Visit Blog
Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.
#((These emails make me hate school less.))
storybook-souls · 19 days ago
Text
time for hannah complaining again <3
#i had SUCH a good trip and was so like. energized and optimistic and ready to Handle Shit#but then! had to go back to my old high school and our church and do a whole bunch of ~graduation~ stuff#and turns out when your best friend from high school died less than a year ago a thing like that can stir up some Emotions!#like. real 'last place i saw you alive' energies only spread out over an entire weekend#which like. i can handle that it's just kinda Painful but i ALSO was trying to do all this emotional care for my whole family#in all these fraught and messy and...i don't even know the words but just a whole slew of emotions going on#which again is like. it's FINE but it used up all those nice reserves i'd built up on my vacation#especially bc as much as i love my friends and had a good time there were things about the trip that were exhausting too#so i really just needed time to like. breathe deep and process#and then my FUCKING car breaks down! \#and i'm going to have to pay to fix it and don't even know how much it's going to cost and. i don't really HAVE a lot to spare!#and yeah it happened in like. the best POSSIBLE circumstances but i had to get my parents to completely bail me out which i HATE doing#but i had no other choice because i have no FUCKING support systems in this FUCKING city so i'm NEVER really gonna be independent#no one to give me a ride from the airport no one to check in on my cat no one i could call to help with a broken down car#and man that sure does stand out after you spend a week getting to be with people who genuinely love you!#but have no plans or reasonable way to make that happen for more than the fifteen days you get off per year!#and know that you're Bad at Making Friends and Forming Relationships in any sort of active way!#so! now i'm back to being exhausted and anxious and feeling jealous and lonely and inadequate and all the shit i've been dealing with!#and have to go back to work tomorrow and deal with my 800 emails! not to mention the six page to do list i wrote for myself!#which is my only hope of actually getting some fucking forward momentum instead of just treading water until i die! yay!
2 notes · View notes
bryn-nae-nae · a month ago
Text
Tumblr media
((IT HAPPENED AGAIN. This time another one of my teachers sent me a cute pic of her foster dog. T-T))
1 note · View note
Check-in tag
“Tagged” 😉 by @sam-giddings
If you wanna do it, say I tagged you. I’m just bored and feel like talking about myself so yeah
1.) Why did you choose your URL
Tumblr media
2.) Any side blogs? If so, name them and why you have them
I have 7. @boom-butterfly-effect (my Until Dawn blog that isn’t a mess like this blog is), @little-hope-game (my dark pictures blog). a vent blog, 2 fiction character (aesthetic) blogs, a OTP centric blog and one that I made recently for literally no reason so… yeah
3.) How long have you been on Tumblr?
Well this blog has been around since June 27, 2018 (according to the email I got when it turned 1 lol). But tumblr in general I joined sometime in late 2012 or early 2013.
4.) Do you have a queue tag?
I do (but I don’t use it cause I don’t queue on this blog all that much) #taking queue to the bone zone
5.) Why did you start your blog in the first place?
Cause at the time I was in high school and all of my irl friends had it so I joined and then got SUCKED IN and CANT LEAVE. (Lol I just like that nobody I know irl- except for 1 person who probably won’t even read this- can see any of this stuff and I can actually be myself!)
6.) Why did you choose your icon?
Cause @sam-giddings DREW ME!!! And it looks amazing so it’s now my icon everywhere (literally).
7.) Why did you choose your header?
Fairly certain when I was making this blog I googled “gardenia blooming gif” and used it. Cause gardenia’s are my favorite flower and it looked cool.
8.) What’s your post with the most notes?
It’s a video I took at a Twenty One Pilots concert and it has 250 notes. Followed by this picture from when Rosie Joseph was born with 113 notes.
(I know… both of those are twenty one pilots posts and I am not a tøp blog but here we are)
9.) How many mutuals do you have?
32 but I think there’s some repeats 😅
10.) How many followers do you have?
200!
11.) How many people do you follow?
128
12.) Have you ever made a shitpost?
I feel like my whole #shut up McKenzie tag could be?
13.) How often do you use tumblr per day?
Too much. I cycle through my social media apps on a loop when I’m not at work so probably 10+ times a day
14.) Did you have a fight/argument with another blog? Who won?
The reason I’m so hesitant to do stuff on here sometimes 😅 one time I made a poorly executed joke and some people took it really out of context and I got hate messages and yeah. So there’s some people out there who think I’m a bad person and it’ll haunt me to the day I die.
15.) How do you feel about “you need to reblog this” posts?
Makes me wanna reblog even less.
16/17.) Do you like tag/ask games?
Yes! I’m a narcissist at heart (regrettably) so I love any excuse to talk about myself.
18.) Which of your mutuals do you think is tumblr famous?
@sam-giddings!!!! (Verify her @staff )
19.) Do I have a crush on a mutual?
Not anymore! That ship has sailed…
3 notes · View notes
andifnotheisstillgood · 5 days ago
Text
Frustrated and Suicidal over finding a job/career
I feel like this type of post is common place; I should apologize for adding another one to the pile but I am currently out of patience and options. Finding it difficult to organize my feelings and description of my situation and so this is going to come off as a rant/life story. I'll apologize for this too.
