#also i need to send him to my undergrad. he belongs there and also it would be guaranteed to make him worse

[quatregats]

Constant need to throw Hornblower into math academia and discover new flavors of how unwell he can get

#the 19th c royal navy/21st c academia parallels are real #he belongs in math academia and also it would make him completely deranged #like consider. sawyer as toxic advisor trying to ice out his grad students #hornblower not having patronage (not coming from an illustrious enough academic pedigree <- happened to a guy i know) #eventually he gets a good job somewhere because he's ridiculously smart and just had bad luck (unrealistic but like the books) #except he can't be happy about it because he has so many years of built-in impostor syndrome and general rat-race toxicity #the worst thing is that he'd care about this so so much more than he did about his naval career and i think it would break him #perce rambles #hornblower #also i need to send him to my undergrad. he belongs there and also it would be guaranteed to make him worse #school where no one understands the concept of self care and everyone is unbelievably neurodivergent #also all of the pure math people are exactly like him (affectionate/deeply concerned)

[kumkaniudaku]

Simple Syrup

You asked for Daveed smut and I tried to deliver. At least this one time. Enjoy!

Warning: Sexual Content. 18+. 

Daveed Diggs x Black!OC (Olivia Jenkins)(Yes, the MC/ OC is black. Representation is important.)

"Yo, open up!" Heavy fists beat against the door of Olivia's downtown apartment, making her roll her eyes. "I know you can hear me, girl! It's your favorite pop-up roommate!"

"You've been evicted, Diggs!"  

"I paid you rent, though!"

Turning the stove on low, Olivia shook her head as she wiped her hands on a dishtowel. Daveed always found a way to surprise her with his presence. He never texted before showing up at her door but frequently sported a backpack or suitcase full of clothes or Rafael for an extended stay. He and all his baggage were welcome anytime, with or without notice.

Stepping to the door, Olivia bit back a smile before responding. "I didn't receive any payments this month."

"I got it in my bag."

"Bag or bags?"

"Open the door to find out."

Daveed took a step back as the locks began to turn, waiting for Olivia's face to greet him with faux anger the way she did the last time he showed up out of nowhere and stayed for three weeks. Despite stopping by six months ago, it felt like a lifetime since he'd been in her company. Bi-weekly phone conversations weren't enough. He needed to be near Olivia while she watched whatever Housewives franchise had her attention for the month.

When the door opened to reveal the long hallway leading to her living area, Olivia stood with a hand on her hips and a grin on her face.

"Where is my money," she asked, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Just as she expected, he stood in the hallway with a suitcase that she knew cost a fortune to check at the airport and his worn Jansport full of junk and work.

Daveed laughed and bent to rifle through his backpack for a crumpled white envelope that he handed over with exaggerated purpose. "Here you go, Miss Jenkins. Sorry to be late on rent for, what, 8 months? I hope this is enough."

"Boy, you didn't really need to pay me. You're not on the lease."

"Good," he answered as he pretended to wipe sweat from his brow. "Because those are just Chick Fil A coupons."

Olivia stood with her mouth open as Daveed brushed her to roll his luggage to the first bedroom on the right.

He listened to her insult his "stupid face" and instruct him to hurry up while he scanned the room he had called home more times than he could count. All of Daveed's belongings were in the same place, with almost unnoticeable shifts to show that Olivia had cleaned once or twice. His favorite throw blanket was folded at the edge of the bed with his initials elegantly embroidered in the corner. The air smelled of the vanilla candle she kept on the nightstand next to a framed photo of the crew enjoying a roller coaster at Six Flags. His favorite trinket, Olivia's homecoming crown from undergrad, sat next to a single gold medal from Daveed's days competing in track and field. To him, it symbolized their bond from the beginning. To her, it was probably just a space to hide old items.

"Daveed, get in here! I need you to cut!"

All at once, Daveed's sense of self returned to center him in reality. He quickly kicked off his shoes once he remembered Olivia's rules and started off toward the kitchen to answer the call for his help.

Even with the windows open, he could smell savory and sweet aromas combining for a smell that reminded him of the holidays. However, the calendar placed them square in the middle of an excruciatingly hot summer. He could see the open bottle of BBQ sauce on the center island next to a mixing bowl full of things he couldn't recognize but knew they would taste great. Bushels of greens sat in a pot on the stove, boiling amid smoked meat and seasonings to complement the food cooking in the oven. Daveed felt excitement take hold of his face and forced the apples of his cheeks up toward his eyes. Olivia looked up from her task at the cutting board and smirked.

"I thought you were vegan now."

"My business is my business, Liv. We talked about this last week."

"We also talked about you heading directly to Toronto after your job in Atlanta and, yet, here you are." She studied Daveed's face for answers but found nothing but a growing smile. "Come over here and cut up these strawberries while I sauce the ribs."

Daveed followed directions without complaint, lazily strolling to the island and nudging Olivia away. He'd been her help in the kitchen before to open pesky jars or stir while she tended to the more time-intensive parts of the meal. On more than one occasion, he had fucked up, and each time she invited him back into her safe space with open arms.

"How's Rafa and the family," Olivia asked with her back turned while she bent to take a peek into the oven.

Daveed kept his eyes on her backside for a moment too long before answering. "Rafa's good. Amy sends her love and says that you are more than welcome for Friendsgiving this year. She volunteered you for pies."

"You volunteered me for pies, Daveed," Olivia corrected, knowing how much her friend loved her desserts. "What about my babies? Is Santiago the best big brother to Emelia?"

"He's...trying. But he did send a gift for the lady with the bald head. His words, not mine."

Olivia ran a hand across her tapered fade and chuckled. "I feel like he heard Rafael say that."

"No, Rafa calls you Thick Mr. Clean."

"Yeah, because that's what you said when you were drunk on New Years," Olivia accused as she gestured toward the cabinet housing her wine glasses. Daveed nodded before answering.

"I said it with love!"

"Mhmm, I'm sure."

Together they watched half a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc be transferred into the separate glasses, waiting for the moment they could take a sip. The last time they shared a drink, they ran through two 12- packs of beer with Rafael and ended up dancing with street performers in Times Square. She hadn't been able to stomach the smell of a Budweiser since then and fully transitioned to fruity notes and sparkling Rosé with Daveed occasionally coming along for the ride.

Taking another long sip from his glass, Daveed leaned against the island counter to watch Olivia stir a mixture for skillet cornbread.

"What's got you so stressed?"

Olivia shrugged but didn't look away from the bowl. "Nothing. I'm fine."

"The last time you cooked like this, you were writing your dissertation. And the time before that, it was your mom."

The room fell quiet outside of the spoon, ricocheting off the sides of the mixing bowl. After several seconds, Olivia took a deep breath and looked up at Daveed.

"Daddy's getting remarried. Omari and I are his best-kids," she laughed. "I'm not stressed. Just a bit...sad, I guess?"

Daveed understood the issue without needing more context. Five years ago, he was the one sitting beside Olivia on the floor of her brother's home office after the news came that their mother had in the hospital. He was there for the saddest funeral he'd ever experienced and the months of reconciliation that the family struggled through on the way to some sense of normalcy. The idea that her father had found love again was heartwarming, but Daveed knew the occasion was bringing up old feelings.

"Wanna talk about it?"

She shrugged again and moved the skillet to the oven. "There's nothing to talk about. I said I'm fine. I wish she was here, ya know, but I know she isn't upset. She always told us to move on once she's gone. She sure as hell would."

Daveed chuckled at the idea of Mrs. Jenkin's moving on in the afterlife. "She was funny like that. I remember when she met me for the first time and kept calling me Devante."

"Yes," Olvia exclaimed, a spark of joy returning to her eyes. "She'd call me and be like, that boy Devante is smart! Ask him if he can put me in a movie one day!"

Olivia's voice warped to imitate her mother as best as possible before she burst into laughter with Daveed.

"One of the last things she said to me was that I need to make sure you keep having fun. She didn't want you to stop enjoying life on account of her."

"Yeah…" Daveed watched Olivia down the wine in her glass with her eyes closed, waiting for her to continue her thought. "Well, you're doing a good job. We could work on your definition of fun, but solid effort so far."

"How can I do better? I'm open to criticism."  

Daveed kept his eyes on Olivia while he reached across her body to grab the wine bottle for the final drink. Her breath hitched while alcohol buzzed through her system, creating the perfect storm for sudden arousal. She fought her thoughts by shaking her head to recover.

"You can start by grabbing those strawberries and bringing them over to the stove."

"Don't skip the question." Daveed's smirk as he followed her to the other side of the counter made Oliva hot with embarrassment, but she kept a calm exterior. "Are you still having fun with me?"

"I always have fun with you, D, you know that. Who else is gonna play Bop It with me at 2 AM on a Wednesday? The question is, are you still having fun with me, superstar?"

"Don't start that. I come and stay at your house because I miss you, not because I can't find somewhere else to sleep. You're my person."

"For now," Olivia added as a rebuttal, ignoring the way her stomach flipped at hearing the way Daveed felt. "What happens when you get married? You're gonna have to go be a family man like Rafa. Then we'll only see each other on Friendsgiving and Christmas."

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

"Hm." Olivia's short but skeptical laugh effectively ended the conversation. Still, Daveed had already made up his mind to return to the discussion later in the week. "So, how long are you here this time?"

Daveed used one of his large palms to push a few curls off his forehead in search of relief from the heat in the kitchen. "I was thinking a couple weeks. Three or four."

"That's longer than normal! I get to have my favorite guy here long enough to help me put wallpaper up in the guest bathroom?"

"Am I only muscle to you?"

"Of course, not," she answered with a sweet smile, making Daveed mirror her expression. "You're also a taste tester. Open up."

Before Daveed could object, Olivia swiped barbecue sauce across his bottom lip for his opinion. The tip of his tongue appeared to taste the tangy brown sauce, finding an explosion of flavor that reminded him how much he missed Olivia's cooking.

"What's the verdict," Olivia asked over her shoulder as she turned off the eye under her simple syrup mixture.

"Tangy and sweet. I'm not sure why you don't bottle this up for sale. My dad would love some."

"Meh, I like having it as a treat for the people I love. All my hobbies aren't for profit, my friend."

Daveed dramatically threw a hand across his chest and gasped. "Did Mean Ole Liv just imply that she loves me? I-I'm gobsmacked. Utterly shocked and eternally grateful."

"Diggs, you're pushing it," she laughed. "Come taste this syrup before I start on the lemonade."

From experience, Daveed knew what to expect. But he humored Olivia anyway if only to see pride light up her face when he told her how amazing the sweet mixture tasted. After washing his hands in the sink, he skimmed his middle and pointer fingers across the top of the syrup to pick up enough to coat his fingertips.

He eyed the liquid for a moment, watching it slowly trickle down the side of his long fingers while he thought of his next move. Olivia stood at the refrigerator with her back turned, humming a song from The Wiz. At the same time, she gathered ingredients for the beverage.

"Hey...hey, Liv." Daveed had already started to close the short gap between them and stood waiting for Olivia to respond to his call.

"Wha -" A sudden swipe of syrup across her bottom lip confused Olivia. "D, what is your problem?"

Stepping forward, Daveed took her chin in his to bring their lips inches apart. "Is it still cool if I taste?"

Olivia stared at Daveed without blinking, fighting her brain for a competent answer to his question. Instead, she nodded in a daze with her jaw slack. His fingers took gentle meandering paths across the peaks and valleys of her face before using his thumb to part her lips.

Daveed's first kiss was a tentative peck to test the waters. When he received no resistance, he pulled Olivia closer for full access to her mouth.

Neither of them expected to fall into the kiss so easily. Olivia didn't expect to melt into Daveed's body while he dictated the pace and intensity. Daveed didn't expect to feel an overwhelming desire to consume the one person that always felt so close but far away. He wanted to feel and taste every part of Olivia while he had the green light. She reveled in Daveed's attention, even if it was only for a moment.

Taking a step backward, Daveed used his knowledge of the kitchen to guide them back toward the stove. Their lips remained connected to taste the last bits of each other. Olivia was the first to break the lip lock and move her head upward, directing Daveed to choose a spot on her neck to explore.

The cold, sticky simple syrup came next, the thick glob landing on the center of her chest and sliding to her cleavage.

"I've thought about this a lot," Daveed spoke barely above a whisper as he used a finger to spread simple syrup across Olivia's chest. "Kinda wild to say, but I have."

"How long?"

"A year. Maybe two."

Olivia released a shaky gasp once Daveed's tongue began licking from the space between her breast to the base of her neck to catch the simple syrup. As quickly as it disappeared, he replaced the sugar mixture with another round at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. He groaned as the tart strawberry flavor mixed with the sweetness of the sugar and Olivia's skin. She grasped the back of his head for stability, allowing her eyes to flutter closed for a few seconds.

"How does it turn out? In your thoughts, I mean?"

Daveed paused to kiss Olivia's lips again and run his hands down her back. "Doesn't matter. We're here now, and I can't think of anything outside of how good you taste drenched in strawberry sauce."

"Simple syrup," Olivia answered, smiling as she sneakily dipped her finger into the pot behind Daveed. "It's simple syrup, and I haven't gotten a taste yet. Open your mouth."

They kept their eyes on each other while Daveed opened his mouth, waiting for whatever came next. Olivia took her time to coat his tongue in syrup, imagining how it would feel to experience the concoction from his mouth.

There started the mad scramble to get closer, taste more and touch longer. Separate but equal desires to completely consume the other person had the pair maneuvering around the kitchen. They remained attached at the lips until they reached the solid wood breakfast table near the large casement window. Daveed was the first to remove clothing, pulling his t-shirt over his head and tossing it somewhere behind him. A split-second decision had him rushing back to the stove to retrieve the syrup pot. He carefully placed it on the table while Olivia slid the straps of her summer dress down her arms to let the fabric pool at her waist. Daveed watched with a flirtatious smile, marveling at the expanse of her warm brown skin. Olivia returned the sentiment, letting her eyes rake over his broad chest and toned midsection.

One after the other, Daveed and Olivia added bits of syrup to different body parts to lick and suck the skin clean. A handful mistakenly dripped onto Olivia's thigh, and they watched the sticky liquid carry small chunks of strawberries to the inner portion of her leg.

Daveed regarded the sight with wonder before carefully dropping to one knee for a better look. He maintained eye contact with Olivia as he kissed his way to the sweetest spot, lingering in places that earned the most desirable response. The scratch of facial hair combined with his lips and tongue's soft, silkiness made Olivia keen for more. She could feel the blood rushing to pool at her inner thigh for a bruise that would leave evidence of a dream achieved. She smiled at the thought of seeing it when she was getting dressed and how her stomach might feel with butterflies from the memories.

Daveed mumbled praise after praise into the supple skin of Olivia's thigh before starting a journey back to her lips. When he returned, he slowly pushed the waistband of his sweats down his hips and legs.

"Oh," Olivia spoke, eyes wide while she fought the natural desire to let her gaze travel. "I...wow, okay. I feel like I'm violating you."

"I'm kind of asking you to," Daveed laughed as he stepped closer.

"This is so fucking weird. Are we really about to do this?"

"Only if you want. I mean, I want to, but we can stop whenever you say the word."

He was closer now, dropping kisses on her shoulders while he pressed their chests together to reduce the space between him.

Olivia's legs naturally hooked themselves around his waist at the same time that her arms circled his neck.

She leaned forward to speak against Daveed's lips with her eyes hooded in lust, "I want this."

Passion and the hint of strawberry coating their lips intensified the moment between Olivia and Daveed. He held her writhing hips steady while he stood on his toes to push forward. Simultaneous moans of pleasure rang out in the kitchen, surely gaining the attention of nearby neighbors.

Their hips bucked an even pace, repeatedly meeting to build tension in their bellies. Daveed felt the strain of each stroke in his thighs and calves but found the desire to fuck his friend on her kitchen table to override any other immediate discomfort.

"Are you a talker," Daveed asked randomly, making Olivia's eyes snap up from the action below her waist to focus her attention on him.

"What?"

"A talker. Do you like to talk during sex?" His question came between labored breaths and grunts holding a mixture of exertion and indescribable pleasure.

"Daveed, are you trying to have a conversation with me right now?"

"I mean, I like to - fuck - I...I like to talk sometimes. Is that cool?"

A high-pitched moan ripped through Olivia's throat before she could gather her senses to respond. "It's your c-call, Diggs. Just don't stop."

He followed directions without skipping a beat, digging into his strength to pick up speed when he sensed they could move to the next level. He peppered in filthy statements that stimulate Olivia's mind while driving into her with expert precision.

They held on to each other as they reached separate peaks with no regard for the climbing noise level.

"I wanna do this forever," Daveed whispered into Olivia's ear before nipping at the lobe.

"Not look into my eyes lovingly and write songs about me?"

Daveed chuckled and snapped his hips forward, earning a near-silent moan. "Can I use you calling me daddy on the hook?"

"You got a lot of work to do before that happens."

"I'll put in overtime."

Splaying his hand across Olivia's torso, Daveed pushed her to lay flat on the table before leaning to hover over her body. He used his waning energy to give her all the power in his hips, searching for a climax. When she thought she couldn't come anymore, Olivia felt her body jolt off the table once the pad of Daveed's thumb began rubbing tight circles on her clit. Daveed smiled at the reaction but felt it disappear as soon as his hips falter mid-stroke. He rushed to pull out of Olivia, fearing that if he stayed inside for a moment longer, he would expedite his journey to fatherhood.

Olivia helped his cause by curling her fingers around his length and joining his pumping effort while she propped her body up on her elbow. He came with a choppy moan and heavy breathing on her belly, his chest rising and falling rapidly in time with the stove's timer beeping for attention.

Both Olivia and Daveed dissolved into laughter.

"Please, don't let this dry on me. It's sexy now but a pain to get off later."

Daveed's laughter climbed to hysterics at Olivia's mention of the mess on her stomach before reaching across the table to grab napkins out of the centerpiece component.

"Sorry," he apologized sheepishly as he helped wipe her clean. "Condoms next time?" 

"Or my mouth."

Daveed stood shocked for a split second while Olivia worked to readjust her clothing and hurry to the stove. He followed her lead and pulled up his sweats before clearing the syrup pot and grabbing wipes to disinfect the surface.

The room was silent while they arranged hot dishes on the counter and privately grappled with having sex for the first time. A sense of "now what" hung in the air, which made Daveed more and more uncomfortable.

After plates were fixed, they chose opposite ends of the table to enjoy the meal.

"You know," Olivia started, laughing as she swallowed the last piece of cornbread on her plate. "That simple syrup recipe is my mom's. This whole meal was her favorite thing to cook, and I made it because I was really fuckin' sad and needed her nearby. Then you showed up."

Daveed's eyes snapped up from his plate. He wasn't sure what to say and remained silent in hopes that Olivia would elaborate.

"A couple weeks before she died, she told me that she would still be directing my love life from Heaven. She grabbed my hand and said, 'Dammit, Bean, I'm gone get you a man even if I gotta do it during bingo with the good Lord.'"

"You think she's up there winning the grand prize?"

Olivia shook her head. "I think she forfeited it to send you to me."

Her answer made Daveed still to watch Olivia's eyes meet his set from across the table. She reached a hand across the table with her palms facing upward, beckoning Daveed to place his palm in the center of hers.

"We have three weeks to figure this shit out," Daveed said, smiling before bringing Olivia's palm to rest on his cheek.

She looked at him for a minute to take in the way his eyes reflected the sun before using her head to gesture toward the pot still resting on the counter.

"And all night to finish off mama's recipe."

#daveed diggs #daveed x reader #daveed diggs x reader

[themissingmarvel]

Kind Regards, Detective [Part 3]

(I am /so sorry/ it got this long. I lost track of it. I had enough for two chapters if I added a bit more but I figured one giant one wouldn’t be bad. I just got too into it. I’ll set an alarm next time for ‘hamburger’ and follow time management skills of the protagonist. And for the record... this is the story of Y/N, not Detective Loki. Which I like. Sure, they’re paired up but... it’a a story. And maybe something more happens. Guess you have to read.)

Catch up: [[Part 1]]// [[Part 2]]// [[drabble]]

Pairing: Detective Loki x fbi!Reader

Word Count: 4.1k {{I AM SO SORRY}}

Warnings: Language, description of violence {{assume that’s a given}}

Sleep wasn’t something that had ever come easy to Y/N. No, she had spent her time in undergrad preparing for graduate school, graduate school preparing for her application to the FBI. Time training at the FBI training to become a profiling agent. Once, when awake at 2 in the morning, sitting on the couch, her ex-boyfriend had asked her to come to bed. She had spoken without even looking up, “I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

She wasn’t kidding.

