in some parts.] Hello? Hello? It’s me. Mike. First of all, it was lovely seeing you last night, chickpea, it’s been a-a-ges; funny how like... fucking hell, you were the one person I ought to’ve expected... heh. Never doubted you for a second [Inaudible], you always take me by surprise.

G.: Thank you for the coupons. I didn’t want to say it out loud in front of everybody, but you were spot on: I don’t think I’ve walked past a spa since I began working here. I’m overdue for a good old sugar scrub at the least; you’re right, I do need a day out to myself, don’t I. [Pause, seven seconds. The sound of a cork popping.] Too much’s been going on. Hell. Thanks for putting a word in for me at Lancôme, too. [Inaudible] - of the modelling business for so long it’s surprising anyone remembers me, let alone wants me back occasionally. [Pouring sounds. Pause. Three seconds.]

G.: That said, darling.

G.: [A glass clinks heavily upon a wooden surface.]

G.: Are you out of your mind?!

G.: [G.’s voice is a little clearer from this point on. Coaxing.] My dearest. Sweetheart. Honeybun. I thought we were over this years ago. Wild horses couldn’t drag me kicking and screaming back to the modelling industry; thanks for getting my name out there, but as for working for them? No thanks. You know how bad it was there. You were the one who helped me get out in the first place; so why, why, oh why on earth would you want me to go back? [Laughter.] Did I look that unhappy at the party or something?

G.: [Laughter, bittersweet, but not malicious.] Not that I blame you. I am unhappy and you had every reason to think that, even if we didn’t get the chance to hash it out. [Pouring sounds.] I don’t blame you, chickpea, you’re just trying to help a friend out at his time of need. Speaking of that, though - did you get a chance to talk to Franck at the party? You’ve got to spill the beans if you did, I’ll spill mine; Jesus, you won’t believe what the bastard did to me. [Heavy thud.] I’m no use to mistreatment - all that time with my fellow models, oh yes, with those glorious sons of bitches, we’ve all been bought, been sold - and yet after all this time taking the high road you’d think there would be some...

G.: ... Fucking... wrong number.

[END VOICEMAIL]

I’ve wasted my nights,You turned out the lightsNow I’m paralyzedStill stuck in that timeWhen we called it loveBut even the sun sets in paradise

Voicemail 04: Recorded Sep 24, 3:03pm

Gesaffelstein: I went to our old pâtisserie today.

G.: [Pause.]

G.: Well. Mine. I never got to take you. [Pause.] They still do your favourite macarons. The melon one’s still exquisite, you know. I mean. I know. 

G.: Didn’t think they’d recognize me after so many months away. They remember you, too, and gave me an extra box of cinnamon and red bean for you. [Longer pause.] ... Just... call me... or leave me a message, when you get this... and I’ll put them on your desk on Monday. 

G.: [Lengthy silence. Quiet breathing sounds, at one point marginally louder, as if the receiver was hitched closer to his lips.]

G.: ... There was a couple in there. Two men. I’d say a little older than us. [Pause.] They were holding the cutest little boy in their arms. They were in front of me at the counter and I waved at the kid and he smiled at me. Well. Maybe a he. I couldn’t tell. Just a baby, really. A happy family.

G.: [Silence. When he next speaks his voice is very quiet.]

G.: ... I’d have liked one, too...

[END VOICEMAIL]

If happy ever afters did exist,I would still be holding you like thisAll those fairy tales are full of shitOne more fucking love song, I’ll be sick

Notes: w e l p

I knew that I was going to do this the earliest out of all the shuffle fic requests I received but it took me this long to figure out how lmao. I’m so sorry I’m lagging behind on everything let me die ;A  ; aaaaaaaaaaaaaIn the absence of identifying information I am going to assume you’re an anon aware of the shenanigans happening over at @akchotesuggestion. So yeah. Something to sink y’alls teeth into. Try comparing some of the voicemail dates here to the earlier ‘cher journal’ entries (like this one) for a nice bonus :3

also pls keep the wrong number person in mind

[jinnish]

Little Lover Pt. 1

First of all, hello! This is my very first fanfic on tumblr! Anyway I really hope that you like this because I’m hoping to write more soon! So enjoy!

♡ Genre: Fluff, High School!AU

♡ Pairing: Seokjin x reader 

♡ Word Count: 2.9k

♡ Summary: You have a great infatuation for your literature teacher Kim Seokjin after an encounter and you decide to send him a letter to prove your love. He wants to keep his professional reputation but your youth, innocence and cute looks catch his eyes.~

Masterlist

You are alone in the library. It was great that there was practically nobody in there. The echos of your books slamming on the table was the only sound you could hear. It was dawn and the colors of the sunset filled the large room. It was winter so it was a bit cold but the fireplace nearby warmed you up. You feel at ease, you love being alone in a room. But sometimes loneliness was a curse. 

You see, you were pretty shy around classmates and you had no friends to talk to. You resorted to reading romantic stories to fill the void of loneliness in your heart. You had an amazing family, but you had nobody to share your love with. You wished for someone to love you and hold you tight. 

You need to finish a short story and you have one page left, but nothing was in your head. You read all that you could from the books that you picked up that could help you become more inspired but nothing worked. 

Hmm.. I have nothing.. I should just accept getting a zero on this. 

You sigh and feel like you’re done for.

You were at the brink of giving up until loud footsteps echoing the room disrupt your train of thought. You ignore the footsteps as you try to focus on your work. You hear a chair squeak nearby. 

You look up and you see Professor Kim. Although he’s a couple feet apart from you, you feel nervous. He carries a couple of books and sets them down the long table. He sits far to the left of you and he begins to open up a book. He noticed that you’re looking at him and he gives you a friendly smile. This causes you to quickly turn away.

You always thought that he was very handsome unlike the rest of the teachers. He was tall, he had broad shoulders and beautiful full lips. A few of the older girls at your school had noticed these features and would cat call him often but he would keep calm and professional about it, he knew that he was handsome. He was always in a good mood and he loved to read during class because he loved hearing his own voice. Which did captivate you. 

Today he was wearing a black turtleneck and jeans and this combination made you drool. 

Oh my gosh he looks so hot.. 

You sigh at his looks. 

Any outfit he wore looked so elegant and stylish none of the boys your age could compare. He was single and sometimes you wonder how a guy as handsome as him could be single. You knew that you’re probably not his type, after all you were too young for him, too invisible for him to notice you. 

You hear footsteps walk toward you. You feel something warm breathe near you and you see that he’s hovering from behind. He smiles again and you shift back to your work. 

“What do you have there Ms. Y/N?” He takes a closer look and surprisingly his chin is resting on your shoulder. 

You jump up and squeak a little, the feeling sent shivers down your spine. He backs off a bit, “Oh I’m sorry did I scare you? I apologize Y/N.” He chuckles and looks back at your work. “I see that you’re working on the short story I assigned. Remember that it is due tomorrow and it must be at least three pages long.” 

You look down at your pages, you only have two done. “S-sir.. P-professor Kim.. I don’t know what to write now.” 

Your voice gets really shaky and almost inaudible when you speak to anyone at school let alone professors. Professor Kim knew about this and he would be ready to lean in to hear you speak. You felt okay with that, at least someone wanted to hear your voice. 

He sighs, “Well do you have an idea on how the story will end?” He grabs a chair nearby and sits close to you. “Y-yes sir, the main characters will fall in l-love and live h-happily ever after, but I don’t k-know how to put it in words” You fiddle with your pencil as you wait for a reply. 

His hand reaches for your hands as he stops you from fiddling, you quickly glance at him. He smiles warmly, “Good, now I can see your pretty face. And please call me Professor Seokjin.”

He giggles as you try to keep yourself from being flustered. 

Gosh he called me pretty! And he even told me to call him by his first name! 

“Okay I see that you don’t have a good resolution to your story.” He reads a couple of paragraphs from the pages and then leaves to grab a book from the pile he left.