In advance, if anyone can share anything that can possibly help me and my situation, it will be infinitely appreciated.
A little about me: I am about to turn 30, have been married for 9 years and have 3 children. I had my first child when I was in my 2nd year of University.
For the last 7 odd years, I have had a string of jobs and one of them still is a potential career. I have worked:
As a Teacher in a College/High-School teaching on a Games Development course for 4 years. I left because I was on a zero-hour contract the entire time, repeatedly promised permanency but never got it and had my hours reduced from 24 to 2 with 2 weeks notice. By this point, I had 2 children (my 2nd child exists because there was promise of a full-time contract, so I figured I could financially support an extension of my family). I also left this job because I did hundreds of hours in unpaid work to mark student work, do emails, lesson plans and schemes of work, make resources and update pastoral profiles. In the end, I had to forgo all holiday/half-terms and work through them to get paid more. I scraped £20k in one year of working all possible holidays as an "Associate Lecturer". I never saw my children, my marriage was breaking down and my depression deepened.
Barista in Starbucks for 1 year. I did this job during University and basically had to enlist the help of an old colleague to get it back so that I could make some money to feed my family after what happened with the college cutting my hours.
Collections Agent for 7 months (before internal promotion). I called people up and asked them why they hadn't made their credit card payments and when they would be able to. I heard some of the most dark, depressing and dire situations you could think of on that phone. The money was just "OK", but I had to get out. So I progressed within the company.
Learning and Development Advisor for 1 year at the same company as above role. I did my best, but my mental health worsened still and my manager grew frustrated with my inability to manage my administrative tasks and improve my confidence. I got less than satisfactory on my end of year report. The company merged with a larger American company so management changed, then COVID hit. The company wanted to shake up, I'm certain they wanted to trim the fat, so I got made redundant. I applied for 300+ jobs from April 2020 - September 2020. Had 3 interviews that went nowhere.
I am back now, since September, on an agency contract with the College I hated and originally wanted to escape from. My contract ends on June 25th and then they have nothing for me. I'll be jobless again. I had 1 interview that I almost got the job for as an administrator, but I think someone with more experience in that industry scooped it.
I no longer want to be a teacher; for effectively all of my time in education, you have to care about the grades and success of your students more than they do. I can confidently say that 90% of the cohort each year don't care and you have to force them to do the work. With their performance dictating your job stability because of grade point averages and overall pass rates, I am exhausted, stressed, angry and bored of being a teacher. If I feel like this, I shouldn't be a teacher.
I wanted to be in 3D for a time, but I can't level up fast enough to attain work for this. I have a degree in games development (although I could never make my own game, I know some Game design and 3D but can only grasp the basic concepts of coding). I have a L5 Diploma in Education and Training, but I don't to teach! lol. I did this because I had to if I wanted to stay at the college; I needed the money and still do. I have skills from these areas that are translatable but nowhere seems to care. I've been told consistently that I'm either over-qualified or under-qualified. I know no-one who can "get me in where they are".
Before the suggestions of living for my wife and children and all that jazz, I have heard it all before. I love my family; I don't want to be mistaken here. But the weight of providing for them and being responsible is so heavy, the will to die is far stronger than my love at this point. Maybe just "getting a job" won't solve my problems, but it will at least buy me time to figure out my next step.
Please. Help.
submitted by /u/HazChickGames [link] [comments] from Jobs https://ift.tt/3g0nEuF
0 notes
oikawasmommy · 6 days ago
Text
Broken Promises ~ Part 1
Author: @oikawasmommy​
Word Count: 1 911
Pairing: Oikawa Tooru x Reader
Summary: Oikawa thought you were the one. But you weren't.
A/N: Oikawa is in pain. I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think!! Part 2
When pictures of your boyfriend laying by the pool of an expensive hotel in Buenos Aires appeared on your Instagram feed, your mind was already made. You laid on your stomach, eyes red and puffy, with no answers to your long open and forgotten text messages. While you had been understanding of Oikawa’s busy schedule throughout your relationship, the ache you felt at that moment was beyond simply missing him and no amount of rationalising would help you this time.
You wondered if he would even bother apologising to you. But as the time passed you realized that the meaning of his words held very little meaning now. So you went along with his silence, to the point that it turned into the norm. Both of you were avoidant people when conflict arose, except that while you gave up Oikawa refused to let go. Yet the expiry date of your relationship was near and on the day you expected him at your front door, he didn’t show up, again.
“What are you talking about?” he asked, heart pounding in his chest. “I’m honestly lacking the words to explain myself right now.”
But the way your voice trembled at the other end of the line spoke for you.
“We’re not breaking up,” Oikawa told you as if that decision was his to make. “This isn’t working anymore, Tooru.”
The athlete had noticed but that was just one of the many challenges you had to overcome. You couldn’t just walk away when things got difficult.
“You’re going to move to San Juan in a little less than two years,” he reminded you. “And we’ve been doing this for two years already. Did you forget that?”
Why was he so stubborn?
You muffled your sobs the best way you could and wondered what your ex-lover looked like in the living room of his apartment in San Juan.
“I didn’t. But I can’t waste any more of your time, Tooru,” you explained. “Please understand this.”