They broke up shortly after.

It was arguably harder to sleep now because her brain was always processing information. It was hard to make sense of something so seemingly senseless. And now she had a pile of information that didn’t even add up. More frustrating was having to wait for the lab reports to come back and for forensics to identify everything and tag it. She supposed evidence would come to light in the morning.

Her room in the Holiday Inn was hardly spectacular, to say the least, but it was fine. It had a queen sized bed, a large desk for her to sprawl her things out on, and a place to put her suitcase with the exact amount of clothing she’d need, plus an extra set just in case. Once upon a time she had been the person to travel with seven bags and joke “you never know!” but those days had passed. She had learned that carrying essentials, and sometimes even less, was the way you lived. It made her yearn for that oversized blue hoodie she had stolen from some ex-boyfriend (maybe that asshole who told her to come to bed) that was sentimental only because she wanted it to be. And that thing was durable as hell.

She had slept like a rock that night, for the first time in ages, which was unsettling when she finally did wake up. It didn’t mean her brain hadn’t processed the information, though. Her process meant that when she did wake up, after her shower and getting dressed in clothes too casual for an FBI agent, that she’d come up with new thoughts. New concerns. New ideas.

By the time Y/N rolled into the precinct, it was still only 7:30am. She had a cup of coffee in her hands that she’d scored from the sad and emotionally draining continental breakfast offered by the hospitable Holiday Inn. But food was food and all she’d really wanted was that bagel and a hard boiled egg. Now she had consumed at least two cups with the third in a travel tumbler she brought with her. Her office one, the black one that said nothing but had a small crack at the top was nestled safely in her cabinet at home. That small apartment with a weird amount of locks on it and a keypad she had. Just in case.

Placing her bag on the small table, she glanced to the side and saw Detective Loki at his desk, hunched over and looking at files. He had a powder blue shirt on this time, and looked cleaned up, meaning he’d at least been home, but she suspected he’d had significantly less sleep than her. Which made sense.

The note left at the front of the church had indeed been for him.

My deepest regards and thoughts for you on this anniversary. 

It had seemed to rattle the man initially, his eyes blinking almost non-stop. Twenty seconds and he composed himself. Twenty seconds and Y/N knew not to ask and she knew not to pry. His file had so much in it, but now was not the time. If it had been relevant to the case beyond wanting an emotional connection to David, he would have said so.

Laying out some files and opening her laptop, she stood as it booted up, walking over to Detective Loki and knocking softly on the table, “Morning, Detective,” she smiled cautiously, unsure of how to greet the man. He was still wary and they were still both digesting all of yesterday.

He looked up, hardly shaken, looking tired but nothing dramatic. He sat up and nodded, glancing at his computer to get a sense of the time. Raising an eyebrow, he turned back, “You’re here early.”

She grinned, “One to talk. Did you sleep much?” Normally she might have said it was small talk, though in this instance she found she truly cared. Shared trauma did that. Or maybe it was something else.

A soft, quick laugh left his lips and he stood, mostly to stretch himself out, “I slept. Any is better than none, right? Maybe I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” he grinned at his own dark humor, gathering his things and walking towards the conference room, the young woman following behind, chalking it up to coincidence. Everyone said that.

He glanced at the papers on the table and her laptop loaded, “Any emails come through yet on the case?” Obviously the answer was no, because normal people rested at night and the lab worked on normal hours, but he liked to think that every once in a while, people stayed late and did their jobs the way he did.

Taking a breath she sat on the uncomfortable plastic chair, signing in to the database remotely, “Nothing as of this morning. The lab spent the evening processing the materials, though. One benefit of Feds, right? We have people who work around the clock,” she smirked at him, David almost surprised that perhaps she had read his mind, too. Though in reality she was used to this. Small towns or even cities often backlogged, suddenly given resources they weren’t used to.

A small ‘ding’ went off from inside the bag, Y/N quick to fish around inside for it, “Do you just… not carry your things on you?” Detective Loki didn’t mean to sound condescending, though his tone certainly spoke that way. More than anything he was concerned. Why she didn’t have her weapon holstered on her person or even her phone in her pocket said there was a level of disconnect. And there was. She liked to process in her head and her phone took her away from that.

Ignoring the snide remark, she glanced at the text that had popped up, “Check your email, ladybug. Fast tracked some of that forensic work for you.”

Ding.

“No offense but does that precinct always work so slow? We never got the cell phones in with the belongings and even you have a cell phone.”

Glancing over at David who had taken a seat not so far away, she furrowed her brow with concern, “Forensics bagged up all the personal affects of the individuals at the scene, right? Like, all of it?”

David frowned, “I sure as fuck hope so. Is something missing?”

She began desperately clicking through the laptop, accessing the items retrieved from the scene, David standing, concerned and terrified, still seeing that note in his brain, reminding him of what he had tried so hard to forget. Placing a hand on the back of her chair and leaning in, perhaps inches from her face, able to smell the coffee on his breath and his face wash, whatever he used to keep himself so clean shaven. She could hear him breathing. It was eerily calm despite his clearly rattled demeanor. And him being so close? Hard to focus.

Squinting she scrolled through each individual’s information, frowning as she compared, “Shit. Shit!”

David was looking at the same documents, and he was realizing the same thing that she was. He supposed it might not have been so obvious so immediately, but he also wasn’t a profiler. This wasn’t what he did the way she did it.

Grabbing her phone she typed desperately into it, sending the message off to her coworker, Adrian, the one she’d had a crush on and had flirted with terribly. The one who had told her he was interested, but maybe not right now. The one who sent her flirty texts still and she knew he just liked the attention, but sometimes you couldn’t help who you liked. Even if that person was a total asshole.

Ding!

Damn he was fast.

“Who the hell doesn’t have backups on the cloud? So far these people are coming up empty, ladybug.”

Sometimes you fell for the asshole and sometimes the asshole fell for you.

Detective Loki had seen that text. It had made him tighten, for whatever reason. Maybe it was the information given or maybe that little nickname at the end. He didn’t know squat about this woman and so far he was finding that it wasn’t making him dislike her. He wanted so badly to have slept on it and realized she really wasn’t his type. But here she was, focused and on task, already making headway with evidence. She wore an attire so different than his own and she didn’t look like a Federal Agent the way he always had seen them. She didn’t wear that stupid-ass jacket they all had, or that dumb fucking cap. She looked like she belonged in a coffee shop somewhere reading a book and staying quiet. But it bothered the hell out of him that she didn’t keep her weapon holstered or her badge on her.

“None of them had their cell phones. And we didn’t find them at the abduction sites. We assumed they were dumped for safety reasons, but from what Adrian is telling me, they didn’t even have backup information. We literally have no digital information on them,” she frowned, turning to look at David.

He paused for a moment, so close to her, able to smell the shampoo she had used, the lightly floral fragrance, the look of concern in her eyes. He could see everything.

Stepping back suddenly he rubbed his hands over his face, “All right. So let’s look at this. Phones get dumped for a ton of reasons, right? And maybe they just… all didn’t back up their phones.”

Y/N shook her head and frowned, as she typed back a response before tucking the phone away, “The GPS and locators on the phones were all deactivated, or else the lab would have coordinates for the phones. And why does someone not back up their phone?” She looked at him, already with the answer, though she needed him to say it. She needed him to understand what she was getting at.

“Everyone leaves some digital footprint. Can we find them online? Social media, maybe?” In that moment Y/N almost felt like giving him her signature ‘are you fucking with me?’ looks, though kept her poker face. He was a man living in a small town who had done small cases, for the most part. He didn’t know the ins and outs the way she did. He hadn’t been trained as she had.

So instead she looked at her computer, “I can do some searching myself, but for the real stuff… for what we’re really looking for… we need someone with experience.”

For a moment she thought briefly of her own team. Of course there was a group she worked with, but ultimately there was no ‘Penelope Garcia’ on her team, or a quirky tech nerd. There were expert analysts who could pull data and indeed find footprints. Honestly they were probably already doing that. But she had that feeling again… that gut wrenching pain.

Staring at the monitor for longer than felt comfortable, she sighed heavily, “I don’t like this, Detective. It’s wrong. I feel like we’re watching the lights flicker before the power goes out. I don’t even think this is the worst of it.”

Admittedly, she had been wrong in the beginning. But being wrong meant she was learning more about this person, and she didn’t like that. She never liked being in the head of a criminal, but of a sociopath… that was scary. Sleep wouldn’t be coming again any time soon, that much she knew.

As if overtaken, Y/N lept from her chair, almost knocking the damn plastic piece of garbage over as she stood and began practically tearing through the files. David looked at her, both confused and angry, though unsure why he was angry, “What are you doing?”

Her eyes were wide, though, and she was focused. In that moment it was all she could think about, all she could see, all she could-

“Here! It’s here!” She pulled out a statement by one of the victim’s spouses. Louise Frank, 43, nurse at the local hospital in Noxen. Putting the paper down she pointed, Loki now shoulder-to-shoulder with her, eyes locked as she pointed out the sentence, “Her husband stated he was having trouble getting in touch with her, which makes sense, but said he thought it was just something to do with her new phone. Detective, what if her husband still has the other phone? He said the screen was shattered but if we can get it, we can check the old phone.”

Adrenaline was pumping through her body, wanting in that moment to wrap her arms around his neck as she realized the opportunity they had. But instead she kept those Y/E/C eyes wide and excited, excited in a way she didn’t like to admit but in a way that David knew meant they had something to go off of.

“Let me get my keys, we’re driving to Noxen,” he looked stoic, though his breathing had increased, his own adrenaline pumping as he adjusted the collar of his shirt.

Looking at him with confusion she shook her head, “That’s two-hour drive, Detective. Shouldn’t we call them first?”

He was opening the door and headed to his desk as he spoke, “David. And I couldn’t give a fuck how long that drive is, we need that phone.”

___

David.

They had gotten into his car in a bit of a hurry, though Y/N was quite proud of remembering to bring her phone and her badge, both tucked into her jacket. Well, her badge was. Her phone was in hand as she called Noxen Police and had them email her the name and address of the husband. She had gone so far as to call the husband as well, warning him they were coming, and politely, kindly, sweetly, asked if he knew where the phone was.

He did. He had it.

Hanging up, she tucked the phone away, “Mr. Frank said he’ll have it out for us.” David barely nodded, instead gripping the steering wheel tightly, knuckles almost white as he kept himself from going seventy in a fifty. This was a lead, he knew. It was a lead they’d be able to solidly point at and hold up in the air and shout, “here!”

And he was not about to jeopardize that by having some idiot mail it over or some rookie cop drive it and drop it again. Or lose it entirely. He didn’t trust anyone except for the two people in the car.

“I dated a guy once with knuckle tattoos,” she spoke calmly, looking out the window at the barren trees and quiet grey day.

Loki was shaken from his trance and looked over, his face washed with confusion, “What?”

Y/N turned to face him, “I dated a guy once with knuckle tattoos. Like you,” she gestured to his hands, partially to let him know she noticed how tightly he was gripping the wheel.

He let go slightly.

Raising an eyebrow he turned back to the road, his posture relaxing, “Oh,” he said flatly.

She kept her face stoic, “Don’t you want to know what it said?”

David glanced back again, confused though now oddly engaged, “What did it say?”

She got quiet, “It said ‘gullible’ on one hand.”

His face contorted for a second as he considered this, “That doesn’t- goddamnit,” he felt himself smiling as he looked over, watching the woman in the passenger seat smiling as well, her form relaxed as she chuckled. David did too.

“How often do people give you shit about your tattoos?” She kept her smile but softened her tone, deciding she didn’t like the idea that the rest of the car ride would be silent. She wanted to know David more than just as a man in a file. She wanted to understand what went on in his head.

Taking a breath, he considered the question. His internal monologue was often just that, internal, but he found himself being asked questions that people didn’t often ask him. A joke that no one else would have ever made seeing him angry. This wasn’t just a woman, but chaos in a bottle, perhaps, “When I was in the academy, lots of people gave me shit. I was a bit older than some guys in there and I still had my temper,”

She grinned, “Oh, this is you calm?”

The corner of his lips curled up slightly, just slightly, “Anyway, I got into a couple fights. Off grounds, of course. But I talked to one of the sergeants in the academy and he sort of set me straight. Told me there would always be something and that if I wanted to be any kind of officer, any kind of detective, I needed to let those things go. So yeah, people ask, but I don’t get into it.”

Nodding, she folded her hands in her lap, leaning back, “Back when I was in college, freshman year, of course, I was determined to get a tattoo. I mean, straight up determined. I thought, ‘Hell yes, you’re an adult, get that fairy tattoo on your ribcage!’” She looked over at David who was already smirking, “Hey, shut it.” He held a hand up, staring ahead at the empty highway as they drove.

“But ultimately I didn’t. It changed. It was a butterfly on my ankle, then for a brief moment a rose on my wrist. By the time I decided I wanted to be in psych, and work with the FBI, I had talked myself out of a tattoo entirely. It’s funny, because people always say they regret the tattoos they got, but honestly? I regret the tattoos I didn’t get.” Her eyes turned back to the trees as they drove, remembering those rushes of adrenaline as she took out a few hundred in cash and stood outside some shop near her school. Always a different one. Always the same amount of money in hand. Always certain. Then always with a reason not to.

It had never occurred to David that someone might regret not getting a tattoo. Some of his he had gotten in some guy’s basement when he was fifteen. Some when he turned eighteen and nineteen. Some even when he was twenty-four. His neck and hands were his younger years. And for a moment he tried to picture a young Y/N with her shirt hiked up getting a tattoo on her ribs that she wouldn’t possibly imagine how painful it was. Or maybe she did. There was much about her he didn’t know.

Her phone dinged again, breaking the silence, pulling it out to read another text from Adrian, “Ladybug, you’re teasing me with all this exciting information. Update me on the case. Place isn’t the same without you here.”

Asshole.

Sighing, she frowned, eyeing the message, “Ladybug?” David had caught a glimpse of the message, and while he had tried not to pry he was somewhat curious. Was it a significant other? A friend? Something else?

Shutting the screen off, the young woman tucked her phone away again, “Coworker. Not a profiler but he’s a field agent with serials back in DC, where I’m out of. It’s a long standing joke, mostly born of me forgetting the word ‘bee’ and instead screaming ‘ladybug’ because clearly those two things look and sound the same,” she rolled her eyes at herself. It had been such a bad first week, so much so she’d stressed herself out that when a bee came near her, allergic of course, she had screamed instead ‘ladybug’, the first insect name she could think of.

David only nodded his head, and Y/N considered her own fondness for Adrian. She wished she didn’t like him. She wished she could listen when her own friends told her he was just using her for attention. But she knew that already. Didn’t matter. Not really. Emotions were always fickle that way, driving you to do stupid shit. It was why she was so good at her job, in that she understood what drove people, even when it didn’t make any logical sense.

The drive after was fairly quiet, though interjected with sparse conversation. Meaningful, but quick. Tidbits shared. Pieces. Shards. Bits of each other’s puzzle that they would later try and piece together to make sense, even though it never would. But she found out he had spent ten years in the boy’s home, sprinkled with some juvie time for petty crimes he rolled his eyes at himself for. And Y/N had let out her own experience coming face-to-face with one of the serials she’d caught. He didn’t know who she was. She knew who he was. Just by that look. The vacant look but one that was burning. An empty building on fire. Nothing inside. Nothing but the fire to drive him. It had terrified her. She still woke occasionally to those eyes, staring through her, passing her by on the street like dodging a bullet.

Getting the phone once they arrived in Noxen had been quick. The husband wanted less than nothing to do with the police and it was clear he had already spent time crying. David knew the look. Y/N did too. Grief stricken and angry. Nowhere to put it.

Giving the phone to David (who insisted he be the one to hold it) she sighed, shaking her head, “We have to plug it into my laptop at the precinct and use encryption. Whoever did this, all of this, is smarter than we’re giving him credit for. If he knows we have the phone, he’ll be all over this. We need to consider who this man is.”

A shiver ran up Detective Loki’s spine, looking at Y/N as they got into the car, “You’re saying this is a guy?”

She frowned, chewing at her bottom lip, “I didn’t want to think it was. I don’t think he was trying to trick us with the formal writing and the flowers. I think that’s just how his brain is wired. But I need to know, then, why he’s targeted you and the other detectives. And now… now you, David. He wants something from you.” Her eyes were filled with concern as she stared at him in the car, still turned off, cold.

He turned the car on without a word, beginning the drive back to Conyers. He was angry now. Not just at the situation, but at all of it. He had wanted to be grateful for the phone, for having someone like Y/N on the case who could figure this out, but he was angry at how he felt. He didn’t like being a target this way. He didn’t like that someone knew him. Knew the anniversary of the day his horrid mother dropped him off at the home and ran off. He didn’t like that this was so damn personal.

Dover and Birch was hard, but it was easy. He was fueled by the parents' focus. He was driven by the need to save a child. Children. He had wanted to do something good after so much time hiding in a town like Conyers. And now someone had hand-picked him, of all detectives in the world, for this.

Y/N wanted to tell Detective Loki she knew he was better than that. Than some psychopath who would stage a mass murder. She wanted to urge him to be cautious, though understood someone was poking the bear in a big way. Someone wanted him upset. On guard. Determined and angry. Someone wanted him emotionally involved. It wasn’t because they were getting back at him, though. She knew it was something else. But that was the big question.

((Tagging: @is-it-madness​ @escapingthoughtsandsecrets​ @encounterthepast​ @detecellie​ @breakawayfromeveryday​ ask to be added/taken off))

#detective loki #detective loki x reader #detective loki x you #detective loki x y/n #detective loki reader insert #detective loki imagine #imagine detective loki #prisoners imagine #imagine prisoners #prisoners #prisoners 2013 #prisoners movie #prisoners reader insider #jake gyllenhaal #jake gyllenhaal x reader #jake gyllenhaal imagine #imagine jake gyllenhaal #jake gyllenhaal x you #reader insert

[tirednotflirting]

i am missing you more than i should (guess i'm not out of the woods)

i attempted to post this to ao3 and then the page crashed so tumblr gets some rights today i guess.

this is another addition to the maisie thing i’m working on. title and inspo from look at me now by maisie peters 

read here on ao3 if you wanna

(it’s kinda emo i apologize)

It’s a cold November night when Luke sees Calum again.

Despite the outdoor temperature being displayed on his phone screen, Luke is warm from the alcohol in his belly and the bodies milling around the bar. He’s ordered a drink to feel natural in his current setting but it’s just soda and lime. He’s stepped into this place to wait for Ashton to come pick him up. He had read one top many horror stories about ride share apps and young drunken people and now always gripes at Luke for not calling him for a pick up on a night out. So after watching all of his friends (though that’s kind of a stretch for the people he frequents clubs with) head off into the night, Luke wandered to the place he currently sits at, feeling drawn to the little dive bar he hasn’t been to in ages and sent Ashton his location.

It’s while he’s waiting for his drink that he remembers why he was drawn to this bar. This is Calum’s place. Luke can’t even think up how many pairs of hands he would need to count the number of times they had stumbled into this place, laughing with their arms around each other while tripping their way up to the bar. It’s close to the complex Calum had been living in while they were still in school. Seeing him here now at the other end of the bar, the glitter in his eyes shining even though they’re not taking a single glance in his direction, makes Luke wonder if Calum’s stuck around this area of town.

Because of course Luke wouldn’t know. Luke hasn’t said a single word to the man in ages, hasn’t seen him in probably a year and a half at this point. (He’s tempted to pull out his dying phone to find the last text messages they exchanged to track the time but he knows Ashton probably deleted their messages during one of the many times he ended up on the other man’s couch with tears raining down his cheeks.) 

We want different things. That’s what Calum had told him. Luke wanted to see the world. They were about to graduate, he wanted to see everything and he wanted to see it all with Calum. The idea of settling any part of his still mess of a young life scared the hell out of him. Luke wanted to run but he wanted to do it with Calum’s hand holding his own. Calum was so practical, his mind somehow years ahead of Luke’s. They were graduating, it was time to slow down, he was always trying to explain to the boy he’d laughed with and loved for the last four years. The speeds they were trying to live their lives at during those last few months pretty much started pulling them in opposite directions, Luke supposes. Though that didn’t change how much it hurt the day he returned to his apartment to find a box of his clothes and belongings sitting in front of the door with a little note tucked into the side.