“Listen to this.” He clears his throat and begins to read. His voice is deep and soothing. You can’t stop yourself from glancing away. The sunset shining in the room created an aura behind his body, he looked like a god. His lips closing and opening, his strong arms grasping at the book, everything was beautiful. Time felt like it had stopped, this man was the one of your dreams. 

“Y/N? Hello?” He had already stopped reading and you were there looking like a fool. 

How long was I staring at him, oh no Professor is going to think I’m weird for the rest of the school year! 

You finally speak up, “Oh I’m very s-sorry Professor! I’ll get my short story finished by tomorrow!” You start to panic and hope he won’t get mad. Your hands begin to cover your cheeks since you knew you were as red as a tomato. Seokjin stands up and chuckles, “You’re very shy Y/N it’s kind of cute. I’m glad I could somewhat help.” He kept a cheeky smile and he winks at you. 

This pushes you to the edge and you quickly take are your items and shove them in your backpack and you leave the library trying to hide your redness.

What?! He thinks I’m cute. Professor Seokjin thinks I’m cute! WAH! 

You run as quickly as possible and you will never forget this encounter with Professor Seokjin. 

Months pass by and it is spring. You can finally wear the cute skirt that came with your uniform and hope to catch Professor Seokjin’s attention. 

You were a pretty unknown girl at the school, you sat in the back of the classroom and it would be difficult for you to pair up with partners so you always ended up with a teacher. You didn’t mind if it was Professor Seokjin though. You had his class during last period and you didn’t mind being able to see him last til’ school was over. 

You liked keeping that mental image of him in your head and right as you get home you would have a diary keeping up with what happened between you and him. You liked writing poems about him and you kept them hidden in your diary as well. Sometimes if you were sneaky enough, you’d bring your diary to school and try to specifically describe the day in his class. 

One day his classroom was warm, a little too warm. Everyone complained on how hot it was and everyone tried to fan themselves out as they had to read a book individually. Even though you needed to read the book you couldn’t help but to look at Professor Seokjin slowly unbutton his top half of his white shirt. He loosened the collar and droplets of sweat formed on his neck. 

He would fan himself with his gorgeous strong arms and turn his head up.. every angle of his face looked beautiful. You kept on daydreaming until you heard his voice clear up. He caught you spying him. 

Oh no! Not again! 

He grins at you and gives you a sly wink. You cover your face pretending to read the book. 

A couple of minutes pass and you were more focused on writing what had happened in your diary than to read. His voice caught your attention as he addresses the class. “Okay class since time is almost up, I will be expecting that you read up to chapter 5 and write a summary of what you read.” Everyone groaned and quickly packed their things after the bell rang. 

You were always behind on packing your things, you prefer to take your time being in the same room as Professor Seokjin. You were almost sad that you didn’t get the chance to be closer to him ever since he helped you on an assignment. You wished you were more open and have a conversation with him but you felt like it would be wrong and your classmates would judge you. You weren’t mad about him smiling at you from time to time, but you wanted more. 

As you started to walk to the door, Professor Seokjin’s voice stopped you. “Hey Y/N.” You slowly turn and ask yourself what you did this time. He walks closer to you and stops at a decent distance. 

“Try to focus on your work, I don’t want to punish you.” He held his breath as he hesitated saying this. “Just don’t fall in love with me.” He playfully winks at you and walks back to his desk. 

Oh gosh he noticed me, I’m such a weirdo! 

You didn’t know what to say so you sprinted out of class. 

Everyday you always found yourself daydreaming about Professor Seokjin. There was always a new entry in your diary and you even added in some fantasies that you’ve had about him. You lay down in your bed and realize that spring break is next week. 

You felt like it would be a great idea to give Professor Seokjin something to show your love, you weren’t going to see him in a while and you felt a bit bad to do it last minute but you knew that he was going to think about you during break and you secretly hoped for the best. A rush of adrenaline kicks you to get up and write a letter until you fell asleep. 

The next day was the most stressful day. It was the day. You have done anything so daring at school and you wished for luck on this day for it may be the last time you ever get to be near him and receive his smiles, his smiles were almost a daily thing and having it disappear would make you feel lonely and unappreciated again. 

This day was the slowest day and for once you weren’t focused on school. You have had a good grade point average but because of Seokjin’s presence in your head your parents have been more strict with you because you were failing school. Even in P.E. a ball hit your head because you imagined how handsome Seokjin would look in a gym outfit. 

The last class of the day was a few minutes away and you ran past students in the hallway making sure you’re the first one to literature class. As you sprint to the door you accidentally bump into someone. The person turns around. 

Who is this guy? 

He was tall and he had brown hair, it almost looked like a coconut. He seemed a bit nervous and was caught off guard after you stumbled upon him. “Oh was I in your way I’m sorry.” His voice was rough but syrupy smooth. You both stood there for a moment until the bell rang. 

Oh no I’m late! I’m never late! 

You quickly race to class. Nobody noticed you running late but Professor Seokjin eyed you back to your seat. 

As you get ready for class you see the doors slowly slide open and you see the guy that you ran into come in. He slowly makes his way in front of the class and Seokjin joins him. 

“Alright class..” The sound of his loud voice makes the class go silent. “This is our new student and he will be joining our class, now what is your name again?” The student gulps and strong voice says, 

“My name is Jeon Jungkook. Nice to meet you.” 

The professor laughs and smiles, “Now don’t be nervous, you are welcome in this class! Go find an empty seat so we can get his class started shall we?” 

Everyone resumes their chatter as Jungkook tries to find a seat. The only available seat is the one beside you and he goes to it and sits. You felt empathy for him because you were just as nervous when you arrived to the high school as a new student an year ago. He rummages for his supplies and he stops for a second. 

He looks up to and his eyes widen, “Oh hey you’re the girl that I bumped with earlier. We haven’t formally met but I’m Jungkook nice to meet you.”

He puts his arm out and waits for you to shake it. You were still pretty awkward around people so that took you by surprise. 

“N-nice to meet you..” Your voice was being inaudible again and your shyness got the best of you. Jungkook grins at you as you try your best to communicate with him. “Well I hope we can get along well.. um what is your name?” You look up at him, 

“My name is Y/N.” You tried your best to be friendly and you even smile at him. Jungkook ultimately blushed at your cute gesture.

Professor begins to instruct the students what to do. For once you finally had the chance to speak with another student, you were proud of yourself. 

Yes! I got to talk to someone, if this keeps going I might be strong enough to have a conversation with Professor Seokjin!

Time in class flew by fast, you suddenly become very anxious ten minutes before class ends. Jungkook had quickly became less nervous and he spoke with classmates around him. 

You secretly wished you were that confident the first day of class. You never even got a hello from anyone.

You started to doubt yourself, maybe giving Professor Seokjin the letter isn’t a good idea. You might gain nothing from it and it’s just going to be you and your thoughts forever. 

You see that he’s passing around an assignment. Everyone groans and even you felt disgusted that you needed to do work during break. 

“Awe c’mon Professor Kim! It’s spring break next week!” Someone shouted. “Yeah I don’t want to do work!” Everyone began to to complain about the assignment. 

“Class I know you do not want work but you are in an advanced literature class and I expect that you do this work.” His strict voice gives everyone the chills, it was pretty rare to see him that way.

You’re the last one he gives the paper to and he mouths you a “hello” and a wink. Your heart flutters and you sigh with passion. Jungkook notices you looking at him with a huge grin on your face, he seems a bit confused but shrugs it off. 

The noise of the bell ringing doesn’t distract you from you spacing off. 

“Well have a nice day Y/N.” He looks to you but you’re still distracted by the was Seokjin’s hips moved as he walked. Jungkook’s voice snaps you back in reality, 

“Hmm?” He looked down upset but now that you gave him your attention he shyly smiles. 

“Bye Y/N.” He quickly runs off as two of your classmates call out his name. 

You felt Seokjin’s eyes glare at you as you took your stuff to leave. You carefully slip the envelope in your pocket. You find the perfect chance to meet him as he removed books off of his podium. You wait for him to turn around and as he does he looks surprised. 

“Can I help you Y/N?”