Oikawa didn’t muffle the sounds of his pain, however.
“You promised me,” he insisted, voice cracking. “And you promised me you would call. You promised me you would answer my texts. You promised me you would show up and you promised me this was going to work out.”
The man stayed quiet for a moment, tears rolling down his flushed cheeks. He wanted to argue and that was what he meant to do. But you cut him off, knowing his silence wouldn’t last now.
“I’m sorry I’m breaking my promises. But you broke yours first, Tooru.”
Oikawa opened his mouth, his breathing caught in his throat. But there wasn’t anyone at the other end of the line anymore. These were the last words you told the setter of CA San Juan before completely disappearing from his life.
Letters, emails, phone calls and text messages were all left unanswered, leaving Oikawa to drown in his loss all by himself. He would think sharing the same high school circle would inevitably make you easier to reach. But begging his friends to be his messenger turned out to be useless too very soon.
There was no recovery from this, he was convinced. While he was promised time would heal him he found the days he would hurt turn into weeks then months then years. Your life was so deeply entangled with his it could only seem unrealistic to imagine it without you. So Oikawa learned to hate you as much as he loved you slowly.
Your face in his old photo prints made his stomach twist, your name pronounced felt like a dagger in his chest and your memory had his emotions running wild. And yet it was with your scent that he would fall asleep at night. All his demons wore your face but Oikawa wished for nightmares every night.
“Te amo,” the words rolled off his tongue one night as Oikawa dreamt.
But that was just a replay of one of his fondest memories.
He knew the words were unfamiliar to you. No one else ever told you. But he also knew you dreamt of him saying it. Yet you weren’t sure how to respond, sitting on the wooden swing of the nearest playground in the neighbourhood you used to share.
With the minimal Spanish he taught you while you were both away from your hometown in Japan, you knew the meaning though. It wasn’t a light statement and would be completely out of place if you hadn’t loved each other silently for the past five years. But maybe it was out of place now, Oikawa realized. You still returned his love though.
“Ich liebe dich auch.”
When the words left your mouth it was to match his intensity. But also because the meaning was the truest to what you felt for Oikawa. He believed you were the one and so did you. So how did it end up like this? The answer to this question couldn’t be found by the man, no matter how much time went by.
So when he saw you again shortly after winning the Olympics as the setter of Argentina, Oikawa felt like he should ask you. But your face quickly disappeared in a sea of people, leaving him wondering if you hadn’t just been a ghost all along.
“I think I saw [Name] in Nakano,” the athlete said, sitting by Iwaizumi’s kitchen counter.
The man tensed a little bit at his words, Oikawa noticed while he carefully chopped the carrots meant for their dinner.
“I didn’t know she was in Tokyo,” he added, in his usual cheerful tone.
It had been five years since your breakup. But Iwaizumi always felt uneasy talking about you with Oikawa. As his best friend, he had been there for him while he was left to mourn the end of your relationship and he knew the closure Oikawa had been looking for hadn’t been found yet. But as your friend, he had also seen you recover from your heartbreak and let someone else in, something Oikawa was unaware of.
“Yeah, she’s been around visiting family and friends.”
The silence that followed was deafening. But Oikawa needed to know more. It was beyond curiosity, now that you were so close once again.
“You could have told me,” the setter replied, with a smile.
This wasn’t meant as a reproach and Iwaizumi knew the man enough to make the distinction. Still, this conversation was too unnatural.
“I thought you would be better off not knowing,” Iwaizumi explained, his olive eyes meeting Oikawa’s brown ones.
The athlete chuckled.
“It’s been five years,” he pointed out. “There’s no hard feelings.”
A lie, Iwaizumi knew. But what could he do? There was no protecting Oikawa from the truth once he set his eyes on it. The man wondered what was the best decision, prevent Oikawa at all cost from chasing after something that was no more or let him do as he pleased.
Iwaizumi couldn’t fix the unresolved feelings his best friend held for you. That was something Oikawa had to deal with on his own. So he decided to offer him what he wanted to hear, without sparing his feelings, however.
“I’m glad to know,” he said, making his way to the stove. “She came with her girlfriend.”
The words were too painful for what was supposed to be an old wound. But Oikawa’s expression didn’t change and it was casually that he kept talking.
“They must be pretty serious then.” “They are. She decided she will be staying in Germany and they moved in together already,” the words left Iwaizumi’s mouth carefreely and while he felt guilty, he also felt like it was necessary.
Oikawa had always been aware of the possibility that you would move on someday. He wasn’t stupid. While he held onto things for a long time, you always preferred getting rid of them as soon as their value started to falter. So he wasn’t surprised. He was the one who felt like the end of your relationship was unresolved. Not you. No, the last words you told him that day were the last page of your history in your mind. But you wrote that story together. So how come he couldn’t get one last sentence in before you closed the book?
“Did you meet her?”
Iwaizumi stayed silent for a moment, his eyes focused on the meat he was now preparing.
“Yes, a few times.”
Oikawa smiled. But his best friend couldn’t see him. Still, it helped to convince himself it didn’t hurt, at least for a short moment.