Luke had stuck to his plan. It was only in the last couple of months that he’d returned to the city and found a job more permanent, reconnected with Ashton who had stuck it out in the area for law school. He had seen so many places, so many people, so many pairs of brown eyes that had him nearly chasing after strangers on the other side of the world. He hadn’t dared to try to love someone else but eventually his brain stopped trying to play tricks on him to make him see what he had lost because he couldn’t just slow down. Eventually he didn’t wake every morning expecting to see someone curled up beneath the sheets beside him or to walk into the kitchen to find the ever studious business major drinking from the blue mug with the chip in the handle as he checked the news on his phone

Though from what he could see down the bar, Calum hadn’t been on his own since Luke saw him last. Or at least he wasn’t right now. 

Luke watches a laugh escape Calum’s lips while he reaches for his glass on the bartop (always a whiskey man, Luke was never not teasing him for his old man drink preferences). He takes a sip and then raises his brows, his lips moving to ask a question Luke can still hear rolling off his tongue if he thinks back hard enough. He watches the glass get passed along to the blonde sitting in front of him and facing away from Luke. The glittering in Calum’s eye changes some as his bottom lip gets pulled between his teeth while a smirk forms on one side of his face. Luke can see the other man’s shoulders rise slightly in response to taking the sip and he wonders if the scrunched up face he used to pull when sipping Calum’s liquor is anything like this new man’s. He figures it must be as Calum’s face softens in a still vaguely familiar way and Luke watches him lean forward to press a kiss to the blonde’s cheek while a hand lifts to cover the other. 

Luke squeezes his eyes shut and forces his face away from the couple. He takes a sip of his soda before shrugging his denim jacket from his arms, the bar suddenly feeling far too warm. He’s reaching for his phone in the pocket of his jacket, ready to send Ashton an SOS to get him to hurry along, when a soft voice behind him nearly throws him to the opposite side of the bar. “Luke?”

He jumps as he spins in the stool he’s seating in, Luke’s eyes suddenly meeting the ones he’s been searching for in every corner of the world. He used to spend hours lying awake thinking about this exact moment, about what it would be like to speak again for the first time with his lost great love. (If Ashton were able to hear him thinking that he would scold Luke for being so dramatic. You’re literally 24. Calm down, Luke.) “Hi, Calum,” he returns, praying his voice isn’t as shaky as it feels. The name feels foreign on his tongue and he can’t tell if he’s thankful for that or not.

“How’re you doing, man?” Calum asks, a small smile playing at his lips. “It’s wild to see you in here, not gonna lie. Thought you were still off somewhere with your wanderlust.”

Luke tries to be as subtle as he can as he reaches for his wrist to pinch himself since he’s not entirely sure he believes this moment to be real. He coughs and shakes himself out of his daze. He’s got to be an adult about all of this, he’s a grown up now. “Yeah, I moved back a couple months ago. Was starting to really stress out Mom with the whole travel thing. I’ve moved in with Ashton, if you remember him? He helped me get this admin job at the law firm he’s interning at.”

“Of course I remember Ash!” Calum beams. Luke wonders if he’s also playing at being cool but then he remembers that Calum actually had the guts to walk over to him so maybe this is just a part of being settled down. “Happy for you, Luke. Sounds like a good set up.”

Luke ignores the nostalgia threatening to cloud up his mind at the sound of his name falling from Calum’s lips a second time. “You still working for Donny then?”

“I am! He gave me like, a month after grad to chill before I got back to my old desk with a stack two feet high of files,” Calum laughs and Luke finds himself doing the same. Calum’s internship boss had always been fond of them together. Donny had once helped Luke get flowers delivered for their third anniversary. He was a good guy. “Actually, just got promoted to Managing Financial Advisor earlier this week. Was here, uh, celebrating tonight wit-”

“Hey Cal, thought I lost you there.”

The blonde Luke had only seen the back of before steps into view, his hand dropping to Calum’s back. He’s just barely shorter than Calum, though that’s likely due to the boots the latter is wearing. His eyes are wide and a pale green, like leaves in early spring. Luke wants to hate him but he can’t. This guy looks pretty nice, unfortunately. 

“Sorry, love,” Calum replies softly, his hand lifting subconsciously to push hair from the other man’s eyes. It’s an action Luke remembers fondly (and somewhat painfully, if he’s being honest with himself). “Found a familiar face. Michael, this is Luke. Luke, this is Michael.”

Michael’s eyes widen just the slightest bit. Luke isn’t surprised. He can basically guarantee that he’s sitting right at the top of Calum’s ex-boyfriends to discuss list. They spent nearly all of undergrad together. If Michael’s been around for even a little bit it makes sense that he’s heard about Luke. “Nice to meet you, mate.” 

“Yeah, you too.” Luke accepts the hand being offered to shake. The whole situation feels way too formal but also dazed. Though Luke is still drunk and there’s way too many memories dancing through his mind of nights out with Calum and nights in with Calum and Calum Calum Calum. 

“Well,” Calum starts, his hand moving to rest lower against Michael’s back. “Our Uber is here but I’m glad I saw you Luke. Take care of yourself.”

Luke nods and wishes them both the same in a small voice while they wander away from him. He can’t hear it but based on the worried look he can see on Michael’s face as they head for the door and the way he wraps his arm more firmly around Calum’s waist, Luke knows he wasn’t the only one faking a brave face. 

(He allows himself a moment to give into memory then as he thinks back on one of the last times he was headed out of this bar with Calum. It was early February, just a week and change past Calum’s birthday. The air is cold enough to see their breaths as they giggle and bumble about their new courses. Calum keeps lifting Luke’s hands between his own to blow warm air onto them to keep them warm as they head in the direction of his apartment. 

When they finally make it up to the third floor and through Calum’s door, they both kick off their boots. Luke’s gone for his easier to remove ones so he has a moment to lean against the door while laughing as Calum pulls at the laces of his Docs. Once removed, Calum steps over to Luke, his arms looping around his waist while Luke’s drop to hang over his shoulders. Their laughter dies out as they sway back and forth slightly in the entryway. 

“God, I love you,” Luke sighs as he drops his forehead to Calum’s. “Never want to stop loving you.”

“Please don’t.” Calum laughs gently before turning his head so their lips press together. 

Whether it's seconds or hours that they stand there kissing while holding each other in the dull entryway light, Luke doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. All that matters is that Calum never lets go.)

Luke’s phone buzzes on the bartop, a text from Ashton appearing to alert him that he’s waiting in the lot out front. Luke tips back the last of his soda and shouts a thank you to the bartender. He pulls on his jacket and heads in the direction of the door.

He turns for a moment before reaching to push through back out into the cold. He glances around the open room, quick moments of memories playing out in front of him from the years before. He sighs and pulls himself out of it again. 

Maybe it’s time to find a new spot to land.

*

#cake #cake fic #also some malum #maisie series #i think i literally apologized when speaking w meg yesterday bc i was like 'i don't wanna be mean to cake but also' #maisie posting on insta right as i type these tags omfg

[walkerismychoice]

Stripped Bare - Chapter 8 (Bryce X MC AU)

Book: Open Heart

Pairing: Bryce X MC (Charlie Hawkins)

Summary: The first full day of wedding activities continues while Charlie and Bryce’s “fake” relationship gets more and more convincing.

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 2441

Kyra fans out the skirt of her bridesmaid dress as she looks in the three panel mirror at the back of the boutique. “These dresses aren’t as bad as I expected. I mean the seafoam green color is a bit on the nose for a beach wedding, but I would have thought she’d choose something hideous for all of us just so she would look that much better.”

“But that would ruin her aesthetic.” Charlie puts a hand to her chest and gasps in mock horror. “Katelyn would never!” Both she and Kyra devolve into a fit of laughter. 

The group had split apart after tennis - and showers thank god -  to get fitted for their dresses and tuxes respectively, while the lucky non-wedding party significant others got a few minutes to relax and breathe. Katelyn had required the bridesmaids to try on dresses at the bridal shop back in Connecticut and then have them ordered and shipped to the the resort boutique because she’s that much of a bridezilla control freak.

Katelyn walks back from the front of the store, where she had been seated with the Sarahs drinking mimosas, and studies both of them scrupulously. “Looks like yours fits pretty well Kyra. My color options were limited with your red hair and pale skin, but I think this shade of green works quite well on you Charlie. However...” Katelyn motions for the seamstress to come over. “Do you think we need to let this out in the bust? She must have gained a few pounds since we tried this size on in the bridal boutique.” 

"Or maybe the sample size was not cut exactly the same as this one." Charlie knows she's not a size two like she used to be in high school when she would stress about everything she put in her mouth, but a size eight is nowhere near overweight. Still, she's not always comfortable with her newfound curves, and it stings to hear that comment from Katelyn.

"No, no, no." Mary the seamstress insists. 'You are a beautiful, voluptuous woman. You fill the dress out very nicely."

"I agree with Mary," Kyra adds. "You boobs look fucking amazing in that dress."

"Kyra!" Katelyn scolds while Charlie blushes. "Well I guess it is what it is. Just make sure you wear a good bra.

"Noted," Charlie murmurs under her breath and disappears back into the dressing room. She sits on the bench seat, taking a deep breath, and she doesn't know why, but her first instinct is to text Bryce about how awful Katelyn has been. She shakes off the thought, but then she hears her phone buzz in her purse and almost can't believe her eyes when she sees a text from Bryce:

Since it's been like ninety minutes since you've seen me shirtless, and you're stuck with Katelyn, I thought you might need a pick me up.

The text was accompanied by a full length mirror selfie of Bryce in only athletic shorts, clearly post workout.

Bold of you to assume that will make me feel better. She types back. It doesn't hurt, but she's not going to admit that. Looks like you can't  even go two hours without talking to me. You miss me that bad?" She hits send and immediately regrets it, but moments later she gets another text:

Maybe...

Charlie doesn't even know what to do with that, so she puts her phone away, but not before taking another look at the picture of Bryce, shirtless and glistening with sweat. Normally she would think a guy sending her a picture like that was gross, but not with him. Bryce literally looks good anytime, anywhere, no matter what he is or isn't wearing, and life just isn't fair.

Charlie puts her floral sundress back on, and checks herself out the mirror. Her cheeks are still burning bright, and she needs to get ahold of herself. She’s guessing Bryce was just trying to get a reaction out of her, and if so, mission accomplished. He doesn’t even have to be in her presence to get her all flustered. Charlie fans her face and inhales deeply before joining the other ladies. 

The rest of the day passes fairly quickly. The women eat a late lunch together and Kyra and Charlie mostly keep to themselves while Katelyn and the Sarahs are so engrossed in their own conversation, they hardly notice. Then the whole group meets up for a glass bottom boat tour which is fun, but a bit crowded and noisy with all of them on one boat. Charlie gets some great pictures of sealife and selects one for Instagram. Bryce then insists they get a take a selfie of themselves to post. Charlie wonders why when everyone they are trying to convince is right there with them, but there’s no way she’s going to question it in front of everyone, so she does as he requests. Bryce squeezes his arm around her and presses his cheek to hers before snapping the picture. Charlie checks out the post after it uploads. They both looks so happy, and it seems so...real. They always say it’s not fair to look at other people’s social media and compare yourself because they only show what they want you to see, and she’s living proof. She looks like she’s having a great time in paradise with her gorgeous boyfriend, but it's all a lie, isn’t it?

The boat drops them off at the resort, and they head straight to dinner and eat oceanside at Seagrape Terrace. The sun is starting to set and a gentle breeze wafts in from over the water. Each table is set for six, and the thankfully there’s no assigned seating tonight. Unfortunately, she still ends up at the same table as Katelyn and Landry, and although Kyra is also there to help keep her sane, Bob is as well by default since everyone else is paired off. With Charlie seated between Bryce and Kyra, Landry next to Bob so they can chat about their glory days in undergrad or whatever, the only spot left for Katelyn is next to Bryce.

Katelyn takes a sip of her wine. “So Bryce, you really showed nice form on the court today. What club do you belong to? They must have incredible tennis pros there”.

Charlie nervously pushes a stray piece of lettuce around on her salad plate, unsure of how Bryce will answer.

Bryce swallows the bite of food in his mouth. “I’m kind of between clubs right now. My family isn’t from the East Coast, and I’ve been so busy with medical school I haven’t had much time. You know how it is, Landry.”

“Oh, uh, yeah. I’ve hardly had a chance to visit my club the past few years.”

“So is that your excuse for your poor showing today?” Katelyn huffs.

“Muffin, I think it’s safe to say we could have both played better today. Maybe if you hadn’t been so distracted...”

Charlie quickly grabs the bread basket from the middle of the table. “Did everyone get some bread? There’s a few pieces left.”

Neither Katelyn or Landry answers, but at least they stop bickering.

“I’ll take another if no one else is going to have one.” Bryce reaches in and selects a piece. “You know I’ll never turn down your buns, Honey.” He smirks at Charlie.

“Very funny, Sweetie.” Charlie gives him a look out of the corner of her eye and he just chuckles.

The food comes and Charlie’s salmon is flaky and delicious. There’s just something about eating seafood at the ocean that makes it taste that much better. Charlie has two glasses of wine, already breaking her self-imposed no more drinking rule, but two glasses of wine on a full stomach is very much manageable. She thinks its incidental the first time Bryce’s outer thigh brushes against hers, but then it happens again and again. As dinner goes on Bryce seems to drift closer to Charlie, but it’s possible he’s just trying to get as far away as possible from Katelyn.

Dinner starts to wind down, and Bryce stands up and offers a hand to Charlie. “Would you like to take a walk My Dear?”

“Sure..” Charlie accepts Bryce’s hand and excuses herself from the table. She’s not certain of his motives, but she’s had more than enough of Katelyn for one day, so she'll take any excuse to escape. Bryce laces his fingers through hers and gives her hand a squeeze as they walk away.

Once out of earshot, Charlie questions Bryce. “Honey? My Dea? What’s with all the cutesy nicknames? I don’t think you have to lay it on that thick.”

“I believe I heard you call me Sweetie, Sugarlips.”

“Oh my god, Bryce.” Charlie playfully nudges her shoulder into his. “There’s noone to hear us now, so you can stop that nonsense.”

“Just trying them out.”

“Trying them out for what?”

Bryce shrugs. “Just in case.”

In case what? Charlie wonders. “Well if you call me Sugarlips in front of anyone else, I’m putting you on the first plane home.

Bryce laughs. “No Sugarlips. Got it. At least it’s better than Muffin.”

“Heh. They are the worst in every possible way, aren’t they?” Charlie looks up at Bryce, and his features are so striking in the moonlight, as if they aren’t also in every other light. She sighs inaudibly because she’s finally admitting to herself she’s starting to fall for him, even though it’s the last thing she should do.

Bryce leads her down a long pier with a gazebo at the end overlooking the water. It’s so peaceful and serene, that even though they are still in view of the group back at the restaurant, it feels like they are the only two around.

Bryce looks back at the others and then spins himself and Charlie around so his back is facing the crowd. “We have an audience. Should we give them a show?”

Charlie swallows hard. “Um, like what?”

Bryce weave his fingers through Charlie’s hair and presses his body close enough to hers she can feel the heat radiating off of him. “Wrap your arms around me.”  She does as instructed, sliding her hands up his back and feeling the contour of his taut muscles through the light cotton fabric of his button down shirt. He leans in close until their lips are a breath apart. She closes her eyes, waiting for what comes next, until she feels his forehead rest against hers.”There. They’ll definitely assume we are making out now.”

Charlie prays Bryce can’t hear how fast her heart is beating in her chest right now. And god, she hopes he doesn’t know she thought he was going to kiss her, and how much she actually wanted it. “Perfect.” She tries not sound disappointed. There’s a look in Bryce’s eyes Charlie can’t quite read. Sometimes it seems like he’s trying to test her, but she has no clue what he’s looking for and if she’s passing or failing. They remain that way for an indiscernible amount of time, until it feels like it’s been convincingly long enough, and Charlie yawns. ”I think I’m done for the day. You ready?”