You hold your breath in. 

This is it Y/N don’t mess up! 

You hold out your shaking hand containing the envelope hovering it in front of him. 

You squeeze your eyes shut and yell, “I-I JUST WANTED TO GIVE YOU THIS PROFESSOR SEOKJIN I HOPE YOU HAVE A WONDERFUL SPRING BREAK.”

Your voice was loud and fast, you wanted the day to be over with. His eyes jolt open and he is completely surprised by the way you said it, nobody has ever heard you shout before. 

His hand reaches the envelope, “Thank y-” 

You find your way to the door and escape his presence. The last thing you saw was his cute grin. 

“He smiled.. he smiled.. What he smiled?!” You let out a high pitched squeal as your run to catch the bus.

Seokjin heard your squeal from afar and he chuckled. His hands rests on his hips and he turns the envelope around. It is sealed with a heart sticker. One of his brows lifts up, he strokes the sticker smirking at the childish envelope.

“A love letter I see.. hmm..” 

[mooncalfed]

I Have Listened To Every Lie : Chapter 3

Special update as a present for all the love I’ve received since @gukvory‘s recommendation

Previously: Chapter 2

There is nothing more soothing to Nara than the sound of water. Any form of water; from the crashing waves of the ocean and the deep bellow of a waterfall to the gentle percussion of rain and tinkle of a thin stream. Nara loves it all, but the one sound that rises above the rest is the hollow clopping of disturbed bathwater.

For as long as she can remember, Nara has always been a bath person. In times of great joy and drowning sadness she has always found solace in shutting herself into her bathroom, filling her tub with hot water, adding a few drops of oil and steaming the sorrows out of her body. There has always been something about watching roiling steam dissipate and listening to the loud echoes of water and nothing that somehow always brings Nara back to herself.

The event of bathing always instils a sense of self-worth and self-importance in Nara. Knowing that with a shift of her legs or a wiggle of her toes she is the instigator of sound, movement and a new wave of aroma comforts her. Far from being egotistic, it reminds her that there is at least something in her life that she can control, something that relies on her. She gets so little of that kind of assurance these days.

But today is different. Today her bath marks four months since she started her new life as a university student, a number, a figure, an unknown. She is happy, and has chosen her essential oil accordingly; grapefruit, tangy and sweet with spicy cloves and anise, rounded off with nutmeg and vanilla bean to soothe the citrus sting.

Nara opens her eyes. Her bathroom is full of steam and for a moment she is tricked into seeing her old bathroom; thick slabs of marble gilded by gold, but when she blinks the moisture out of her eyes she is greeted by the simpler, now-welcome sight of caesarstone and sterling silver.

She smiles a little and submerges her feet back into the water. Though the apartment is not at all modest - still a penthouse suite -, two months ago when she moved in it was still hard not to feel like she was downgrading to something lesser. Privately she admits to having a twinge of apprehension and perhaps disdain at the thought of having to share a sauna with her roommate, though now she enjoys coming home to such a place as she is not smothered by extravagance of the Min family name.

Her head falls back onto the folded towel behind her neck, and Nara breaks into a full grin. If this is what happiness is, such meagre mediocrity, then she would happily bask in it forever.

When Nara finishes her bath, it’s almost ten o’clock. By the time she finishes her nightly skin routine, it’s almost eleven fifty. Since it’s only a Saturday night and she’s in a good mood, Nara thinks she’ll have a nightcap before she goes to bed. She places her toothbrush back in its crystal cup and idly wonders if her Micha will join her.

Her roommate, obviously on the same train of thought as her is already in the kitchen, clad in a pair of soft cotton pyjamas and scrolling on her phone whilst sipping a glass of scotch. An empty glass sits beside the semi-full bottle and her thoughtfulness keeps Nara’s mood sickeningly buoyant.

“Is this for me?” She asks, very much knowing the answer.

Micha nods, looking back to her phone for one more second before putting it face down and giving Nara her full attention.

“I thought you’d like some, since you seem to be in such a good mood.”

Nara grins and laughs. “Am I really that transparent?”

“Yep”, Micha replies, popping the ‘p’ soundly. The swiftness of her answer bothers Nara somewhat, but she brushes it off.

She fills her chilled glass halfway, takes a deep drink and sets it back down. The liquor warms the part of her soul that the bath didn’t quite reach, and as she gazes into the amber liquid she feels utterly complete.

“So I take it class has been going well for you?” Micha offers.

“Yep”, Nara chirps, popping her ‘p’ (and earning her a sarcastic har har from Micha). “It feels like eons since I’ve been a student, though it’s really only been a few years.”

She taps her nails on the countertop while she ponders. “I have to say I was insanely nervous about the first few weeks, but I’ve realised that when you’re actually in class no one cares who you are.”

She looks down and a tiny, incredulous laugh leaves her.

“I spent the entirety of my first lecture wondering what an appropriate introduction would be if anyone were to introduce themselves to me.” Nara looks up at Micha with a sour twitch of her nose. “How one-percent of me, right?”

She continues with a dreamy sigh. “I mean, I love it. English literature has always been a favourite of mine, but with Yoongi and the wedding…” Suddenly she doesn’t have the courage to look her friend in the eye.

“It’s just - I’d forgotten how much words moved me. So that has been really great, but at the same time because I’ve done nothing literature related since high school, a lot of my classmates are not only much younger than me, but the information is still fresh in their minds. It took me ten minutes to remember the name of Hamlet’s sister the other day, ten whole minutes!”

“And that bothers you because?...” The sudden sound of Micha’s gravelly voice makes Nara flinch; she’d almost forgotten she was there.

Nara flicks a glance up at her friend. Micha, patient and knowing like always, has her fingers wrapped around her glass and waits for her answer.

“Well,” Nara looks back down to her hands and sombreness falls over her, “Well I just thought that I’d have no problem assimilating into being a student, but when I look at my classmates - some of them are seventeen. Seventeen, are you serious? - I just feel so ancient.”

She shakes her head. “It sounds like I’m just moaning, but I caught a girl staring at my wedding ring the other day, and it just suddenly hit me that oh my god these people are so young! And then after that it hit me that what the hell I’m only a few years older than them but I’m married and was headed for divorce? I feel like I’ve lived decades longer than they have, not just a couple of years!”

Realising the volume of her voice, Nara flushes and pulls the glass closer to her chest. When she glances at Micha, her friend’s face hasn’t changed and Nara is almost glad for that; she kind of doesn’t want to know what her friend is thinking.

“I just…” she sighs, “I feel so old. I feel different and singular and even though this is what I wanted, I kind of thought that being normal in itself made you different, you know?”

The scotch is bitter in her mouth. “But I guess being normal isn’t different unless you’re the one-percent. I guess I fetishized being ordinary a little more than I had let on.”

Silence rings in the kitchen, and when Nara finally looks up at her friend for something, anything, she’s surprised to find that an almost tender expression has overtaken Micha’s countenance.

“What?” she demands. A wave of irritation overcomes her because the expression is so like her mother in law’s typically dismissive one that she grips, “Oh don’t say I’m being childish. I know it already.”

Micha’s eyebrows shoot up and she gently says, “Actually I was going to say just the opposite; I think you’ve changed a lot in the last four months”

“Oh really?” Now it’s Nara’s turn to be surprised, but very quickly a bright smile overtakes her face. “I thought for a moment yo-”

The bright ding of an incoming call interrupts her and Nara starts, mutters a quick sorry gotta take this to Micha and pattering off to her room.

Micha’s pensive gaze follows her.

In the last four months, Min Nara had frustrated, bemused and bewildered Jung Micha to depths previously unexperienced by humankind. Micha was the typical single child that yearned for a sibling, and because of her closeness in age with Nara (just under two years) she took the younger under her wing with much enthusiasm. It was a decision that proved exasperating at the best of times.

She had originally welcomed Nara into her home for purely income purposes; unlike Nara’s family (who came from old money and prestige), Micha’s family had just come into their wealth. The apartment was a present from her father for excelling her university entry exams, but Micha was very well aware that it was still a significant investment of her parents’ hard-earned money.