As the days went by, Oikawa grew familiar with her name. He even got used to her face, not that he met her. But she was rather easy to find thanks to social media. She had pretty features despite looking rather cold in her first few pictures. Her hair were short and dyed purple with long curling bangs on the right side of her face.
She had thick eyebrows and thin rosy lips. But her most striking feature was her eyes, a very particular shade. While they appeared blueish in some pictures and greyish in others, they were in fact violet. She was stunning, Oikawa couldn’t help thinking and it was lovingly that you held her gaze.
How cruel of you to love someone else in a way that was meant for him. But how torturous to have you bring her here.
Oikawa couldn’t get out of his car. But maybe he should have. This place didn’t belong to him and neither did you. But it once felt like it did. Yes, he remembered it vividly. Now that the memory replayed in front of his eyes without him, he recalled.
He didn’t even like coffee, the taste was too bitter. Neither did you. But you insisted on trying a new coffee shop every occasion you had. The one Oikawa was facing right now though, was one of those he picked. You chose his drink however and he chose yours. He was on a break in between matches and your semester was over.
It was warm outside but you picked a hot coffee for him anyway. You said the name made the drink seem good. But he couldn’t finish it and no amount of sugar made the taste any better. Was this what was happening again? Years later but with someone else? Was this why you were trying to muffle your laugh on the terrace of the café, a hand holding your girlfriend’s arm?
Oikawa forgot why he was here. This must have been a bad joke. But despite the fury, he felt at that sight he still swore a few days later to Iwaizumi that he was fine.
“You don’t have to plan things to meet [Name] and I separately, you know? She moved on and so did I.”
That was enough to fool the only other person at the table, Iwaizumi’s fiancée. But not enough to fool him.
“I don’t mind,” Iwaizumi said, before taking another bite of his meal. “I would like to see her, again.”
It was straightforward.
“Are you sure?”
Oikawa chuckled.
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Iwaizumi wondered for a moment if he should answer this question truthfully. But his fiancée decided he didn’t have to.
“Then you should come over again on Friday night,” she said with a smile and a hand on Iwaizumi’s lap in an attempt to calm him down. “I will.”
39 notes · View notes
chanberriees · 15 days ago
hello!! could i kindly request for a student campus crush! wonwoo hehe and you’re best friends and have unrequited feelings but u dont know if he feels the same so over a sleepover u tried confessing and you can continue from there hehe -🐼
let me hear you say | j. ww
✎ pairing: best friend!wonwoo x female reader
✎ genre: collegel!au, friends to lovers!au, mostly fluff
✎ warnings: none!
✎ wc: 2.40 k words
✎ notes: hi 🐼 anon! i got a little carried away with this one because soft, cuddly wonwoo makes my stomach do flips but i hope you like it! i'm not sure how i feel about my portrayal of yn here because i wanted them to be really supportive of wonwoo but kind of having a hard time because of their feelings towards him. i hope i was able to express that without portraying them as kind of eh :/
Tumblr media
“Don’t you ever get tired?” You take a quick glance at your best friend as he folds up another piece of paper with a phone number written on it.
“Of what?”
“Of everyone in this school falling head over heels for you,” You say like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, proceeding to look back down at your notes. In reality, you were trying to prevent yourself from looking at the cute (albeit, confused) way your best friend was staring at you over your abrupt question.
“Well I can’t say I’m not flattered, but there aren’t really that many people yn,”
A total lie, you think to yourself. Every time you two walked around campus, your best friend attracted the adoring stares of all your classmates like some hotshot celebrity. Yes, he was popular, and yes, he totally deserved it, but if everyone knew how dorky he was, maybe they wouldn’t be so quick to hand him their number after a single conversation.
Another lie, if everyone knew what a nerd Jeon Wonwoo actually was, they’d probably fall for him harder. You would know of course, first hand experience taught you a lot of things.
It taught you how endearing it was when Wonwoo wore oversized clothing, so that he could pull the sleeves over his palms when sipping on a hot drink at the local campus cafe. It made you realize his habit of pushing his glasses up his nose, because he was too stubborn to get the bridge adjusted. It made your insides melt whenever he was nervous because he had a habit of fiddling with his fingers. You were certain that if anyone was completely head over heels and absolutely smitten by him, it was definitely you.
“Not many people my ass,” you scoffed, “you spoke to her once, just once! And now you are holding her number.” Wonwoo laughs at your poor attempt at hiding your annoyance, “For your information, we were talking about a group project, and exchanging contact information. Nothing more, and nothing less.”
You gave a little huff before going back to pretend-studying, you definitely couldn’t focus when he was sitting right across from you. You knew you were more prone to jumping to conclusions nowadays, and you hoped that Wonwoo didn’t notice your shift in behaviour. In reality, you couldn’t help but feel a little pang of worry whenever your best friend was asked out on another date. And while he rejected the offer every time, you worried that one day he might say yes and you could lose him forever.
Not that you were against Wonwoo falling in love someday. If he found a good person that he wanted to be with for the rest of his life, you would support him in a heartbeat. It was just the selfish feeling that blossomed in your chest that prevented you from feeling any true happiness for these kinds of situations, and you hated it.
You knew that he would never abandon you completely, because Wonwoo was the best friend you could ever ask for. But you also knew that it would kill you inside to see him sweep someone else off their feet.