Bryce places a hand on the small of Charlie’s back. “Lead the way.”

~~~

Charlie is exhausted by the time they get back to their hotel room, but at least tonight she’s sober enough to get ready for bed her self. She groans and gets embarrassed all over again just thinking about it. She settles into bed and flips the TV on until her eyelids get heavy.  She just about out when a loud creaking noise jolts her wide awake. Uncertain about what she just heard, she waits and the squeaking and creaking noises continue on the other side of the wall, until at last there’s a big, metallic thump and she rushes out in the living room to see what’s going on.

Bryce looks up from laying out his bedding on the now folded up sofa sleeper. “Sorry, did I wake you up?”

“Almost...what’s going on?”

“I told you how terrible this thing is to sleep on. I couldn’t stop tossing and turning, so I decided I might fare better on just the sofa part.”

“Bryce, let me sleep out here, and you take my bed.” Charlie insists. “Then one of us can get good sleep every other night at least.”

“Nah,” Bryce waves her off. “I don’t want you to be uncomfortable at my expense.”

Charlie sighs deeply. “Fine if you are going to insist on being so stubbornly chivalrous, then why don’t we just share the bed?”

“What did you just say?” Bryce asks and Charlie thinks he just wants to make her say it again.

“It’s a king size bed. There’s plenty of space.”

A mischievous smiles creeps up on Bryce’s lips. “Any excuse to get me into bed with you, huh?”

Charlie picks up a pillow and chucks it at Bryce. “Just shut up and get in there before I take back my offer.”

Charlie climbs into the right side of the bed and keeps all the way to the edge to avoid any incidental touching. This had seemed like a better idea before it was actually happening. Maybe if she wasn’t interested in Bryce this would be no big deal, but she’s acutely aware of how close he is, clad only in his boxer briefs. What if she rolls over and cuddles him in her sleep? What if she drools on him again? What if he wakes up hard? She can’t get that last image out of her brain and she’s thankful for the darkness covering up the color in her cheeks.

“You know, if you move any further away, you’re going to fall right onto the floor. You don’t have to worry about me encroaching on your side.” Bryce pats the middle of the bed. “Make yourself comfortable.”

“Well, you might have to worry about me. I’m kind of a wild sleeper. You could wake up with me on top of you.”

Bryce chuckles. “I think I could handle that.”

Well I couldn’t. There’s something about Bryce’s tone of voice that gets her all worked up again, her entire body flush with heat, and he probably knows exactly what he’s doing to her. Despite her reservations, she moves a bit closer to the middle of the bed, but makes a point of putting her long body pillow as a barrier. “For my own peace of mind.”

Bryce laughs as he turns on his side. “Whatever makes you happy.”

#playchoices fanfic #open heart #bryce x mc #bryce lahela #Stripped Bare #my fic

[feuillesmortes]

hi there! for the ask game: ☕️👀👎💘✏️ (sorry for so many, they were just too good not to ask!) much love 🌹xx

Oh, no problem at all! That’s what I’m here for From the Writer Ask Game:

☕️- favorite passageOof, there are so many passages that are dear to my heart (Blooming alone is 92.7k long so far), so imagine how difficult it is to choose one! Without further ado:What was that strange secret language of happiness that everyone seemed to be privy to, everyone but him? What was that feeling of alienness, of eavesdropping on the conversations of strangers, peering through peepholes into their exotic, ant-sized lives? To feel like an exile in his own country! Always yearning to belong, always lurking on the sidelines, never feeling like a part of anything. Adrift, lost in the translation of a tongue he did not speak—alone, bereft of a code he had yet to learn. A stranger among his own people! A foreigner born on the same side of the sea. (chapter 12)Ok, so I’d say that this passage defines the fic’s whole purpose in the first place: how to find your own place in the world, how to navigate it without feeling so alienated and alone all the time — in a word, how to overcome that insurmountable loneliness that is invariably felt by everyone on this earth. Also how to find a purpose, and finding people that help you fulfil that purpose. This passage is also very special to me because I was, hmm, not in a good place when I wrote it. But I said to myself: I can’t be the only one who feels this way! And I wanted other people to realise that too. Collective healing, let’s say.👀- favorite response to one of your worksA dear friend made me a moodboard! (I can’t find it right now, tumblr is being unhelpful as always). But when it comes to comments, there’s one that follows the line of what I wanted to achieve with the passage above. It said something along the lines of “my life has been hell and this story is helping me”. That touched me so much! Especially because my own life wasn’t going so well at the time and that connection is all that I wanted to achieve (I mean, I think every writer wants that, isn’t it?). I felt really struck and humbled to know that I could provide that connection and escapism for other people. Gosh, my pisces sun/venus comes off really strong when I say that, doesn’t it?But that comment also gave me a sense of responsibility? You know that Donna Tartt quote?“The first duty of the novelist is to entertain. It is a moral duty. People who read your books are sick, sad, traveling, in the hospital waiting room while someone is dying. Books are written by the alone for the alone.”

I’ve come to think the same about fanfiction. It truly changed my perspective on things in a way.👎- if you could change something in one of your works, what would you change and why?I think that there are a lot of things that bother us when it comes to our own writing, but we can’t always find a solution to all the problems we see, you know? There are a lot of things that I still need to find the right tools to know how to fix them. But one specific thing, I guess I’d write We Sang of Roses in a very different way nowadays. For one, Henry would definitely be a grad student doing his MBA in Finance and not an undergrad (and Lizzie would have the hots for him, like, ooh he’s in grad school haha ignore me).

💘- what’s your favorite AU? Least favorite?

I love love love modern AUs! I also love alternate history AUs (that is, when they don’t villainise Margaret Beaufort because all the ones I’ve read so far seem to do it?). One AU that I can guarantee, though, that I won’t ever write is Modern Royals / British royal family AUs. I really think monarchy should be extinct by now. So, yeah, it would make me really uncomfortable to write something that I don’t fundamentally agree with.

✏️- favorite part about writingWriting is SO hard, isn’t it? And so frustrating at times, but it’s really worth it when all the pieces finally come together and you look at your work and think: oh, now that’s decent / I can see a narrative and a purpose here, I can see some potential for growth. Or when you can hear your character talking? Like when you finally achieve a particular voice for them? It is *chef’s kiss* Also, of course, when the words are just flying as you type but that rarely, rarely, ever happens to me. The only exception was when I was writing Blooming’s prologue. I guess I was possessed lol.Thank you so much for sending these questions! 💞🤗💖💕✨

#muah! #blooming #writer ask game #richardgloucesters

[fursasaida]

it has been a fucking DAY.

1. i show up to meet with the prof i’m TAing for at 9:20. we are meeting at 9:45. i was very concerned about being late. also en route i got caught in the rain and absolutely 100% drenched.

2. i “teach” my first discussion section, which, since there hasn’t been a lecture yet, means it’s on me to like explain what the class is and go through the syllabus and shit. i did okay but i had no answers to ANY of their procedural/logistical questions because nobody had told me jack shit. like literally one of them asked if i had the roster and I HAD TO SAY NO. I DID NOT EVEN HAVE A LIST OF THE CHILDREN’S NAMES.

3. i ask the dept. secretary where HR is because i have been told that the reason i have no access to blackboard for the class on which i am FACULTY is something to do with “paperwork.” turns out my paperwork was sent over ages ago. i do not have to go to HR. instead i have to stand there for 20 minutes with the chattiest admin on earth as she struggles to:

print out my roster

print out the forms i need to fill out, of which there are three

print out the letter i need to be given an ID for this campus

figure out where the ID office is and print the webpage out instead of just........telling me the building and room number

4. i set off with another person in similar circumstances to my own to find the dining hall, which is where said office is. it takes us, no joke, like 40 minutes. the two buildings are not far apart but neither of us has any familiarity with this campus and it is a warren. it rains the whole time. we both get soaked (again).

5. we finally find the place. we find the room. we set off some kind of alarm opening the wrong door. we wait in the very long line. we get to the desk. they inform us that first we have to take one of our OTHER forms to ANOTHER office so that we can get into the system (which of course is entirely separate from the one hinging on “paperwork,” somehow). 

6. the other office is in the same building but still entails complex directions and fully walking through two dining halls full of undergrads. the profound sensation of “i don’t belong here and i wish to not be in this cafeteria environment full of Youths” was indescribable. i dunno how all those comedy undercover cops manage.

7. we are asked to take a number for office #2. you do this by navigating a touchscreen that asks what you’re there for. all of the options are incredibly confusing because i still frankly don’t understand what it is that i’m trying to make happen. i eventually go with “drop off documents” because that is technically true and you know what, if something else goes with that they can tell me themselves

8. while waiting for our numbers to be called some like roving member of this office’s staff starts to help me outside the office. he goes to the back to photocopy my driver’s license. while he’s gone a different man calls my number. i tell him this other guy is helping me. he seems, if anything, affronted by this and starts asking me questions to which i don’t know the answers. in the middle of this, Roving Guy comes back and says i’m all set. Affronted Man keeps asking me “when were you hired?” and i’m like i don’t fucking know, my man? when i matriculated last year? january when i was told i’d be teaching here in the fall? two weeks ago when i first heard from the prof? like an hour ago when the admin did whatever she did that means i should have blackboard soon? time is a construct

anyway he insists on checking something to see if i can go straight back to the ID office instead of having to come back another day. i cannot. i leave my compatriot through this whole process to the same fate.

9. i had planned on trying to get some errands done in the city after teaching this morning, but after all that i just go home and order chinese food. i am immediately seized with exhaustion, probably because i got up uncommonly early for me and then didn’t eat for 8 hours before wolfing down dumplings. i wake up exactly 30 minutes before the first meeting of my GIS class is supposed to start.

10. i leap up, get dressed, and hustle over to an entirely different campus. this one i know my way around, at least. i am expecting some minor hiccups because the campus ID i got for that campus last year was temporary and so won’t work anymore (WHY DO THEY DO THIS). what i am not expecting, when i get there already 15 minutes late, is for the entrance to the building i need to be under construction and closed.

11. i then realize a few things. without a working ID my only option is to go to the visitor’s desk in an entirely different building, get them to do god knows what to let me in, and go into the building i actually need through a skybridge. even once i do that i know i will be needing to get into a room you need your ID to unlock, meaning by that time i will be at least 35 minutes late and will have to knock on the door to make the prof unlock it.

12. at that point i gave up, started drafting my “i’m so sorry, uhhhhh please send me the syllabus and consider not hating me” email, and went home. and got rained on again throughout that whole process.

this is after finishing the written portion of my comps on sunday, spending monday in a panic about teaching this class because NOBODY HAD TOLD ME JACK SHIT and frantically shopping for halfway decent clothes to teach in while fruitlessly trying to find something to wear to this wedding this weekend; and spending yesterday going to a different class, registering for the one i was supposed to go to today in a mad rush because [insert more insane bullshit here], collecting, organizing, and handing in an giant mess of paperwork to establish in-state residency, and buying train tickets re: the wedding only to find that my ride for between DC and Charlottesville is planning on staying an extra day so now i have to figure out a way back on my own. 

tl; dr: hit the wall today, should have just given up on making it to that evening class before i even left the house

#i am in the bizarre position of really looking forward to like mid-semester because it will be like a vacation compared #to the past six months #[spits over shoulder] #easily one of the days i've had all week i tell you what #just jibbin' #whining tbh

[stephhannes]

internet deadtiquette

i only keep up with a couple of podcasts, one of them being reply all, and the most recent episode resonated with me. in the episode, they speak with a dad who lost his son to an aneurism, and he goes on to talk about how technology has been entwined in his grief. and i found myself a) feeling less alone in the way that i’ve been grieving, but b) asking myself- how has the internet played a part in my recovery?

i never thought about it, but technology has been such an intrinsic part of my grieving process. so much so, that it’s felt natural and normal- even though looking in on it, there’s something hard and unnatural about it. how do i balance broadcasting my grief in a way that’s palatable in 240 characters but not compromising my truth? (spoiler: i’m very bad at this). 

things were simpler when my dad died, because i didn’t once have to consider things like: “what statement will i make on social media?” “how do i respond to messages from people  haven’t talked to since i graduated from high school?” “how sad is ‘too sad’ to appear online?”

from the beginning, since nathan’s died, technology has been right there. the day that it happened, while we were still making phone calls to family and close friends, i was thinking about what my “official” public statement would be. how do i concisely convey that the love of my life is dead when i haven’t slept in hours and barely know how to say a full sentence? i posted a picture of that one entry in teddy roosevelt’s journal from the day his wife and mother died. “the light has gone out of my life.” 

that was the only thought i could conjure up that day. i accompanied it with a few short sentences- “the last day, my brain has been on a constant loop of thinking about that quote from teddy roosevelt’s journal after his wife died- “the light has gone out of my life.” yesterday, i lost the light of my life. my best friend, my brilliant, incredible, kind, adjectives fiancé has passed away.” 

speaking of the whole ‘contacting family and friends’ thing, do you know how awkward it is to send a facebook message to someone you’ve never talked to asking for their boss’s phone number? at some point in the contacting phase, i realized that nathan wouldn’t be at work on monday and that people would have questions as to where he was, so i had to do some gymnastics to figure that out. the company that nathan worked for had a very generic name, so finding the correct office phone number was kind of off the table. i couldn’t find his boss on facebook- but i happened to remember the full name of one of nathan’s coworkers- so i found her on facebook and messaged her. “hi, this is out of the blue and i’m sorry, but i’m stephanie, nathan’s fiancee. nathan passed away this weekend and we’d like to get in contact with your boss. could you please pass along a phone number or other contact information so we can? thanks in advance.” imagine waking up one day and getting that message from a stranger. 

when it came to contacting people, i only needed to tell my mom and the four friends i have. but when it came to nathan’s friends i wasn’t sure who all to contact. how do you decide who gets to know before a public facebook statement? will there be people that are angry that i excluded them? 

and then after the announcement came the condolences. i hate that i live a life where i’m easily accessible by people i haven’t talked to in years. but still, i got messages from people i graduated with and got texts from numbers i had deleted years ago. 

i’ve always been skeeved out by the concept of people writing on the facebook wall of someone who’s died. thankfully, only a couple of people did it- but i hated almost all of it. i think the thing i hate about this sort of public display of grief is that it’s so transparent, but here’s a life tip: not everything has to be about you. when people post these outward, shallow reflections on facebook, it’s to become a grief vampire, to get a pat on the back for “doing a good deed.” 

i also hate that i had to watch people speculate, publicly what had happened to nathan. someone who we went to high school with made some sentimental post about him and someone commented asking “holy shit. what happened to him???” someone else made a post asking people to pray for our family and rip. once again, someone else commented asking what happened. i get that this is a pretty innocuous exchange, but seeing it written out in a facebook post, being discussed by people who don’t know us well just felt like i was watching two people whispering about me right in front of my face.

the worst part was seeing a comment that said “RIP. at least he’s with (his dead ex from high school) now.” 

when i first saw it, i was so upset that someone would say that…in public…where i can see it. i was almost angry, but i didn’t have the energy to respond, since i was busy planning nathan’s funeral at that time. i told my friends about it, and one of them confronted the girl instead: 

“hey, your comment about nathan was pretty disrespectful and it upset his fiancee a lot. would you please delete it?”

“actually, what’s disrespectful is you messaging me. i didn’t even know he had a fiancee and she just lost someone so she’s going to take offense to anything and everything. i didn’t say anything wrong. besides, everyone knows that (his ex) was his first love and if it wasn’t for what she did they would still be together.” 

not only is she shitty in public, apparently she’s also shitty in private. 

it was so apparent to me that she literally knew nothing about nathan and was just trying to cash in on some brownie points to look like a good person to everyone else- but i was so deeply offended. 

my friend had to contact the person who made the original post to just delete the girl’s comment and that was the end of it. 

the one post on his wall that i didn’t hate was from one of his friends. i had never met her before, but i knew of her, solely because she used to send nathan snaps of her cat all the time and subsequently, nathan would show me the snaps and we were both in love with her cat. she made a sweet post on his wall, and i sent her a message telling her that i appreciate her words and also that we loved seeing her cat. she offered to add me on snapchat and continue to send me pictures occasionally, and that’s one of the nicest things anyone’s done for me.

you know what i didn’t realize would happen? the first time i posted a selfie after nathan died, a few people made “it’s nice to see you smiling!” comments. i’ve never been conscious of my instagram feed, but after realizing that people were trying to use my posts as barometers to my happiness- i felt a lot more claustrophobic when it came to my feed.

+++

when my dad died, the grieving process looked fairly linear. i was sad for awhile, and with time, it got easier. his death isn’t something that plagues me anymore, and it stopped consuming me pretty quickly. part of that was because i was pretty removed from my home at that time- he died right before school started so i was living on my own, pre-occupied with not flunking out of undergrad, not surrounded by pieces of my father. the only digital footprint of my dad was a handful of selfies we’d taken together, but other than that, there was no facebook profile, no online connection to any of his friends. if i wanted to access my dad, i had to work for it.

though nathan was fairly private and didn’t have an instagram or twitter that he actively used, there was still facebook, and still vague traces of him across the internet. 

i can’t stop doing things that hurt me, and the internet provides more things that hurt me. when my dad died, the only things i could do that would really pain me were listen to voicemails, and listen to songs that made me think of him. with nathan’s death, i can sit and read through all of our texts. or read through all of our facebook messages. or check snapchat and have it tell me that it’s been 45 weeks since i last received a snap from him. or have a facebook “on this day” memory pop up with a post he made on my wall ten years ago. 

i have these moments where i am so desperate to feel close to nathan again. and i try to scrap together every trace of him i have. physically, there isn’t much. i have some of his old clothes, and a couple of tshirts that smell like him- but digitally i have years of things he’s said to me, i have pictures- ones of us together, ones i took of him sleeping, ones other people have taken of him- i have two voicemails, i have one video. 

there’s something about having digital access to nathan that brought out a desperation in me. 

when i got back to our apartment from the hospital after nathan died, my brain was shattered into a million pieces, each piece trying to answer a different question. however, at one point in the hours after his death, i got fixated on one thing: where the fuck was his phone? i tore the sheets from the bed and scoured every inch of the apartment and it was nowhere to be found. i don’t know why i wanted it so badly, but when i realized that it was gone i was so stressed out. the phone must have been in his pocket when he died, it must have gone to the hospital. it’s probably gone. i finally fell asleep, my brain reset by the time i woke up and the missing phone was no longer on my radar. eventually, i just resolved that i wouldn’t ever see it again and that was that. a couple of weeks later, his parents and i went back to philadelphia to clean out our apartment and his mom decided to follow the phone trail again. the hospital didn’t have it- they said the organ donation people probably have it- the organ donation people didn’t have it- they said the medical examiner probably has it- and finally we got a bag of nathan’s belongings from the medical examiner: complete with phone, drivers license, and one earring.

here’s the problem with a phone that’s been dead for two weeks: you need the passcode to turn it back on. i’m pretty sure my fingerprint unlocked his phone, but i had no idea what his passcode was. 

here’s the second problem: his passcode was at least 6 characters long. the only thing i knew about it was that it was more than four characters, and i know that makes it exponentially harder to try to guess or use a program to guess the passcode.

there wasn’t necessarily anything i knew i wanted off of his phone, but i wanted answers as to why he died, and i think part of me thought i could get answers from his phone. but a bigger part of me knew that i wouldn’t get any answers, so i gave up. 

i factory reset his phone. it’s no longer in my possession. 

cracking the phone case wasn’t the only technological rabbit hole i went down. the day i finally got into nathan’s laptop, i remember texting one of my friends, exclaiming “I DID IT! I HACKED INTO THE MAINFRAME!”

nathan had two computers, a laptop for personal use and a desktop that he used for work and gaming. 

once again, in my pursuit of trying to find answers, i thought that maybe his laptop would tell me something. i don’t know exactly what answers i thought his browsing history could illuminate, but maybe there would be something there. however, i had very low expectations as to what i’d find- nathan browsed the internet in a very strange way. he’d do this thing where pretty much every link he clicked on or everything he did he’d do in an incognito window. inherently i knew his chrome history would be pretty bare. nevertheless, i was determined to get in.

much like his phone password, i also didn’t know his laptop password. the only thing i knew was that his password hint was the same for both his laptop and his desktop. after setting this mystery to the side for a week, it hit me. the summer i moved to nyc he went away for a week, and when he left, he gave me the password to his desktop so i could use the big monitor to watch netflix or game to entertain myself while he was gone. 

i had to go through old SMS messages that had been saved on my macbook to find the text with the password. and i found it. and if the password hint was the same for both of his computers, then the password had to be the same, right? right.

i did it. i hacked into the mainframe. 

and like i suspected, i found nothing. nothing suspicious in his search history, no shady messages on reddit, no word documents, no weird facebook correspondences. 

the only thing i found was a snapshot of the last moments before he died. the last webpage he’d opened that night was at 11:02pm. i called 911 at 11:11pm. for some reason, gaining that perspective fucked with me. 

+++

