#we were supposed to hang out yesterday but our schedules conflicted and then they said they were free all day today but haven’t responded to

[dreamyzworldlove]

i feel kinda stupid waiting to meet up with this person ://

[endlich-allein]

Interview with Till about his life: he fought with his father, killed his beloved dog, swam on a wild river and worked on suffering. How Till Lindemann's mind works

"I will finish you off" and why you fought for the German army.

Werner Lindemann wanders around the room, interrupting the silence with strange questions, writing something down. His motive is to get to know his son and make him a friend. But it's complicated. Generational conflict.

"My island of tranquility is shaken every day. The day before yesterday, a guy pulled on my socks because his were torn. Yesterday he didn't put out a single lamp in the house. Now, with voluptuous delight, he spits cherry pits into the cat's fur. Is this grown boy really an adult?"

The apprenticeship in Rostock, where you have to do window production after graduation, is the limit of boredom. Till Lindemann moved to his father in the countryside so that he could forget about the hustle and bustle of the city and not fall under the article for anti-social attitudes. He thought of a new life, in which there was no pointless work, and arranged an attic in his father's house.

In the mornings over coffee, he scolded life that everything went according to schedule. And listened very loudly to music - electronics and metal. My father didn't understand and grumbled: “I matured late. Naturally, I wanted to listen to the music I liked, but I could not get my hands on these records. For example, my father did not understand when I bought the Alice Cooper record for a month's salary.

Werner Lindemann was a children's writer who went through the war.

At the height of his career he disappeared for weeks on literary tours - his fame spread to teachers and librarians across the country. His father pecked at Lindemann for refusing to work and promised to turn him in:

"My willful child. What doesn't fit his standards is rejected as nonsense or crap." So he took a job as a carpenter, where he made shovel cuttings and cart wheels. The head foreman constantly drank vodka during the day, didn't want to be annoyed with questions and addressed the long-haired Lindemann with the nickname: "Mozart!" This suited him.

Werner Lindemann talked about war, hard existence and limitations. For example, about a grenade splinter that remained in his body. Lindemann did not believe in all these stories - but categorically did not accept service, war and murder:

“After that I objected: “I would hide, I would not go to war. Why did you even let yourself be dragged into this? You could have hidden."

And he said: “It didn't work out. They searched for it and it took away."

Then I said: “I would rather go under arrest. Never in my life, I would go to the front line to shoot people. It's against my nature. It would be better if I went to jail."

Much of the time father and son were simply silent, even while watching television.

"He regularly made me feel guilty, to say the least, he placed himself on a pedestal towards me: I shouldn't complain. At your age, I ran barefoot through the stubble, and in my stomach - a potato in a uniform."

The only acceptance is Mike Oldfield's music: "One day my father came to grumble again. At that moment I was listening to Mike Oldfield, and he sat down and said: "That sounds interesting."

For me it was like a quantum leap: my father sits in my room, listens to my music and thinks it was good. Probably because of melancholy. He was sitting in a rocking chair that I made myself - at the time I was working as a carpenter on a farm. I, too, always sat in an armchair, immersed myself in music and smoked hand-rolled cigarettes."

The conflict was intensified by a fight. Lindemann bought a Trabant car, installed speakers in it and tested the sound - loud as usual. “Then my father came and I had to turn off this fucking music. It was kind of loud for him. He was then fiddling around his cases of flowers, and then suddenly the situation escalated. I think he slapped me while I was still in the car.

He leaned toward me and hit me with the back of his hand. I made some bullshit remarks like, "Leave me alone," something like that. That was a provocation to him, and he said: "If you do that again, I'll hit you for real." And I said, "Then you'll get it back. Because you're crazy. Don't you dare to hit me anymore."

And then he hit me with his palm again. He wasn't controlling himself.

He was exalting himself. Instantly he introduced himself as a boxer - he had boxed in the Hitler Youth - and I just... I thought I didn't hit him, I just pushed him away. And then he stood in front of me again, "Come on, I'll finish you, you haven't got a chance!" Somehow. After that, he went up to the attic and threw all my stuff out the window.

It happened over the weekend, my sister was there, a lot of screaming, serious drama. Then I packed my things, put them in the car, went to a friend's house and never went into his house again. At first I lived with this friend, and a week later I bought myself a house in the village."

His father's book is about his son, which the son will only open up after the death of the father.

Lindemann is a late child. He was born when his father was 36. The gap in their relationship was felt in everyday life and perception of the world. Werner Lindemann woke up early in the morning, worked with the circular saw under the windows and did not understand when his son slept until noon after a working week.

Lindemann's parents then lived separately, but kept in touch. Mom worked as a journalist and discussed her texts with his father. "She still lived in Rostock and always came to see him only on weekends. Mostly on Sundays she came back quite early, because she couldn't stand the stress of being with him, either."

In 1988, the book “Mike Oldfield im Schaukelstuhl Notizen eines Vaters" In this book, Lindemann Senior describes the relationship with his son (whom he calls Timm in the book), who settled with him at the age of 18. The book was written in the 80s and laid on the table until the German Democratic Republic and the Federal Republic of Germany were reunited.

Werner Lindemann wanted his son to take up writing too. But this only amused him, although as a child he wrote poetry. At the age of 13, little Till Lindemann and his father were returning home along the bumpy road to Mecklenburg. They talked about career self-determination:

"You should already have thoughts about what you want to become, boy." My answer: "I don't know yet, maybe a fisherman on the high seas."

But immediately, no matter what I said, objections arose: “But then you have to get a certificate of maturity. But then you will be away all the time. But then you won't be able to start a relationship."

There was always a “but”.

At some point it got on my nerves, as usual. And I said: "Worst case scenario, I'll just become a writer.

I still remember how alienated his face became. "And what do you think then, what do I do! It's a very hard job! In fact, it's not even a job, it's a passion. And it's a job that's supposed to be enjoyable."

I said, "I don't know anybody who works with pleasure."

"Yeah, that's the problem. You have to look for a job that gives you pleasure." Then I say again, "But some people never get to choose..." This gigantic discussion happened because I didn't take his profession seriously. At the same time, he was completely lost, funny!"

Lindemann thoughtfully read his father's book, in which he comprehends their relationship, after his death. Faked for hidden anger and indecision. For example, in a situation where their dog Kurt was bitten by a fox. The father was frightened because of rabies: “At the same time, we did not even know whether he was bitten by a fox or not. The father immediately called the huntsman. But I said: no one will enter this courtyard and shoot the dog. I'll do it myself if I really need it. At some point I really had to kill the dog."

Lindemann is not a monster. The animals he fiddled with are an important attribute of childhood. He had an aquarium and hamsters, brought mice and rats home, and was friends with dogs. “Like many children of new buildings, he felt the need for someone alive, in need of love,” said Werner Lindemann. Sometimes the appearance of an animal in the house was surprising:

“This guy will never say what he's up to. He appears on the doorstep at the same time as me. He gets out from his vehicle, throws his coat open and puts a young black shepherd in my hands. "Your Christmas present!"

Till's father is speechless. My son stands before me like the sun's little brother. Touchingly concerned, he directs me into the house, working out a plan for the animal husbandry, accommodation and diet of our new pet housemate.

With confusion, a question flies from my lips, "Wheredid you get the dog from?" "Timm" is gibbering, "Imagine, the mason in the barnyard wanted to hang him, simply wanted to strangle him with a rope, said he was a worthless eater..."

Werner Lindemann died of stomach cancer in 1993, when his son was 30. They didn't finally reconcile, but Till visited him in his last days and was there for him with his mother: "They couldn't be without each other, even though they lived apart. Unreal, but my mother never had another man afterwards. To this day she can't let go of him."

- Not going to the Olympics in Moscow and ending up in the German ghetto

Lindemann had the knowledge and the potential to be a swimmer. And a shyness that pounded harder three days before the competition than concerts in front of crowds of thousands. "I know how difficult it is to develop willpower and stamina and instill those attributes. In the GDR this was instilled in us by coaches and so-called functionaries."

Lindemann came to swimming at the age of eight and devoted his entire youth to the sport. He would get up for training at five in the morning and pass out in the evening. His grandmother watched him from the stands. At a competition in Leipzig she shouted at the coach, who told Lindemann off for a poor result. The grandmother took the coach by the ear and said: "How do you talk to my grandson?"

Sports tightened up his upbringing and developed self-discipline. “Drilling - probably the boy has already received this experience as a swimmer,” Lindemann's father wrote. - Once he had to take second place in a competition, but by no means first place. Of course, he got carried away, forgot about it, became the first, thanks to which he received a shouting for indiscipline. And whenever he lost in the future, his coach would torture him at practice for a long time and yelled at him: "Even if you win, you're not a winner yet!"

Lindemann swam the 1.5 km freestyle and could have gone to the 1980 Olympics in Moscow. Everything was ruined when he left the hotel without permission during a competition in Florence: "I didn't want to run, but just wanted to look at the city. Cars, bikes, girls. I was caught and kicked out of the team, but then I didn't give the required results either."

Lindemann competed at the European Junior Championships, but did not go any higher. After the story in Florence, his career in sport slipped away. Perhaps an abdominal injury influenced his departure. Lindemann is gone, but he doesn't yearn: "I was relatively young. There were no good [memories] left. I was glad it was over."

"The hardest part was getting back to normal. I fell into a real hole. My home was no longer a sports school, but a ghetto in Rostock. Now I stood out through drinking and fighting. I used to be surrounded only by beautiful ladies who were interested in swimming. Now I had fierce women standing in front of me asking, "How come you don't drink?" When I was shy about approaching a girl, it was interpreted as: "Are you gay?"

Lindemann now works with a coach and swims a few kilometers before his tours to get in shape: "When I exercise, I feel a certain lightness - not only physically, but also mentally. I just feel better. The main problem is staying in shape. That's where self-discipline comes into play. Teeth grinding is important."

- Three weeks in the wild and loneliness as a creative tool

Emotionally, concerts = sports:

"How do I go on tour? Hungry. And happy. It is good to compare concerts with sport. You don't want to do both at first. You don't want to go on stage. You don't want to go to the pool. You don't want to go to the boxing ring. It all happens with reluctance. It has to be accepted somehow, that's life: spring, summer, fall, winter.

When it's done, winter's gone, the blooming begins, greenery appears, it gets bright, and you start to get a taste for it. When it's over, you feel happy. Then the body produces a sea of chemistry, a lot of happiness hormones. I think the body rewards itself."

The stage, like sports, is an embarrassment, but a necessity. Lindemann wore dark glasses in order to collect fewer views from the audience. Therefore, a couple of steps before the water, he looked at the pool with a shiver. You need to cope with yourself in order to open up to new emotions.

Lindemann's gut requires solitude and moderate solitude. This is the point:

“Loneliness is always good for a creative push - you drink a glass of wine and you feel even shitier. Art is not complete without suffering; art exists to compensate for suffering."

With his friend Joey Kelly, Lindemann spent three weeks on the Yukon River. They paddled through the wilderness in a kayak for eight to 10 hours each and lived in a tent. Lindemann didn't take a tape recorder with him, so he transferred the lyrics wandering in his head on paper.

They were catching inspiration and atmosphere:

"There were times when we wouldn't say a word for hours, but then: look there, look there! It was breathtakingly beautiful. These relatively fast-changing panoramas and skies, layers of clouds, the colors.

Except for a few bears and wolves, it's hard to see anyone else out there, it's exhilarating. Along the way we saw two hunters setting traps. No one else.

I grew up in the countryside, and I have a very strong connection to nature. I love fishing, hunting. It's an archaic experience that I like to revisit over and over again. When I'm in the city for too long, I start to miss it."

To recreate situations in the Yukon, Lindemann and Kelly trained for nine months on the Rhine river in Germany because of its liveliness.

"We went down the Rhine to where the transport ships create huge bow waves. If we hadn't had a coach with us, we probably would have been sunk by the side wave impact already during our first attempt," Lindemann said.

Together with Kelly, he had four sessions with two coaches and swam from Cologne to Koblenz [more than 100 kilometers by car]. Lindemann trained separately each week on the lakes in Mecklenburg. It's both physically challenging and savage identical to being natural.

In 2015, Till started his solo project Lindemann. On the album Skills In Pills, the song Yukon was released, in which the lyrics appeared first, and then the music.

- "My lyrics come from pain rather than desire."

The country boy is big and not much of a talker. That's how the Rammstein members saw him at the start, when they were hanging out at home. "He looked cool, like a big peasant talking one sentence an hour," keyboard player Christian "Flake" Lorenz recalled. - He always had food and vodka. He'd just steal a couple of ducks somewhere and cook them on a tray. And then, frozen like in Sleeping Beauty, there were people lying in corners and on trunks in his house."

Lindemann loves and appreciates home gatherings. This came from my father, who always had guests. “In my opinion, this is the little bit that I inherited from him. Throwing parties and gathering people. Throwing parties and getting people together. He just enjoyed being a good host. The house was always full of guests from Leipzig, from Rostock, foreign guests, even from Kazakhstan.

It was always exciting for him. He stood at the stove, cooked, bought an abundance of wine, and there was always a fire in the garden. At some point he stopped drinking, then he left the party at 21:00 and the whole company continued to feast. And in the morning he got up at four, cleaned and tidied up."

Till Lindemann is about self-digging, overcoming and childish shyness, which is covered by a pumped-up figure of a swimmer. This is how Lindemann decrypts himself:

• “And I really am like a big child - ill-mannered, but harmless. People think that I am always strong, explosive. This is not true. I am sensitive and easily hurt, but in love I am romantic and passionate."

• “At the very beginning, you sit somewhere in a dark room, open a bottle of wine and figure out how to make the lyrics popular with the music. At first you only have a vague idea of ​​what it could be.

And when, three years after recording, mixing, and more mixing, developing the artwork, all this nonsense, then you stand on stage, and what you came up with then really works, when you manage to get 20 thousand people to raise their hands, then you experience incredible sensations."

• “Art is a kind of therapy.

When I feel that something is arising inside me, domineering and is most often dark, I need to give it a way out, otherwise it will simply crush me. So destruction and self-destruction are the two pillars on which my creativity is based.

But everyone chooses this for himself.

• “My lyrics arise from feelings and dreams, but still more from pain than by desire. I often have nightmares, and I wake up at night sweating, as I see terrible bloody scenes in my dreams. My lyrics are a kind of valve for the lava of feelings in my soul.

We are all struggling to hide behind good manners and outward decency, but in fact we are governed by instincts and feelings: hunger, thirst, horror, hatred, the desire for power and sex. Of course, there is also additional energy in us - this is love. Without it, all human feelings would fade away."

- "When you're constantly living someone else's life, it's very hard to get back into your own skin. I like that in principle, but sometimes you start to get confused - are you out of a role or not yet. You're already Till, or you're still a homicidal maniac."

- "I hate the noise. I hate the chatter. I expose myself to it, which is pure masochism. And then I have to protect myself from it. Noise makes you crazy. You die in it."

• “I think there is no God. And if he is and actually allows all the misfortunes on this earth, then he must punish me along with other sufferings. I will not pray to such a god."

This is how the members of Rammstein see Till - flexible and with a split personality:

Guitarist Paul Landers: "Till is so good that when you let him know that his lyrics should go in a different direction, the very next day he brings a new version of the song."

Guitarist Richard Kruspe: “He's a hell of an extreme man. He dives very deeply into situations where I cannot follow him. Everything he does is very extreme; I don't know anyone who does it. "

Drummer Christoph Schneider: "I would not want to be in Till's shoes: his soul is tormented by doubts and contradictions, he is equally a moralist and a monster."

June 1, 2021 - Translate by Lindemann Belgium

[rendezvous-ramblings]

Do you think you’ll hang out with B when he comes back?

We haven’t planned to go out again yet. I would go out with him again. It’s hard scheduling with our conflicting work/school schedules though. We would both need to be off and I have nothing for school that day. I do have some new cute interactions to share though!