From what she had heard, Nara was - ostensibly - the perfect girl; well mannered, beautiful, intelligent but not subversive, selective but not picky. Micha assumed that would make her the perfect roommate, and of course in many respects she was; she was neat, diligent and very respectful of private space. However in a matter of days, Micha realised that Nara was not at all the refined young woman she let on, but really a terribly fearful and lost little girl in desperate need of assurance and company.

First of all, Nara was incredibly spoilt. In the first two weeks of their living together Micha had to teach her ludicrously simple things such as how to hand wash dishes, how to connect a printer, how to catch public transport. For Micha, it was utterly amazing that Nara - a girl who at the snap of a finger could engage you in conversation about the intricacies of ginseng tea - was inept at so many basic things. But, on the other hand it made sense; why should Micha know how to hand wash dishes when the dishes were always loaded for her into the dishwasher? Why would she know how to catch public transport when even the family dog had its own chauffeur? Micha was at a loss.

In addition to this, Nara was unendingly moody. Some days she would be flighty and distracted, asking questions more stupid and simple than was usual for her, but Micha indulged her patiently just like a good older sister would. But then some days Nara could turn around and purposefully pick petty fights, throw tantrums and yell and scream and stamp her feet over things as small as the wrong scented soap or bath lotion. These outbursts often disappeared as quickly as they began, and Micha swore she got whiplash every single time.

Then came the disappearances. After a week of living together Micha noticed that every other night Nara didn’t come home but returned around midday without any sort of explanation. But, between grappling with Nara’s mood swings and her own busy life, she just never found the right time to ask. Naturally she expected that this secrecy would continue and so, slightly disappointed that her supposed “sister” was so reticent, was wholly surprised when Nara sat her down one night and not only explained her absence but confessed the true nature of her relationship with Min Yoongi as it stood.

From what Micha could digest, Nara and Yoongi had basically fucked their way to matrimony and regretted it. When Micha had tentatively asked why did you say yes to waiting on the divorce? Nara confessed that she lived in fear of her mother-in-law, and even more so what would happen if she found out that not only had Nara moved out of home but that she was studying instead of looking pretty and popping out baby after baby.

That night for Micha was life-changing. She thought she had people all figured out, and that though everyone was different the general population still behaved a certain way, but the incredible vulnerability Nara showed in telling her these things was bolstered by the strength and courage of youth and naivete. So yes, in many ways Nara still demonstrated incredibly coddled and sheltered behaviour, but from that night Micha knew that it was not only a front for her rather fragile self, but that it actually took bravery to be able to put on that facade in a time of such emotional and mental stress.

Amazingly, Min Nara was schooling Micha on the fluidity of human nature.

Fucking incredible, Micha thinks, and downs the last of her drink. No wonder she feels old. The poor girl is a medieval princess having an existential crisis.

As she places her glass in the sink and screws the cap back on the whisky, she finds herself being moved by a sudden wash of affection for the younger girl. Today, hearing her anxiety about her age versus her experience again reiterated to Micha just how worthy of kindness and sympathy Nara was.

She nods to herself and walks to her bedroom, flipping off the light and closing the door. As she brushes her teeth, slips on her nightdress and gathers the remnants of her thoughts, Micha finally understands why Nara asks dense questions, cries over having to make her own bed and makes a scene when there’s no yoghurt in the fridge.

It is because it is in a child’s nature to lean on those around them in times of distress, fear and need; to throw all they have in the hands to the floor and lay down and weep endlessly. Getting to university and attempting to live a relatively normal student life took all of the nerve and strength that Nara had and she hadn’t the forethought to think what next?, so now she was tired and afraid and so of course to a degree she would regress to old behaviour; instilled in her through years of butlers and maids being at her beck and call.

The next day Nara is in class, sitting at the back row just as she has every class. Her blazer is folded delicately on the seat beside her and her dark rimmed, large framed shades placed neatly on top. The course she’s taking is a capstone class for all literature majors, and this week’s work is Macbeth - one of her favourite Shakespearean plays.

Just as she is losing herself in the husky vocals of Michael Fassbender and mouthing the words “Out, out, brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more”, a soft voice interrupts her.

“Hey. Do you have a pen I can borrow?”

It’s halfway through the lecture, what is this person doing asking for one now? Her eyes snap open in annoyance and she turns to the right. The owner of the voice is a boy her age, tired-looking but quite earnestly handsome. His hand is bridging the distance between them, outstretched and expectant. They’re beautiful fingers, Nara notes. Inwardly rolling her eyes at herself she picks up a pen from her lilac pencil case and delicately places it in his hand, then turns back to the screen and closes her eyes.

When the lecture draws to a close, Nara quietly but efficiently packs up (the way all her classmates do) and is about to walk out when she remembers her pen. Is it polite to ask someone for a pen back? She wonders, and hesitates. She wasn’t taught this in etiquette class.

But, she decides that in the spirit of taking back her own life she has to ask for her pen back and so she approaches the boy from behind, just in time to see the kid’s boldly drawn caricatures of their lecture. Beside the images are short, sarcastic scribbles and quotes from the play and without meaning to she laughs.

The sound makes him turn around and Nara is embarrassed at the slip of decorum. She presses her lips together, folds her hands and is in the middle of chastising herself when the boy dips his head, catches her eye and says, “Were you laughing at me?”

She nods with a bashful grin. “Yes. Your images were very amusing.”

The boy grins. “Why thanks.” A moment of silence, and then he turns to the table, grabs her pen and offers it to her. “You have a beautiful smile.”

The compliment surprises her immensely, because Nara can’t remember the last time she received one without other intentions. She studies the boy carefully and upon detecting no ulterior motive, she nods her head and pockets her pen.

She turns to leave and walks rather quickly, wanting to avoid any sort of alien situation with a stranger, but the boy catches up to her.

“Hey! I was wondering if we could have lunch together? My name is Taehyung.” He grins, outstretches his hand for a shake and with a sigh Nara looks at his beautiful palm. Despite her hesitance, somehow Taehyung has already begun chattering away and suddenly Nara is walking to lunch, buying lunch and then sitting down for lunch with a person that she has never met.

Despite her misgivings, Nara is having a great time. She learns that Kim Taehyung is an acting major with a minor in music production. Literature is just an elective, mainly to satisfy his grandmother, who was an author, and his father, an English teacher (“English also happens to be my worst subject” he says with smile just a little too smug). He talks quite incessantly, but that’s mostly because Nara doesn’t answer any of the personal questions he asks her. She can tell that the conversation is slowing down because of this and the dread rises in her, knowing that at some point if she ever wants to make a friend, she’ll have to tell him who she is.

“Nara?”

She starts. Oh damn, she grimaces. With all her brooding she must have missed a question. Great job Nara, secretive and an airhead, way to go!

Taehyung seems to take her no-answer as a refusal and sighs. Nara knits her brows together at her patheticness.

“Sorry if I’m coming off too enthusiastically. I’m actually really just nervous; the only reason I asked you to lunch was because none of my friends go to university here and while everyone seems to know each other, you and I are the only ones that sit alone.”

He flicks a glance at her and sighs again. “Look, I’ll leave you alone if that’s what you want. Sorry I bothered you.”

Nara is utterly moved. How could she have mistaken his quirky nervousness as flirtatiousness? She realises that he is just a lonely boy and her heart goes out to him. Before he can move, she places her hand on his and says, “No, I’m sorry. Sit down. I didn’t mean to be unfriendly.”

If Taehyung is surprised by her sudden change in mood he doesn’t show it - save for the huge grin that doesn’t leave his face -, and for the first time in a long while Nara can laugh all the way to her eyes.