i started this blog as a way to vent. i wanted to keep a record of what was going on in my life and how i was coping. i am a container of stories about nathan, and i wanted to make sure that i wasn’t forgetting things. i spent so much time in the months immediately following nathan’s death forgetting. i forgot what his laugh sounds like. i forgot exactly what his hair smelled like. i wanted to try to forget as little as possible, and by having a written record of the thoughts and memories i have of him i felt like i was gaining a little bit of control over the situation. but now that i have this audience, sometimes i find myself trying to make sure that i filter myself appropriately. i have to discern what memories i want to keep for just the two of us, and which ones i want to share. 

pretty shortly after nathan died, i started a note on my phone called “things that are too fucked up to tweet right now, but maybe revisit in a few months?” 

the list included such hits as: 

sarah just got me a “promoted to fiancee shirt,” do they make “downgraded to widow” ones?

y’all ever go from planning a wedding to planning a funeral? 

my fiance being dead means i now have two urns to take holiday pictures with

GREAT, now i have to change my emergency contact AGAIN

i used to have a ‘segment’ on this blog where i’d post the messages i had been sending to nathan’s facebook- and eventually i had to stop. mostly because i realized that the messages were truly just this very honest and raw expression of my deepest grief- i usually only send him messages when i’m feeling the most upset. that’s one of those things that needed to be kept for just us.

+++ 

it’s strange, the way the internet has become one of the biggest coping mechanisms for me. even though it’s introduced a whole shitload of inconveniences, it’s given me a lot as well. one of my favorite things that happened was a handful of his friends sending me facebook messages with either pictures of him, or a memory of him, that’s the one instance where i’m glad to be easily accessible. my favorite thing about having the internet on my side this time around is feeling less lonely. when i listened to that episode of reply all, i heard so many little things about someone else’s grief that i was also experiencing. sometimes you ask yourself if you’re grieving properly, if what you’re doing is weird, or okay- and hearing that i’m not the only one processing things in the way that i do gives me that little bit of reassurance that i’m doing alright. 

+++

you wanna know the worst thing my iphone has done to me? i was scrolling through my camera roll, and i accidentally swiped up on one of the pictures. apparently photos will now show you “related photos” to the one you swipe up- and for some reason the algorithm decided one of the photos related to the one i swiped up on was a picture i had taken of nathan at his wake. i can’t believe steve jobs’ ghost would blindside me like that honestly. 

[warmau]

{Special} College!AU Jae

major: communications - rhetoric concentration 

minor: philosophy (not going well for him)

sports: n/a

clubs: debate team, writes for the art journal, in a couple of on-campus bands but is mostly active with a group called night6

“bro, why aren’t you a music major?”

“easy. i love getting into arguments with people.”

so a lot of people don’t know much about tall, lanky, otherwise unthreatening looking jae

and that’s the fact that he can run his mouth a mile a minute, and quite frankly, he loves doing that

got called out on twitter for abusing the 280 character limit 

by called out i mean youngk started a poll to get jae blocked by twitter - it didn’t work but it was hilarious 

asked his friend jamie once “hey, if i send in my grades - will they verify me on instagram?”

she wasn’t amused

he originally thought taking philosophy would just mean more time to debate others, but socrates ??? what was that dude even saying??? why are all his words so Complicated

like jae is all for that know thyself but damn,,,,,

he wants to go into law after school,,,,or more specifically public policy and stuff. he might act silly and make sarcastic jokes the core of his personality - but jae cares about things

he cares about people and the world deeply, enough that he’s agitated by unjustice

even if he’s gotten excused from “discourses on colonialism” like five times for cursing out christopher columbus 

he loves music a lot, probably has the most diverse taste in it though - so people are always asking him for reccommendations 

knows like,,,,,every local band playing in bars near campus,,,

night6 is a small band gotten together by jae and his closes friends, their unofficial manager is jamie who always puts up a fuss about them not playing venues worth their talent

but tbh jae loves it, the stage

small or big, playing guitar or arguing over texts - he just likes the spotlight

even if his rather shy, nerdy apperance says otherwise

he probably owns like one hundred of the same pair of wide-framed glasses because he thinks they make him look the best

also once he worse dark ones and wonpil was like “you look like a blind mouse”

always chilling outside of class, guitar case slung over his shoulder and notebook in hand, listening to some indie album no one has ever heard of

has messy hair, but a super clean dorm (sungjin really doesn’t know why his dorm is the only thing jae keeps organized in his life)

and you’ve actually known jae for a while, since middle school actually,,,

in high school you two even briefly dated, after years of friendship it had all come to a point where you’d kissed at some after party dance

and you and jae were sure you were soulmates, both music obsessed and enjoying good banter

but,,,,,,,,,it didn’t last long,,,,,,,,,because well because you ended it

there had been too much going on, too many uncertain futures and jae had still been a teenager - unaware that his jokes had a time and a place

and when you were in peril, you didn’t want his sarcastic commentary,,,,you wanted the jae behind that

the jae that had held you in his arms like you were the most treasured source of light in his life and if he were to let go  he’d be shrouded in darkness forever

but he hadn’t been that,,,and you didn’t know if he still had it in him

you guys didn’t talk much after, you didn’t know he even ended up at the same college as you until you see him talking with a jamie outside of debate club

and you wouldn’t have gone over, if it hadn’t have been for jamie spotting you and waving you over

she held your arm excitedly, asking if you know jae and if you can still make it to the concert she’d invited you tonight

all too quick did it dawn that this was jae’s concert,,,, 

“im happy you still play guitar.”

you whispered and jamie’s excitement buzzed between the weird atmosphere of you and jae

he smiled, but it was half-hearted

“im happy you’re doing well.”

the concert was,,,,just as you expected - in a dark, dingy bar full of drunk undergrads

jae’s band was playing, and you could vaguely recognize youngk who also went to high school with you two

the setlist was a whole bunch of songs you’d never head before - and you couldn’t believe that you felt your heart twist when you couldn’t even recognize one

a memory of you and jae, sitting in his garage when you were just sixteen played like an old film in your head

he had been a tiny bit shorter than he was now, and his handsome sharp features were awkward

but you had felt nothing short of true, pure love back then

because jae was sharing his songs with you, reaching out to take your hand and help you play chords 

laughing sweetly against your ear and making everything else float away

he had been close, so so close

but now, you were at the other end of the room and he was playing something unfamiliar and his eyes hadn’t met yours the entire night,,

clutching your untouched beer once more, you pushed it away and made your way to jamie who stood at the edge of the stage recording the performance

“just got a text from my RA, im gonna go ok?”

she nodded, turning to smile and mouth a goodbye

as you turned, your back to the stage as you fought through the people to the exit

jae’s eyes flicked from his mic to the shadow of your figure

i won’t miss them. ive missed them for far too long

he thought, but somehow he knew he was lying to himself. like he’d lied to himself when you broke up with him.

after that, you and jae kept your distances

jamie had tried to invite you to more of night6′s shows - but you made up excuses

she probed and jae to tell her how you two knew each other, but he always answered in one word or two

“school” “same neighborhood” “don’t remember” 

but he did - he remembered everything, even the things that hurt the most 

how you weren’t a,,,,,,sun kind of person,,,,you were more like the moon - gentle, but unforgettable 

you were the first person to tell jae he didn’t have to be whatever other people wanted him to be

you were the first person he really,,,,kissed,,,,really touched

there was so much about you - small facts and habits that he knew that suddenly flooded back in waves after seeing you at his concenrt

that he couldn’t sleep for hours,,,,,laid in bed and stared into the dark, listening to youngk’s small snores and stirs and thought

about the color of your eyes, the slope of your neck, your words - “jae, you weren’t there for me. i needed you and you just - you just -”

both you and jae know that staying away is the only thing that can keep you two on track, and the university is a big place it isn’t that hard to avoid crossing paths

but fate is mysterious and sometimes you can’t control where two people end up

it’s late when you leave the bookstore - you’re supposed to take your bike back to campus but ,,,,,,,, it’s gone

you stare at the pole you attached it to, but,,,,,,,it’s not there

the only thing remaining is the broken lock laying helplessly on the ground and as you squat down to pick it up

you try to reason with yourself - so what if it got stolen,,,,it was old,,,,,

but biting back your lip, you clutch the lock in hand and think that there must be a bus nearby,,,,a metro station? 

“stolen bike? tough luck!”

a voice says from behind you

“people are really dropping to new lows these days, like dude just go get a used bike they’re like thirty bucks.”

the voice is familiar and you want to tell yourself that no, there’s no way

but when you turn, jae is there and his look of amusement washes into something between shock and regret

“oh,,,,hey.”

you swallow, hiding the lock completely in your hand and trying to tell yourself to just act normal - like you guys are just clasmates - not friends, but not strangers

“hey, it,,,it’s funny right.”

you mean the bike, but jae’s tone of humor is gone. his eyes fixate on your hand and you see them do a small twitch, a habit he’s had since you knew him

“im,,,,about to drive back to campus. do you want a ride?”

of all the things in world you shouldn’t agree to, a one-on-one late night drive with your ex has to be up there

but you’re,,,,not in the mood to wander around looking for your stolen bike or any other way to get back to school

plus saying no,,,,would just seem like you were making things weird and you didn’t want to make things weird

so forcing the best smile you can you nod, “tha-that’d be great, but i hope it’s not a bother.”

jae shakes his head, the unkept bangs fall over his glasses and when he turns you take in the lines of his jaw and nose

since you’ve last seen him, he’s grown

and you were always charmed by his physical appearance, but now he wasn’t just cute - he was truly an adult 

with big shoulders and prominent angles that made something stir within you

something you pleaded with to calm down - to not cloud your better judgment 

jae’s car was familiar, it had belonged to his father when you were in high school and jae had stolen it once to drive you two to the city once,,,

you’d never made it - turning around halfway there because the sun was rising and instead stopping off the road to watch it 

he had held your hand back then, brought it up to his lips and kissed it 

he’d gotten grounded when he drove back, coming into school laughing about it at your locker

now, you were sitting beside him in the passenger seat and it was silent - pitch black outside aside from the flickering of stop lights and buildings

and you could hear your breathing, the beating of your heart and how it got just a bit faster when jae put his hand on the headrest of your seat while backing up out of the parking space

neither of you spoke, he didn’t even play music which was odd

it was horrible - suffocating

until finally you had had enough and leaned forward to press play on the car radio

“don’t-” jae began, but it was too late

the CD inside started playing - the sound of jae’s young voice speaking your name

“-this is a playlist just for you. it has all our songs on it, the one we kissed to and all the corny good stuff. the first one’s the one i wrote for you. don’t laugh at it, ok? you better not laugh.”

jae stopped it before the song could play, but you already knew what it was 

this was the playlist jae had made for you after you guys started dating. you’d given the CD back when you broke up,,,but why was he listening to it now?

you wanted to ask, but something kept you from it

“im sorry. this is awkward.” you whisper

“are you sorry that this situation is awkward or are you saying apologizing is awkward?”

you grimace at that, there he goes - always politicking always,,,saying what you wish he wouldn’t

jae seems to feel you tense and sighs

“sorry,,,,sorry,,,,i still haven’t learned to watch my mouth. but,,,,im sorry too. i wish,,,,,,,,we didn’t have to be like this.”

there’s pain in his voice and it almost breaks you - but you understand what he means

sitting back against the seat, you turn to face the window just because you don’t know what to say

you’re so scared of this fragile line you and jae are walking

because every moment with him feels like you’re re-living those good memories from before

but you’re also thinking about the moment you chose to abandon all that

jae doesn’t bother you, he seems to be in the same limbo of feelings too the whole drive back

but what’s weird is that when you pull into the parking lot, you both sit there in the car - not sure who should move first

“part of me regrets it.”

you breath and clench your teeth as you speak

jae’s eyes stay on the dashboard

“part of me regrets breaking up with you, because i did it so trivially - i just snapped under pressure and thought that you couldn’t give me what i wanted and jae -”

you feel his gaze finally settle on you

and his eyes aren’t those of the teenage boy you were in love with, they’re of someone matured and ready to be serious

“jae everything back then was so ,,,, fucked.”

you don’t even realize it, maybe because it’s the earth’s magnetic force or your own instincts as people, but you and jae are coming closer

till his strong hands have you in a hug, uncomfortable because of your positions in the car, but so inviting and warm

protective ,,,,, the kind of hug you needed back then but also the kind of hug you craved for even now

“i was still a kid, i didn’t know what to do. but ive grown, and i can be there now.”

his voice sounds deeper, closer against the shell of your ear and your grip on him tightens 

“have you been remembering ,,,,,, us?” you as with a shiver down your spine as jae nuzzles his face into your neck

“yes. i remember,,,,,,everything.”

that night, neither of you can go back to your dorms

you and jae walk the campus, still and untouched in the night and hold hands

you feel his long fingers entwine with yours and it’s embarrassing the thought that runs through your head

you’ve only just,,,,gotten close again - you can’t rush

and when you and jae talk,,,,,because years have passed and you’re not lost teens with too much adrenaline and misconceptions about the world you realize you’re both in places where,,,,,,,having each other

it would be nice. really nice

you fall asleep against his shoulder in the backseat of his car, his hoodie that he shrugs off is your blanket and nothing really happens but physical closeness and content

that your past is put to rest,,,,and you could find each other again

when you wake up, jae says he’s late for his class but he didn’t want to move and wake you

you poke him playfully, tell him that was dumb but jae just smiles and gropes around for his glasses on the car floor

he walks you to your dorm, and tells you to keep the hoodie

you walk a little bit up the stairs, just two or three before you’re at a height where you can lean over and kiss his forehead

and its,,,,,,,,,childish,,,,,giddiness that fills you two up even though you’re not kids anymore

the word dating doesn’t really come up till a couple of weeks after that, when jamie runs into you and jae at the cafe - jae is mocking one of the philosophers he has to read for class and you’ve got your legs thrown over his 

“sooooo you’re a couple now? honestly, you’re too good for jae!”

jamie comments, throwing an arm around you as she plops down at the table

she steals some of your coffee and jae rolls his eyes at her - asks her to let go of you, his significant other

and jamie just huffs, because she had you first

it’s a joke between friends, but you do have to put an end to it before someone gets some kind of food chucked at them

when jamie hops off to join kevin for studying, you look over at jae and smile

“so, it’s official - we gotta im your’s, you’re mine kinda thing?”

he grins, cheesy and the like and kisses your lips

“yep, better tell youngk to give up on that longtime crush he’s been having”

“oh hush, he doesn’t like me”

jae shakes his head, “i meant the one he’s had on me, obviously since im taken now.”

and don’t get me wrong, jae is still the sarcastic lil shit he’s always been - with a humor that borderlines annoying but that is still loveable

because he’s learned to scale it back, and he’s learned how to be a shoulder for you to lean on

just like you’re always ready to be there for him

whether it be supporting him at local band shows, wiping sweat off his face after a long set 

to helping him stay up and finish his philosophy papers - wikipedia articles and all

“those glasses make you look like a bug my dude”

youngk snarks one afternoon as you’re all eating lunch and jae untangles his arms from your waist to flick his best friend on the forehead

“hey, he’s a cute bug youngk - don’t be jealous”

you chime in, taking a bite of your food and lifting the chopsticks up again to feed jae

youngk makes a hacking noise at the affection, but both and jae stick your tongues out at him

you’re always surprised by the minimalism of jae’s dorm, just his bed, his desk, and his guitar 

even youngk has more than him, and you insist he decorate - give it some flavor

so jae hangs up a photo of you guys with tape and is like “i put up the most important photo i could find!”

you blush, but then you’re like “no, no we need one more.”

he tilts his head and you go “your mom. get a photo of her up there too you dweeb”

he  claps his hands together and goes “you’re totally right!”

sometimes he’ll call you petnames in korean and you’re like,,,tell me what it means or im bringing back the infamous chicken little jokes LOL

he’s so tall, that all his clothing has to be a size too large so it’ll be long enough

but this is great for you, endless baggy shirts and sweaters and flannels

and sweater paws that make jae fawn over you - or pout and go “give that back, i was gonna wear it to class!”

you and jamie are the first proud owners of night6 t-shirts

sungjin sometimes asks you if jae,,,,is like,,,,just like that 

and you’re like ?? what do you mean

and sungjin is like - is he just you know,,,,,,always talking

you: no there’s an off button, wanna see?

sungjin: please show me go

you: ok, here goes

and all you have to do is tap jae’s shoulder and wag with your finger for him to lean down

you kiss him, all cute and soft - leaving jae in a happy daze while throwing the peace sign up at sungjin who looks equally shocked and equally disappointed 

there’s a week where youngk goes away on a research trip with his fellow majors

and you and jae literally just turn the dorm into your own little apartment for the whole time, you never leave and you guys eat on youngk’s bed to avoid crumbs in jae’s

watching youtube video together, listening to jae write and practice, joking about how you guys have to wait past midnight to shower together 

it’s a week of just,,,,being domestic - and honestly you could get used to it,,,,

the last night you have “youngk free” as jae calls it, you’re laying beside jae and his hair is still slightly wet from his shower

he’s playing some game on his phone, arm still wrapped around you when you get that feeling in your stomach

and sit up, carefully removing the photographt of jae’s mother from his wall and placing it face down on his desk

“what’s up-”

he starts, but you throw a leg over his thighs and straddle his waist

jae’s eyes turn wide, and then haze over when you pull off his glasses and chuck his phone onto youngk’s bed

leaning in, jae taste faintly of mint and his large hand splays over your lower back 

you two fit together - and it’s like the temperature in the room climbs up ten degrees

jae sits up, you slide into his lap easily and there’s kissing, small sounds, and a lot of his hands everywhere

his body isn’t too muscular, it’s long and lean and he has the right amount of strength to support whatever you have for him 

and everything is close to perfect, but the small bumps of your noses and apologizes about marks left on necks just add to the overall naturality of being with him

“im blessed, im so blessed to have you”

is said somewhere afterwords, in the fall of bliss

and your heavy eyelids are kissed as you two fall asleep

youngk gets back early, and isn’t surprised to see you in the dorm collecting your things and taping the photo of jae’s mother back on the wall

you wave goodbye and when jae looks at youngk he grins “how was your trip?”

“just tell me you guys didnt’,,,,,not in my bed right?”

jae is not poetic when he talks, but he has a talent with lyrics and wonpil is sure some of his softer, more romantic ones are about you

jae refuses to acknowledge this, but the moment you’re around - sitting on his lap and playing with his hair or just giving him a kiss on the neck 

wonpil is sure what’s written on jae’s face is pure adoration 

you and jae debate on everything in a joking, couple kind of way but you do get competitive over some things

like which song is better or whose better at pokemon

and everyone thinks your twitter rants about each other are hilarious

you and jae can’t stay mad at each other for too long though - you both miss kissing each other more

jae is never amused at you asking him to get things off the top shelves in the libarary

but then again, you’re so freaking cute he does it anyway

“you’re mi amor”

“is that all the spanish you know?”

“i was born in argentina, but i didn’t really live there for too long - don’t sass me”

you and jae are voted cutest couple by the journal he sometimes writes for and youngk is like the votes are rigged but they’re not yall just too sweet to handle 

more college aus can be found:

by group: bangtan | vixx | got7 | nct | kard | monsta x | seventeen  gg specials: amber | momo | irene 

#day6 #day6 scenarios #day6 imagines #day6 au #park jaehyung #day6 jae #jae scenarios #jae imagines #jae au #i don't care that he had another major in college or that he's supposed to love music i love argumentative jae LOL #College!AU #college day6 #day6 jae scenarios #idk how else to tag this

[the7thshepard]

Life update and some introspection. It is long, and it is super personal. You’ve been warned.

(Sorry to my mobile user followers, you might get lambasted with a long post anyway)

If you’re curious enough to snoop through here, sweet. It means that amidst all of my followers who like and reblog the stuff I like and reblog, you probably give a damn? Or you’re just nosy. Either way, thanks for coming. You’ll need to pull up a chair, I’d imagine. It’s gonna get long.

As of right now, I’m spending Thanksgiving day alone. I’m writing this from the dining table of my apartment in California as it rains outside. I’ve received several invites to do things with friends, but so far have accepted none of them. Part of me knows that I will be sad today because of that, but the other part of me just doesn’t have the energy or wherewithal to deal with other people today. Yet, I’m leaving myself open for any opportunity, should it present itself.

This decade has been kind of a wild ride for me. I’ve spent almost all of it in school. I began high school, graduated high school, started college, switched majors around twice, fell in love, came out, got my heart broken, graduated college, worked for seven months, then started graduate school in August. How did a Kansas boy like me end up all the way in California? It’s actually quite the story.

I had decided my second senior year of my undergrad, way back in Spring 2018, that I was just going to finish with a performance degree and just go home and work for the rest of my life. Whatever job I could find, as long as I could keep it and it could bring me stable income, I was going to go home and give up playing the horn. I been so burnt out on school and everything that had happened around me over the course of my undergrad that I had decided it just wasn’t worth it to continue pursuing. I had wrestled with this idea for the longest time and eventually settled on everyone thinking I’m a coward for getting a degree and just disappearing off of the face of the earth. It was the easiest solution.

But something quite unusual and rather miraculous happened.

October 2018, my undergrad horn teacher, one other horn player from my studio, and I all went to Wichita for the MidSouth Horn Workshop. This was nothing terribly huge - I had been to two before - but what became of it was. I ran into my current horn professor, though, at the time he was not teaching me, nor did I have any inclination that he taught private lessons. My undergrad horn prof. and I ran into him earlier in the spring during the same event in Conway, Arkansas (it was hard not to - he was one of the featured artists of the event). He and I spent about 30 minutes talking about horn playing in the exhibition hall, and I was beyond inspired at that point to continue getting better at horn (obviously something changed in the span of 6 months that changed that mentality, but I digress).