I wasn’t supposed to work yesterday but they called me in so I took the extra shift. B texted me and said “You should tell me when you’re using the restroom so I can get a hug.” I was in the basement processing merchandise so I was able to sneak upstairs without anyone questioning me. I met him at our little spot by the security office and he gave me the tightest hug. As he was hugging me he murmured in my ear “Good morning.” 🥺 What he did next surprised me because he buried his face in my neck and pretty much inhaled me in. He told me I smelled good and usually do apply my perfume near the base of my neck. Pears and freesia are my go to scent.

I later texted him when I was taking my first fifteen minute break. I was late sneaking upstairs because the manager decided to have a morning meeting before the store opened. B didn’t attend since he’s not really obligated to and he’s not a fan of that particular manager. The manager is sometimes too pushy and rude when he’s telling the cashiers what to do. He never lets us breathe and even when we’re cleaning up returns he will be shouting about how we have a customer (which he called down when we weren’t ready). I use the elevator and I see the locked security office door pry open. B pokes his body out a bit and smiles when he sees me. I go inside with him and the lights are off so nobody thinks anybody is inside.

We made out pretty heavily in the office for my entire break 🥴 His arms were just roaming everywhere. He was asking for consent on whether he could touch/squeeze my butt or slide his hand up my shirt. I could feel him through his shorts since he was kind of poking me 😅 He’s a really amazing kisser but he was telling me how I was driving him wild just from kissing. He confessed he hasn’t kissed anyone since he moved and it’s even longer in terms of the last time he’s been intimate with someone. It was difficult going back to work after kissing him in that room. I was on cloud nine for the rest of the day.

I did get a mini heart attack because this older woman who supervises all the cashiers saw B when he was standing by our spot. This happened when we were leaving together. I was about to put my hand on B’s arm when he suddenly said the woman’s name. The woman was so excited to see him and was like “Where the heck have you been!!!!” She had no idea B went on vacation. B later told me he did feel my hand brush against him. He said “Oh if she saw she would have asked me about it later. Don’t worry. I don’t think she noticed.” I played it cool and just greeted her and she greeted me back. She was more excited to see B and ran over for a hug. It’s cute B is always accompanying her on her cigarette breaks. She’s like a sweet woman you’d imagine and want to be your grandmother.

The highlight from today is we were at our spot again and I was updating him on some personal things on my life. He was just listening and being encouraging. I have a family event and he was telling me I should take off work and have fun. He knows my family situation is rocky and he said my father shouldn’t impact my relationship with the rest of my family anymore. We then moved on to stuff about work and I told him something crazy that happened at my register today. Then B confessed one of the girls who had a crush on him told him that someone else has a crush on him 🙃 I rolled my eyes and said “Who doesn’t have a crush on you in this store!?” He’s like “I didn’t want to know. I don’t want that to change my view on them and not approach someone for friendly conversation.” I just laughed and teased him as I was holding his hand “Oh, if only the girls knew what your type was.” We both just started laughing. Most probably think I’m much younger. I don’t take the time to put on makeup on a daily basis. Plus I don’t wear super tight or revealing clothes to work. My glasses make me look like a total nerd and I do get mistaken for being younger. Heck, B even confessed he checked the minors list to make sure his crush on me was appropriate. Everyone probably thinks I’m a goody two shoes and I’d never look twice at B who looks like the complete opposite with his tattoos.

B is worming his way into my heart too much 🥺🥴

[yuthoe]

may i request a full fic of idol!reader where they accidentally reveal they’re dating yuto? 🥺

Hello!!! Super sorry for taking so long to get this out. This is actually the first request I’ve gotten on this blog, especially with a small following like mine.

I’ve been wondering for a while how I’m going to approach this, because I want to be as realistic in my writing as possible. I did a little research on dating bans in the K-pop industry, and based on the stuff I found, Cube doesn’t really have a dating ban. But with what happened with Hyuna and Dawn, I wanted to be careful (even if it is fiction, and creative liberties are a thing). There’s conflicting narratives that come into play here, and since I’m still not sure if Cube has a dating ban or not, I couldn’t follow the request to a T. Sorry about that :((. 

But here is my attempt at fulfilling your request, as much as I’m comfortable with

WARNINGS: n/a. WORD COUNT: 1,879.

—

Hide and Seek

You should be used to being in the spotlight like this, given your three years in the K-pop industry. Everytime you make a comeback, it’s expected that you’re thrust into interviews, guest appearances on TV, and music show recordings for a month following the release. Sometimes guestings take the whole day and recordings take the whole night, with very little breaks between. Most days you eat twice a day, light meals that are eight to ten hours apart. You sleep in the car on the way to appointments and barely have the energy to shower once you get back to your apartment before collapsing bone-tired on your bed, only to be woken up by your alarm four hours later for an early schedule.

It’s safe to say that, with your promotion schedule almost over, you are tired, hopped up on caffeine from coffee and energy drinks, and will most definitely sleep for 14 hours after all this done.

That’s all that’s running through your brain as you sit on a tall swivel chair between the hosts of another show (you’re not certain which one, at this point) on your right, and the whole of Pentagon on your left. Normally, you would be intimidated, sitting next to such a big group, that’s had so much success in their career so far. Having debuted almost at the same time (yours only a week earlier than theirs), you’re fairly close with the members. You may not be from the same agency, but you often go out on hang-outs with them, made easy by being Wooseok’s friend from high school. You know you’ve encountered all the members once or twice before, so you’re a lot less nervous about this interview.

“So Pentagon has returned for another comeback, along with your first ever full album called Universe: The Black Hall,” Dara, one of the hosts, says. “The title track is ‘Dr. Bebe’ and the concept this time is very dark. What made you guys decide to go for this type of concept for this comeback?”

“Yeah,” the other host Doyun concurs, “because Pentagon is known for your cute concepts like ‘Shine’, ‘Naughty Boy’ and ‘Humph’, right? Why the sudden change?”

“It’s exactly as you said,” Hui replied easily. “We have done a lot of cute and light concepts before, so this time we wanted to showcase a completely different side of us. I think a lot of people were surprised this time that we came out with a much heavier track that usual,” he finishes with a laugh.

“It’s also a chance to showcase more profound emotions for us,” Jinho adds. “It’s very… refreshing to have something new to play with in terms of conveying emotions and situations.”

The hosts hum in understanding, and you nod along. Doyun turns to you and you fell yourself sit up straighter. “And what about you, Y/N? You came out with a new mini-album along with the release of your new music video for the song ‘Blue and White’. What type of concept are you going for this time?”

“Well, the title of my mini-album is For Me and what I was going for this time is like a personal letter for me in different situations,” you begin. “’Blue and White’ is the opening track, and it’s sort of a mirror to a beautiful morning sky. It’s supposed to give you an energetic feeling, abut also a sense of contentment and peace, sort of like that.” You fiddle with the polka-dotted blanket on your lap. “I can’t really give a concrete concept for the whole album, but ‘Blue and White’ is a very light song, very happy, very bubbly.”

“Oh, yeah, I listened to it yesterday, and it did make me want to get up and go on a jog,” Dara says, and everyone laughs.

“That’s great, it worked!” Doyun says, clapping his hands before extending one to Pentagon. “Have any of you listened to her album?”

You look over and see a few hands raise—Hui, Yeo One, Hongseok, and Yuto. More of them listened to your album than you thought, and it makes you blush. Hui is an idol of yours when it comes to making songs, and you feel honored that he’s listening to your work.

“Ooh, quite a number of you,” he says. “Do you have a favorite track?”

Hongseok raises his hand. Dara invites him to answer and  Hongseok says, “I really like ‘Indigo’. I’m a big fan of ballads, and ‘Indigo’ such a good track to sing to. It’s very melancholic, and I think the feeling is supposed to convey frustration and loneliness, right?” He turns to you, as if for confirmation, and you nod excitedly. “Yeah, it’s a feeling that I’ve experienced before and the way it was treated as a subject matter in the song makes the emotions just… flow out of you, so it’s very easy to sing to.”

You bow to him in thanks, clasping your fingers together. Dara calls for another round, for anyone who wants to say their favorite track.

Yuto holds up a shy hand and timidly says, “’Blossoms’ is my favorite.”

“That’s a ballad, right?” Doyun says. “Do you sing along to it, like Hongseok?” he teases, and makes Yuto smile a bit.

“A little,” he replies, smile still on his face. “But singing isn’t really my strong suit. I like the song because it’s… it’s about love, but the repeating kind of love, in a sense that it persists and survives in good times and bad times, sort of like that.”

You had craned your neck to get a look at Yuto while he was speaking, but Wooseok is too tall and obstructing your view. Nonetheless, hearing him compliment ‘Blossoms’ on an interview so openly—and accurately, because you had him listen to the demo version of it and explained it to him—makes a tiny, pleased smile appear on your face.

“And you, Y/N? Do you have a favorite track from their album?” Dara asks, swivels her chair to face you.

You think, really think about it. “Aaahh, this is hard, all the songs in the album are amazing, and I’ve had them on repeat in my phone for the past week.” Everyone laughs at this. “But I think ‘Camellia’ is my favorite one out of all of them. I have a love-hate relationship with poems, even though I write poems set to music for a living, but the imagery in ‘Camellia’ is so strong and vivid that I just, see movie snapshots in my brain whenever I listen to it. It’s also very nice to sing to, and I love ballads as well.”

“What’s the song about again, can someone explain?” Dara gestures to Pentagon or to you, fine with anyone speaking up.”

“It’s actually Yuto’s song,” Kino suddenly says. “He wrote it.” He looks behind him, softly asking if he Yuto wants to explain it. When Yuto shakes his hand to decline, Kino turns back around and says, “Okay, it’s actually also about an everlasting love, and follows the image of a flower that blooms and withers constantly with the seasons.”

“Oh, so it’s a lot like ‘Blossoms’, then,” Doyun says, at awe in the connection of the songs. He points to you and Yuto. “You two have the same taste in music, huh?”

“Ah, I’m quite close to the maknae in Pentagon, and we frequently hang out when we have free days,” you say, and immediately think that maybe that wasn’t the best explanation. “We frequently give each other song recommendations, so maybe our tastes converge at some point.” It’s a lousy save, but it’s still a save.

Sure, let’s go with that, you think, as if the reason you like Camellia so much isn’t because it was the only thing you listened to for two weeks after the release of the album. And it’s not because when he was writing it, Yuto sent you short clips of the instrumental, as well as snippets of the demo track that had him singing softly across the melodies. Yeah, that’s totally not the reason why you love it so much.

“Oh, so you all hang out a lot, outside of recording schedules?” Dara says, looking at Kino at the front row, and then at Wooseok and Yuto sitting tall at the back row.

“I know her from high school,” Wooseok supplies. “So even before we debuted, we hung out a lot. Lately she just goes out with Yuto, though, since I’ve turned into a homebody.”

Your heart is beating a mile a minute. If you could, you’d jump from your chair and strangle your best friend this instant. Why didn’t he just say that you just dragged Yuto along during your get-togethers? Or maybe not mention Yuto at all? Maybe the lack of sleep is getting to him, too.

Dara and Doyun in the meantime, have sniffed out a possible scoop. “Ooohh, are these like dates?” Dara asks.

You put up your hands and vehemently (but not too much) shake your head. “No, it’s mainly just. Uh. Going out for coffee, since our dorms are near each other. Sometimes we watch movies and stuff because we’re both have free schedules, and the other members are busy.” You laugh smile, nerves alight, blood pumping adrenaline. “It’s mostly coincidental that we end up going out.”

You vaguely see Yuto nod his head before saying, “I think I pester Kino and Wooseok to go out a lot, too, and they’re busy anyway, so it ends up as just Y/N and I going out, even if we do want the members there, too.” Yuto cranes is neck to look at you, nodding slightly. Whether it’s to comfort you, or to make sure his story aligns with yours, you’re not sure. You nod back anyway, to ease the burden on his shoulders as well.

“Aah,” Doyun says, “so they aren’t dating; just good friends! And it’s very common these days to be friends with someone of the opposite gender, no?”

Well, you are dating. You just haven’t told your companies yet because you haven’t been together for long—give or take five months? Too early to tell anyone except for Kino, Wooseok, Hui, and both your managers. You’re not ready to come out to a lot of people, considering you both want to be more secure in the industry before letting it slip.

You both understand the need to keep it a secret, although it’s quite difficult whenever you get asked about relationships as they usually come in three to four questions. It’s also difficult when Wooseok decides that now is the time to tease that you and Yuto go on dates a lot. You make a mental note to ask your manager if it’s possible to not be scheduled at the same time as Pentagon, so you don’t have to drag the whole group down with you in case—knock on wood—a scandal happens.

The hosts have changed the topic—something about a game segment—and you take a calming breath; the danger has passed.

You have to admit, though: as stressful as keeping your dating life a secret can be, it’s also pretty thrilling. It’s like a long-running game of hide and seek.

[harryfreakinstyles2]

Torn (Part 4) H.S

Harry's body relaxes in the seat across from me and it makes my heart feel like it could burst in my chest.

"So, since we are friends now," I say beyond excited that I get to ask him all the questions I have been dying to know the answers to.

"Let's get to know each other." I say with a smile and his eyes widen. "How long have you been in America?" I ask him genuinely wanting to know the answer.

I rest my elbows on the table and lean forward waiting for his answer. His smile widens across his face making his deep dimples appear, and I feel like I can't breathe. This just friends thing is going to be harder than I thought if he continues to look at me like that.

"I've been here for a little over four years now. I got a scholarship to go to school here and I kind of fell in love with the area and decided to stay after I graduated this past December."

I'm slightly surprised that he came here on scholarship, but why wouldn't he. Of course, he's smart. But what surprises me more is that he already graduated. I assumed he was still in school as well.

"Oh, you already graduated? I didn't know that!" I respond genuinely surprised.

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me." Harry says with a smirk and winks at me.

I roll my eyes at him and I try not to smile as I avoid the playful smirk he is giving me that seems to be stuck on his face today. I ignore the spark it ignites in my stomach and continue with my questions.

"So what's your degree in then?" I ask continuing the conversation.

"Business management. I would like to own or run a hotel or restaurant or something like that someday." He tells me still making too much eye contact and making me shift in my seat.

"Wow! That's cool!" I say annoyed that he is not only smart and drop dead gorgeous but he also has plans for his life. "How old are you?" I blurt our on accident.

"Twenty three, but enough about me. Tell me something about you." He says copying my position and leaning towards me with his elbows on the table and he mocks me by placing his hands under his chin with a cheeky smile. He is good I will give him that.

We are closer than two friends should be while casually talking but I can't get myself to pull away even though I know I should.

"Ummm." I stutter for a minute not being able to process my thoughts when he is so close to me. "Well, I am twenty one. I will graduate in May with my degree in English. I'd like to work for a publishing company or something along those lines for a bit or maybe become an English teacher I haven't really decided yet." I say faster than normal. I keep having to look down every few seconds because his stare keeps making me flustered.

"Hmmm a teacher huh?" Is all he says in response.

His tone sounds sarcastic and his face is hard to read and I can't tell if he means it as a joke or what. Does he think I can't be a teacher? But I am already on edge "You don't even know me," I snap defensively while leaning back in my chair.

"What? Why did you say that?" He questions me in a serious tone, catching me off guard. He's staring me down and I realize he's waiting for me to answer.

"I don't know. You sounded like you were mocking me," I say my tone sharp.

"I don't know you well, yet. But I'm trying to. I want to." He states. "I was not making fun of you. I was just joking around." He looks at me with pleading eyes. "I wish you would lighten up a little. You are so serious." He says softly and I can tell by his voice that he is being sincere even though his words piss me off I try to push my irritation aside.

"Sorry. Really." I say leaning down to meet his eyes slightly thrown by his quick change in mood. "I didn't mean to snap at you. Just a habit I guess."

Lightning flashes outside the window followed by a rolling thunder distracting both of us from our conversation. I know I need to head home before the storm hits and it is getting close to my dinner plans with Julie.

"I need to head home." I sigh grabbing my backpack and car keys not wanting to leave just yet despite the change in mood.

"Okay." Is all he says in response his eyes focused on the table.

I can feel a shift and there is an uncomfortable tension between us. I get up from the table and start making my way towards the door when I realize he has nothing else to say. A weird wave of sadness hits me at his simple response wishing he would ask me to stay longer.