Next: Chapter 4

[3rdgymbros]

sweet, sweet superstar

( PROMPT: I met you online, and I think I’ve fallen in love with you yet I have no idea who you are, so I suggested we meet and wHAT DO YOU MEAN “just come after filming” are you kidding me?? How am I supposed to get past security they won’t let me in!!! )

A/N: IN CASE YOU HAVEN’T HEARD, MY HUSBAND’S - TOM HOLLAND - IS IN SINGAPORE, AND I AM PRAYING THAT I’LL MEET HIM BEFORE I HAVE TO GO TO LONDON, BUT HOW DO YOU FIND TOM HOLLAND??? WHERE DOES HE GO??? AND NO ONE WILL GO WITH ME TO CHECK OUT HIS HOTEL. I COULD CRY. I HAVE BEEN PRAYING FOR HIM TO COME TO SINGAPORE, AND NOW THAT HE’S HERE, I CAN’T EVEN SEE HIM. WHAT IS THIS LIFE. ( In other news, this will be a drabble series featuring famous! Peter Parker. And let’s be real - all the comments we make about our husbands would probably get us laid or slapped. I went with the former. )

Taglist (permanent): @mainspidey | @x-wing-starwriter |@tomsleftbrow |@tryn25|@tanglefire | @midnight-memorial | @tiny-friggin-human |@tacklemyackles|@fangeekkk |@beamagtuto | @captainaudreystark | @hellosuperewczi | @dasia-aye

You’re in the lecture theater, listening to a yawn-inducing lecture about classroom management, when your phone pings and vibrates inside your jacket pocket, sending a tremor up your arm. A little too eagerly, you yank it out, clicking open the LINE app, a smile blooming across your face when you see who the message is from.

vnderoos: Hey, (Y/n)! How’s your day going? 

You’d met your friend over Tumblr. The two of you shared a joint obsession for up-and-coming Spiderman actor Peter Parker, and you’d found a firm and loyal friend in him, quickly ranting to him about your classmates, your school, how stressed you were when the due dates for turning in assignments rolled around . . . You’d learnt he was home-schooled, and didn’t share your woes about school, but he’d quickly chimed in with stories about his friends to make you laugh. And, as they said, the rest was history.

Your reply is quick, your thumbs practically flying over the keypad.

you: Better now that you’ve texted. <3 What about you? How’ve you been?

Tracing his icon – the spider symbol on Spiderman’s costume – you’re sure that there’s a goofy, love-struck smile on your face as you wait for his reply almost impatiently. Your friend, Judith, waggles her eyebrows at you, but you ignore her. You’ll admit that harbouring feelings for a boy who lives halfway around the world is only setting yourself up for heartbreak – especially since you don’t even know what he looks like – but you’ve always had a soft spot for kind and caring boys, and vnderoos seems like exactly that.

You know the chances of meeting up with him are zero to none, but that doesn’t stop your mind from creating dreams of you and him together, a happy couple, to take you away from reality.

vnderoos: It’s good! The weather’s a bit hot – I played a game of golf in a pair of black skinny jeans, and I swear I sweated off ten pounds after. 😅

you: 😂 Ahahahaha, you should try Singapore weather. I can bet you won’t last ten minutes here.

vnderoos: Speaking of Singapore . . .  This might be a bit sudden, but would you like to meet up? I’m actually in Singapore now, and I’d like to meet you!

You have to refrain yourself from frantically typing out a string of yeses.

you: Cool! That would be great. Where do you have in mind?

vnderoos: How about Marina Bay Sands? The Art Science Museum? I can meet you at 5, just come after the meet-and-greet session!

Your brows draw together in confusion. Meet-and-greet session?

you: Wait what?? Meet-and-greet??

vnderoos: You’ll see when you get there.

you: uh, there’s one problem?? I won’t be able to go in??

Your mind fills with an awful vision of you being dragged away by a squad of policemen, kicking and screaming. Your mother won’t be happy if she gets a phone call stating that her child’s wound up in jail for unlawful entry.

vnderoos: I’ll take care of it! 😉 Please, (Y/n)? I’ll be your best friend!

And just like that, you agree to go.

you: Sure. I’ll see you at 5?

vnderoos: See you! 

“I’m here to meet a friend!” You argue. You’ve never even heard of a guest list for a conference room. But then again, you'd never had any reason to visit one. “I’ve been invited!”

Marina Bay Sands is an understated, elegant shopping mall named after the place it was built – Marina Bay. The mall is filled with fancy, designer shops, with clothes that cost more than your entire lifetime’s allowance. The Marina Bay Sands Hotel is located several feet away from the mall. It’s a new, modern hotel that whispers of luxury. There’s even a famous infinity pool that overlooks the Singapore skyline. The Art Science Museum is shaped like a giant, white lotus, an elegant flower against the grey Singapore skyline. You shiver, feeling more than just a little out of place in this luxurious place, with its marbled floor and glass panels. You’d tried to make your way over to the door, but you’d found your way barred by a cadre of stony-faced security guards.

“Do you have an invitation?” One of them demands, crossing his arms over his chest and looking balefully at your mismatched outfit. You’re wearing a pink ribbed T-Shirt with a beaded necklace, denim shorts over black leggings, and a pair of scuffed red Converse. “This event is by invitation only.”

“I only heard about it today,” You groan.

“I'm sorry, you're not on the list,” The security guard says, apparently savouring the rejection. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

You’re debating if you should find a quiet bench and think of another way to sneak inside, when a boy appears from behind a hidden doorway. His eyes take in the scene before him, and he instantly understands what’s going on. He marches over. He’s dressed casually, in a flannel shirt, a pair of jeans and a pair of well-worn Converse.

“Hey,” He says, addressing you. “Are you (F/n) (L/n)?”

Awestruck at being in the presence of famous teen actor Ned Leeds, you manage to nod, your mouth agape. “Y-Yeah. And you’re –”

“Yup,” He says, popping the ‘p’. He raises his voice and addresses the security guards. “She’s with me.”

The security guards part before him, like the Red Sea before Moses, and a little dazed, you walk through them to join Ned. Your head is spinning, a satellite out of orbit. Ned Leeds. Ned Leeds. If Ned notices your awestruck expression, he doesn’t show it as he leads you into the elevator made of glass. He hits the button for level 5, and the lift glides upwards, fast as a speeding bullet.

“Thanks,” You say gratefully. “I was worried I’d have to crawl through the vents.”

Ned chuckles. He hands you a lanyard, with the word VIP stamped over it. A little awed, you stare at it, clenched loosely in your hand, before transferring it to around your neck. “Sorry about that. Security’s been really tight. Pete said you were coming, but they probably didn’t get the message.” He says. “So you’re the girl Pete’s been crazy over?”

“Pete?” You ask, confused. “Who’s Pete?”

Amazingly, Ned starts laughing, nearly doubling over with the force of his laughter. “He really didn’t tell you? Oh, man, I can’t believe him.”

The two of you stop at an oak panelled door, flanked by yet another hellion of security guards. This time, you aren’t stopped. Ned and you practically breeze through the heavy doors. He leads you into a conference room, which is crowded with press, screaming teenage girls and children. The lights are too blinding, the room too crowded, the canned music more or less obscene, and you want more than anything to run away. As if sensing your thoughts, Ned grabs you gently by the arm, expertly steering you through the mass of people.

“Thanks,” You say on a grimace.

“It’s cool. It can be a little overwhelming, honestly.” He laughs again. “You should have seen Pete’s face the first time he got mobbed by the press.”

You laugh, a tad uncertainly, wondering again who ‘Pete’ is. You look around, smiling at the gap-toothed children dressed in Spiderman-themed outfits, and at the overly-wound up teenagers chanting, “Peter, Peter, Peter!” You even recognize several local celebrities in the mix.

“Hey, where is Peter Parker, anyway?” You ask curiously, wondering if you can snap a picture with him before your meet-up – if you can find vnderoos in this crowd, anyway. “I’d like to get a picture with him, if I could.”

Ned looks way too amused at that, but before you can quiz him on it, a breathless and familiar voice calls out, “(Y/n)!”