I didn’t think I would ever meet him again, if I’m being 100% honest. But we did. We had run into each other in the student union on the Wichita State University campus. He and my then-current horn teacher had struck up a conversation (I think it was something about what he was up to and if he’d like to play with ESU’s jazz band, since he was on his way through that area in the spring semester). Somehow, someway, the conversation got turned onto me.

“What do you think about grad school?” was the question.

Now, you have to understand, this shook me. My plan was to graduate, go home, and give up. I had no further intention of carrying on playing horn or doing music or any of it. Cowardice.

“Uhhhh,” I stammered. I didn’t honestly think I was cut out for grad school. Sure, I eventually wanted to get my doctorate in something, but that was kind of a pipe dream; something so exceptionally unachievable, that I was better off not thinking about it. “I hadn’t.”

Thus, initiated a 20 minute conversation about grad school and how my now-current horn professor wanted to hear me play and, better yet, attend his school. I’m pretty sure I spent the next like 3 hours waffling about it.

The other horn player that was with us (let’s call him B) slapped some sense into me.

“You should do it, it sounds like an incredible opportunity.” B had said something along the lines of this.

“My main concern is money, etc. etc.” I tried to make excuses back.

“Grad school would be perfect for you. All you really have to do is focus on your playing.” My horn professor told me.

“You didn’t come this far, just to come this far.” B said.

(Slight divergence in the story, my mom just called me as I’m typing this and now I’m having to fight back tears. She sounded so concerned that I’m spending Thanksgiving alone right now. Anyway.)

That struck me hard. I didn’t learn horn just to give up after graduating college. I didn’t play horn for close to 13 years only to run away when the opportunity presented itself. I didn’t quit at any point along the way, no matter how stressful or draining, and I shouldn’t quit now. My mind was made up.

I talked to my now-current horn teacher about how I was interested in studying with him, and about his program and what was offered, etc. He wanted to hear me play but was busy that weekend, so I would need to send him some recordings of my playing. I sent him my senior recital that I played later that semester. Over the course of the next 3 to 4 months, I would graduate from college and then spend the rest of my time working while I finished up the graduate studies application to my school. I was accepted into the program, and got some assistanceship money to help out.

The next 7 months were really nothing to note, as far as this journey is concerned. I worked part time at a gas station, played in a terrible non-paying gig, ended up dropping one of my best friends - a story for another time, but overall, I ended up taking a massive break from my horn. My dad thought that I wasn’t practicing enough and that grad school was gonna kick my ass, but so far, that hasn’t completely happened yet.

The day finally comes. I move to California with my dad’s help. As you can imagine, it’s a whirlwind of a day. Flying 5 hours out, getting my stuff moved in, buying groceries, etc. By the end of the day, its time to say goodbye. Dad can’t stay, because he’s got a flight in the morning for some stuff he’s got going on back home. He tried to fight back his tears, as I am almost about to cry myself. The door closed and now I’m bawling. wow that was a lot of mixed tenses, no im not fixing it, and no i do not take criticism, send tweet

At this point, I felt isolated. I’m in a new place where I know no one and I’m by myself. The first person I bump into is the other horn grad student. He stops by to say hi, I apologize for my terrible playing because I haven’t been playing consistently for the past seven months and oh god I’m rambling. It goes how you expect awkward first meetings to go. The next evening, I meet the two seniors in from the horn studio and a senior clarinet player. I never felt so blind sided by questions, and they were all really chatty. Me, being the awkward human being I am stood there, giving minimal answers, and being overwhelmed by questions about literally everything. Holy shit.

I end up bumping into my now-current horn professor on Monday (let’s call him Prof. A) in the bathroom of the music building, again really fucking awkward. Prof. A told me to go to his office while they finish up the faculty meeting downstairs, and that the other grad horn was in there organizing music. Round 2 is not nearly as awkward, thank god. Around 30 minutes later, Prof. A shows back up and treats us both to Chipotle and a lengthy talk about how we have to be the “heavyweight boxers” of the studio (there was an anecdote in there that makes it all make sense, trust me). Again, holy shit.

The rest of the week goes about how you would expect. It is the week before school after all. I spend most of my time practicing. My roommate shows up. I don’t really run into anyone else in the studio for a few days. Though at the end of the week, we have a horn hang, where most of the studio is in attendance. Super awkward at first, but then it opens up. Then, school kicks off, and its all good from there.

But why am I telling you all of this? Well, first of all, kudos for sitting through my life story up to this point. Second, I think this story is key to a lot of introspection that I need to do. And third, I just need to put this all out there, get it off my chest, you know?

Since coming out to California, I have been unimaginably blessed with perhaps the best family of people I could ever want. I have a great teacher who is helping me be better at doing what I love. I’m surrounded by great, fun loving musicians who want to see others succeed and it’s been such a positive experience being out here. I literally cannot imagine what my life would be like had I not seized this opportunity.

I’ll be the first to admit that grad school so far hasn’t totally met my expectations. I thought that I would immediately get better, that I would excel, have a bunch of friends, get better at playing horn, and maybe (selfishly) find a guy. It wasn’t immediate, and looking back, I don’t think it ever could have been. Because the path I’m on takes work and courage to keep going even when the results don’t seem obvious at all. Also, let’s be 100% real, there was no way in hell I was gonna find a guy within like 2-3 weeks of being here. That’s just not realistic lmfao

Since coming here, I’ve grappled with the feelings of inadequacy and sense of not belonging that come with the territory. Initially, I thought that I was never making progress and that I was never gonna be as good as the other grad horn. I wasn’t a good enough horn player. Why was I here? What made me think that I could make it out here? Thoughts like that. They’ve only intensified as the semester went along.

But my friends have proved me wrong.

The only thing that everyone could and would expect of me is to be myself. Whatever that means, whatever that sounds or looks like. I can’t be anyone else other than me, no matter how tempting it is to compare myself to others. I just gotta follow my own path. This was and still is a hard lesson for me to learn. I don’t think I will ever totally understand it, until I can realize that I am good enough as I am now. I am making progress to get better, but I have to be comfortable with where I’m at now for it to be worth it.

The thought of running away from all of this terrifies me, but it’s a real and almost ever present thought I have. I don’t want to lose the progress I’ve made. I don’t want to turn my back on my friends. I don’t want to give up crazy socks at concerts, ice cream afterwards, playing in horn choir, horn hangs, or just the general screwing around. My horn people are my family, and I won’t turn my back on them because I’m afraid of not being good enough. They have never had reason to think less of me, so I shouldn’t. Even when I do, I’m thankful that they’re there to help me out of my emotional ruts. As long as I am here surrounded by these fantastic people, I will always be good enough and I will always belong.

I didn’t come this far just to get this far. And I will take it all the way. No matter what it takes, because the people closest to me have given me the courage to make it happen.

So, even though I may end up spending my Thanksgiving alone, I’m not alone. I never have been nor will I ever be. My friends, my family, everyone who’s cheering me on from the sidelines, watching and waiting for me to succeed, they’re all with me, no matter how far away they might be. This is what I’m thankful for.

#personal #life update #this post is really long im so sorry

[starlightafterastorm]

No spoons left to give

This past week has been really hard.

Really, really hard. 

I graduated with a Master’s Degree in Museum Studies this past May. I moved away from D.C., where I’d gone to school and made friends and made a life. I came back to California mostly because my parents were paying the bill for my tuition and my apartment and they wanted me to come back (demanded without demanding but demanded all the same). And I thought “I don’t have a job yet. The part time one I have here is not enough to keep me afloat. I’m burnt out. I want to go back and spend some time with family and enjoy the California sunshine.”

Here’s the thing. 

I am never more unhappy than when I am living with my parents. When I am with them my mental health always takes a drastic nosedive. 

It’s not that I forgot that fact. It’s just that I thought that the benefits of living rent free and getting to see my family would outweigh those issues. That I could stick it out until I got a job. 

Don’t get me wrong. I love my parents. I do. They’re funny and quirky and they’re my parents. They’ve taken care of me and loved me and when I lived across the country it was easy to tune out the things they said that I didn’t want to hear.  But that doesn’t mean that I like them or that they’re good for my mental health. And now that I’m back in California, I can’t tune them out. 

I feel like I’m trapped here with them. I am an introvert who relishes any alone time I have but there is never a day when I am not left alone. There’s always someone here, someone watching. (Literally. My dad put surveillance cameras everywhere because he’s paranoid af)

I feel on edge and bothered: a string about ready to snap. 

Because there’s always something. 

A comment about my weight (too fat), my face (breaking out again), my skin (too dry), my clothes (is that what you’re going to wear?), my teeth (so yellow), my ears (don’t you ever clean them?), my feet (ugly feet), my stomach (too big)...

Yelling at me about why I haven’t found a job yet, send out more applications, apply to tech heavy jobs even though i’m a humanities student, why couldn’t I have gotten a degree in something else like medicine, law, engineering...

There’s me mopping the floor, doing the laundry, doing the dishes, doing the cooking, cleaning out the bedroom I haven’t slept in in 7 years even though it’s filled with my mom’s stuff... All of this, it’s because “it’s the daughter’s job”.

I don’t remember when my eating disorder started. The first time I remember recognizing it was when I was about 15 or 16. 

I don’t remember when my depression started but I do remember hurting myself at 14 and wishing I was dead. I never left scars but I left scratches deep enough to welt in places no one would see. I wrote “not enough never enough” on the inside of my thighs and my hips and my stomach as reminders of what I knew was the truth. 

I don’t know when my anxiety started but I was always a nervous child. I was conditioned to be polite and to smile even when I didn’t feel like it. Even when I felt like screaming at the top of my lungs. 

My depression feels like a burning star in my chest. It’s anger and malice and tears and hysteria all trapped in my rib cage wanting to burst out. 

I hit rock bottom my sophomore year of undergrad. I went days without eating, only sleeping when I passed out, missing classes. I saw someone there. I saw a lot of someones there. I don’t know if they helped but they did clinically diagnose me so there’s that. 

But I’d been doing mostly well since then. I had one breakdown early on after I’d started grad school but for the most part I thought I had done well for myself in D.C.

This past week has really been a challenge. This past month with them I know I’ve had disordered thinking. But this past week I noticed the skipped meals but the secret binging when no one else is looking. Or eating the regular meals and binging even more later only to skip everything again the next day. I feel guilty for eating. I feel guilty for being hungry. I feel guilty for hating what I look like in the mirror but I can’t help but find flaws in everything I see.

My dad dragged me to the gym on Friday. I hate the gym. I hate the smell, I hate gym culture, I hate working out around strangers who all turn to jeering shadows in the corners of my mind. I hate the comments my dad makes trying to direct what kind of workout I do and why I need it (weight. it’s my weight. i’m too fat). I tried to drown everything out through music but I could still feel the anger sizzling in my veins. 

I cried myself to sleep at 3 am. I’ve gotten very good at crying without making any noise or leaving any traces of tears behind. 

And then the next morning.  Mom was at work. I got into a fight with my dad about finding a job. you know. nothing new. just him yelling about applying to google or tesla or apple, all companies where I am most certainly not qualified for, and how i should have chosen a different field because mine is worthless and won’t get me any money. I yelled back a bit but I bit my tongue for an hour while he lectured me and I tasted blood. 

I know it takes time. The job market is shit for everyone and even though I have a Master’s it’s still going to be tough. But they don’t seem to understand that. 

Going to the store and to a luncheon with my mother after that fight was hell but I was texting my best friend and I cried a little bit out of my mom’s eyesight in the shampoo aisle of the 99 Cents Store. Also I got a few hours away from my dad and a few hours with a puppy in my lap at my mom’s friend’s house so that made it a lot better. 

But that ache in my chest won’t go away. It ricochets from that shooting star, burning, burning, burning, to a black hole filled with nothing but numb emptiness and everything feels cold with a dull sheen over it. 

I am walking on eggshells here and every time there’s a little crack it throws me completely off balance. I left scratches on myself the other day just to feel something and was satisfied to see the red marks. I woke up this morning with clenched fists and gouges in my hands that didn’t break skin but still ached hours later. 

The first thought in my head the other day was “I want to die”. I thought about it. About the alcohol and the painkillers or sleeping pills in our cabinets. About the knives in he drawer. It would be very easy. And every so often the words keep flashing in my head. Like they’re branded in my brain and I can’t get them out. “If I died, it would solve everything.”

Two years I had lived in D.C. and I thought about it only the once. I mean, I still struggled with my eating disorder. There were till days I skipped, still days I binged. But for the most part I did moderately well. Enough to keep my days on a mostly even keel. And I had a good group of friends who were willing to listen when I had troubles. 

I thought that I had come so far from where I used to be. But that’s not true. 

I am more suicidal right now than I have ever been in my life. 

I feel like I’m in a cage or in a dark tunnel where I can see no light. I have no way out of here unless someone decides to finally fucking hire me. That is literally my only hope right now so I can get out of these circumstances. I am stuck here in this stupid small town I grew up in with no friends left here and no way of getting out. 

I like to think that I am strong enough not to go through with it but it is so hard. When every moment I feel like I can’t relax because something is going to set something off into another fight or there’s going to be some other comment about my intelligence or my appearance. 

I don’t belong to myself here. I belong to them. And after having a little bit of freedom where I could break away parts of me just for myself, I don’t know how to deal with the fact that they literally pulled those parts back and locked them up. Return possibly contingent on me getting a job. Probably. 

I don’t have any more spoons left to give. Even when I do have spoons to give, it’s not my choice when or where to give them away. They choose that for me. But this past week I haven’t had any. And have still been forced to get up and be a put together person who is deferential to her parents and does chores and applies to jobs and goes to the gym and eats what they decide to eat because I need to lose weight. 

I don’t know if any of this makes sense or if anyone is even going to read this but this is mostly just for me. To ramble and to try to articulate what I’ve been feeling. 

Reading back on this. I keep trying to rationalize it to myself. My brain keeps going “you make it sound so bad. it’s not that bad.” But I have to remind myself that it is that bad. That’s why I wanted to write it all down in the first place. I wanted a record of it so that I can remember. I’ve always been shit at writing in diaries. But someday, I want to look back on this and know that, it WAS THAT FUCKING BAD. I did feel that fucking bad. I want to remember that there were days, even now, even after everything I’ve been through, after thinking that I was strong and adult, at 24 with 2 degrees, I can’t handle it. And that I broke down, I’m struggling to do it without my parents knowledge, but I’m falling apart all the same. 

I want to someday look back at this post and be thankful that I didn’t kill myself. That I got through it. I got through it before. I’m thankful that I got through it before and even though I’ve taken 10 steps back, I hope that I can find the strength to get through it again. 

#kiki in real life #depression #anxiety #eating disorder #trigger warning #mental health #suicidal thoughts #I just needed to vent and ramble and get this out #because I don't want to forget

[amorremanet]

@apolloniae Okay, first: skffghfk, omg wow, thank you!! That means a lot, especially since this passage is all still early-ish in the writing process for me (like… it’s not as early as the borderline stream of consciousness first-person POV stuff that I was writing with this project last summer, but it’s still fairly early), and I consider it pretty rough still

THAT SAID. omg, dialogue is actually something I both love and dread writing, because I never feel like I have the best gauge on how much is enough or if I’m shoving in too much exposition with it or what, but! I have a couple things I rely on

Not-so-fun secret first: that particular section might be a pretty early draft, but I’ve still revised it something like four times, from jotting the initial idea down longhand, through the different typed versions of this scene that I’ve written (which have gotten changed around pretty significantly), and revisions help a lot with dialogue, in my experience. They can be anything from small stuff like figuring out a better word order but mostly keeping things the same, to taking a really sketchy outline (e.g., “A says something about B’s shoes, B thinks A is being rude and what is up with that, and C is just happy to be here, why can’t we all get along” or full on snatches of dialogue, but written in a way that doesn’t fit the characters) and building the scene up from there. Either way, revisions are a writer’s friend.

But, okay. Speaking more generally: the best place to start is just getting familiar with dialogue, both in real life and in fiction. You really do need both of these influences to write dialogue, because getting more familiar with how people speak IRL can help your dialogue feel realistic — and in some cases, it can be really important to have that verisimilitude, e.g. when you’re writing a bilingual or multilingual character and don’t want to fall into some of the more tired, unrealistic tropes of how multilingualism can manifest in people’s speech; and when you’re writing a deaf character (disclaimer that I’m not deaf, and this fic isn’t the be-all and end-all of how to do this well, but I really like the portrayals of Steve and Clint in, “Trump Diet” by caloriebomb on AO3, and they’re pretty well-researched and well-written portrayals of deaf characters).

On the other hand, though, only listening to how people talk IRL isn’t enough. You can learn a lot from that, for sure — especially when it comes to things like how people present themselves from situation to situation, and how their speech patterns or word choices can change in different contexts (from full-fledged code-switching, to more simple things like swapping in child-friendly substitutes for swear words when you’re with your godkids/younger sibling/grandma/whoever) — but you also need to look at how different techniques for writing dialogue work or don’t in order to figure out how to best present the dialogue so that it helps tell your story.

Different writers also have different strengths that you can learn from, e.g. JKR is really good at blending summaries of things the audience already knows into new scenes (like Harry witnessing the, “Snape brings Remus his Wolfsbane Potion” scene, then immediately running and telling Ron and Hermione), vs. Neil Gaiman’s ability to make dialogue read as realistic and natural even while his characters are talking about patently non-realistic things like magic and whatnot (which I think especially comes out in American Gods, but I’m biased because I’ve been rereading it in honor of the TV series starting), vs. the way that the late, great Terry Pratchett had of really making the dialects, accents, and so on a part of his characters, rather than something pasted on (JKR can also be good at that, but sometimes she goes a bit overboard). So, reading as much as you can is good, and paying attention to how the different writers use dialogue will help you write your own.

Unfortunately, a lot of dialogue-writing ends up being a, “play it by ear” sort of thing. You can easily overdo it with flowery dialogue tags, or repeating, “said” too much. Having too much action between bits of dialogue can bog down the scene, but not having enough can make it feel like nothing’s happening while these people talk (plus, what characters do or not during a conversation can help characterize them as much as, or arguably more than, what they say and how they say it).

One of the biggest pitfalls for a lot of writers is that we put too much dialogue in, usually focusing on the parts of conversations that don’t do anything to help show who the characters are or tell the story. Like, unless your characters have a particularly unique way of saying, “hello” (and showing that to the audience helps establish the characters for us), or there’s something important about how they answer questions like, “Nice day, isn’t it?” (e.g., the, “Wonderful weather this morning” / “Yes, but I always carry an umbrella” exchange from CATFA, because it’s not actually about the weather, but is the password into the secret SSR laboratory), or, “How’re you doing?” (e.g., your character is someone who doesn’t actually respond to that question with some variation on, “Fine, and you?”), then there’s a lot of dialogue that you can probably skip.

However, it can sometimes be difficult to tell where the too much/not enough line is, once you get past that — which really just goes back to the, “Revisions are your friend and you shouldn’t be afraid of them. They don’t mean you’re a bad writer; they’re a part of making your work stronger and telling your stories in the best ways for them” point.

Finally, though, the best rule of thumb is just knowing your characters. Knowing at least a few baseline things about where your characters come from and how they present themselves are helpful for finding their voices and keeping true to it in different scenarios. A character who excessively tries to mold themself according to what other people want them to be, or who unconsciously mirrors those around them, probably won’t have the same speech patterns as a character who doesn’t give a fuck what other people think of them, or who might give a fuck but is too tired/upset/intoxicated/whatever to censor themself effectively. Characters’ upbringings and backgrounds can also come out in their dialogue, so being (more or less) clear on them can be helpful.

One pretty classic example of these ideas is the trope where someone who’s going about in unfamiliar circles may be able to emulate other people’s behaviors, pick up the common speech patterns, verbal tropes, and lingo pretty well, and so on…… but still has a particular verbal tic or cadence to their speech that they can’t shake.

For instance, my Sebastian, from that passage, grew up in a wealthy family that would be minor nobility if the U.S. acknowledged that we totally have a de facto system of nobility (and his paternal grandparents often make a big deal out of how they’re descended from a legit, “Our ancestors earned their title as knights in the service of the King of France before certain well-to-do members of the Third Estate started buying their way up into our ranks, back before the glorious Ancien Régime was even a Thing” noblesse d’épée bloodline). He’s been around folks from a mix of different backgrounds during his time in school, and more so in his adult life, which has involved a lot of hijinks in places that would make his Grandparents go, “Good Heavens, why are you slumming it with the lower classes” before focusing on the actual issues like,, “Why on Earth were you dating an ecoterrorist” and, “Oh dear, our grandson who wanted to join the priesthood when he was a boy seems to have developed a serious problem with opiates”