"Wait," I feel his now familiar warm hand wrap around my arm stopping me before I reach the door. I turn to face him not sure what to expect but happy the conversation will not end the way I thought it was going to.

"I'll see you again soon, yeah?" He asks with a soft smile. He says it like it's a question that he needs me to confirm as he searches my eyes. And just like that, everything feels okay again.

"See you soon." I confirm with a smile and walk out the door.

*

I arrive back home just as the rain starts, making me run for the front door. Rushing inside I drop my stuff on the kitchen counter and find Julie watching tv on the couch.

"Did you get the stuff for dinner?" I ask her. We have a tradition since we moved into our apartment together last year where every other Saturday she buys the groceries and I make dinner. Then we spend the evening watching Greys Anatomy on the couch together. It gives us a chance to catch up no matter how crazy our schedules get.

"Yeah, it's all in the fridge. Did you get a lot of studying done?" She says making casual conversation without looking away from the tv.

"Uhhh yeah," I say shrugging my shoulders even though she is not looking at me. The guilt comes back but this time I know I deserve it as I choose to not tell her about Harry showing up at the coffee shop and continue the conversation. "Was this all you had planned for today?" I say gesturing to her current spot on the couch hoping to get a reaction out of her.

"Basically, I was supposed to hang out with Harry but he got called into work." She responds still not looking away from the tv and I feel panicked.

I am so thrown off by her answer that I can't think of a response. Did he tell her that he had to work so he could come see me? Is she making it up? Why would she make that up? He said he told her they were done. But why would she lie about having plans with him? Why did he lie. I have no idea what the hell is going on anymore and it is starting to give me a headache.

"Hey, I was thinking we could have a movie night here tomorrow. Is that okay with you?" Julie asks me bringing my attention back to the present as she gets off the couch and joins me in the kitchen.

"Uhh yeah sure sounds good to me," I say not really paying attention.

"Awesome! I'll text everyone. Does 8 o'clock sound good to you?" Julie asks while already typing away on her phone.

"Perfect." I agree.

The evening drags on without much conversation. Julie stays on the couch while I make dinner in the kitchen replaying my conversation with Harry over and over again. One of them is lying and I can't figure out who or more importantly why. After dinner we watch one episode of Grey's and I head to my room for the rest of the night not wanting to have forced conversation with Julie any longer. I don't like how weird things feel between us now. I know it's only me. I'm so used to being able to talk to Julie about anything.

I pass out around 11 o'clock which is early for me but the last two days have been so draining I need the sleep and as soon as my head hits the pillow I am gone.

I wake the next morning still conflicted and debating whether having Harry around is worth all this confusion and the headache that follows. I know it won't end well but I am not sure that I can stay away from him. The morning and afternoon hours blur together as I stay in bed watching tv all day, my usual Sunday routine lately.

I finally look at the clock on my nightstand telling me it's now six thirty in the evening and I have been in bed all day. My stomach grumbles reminding me I haven't had anything to eat since eleven this morning so I force myself out of bed and slip on some jeans and grab my favorite hoodie. The weather outside my window is as gloomy as yesterday the clouds are covering the whole sky, and it has been raining on and off all day adding to my own gloomy mood.

I walk out of the bedroom and find Jules in the living room bringing pillows and blankets from her bedroom to the couch.

"What are you doing?" I ask her confused.

"Bringing out extra pillows and blankets for tonight." She says looking at me like I am an idiot.

"Oh crap! I forgot about that. Did you pick a movie?" I have been so in my head I forgot about her stupid movie night here tonight. I feel like I don't have the energy or mental capacity to deal with anyone. Perfect.

"No I can't decide so I'm just going to pick two and let everyone vote." She says while still arranging pillows on the couch and floor.

"Alright, well I am going to grab some food I will be back soon. Do you need anything while I am out?" I ask her secretly hoping she will say no.

"No I'm good, I bought popcorn and some candy when I was at the store yesterday and Maya and Tabs are bringing some snacks too." She tells me.

"Okay well, I'll be back." I say while grabbing my keys and heading for the front door.

"Okay see you later." She says with a smile.

As I walk to my car I sigh with relief at being alone again even if it is only for a short while.

I run through a drive-thru and back with about fifteen minutes to spare before everyone is supposed to come over. I rush into the apartment past the kitchen and Julie's room hoping she doesn't see me. And then head straight through the living room and into my room. I change out of my jeans and into some comfy yoga pants deciding to keep my hoodie on because I don't care to make to much effort in my appearance today. I finish the rest of my food in a hurry and decide to freshen up my make up a little so I don't look like complete crap when everyone comes over. Just as I finish up I hear an array of voices enter the house. Walking out of my room and into the kitchen I find Julie with Maya, Tabs, Dylan, and Sam all talking over each other loudly. Maya is pouring chips into bowls, Julie is putting popcorn into the microwave and of course, Dylan is loading the wine and beer into the fridge. I smile at my crazy group of friends even in my exhausted state.

"Is Emily coming?" I ask the whole group while taking a seat on the empty bar stool next to Sam.

"No she had to work tonight." Tabitha informs me while stealing a chip from Maya's bowl.

"Awe alright," I say disappointed because we haven't had a chance to catch up in a few weeks. "I'm gonna grab a blanket from my room really quick, will someone get me a bowl of popcorn please!" I say as sweetly as I can as I am leaving the kitchen.

I make my way back to my room and grab a blanket and pillow, and my phone from my nightstand before hearing the group make their way into the living room. I take a deep breathe already exhausted and walk back out.

Julie, Maya, Dylan, and Sam are all squished together on the couch and Tabitha took the chair which means I am stuck on the floor alone which I am actually okay with because it means I can watch the movie and relax without distractions. Just as I am getting comfortable on the floor I hear a loud knock at the door. Everyone sits not moving and then looks at me. Everyone is here already so I have no idea who it could be.

"Don't worry everyone, I'll get." I say sarcastically groaning as I get back up off the floor and they all smile trying not to laugh at my dramatic response.

I make my way to the door and open it not sure who to expect but definitely not him.

My mouth drops open stunned, "Harry?!" I whisper yell so everyone in the living room can't hear me.

[megamanxfanfics]

The Hiatus

I’ve been dreading the idea of writing this, but the fact that I am at all means that I’m coming out of my funk and am looking onward towards moving ahead, and hopefully forward, once again with this project in the future.  I’m afraid I’ve got a lot of explaining to do.  Wouldn’t you know it?  Life got in the way again.

It seems that every new Writing Season, something always happens to me to shift things around and make it near-impossible towards writing Mega Man X.  I’ve been mulling over how to talk about all of this without getting too personal on an MMX blog.  But the fact is that what happened to me is very personal.  And very complicated.  So I’m gonna just go for it, while keeping it in simplest terms.

I broke up with my girlfriend last month.  Which means I had to move out...

I can say that with dry eyes now, and without a heavy heart.  It was a smooth break.  Very mutual.  We both knew it needed to happen, because we weren’t happy at all. (Always doing our own thing, making separate plans... etc. etc. etc.)

But back to this.

I recall back in November I had posted a Writing Exercise - What X Remembers, in an attempt to kick-start my motivation for this project.  Needless to say, it didn’t work.  I can tell you right now that I wasn’t exactly busy.  I was burnt out.

Yes, I’ve been wanting and wanting to start this thing, but in the planning phases, I’ve also been afraid of it.  Because I don’t want to mess this up. Or it’s too confusing, or disjointed.  And I know how I get.  I harp and harp on things until it’s perfect, or feels good enough to present.  And... frankly, I was in a position where things were so bad at home, that I just wanted to spend time with her to keep everyone happy.

I would also take advantage of ‘Me-Time Monday’ as I used to call it when she’d be out doing her own thing.  Except my creative outlet for those days would be working on music, which is my first passion.  I’ve taken on a massive project of adding vocals to a lot of old music I had written, and even now I’m maybe half-way through that.  And there were definitely certain Mondays that I wasn’t even in the mood for music...  I certainly wasn’t in the mood for X.

I was depressed...  She was depressed...  But why?

Well... this blog, isn’t exactly about that.  But what I can tell you is that we were just going through this mundane routine every day.  Even our weekends became routine.  And neither of us were fun to be around any more.  Even upon realizing it and trying to do different things.  ‘Go out on a date, Dummy!’  That’s what I would tell myself.  But even nice events didn’t work.  She’d complain about being tired, or full or we wouldn’t talk at all.  That... was the extent of our interactions.  Outside of that, we’d just watch our shows, which would entertain us, and make us laugh.  We’d hold hands and stuff, sometimes.  But even then... it didn’t really feel romantic.  As one friend put it best, “It sounds like a friendship...”

And we both realized that last month.

So you could say that from November-February, I had slowly been working at getting my motivation toward this project back up.  Despite my daily toils, I was driven to bring myself to do the things that make me happy.  I had even reread most of the Writing Diaries, all the way up to Season V again, which took me down a nice bit of Nostalgia Road.  Reading about the Process of this Project is just as fun as reading the actual episodes for me.  It’s the Journey, not the Destination, after all.

But like I said, then February happened and we just imploded.  Everything immediately broke down.  My living space, my comfort zone.. where I was going to be!!  I didn’t know what to do.

In week 1 I took out the time to hang out with all of my closest friends.  I told everyone who needed to know first.

In week 2, I started seriously looking for places.  And that was equally exciting as it was exhausting.  However, I did find one thing that wouldn’t be ready for the next 2 months!  And that also freaked me out.  Now I had a pseudo-time table on my hands, but it was a little too long.

In week 3, I cracked.  We absolutely got into a fight in our shared space.  Things were so smooth as friends and roommates.  We had still shared our King Size Bed, and kept it completely civil, since nothing romantic was happening in the bedroom anyway...  But, at some point, some Social Media Drama occurred and I actually started acting like an Ex.  It was becoming very clear to me that living together any longer was going to destroy my Mental Health.  So I made the choice to get out of there, sooner than anticipated.  That Friday, I put a bag together and stayed at my parent’s house.

The original plan was to ride this out as long as possible and move into the 2nd Bedroom while I start to leisurely pack, as I keep looking for places.  But instead, all this drama accelerated my schedule and forced me out of that house.  That weekend, I came back to grab the rest of my clothes and relocate my TV back to my Parent’s house... Which takes me to week 4.  

In week 4, I focused on helping my brother with an After-school play.  I changed my work hours for him and everything, but on top of that, I had an unexpected interview which could’ve changed everything!!!  You see, I’ve been looking for better jobs at the same time as looking for new places.  And that’s what made this so stressful.  That’s even partially what caused all this drama, because one night I tried complaining about it to her, and she didn’t really seem to care much.  We were acting like exes to each other, and I really couldn’t handle it.  So once we got into a fight, that was the wake up call.  We’re not together anymore.  We can’t do this any more! Literally.  It was time to get out of there and move on.   Well, the job interview wasn’t in the cards... but it’s for the best, because it would’ve made this new place that I’ve been hoping for, not make sense any more.   That weekend, I got together all of my books/movies/games/comics, electronics, pictures, etc. etc. while she had put together boxes of the kitchenware I get to take.  By Sunday Night, basically all of my stuff was out of there. I couldn’t believe it.  It was very therapeutic and bittersweet.

This takes us to Week 5 - last week.  The commotion has slowed down to an abrupt halt.  I’ve been very tired.  Technically I have all the time in the world for MMX now, but I’m just not there yet.  And I probably won’t be for another month.  And I say that now, because I’m literally in between places.  All of my stuff is in boxes at my Parent’s house, but this other place that I saw is in the process of coming through.  Their time table accelerated a little bit.  I got news yesterday that the place has been painted, and that new carpets will be installed on 3/23.  As I am basically move-in ready, but also really want this to be the place, I worked with my new Landlord and asked him if I can start to leave boxes this weekend.

And that’s what I did today.  Today I left the first installation of boxes into that house’s basement.  It will be the new location I call my home, and the best part about it is that it’s only 5 minutes from Work.  That’s HUGE.  [But that too is temporary, as I still need a better job.]. One day at a time though, right?

This is primarily the reason why I’m writing today.  I feel that the brunt of this Transition Period has reached it’s Apex, and from here, it’s gonna be pretty smooth sailing into the next place, as I become acquainted with my New Normal of 2020.

I’m also writing, because admittedly, I have been thinking about MMX6 again, and rather than catch up with the rest of the diaries, I just read the last one.  Where I actually regressed into plot points again and still couldn’t answer certain questions, like what those stupid teleport portals are.  I mean, how much of an explanation do I really need?  It’s Mega Science!

I’ll be honest.  I could start tomorrow, and I’d probably feel pretty good about it, until I hit my first slump.  Which will most likely be the Central Museum stage.  And then I won’t want to do anything.

No, my heart’s just not in it yet.  I don’t want to start MMX6 on my laptop.  I want to be fully set up and Comfortable in my New Place when I start Season VI properly.  The silver lining is that I have all the time in the world for this and my music, now.  And I’ll have to feel out that situation too, because I desperately want to do both.  And that’s part of the conflict too.  Both projects literally interfere with each other, because I only have enough time and energy for one or the other on any given night.

Keep in mind, once I have my own place, everything’s on me.  That’s cooking, dishes, laundry and of course self-care, right?  So that involves the necessary shower, and of course entertaining yourself.  And that means yes, actually pulling myself away from my hobbies that I tend to wrap myself in so much.

I’m not blaming this project for losing my girl, or my music.  Hell, I’m not even blaming myself.  We just weren’t a good fit for each other, but we sure tried to be.  For 5 Years!  There was a lot of good in those 5 years too.  But she changed a lot.  Me too.  But her, more...  In a less fun way.  Very easy for me to say, of course.

These things happen.  People change.  And we truly made the healthiest choice to end it when we did.  It was really just a logical conversation about what isn’t working, and both of us literally agreeing that this doesn’t make sense any more.  My friend last night put it best.  “I think your relationship just ran its course.  You both saw it through to a complete end, and it was really good that you chose to end it when you did, because neither of you were happy any more...”

And there it is.  I suppose I’m ending this on that note.  One day I’ll be ready for MMX6 again.  But today is not that day.  And instead, I’ll be playing the MMZ/ZX Legacy Collection in the meantime.  =P.   And no.  Don’t get any ideas.  I have NO intention of writing an MMZ Anime.

[quicksilversquared]

How to Fake a Marriage ch. 10

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8  9

(AO3) (FF.net)

"Madam Rosalie chased most of the reporters off," Marinette told Adrien that night as they sat down for dinner. "And then Emily and Rachel walked back with to the apartment building with me so no one could try to get me alone. Hopefully the reporters will leave me alone within a week."

"That's good. I did an interview today with one of the better reporters," Adrien told her. "If she posts the whole thing, they'll probably pick through it for quotes. I made it clear that I wasn't going to be talking to all of them, thought, and hopefully I channeled my father enough that they'll listen."

Marinette looked interested. "Did it go well?"

"As well as it could, I think. I talked with Madam Addison. Someone leaked the wedding video," Adrien added, figuring that it would be a good idea to give Marinette a heads-up in case any of the other reporters had gotten their hands on it and decided to spring questions about it at her. "So I said that Madam Rosalie had been planning a photoshoot and we used the opportunity to pull a prank. She thought it was hilarious."

"It was hilarious. I couldn't believe so many people actually thought we would get married like that."

"I think that learning about the prank was enough of a distraction for her," Adrien finished. "She really didn't ask too many questions after that. How was your day? You said something about the other interns making a scrapbook?"

Marinette groaned, burying her face in her hands. "They're trying to embarrass me. They were getting all of the photos from the wedding photoshoot, plus ones they've taken, plus all of the tabloid articles..."

"The press will find another target soon enough," Adrien said soothingly, reaching over and patting her shoulder. "And your coworkers will get bored of teasing you eventually."

"I'm more concerned about the press than my coworkers," Marinette said with a sigh. "I just don't like them digging around about my life."

"Ah, but what would they find?" Adrien said, giving Marinette's shoulder a gentle shake before going back to buttering his bread. Marinette really didn't have much anything to hide, as far as he knew. "Class president, designer of Jagged Stone's favorite glasses and three CD covers, most popular kid in class all through collège and lycée-"

"I wasn't the most popular kid in class," Marinette protested, a blush rising on her cheeks. "I- I wasn't- Why would you think-"

"You were, though," Adrien said with a laugh, grinning as Marinette turned even redder. "Chloe might have tried to claim that she was the most popular, but you were the one that everyone actually liked and listened to. Wherever you were, that was where people wanted to be."