Try as you might, you can’t locate the person who’d called you. Ned, very obligingly, provides help by steering you gently over to a circle of kids, all of whom are busy taking selfies with Peter Parker. He’s dressed in a fitted dark blue T-shirt, crisp black jeans, and a pair of brand-new Converse. He looks absolutely drool-worthy. You think you stop breathing when he looks at you and breaks into a heart-stopping smile, waving gaily. Faintly, you wonder if it’s Ned he’s waving to, but his eyes are resting on you, as though he’s memorising and committing every plane of your face to memory. Your name is shouted out again.

“Help help,” You mutter under your breath, “Peter Parker knows my name, PETER PARKER KNOWS MY NAME.”

Ned, very suspiciously, looks as though he’s trying not to burst out laughing. Peter Parker jogs over, punching Ned in the arm lightly before he turns to you. If it’s possible, his smile widens, and the soft, sweet look in his warm brown eyes makes the butterflies in your belly multiply.

“(Y/n), hey,” He says, and much to your surprise, throws his arms around you. “It’s great to finally meet you.”

You can hear the cameras clicking frantically. Your face is going to be plastered all over The Straits Times tomorrow. Dimly, you wonder if this is some figment of your imagination, but Peter’s warm and real in your arms, and this reality is infinitely better than anything you could have dreamed of.

All too soon, he pulls away, still regarding you with his warm, soft smile. Flushed with embarrassment and panic, you look at anywhere but at Peter.

“Um. Hi,” You say, mortified by how high and squeaky your voice sounds. “Have we met? No, we can’t have met, I would have definitely remembered you.”

You’re rambling. You have to press your lips together so that you don’t say anything remotely embarrassing.

“Dude,” Ned chips in, “You didn’t tell her? What gives?”

“Ned, c’mon, I was planning to eventually –”

Having absolutely no clue as to what they’re talking about, you raise your brows in a silent WTF? If you were among friends, you wouldn’t hesitate to loudly proclaim your lack of understanding. But, to your credit, you manage to remain silent while Peter and Ned trade telepathic messages and engage in a silent stare-off.

Peter inhales deeply, as though bracing himself for something incredibly painful, and turns to face you. “(Y/n), do you – you know vnderoos? The guy you’ve been talking to for about a year now?”

“Yeah, what about – Oh. Oh.” It’s a bright, blinding revelation, a firecracker going off in your brain.

Suddenly your knees are quivering like a bowl of Jello.

“Oh. Oh. Oh schist.” Your face feels far too warm for your liking, and you’re not sure if you want to laugh or cry. “That means . . .”

All your embarrassing ( not to mention salacious ) tags. Please get me a date with Peter Parker, I am desperate. Could you get me a date with Peter instead? Abs for DAYS. DAMN SON. I’m cRYING, HE’S IN SINGAPORE NOW LET ME MEET MY HUSBAND. All your fanfiction.

Peter Parker’s seen it all.

“Oh – Oh no no, I’m so sorry!” You cry, flustered and upset and panicky, wishing to high heavens that the floor would open up and swallow you whole. “I shouldn’t have –”

“No, no, it’s okay!” Catching sight of your horror-struck expression, Peter quickly rushes to reassure you. “I meant it when I said you’re an amazing writer! Your comments were really – Really, uh – Interesting to read, and –”

Ned pipes up, a tad dryly, “You should have heard his screams when he read I’m Sorry I Fell in Love Tonight. I didn’t know his voice could reach that pitch.”

“Ned! Not cool, man –”

“And there was this really girly squeal when you wrote that you wanted to kiss his ‘cute little face’ –”

“Ned, no! Stop!”

You let out a weak laugh, your head spinning crazily. Your online friend’s just turned out to be Peter Parker. Your ( real-life ) friends aren’t going to believe this.

“Are we – We’re still friends, right? I mean. If you still want to be friends.” You have to ask. “If you’re not mad or creeped out, or disgusted.”

“Yeah!” Peter says quickly. “I mean, yeah, as in I still want to be friends! I’m definitely not creeped out or anything like that.”

“You’re not?”

“No. A little – okay, very – flattered, actually,” The corners of his lips turn up in that heart melting smile, and you release a breath you weren’t aware you’d been holding. “It’s not every day you hear that the girl you like wants to kiss you.”

It takes you a second for it to sink in; and even then, you’re unsure if you’ve heard him correctly. But there’s no lie. Even under the pulsing lights, the blush staining Peter’s cheeks is unmistakable. Discreetly, you pinch yourself, and the sharp pain radiating up your arm is proof that you aren’t dreaming.

“The offer still stands,” You say, slightly taken aback by how bold you’re being. “Uh, if you want to.”

There’s a moment of hesitation, and you think, oh great (Y/n), you’ve gone and done it this time, but then Peter bends to kiss you, soft and sweet, brushing his lips over yours. There’s a loud whoop from somewhere far off, and you can hear the cameras going crazy, but you can deal with that later.

Right now, you cling to Peter, enjoying how he fits perfectly against you, how warm and soft his lips are, and you could float away because nothing has ever felt this perfect and right as this.

[pinieeplays]

I wanted to make this post before this year’s Brightshine Jubilee begins. It’s a collage(?) of all the entries I’ve entered into Flight Rising’s skin and accents contests. And since I’ve entered every contest since the first one, there’s quite a lot to show! Winning entries have gold borders, honorable mentions have blue borders.

Below is some reminiscing and/or notes about my entries.

For most contests I usually try to enter two entries. Sometimes they’re completely different and other times they’re two versions of the same accent. Pictured are the entries that won, I think I got an honorable mention for, or the ones I like best.

I’ve gotten 11 honorable mentions and 10 wins, not counting non-festival contests. Out of 44 contests, I have a 22.7% win rate, and 47.7% win/HM rate. I suppose that’s pretty good?

I have yet to win a Plague, Earth, Shadow, or Nature contest. I keep telling myself that I’ll stop entering when I have a winning entry in all elemental festivals but idk

I have no idea why I win so many Fire contests. Maybe I should move to Fire.

Around the second year, the admins noticed that they’ve been giving me too many HMs and stopped giving me them as frequently. At least, that’s my theory. :P

The Smoke Gyre skin in Fire’s first festival got an HM. Then when I entered it in the first coliseum contest, it won alongside my Rainbow Sprite entry. 

The Mana Relic accent in the Swipp contest was actually made in the 2nd year but it didn’t get implemented in the game until the third year so

When Firebird Feathers won in Fire’s second contest, they actually modified it so it wasn’t as bright and the shadows/lines were more visible. I’m not complaining that they did that but it just seems odd to me??? Especially since I can’t see them doing that today.

A lot of the later entries were made at the last minute, due to me getting a full time job + procrastination. Potash Peach Keeper in Fire’s fourth festival was actually very last minute since I couldn’t finish it before I went on a vacation out of town. My sister encouraged me to finish it anyway so I worked on it on her laptop and without an actual desk. It was kinda painful actually but hey it won! I was so sure it wasn’t going to win that I actually made a more detailed version to sell later and I never got to use:

-Crystal Ripples in Earth’s fourth festival was made the same conditions as Potash Peach Keeper, only I started it and finished it while on vacation. I have no idea how it won an honorable mention.

-There was a gem marketplace skin contest in the first year that I entered but didn’t win. I forgot to put that in the collage but I entered a few entries for that. Here’s a skin I made specifically for the contest, based off a Dusky Lorikeet:

-I’d like to say that I’ve improved over the last four years but I honestly can’t say for certain. Sometimes I don’t have the right idea to really drive me or I don’t have enough time to really work on an entry. But I can say that it's better for me to keep on entering than to not enter at all! I suppose that’s my final thoughts on the matters. Here’s to hoping I can keep my streak going~

[elle-stevens]

The Break Up Blog - Day Thirty Nine

This is getting harder and harder to do every day. 

Don’t get me wrong, keeping a blog about my feeling since breaking up with X has been helpful and even cathartic to an extent. But dredging up every moment in my memory and every feeling that comes with it is exhausting. 

I slept alright save for the hours when I kept waking up and stressing about class. Every Friday, the students now have to write a diary entry in the books that C designed. Simple in theory, right? Except the elementary students at our school seem to genuinely have zero English skills. Or they have the requisite skills, but get completely flustered when they actually have to use it, kinda like me and my ambiguous relationship with Mandarin. 