You’ve known Wonwoo since high school, and you definitely harboured a puppy crush on him all of first year. This was back when he was still trading pokemon cards in the gym stairwell and poking at you to buy him something from the milk vending machine. The crush went away eventually and you found yourself enjoying the rest of your high school career with your closest confidant by your side.
Once you both entered university, Wonwoo had a sudden growth spurt that now put him a total head taller than you. He no longer lurked at the stairwells during lunch and instead made lots of new friends that he went out for coffee with. He started dressing nicer, and once he exchanged his old glasses for a pair of round silver ones that rested on his nose so perfectly, he instantly transformed into someone straight out of a kdrama.
Now, you have caught feelings again. And you’re scared to admit that this time a puppy crush doesn’t even encapsulate everything you’ve been feeling lately. Of course Wonwoo’s sudden change in appearance didn’t spark anything new in your feelings towards him. It was the fact that he had a new air around him that was just completely different.
Wonwoo in high school was shy, and you loved him for who he was. You two had your own small circle of friends and you would spend all your time reading or playing games in his bedroom. Wonwoo in college however, was breaking out of his shell and being the first to approach people and make new friends. He was still introverted of course, shyness and introvertedness were two different things after all. But you were proud to see Wonwoo take the initiative to make plans more often and reach out.
Wonwoo has also gotten a lot more comfortable around you. He’s grown fond of resting his head on your shoulder after a long day of classes, and wrapping you in his sweaters whenever you came by his flat. In conclusion, everything about university student Wonwoo, was driving you, (and probably the entire campus) crazy.
“Hello? yn? Don’t you have a class soon?”
You swat away the hand that was waving in front of your face to meet the eyes of the cause of all your heart troubles. One smile from Wonwoo and you were in shambles. You had it really, really bad. “Right, right, sorry I was just...distracted.”
“We’re still on for tonight right? You can just head straight to my dorm after your last class.”
“Of course Won, did you really think I was going to miss out on another rewatch of Extraordinary You?”
“Of course not,” Wonwoo chuckled. You were met with another one of those soft gazes from him, and you immediately tried to break your stare. Something in your heart tells you that you should just confess right now, and that Wonwoo was a sensible individual who wouldn’t let go of your friendship if he didn’t feel the same way.
“Hey Won, can I tell you something after class later?”
“Of course.” There was that smile again. If you weren’t so busy trying to slow your heart rate down, you would have caught the way his eyes brightened at hearing your question, and the way he looked down to twindle with his fingers.
You give Wonwoo your own smile before heading off to your last detour of the day.
Tumblr media
Sleepovers with Wonwoo always consisted of a mountain of blankets, a never ending pile of snacks and a show to watch before eventually both of you fell asleep. When you arrived at his flat just as he was adding the finishing touches to a home cooked dinner, you realized that sleepovers with Wonwoo also consisted of another thing: Your tragic inability to keep your heart rate down.
“Dinner will be ready in a bit, you can just wash up and get changed for now,” Wonwoo turns to greet you before adding some pepper to the tteokbokki.
You nod and head over to his bathroom, where you already find your change of clothes resting on the counter. Any outsider would have been under the impression that you and Wonwoo lived together, considering that pieces of you were scattered all over his apartment. From the matching toothbrushes that were kept by the sink, to the drawer reserved only for your clothes in his bedroom.
The only reason that you and Wonwoo didn’t room together upon entering university, was the fact that your parents were wary of you rooming with a boy you weren’t even dating. Not that it mattered now, considering that you at least spent two nights at his place away from your own dorm.
After you showered and changed into your pajamas, you realized that Wonwoo had given you one of his sweaters to wear, instead of the usual shirts you slept in. Usually you would have raided his bedroom after dinner to steal one (you slept much better when you wore his clothing) but this time it appeared that he had taken the initiative for you.
Once you stepped out of the bathroom, you saw that Wonwoo was already sitting at the dining table and was on his phone. It looked like he was texting someone, and you felt your heart sink a little when he laughed at a message. No, you are not going to be jealous. You are going to be happy for your friend because he deserves all the happiness in the world.
“Is that the girl from your group project?” You sat down across from him and started piling the tteokbokki and rice onto your plate. “Yeah, she said that the professor just sent out a mass email to our class, saying that we were going to be given an extension. Turns out that email was meant for another course, but everyone is already celebrating the new deadline.”
Wonwoo shuts off his phone and turns to you, “Was there something you wanted to tell me today?”
Right. You were going to confess your feelings. It was now or never, and you weren’t sure if you could hold it in much longer. “I can just tell you after dinner, I’m starving.”
Tragic. Tragic. Tragic. Why couldn’t you just say the words, “Hey Won, I have feelings for you, do you feel the same way?” Must you be in a spiraling paradox of questioning the presence of unrequited love in the relationship you had with your best friend? Yes, most definitely yes. Since the world likes to make everything difficult for those in love.
Dinner was eaten in a comfortable silence for the most part. You liked that you never felt the need to fill the air with more conversation whenever you were with Wonwoo. There were days where you would just sit in each other’s presence and do your own thing, and those days left you with lots of time to ponder on your feelings for him. Tonight was the night that you were going to say these feelings aloud for the first time...you just needed a bit more time to procrastinate.