Marinette closely resembled a tomato at that point and she seemed to have forgotten her dinner completely. "B-but- okay, but they didn't- I mean-"

"Don't even try to deny it, Mari," Adrien said with a laugh, ruffling Marinette's hair and grinning even more when she squealed and ducked away. "Ms. Most Popular Girl."

"I didn't even have any real friends before Alya came!" Marinette blurted out at last, batting away Adrien's hand. "I mean, I hung out with people sometimes, but I didn't, like, sit with anyone, or have someone I hung out with when I wanted to do something."

Adrien blinked. He hadn't known that. He had always assumed that Marinette had always been popular, simply based on the photos he had seen of the class in previous years. "But everyone has photos with you from before Alya came!"

Marinette bit her lip. "I hung out with people, sure, but it was more during whole-class things instead of small groups. I was shier then, and Chloe always picked on me. I was a floater, really."

"And then you came out of your shell, and people flocked to you," Adrien pointed out. "Does it really matter what you were like before? That was more circumstance than it was actually you."

"I suppose," Marinette admitted. "But I still think that you're exaggerating."

"I'm not. Ask anyone- actually," Adrien corrected himself. "Not everyone, I guess. Chloe and Sabrina would disagree, probably, but they're biased."

"I think you're the biased one," Marinette muttered with another blush. Adrien grinned, then changed the subject before he made Marinette too uncomfortable.

"So what do you think next week's tabloid headlines are going to look like?" Adrien asked, cutting into his dinner. "Will they just drop things, or will they pick and choose quotes from the interview?"

"They'll pick apart your interview to try to find inconsistencies, and then they'll make as big of a deal as they can about the wedding video. They'll play the kiss over and over on T.V.-"

"And a damn good kiss it was too."

"-and say that we look too into it, or something." Marinette was on a roll. "And they'll probably make a big deal about the signing thing, even though you showed her the picture of the fake certificate-"

"I'm tempted to bring it in if they don't believe me," Adrien said with a laugh. He gestured to where the framed piece of paper hung on the wall. Plagg groaned about it endlessly and Marinette didn't understand why he kept it, but Adrien still thought that it was hilarious. Besides, he didn't exactly have a ton of photos or posters to hang up, and the walls looked too bare without a little decoration. "It's not like they can deny that it exists then."

"Except they could just say that you printed that up yesterday and we both sighed it last night," Marinette pointed out. "Or that we signed two papers, one a legal wedding document and one a fake decoy."

Adrien grinned at her. "Wow, that's some nice speculating. You planning on giving up on the designing and becoming a gossip reporter instead?"

Marinette snorted. "I'm fairly certain that it would be considered a conflict of interest if I were to report on myself."

"Oh, but you'd get the best scoops! Imagine how the world would go mad if they knew that we ate dinner together every night, or that we share a blanket while watching movies on the couch, or-"

"Or if they found out how much of a dork you are," Marinette teased, flicking his nose. "That cool guy image, gone in an instant-"

"Someone released the photo of me dipping you for the wedding kiss," Adrien reminded her smugly, tapping her nose in retaliation. "And I look pretty darn cool."

"You're lucky I didn't freak out when you did that," Marinette said with a laugh, dodging out of his reach before spooning some fruit salad onto her plate. "You gave me, like, a half second's warning before I was falling backwards."

"Your squeak was adorable," Adrien assured her, pulling the bowl of fruit towards himself. "And thank you for not looking supremely uncomfortable with the kiss. I was worried that it would be really awkward, but it turned out looking like we were both really into it."

Marinette turned red again and stuffed a forkful of food into her mouth instead of answering.

  That night, Adrien just happened to see Ladybug streak past his window. Grinning- it had been so long- he transformed and raced after her, glad that Marinette had opted to turn in early tonight. He only had to run over a couple buildings to catch up with his partner as she raced along.

"Chat Noir! What a coincidence!" Ladybug exclaimed in delight, only slowing her pace slightly as he joined her. "I was hoping I would see you tonight, but we really don't have a schedule at all or anything and London is so big so I wasn't sure-"

"You went right past my living room window," Chat Noir admitted with a grin. "I was lucky that I glanced up at just the right time. And I wasn't particularly busy tonight, so here I am!"

Ladybug had gotten a weird expression on her face at his words, making Chat Noir's grin falter. He hadn't said something weird, had he? He mentally reviewed his words- and no, nothing weird there. So what...?

Ladybug shook herself and her expression settled into something more normal. It wasn't completely normal, though. She was still distracted by something. "I'm glad to see you, Chat Noir. I'm sorry I haven't been around recently, but I was terribly busy."

"So was I," Chat Noir assured her. "I haven't gotten out for forever. I wanted to go out Thursday two weeks ago-" he wasn't going to tell her it was because he had seen her, she had already reacted oddly to the same comment tonight "-but I couldn't go. I probably could have spared the time for a quick run, but then my kwami would have insisted on a trip to the store as well for more of his favorite cheese and I really couldn't spare that much time."

"It's fine. It's not like we're actually doing anything while we're on patrol." Ladybug snorted a laugh. "Did we ever get anything done on patrol?"

"I think we might have caught a shoplifter once," Chat Noir said, returning her grin. "Not exactly busting huge crime rings or anything."

"I'm sure the shopkeeper appreciated it, but there were probably better uses of our time."

"There's no better use of time than spending it with you, my lady," Chat Noir purred back automatically, sweeping into a deep bow. He knew she was right, of course- when they were in collège and lycée, both of them had had homework to do and sleep to catch up on and patrols got in the way of that and sometimes left him scrambling (and probably her as well). Still, he wouldn't trade it for anything. Akuma attacks really hadn't been good times for goofing around and learning about each other.

Well, learning as much as they could about each other without giving themselves away. It had actually turned out to be a surprisingly large amount. And Chat Noir had fallen deeper in love with her with every little detail she let slip.

"I remember a few nights where another hour or two of sleep would have definitely been a better use of time," Ladybug said with a short laugh, raking her bangs back with one hand. "I was running on caffeine and a few hours of sleep. Not exactly top form to fight akumas."

"You always did a fabulous job," Chat Noir claimed as they started up their run again. They leapt in easy unison over the street and landed with a roll on the rooftops on the other side. Ladybug managed to laugh even as they rolled to their feet and continued their run.

"That was the caffeine, not me."

Chat Noir laughed at that and was about to argue his point- it wasn't all the caffeine, she really had to give herself more credit- when something wet hit his face. He let out a quiet hiss, wiping away the droplets just in time for more to hit him.

"It's raining, I think," Ladybug said with a sigh, slowing to a stop. Chat Noir did the same. "We should probably cut this sort and head back home before the rooftops get too slick."

"As much as I hate to leave you, I think you're right. I don't want to fall." Chat Noir spun around, following Ladybug as she jogged at a slightly slower pace than before back towards his building. "And I don't want my kwami to get sick. I don't know if there would be any kwami doctors in London and the dude never told me what he did to cure Plagg whenever he got sick."

"Yeah, I wouldn't want to have to try to explain that sudden trip back to Paris if my kwami got sick again," Ladybug agreed. Her bangs were starting to get plastered to her face as the rain soaked her hair. "Hopefully we don't have a lot of nights like this. It's bad enough trying to see in the dark; I can barely see my own hands in front of my face with this rain- whoa!"

Chat Noir reacted immediately, catching and steadying his partner before she could fall on the slippery rooftop. His brow furrowed in concern. "Do you want me to escort you back to your place? I can see in the dark, it's no problem for me-"

"I'll be fine," Ladybug assured him, as he had suspected she would. "There's enough lights near my place that I'll be able to see where I'm going. I'm just being grouchy."

They jumped over a street and Chat Noir paused to make sure Ladybug had landed all right. He could see the lights from his building up ahead, only a couple blocks more. Hopefully Ladybug didn't live too far past the building.

"You might want to take the streets back home, Bug," Chat Noir said as Ladybug slipped again and he caught her before she could hit the roof. "You okay?"

"It's not far," Ladybug assured him as they slowed to a brisk walk over the rooftops. He kept his arm wrapped around her waist to steady her- well, and because she was warm and smelled nice, but he wasn't about to tell Ladybug that. She probably suspected it anyway. "I'll be fine, promise. We've fought akuma in the rain before, remember?"

"Not when it was dark and raining!"

"And now it's dark and raining but I don't have any akuma to dodge," Ladybug teased him with a laugh as he poled them across the street. She hung from his side as naturally as ever as they swung through the air. They landed lightly and headed across the next set of rooftops. "That makes it easier for sure."

"True, true." Chat Noir couldn't argue with that too much. Still... "Are you sure?"

"I'm wearing a supersuit," Ladybug reminded him. They reached another street, and Ladybug reached for him again. "We've fallen off of roofs before and been fine. We've fallen from higher than roofs before- higher than the Eiffel Tower before- and have been fine. If I slip and fall, I'll still be fine."

He knew that. He just fussed a lot when it came to his Lady and her safety.

"We should probably split up here," Chat Noir said as they landed across from his building. He could see his room- he had left his dining room light on in his hurry to chase after Ladybug. From their position, he could see that across the hall from his apartment, Marinette's lights were already off.

Apparently she could really get ready for bed quickly when she wanted to. He had rather been under the impression that she dragged her feet and got distracted most of the time when she was tired, which made her whole going-to-bed process a hundred times longer.

"Sounds good," Ladybug said with a smile, stepping out from under Chat Noir's arm. She pulled her yo-yo off of her waist and gave it a little spin. "It was good seeing you tonight, kitty. Don't forget to dry off when you get home."

"And the same goes for you, bug," Chat Noir said, ducking down to kiss her hand. "Get yourself a hot chocolate or something."

Ladybug nodded and waved to him before she tossed her yo-yo and took off. Chat watched as she vanished over the building next door before he made the easy vault across the street and over the building to his balcony. He didn't waste any time in ducking in his door and detransforming. Plagg spiraled out of the ring, groaning the whole way.

"It wasn't raining that hard," Adrien said with a sigh, digging a fleece that he kept just for this purpose out of a drawer in the kitchen. He bundled Plagg up and plopped him down next to the baseboard heater before digging in the fridge for a slice of Camembert. "And I wasn't out for long."

"It was long enough."

"It was not! I haven't seen Ladybug for forever and we only got to talk to each other for a few minutes before we had to head back." Adrien sighed as he opened his refrigerator and pulled out his milk to make some hot chocolate. "It's really a pity. I wanted to hang out with Ladybug again. We don't get to do it often enough here."

Plagg only rolled his eyes and let out a long sigh.

  Ladybug circled around the block and waited another three minutes for good measure before swinging down onto her balcony. She yanked open the door and dashed inside, just starting to shiver as she did. She detransformed as she dashed down the hallway to her room.

"I h-h-hate the rain," Tikki complained, even as Marinette grabbed a fluffy wool scrap to wrap around her. "The cold is fine, but I can't stand the rain and the wet!"

"We'll get you warmed up in no time," Marinette promised, bundling her kwami up and pulling a sweatshirt over her own head. She picked Tikki up and headed back out to the kitchen, turning her lights back on as she did. "Do you want hot chocolate with your cookies or just warm milk?"

"Hot chocolate, please!"

Marinette fell into thought as she heated up the milk and stirred in chocolate. A small crease formed between her eyebrows as she puzzled over what Chat Noir had said earlier. Tikki watched, confused as she nibbled away at her cookie, and finally spoke up.

"Marinette, what's wrong?"

"Chat Noir lives in my building," Marinette murmured, then repeated herself louder. "Chat Noir lives in my building! I've probably talked to him as a civilian, oh my god-"

Tikki looked startled. "He does? How did you find that out? Are you sure?"

"He said I swung past his dining room," Marinette said with a frown, remembering what Chat Noir had said. "But I had literally just gotten out."

"You were several rooftops away when he caught up with you though, right?" Tikki asked. "So couldn't he live in one of those buildings?"

Marinette shook her head. "Once I got past this building, I was running across the rooftops, not swinging down in the street between buildings. If I really did swing past his window, it would have been someone in this building."

Tikki looked curious. "Do you know which windows you swung past?"

"No, because I swung away across this side of the building and then decided that I wanted to go the other way, so I kicked off the next building over and swung back around the building to the other side. It could be almost anyone living here." It had definitely taken her by surprise. Part of her itched to look up who else lived in building, while the other part knew she shouldn't. She needed to respect her partner's privacy.

"Do you think he saw you two weeks ago?" Tikki asked.

"Maybe. He mentioned wanting to go out two weeks ago, specifically on Thursday- and that's when I went out." That had been strange. Why mention such a specific day? "Either he saw me or we were just thinking eerily in sync again." It had happened before, not just with akuma fights but also with things like heading out for spontaneous patrols. Still, she was putting her money on Chat Noir having seen her either heading out or coming in.

Frustratingly, she couldn't even remember which direction she had gone out on that particular night so she couldn't even narrow down which side of the building Chat Noir lived on.

Not that she wanted to. Obviously.

"Do you think he knows you live in this building?" Tikki asked. She took another big bite of her cookie, finishing it off, and reached for the next one. "Should we be more careful leaving the apartment?"

Marinette shook her head. "I don't think he knows. And would it really be so bad if he found out now? Hawkmoth is gone. If anything else pops up, we might need a way to contact each other, especially if we're in different countries."

Tikki looked pensive.

"But if you think it would be a problem, I suppose I can go down to the street to transform," Marinette said with a sigh. She poured out two cups of hot chocolate, one normal-sized and one in a shot glass for Tikki. "It's just so much easier to transform in here and jump off the balcony. I really didn't think anyone would find out. I mean, I transformed in my room and headed out from my balcony for years back in Paris."

"I think it might be fine," Tikki said at last. "If he just happens to find out, I mean. You're right, it's easier to transform in your room, especially with Adrien next door. He'd ask questions if he just happened to open his door and saw you heading downstairs when you said you were going to be going to bed. And unless Chat Noir sees you leaving your room or if you say something about happening to see him going past your room, there's not a huge chance of him figuring you out."

"Yeah, well, I'm not about to tell him that," Marinette said. His confused kitten expression would probably be hilarious if she let him on to the fact that they were in the same building, but it wasn't worth it. If Tikki wasn't 100% on board, then she wasn't going to tease her partner.

No matter how fun it would be.

  The tabloids, as expected, had varying responses to the released video of Adrien's interview. Madam Addison was, of course, the friendliest of them all. She had clearly believed him and had focused quite a bit on the prank. There was of course some speculation about if Adrien and Marinette would get together- or, rather, how soon they would get together, if did not seem to be a question- but nothing too bad there. Other tabloids were a bit more skeptical of what Adrien had said.

"They're probably just sore that we refused to do any interviews with them," Marinette said from where she was curled up on the couch, sketching on the tablet on her lap. Adrien had been glaring at one particularly scathing magazine for five minutes straight. "Just ignore them, Adrien. Your father can't say you didn't try."

Adrien snorted. "That's not going to stop him from trying to blame me for what they write. He'll say that I was too rude to them or something."

Marinette couldn't hold back her own snort. "You, rude? Wow. Pot calling the kettle black at all? Has your father forgotten what the tabloids have written about him when he's been rude to them? And that was actually justified."

Adrien ducked his head, trying to hide his grin.

"Most of the world knows that that rag is trash anyway," Marinette said, returning her attention to her tablet and erasing a line that wasn't quite where she wanted it. "And it's not that big. I think that was one of the ones that Abbey and Sarah took forever to find."

"That's good. They're speculating on your 'motives'," Adrien said with a disgusted look. "Because, y'know, up and coming designer and son of fashion designer."

"Really?" That... okay, maybe she should have expected that. But the magazines that she had bothered reading hadn't done any speculating of that kind.

"They clearly didn't do their research," Adrien sniffed, thoroughly offended on his friend's behalf. "You don't need any help getting your foot in the fashion industry. Pretty much all of the other magazines managed to figure that out on their own."