So I changed the topics for grades 3 and 4 and thought that simplifying their task would help by writing vocabulary on the board. It kinda worked with grade 3 and all the students in my class managed to write a few sentences each. 

But grade 4? 

For 40 minutes, I sincerely thought that I was in a zoo and all the wild animals had gotten loose. One of my autistic students had a very OCD day and wouldn’t stop shouting out ‘The bus isn’t here!’ in Korean, too many of my boys were queuing up in front of the classroom computer to use the online dictionary. And of course, SB had a dumb fight with with another student, E, and legit walked out of my class and slammed the door on top of it. 

I’d love to say that the latter pissed me off simply because SB was in the middle of it. But he’s actually been relatively well-behaved in class in the last two weeks, almost like he’s had a lobotomy. And honestly, by the time he pulled that crap on me, I was too exhausted and dumb-founded to take offence. Now that I’m thinking on it now, I definitely need to tell SH about what happened in class. I hate to bother her about it because she already has to deal with this nonsense as their homeroom teacher, but I’ve just had it with the total disregard for my authority in class. 

I was forced to sit in the grade 6 homeroom and wait for them even though I knew they wouldn’t make it for class while having their school event during the day. I don’t get why the homeroom teachers force the foreign teachers to hang about like chumps during school events in the unlikelihood that the event will finish early and we’ll be able to pick up the slack with the dregs of the class period? It’s starting to feel like I went back to university two years ago and got a teaching certificate for nothing. I’m just an over-glorified babysitter at this point in my life and it sucks. 

N came to find me while I kept the grade 6 classroom warm (or chilled in this case because the afternoon was hot af). She wanted to have her ‘official’ conversation with me about renewing my contract at the school. I did change things up a bit when N mentioned tried to persuade me to consider applying for a teaching position in the high school department of our school. I initially wanted to do that months ago, but ML was pretty adamant that I was unable to change the terms of my contract since my school only hires high school teachers in the second semester and my contract ends in February next year. Never mind the fact that I initially interviewed for a high school position at my school before coming to my city, but got recruited into the elementary department at the last second when one of the teachers broke his contract in the middle of the school year. But who really cares about minor details like that? 

I told N I’d keep an open mind about it if she could swing things for me to work teach high school instead. I stopped considering it before when I thought that ML would stay in the managerial position for another year. But C told me that ML’s going back to Korea next year, so working under a new manager might actually be better. H might get pissed off at me for switching departments though; she’d probably take it as a personal affront to her management style. It is in part because of that, but honestly, I’m just done in general with this school. It’s too much bullshit layered with bullshit at every turn. 

After my meeting with N, I went back to my office, only for H to talk to me about a punishment I gave my fifth graders two days when they wouldn’t shut up in class. Instead of disciplining the students in my own way, H suggested that I turn the classroom in a democracy and let the students decide on their own punishments and rewards in the near future. It’s a great idea in theory, but now that I think about it, it’s basically an FU to the teacher. As it turns out, I’m pretty much irrelevant in my own classroom. 

And people actually wonder why teachers want to leave this school...

I saw N and ML talking out of the corner of my eye while H talked to me. I guess N gave ML the ‘good news’ about me wanting to leave. I could care less at this point. H’s eyes looked strangely red-rimmed during our talk, like she was seconds away from crying. I wonder if she heard about my news already? Who knows and honestly, who cares at this point? 

I’m over it. 

Still, I sat with CI at lunch and we had a good talk about our different classroom woes. He’s become a really good work buddy, I’m glad that C picked him out from a sea of what was probably a lot of crap teachers. Even talking to N about some of my minor grievances helped too. I even found time during the day to perform surgery on a clay doll one of my third grade girls made that had its leg and sword hilt (I don’t know what kids are into these days, lol) ripped off by her classmate. I went home to get my glue gun because the departmental ones are suddenly missing and I sutured the old sport’s injuries. Then I left said doll in the third grade homeroom, I hope my little chica finds it there. 

All of this dumb shit that happened - It’s ok really when I think about it. Now I know that I’m done with being treated this way. Good luck to my school principal with finding teachers that are half as competent and caring as C, me and even CI, even though he’s staying another year. 

After all the fuckery at work and the number that X pulled on me, I’m done with people taking me for a James Blunt in my professional and personal capacities.

‘James Blunt’ in this case is British rhyming slang. Do yourself a favour and look it up, it’ll give you a good laugh. 

I may look like a ‘James Blunt’, I may even act like a ‘James Blunt’ when I’m taking the piss. But don’t get it twisted: I am not a fucking James Blunt by any stretch of the imagination.  You can’t fuck with me and expect me to treat you the same way ever again. 

It only needs to happen once. And after that, I’m done with you. I may smile at you and even help you with things from time to time. But I will never open myself up to you again. 

That’s what happened to X in the end and I can see how it will happen with some of my current colleagues as the months progress. I thought it was kind of C watching C and H’s friendship turn to shit in real time when H became our manager. But I get how it happened: when you get a little of anything good, it makes you selfish and you end up turning on the people around you. 

I did that when I dated X. She became the centre of my universe and I lost track of everything and everyone. I even had a huge fight with P and G because of X when I used too much bandwidth from the family router to video call X every day for a year. 

That was a really bad fight and the way my siblings looked at me while it happened still haunts me. It’s like they saw me, but an uglier version, and they didn’t like it one bit. 

I shudder when I think of that memory, especially when it was all for nothing with X. I nearly lost my relationship with my brother and sister over X. And what the fuck was even the point of it all? 

I don’t ever want to be that way again the next time I fall in love. I want to go into the whole affair with my eyes completely open. 

There were some positives at work. Besides having some good heart-to-hearts, my colleagues really liked the coconut tarts I baked for them. Even if they were just blowing smoke up my ass, it felt good to hear the compliments and know that I’m not sucking at this too. 

I’m feeling really tired today, so I hope I have enough energy to exercise in a little while. I ordered dinner from a chicken restaurant below my apartment complex, I’ll cook something tomorrow. Since R wants me to charge me an arm and a leg for a physiotherapy consultation, I made an appointment at a local clinic tomorrow instead so a doctor can look at my right arm that keeps twinging whenever I move it. I hope someone speaks English there, I’m tired of floundering about like a beached whale with zero Chinese speaking skills. 

My sinuses are still pestering me, but not as bad as before. I still have to check through my student diaries this weekend and mark and correct them. That’s a problem that can wait till tomorrow after I’ve had a good night’s sleep. D’s birthday gift finally arrived, I also have to figure out when I can drop it off at her apartment. 

I just want to rest this weekend and not think about anything. After Sunday, I’ll be done with my current workout programme; I might switch to something simpler like swimming after this. 

I’m just done. 

My body and brain need a proper rest. 

I might stop writing these blog entries after Sunday is over, I’ll see how I feel. Right now, I don’t want to think and just drift off deeper into myself.

[pretty-volatile]

Journal entry

Thursday, June 6th, 2019 1:40am

So I realized I haven't really journaled in a hot minute and I'm trying to keep track of shit so I know what to bring up when I finally see the psychiatrist.

First of all, only 15 more days until my appointment. I'm still self medicating with weed, but my usage varies day to day. Some days I don't need to smoke AS much, some days I need a lot of help, some days I'm okay but I just want to have fun. My tolerance is higher so I can do daytime use without being affected really. I feel it helps with the anger episodes too. It used to teeter between being helpful/unhelpful for when I was feeling down. Sometimes it would make the overthinking worse because it'd be harder to pull myself out. Lately, I've been exploring my emotions more and being high just helps me open up but kind of numbs some of the pain I might experience. It's more of an emotional trip.