After you both finished your food, you relocated yourselves to the couch. You fidgeted with the end of your (his) sweater while Wonwoo searched for the show on Netflix. You figured that you would let him know in the morning, since there was a chance that you two would fall asleep before the episode ended. And you didn’t want to confess beforehand either, in fear of having to endure a brutal one hour of awkward tension if he didn’t feel the same way.
“Who would have thought that out of all the days the wifi could have chosen to bail on us, they chose the day where we were going to find out whether Haru belonged to Dan-oh’s story or not,” Wonwoo fiddles with the remote some more, while you panic in silence at the thought of spending the night with no distractions from your feelings.
“It’s not like we don’t already know how it ends,” You take deep quiet breaths to calm yourself down, you can definitely make it through the night, “We can just do other things.”
“What do you have in mind?”
You couldn’t answer him right away. The only thing you had on your mind was the fact that Wonwoo’s hand was now resting on your knee and that it was baffling how good he could look in pajamas. Wonwoo, sensing your inability to form words nervously glanced up at you before moving the conversation in a different direction, “Look, I know you had something to tell me today yn, but I realized that I wanted to share something with you too. I am in love-”
“I am in love with you Jeon Wonwoo!”
There. You blurted out a long-awaited confession before the anticipation consumed you whole. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from your hands in fear of seeing the look on Wonwoo’s face.
“Let me hear you say it again.”
“What?” You turn to Wonwoo, who no longer looked nervous. Instead, he wore the biggest shit-eating grin on his face that made you want to both kiss and strangle him. “Say it again.”
“Not when you look like you just won the lottery you nerd, you didn’t even say-”
“I am in love with you too yn.”
Well, you were never one to complain about the fact that your feelings were returned. But the way Wonwoo was cooing at your adorable expression of shock only made you want to shove him off the couch.
Which you proceeded to do.
“Hey! Aren’t you happy that I like you too?”
“Of course I’m happy! You didn’t have to try to beat me to my confession though, tonight was going to be my night!”
“You didn’t seem like you were going to say anything for the rest of the evening! You were going to wait until the next day weren’t you?”
Absolutely yes. “No!”
Any remaining tension in the atmosphere washed away as you and Wonwoo made fun of each other on the living room floor. You were beyond relieved and a little giddy that your best friend in the whole wide world saw you in the way that you saw him.
“But on a more serious note Won, were you also going to confess tonight too?”
“Actually no, but once you came out of the washroom wearing my sweater, I just had to say it before I tackled you with cuddles or something.”
“You gave me your sweater instead of my clothes to wear!”
“I know!” Wonwoo was holding your hand now and rubbing circles into your palm. The idea of cuddling the entire night didn’t sound so bad. “But you looked all nervous and shy and I was hoping that you were going to be the one to say something first.”
“Can we just agree that we confessed at the same time?” As the adrenaline from the confession began to slip away you suddenly became very tired, and you were hoping to just spend the night in the arms of your favourite person.
“Deal. So can we cuddle now?”
124 notes · View notes
randomshyperson · 16 days ago
Text
Palm Springs - Leigh Shaw
Tumblr media
All Works Masterlist
Summary: In Palm Springs, Leigh meets you. The season one finale re-imagined.
Warnings: (+18), smut, cursing, dom!reader, bottom!leigh, explicit language, explicit consent, brief mentions of harassment, fluff, brief rivalry dynamics, hopeful ending.
Words: 5.378K
Notes: My love, @abimess, this is my apologies for you. I kept mistaken "Wanda" instead of "Leigh" at some points in the writing, but it all worked out in the end. I hope you all enjoy the read, this is my first time writing for this character.
//-//
You threw the signed divorce papers against the passenger seat, ignoring the thick tears that welled up in your eyes.
Raising your hand, you turned up the radio and kept driving. Your cell phone started ringing the next moment, but you ignored it. It was probably Bucky or Steve calling to find out where you were after your little outburst at the company fundraiser.
Honestly, it wasn't your fault. You were handling it all very well, but Carol decided it would be a good idea to give you the divorce papers while you were surrounded by your closest friends, and that was the trigger. But now you were driving to Palm Springs, finally taking the damn vacation your ex-wife had put you through so much hell to get, but now, the seat next to you was empty.
It took a few hours to get there, since the complex is in New York, but you didn't care, having spent most of the way trying to understand how you managed to lose a woman like Carol Danvers.
No bags, you ignored the curious look one of the hotel staff gave you as soon as you pulled into the parking lot, smiling slightly as you took off your sunglasses and asked for directions to the front desk.
You frowned slightly as you were almost run over.
"Watch where you're going!" You shouted angrily at the driver, and the woman returned you the same angry look. Great, you've barely arrived and you almost died. This weekend was promising.
Stepping back, you waited for the woman to drive, not failing to give her a wry smile as she passed you. After this, you walked to the reception desk, and the area was quite full, which was normal for a weekend.
"Reservation in the name Danvers." You said to the receptionist after the greetings. He smiled as he checked the information.
"Valentine's suite, I see." He commented cheerfully. "Shall I prepare a second key for your partner?"