"They dug around in my life, you mean," Marinette said with a sigh. She was just thankful that they hadn't found anything questionable- no one from her school days had said anything about her obvious, cringe-worthy crush on Adrien, thank god. Clearly they hadn't interviewed Chloe or Sabrina at all.

"Nothing bad. Other magazines talked about all of the fashion design contests that you've entered and either placed in or won, and then obviously they talked about your Jagged Stone glasses line and the CD covers you did for him." Adrien beamed over at her. That was the only good part of the whole ordeal, honestly. Marinette worked so hard and she deserved to be recognized. "So people know how very talented you are."

Marinette felt herself turning red from the praise. Adrien had said it so casually, like her being talented was common, unquestionable knowledge. He had a habit of doing that on a fairly regular basis and even after years of knowing Adrien (and months of daily hang-outs), she still wasn't used to it.

"Paul thought that the articles were hilarious," Adrien added, closing the magazine and tossing it to the side. "Or, rather, he thought they were funny but he didn't get why me pranking my father was such a big deal, and then he looked him up."

Marinette snorted. It was truly difficult to understand what Gabriel Agreste was like without meeting him in person. It was one thing to hear about his strict, snappish nature; experiencing it was a whole different story.

"Paul said that he understood why everyone found it so funny once he saw a few news reports and interviews with my father," Adrien added with a snicker. "And then he was asking how in the world we actually dared to prank him. Paul said that he would have been too intimidated to pull something like that."

"I can't blame him," Marinette said with a grin. "I was really nervous about pranking your father, too." Her tablet let out a beep and she glanced down at it. There was a pop-up for a software update, and she dismissed it. She didn't want to change anything on the tablet without Madam Rosalie's permission. With the pop-up gone, she could start doodling on the designing program.

Adrien glanced over at Marinette, noticing her distraction. Interested, he pushed the magazines in front of him to the side and turned his attention to his friend. "What are you up to over there?"

Slightly startled, Marinette looked up from her tablet. "What? Oh, this?" She glanced down at her tablet- which, Adrien couldn't help but notice, was not her normal one. This was newer, and looked a lot higher-end. "I'm designing prints! Or, well, I'm trying, at least. Madam Rosalie heard about me designing CD covers for Jagged Stone through the tabloids, and then she looked at them and really liked them. So she lent me one of her designing tablets and asked me to design some prints. If she likes them, we'll produce them and use them in some of our designs!"

Adrien couldn't help but frown. Even though it was definitely fantastic that Marinette was being recognized for her design skills outside of clothing, Marinette was meant to be able to relax once she left work. Designers never fully stopped, Adrien knew that- inspiration could hit at any time, and this certainly wasn't the first time Marinette had designed something at home- but if Madam Rosalie was piling this on top of Marinette's other work without further compensation, that wasn't cool. He had seen his friends- including Marinette, at her university internship in Paris- bend over backwards trying to satisfy and impress their supervisors. Adrien could understand how tempting it was- he had certainly gone overboard to try to get his father's praise before- but it wasn't particularly fair or healthy. If Madam Rosalie was adding to Marinette's workload, maybe the older woman just hadn't realized it and would adjust accordingly if Marinette just said something.

In Adrien's experience, though, interns in Marinette's position rarely said anything.

"Are you getting paid extra for that?"

"No, but Madam Rosalie said I could count it as working from home." Marinette made a mark on her screen before glancing back up. "So then I can have more vacation time, because I already would have worked the hours. It's nice, because then if I go back to Paris for a weekend or something I could stay a couple extra days without tearing through all of my vacation days."

He couldn't help but grin. "Oh, that is nice!" He knew that Marinette really missed her family at times, and it really wasn't worth it to go back to Paris for only two days to visit. Adrien crossed the room and scooted over on the couch so he could see what Marinette was working on. At the moment, it looked like a whole lot of aimless scribbling and random color streaks. "Is it a lot different from designing CD covers?"

"Yeah, definitely. I mean, I just got this today so I'm still trying to figure out how it works, but there's just so much to consider. Patterns can repeat normally, like you normally see on, like, couch cushions or patterned button-ups, or they can repeat in one direction only. That's easier, and it's closer to what I was doing with the CD covers."

Adrien blinked, confused. "...what? Repeat in one direction only?"

"See, it's like- oh, I'll just look up an example." With a flick of her finger, Marinette navigated out of the program she had been playing with and opened Google. In a few seconds, she had pulled up a page full of different fabric pattern images. "See, this one has a pattern that repeats along the length of the fabric, but one edge looks obviously different than the other."

"Right, right, of course." The picture Marinette was pointing out had fabric that was patterned to look like a sunset behind some trees. One edge of the cloth was purple and then it graded into red, then orange, then yellow vanishing behind the treeline. "But what would you even make with a pattern like that?"

"A dress, probably. Or a skirt, depending on the width of the fabric. Maybe a dress shirt. Mostly casual clothes."

Adrien tilted his head. Okay, yeah, he could see how the fabric might be used. It was just a little more, well, fun than most of the things his father designed. "Wouldn't the skirt be mostly the same basic pattern but with different fabrics?"

Marinette shrugged. "Yeah, mostly. But there's a lot of people who don't necessarily want the most fashion-forward, never-seen-before skirt designs. Basic can be good when we're working with a pattern like this that's already attention-grabbing. If we overdesign, then things can become unwearable."

"Makes sense. So here, the pattern would be what makes it designer and not the silhouette."

"To be fair, some high-end companies take a completely normal off-the-rack shirt, slap their logo on it, and call it designer," Marinette pointed out with a grin. "Your father's done that before, haven't you noticed?"

Adrien's brow furrowed as he thought about it, and then it came to him- the casualwear lines that his father produced. He had sweatshirts in his closet (very upscale, of course, only the finest materials but still comfortable) that were stamped with a giant Gabriel logo. They were more fitted than the average sweatshirt from a department store, maybe, but there really wasn't much anything special about them if you took the logo away.

...huh. Yeah, he hadn't thought about it that way before.

"So which kind of pattern do you think you're more likely to make?" Adrien asked. "Repeating one direction or all directions?"

"One direction," Marinette said immediately. "Especially to start. I have to make sure the pattern can repeat without it being obvious about where the repeat is."

"Is that hard?"

"A bit, yeah." Marinette turned her tablet around so Adrien could see the screen. "But this program is nice. I can move the pattern around so that- see, here it moved what used to be the bottom of my pattern up to the top, so I can draw right where that dividing line used to be, and the same thing happens for the sides. I'm mostly figuring out how the program works right now."

"Do you have any pattern ideas?"

"Some. They need work, though." Marinette drew another absentminded line. "I need to make sure that I make designs that aren't super-similar to ones that are already out there, and it's hard to visualize how wide the fabric for the pattern will be once it's printed. It was easier for the CDs, because the cover size and the tablet screen size were close enough in size."

"I still can't believe the level of detail you got on Jagged's covers," Adrien said with a laugh, shaking his head. He had every CD, of course, all signed by his friend. They were propped up next to the fencing trophies on his shelves in his room in Paris. "They're amazing. I was just looking at a picture of the last cover the other day and I kept noticing little details I hadn't seen before. How you draw so well that small is beyond me."

Marinette snorted. "There's a zoom feature. See, if I want to draw something small here, I zoom in and draw it." She picked a fairly clear section and zoomed in before drawing a star with a smiley face on it. A pattern of dots decorated the outer edge before Marinette zoomed back out.

"That's nice," Adrien said appreciatively as Marinette cleared her entire page and started doodling again. "So how is this tablet compared to your old one? Is there a lot of difference?"

"This is more sensitive," Marinette explained, showing Adrien the screen. He really couldn't see any real difference right away, but he was sure Marinette knew what she was talking about. "It has both pressure and tilt sensitivity, and there's more options for line stabilizing, and there's higher resolution and reports per second, and there's almost no lag when I want to zoom or rotate. My old one didn't use to lag as much as it does now."

"Well, if you look at it in electronics years, your tablet from collège is pretty much a senior citizen at this point," Adrien said with a grin, deciding not to get too bogged down in the technical talk. He could ask for more details some other time if he was really curious. "Maybe you should get a cane for it."

Marinette looked puzzled. "Electronics years?"

"Like dog years," Adrien explained, grinning. "You know how one human year is, like, seven dog years, right? So a dog might be twelve and actually be an elderly citizen."

"Right, right. I get it." Marinette was trying not to look too amused, Adrien could tell. "Yeah, I'd like to replace my old one or at least get some work done on it, but I can't exactly justify the expense. I don't do detailed enough work often enough to really need a new graphics tablet. Once the screen goes, though, then I'll buy a new one."

Adrien made a absent humming sound and made a mental note to look into graphics tablets. Depending on how expensive they were, maybe he could get Marinette a good one for Christmas. He would have to ask around to figure out what the best one for what she did would be (or maybe he could sneakily get her talking about the subject), but it would be a lovely present for her, and one that she would definitely use if or when (when, definitely when) Jagged Stone asked her to design another CD cover and if she decided that she liked doing fabric pattern designing on top of clothing design.

"So do you have to actually be actively be creating a pattern for it to count as work time?" Adrien asked as Marinette played with the color wheel. "Did Madam Rosalie say?"

"She didn't say. I'll count some of my learning time, I think, but not all of it." A streak of blue appeared on the screen as Marinette tested something out. "After a point, I'm just screwing around and doodling instead of actually learning anything new."

Adrien couldn't help his grin. "Funny, I think I've seen you doing that before when you were supposed to be designing clothes."

Marinette flushed and stuck her tongue out at him before returning her attention to the tablet in her lap.

"Do you have any more ideas of what else we could go and explore around London?" Adrien asked, changing the subject. As much fun as teasing Marinette was, he probably shouldn't get too carried away. "I've been looking around, but I'm kind of tired of museums at the moment. I asked Paul what else there was to do about here, but, y'know..." He shrugged. "He lives here. Everything seems normal and boring to him since he's used to it."

Finally Marinette set the tablet aside to focus on Adrien. Apparently she had gotten tired of the doodling. "Yeah, actually! A couple of the other interns went up to Stonehenge and Bath a few weeks ago, and they were talking about it the other day. It sounded really interesting so I asked them a few questions about their trip, and they said that we could probably do both on the same day without a problem. I've been meaning to tell you about it but I keep forgetting."

"Ooh, that sounds good! It would be fun to get out of London for a day. We would take a train there, right?" Adrien had done a bit of research on exploring those areas at one point, since they were so iconic, but he had yet to visit either despite their relative proximity to London. He had kind of been a little busy with other things.

"Yeah. They said that we would have to start early and would get back late if we want enough time to really look at things, but it would be a fun day out." Marinette pulled out her phone out and navigated to a train schedule to show him. "See, we would take a train to Salisbury. There's a bus that runs out to Stonehenge and there's a stop right at the train station. It's the off season, so the bus comes once an hour."

"So we would have to pay attention to the time while we're out there. It wouldn't be any fun to accidentally miss it."

Marinette nodded. "Right. And then we would take the bus back into town and maybe poke around the Salisbury Cathedral- it's supposed to be pretty- and then we'd take another train to Bath."

"That sounds like fun," Adrien said cheerfully, already looking forward to it. "A whole day of being a proper tourist. We can pack a lunch so we don't waste any time trying to find a place to eat. Maybe you'll even get some inspiration for patterns while we're out!"

"That would be nice," Marinette agreed. She glanced down at her phone again, checking the train schedule one last time. "Does Saturday work for you?"

"Of course." Adrien grinned at her. "I can't wait."

[restlessmaknae]

Paradox [pt.4]

Chapters: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7

Word count: 1728

Genre: angst, drama, a bit of fluff

Pairing: Lee Donghyuck (Haechan); Yu Dayoung (OC)

Setting: non AU

Warning: mentions of character death, suicide, hints of depression

Chapter warning: mentions of digestive problems (I don’t know if it can be triggering since it’s not an eating disorder but I put it there to make sure that it doesn’t disturb anyone)

They were so young, so talented yet so desperate.

Paradox of fiction

A philosophical problem about how people can experience strong emotions from purely fictional things, such as art, literature, and imagination. The paradox draws attention to an everyday issue of how people are moved by things which, in many ways, do not really exist.

 Remember how you always said that I would make it? I believed you because I wanted to believe that it would actually happen. I wanted it to be true but until I met you, I couldn’t afford to cherish the thought. It was a mere illusion for me, a dream that I couldn’t reach. It was the air that my lungs sought after; the medicine that I was ready to be given and the drug that kept me on toes, motivating me to keep going, pushing me to my limits. Pushing me until I fell.

In the end, I only have regrets regarding my debut. I shouldn’t have been so stupid, I should have just stepped on my dreams and walk towards another goal of mine. I was too adamant and that turned out to be my greatest weakness.

The first time when Donghyuck realised that there was something fishy about Dayoung’s behaviour was not long after the class excursion. He was perfectly aware of the fact that she was training hard and she needed to skip school in order to devote her study time to practice but when she was there, she wasn’t like herself. The usual hair braids disappeared and she was paler and thinner than ever. Her behaviour changed as well. She laughed less and it wasn’t even wholehearted; she looked like she didn’t enjoy anything anymore. However, every time he asked her why, she said that it was only because of her tight schedule, nothing else.

Donghyuck let it slip away time after time but he couldn’t sit still when one day, she suddenly stormed out of the classroom without any premonition. He ran after her and that’s how he found himself in the women���s restroom, talking to the door from behind he heard unmistakable noises.

“Dayoung, are you alright?” he asked, his voice laced with worry. He was literally shaking inside, even his heart rushed dull. He didn’t want to make a fool out of himself by demanding her answer and rushing into the women’s room but he was utterly and undeniably anxious. What was going on with her? What was that she was hiding from him?

The silence was hanging above them like a terrifying ghost. It was haunting them and whispering dreadful words into their ears. Donghyuck was literally shaking because he had never seen her like this before. She suddenly built up walls around her and he had no idea how he was supposed to break them down.

“Please, just say something,” his voice was raw and raspy. “Anything,” he whispered like a pray but to no avail. Dayoung’s answer wasn’t the one that he wanted to hear.

“Donghyuck, please, go.”

“No.”

“Please,” she repeated but this time, her voice was more fervent despite the shaky edge to it.

He let out an agitated sigh, his thoughts racing in his head. He was so worried but he didn’t know what else to say to convince her that he only wanted to help. Whereas, he did his best to persuade her about his intentions.

“I won’t go until you tell me what is going on. After that, I promise that I’ll scamper away but until you don’t tell me the truth, I won’t move an inch.”

“Why are you so strong-headed?” she cried out. A quiver in her voice was unmistakable and he soon heard her helpless sobbing that she failed to cover up. “You should ignore me and do your own business. After all, you’re my rival, you’re my sunbae and I’m just a nameless trainee under a company that is in conflict with yours.”

He gulped. Every word bit into him as she came up with the only thing that he couldn’t disagree with. Their companies and their status was something that they couldn’t change, even if they wanted to. It was a well-known fact that the two biggest entertainment companies had several arguments over the last few decades but why did she suddenly bring it up? They had never even mentioned that they were under different companies because they both knew it well. It would have hurt more if they had said it out loud. So why now?

“Our companies have nothing to do with our relationship,” he gritted his teeth.

“Still, I want you to go.”

“As I’ve said, I won’t go. Don’t even think about it,” he scowled, although he knew that she couldn’t see it. She was still behind the toilet’s door and he assumed that she would stay there for quite some time. “Please, say what has been bothering you. I’m here for you, okay? No matter what it is, you can tell me. You can tell me about your trainee days, the girls at the company, your boyfriend or anything−”

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” she cut him off but there wasn’t even a hint of amusement in her voice. It scared him to death. Where was that beaming, giggling girl that he used to know? What happened to her? What could happen that made her change so drastically?

“Dayoung, please,” he put his hand on the door, a tired sigh making its way past his lips. “I want to help you. I can’t if you don’t let me. Share the burden, okay? It’ll be easier, I promise.”

There was a pause after his soothing words. He was hesitating whether to try and push the door open or to leave the room. Who knew if Dayoung’s problem was really something that he could help with? If not, why was he interfering?