Second of all, I really fucked up this quarter. I'm a 4th year college student and I had already accepted that I need longer, but like. I am worried that I might get kicked out lol. I was Subject to Dismissal ever since I failed my entire Winter Quarter 2018. Oops. Then the next quarter I thought I was going to be able to pick shit back up but then I couldn't keep up so I dropped out of the quarter Week 10 (literally the last week of the quarter lolol). Ever since then I've been trying so damn hard to keep school up while my mental health just kept failing me. I'd start out new every new beginning of a quarter and then by Week 4 I'd start falling behind because I just didn't want to do anything. I couldn't. But then there was a time or two that I was able to pick my ass back up and got decent enough grades to go onto the next thing. This quarter started out pretty well. I was on top of shit til about Week 5 or 6 or something. But I fucking finally cracked this quarter. I had started to pick up on some of my habits, and then I looked up Borderline Personality Disorder and I just lost it. I opened the floodgates to some memories that I had forgotten about or blocked out. Everything started to connect and I started to experience trauma on top of present reality. It was TERRIBLE. Still is but like. It was just so overwhelming to recognize things I didn't even know I did or I didn't know that they weren't okay. Then I reached out to my therapist and I was like I think I have BPD. Of course she couldn't diagnose me because she's not a psychiatrist, but she has experience with supper groups for folx with BPD and she has experience with DBT. But she kept bringing up that she thought it was more likely that I have bipolar disorder. I was still set on BPD. Trying to think of all the symptoms that I experience and match with. I was obsessed with proving there was something wrong with me or that I needed help. Part of me was also thinking "There has to be something wrong because if not, then I really am just a piece of shit...." My insomnia has been pretty bad, which the only thing that helps is...you guessed it!....weed. which sometimes it fed into it too so I'd have to smoke so much that I didn't know what the fuck I was doing. I started to accept the possibility of bipolar disorder too and I was trying to pay attention to my mood(s) more too. Since I was aware of the symptoms of BPD and then later on bipolar, I was starting to pick up when a change was starting to happen so I could warn my partner. At one point my mood was like I was starting over again every single day. It'd start out moderately good and then by the end of the night I'd be breaking down crying about how I didn't want to go to bed just to start the whole day over again. During that time it was EXTREMELY hard to pull myself out of my depression/emptiness. Then once that nightmare stopped my mood switched to being hypomanic for about 6 days. Then right when I needed to get my shit together for school, I started to fall again. At first it was a numb "I don't want to do anything, life is dull, what's the point, fuck it". Then I just became really really sad overall. I didn't want to get out of bed or do chores. I didn't go to class. It was just TOO MUCH but like it made me feel like shit because I knew I needed to go.

Oh and all while I was experiencing most of this, my therapist has been away on medical leave since May 17th and the last time that I actually talked to her was yesterday (6/5 @ 1pm) but it was just for a brief 20 minute call. But we'll be able to pick things right back up when she gets back. I only have to wait 11 more days, so that's good.

Oh and my like impulsive behaviors/reckless shit (for me) was like spending money on food outside of groceries way more than I should have....I got a really bad case of the fuck its and I couldn't really say no because if I didn't buy snacks and food that we didn't have to make we wouldn't have eaten (we as in my partner & I) because of my lack of motivation and energy to do anything at all. I got to use my eating disorder as an excuse to feed into my impulses, oops. Oh and of course I'm addicted to smoking cigarettes and like I smoke weed all the fucking time so I guess those could be some other "reckless" behaviors :P I don't really drink much because of my mother's alcoholism and PTSD. I've had tendencies in the past and when I turned 21 I had a bit of a freak out, but now I'm just like. I'll drink if everyone else is too or if it's for a show or if I just wanted some tall can of yummy stuff at home. Otherwise I REALLY prefer being stoned. It lasts longer. There's not really any PTSD associated with it, debatable but still. It helps me get over the anxiety of dealing with people or strangers specifically. Unfamiliar places with a shit ton of people are definitely a trigger for some panic episode or anger episode. I'll turn into a sour bitch for no reason other than that all the people freaked me out that much. I'm very much like I want a whole separate world for my partner & I and our friends so that we don't have to deal with shitty or creepy people....I like people once I get to know them and stuff but otherwise I'm just like SocIalIZing? Psssh ha...no. That also made it difficult to go to class because I got antisocial as fuck. I LOVE going for walks and doing errands while stoned and listening to music, but like...interacting with people? Having attention drawn onto me? Nooooooo thanx.

Finding out the BPD stuff though weirdly helped me to start talking to other humans again? Kind of? I mean it was mostly me like venting or whatever but I was actually talking to people? (Via messaging mostly) lololol the funniest thing is that a fp was the reason I even looked up BPD. I developed a "crush" first and then later I looked up BPD because I was like ya know... I wanna know. I looked it up once before because there was a time that we thought my mom had BPD. Come to find out, she had bipolar instead. But I remember the first time I looked it up I was like "ha! Some of these symptoms/signs are personally calling me out" but I was mostly looking at it to understand my mom so I wasn't really thinking about myself that much. Plus when I looked it up first, I was still disassociating pretty bad that I wasn't entirely aware of what I was doing or how I was feeling. But when I looked it up the second time... literally EVERYTHING or just about everything that was coming up was exactly how I was feeling or how I have felt in the past. Then I found out about the Favorite Person thing and I was like oof, that's some...that's some shit right there. I still have to sort out what relationships/crushes were actually crushes or just a fp thing that eventually faded away into me not talking to them anymore. That was really fun to admit to my fp that they were the reason I looked up BPD. Lol but we did have a good conversation and like I tried to talk to other people that either understood second hand or first hand. Another person I talked to has BPD, and the other already has mental health issues and his fiance has BPD (so they both understand). Found I am/was an fp to another person that I apparently inspired him to finally go get the help he needs, but like he just had to fuck it up recently by bringing up a touchy subject. I can only imagine how angry or upset he is with me for not responding, which is also why I don't want to answer because I'm too scared with that kind of pressure of being someone's fp 😭😓🙈🙊 sorry bud....just had to bring up something that happened to be a touchy topic 😅

Lately I've really been trying to use music to get me through shit again. Back in high school all I would do at home was stay up, listen to music, draw, write poetry, watch movies, stay up on my phone or laptop. And I was creative as fuck! I've been trying to listen to old music, which also helped me realized just how much help I need(ed) because of how much I would relate to this music and this music was like really deep and really...just it was concerning that is as so young and connecting with what these adults are singing about. It also helped unlock memories. unlocked old feelings. Lots of drifting. But now my music listening is a little more controlled and I used to go on these emotional trips full of memories and just letting myself get swept off into it. I probably can only do this successfully since I eventually said fuck it to the rest of this quarter. (I saved one class but uh unless my professors can make my BPD/bipolar go away then there's nothing we can do.) But like the emotional trips have been really therapeutic for me honestly. Sometimes I feel a little "aw fuck that's all I did today, oops". But other than that it's been helpful. I was also able to draw! I've done like 3 drawings within the like past week ish. Which is more than I thought I'd be able to do. For the longest time I was so blocked off from my emotions and thoughts, I'd feel like drawing but once I sat down it was hard to start it or finish it. Or I'd be able to do like 1 good one every few months. Back in high school I was constantly drawing and even into the beginning of college, but once I started disassociating it was like bye bye creative motivation. Obviously I don't want to take advantage of this burst of creative motivation but like it feels REALLY good. I eventually want to get back into poetry too. I'm actually an art hoe, but when I disassociated I like had no drive to document anything nor the mental capacity/awareness to connect the dots. Which really cramped on me being artsy because my whole art experience is fluid, just let it take me where I need to go. I did some poetry within the last year though. Mainly relating to addiction/alcoholism/insomnia. I'm very much an emotional set type person. It's almost always centered around a feeling or situation that invokes feelings/thoughts.

Okay that's even impressive that I got this much of journaling done, but I think I should stop now. This is long enough and now my thoughts are just kinda scattered and I'm too tired to keep coming back to any points I'm making. This was meant to just be a check in but it turned into like a full on documentation of how I've been feeling or whatever. Whew exhausted. Maybe I'll jot shit down again later after I reread my post later. Goodnight for now ✌