"It's just going to be me, buddy." You grumble, ignoring the uneasy feeling in your stomach. The man smiles awkwardly, but doesn't apologize.
After checking in, you go up to the third floor.
The room makes you sigh with disgust, the flowers and chocolates give you a headache. It takes ten minutes to find a chambermaid and ask her to remove all the decorations.
While your room is being cleaned, you decide to buy something to wear, since you didn't bring anything to spend the weekend at the hotel.
"Good morning." You mumble the greeting as you enter the gift store, your gaze wandering around.
"How can I help you, dear?" The saleswoman asks politely, smiling at you.
"I need something to wear for the two days I'm staying. It was a last-minute trip." You tell her, and the saleswoman looks surprised, but doesn't comment.
The woman eventually showed you the summer shirt section, and you sighed softly as you looked through the options. She walked away to attend to another customer, and you left your attention to the clothes.
A moment later, you picked out a few pieces and turned to talk to the saleswoman, only to run into the woman who had almost run you over earlier looking at the book section.
"You again." You let it slip not so low, attracting the woman's attention. She frowns for a second, and then she recognizes you. But before she can say anything, the saleswoman is speaking.
"Oh, you two know each other already?" She asks excitedly. "It's amazing how we can find friends here in Palm Springs isn't it?"
"We're not friends." You both inform at the same moment, and you squeeze your eyes shut slightly. The woman straightens her posture, pressing the book lightly against her chest as you switch the shirts on your arm. The saleswoman's curious expression prompts you to speak.
"Actually, she almost killed me." You say. "It was going to be quite a headline for this hotel. I'd be careful about the people you guys host around here."
The saleswoman looks at you with confusion, while the other woman lets out a dry laugh.
"You're the one who walked across in the middle of the street!" she defends herself. "It's not my fault if you weren't taught how to cross the street in school."
"Oh, so it's the victim's fault now?" You retort and the woman looks at you incredulously. A third customer enters the store and stares curiously at the argument, but the saleswoman is quick to gesture between you, smiling wryly.
"Oh come on, I'm sure it was just a misunderstanding" The saleswoman remarks and you sustain the annoyed look the other woman is casting at you. "There's no need for an argument."
"Of course not." The woman says forcing a smile, but her posture remains aggressive. "We are both civilized adults."
You bite your tongue to avoid another provocation, looking away from the green irises in front of you.
"Of course you are." The saleswoman says smiling, and then her gaze catches the shirts hanging from your forearm and she lets out a light exclamation. "Come on, I can finalize your purchase if that's all, dear."
You turn toward the cashier next, and it is only after you have paid for the clothes and are leaving that you see the other woman again on your way back, but she does not look away from the books to you. You couldn't care less.
//-//
In your room, you can't resist the urge to look at your phone.
Bucky has called five times. And Steve even sent you an email. You sigh weakly, feeling guilty as you catch a glimpse of Tony and Natasha's message notifications.
Your friends didn't care that you started crying in the middle of the meeting you were at because your ex-wife decided to bring a sensitive topic like the end of your five-year marriage to the table, but you were hating yourself for it.
At this point, you didn't even know what you had been crying about anymore. You and Carol had always had a difficult relationship, and since you got married, you began to wonder why you had done it in the first place.
You loved her so much when you first met her, and then everything gradually broke down. The lack of compatibility, the jealousy and possessiveness, and the lack of time. Carol was a soldier in the army, and you were a Shield special agent, and your jobs took up a lot of your schedules. But you knew that this was just another empty excuse. After all, your best friend, Natasha, was also an agent, as was her wife, and they made everything work properly.
Maybe things were meant to happen that way. That didn't mean it didn't hurt.
After taking a shower, you grumble lightly as you realize that you forgot to buy a bathing suit. And well, everything special about Palm Springs was the magnificent pools.
You figured the shorts and top you had would have to fit.
The pools were considerably more crowded than the rest of the hotel, and this was probably due to the current temperature.
You decided to buy a drink before sunbathing, realizing that most of the chairs were occupied.
The bartender was a pretty girl and smiled mischievously at you when her gaze fell on your collarbone exposed by the cut of your shirt, but you just gave her a half-hearted smile. Being newly divorced wasn't exactly the best scenario for flirting.
"What can I get you?" The woman asked as she rested her hands on the counter in front of her. You bit your lip thoughtfully, running your eyes down one of the menus left on the wood.
"Honestly, I don't know anything here." You say. "But I would like something sweet."
It takes a few minutes for her to prepare a drink for you, and you thank her as you accept.
As you sip a drink that tastes like strawberries and condensed milk, you look around the surroundings.
You frown slightly as you recognize the woman from the store, watching her sit in one of the chairs that has just been emptied in front of the bar. She doesn't notice you, but you notice her exposed legs, mentally scolding yourself for doing so.
As you take another sip of your drink, your tongue getting used to the sugary sweetness, a man approaches the stranger in front of you. From this proximity, you can hear the conversation, or rather the small harassment that he was doing.
Rolling your eyes at the stranger's clearly offensive attempt to approach the other woman, you force yourself to get up and walk over to them.
Well, Nat always said that you were a person with a natural talent for theater and you wish she were here now to see the little scene you caused.