Nevertheless, the girl lifted the weight off of his chest when she decided to answer. Her voice was as brittle as a glass-bead and the sound of her sobs felt like she was sending bullets to his heart.

“The company has been thinking about debuting the next girl group in two weeks.”

“That is amazing!” he furrowed his eyebrows in question, not knowing what was so unacceptable about the news. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I’m not sure if I’ll debut with them or not,” she muttered sadly.

Donghyuck felt like the air was being squeezed out of his lungs. He knew what it meant but he couldn’t be prepared for the following.

“I’m currently being examined by doctors and they say that I have a severe digestive problem. I know, lately everything that I consume comes out within an hour or so. I constantly have to go to the bathroom to vomit, interrupting the practices and my schedule. I can’t go to a place without knowing about the closest rest room because it’s that serious.”

He was at a loss for words. Her words stung him right at the heart, her pain eventually consuming his whole body. The ground became shaky under his feet, the world became cloudy with the sound of the thunderstorm in the distance. He wished he had heard it wrong but no, it was the truth. The truth that caught him completely off-guard.

“I-I-I just don’t know what to do,” she stuttered, her words barely audible due to her tears. He didn’t need to see her, it was obvious that she was crying. Not just sobbing silently like before but letting it all out. “I eat what they tell me to eat and even if I don’t eat anything, I keep vomiting. The doctors say it’s because of my strict diet but I’ve been on a diet since I joined the company, so it can’t be the problem. My body is just… it keeps messing with me and I don’t know what to do. And it drives me nuts,” she shrieked and didn’t even try to get her grip together.

She was too broken already, there was no use of hiding behind masks. It was time to reveal who she really was. Not the brightly shining sunshine that she used to be but the heavenly rain that would wash away yesterday’s hardships and disappear with a hope for a better tomorrow.

Either way, he loved her. He didn’t mind that he could see her like that; like a fragile human being.

“So you say that you can’t debut because of your digestive problems?”

“Imagine what the fans would think if I suddenly left the stage to throw up. It can happen during a live broadcast, it can ruin anything. My stupid, stupid body doesn’t let me debut. I hate it, I hate myself. Why can’t I be like the other trainees who don’t have to go through all this? Why can’t I be healthy and skinny like them without digestive problems? Why?” she whimpered with a grieving mixture of raindrop-like tears and words like poisoned arrows.

Donghyuck chose this moment to open the toilet’s door and to his amazement, it wasn’t even locked. Dayoung was on the ground, head snuggled to her chest. She looked like a little girl with her messy hair and continuously falling tears. When she looked up at him, her eyes told more than everything. It was a beautiful painting ripped by the obstacles of faith, shedding scarlet-read tears in inexplicable lines, showing a whole new side to the world. It was still Yu Dayoung with all her gummy smiles and contagious giggles but all her broken pieces were there, too.

He immediately crouched down to her and cradled her against his chest, murmuring soothing words into her ear. The longer he stayed there, the better she felt. Yet, it seemed like there was no end to her crying. She bottled it up for too long and that’s how she got rid of it. He was devastated but also happy at the same time because she let him stay with her.

What I don’t regret is the things that we’ve done together. When we were together, our happiness doubled. When we were together, our sadness lessened. I know it sounds silly since it’s an equation that is far from even logical. But it’s the equation of love, so it doesn’t need explanation.

[hekate1308]

Signs Of Evil

I expanded this. Enjoy!

Day 30

It’s been a month since he was quick enough to find his doppelganger in the parallel world and convince him that ending his miserable existence was the way to go and saved the world before he closed the gates of Hell once and for all. Souls can still slip through – can’t allow the increase in ghost activity – but there’ll be no more demons wreaking havoc apart from those who happened to be on earth when he slammed the door shut.

It gives him plenty of time to relax and occasionally visit the boys. Things have been quiet for a while now, since he conveniently showed up to kill off Satan’s spawn and Cas was miraculously brought back to life once again, human but healthy.

He’s walking down a hallway in the bunker; Dean made it abundantly clear that he prefers it when people “knock on doors and walk through them in case I am polishing my gun” so he’s decided to fulfil that particular wish.

A noise emitting from one of the store rooms draws his attention. With a blink of an eye, he’s standing right in the middle of it, looking down at...

Oh. He is somewhat surprised the Men of Letters managed to get hold of a basilisk’s egg.

Rather risky keeping it around.

Basilisk’s eggs are very powerful and as such very valuable, but there are a few drawbacks.

For one, it’s hot and could easily set anything it touches ablaze.

Well...

Anything with a shred of decency, that is.

Because the biggest irony of all concerning basilisk’s eggs is that only evil entities – demons, angry ghosts, occasionally a witch if she manages to be as wicked as his mother was – can touch it without getting burned.

Eggs like this one also have a tendency to move on their own, probably compelled by the same instinct that makes their parents turn anyone who looks at them directly into stone.

It has managed to open its box and roll halfway across the floor.

There’s a pair of gloves and pliers lying nearby, proving the boys already know what’s up.

He reaches out and takes it in his hand.

Huh. It even feels warm for him, and that’s saying something.

He carefully puts it back in the box. As he leaves the room, Dean strolls into the hallway.

“Crowley”.

“Squirrel. I put the egg where it belongs”.

Dean catches on immediately.

“Thought I heard it. Does this about once a month... thankfully it can’t get through the door, the Men of Letters were too careful. Thanks. Can be a real son of a bitch when it wants. We haven’t found a way to destroy it yet”.

He nods. Not even he is aware of a way to accomplish that.

“You staying for dinner?”

He doesn’t need to eat of course, but he will admit that Dean is a good cook.

“Since I’m already here...”

Day 40

He’s back at the bunker again. Dean, Sam and Cas are preparing to go on a hunt and he has nothing better to do, so he tags along.

No one says anything against it when he gets into the Impala. The backseat; he doesn’t feel like fighting over riding shotgun today.

“Do you have credentials?” Dean asks when they’re half way to Iowa.

“Sure” he replies. He’s always made certain that he can get in wherever he needs to be.

“Alright then, you can take the locals.”

His badge works like a charm. The little old lady at the reception of the police station even flirts with him a little, which surprises him because it’s easy to tell she has the kind of soul that should have flinched away from him subconsciously.

There’s a reason some people never meet demons. Self-preservation is a powerful instinct, which Mrs. Grover seems to lack.

He shrugs and moves on.

It turns out to be an easy salt-and-burn, but he still hangs around because he’s got nothing else to do and at least the boys are fun.

He drives back with them to the bunker too.

And only when the case is well and truly over and he’s said his goodbyes does he stop and think and realize he just went on a hunt with no other reason than he could.

Day 70

He’s had to put the basilisk’s egg away too more times in the mean time. They thing is growing annoying; he’s less and less disposed to deal with it, but it would be far more troublesome to force the boys to use the gloves and pliers all the time.

Is it just his imagination or is it growing warmer, too? He should perhaps do some research; not that it melts its box one day. Then they’d really have a problem.

“Ah, Crowley. Great, you can help me out. What does this phrase mean?” Sam, who he’s materialized in front of, asks.

“The bone of the unborn” he reads. “I am assuming you didn’t know that babies having died during their birth was an ingredient, Moose?”

“Who is using babies as an ingredient now?” Dean asks, stepping into the library.

“Hey Crowley, didn’t expect you back so soon”.

He doesn’t sound annoyed, and really, it’s been a while since he visited them last...

A whole of three days, he suddenly realizes.

Oh well.

There’s so much time on his hand these days, and Dean just got a football for the bunker.

Day 90

He appears in the bunker’s shooting range and watches Cas fire another round.

“Bulls-eye, Feathers”.

Cas rears around, gun in his hands.

Crowley raises an eyebrow.

“That won’t work on me, I’m afraid”.

The former angel relaxes.

“Crowley”.

“Thought I’d drop in, see how you were getting by”.

Neither of them mentions he only stopped for dinner yesterday.

“Also, I put the egg back into the box... You should really look into that, it’s getting hotter”.

“Hotter?”

“Yes”.

Cas tilts his head to the side and studies him and for the first time in a long time, he can’t tell what he’s thinking.

He doesn’t tell him about the curious revulsion he feels that’s getting stronger every time he has to face the egg. Must be his imagination. And that look on his face makes him uncomfortable enough.  

Day 120

“Crowley” Dean says when they’re about to retire and he’s getting ready to say his goodbye and return to the luxurious hotel he’s currently staying in.

“We cleared this one” he points to a door, “But no loud music between the hours of two and eight am”.

And with that they leave him to... get acquainted with his own room.

Alright then.

It’s plain, simple, comfortable. Nothing like the hotel where he has room service and a huge flat screen.

He moves in immediately.

That night, the egg comes crashing down again.

He could swear it’s a few degrees hotter than the last time.  

Day 130

“Crowley. Did you bring a hell hound into the bunker?” Dean asks at breakfast. “Because I could have sworn something licked my hand in the war room.”

“Of course. You know her. Juliet.”

“Juliet... Alright, but why?”

“You gave me a room. I can’t let my girl camp outside when I have a room.”

“Your – you know what, just tell her no chewing on anything, and she’s not allowed on the couch”.  

Day 150

He can find nothing that would explain why the egg is becoming hotter every time he picks it up, but at least Cassie knows so someone’s keeping an eye on it when he’s not around.

Not that he’s gone so often. After all, they gave him a room, he might as well use it.

“Good morning – oh, Sheriff Mills. Girls”.

The sheriff looks quite well. Their date certainly did her no harm, he hopes, somewhat taken aback at his own reaction.

From what he can remember of his human life, he’s experiencing something almost like shame.

Before anyone can stop her, the one he thinks is called Claire Novak, Cas’ vessel’s daughter, marches up to him and punches him in the face.

She’s pretty strong for her age.

“Claire!” Jody calls out, clearly worried, and the others quickly move behind her.

Dean seems to be a bit conflicted as to who to shield against whom. It’s almost... touching.

The last thing he wants to do on this fine morning is provoke a fight though, especially since he’s pretty sure he’ll have to deal with the damn egg again soon.

And he did try to kill her, after all.

“I suppose I deserved that” he says mildly.

He ignores Sam’s incredulous stare.

Day 200

The egg’s almost too hot to hold now, but he can’t find a single reason in lore why it should be.

“Crowley, we’ve got a case!” Dean calls out.

He moves to find him in the hallway.

“I’m worried about the egg” he says.

“Cas told us. Don’t worry, we strengthened both the box and the door” Dean says.

He can’t feel any enhanced protection, but Dean knows what he’s talking about.

He shrugs his shoulders and forgets about it.

Day 250

“You can trust anyone in this room” Dean tells the other hunters they met on their newest case.

Of course they immediately look at Crowley. His time on the throne is still well remembered, it seems.

“I don’t know...” the woman begins, slowly. “After all you did, working with a demon...”

Dean snorts.

“Come on guys, do you really think he’d be a member of our team if we didn’t trust him?”

Talking is suddenly difficult.

It’s a strange thing to have, the trust of others.

Day 300

He can actually sleep when he puts his mind to it, and it’s a pleasant way to pass the night. Otherwise, he just waits for the boys to wake up or corrects the mistakes in the Men of Letter’s library or takes Juliet on a walk.

Even the others have got used to having to wake him for breakfast, although they were a little weirded out at the beginning (it’s not his fault he doesn’t need to breathe, and he told himself he wasn’t feeling bad when Dean came to get him and thought he was dead for a second).

So, when a crash wakes him up, he blinks and groans realizing it’s the stupid egg again. Juliet sniffles at the foot of his bed.

He just hopes it didn’t wake up anyone else. Dean is just getting used to a regular sleep schedule, and Cas still has problems drifting off now and then.

Definitely uncomfortably hot now.

Day 365

It’s been a pretty relaxing week – Sheriff Mills even came to visit and was civil to him – and he sighs when he hears the tell-tale thump from the library.

For some reason, he feels Cas’ eyes follow him as he leaves the room.

Also, he really dreads dealing with the egg, now. He must be growing soft after all

 Even without Cas’ text, he would know.

After he told them of Crowley’s worry about the egg, they did their research and there is only one explanation why someone would think the thing was too hot to touch.

And to be fair, he hasn’t considered the demon pure evil since...

Point is, Dean has been waiting for this for a while, so the crash and the curse coming from the store room don’t bother him.

Neither does the sight of Crowley, staring at his burned hand with a shocked expression on his face.

Dean picks up the gloves and the pliers and puts the egg away.

“Don’t touch it just like that again”.

He lightly touches his shoulder.

“Come on, you need that taken care of”.

From their own experience, he knows the burn will be a bitch.

As they walk towards the war room Dean says, “Being good isn’t that bad, you know”.

Crowley doesn’t say anything, but from the corner of his eye, Dean can see a small, pleased smile on his face.  

[sweet-hypocrisy]

I Need to Use This More

Going back and rereading some of these posts have been interesting. 

2018 was a bit of an eye opener for me. I learned that hell, I do actually have BPD. Ironic, considering I wrote a post bitching about how my mother tried to label me as such to absolve any responsibility for her shit ability to be an emotionally nurturing parenting. Kicker: I have BPD because of my parents. However, they’re not going to fix me. I need to let go of my anger toward them. My resentment. They’re never going to accept responsibility. My mom will make comments at times. Like when I went over there and broke down in a moment of weakness and went to her freaking out when I found the diagnosis. She told me she knows she’s not the greatest mother and she wasn’t very friendly and warm. She blamed her own childhood. Which from the bits and pieces I’ve gathered over 30 years, I don’t disagree. But it’s always felt more of an opportunity for me to comfort her for her parenting. I wonder if I do the same thing.

I’ve been struggling to cope with the fact that I more than likely have a personality disorder. Mainly, the stigma attached to it. There are times where I go on places like the BPD subreddit, hear how awful Lina is with her BPD, and think that’s not me. No, it is. I have just learned to internalize more and have gotten consequences for not doing so.

I seek validation too often, and I often feel like I manipulate or guilt trip to get that. I feel like an emotional abuser. I cling too hard. People don’t know it, but I make everyone responsible for my mood. Or I blame people for my mood. I’m responsible for that. Nobody else. I can’t control my unstable emotions. My emotions change at the drop of a hat. Yesterday I woke up feeling refreshed, motivated, ready. I organized the house. Took Fiona on a 3 mile walk. Felt accomplished. Then the toilet started leaking all over, into the basement. And I spiralled. So far this morning I have cried twice over minor inconveniences and I just feel so alone and angry. So far for that this morning I have blamed my best friend and husband. Why? Because the composter I was promised would be built is still not (we’ve been busy, had house guests for a week, and I can also build it my fucking self), and is now missing parts and it feels like the responsibility to return and fix my own Christmas gift is on me. Which, I guess it should be. He just bought it. Why does he have to do everything for it? My best friend is texting me to vent about her roommate/best friend she likely has replaced me with, mentioned wanting to plan a surprise party for him. I already feel replaced, and I’m feeling the huge pangs of loss, jealousy. Because she hasn’t done that for me ever (granted, I don’t think I’ve done it for her, either). I do now remember her getting a “surprise” dinner together with Dan when I left Petsmart. She does send me occasional surprise gifts and cards. I need to remember that. My original statement wasn’t fair to make. Again, with assuming the worst of people.  I guess my feelings are coming from feeling distanced from her. Literally, and figuratively. She moved just far enough away to deter the will to drive to and from each other as much as we used to. She started a new job (which she loves, which makes me happy) where she works nights and weekends, which directly conflicts with mine. So that’s two strikes against us. Yet, I spent 12 days off texting her every day over Christmas break and only managed to spend an hour with her. I feel like I make the effort far more than she does. I’m not sure if she does that with everyone, or if it’s just me. I always ask to hang out. I often text her first. Part of me worries she is depressed. She promises me she’s fine. I asked her if there was something wrong with us. She promises we’re fine. Yet, why don’t I believe her? Is it because there is something there, of is it my fucking fear of abandonment? We also have way different...lifestyles, I guess. Well, kind of. As much as she stays in bed and goes to bed at 9pm as I do, she also goes clubbing and bar hopping until 4am. That shit is so far in my past, with the exception of maybe a few nights a year. I’m sure for the most part, all of her other friends would find me incredibly grandma-like and lame. Which is probably fair, lol.