Like, real talk? Roland and Cecile love their grandchildren, they really do. But when Sebastian went to rehab, they tried to push for sending him to a ridiculously expensive inpatient clinic in California with a huge, pedigreed list of celebrity clients because they thought of it as Rich People Rehab. The explanation, “No, okay? If I’m doing this, then I’m going to this place in Minnesota that exclusively hosts LGBTQ clients because I really don’t feel like I’ll be helped by potentially being around homophobic fellow patients and/or staff”…… was mostly met with blank stares that were the human equivalent of the, “buffering… buffering…” spinning wheel of doom, and the response, “…But going there will put you in treatment with the common rabble, why on Earth would you want that.”

Thankfully, Abe and Marceline, Seb’s parents, were nowhere near this bad — but that classism and the emphasis on how We Are From A Distinguished, Noble Bloodline, So Act Like It were still part of the atmosphere that Seb and his siblings were raised in. Their experiences in schooling moderated it a bit (though less so for, say, eldest brother Max, who went to Posh Boarding School for all four years of high school, then did his undergrad at Columbia and grad school at Harvard), and Seb got a lot of moderation by learning the hard way that sounding too posh in a decidedly not-posh environment is a dead giveaway that you don’t belong there and might get you mistaken for a Federal agent. But it’s hard to completely shake that posh upbringing, and it comes out sometimes in his phrasing, his word choices, etc.

On the other hand, though, Seb is also a human disaster in ways that affect his speech (…and he’s multilingual, but that doesn’t fall under the heading of, “human disaster things”). The trick with those parts of him — like his anxiety and how it kicks into overdrive in certain situations (like, when he’s talking to Stephen, his sponsor’s curatorial assistant, who Seb is crushing on) — is finding a balance where it’s part of his characterization but also doesn’t get completely impossible to read (like the mistake that some people make when writing characters with stutters, where they overdo it to the point that you can’t tell what the characters are saying, but because the writers didn’t do this on purpose, you’re expected to know what’s being said).

Anyway, I’m sorry this got kind of long, but I hope it helps a bit! Dialogue can be tough to work on, but you can learn a lot from experimenting with different ideas and techniques, and just continuing to work on it, even when you hate what you’re writing. ❤️

#apolloniae #replies tag #writing is hard #writing advice #dialogue #mine: writing #…and now i need to edit this so it won't be a huge mess of html fuck mobile #drugs ref// addiction ref// #long post//

[jordanbstudentlion]

Vision

My mom, a self-proclaimed social justice warrior, went into labor in the middle of The Million Man March on October 16th, 1995. Unable (and possibly unwilling) to leave she stayed in totality, calling my dad hours into labor to tell him to meet her at the Washington Hospital Center.

My sister's names are Nyah and Taylur. Nyah is named after a character in Mission Impossible and Taylur is named after my third-grade bully. My dad and stepmom gave me the ability to name my second sister but I wasn’t happy with how the first one turned out and wasn't looking forward to another. Therefore, I named her after the only enemy I had at 8 years old.

I have had one stepmom and three stepdads. My favorite stepdad's name is Kenny. He helped me learn how to fix my car, pitch a tent, and still sends me birthday money. My mom and Kenny separated three years ago. Sabrina, my stepmom, has been married to my dad since I was 3. She is the most religious person in my life. She is hesitant to be authoritarian in my life however she has always been firm in my going to church.

I had three options in going to undergrad: Howard University,  Louisiana State University, and George Mason University. I hated all of my options at the time but picked George Mason University. I had a good 4-year experience but would approach the application process for undergrad differently a second time around. I joined a sorority. Going greek both matches and clashes with my personality. I quickly became a leader in my chapter and loved having a say in the comings and goings of a small 100+ army of young women. However, working cohesively with a small 100+ army of young women can be exhausting just as much as it is exhilarating.

When I was in high school I was bullied from middle through high school. To combat this my mom sent me to a leadership camp called the National Student Leadership Conference (NSLC).  It was only a 9-day program but I have since worked for that same organization and it has become a big part of my life.

However this summer I hated my boss. He was manipulative and phony. I never knew what he was thinking and it threw me off from the first day. He would talk about people behind their backs and then smile to their faces. I hated it. But the organization is my favorite and something I want to grow in but it sucks because now I have to grow in it alongside him. So not only do I hate him, I can’t get away from him either.

Although I named my sister after my third-grade bully, my true arch nemesis from my youth was Rachel Fox. She lived directly behind me and made my life hell in the 7th grade. I was scared of her and she knew it but in true teen girl fashion, I called her my friend. Our “friendship” climaxed when she pushed me down an icy flight of stairs and my mom threatened to call the police. Unrelated to the stairs, she is in jail now.

The most at stake for me in my youth was my self-esteem. I wasn’t comfortable in who I was and felt out of place no matter where I went. There isn’t a cure-all for feeling unwanted, unfortunately. I was awkward and thankfully awkward becomes quirky when you hit your twenties. I am trying my best but sometimes that low self-esteem creeps back in. I have a feel-good folder full of reasons I should be happy. It's incredibly cheesy but it works. It includes pictures and letters from friends. I started compiling it in high school and its worked thus far.

My parents separated before I was born and they have been bickering since. Stories of my childhood are always hazy because they come from two very different yet skewed perspectives. I spent equal amounts of time in each household. I feel that I am an equal dose of each of my parents. One part cynical from my dad, one part hippie from my mom. They are both abrasive, a trait that seemingly skipped me. I feel laid back and I often lack the bark necessary to stand up for yourself. I have to quite literally give myself a pep talk to talk in public spaces sometimes. But then on the other hand sometimes my mouth won’t shut. Sometimes I like to identify which traits belong to my mother and which traits belong to my father. After accomplishing something socially bold I’ll think, “That was a Kim trait,” and then after doing something mildly offensive but career progressive I’ll think,” How Keith of me.” Is that weird? Awkward? Quirky?

I once studied abroad in Ireland for one month. I hated it. It rains all the time, and there aren’t many people of color, which isn’t new to me but the Irish like to ask you about being black. It’s a hefty conversation to have with a total stranger but to each their own. I was taking a class in creative writing while there and when I was in class I was thriving. Other parts? Not quite. My class was made of students from my undergrad and each of them had such bold personalities I feel confident that I could create hundreds of characters stemming from them alone. One girl ran off with the bartender at our hotel during the first night and another was in color guard but insisted on practicing in public places and during our tours; This same girl also owned a wolf. Not a necessary fact overall but occasionally I scroll past her and her wolf on social media and still jump at the idea.

On my 10th birthday, my mom drove me all the way to my dads, two hours away to celebrate and he never showed up. He later told me that I never got back to him if I wanted to have a party. Most 9-year-olds have terrible phone etiquette so I am not surprised. I sobbed the whole ride back. So loudly that I didn't hear my mom planning an impromptu party in the front seat. She invited a fury of people. Anyone who would come and was available: Our landscaper, my Sunday School teacher, and our hairdresser. The party included pinning the tail on the donkey, cake, and even goody bags. I  have zero clues how she put together a good time in such a short time. I rarely ask because when I do I can’t help but remember that on the flip side my dad ditched me.

I recently watched a Netflix movie called To All The Boys I Loved Before where the main character writes love letters to her crushes. Of course, this launched me into wondering who I’d write my own love letters too and I can narrow it down to three truly significant romantic loves. One was in high school, one in college, and one this summer. All three were relatively significant in my life, however, I still feel weird saying it aloud. I’ve learned that I fall in love easily. If you’re looking to satisfy someone with the bare minimum? I’m your girl. I learned that I am forgiving in all the wrong ways. I am not quick to forget the shortcomings of my loved ones but more so unwilling to have the hard talks that come with addressing them. It could be that I am still coming down from the cheesy fumes of the rom-com but I resonate with the main character Lara Jean. She is cautious and overthinks. But that overthinking leads to wild imagination. She is by far my most positive character whom I feel a kinship with.

I also think I relate to Evan Hansen. Quirky, overall overlooked but fun guy. Depressed but in that joking, I don’t want people to catch on that I hate myself way. Just like Charlie Bartlett, He is deep in his own feelings and despair but manages to fool the whole school into thinking he’s got it together. His character also makes close relationships with a majority of the other characters however still feels a lack of belonging. Charming, quirky, but still lonely. And lastly, a character I have related to since my youth has been Courage the Cowardly Dog. He Courage was scared all the time of everything, and he had every right to be. Aliens and Monsters are nothing to joke about! However, he still went through whatever task he needed to accomplish in the episode and ultimately his owners never noticed his ever-growing anxiety. I am anxious about a lot but I know that at the end of the day I am going to keep pushing myself towards the tasks I need to accomplish. I also feel as though others cannot see my own insecurities and that is how I would prefer to keep it. In terms of importance to me, I order these characters as follows: Courage The Cowardly Dog from Courage The Cowardly Dog, Evan Hansen from Dear Evan Hansen, Charlie Bartlett from Charlie Bartlett, Lara Jean Song Covey from To All The Boys I Loved Before.

Four public figures that I have a kinship with include: Sarah Polley, Richard Engel, Johnny “Bananas” Devenanzio, and Rudy Mancuso. My list of public figures includes people well established in their careers. Each possesses an element that I hope to possess in my own career. Sarah Polley made the documentary Stories We Tell, which was a raw look into her own family. I remember watching and being uncomfortable with the idea of exposing not only my family but myself to the public. But ultimately it's what made her work so good. I appreciated, understood, and admired her decisions as a filmmaker because of it. Richard Engel is a news correspondent who has done just about everything to get a good story. His work primarily has him covering stories of hardship during the Iraq War, Arab Spring, and the Syrian Civil War. He does fair coverage of it all. He is in the business of journalism but I admire his ability to tell a story in all circumstance and hope to possess that ability in my own filmmaking. Johnny Bananas is a Reality Television star and Rudy Mancuso is an Internet Personality. I am interested in digital media and reality series and would love at some point be able to work within those realms. I relate to these public figures in this order: Richard Engel, Sarah Polley, Johnny “Bananas” Devenanzio, Rudy Mancuso

A list of people who have impacted my life includes Spenge, Sasha, Spax, Leigh, Cynthia, Rachel Fox, Mitchell, Marg, Evan, Austin, Zoe, Brandon, Jarrett, Emily W, Brittney, and Cole.

In the future, I want to be happier than I am today. I say that to myself often; it is very Kim of me. But I think it is a nice cover all of what are your plans for the future? I am currently happier than I was yesterday and I am definitely doing much better this year than I was last year. I would like to get more experience on set. I would like to narrow down exactly what I want to do in the Film Industry. I would like to make a social and career network in the Film Industry. I am currently starting out in a new town and I’ve got some friends but I could use some more. It is weird to make friends as an adult especially when you know it is so critical to how you fair in a new town. Every new interaction is pressure because these could be my people for the next few years. I hope in the future I am happier than I am today, but I also hope I stop worrying about the mundane.

[ruleandruinrpg]

CONGRATULATIONS, NINA!

You have been accepted for the role of IRA SOROKIN. Admin Em: We’d received FANTASTIC, beautifully written applications for Ira and I had the worst time trying to make up my mind - but Nina, it was your headcanons that ultimately swayed me. You fleshed out areas not elaborated on in the bio to create a complete, vibrant portrait of a wolf of a girl - I especially loved how the tale of Ilya Muromets inspired her original name, and her goal to prove Durasts are as much warriors as any of the other Grisha, the invention of a weapon that was most effective in the hands of her fellow Durasts a clever accompaniment. ‘She decided that, if the birth of greatness wasn’t her natural calling, the death of it could be just as useful.’ What a beautifully succinct line that perfectly captures her adaptability. Thank you, so much for your beautiful application and welcome to R&R! You have 24 HOURS to send in your account. Also, remember to look at the CHECKLIST. Welcome to Ravka!

OUT OF CHARACTER

ALIAS: Hey there! I’m Nina.

PREFERRED PRONOUNS: She/her.

AGE: I’m 21 yo.

TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY LEVEL: I’m currently finishing undergrad school, and that’s pretty much all I’m focusing my time on rn. So, I’ll be checking the dash every day and plotting/answering to threads every time I can get to my computer. I would be a solid 7 out of 10, I think.

CURRENT/PAST ACCOUNTS: -

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER: Ira Sorokin.

WHAT DREW YOU TO THIS CHARACTER?

My first option when I found this rp was Valerian Petrov, as it was the first one I wrote for, but upon reading the other characters, Ira was the one who stood up. I love how wild and master of her own fate she is. And also how her savagery gives me so much ground to work with. She has this infinite possibilities look that pretty much made me choose her.

WHAT FUTURE PLOT IDEAS DID YOU HAVE IN MIND?

Warriors.

The order of Fabrikators isn’t usually acquainted with combat skills, since their work’s focus lies elsewhere. But Ira doesn’t believe that her work and training are enough to keep her afloat, and to be adrift was never the position she favored in life. The Durast believes she, as any soldier, should be able to fight not only with her claws or the will of every metal on a battlefield, but with everything she had. Therefor, Ira decided to seek a partner who could train her on combat during nights and hidden from curious eyes. This is the person she chose to teach her, to destroy every bit of her confidence and rebuild her into something new, stronger. But this is also the one who knows her secret: Ira Sorokin doesn’t like to feel vulnerable, and if she felt it was necessary to trust another being to give her the skills she needed to survive, she would. One can only hope her trust isn’t misleading her.

Both a friendship plot or a manipulative one would work here. It all depends on who takes this on. I would like to see both happening, so there’s that.

Honesty versus Refinement.

When standing side by side with Fyodor Drugov, something rather curious seems to happen. The contrast between them only bring them closer. At the same time Ira presents herself as something wilder, savagery in its true form, to be with Fyodor is to belong. They’re her kind. Undoubtedly. And it urges her even closer to see how refinement suits a beast so well, when she spent a lifetime believing there was no such monster. Ira knows Fyodor is intimately acquainted with the limits of a cage, and she can see in their eyes how they loathes it too. This could be the birth of a true alliance, or the death of her. She isn’t quite sure. But Ira isn’t quite searching for an answer just yet.

The best opportunity to do all sorts of things is right here. Those two have lots of potential and I can’t help but wonder what we can do with that.

The leash.

A wild thing does not wear a leash. But time after time, Ira seems to find herself in the end of one. First, it was her parents and the dead weight they had become in her life. Then, came hunger and its way of driving her to the edge, towards an abyss that stole years of her life; – those she spent in the Sorokin household. Now, it seems the Darkling holds the end of her leash and Ira is growing anxious about holding it herself. She knows this was her choice, and she’s also aware that going against the Darkling’s domain is a step taken towards death, but a wild thing can’t help but feel claustrophobic in a cage. For how long can she keep her claws to herself, then?

Discussing if the Darkling would bother to make her respect him enough to ignore the leash, or if she is as insignificant as the Darkling keeping indifferent towards her, would be very nice. Depending on what he sees fit, Ira’s inclination to once again fight for her freedom would either settle down or grow into another war inside her. Treason or loyalty? That seems to be the question.

Angel of small death.

To lay such a violent devotion upon a fragile thing is to choose a doomed fate, but Ira had no choice. She only knows love as a violent act against the world, and when her heart found something in desperate need of nurturing in Stasya Belov, she forced her claws to be as gentle as she knew how, just to see the other’s wall building up faster than she could possibly understand how. This was rather ironic, if looked closer. The beast who knew no human trait finding the urge to devote all her love to a human who wanted no part in it. At least, this was what Ira perceived. Both the need and the walls separating them, Ira never had the courage to ask. To come closer.

Since this is a one-side connection, it would be very interesting to see Stasya’s side of it. If Ira is imagining it all, or it Stasya indeed had no interest in Ira’s devotion.

Humor me.

If there’s one thing Ira indulges herself in, is the liberty of instinct. She loves how it fits her so well, and how in control she seems when her inner beast manipulates her way through life. The very materialized form of this, is her relation with one certain Druvik Jadeja. Had she spared a moment of consciousness to consider the matter, Ira might have had the idea of how cruel that dance must’ve been to the other, but truth to be told, she neither cared to be moral nor did she have the interest to hide her cruelty. Ira loves to make Druvik dance for her like a monkey to whom she taught some very nice tricks. Manipulation is an art she began to understand through him, and one she would be very disappointed to lose in case of Druvik getting tired of their game.

Here, I would very much like to see what Druvik’s player thinks. Either see him falling deeper and deeper into her game, and wait for Ira to grow tired of how easy it has become to her, or see him revolting against her and allowing another kind of fun to present itself to Ira: the one in which she finds herself between his struggle to get rid of her cruel game and her urge to be so very violent about it all.

WOULD YOU BE WILLING TO HAVE YOUR CHARACTER DIE?: I believe so, yes! As long as it makes sense to her story, I believe it would be quite the final touch.

IN DEPTH

IN CHARACTER PARA SAMPLE(S):

BEFORE

The taste of blood in her mouth was a rather pleasing one when the girl opened the door to the Sorokin’s Household. It meant freedom in such a twisted way, that Bo grew fond of provoking the children in the streets of Ketterdam just to get into a fight and come home bleeding all over the Sorokin’s things. Every time they sent her to do errands around the city, her way of protest came with bloodstained packages and a face so bruised, the mistress wouldn’t want her in the house.

It was easier to spend hours in her master’s workshop, playing with metals as she pleased, than to spend countless hours pinning the mistress’ hair, feeding her false words and listening to her disgusting compliments in between threats. And once the woman saw the face of her child slave, what Bo had predicted unfolded right in front of her.

“This is unacceptable, child!” the woman yelled at her, “I do not wish to see your ugly face inside the house”, and against her scum, Bo hid a smile as she looked down and left the room. The pain that came with all those bruises was never so great as the one of serfdom. The girl wasn’t born to live in a cage. Wild things belonged somewhere else. But the Sorokin seemed blind to such a small and meaningful truth. It was rather convenient to keep her at an arm length. And so they did.

Every day she was moved as the masters pleased. Obeying every word in order to feed, to be kept warm and to have a bed at night. More frequently than not, the girl missed the soft brush of leaves against her skin, and the smell of freedom surrounding her. Those were days of happiness, – the ones spent in the wilderness of Ketterdam’s outskirts. She had no family, no master and no mistress to pin her down. Bo was free.

Shame that hunger brought her to a gun point. Now she knew this world wasn’t her place of right. She was told just how much otherworldly and beast-like she was at every bullet she escaped by the will of her mind. “Grisha”, the man had called her, and Grisha she became in the hands of her master.

That man only knew how to take advantage of Bo’s abilities, and though she despised every inch of him, this was a lesson the girl soon learned upon living with the Sorokin. If Bo wanted something, she had to take it from whoever had it. If she wanted to be left alone in the master’s workshop, she had to be beaten up badly by the lost children of Ketterdam and return home with barely no dignity.

But the girl knew, deep down, that this lesson would thrive into something greater. Time was all she needed. For as she manipulated steel into the form she well pleased, unnerved by the bars in her cage, Bo planned the future days of freedom. Those who waited for her in the end of that piece she was working one: a blade. The instrument to buy her way out of this hole.

INBETWEEN

Tw: slavery, torture.

The sea crashed against the hull of the ship as the whip of a master against his slave’s bare skin. It had the cruelty of who feared nothing and respected no one but itself. And it reverberated on a certain Ira Sorokin who knew that reality far too intimately to not spare a minute of recognition when the structural entity of the ship was set in a fierce wave.

At this point, the men on board seemed to be so acquainted with the violence of the sea and how it reflected so perfectly on Ira’s eyes, that they settle themselves on not bothering the girl once she was balanced on the bowsprit at the end of every day of work. For this was the time she devoted to the past. The moment of every passing day on the sea where she would close her eyes and feel the wind upon her face. Where she would poise herself as the daughter of feral things and travel back to the world of a girl whose name was now lost. “Bo Murometz”, she would whisper to herself and into the wilderness. In an attempt to hold on to that piece, to keep herself from forgetting.

She wasn’t sure why it mattered so much, but the thought of letting go was rather a sharp one. It left disfigured cuts on its way and more often than not, bathed on her blood. Ira Sorokin could never let Bo Murometz fade away. It was a stupid name of a stupid girl, but it belonged to her. There wasn’t many things in her life that she could call her own. Freedom, Bo Murometz, the chance of a glorious future… these were the things Ira possessed, and to devote herself to those small details, was to hold on with all her violence, in all her cruelty.

With the traders as her witnesses, Ira became the sea of unwanted things, and with no one to care for them, she took upon herself to be their guardian. Every day she stopped at that same place, climbed the wooden structure towards the bowsprit, and let her mind wander. The men feared her, despite the prejudice of women bringing bad fortune on sea. And they admired her, far beyond the immaculate beauty of her face. They knew she was something else entirely. Not the woman who worked her way into that ship and woke up every morning to prove her value to the crew. Not the girl who seemed lost in those split seconds of solitude. But certainly the being whose claws were beast-like.

They knew better than to ask, though. And she was grateful for it. Her hands were still wet with her masters’ blood. Her tongue still poisonous with her mistress’ name on it. She wasn’t just about to spill it all out, nor did she cared to do so. They kept to themselves, and Ira did the same. For the day she would set her feet on Ravka’s shore, was the day she would not have the time to the past. This was her way to say goodbye. This was her way of, utterly, and reluctantly, let go.

AFTER

The sound of chains made of Grisha steel whipping the ground was like a thunder ready to bring down a fortress. Ira greeted that old force with the devotion of a lover.