Anyway, back to this toilet situation that somehow ruins my life. My fucked up thought process: blame my husband..sort of. More his job, which he chooses to be employed at. He was supposed to be home Friday. So..somehow the toilet leaking Saturday night is his fault. Like he deliberately made it leak for me to deal with. Of course not. But I tried to find help. Nobody around willing to help. To be fair, he did video chat me and we found the solution, just don’t have the parts to do it. Reality: I’m frustrated with the fact that these things tend to happen when I am alone and I hate feeling out of control by the fact that I do not have the knowledge and skills to fix it myself. So it comes out as anger. It comes out as anger when I feel upset by the fact that I don’t feel like I can depend on people to come help me. Dan’s dad is up North (not that I’m angry at him about it). Jason said he’d come over today, and while he doesn’t often flake in situations like this, he does flake on other things just enough for the seed of doubt to be planted. At the same time I feel guilty he was asked, because I feel like this family treats him as the bitch and errand boy and I feel bad. I literally never ask my parents to help me with a Goddamn thing, and I’m not sure what to expect when they said they’d be over at “some point” to help me. Dan being gone automatically made everything his fault. He is my scapegoat. It’s not fair, and I feel like a terrible wife. When I realize I’m doing this, all I want to do is throw myself off of a bridge. He tried helping me from where he was. Why isn’t that good enough? Like..the only acceptable thing would have been to drop everything, hop on a plane, and come home in 5 minutes and just fix it. That’s not realistic. It’s not even reasonable. He called his dad. He called Jason. He video chatted me. He showed me what to do. Why wasn’t that enough at the time? I remember telling him how it wasn’t fair because there is NEVER a time where he physically was stuck doing something and I wasn’t there to support him. Maybe I’m still resentful because of the miscarriage. Driving myself to the emergency room. Sitting in a room by myself as they delivered the news that I was no longer pregnant when I didn’t even know I was to begin with. When they told me, alone, that our child was estimated 6-8 weeks based on hormone levels and tissue they found remaining in ultrasound. The horrible procedure of removing what was left. Coming home and being stuck wearing diaper pads while I bled. I know it was hard on him. I know he wanted to be there. But he wasn’t. I need to let it go. It’s just made me more afraid to be here alone. What next huge thing is he going to have to miss? He is always here for me. He’s a phone call away. A text away. But he can’t always answer his phone. I just..want him to stay the fuck home. I don’t care if we are stuck in this house for the rest of our lives and he takes a huge pay cut. I can’t take it anymore. I think it’s the one thing that’s going to break us, if there is one. That or my psychotic being will become too much for him. Surprise it hasn’t yet. Maybe it is. Maybe I’ll be the very last to know. I don’t know. 

I get so resentful and frustrated when he’s gone. Naturally I have to take on more of the burden when he’s home. All of the cleaning, cooking, appointments, caring for the pets, any minor inconvenience is on me. And I make it all his fault. Like he personally fucking enjoys staying in a shitty hotel room away from home while his wife does everything. He tells me he wouldn’t care if I literally did nothing and he came home to a sink full of dishes. Maybe I do it all because I know I’d be fucking irritated if I came home from a 2 week business trip to a total fucking mess waiting for me (and truthfully feel like I would come home to. Not sure if it’s accounting for my husband’s lack of urgency or attention to detail or me being an asshole and assuming the worst). I do it for him so he can come home and feel like he can relax without an immediate to-do list waiting for him. Yet I do it because I like to provide for him, while at the same time resent him for having to do everything. What the fuck, Nicole. I think some of this is not liking to be by myself. It’s not even just the fact that I’m alone, physically. Being alone gets me stuck in my own head. And if you hate yourself, why would you want to be with yourself, 24 hours a day? It’s always the weekends that get bad for me when he’s gone. Mainly, it’s because as I near my 30′s and people get busy, I can’t get anybody to fucking hang out with me. I’m on my own. During the week I have 10 hours of work to distract me, and then I enjoy coming home for a few hours and then going to bed. Weekends are 48 hours of solitude. And I almost feel guilty for like..having fun and doing stuff without him. Which is 100% on me. I don’t need to do that. But he often will tell me to do wait to do things (like around the house), etc. for when he gets home. And then weeks and weeks pass. Sidevent, I’m so tired of being the motivator and scheduler for these things. Like...our bathroom is still not done. I keep mentioning what needs to get done (aka him to do) and it doesn’t get done. Our front door still isn’t fucking installed and we bought in September. His fucking job gets in the way of everything. It sucks all of his time, energy, and motivation. But they keep throwing money at him so it’s fine. It’s not. He tells me all of the time he’s just content to sit at home doing nothing during our free time because of his long hours and travel. I don’t have either and never get to leave this fucking town, so all I want to do is do so. I want to see the world. People. Dive into other cultures and learn. I feel like he wants anything but. It makes me feel trapped. Tethered. Leashed. Maybe I need to learn to just go and do these on my own. But again, I do so much by myself and alone already...why do I need to add another thing? I do so much alone. Grocery shopping, cleaning, hanging out, visiting our friends. Now I have to travel alone?

So much of my life I thought a lot of my thought processes were an account of my upbringing. Which, I guess it still is. Or was me being humble, modest. I have always assumed the worst of people (in ways such as people promising to do something for me and I will immediately and plan accordingly and assume they will never fulfill that promise because I’m not important enough to keep a promise for or be cared about). I always make myself the point of blame and scapegoat myself in situations. Reality: it’s actually pretty fucking selfish. Not everything is about me. Someone can be upset by something entirely outside of me, dumbass. I am not the cause of everything horrible. I will always convince myself that people don’t like me. Don’t love me. Don’t care about me. Don’t want to be around me. It’s incredibly lonely. I don’t know how to make it stop.

[ulikando-blog]

The Quantum Rabbit

The door to Erbot’s room vibrated loudly. He wrenched open the metal panel to reveal Ark’s grinning face.

 “So,” said Ark, exuding charisma as always, from a gland just above his right eyelid (his long tongue flicked out and caught the drop before it fell). “Where’s this rabbit then?”

 Erbot pointed across the room, to where a newly bought hutch stood, its guilty door hanging open.

 “It’s underneath there,” he said. “At least.. I think it is. It’s hard to tell.”

 Ark advanced to the hutch with his usual childish glee, pulled its door wide and inspected the interior.

 “The captain said I might have to get rid of it,” continued Erbot, “He came to tell me himself, in person, at breakfast.”

 Erbot had bought the rabbit when they docked a few days ago. They were on a cruise ship, hopping between the closest three planets in the solar system. The last stop had been to a space station with themed swimming pool, water park and gift shop. The rabbit’s bulging eyes had called to him as those of a fellow lonely soul and he had bought it in an uncharacteristic nod at spontaneity.

 “Why do you have to get rid of it?” said Ark, lying down on the floor to get a good look under the hutch. “There’s loads of pets on board. I saw a girl yesterday with a pink llama! She was hot. The girl not the llama.”

 Erbot shrugged.

 “The captain said it could be dangerous, I have to catch it and take it to him. Apparently its a Quantum Rabbit.”

 “What's that?”

 “I dunno,” said Erbot. “One of them I suppose.”

 The rabbit’s fat, whiskered face poked out from under the hutch and stared, petrified at Ark’s shiny face in front of it.

 “It’s a bit weird looking,” said Ark. “Why is it all bulgy at the front and back and thin in the middle?”

 “Dunno. The shopkeeper said it’s orbital.”

 “That’s a roundabout way of putting it. Why don’t you just pick it up?”

 “Ha!” said Erbot. “It’s not so easy. I’ve been trying for hours.”

 Ark gingerly stretched out a hand towards it. As he did, the rabbit slowly started revolving at its center, as though it were sitting on a motorized Lazy Susan.

 “What’s it doing?”

 “It’s spinning.”       

 The rabbit rapidly gathered speed, spinning faster and faster. Soon it was spinning so fast that it appeared to be a large, pulsating donut of fluff.

 “Now what do we do?”

 Erbot had seen this several times already today, and so wasn’t surprised to see it again. The next bit was usually more interesting though.

 “I know! I know!” said Ark, triumphantly. “Put a towel over it so it can’t see and then just bundle it up and put it in the cage!”

 “Sure,” said Erbot, a little smile escaping at the edge of his mouth. “On you go. Be my guest.”

 He pointed to the many towels which were now strewn all over the room, as though they had been organized by a tornado.

 “Take your pick.”

 “Right,” said Ark, grabbing the nearest towel.

 He sidled nonchalantly towards the whirling fur-ball.

 “You see,” said Ark, knowledgeably. “You’re probably too quick for it. I used to have a rabbit. You need to be smooth about it. Like I am.”

 He stretched out the towel and slowly prepared to leap.

 “You have to catch it by surprise,” he added.

 He lurched towards the rabbit, and slammed the towel into the floor.

 “Ha Ha!” he shouted, then. “Ohlp!?”

 The towel twisted into a tight helix and was catapulted across the room.

 Ark’s eyebrow raised quizzically as a burst of blue electricity leaped from the floor and hit him on the knee.

 The spinning rabbit had disappeared.

 “Ow!” Ark rubbed his knee. “Well my rabbit never did that.”

  “Now,” Erbot sighed, “we have to look for it again.”

 “Why? Where’s it gone?”

 “I don’t know. After all that business it disappears and then turns up in somewhere small and dark, like under the bed or in the cupboard.”

 Ark started frantically searching all the possible places the rabbit could have gone, even looking in his own pockets.

 “No,” said Erbot. “If we find it then it will just do the same thing again.”

 Ark thought for a moment. He didn’t usually do much thinking. It was quite a long moment. His tongue flicked to his eyebrow to catch another drop of charisma.

 “Ok,” he said at last. “Lets go for a beer.”

 Erbot should have expected this. Why did he think Ark was a good person to call in an emergency situation? He couldn’t focus on anything for more than a few minutes. When they had been at the water park, Ark had waited in an hour-long queue for the highest water slide but when, almost at the top, he forgot what they were doing and dragged Erbot away for an ice-cream.

 The problem was that Ark was the only friend he’d made on this two year long cruise. Erbot wasn’t very good at socializing. Look, he’d even failed to make friends with this ugly rabbit.

 “Come on,” protested Ark, “let’s go. I wanna beer.”

 “What am I going to do about this rabbit?”

 Ark shrugged. “He can have a beer too if he wants.”

 “Ha ha,” Erbot said, but suspected that he might actually be being serious. “I can’t leave it here. What if it... does something?”

 “Like what?”

 “I don’t know. Chews through the wiring? Anyway I don’t like the beer, it’s powdered.”

 “Everything’s powdered... expect the tomatoes of course. Everything we can afford anyway,” said Ark, then shrugged again. “Suit yourself but I’m going.”

 He slid back the door and bounced into the corridor.

 Erbot surveyed the bomb site that was his room. Towels and clothes decorated all surfaces where the rabbit-vortex had thrown them. His computer panel lay cracked on the floor where he had tripped during one attempt to capture it. The entertainment screen on the wall flickered white lines across it’s warped face. He hadn’t left the room since he had come back from breakfast to find the rabbit had escaped.

 “Wait for me!” he pulled on some plastic clogs and ran to follow Ark, closing the door tight behind him.

 Ark had stopped in the corridor to show his arm muscles to a bemused looking cleaning girl.

 “Don’t bother cleaning that room,” Erbot said to her, pointing back to his door.

 The girl hurried away down the corridor, glancing back at them like a child who has just been offered sweets by a strange man.

 Ark’s wide eyes followed her as she disappeared around a corner.

 “What happened?” he said. “Was it something I said?”

 It was true, girls did usually find him enticingly attractive. It was strange for her to have had such an odd reaction.

 “It was probably just because I’m here,” Erbot mourned. “Girls never like me.”

 “Hey!” said Ark, slapping him supportively on the back. “You’re probably right!”

 He strode towards the food hall, Erbot traipsing behind.

***

 The food hall was always packed at this time of day. In fact it was packed at all times of the day. There were people on this cruise from so many different parts of the solar system that their meal and sleeping schedule mismatches ranged from “10 minutes later for lunch” to “I’ll have breakfast and you have bedtime coco”. There were always people wide awake and ready to eat, which was one of the reasons why Erbot had so much trouble sleeping. It’s hard to fall asleep when you know that, somewhere nearby, a beautiful woman is eating a three-course steak lunch, particularly when they’re both so unobtainable.

 The queue for the bar was quite long when they arrived, but shortened considerably as a large group of women seemed to collectively decide that this was not the right time for beer as Ark and Erbot approached. Ark winked suggestively at one departing girl, who smiled back, but continued retreating, a conflicted look on her face. They joined the end of a now all-male queue.

 Standing in front was a beak-nosed, balding man and two boys with large foreheads. The boys greeted them with manly nods and the balding man registered their presence by staring at their shoes.

 “Of course,” he said, not looking up from the floor, “we are infinitely more likely to encounter a black hole on this voyage than an alien.”

 “How come?” said one of the boys. The unlikely trio were obviously as deep into a conversation as they were likely to get.

 “Yeah,” said the other. “Aliens fly around and stuff. Black holes just sit there, looking... holey.”

 The balding man, whose name was Krunst, ejected a burst of air from his beaky nose.

 “But we’ve never!” he hissed, his face turning mauve. “Ever. Found an alien! Not one! It’s a matter of probability. We’ve seen infinitely more black holes than aliens because there aren’t any aliens.”

 “Probably,” said Erbot sadly.

 Krunst shot a withering look at Erbot’s clogs.

 “Yes,” he hissed reluctantly. “There probably aren’t any aliens. So, to the best of our knowledge, we are infinitely more likely to hit a black hole.”

 Krunst breathed out and his face returned to a pasty white. He and Erbot didn’t really get on. It wasn’t that they didn’t like each other, it was just that they were both so socially awkward that potential conversations never took off. Instead they stood around staring at each others shoes and failing to interact.

 “You know what I like about you Krunst?” said Ark, displaying an electric grin. “You’re clever.”

 Ark’s eyes were flitting around the food hall. His long tongue flicked to his forehead.

 “Have you seen the girls in this room?” he nudged Erbot. “I’d sure like to rub against some of them. Let’s go and talk to them.”

 Erbot figured that if he got within a metre of any girl the only thing he’d be rubbing against was a block of ice where they’d punched him in the face.

 Ark made a beeline for a chubby girl wearing furry bunny ears and naughty eyebrows. She giggled at his wolf whistle, but then seemed worried as he advanced towards her and ran to hide under a nearby table.

 “So I take it you want me to get you a beer then?” Erbot shouted after him.

 “Yeah! Good idea man,” said Ark, catching sight of a beautiful, lizard-skinned girl near the cashier's desk and pursuing her instead.   

 Suddenly, the entire ceiling of the food hall flashed with pulsing red lights which lit up the room like an all-you-can-eat disco. Sirens blared and a booming voice spoke through the huge speakers in the walls.

 “Warning,” it said. “This is a security announcement. Please do not approach this man. I repeat, this man is dangerous.”

 Erbot looked up at the ceiling to see a 15ft high version of his passport photograph staring back at him.

 It was not a pretty picture. At 1 inch tall it was a bad photo but stretched across the whole ceiling it was terrifying. The slight squint in his eyes from when the camera flash had gone off now looked like the frown of a disgruntled rhinoceros, and his badly positioned smile like the sneer of a constipated leopard. A woman across the room screamed, pointing at the photograph. This was a little unfair, Erbot thought, at least he had been wearing a shirt.

 An circle of people quickly formed around him and stared like a cactus had suddenly sprouted from his forehead.

 “Are you a terrorist?” one of them shouted.

 “I don’t think so,” said Erbot.

 He looked again at his snarling face on the ceiling. It did look like the face of a dangerous terrorist. Perhaps he was.

 (It must be noted here that, in fact, everyone’s passport photo has the expression of a dangerous terrorist. Anyone who claims to have a good passport photo is highly suspicious, and should probably be arrested.)   

 “You! Stop!”

 A biohazard suit pushed through the circle of people, pointing a bright orange, gloved finger at Erbot.

 “Stop!” it repeated.

 Erbot glanced down at his feet; they looked stopped to him.

 The biohazard suit loomed over him.

 “Are you Erbot Figgle of Room 8463B?” it said.

 “Yes.”

 “I’m afraid we have an issue regarding your rabbit.”

 “I know,” said Erbot. “I did mean to bring it to the captain, honest, only it’s escaped.”

 “Did you touch the rabbit?”

 “Well yes, maybe once or twice. I was trying to catch it.”

 “Then I’m afraid I’m going to have to escort you off the ship. You are dangerously contaminated. You will be confined to your room until we reach the next station in 3 days, then we will have to leave you there for a decade or so.”

 “A decade!!” exclaimed Erbot “Just because I bought a rabbit!!?”

 “I’m sorry, you’ll need ten years to calm down.”

 “I am calm!”

 “It’s unfortunate,” said the biohazard suit, “but you shouldn’t have been sold the rabbit. The cage was supposed to be empty as part of a promotion with gerbil growth supplements. The rabbit was there by mistake.”

 Across the room Ark was failing to hit it off with an entire group of thirty, blond haired, green skinned girls near the mustard fountain, oblivious to everything else as always.

 “The shop doesn’t usually stock Quantum Rabbits,” added the biohazard suit. “They’re too dangerous.”

 Krunst, who had been staring thoughtfully at the orange, biohazard boots looked up suddenly.

 “Quantum Rabbits!..” he proclaimed, “are very interesting creatures...”

 He coughed to be sure he had their attention, then launched into lecture mode.

 “At rest they are docile creatures but when they perceive that they are being attacked they move to a superposition, although it is uncertain exactly how they do this - ”

 The biohazard suit cut in, irritated that this pale man was trying to steal its thunder.

 “Yes,” it said. “The rabbit is measured to have supercharged the surrounding environment, including Mr Figgle here, and moved to a superposition within his room.”

 “It went under the bed,” offered Erbot. “I don’t think it was a very super position.”

 “Of course,” said Krunst, “anything it touched would be at risk of excitation.”

 “Yes, thank you sir,” said the biohazard suit, quickly. “Mr Figgle is electrically, positively excited.. and thus very dangerous.”

 Erbot didn’t feel very excited.

 “In fact, he’s supercharged. Anything which Mr Figgle touches is in danger of cancellation, particularly if its negatively charged. So don’t go near any women.”

 A tall, dusty looking woman pushed her way into the circle and glared accusingly at the biohazard suit.

 “How dare you! Women?! Negatively charged?” she barked. Are you trying to be funny? I’ll report you to the captain.”

 “No madam,” the biohazard suit sighed, “I’m not being sexist. It’s the cosmetics. All the perfume, lipstick and skin cream on board has been negatively charged for cosmetic reasons. Its supposed to make the skin sparkle apparently.”

 “Yes. Well! Even so...” tutted the woman, rejoining the crowd and leaving behind the smell of old teabags.

 “Any woman,” continued the biohazard suit, “who Mr Figgle touches skin with is at high risk of reacting and... well...”

 “You’ll blow the ship into pieces,” said Krunst knowledgeably.

 There was an audible gasp from the circle of people. One man dropped the sandwich he’d been eating. Several women tried to hide behind their handbags.

 “So don’t touch any girls!” shouted somebody.

 Erbot didn’t think that was going to be a problem.

 “Get him!” shouted one man. “We can’t have such a dangerous person on our ship.”

 He advanced towards Erbot menacingly.

 “What if the animal escapes?” cried someone else. “We’ll all die.”

 “Yes kill it. Kill it,” shouted someone else. “Our lives depend on it.”

 “Kill them both!” said another. “Why take the risk?”

 “Hey!” Ark’s voice came from the other side of the food hall. He was chatting up a beautiful girl with immaculate green hair, dazzling eyes and sparkling skin, oblivious to the rest of the room.

 “Hey Erbot!” he shouted. “Can you get another beer for my new friend here?”

 The girl examined her fingernails and yawned.

 “What about him?” said Erbot to the baying crowd. “Ark’s touched the rabbit too.”

 Everybody in the circle held their breath simultaneously. Suddenly their life hung in the hands of this randy idiot who was standing worryingly close to a female wearing more make-up than an oompa-loompa in drag.

 “Sir.” the biohazard suit boomed. “Step away from the woman.”

 Ark pointed at himself in surprise.

 “Me?”

 “You can’t be near that girl, Ark,”  piped up Krunst. “You’re positively excited.”

 “I was born positively excited, man,” Ark grinned. “That’s why I’ve gotta be near her.”

 “You’re in danger of releasing an unprecedented amount of energy into the ship if you touch her skin,” continued Krunst.

 “I’m counting on it,” said Ark, stepping forward and rubbing the girls shoulder energetically. Someone in the crowd groaned in fear.

 “Please, sir. I must insist,” shouted the biohazard suit. “For the safety of the whole ship, you have to come with me.”

 Ark pulled the girl closer to her like a child whose toy is about to be confiscated. The girl looked a little uneasy, but seemed too bored to resist.

 “But she’s so pretty,” he said sadly. “She’s the only girl that will talk to me since this morning. I don’t know what’s wrong with me today.”

 “Ark,” shouted Erbot, feeling some moral duty to avoid destroying all these people, even if they did want to kill him. “Please, just put her down.”

 “But... Aww. Okay then,” said Ark, trying valiantly to battle against his inner spoilt child. “If I have to. But just one little kiss first.”

 He pulled the disinterested beauty’s heavily made-up face towards his.

 “Nooo!” The biohazard suit tripped over itself trying to run to him.

 Ark’s puckered lips pressed into the girl’s lip-glossed frown.

 If particles of light didn’t move so slowly, Erbot would have seen patches of the girl’s lips disappear one-by-one as they came into contact with Ark’s vanishing skin. He would have seen both of their noses vanish as they briefly touched together, to be replaced by a rapidly blossoming ball of infinitely white energy. He would have seen the energy ball grow to engulf first the couple, then the mustard fountain, then the surrounding people.

 As it was, the energy ball moved so much faster than light that Erbot was swallowed by it moments before he was even able to witness its conception.

 Back in Erbot’s room, the Quantum Rabbit was nestled in the darkest corner of his sock drawer. It thoughtfully nibbled the toe of one of Erbot’s lucky socks before it too was wiped out of existence by the wave of energy.

***

 Three days travel ahead in space, inside the Bagelosaurus Space Station - home of The Solar System’s Top-Rated Zero-Gravity Dinosaur Theme Park and Bagel Emporium - Chef Picklebroiler was finishing up preparation of 16 billion welcome sandwiches for the arrival of the cruise ship.

 With a flick of his knife he slapped some butter and a nondescript, pinkish paste onto a slice of drying, triangular bread. He attempted to console himself that, in 2 weeks, the cruise ship would be gone again and he would be able to put his feet up.

 The door to the kitchen opened and a waiter, wearing the standard-issue, blue cap and triceratops-feet boots, poked his head into the kitchen.

 “What?” barked the chef.

 “Erm.. Excuse me chef,” said the waiter. “The captain told me to tell you that the cruise ship has gone.”

 “What do you mean ‘gone’?” said the chef. “It hasn’t even arrived yet. Honestly I don’t know where they find you people.”

 “No I mean it’s disappeared. Captain says that they could see it approaching for weeks now on the scanner, then about half an hour ago it just disappeared. It sort of exploded into a giant ball of light.”

 Chef Picklebroiler brandished his butter-knife warningly at the waiter.

 “What do you want me to do about it?” he said.

 “Nothing chef. Captain told me to say to cancel the food orders, because it looks like they’re not coming.”

 “Cancel The Food Orders!!” the chef stabbed the knife into a nearby meringue. “I’ve got 16 billion sandwiches made here! What do you expect me to do with those!?”

 “Umm. I don’t know,” said the waiter. “Keep them for the next cruise ship?”

 “The next cruise ship,” the chef said, seething, “is in 6 months. Do you know what 16 billion sandwiches look like after 6 months?”

 “No chef.”

 “Neither do I, but the last thing we’ll be able to do is convince people to eat them.”

 Chef Picklebroiler rubbed his face, accidentally smearing butter on his eyebrow. He’d been awake for almost a week making these sandwiches. He dreams were even full of sandwiches - giant sandwiches which chased him brandishing huge inflatable bagels.

 “What the hell am I supposed to do with 16 billion sandwiches..?” he muttered to himself.

 “I’ll have one,” the waiter offered, taking a nearby chicken and mustard sandwich and running from the kitchen.

 Chef Picklebroiler sat down on a nearby stegosaurus chair. ‘Get a career in the cruise ship industry’ they’d said, ‘You’ll get to see the whole solar system’ they’d said. How wrong they’d been.

The End.

[braindamageforbeginners]

Week 4, day 31, radiation 21

Those of you familiar with me in private life will be aware that I am not a morning person. At all. This isn’t some sort of dark, vampire secret or anything; most of my neighbors - whom I wouldn’t encounter outside of working hours anyway - seem aware of this personality trait (I also have a terrifying, glow-in-the-dark, nightmare pale coloring that can only be maintained by completely unaware of the hours between midnight and 11 am)(or prolonged stays in caves). Which is why one of the weirder aspects of this whole cancer shenanigans is the constant rewriting of my internal clock (I mean, I’m normally awake during daylight hours and asleep in the hours of darkness, but anything else is fairly fluid these days). Which, I suppose, is what happens when you combine an insomniac with Woody Allen-type paranoia (and becoming a crazed, paranoid hypochondriac after three brain tumors isn’t a mental degradation; it’s a simple acknowledgment of reality; but I digress) with the Hunter Thompson/Robert Plant held-together-by-drugs lifestyle. Which is not an endorsement or judgment on that lifestyle, merely an honest admission that I am - by doctor’s orders (mostly; I will admit to taking more tylenol and slightly more zofran than advised) - putting all sorts of strange substances into my body (and, again, when you are - on a professional’s recommendation - exposed to more radiation than some Hiroshima survivors, all bets are off). Which have many effects (the best one being, I hope, to stay alive and mostly-intact), but one of them is that my sleep schedule nowadays resembles a bizarre lunar calendar of pagan festivities. Some days I sleep 19 hours. Some days, I sleep three. The common, underlying theme throughout this experience has been that, since treatment started a month ago; I really don’t seem to be able to lie about in bed languidly. Of course, I had a bit of trouble with that beforehand (as a former EMT coworker pointed out, I have two speeds - sleep and sprint), but it has definitely been brought to the fore by man’s unnatural manipulations of my physiology. Which means that I don’t get up at an early hour, and kind of spend an hour or two coming to my senses. Which I kind of miss, but it’s hardly a major sacrifice.

All of which is an extremely roundabout way of saying that I was upright and fully-ready for mayhem at 7 am this morning. And there was no one else in the household (don’t worry, nothing burned down or died). Which then meant that I rung in the new dawn the way God intended; with a cell-phone-connected stereo, lots of high-quality coffee, and a massive heart-hostile breakfast. And it was great. When you lose agency - in my case, the ability to plan for life after six months (and drive)(and not be attached to an NSAID salt-lick)(but I digress), you kind tend to flail and over-compensate for the few things you can control. And it’s always tinged by the dark possibility that this may be the last time you can do this activity. It sucks, but it does add a slight bittersweetness to the experience (which went well with my coffee, which had hazelnut overtones). This might be the very last breakfast I make, and that limitation sucks. But, if this is the last one, it’s not a bad note to end breakfasts on. There were eggs, vegetables, toast, etc. all in 19-lb. frying pans cooked over massive flames (we have a flame-top grill), as God intended. It was great. HOWEVER...

It does bear mentioning that, as is so ever the case, there is always a serpent in paradise. In this morning’s celebrations, it was the range hood. Like any good stove, ours has a hood. What’s different about our hood is that it’s about 5′7″ high - which puts it perfectly in the danger zone for any many between 5′8″ and 6′4″. Which, by a very strange coincidence, encompasses the height of all the men in my immediate family. I have seen my brother and father snag themselves on this insidious, oversized hunk of steel (and that’s not even some quasi-hypothetical “in the dark reaches of the past” statement - Dad smacked himself on this thing just a week ago while grilling salmon). I have done it, myself, many times. Today, however, StoveTop Satan struck at me from my most vulnerable angle. As those of you familiar with proceedings will recall, I have some rather nasty pains along my suture lines - think of a very large, upside-down U over my right ear - to the point where Radiation Oncologist recently prescribed something to reduce inflammation (and pain) at the site. Today, ladies and gentlemen; somehow, while, taking a step back from the eggs to reset the coffee machine, the damned hood struck a mighty blow. Right. On. The. Center. Of. My. Surgery. Scars. Now, it should be noted that, 12-ish hours later, there seem to be no major repercussions (apart swallowing OTC painkillers by the bottle)(don’t do that at home, kids, I’m a professional neurology patient). However, the phrase “pray for death” (which is also the title of an amazing ninja movie) did describe me for the better part of the hour. So, I had a good breakfast and got a good (albeit painful) story out of it, which might make it the perfect breakfast for me. Sort of. I mean it’s far from the ideal, but my governing philosophy at every step of my life has been, “If it can’t be perfect, at least give me a good story out of it.” Well, that and some good coffee.

Anyway, due to some scheduling conflicts, I wasn’t able to leave the house before my appointed radiation therapy (I’m still losing hair) and Warlock A (who, remember, wanted to check on me after the most recent serum infusion). Now, for those readers wanting to know some of those little tell-tale signs about the quality of a physician (or their team), pay close attention. You may recall that I got a call late Wednesday afternoon from Research Coordinator that Warlock A (not to be confused with Warlock B)(or Mad Scientist Oncologist)(or Radiation Oncologist) wanted me to drop by at my earliest convenience, to ensure speedy release of Serum Infusion #5 and continued quality of care. After much wailing and gnashing of teeth, we arrived at an almost-mutually-agreed-upon appointment for late this afternoon. Yesterday - 36 hours ago - I got a call from Research Coordinator confirming this appointment, with the addendum that I should check into the clinic after my radiation appointment, and they might be able to get to me before Saturday morning. Because this is Socal, and traffic factors must always be considered, Dad and I arrived at the radiation clinic very early, and, because the radiation folks here are all top-notch (or very fast, anyway), I was in the clinic lobby almost two hours before the appointed meeting time with Warlock A. So I called Research Coordinator. I called him a second time. He finally returned my call, stating that I was much earlier anticipated, but he’d see if he couldn’t pry Warlock A from the communal cauldron. Folks, within an hour of walking into the hospital, Warlock A was in the lobby, telling me that it might take a bit, but they were working on finding an exam room. Not even twenty minutes later, I was recounting my weird hang-over-y symptoms to Warlock A (remember, this is for his pet drug study, so he wants to know if I have an unexpected hang-nail)(again, selling your body for money is dangerous; selling your body to save your life might be the crucial difference between having a body and, well, not). Warlock A also took my DMV med forms and said he’d fill them out and/or look into them (as he noted, the weird, arbitrary deadline the DMV assigned me to get my paperwork in on time wouldn’t actually count a total of 90 days between my seizure and the paperwork)(I mean, I guess it’s good they can do basic math and have my records, but it’s still annoying). THEN, after listening to me gripe about my woes and problems, told me that the worst symptoms - sleep and fatigue-wise - would occur in the next ten-odd days.

I almost laughed at that. Since day 1 - Hell, since before then, when I was still recovering from surgery - everyone has had dramatically different statements as to when the “worst” symptoms would occur. Now, to be fair, all parties have been fairly accurate, when you take time to examine the fine-print. Yes, the “worst” symptoms - hair-loss and nausea (sort of; I just started chewing my zofran) - showed up in the third week. Yes, the “worst” symptoms, like fatigue and insomnia, started in the second week. It really does make me want to see my funeral, because, at the current rate; the eulogy will end with, “Sure, he looks awful now, but wait a few weeks.” Which, again, is totally accurate, but not exactly helpful to me. Anyway, tune in tomorrow for more symptoms, Or more stories of betrayal by major kitchen appliances.