This was the moment she waited for the entire day. The fall of night when she could escape the curious eyes and hide as far way from both palaces as she could, with nothing to accompany her but the chains around her torso and a handmade tobacco roll burning between her lips. And though the drug was the one erasing all the insignificant beings that crossed her way, the weapon was the one to calm her down.

With time, she grew fond of the grip of metal between her fingers, or the rush that using her power brought. Ira liked to watch the tsepi unfold and move like a snake by her feet under her command. She could see, there, how promising her order was, for her dreams of glory always came hand in hand with the Durasts being able to be something other than workshop’s rats. Within those walls was another cage, and Ira wasn’t just about to confine herself again.

So the woman raised the roll to her lips and breathed in the smoke of tobacco. Her dark eyes falling shut as she stopped and ordered the tsepi to wrap around her torso once more. She smiled fiercely. A part of Ira knew she wasn’t meant to be displaying her pride like a trophy, but the part born beast made her loose hair and untidy clothes fit naturally to the chains she summoned back to her body.

That moment, Ira Sorokin was made of warning, of danger. This was the girl who murdered the man and woman who dared to imprison her. This was the wild thing that survived in the forest for so long and with no help at all. And this was the sailor who bought respect from the traders that led her here.

Strange was the path of a monster such as Ira Sorokin. One she, herself, couldn’t understand. Yet, she managed to conquer a few great things. A brief moment of freedom. The liberty to be otherworldly amongst her equals. What would her mistress tell her now?

There was no blood staining her clothes, her ethereal beauty as intact as the real Ira Sorokin liked. But her mistress was long gone. She couldn’t see her child slave now, and that piece of satisfaction, that small accomplishment, made the beast thrive.

CHARACTER HEADCANONS:

   x The lost child.

There’s a name whispered at night that Ira holds close to her heart and out of danger. It belongs to a girl who could barely remember her first years in this world, but who had known, with every inch of her soul, what her father had cried out in his vices and what her mother dared never to say. She believed it meant “wave” in her mother’s tongue, for she knew it was different from the one she learned in Ketterdam. It was an easy-to-remember name, a simple and sonorous one to Ira’s ear. It was Bo. Just this. No family name.

Until, there is, she wandered off and went to the outskirts of Ketterdam, where once, upon hearing voices between the trees, the girl found a father and a son traveling north. Hidden and far too curious about their ways, she heard a story about one Ilya Murometz, a bogatyr whose story started with “From the famous city of Murom, out of the village of Karacharovo, the valiant, doughty youth Ilya Muromets, the son of Ivan, set out far into the open fields…”.

She wasn’t sure what that word bogatyr meant, nor where those cities and villages were, but the girl was certain they were very much real, like Ilya himself. She learned how he spent his first 33 years of life on a stove, unable to move, as the consequence of a curse put on his grandfather, and how, upon the arrival of three religious men, the bogatyr found himself able to walk for the first time and became the owner of a super-human strength.

Enacting battles and great heroic moves, the strange traveler described how Ilya single-handedly defended the city of Chernigov from invasion and how he, afterwards, killed the forest-dwelling monster who murdered travelers with his powerful whistle. And with every victory, Bo celebrated as fiercely as she knew how. Ilya Murometz defeated bandits, three-headed flying serpents, possessed knights and even princes. A true bogatyr, a true hero.

When the night fade away and Bo lost the travelers in her sleep, she woke up the next morning to one decision: she was to be a monster slayer, a hero, just like Ilya. From that day on, she was to be called Bo Murometz. The girl who survived on her own and left on her path many victories.

This was the name Ira Sorokin kept a secret: the easy-to-remember word her useless parents gave her and the tale of glory she stole from a traveler in Ketterdam.

   x The tsepi.

Ira isn’t as devoted to the creation of things as she’s to their destruction. For a Durast in the Second Army, who was supposed to tailor equipment and build ships and fortresses, then, it was a tough path to fit in. But as always, Ira managed a way. She decided that, if the birth of greatness wasn’t her natural calling, the death of it could be just as useful.

Upon settling her mind to the task, Ira excelled on designing weapons to fit every special need. In the beginning, it was a rather disappointing project, but Ira didn’t rest until she left the workshop with triumph between her fingers. She created something called the Tsepi, a weapon that could only be useful to very skilled hands or to the Durast, It consisted of a chain made of Grisha steel that could be wore as a defensive weapon upon attacks in hand-to-hand combat, as well as one that involved knives and objects alike. But also one that worked as a whip and followed every command of the people who controlled metal as she did.

And once tested and proven worthy of her every efforts, Ira decided to be the first to show that Durast were warriors as much as any other Grisha. She knew it wasn’t exactly the description of her kind’s endeavors, but she didn’t really mind. Ira wears her tsepi wrapped around her torso, beneath her kefta, as the most beautiful and priceless jewel, and dreams of the day it will be a success in the Second Army, because the Durast will be encouraged to leave the workshop if they wish to.

   x The True Sea and the Shadow Fold.

On her way to Os Alta, Ira had two paths to choose from. One used the land bridge between Kerch and Shu Han to cross the True Sea and get to Ravka through the mountains that divided Shu Han’s and Ravka’s territory. The other was a wagon to a Port City where she would find her way into a Trading Ship with its course settled for Ravka, where she still would have to cross the Unsea to get to Os Alta.

Aware of the stories that travelled all the way to Ketterdam about Grisha who were experimented on in Shu Han, Ira decided she would rather cross a million times the Shadow Fold than risk being caught by the Shu Han and become a slave again. So she settled for the wagon, and once in the nearest Port City, found her way into a Ship that carried tobacco to Ravka. It wasn’t an easy journey, but she found out she loved the True Sea. Had she not dreamt of glory in Os Alta, Ira would’ve settled with a life on a ship, traveling back and forward to wherever the wind would take her.

This was particularly why the sight of the Unsea made her partially regret her decision. From something so beautiful and pure, to that aberration. From freedom itself to her grave. At least, this was how she defined the Fold the very moment she entered it. Rather unnerving was to realize, once she heard the volcra surrounding them, that she was more curious about them, than it would be wise. Something about those creatures just found an echo in her. Ira was afraid of them as any other sane human being, but that thing reverberating in her with the wings of the volcra and the blood they left in their path, just seemed right. After all, like calls to like. Beasts feel at ease between their kind. Why wouldn’t Ira be curious about the volcra?

  x The way to vices.

The girl Ira once was would never dare to nurse a vice. The reality of its ruination still fresh on her mind from all the disgusting things her father meant to her. But the woman Ira became needed a vice so desperately, that she took upon the opportunity to learn from those tobacco traders how to roll tobacco to smoke and which were the best to chew. It became a rather strong and reliable thing to do whenever she was unnerved or displeased with something or someone, and since the trip to Ravka, the Durast is still nursing that poison on her mouth.

If she’s not in the workshop or training, she’s most certainly smoking by the lake or wandering through Os Alta to buy her stock of tobacco.

EXTRAS:

    x Personality.

ASTROLOGICAL SIGN

Scorpio.

MORAL ALIGNMENT

Neutral Evil.

TYPE

Entrepreneur // ESTP-A.

TRAITS

Cruel. A conscious is a luxury not many were granted on birth, and Ira just isn’t one of the lucky. She was born to a world of cruelty, where the only ones who survived were those who learned how to be just as fierce and cruel. And as time went by, this particular trait of her developed with every drop of blood to ever touch her skin.

Independent. There’s not a thing or soul in this world that may control Ira, if she doesn’t allow them too. She has become her own master and made sure no one would ever rule her around once more. Now, the only one she respects enough to follow is The Darkling, for she also knows how to preserve her own freedom.

Feral. Everything Ira does has a heartfelt and powerful intensity. She may be small and rather fragile-looking, but those are the traits no one seems to perceive once she enters a room. For Ira walks as the person who knows what are life’s barriers, but has conquered them all. She’s involved with the world, with this life, in such an unique way, that powers emanates from her. And it’s wild, beast-like. So otherworldly, that she could very well be the monster on her favorite bogatyr’s story.

Devoted. To love is a rather violent act to Ira. She knows nothing about gentle emotions and thereof how to display them in such manner. But she, as anyone else, can love. And hers is a rather strong and fearless one, – though Ira won’t offer this rare and precious form of devotion to many. She’ll love whom she chooses with all her soul, mind and body, but she won’t know how to tune it down, how to be civilized about it. Ira will do it as fiercely as if it was a battle for her life, and though it may not be healthy, she knows no other way of loving someone.

Self-centered. When you live a life as she did, you learn that the one person to be trusted is oneself. She doesn’t trust anyone, no matter how strongly she feels about them, and won’t rely upon any other. Therefore, Ira is the most important person in her life and that’s final. All she does is based on her interests only, and all she thinks about is how to benefit from everything surrounding her. For as long as her distrust in mankind exits, this will be the way of Ira Sorokin.

   x Aesthetics.

Here.

    x Quotes.

1. “Nada do que fui me veste agora (Nothing I was fits me now)." — Maria Gadú.

2. "Her violence was art." — Rachel Vincent.

3. "I am made of untamable demons and unfillable voids." — Ira V. Simon.

4. "The passions we cannot control are the ones that define us.” — Simon Van Booy.

5. “Re-create yourselves: and let this be your best creation.” — Friedrich Nietzsche.

     x Playlist.

1. Iron by Woodkid.

“A soldier on my own, I don’t know the way I’m riding up the heights of shame I’m waiting for the call, the hand on the chest I’m ready for the fight and fate

The sound of iron shots is stuck in my head The thunder of the drums dictates The rhythm of the falls, the number of deads The rising of the hordes ahead

From the dawn of time to the end of days I will have to run away I want to feel the pain and the bitter taste Of the blood on my lips again”

2. Running with the wolves by Aurora.

“Go row the boat to safer grounds But don’t you know we’re stronger now My heart still beats and my skin still feels My lungs still breathe, my mind still fears But we’re running out of time, time All the echoes in my mind cry There’s blood on your lies The sky’s open wide There is nowhere for you to hide The hunter’s moon is shining”

3. Youth by Daughter.

“And if you’re still bleeding, you’re the lucky ones ‘Cause most of our feelings, they are dead and they are gone We’re setting fire to our insides for fun Collecting pictures from the flood that wrecked our home It was a flood that wrecked this home

And you caused it”

ANYTHING ELSE?

Regarding the book question, as I said before: I confess I had a really hard time thinking about my answer. I know it’ll probably change, as it did a few times, but The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller, The Secret History by Donna Tartt and Fathers and Sons by Ivan Turgueniev are my favorite books rn. I’m an Oscar Wilde trash 4ever, as in I pretty much love everything that guy wrote (and also Teleny, that no one actually knows if he wrote it or not, but wtv), and that’s the only constant regarding books and myself, but those three are the favorites of the season, or something like that kljdslfkjsdlfkjs

#raraccepted #accepted: ira #i said beautiful 10000 times

[mnovenia]

A GLIMPSE OF HEAVEN 

When was the last time you feel like butterflies are flying inside your stomach? When was the last time you realize that you are valueble, you accomplish something great, you belong somewhere? How do you feel when you know that you are ACCEPTED?

March 22nd, 2017 - The Day I Will Never Forget, I received an email:

Dear Marshella,

thank you for you application for the MIBM programme at Hanze UAS! We have checked your application file and we are pleased to inform you that you can be fully accepted. You will receive the letter of acceptance shortly, 

We look forward to welcoming you to Hanze UAS coming September!

You can prepare your StuNed application, please let us know if you need any documents for it.

Please let me know if you have any questions.

Kind regards, Ekaterina Gurchenkova Enrolment Officer Master Programmes Member of the Admissions Committee Hanze University of Applied Sciences, Groningen Mobile/WhatsApp: [phone] International Business School www.hanze.nl/ibs

After a long time waiting for something like this to happen, God finally reveal His direction for me. The first attempt to pursue a higher level of education was already popped up a long time ago. When I was an undergrad student, I went to see my professor for finalizing my thesis. His name is Prof. John JOI Ihallaw. He’s kind hearted, professional, heart-warming and respectful to everyone, simply the one that students look up to. He told me about his experience of getting a degree from a reputable university in the US, through a scholarship programme by President Suharto. It’s still vivid in my mind, right in his room, building F, morning time, I promise myself, one day I will also tell my story to people that God also enable me to go and pursue a higher education abroad. Not only Prof JOI, my favorite lecture Pak Radit also shared his story of him being granted a scholarship to pursue his education in Canada.

I have no idea how to turn that promise into reality, where should I look, who can help me, and so on.. Graduating from undergrad study, I tend to look for a job so I don’t need to depend on my parent’s monthly allowance anymore. I applied to go to Singapore, it’s failed and cost a lot of money. So I continue to work, while sending my friends one by one to the airport, because they got to go to London, Birmingham, Shanghai, etc to pursue a higher education.

I wish I could join them, but I burried all the envious feeling and jealousy deep in my heart, I just didn’t want to add more burden to my parents, it was all just seemed impossible, and so I just want to be independent at the first place. 

2013, my mother changed her job to a company in which the boss said he wanted to support my mom to send her children to go abroad for study. I was so excited, I was looking for so many school options and trying to apply. I finally being brave to tell few people that I actually have a deep longing to go back to school. But then, few months later, my family experienced the hardest time of our life. My mom lost her job, we sell most of our belongings, I got to sell my saving in a form of gold in order to pay my mom’s debt because she didn’t even receive her last salary. Looking for a high paid job for my mom’s age was not easy at all. Even after she found a new job, it was hard for her, she was very sick then we figured out that she had cancer. And we can’t save her..

Me and the whole family was hit to the very core bottom during those year. Never in my mind to stop and thinking about my dreams, it was all shattered. All I was thinking w just how to continue this life, without the anchor of my family, how to adjust my life by being a mom to my brother, a care taker for my father, self comforter by preaching to myself that it’s all gonna be okay, and life goes on. On the other side, this situation also force me to work harder because now I’m not only responsible to my own self, but I also have to support my longtime jobless father and newbie employee brother at that time. 

Going through all these reminds me that God is the only provider of all things exist in this world, He takes and gives away. According to His plan. 

Juggling through family problems, financial resource, health issues, church, ministry, social life and responsibility somehow made me feel lonely in this road. Like literally. While a Godly man sent by God is still somewhere in the corner, these routines bore me somehow.

Changing job doesn’t seem inviting, until January 2016, on a church retreat, God opened my eyes. I met lots of great people, they’re open minded, confident, and so put together. I look up to them, a lot, most of them are graduated from various reputable universities. At that time I was wearing a hoodie, given by Michelle, stated: “Penn State University”. Everytime she’s going home, if she asked what I want her to bring, I always said something small from university that you happen to visit. Simply because those things are what I value the most. I always wanted to wear one of those things as if I’m an alumni, yet I’m not. But when I wore it, two persons slap me on the face. One said: ‘Hmm, Penn State? Did you go there?’ (i’m ok with him since he’s a foreigner and probably just want open up a conversation), second one said: ‘whose hoodie are you wearing?’ (I was so embarrassed, she looked down to me and I know, because nobody ever thought I’d ever be able to be an alumni of such reputable university, simply because I didn’t get a chance to study overseas like them). Never mind, ignore my over sensitive pride and anger.

Anyway long short story, I knew this one guy was graduated from HU, he’s so kind, well behaved, smart and just basically adorable. Deep in my heart I always want to be compatible to talk to someone like him. Till I read his blog and it renewed my faith, there is still a man like this in this strange world. He came from a usual family but he’s faithful to God and he’s given open door to study all over the world with tons of achievements. For me it’s like: I want to grow up like him. 

I started to remember again about my childhood dreams and convicted that it’s not too late to start living up that dreams again, one of those is to study overseas. How? Thankful for opportunities and scholarships available in my country, and when I look back? My educational background is not bad at all. So first step that I did is taking TOEFL test. I was rushing because I wanted to follow LPDP’s timeline. I studied in between work (mostly I spent few hours after work at office) ministry at church, arranging different events, and so on then I managed to take the test on March 2016.

In between of family drama that cause me to sell my investment (gold) to cover my family’s fraud, and using my coworker’s credit card to pay for the test (thanks Tjung Mega). It was a great time to spent at home, with my father, without internet, away from my routine, and being treated like little girl again. And when I took the test at Vista Bandung, it feels so awesome. I met plenty of people from all over places, taking test for the sake of pursuing their dreams, and I feel so very accomplished because simple I DID IT, after a long hours of enduring the study, stress, worry and fear but well, thank God for the opportunity, I was like don’t mind at all to sell my belongings for taking TOEFL test :’)

I was waiting till I decided which school should I register, my hope LDPD was gone, I couldn’t make it on schedule. Then I interacted with a Alfan Rezani which I know from Indonesia Mengglobal. I was hesitate but his email reply after reply somehow give me hope. When the time was due, I hesitate still to send my application. I remember that christmas/new year time at Michelle’s house, I was so confused, stressed, under pressured and have no peace at all. One thing I know of, I didn’t pray for this matter because I was afraid that this was just a selfish desire. So basically that shows how I rely on my own strength.

And then I found out for the first time that I can’t bear any longer. All the pressure I put to myself, about my future school, relationship with Sam and different expectations, caused me being hospitalized for the first time in my life.

After I went out of the hospital, I dare myself to just submit my halfway school application to Aarhus University, simply because I received a deadline reminder. Then I watched Lalaland movie that made me so proud because I dared myself to submit an application, finally, one very small step but yet I found it was brave enough HAHA. Behind the story: of course I wouldn’t be able to pay the app fee which cost me around 70 euro and so I asked my coworker’s credit card again (thanks Juned), and promise him to pay in installment for 3 months. I was waiting, hoping for any answer from AU then finally an email came and they asked me for course description of my previous study. With another drama, it was so hard to get the document from my old uni, that cause another headache (thanks Nongky for all the help). After I submitted the additional document, I didn’t reallyy remember what’s going on. Suddenly it’s a day after my birthday. I was still celebrating myself here and there, and on March 2nd, 2017 I opened an email from Aarhus University: (my heart was pounding like crazy, I said God, this email can either change my life because I get to go to Denmark or the opposite) and it said:

Application to Economics and Business Administration - International Economic Consulting, summer intake rejected due to lack of qualifications

I couldn’t remember how I handle the feeling In my life, I didn’t receive many rejections. Applying for jobs, schools, even to be friend with someone, I was mostly got accepted. I processed this rejection in a poor way. I was just trying to be strong, tell myself that it’s ok, the world is still going round, I tried so hard to not see God as a bad provider, and of course, I didn’t tell anyone about it.

Trying to handle that myself caused me a bad bad anxiety problem, I got so insecured, I lost my confidence and kind of lack of appettite to do anything. Different celebrations that people made for my birthday didn’t even help, until poured this to Michelle and she prayed for me she listened to me and cooked for me. She’s truly a God-sent friend.

March 12, 2017

It’s a day after my mom’s birthday, she supposed to turn 57 if she’s still alive.

I was at my bedroom on Saturday night. I was tempted to watch something bad but turned out that I saw a scholarship page from Nuffic Neso, about Stuned, Orang Tulip Scholarship, NFP, etc. I was interested because it hasn’t due, I mean, I still have time to apply. I scroll back and forth, I asked God which one which one, I downloaded few brochures from different uni, until I don’t know why I register to Hanze University of Applied Sciences (the possible due date maybe is the reasone why). And: DANG, it’s due in a week after I accidentally registered myself. 

Dear Marshella, We thank you for applying for one of the study programmes offered by Hanze University of Applied Sciences, Groningen (Hanze UAS). Hanze UAS has assigned you the Student number 373079. Please mention this number when communicating with Hanze UAS, so we are able to assist you better. I knew that I have to submit my full application before March 19th, which I know I’ll be away to my hometown for my bestfriend’s bridalshower. I was like why God why that date, I knew I would be so busy preparing everything, but it means I have to submit before March 17th because I can’t do that from Bandung.

Of course with a touch of Michelle’s help I managed to submit online, I was ready to pay for another application fee charge, I was just don’t care because I see an open door, I have peace in my heart and I know God was alongside me and make the universe conspires to help me. The last thing I have to do is to click ‘submit your application’, and then THAT’s ALL. Hanze UoA didn’t ask for application fee, PRAISE PRAISE to the almighty God.

Around 5 days after I submit, I was at my office and doing regular email check then I found that Hanze UoA has accepting me as one of their student!! I shared the news with my LCG Amel, Michelle, Nongky, Juni and Ci Sisca.

Then I thought, what now? I just need to figure out how to pay and what kind of scholarship I can apply. In the midst of so many things, I managed to apply to Stuned (a bit tight, again because it’s due before my long-awaited trip to Coldplay concert in Singapore). Again Michelle help me and Juni gave me her cousin’s contact to help me for my application. I asked Cheri, Kara who went through the same situation. It enhances my knowledge but still I didn’t know what to expect, I am afraid if I put too much expectations, but I don’t want to be hopeless and not trusting God for this matter. 

To be honest, I doubt myself too, there are so many greater people out there that deserve this scholarship. But it also hurts to think of ‘why not me’, is it because I am half chinese? My life is not miserable enough? My so-so job? And many other things that can hinder me to believe that I deserve a scholarship, to be able to find fund for my master degree, to trust that if God gave me this desire and He doesn’t just give to take it away again. But one thing I’m sure of, if He wants me to go, He will make a way, and He will open the door no matter how people and even myself won’t :)

Jeremiah 29:11-14  For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.  Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you. You will seek me and find me when you seek me with all your heart. I will be found by you,” declares the Lord,

Amsal 23: 18  Karena masa depan sungguh ada,dan harapanmu tidak akan hilang.