Pretending to trip over the sunshade support, you made a sudden movement and knocked your entire drink against the man's collarbone, who let out an exclamation of anger and surprise as he stood up.
"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!" You asked in a falsely guilty tone, forcing an expression of shock. Before he could say anything, you were already grabbing one of the towels left on the little tables beside the chairs and throwing it harder than necessary against the man's face. "Here, honey, clean yourself up."
The man blinked in surprise, and glared angrily at you for a second before muttering "whatever" and turning to leave. When he was already a safe distance away, you turned your face to look at the seated woman.
"Sorry about your book." You speak as you notice that the spilled drink has dripped a little on the pages. "But if you ask me, the ending sucks."
"Thanks, I guess." The woman mumbles not keeping her gaze on you. "I didn't need you to help me, by the way." She adds and you roll your eyes, realizing that the chair next to her got empty after your little commotion. When you sit down, she raises her gaze to you in disbelief.
"Who said I was helping you?" You retort. "I love throwing expensive drinks at strangers."
Your joke elicits a nasal chuckle from the woman, who softens her posture.
"If you want to lose money, I suggest donating rather than wasting it." She teases back and you bite back a smile, shaking your head slightly. When she opens the book again and leans her back against the chair, clearly deciding to ignore your presence, you copy the position, but stand with your arms folded across your chest and close your eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun against your skin.
You are tired from the trip, and eventually fall asleep. When you open your eyes again, the woman is no longer there.
//-//
Since you have napped until the afternoon, there is no chance you will sleep early. You try to distract yourself with television, but most of the programs are pay-per-view and you have probably already exceeded all the limits that a Shield salary can afford, so you decide to spend some time on the activities included in your weekend bundle.
After putting on a shirt to join the lobby, you take the elevator down and step out into the outdoor area, not surprised to find the place as busy as before. The difference is perhaps the lack of children because of the time of day.
You walk toward the bar and roll your eyes slightly when you notice the same man as before being loud and boisterous along with a small group partying near the place. But you ignore them as you sit down on the first stool you find.
"Well, if it isn't my knight in white armor." A female voice comments wryly beside you, surprising you mildly. You look at the woman with a raised eyebrow, but she is looking straight ahead.
"So you expect me to call you a princess? We don't even know each other." You retort in the same tone, and watch the woman bite back a smile, rolling her eyes slightly.
You stand in silence while you order a drink, this time smiling in the same way that the bartender smiles at you. While you wait, you can' t help but look over to the side.
"You know, I think I might need to get your name." You begin in a tone of false seriousness, not knowing why you want to pull conversation with the stranger, but doing it anyway. "Since I need to know who to sue for attempted hit-and-run."
The woman laughs lightly, and as she sets her drinking glass back down on the counter, she turns her body toward you, without getting up.
"The smart thing then wouldn't be to say my name, don't you think?" She retorts with amusement in her voice. "That way I avoid a lawsuit."
You smile in a corner, shaking your head slightly. You lean your arm on the counter, and it takes a moment for her to speak again.
"I'm Leigh."
"No last name so I can't find your ID, right?" You tease and she smiles, licking her lips for a moment. "Well, I won't tell you mine either then." You comment before telling her only your first name, and she laughs lightly. "May I at least know your profession? Or, I don't know, where you're from? I need that information to track you down."
You joke, and Leigh makes a thoughtful expression for a moment.
"I'm from everywhere actually." She says mysteriously. "Because I'm an international jewel thief."
You smile at the mixed tone of seriousness and playfulness in her speech, respecting her right not to want to tell you the truth, and acknowledging the identity she chooses to assume.
"Oh, really?" You ask joining in the joke. "And let me guess, your disguise happens to be as a fashion stylist, right? And you have a red motorcycle and deadly poison hidden in your lipstick?"
Leigh holds back her laughter, nodding.
"I can't confirm any of that information, actually." She says. "After all, a little incident happened and I wasn't able to finish the story."
You laugh at the teasing, taking a sip of your drink. Before the moment of silence lasts any longer, you ask if you can approach. When Leigh consents, you take the seat next to her.
"And what do you do?" she asks as soon as you sit down. You clear your throat lightly.
"I'm a secret agent, actually." You tell her and from the woman's expression, she still believes you are joking. You do not correct yourself however. "Lasers and villains, the whole story."
Leigh smiles, murmuring in understanding.
"And what is a secret agent doing in Palm Springs?" She asks next and you assume a dramatically thoughtful expression.
"I got a hint actually." You reply. "A jewel thief, fugitive from the government. I'm trying to gather information to effect her arrest."
Leigh fakes an expression of horror making you laugh.
"If I see anything suspicious, I'll give you a heads up." She jokes and you smile, enjoying the whole thing. Before you can add anything else, the small group next to the bar let out loud laughter and they attract your and Leigh's attention.
You frown slightly when you witness the guy from earlier whistling at one of the hotel staff, the people with him finding his little scene of harassment funny.
"I guess a drink in the face isn't enough for some idiots." You comment and Leigh sighs mildly. She looks at you at the same moment you look at her.
"Maybe more drinks will be enough."
That's how you end up doing a little mischief that involves distracting the stranger with comments about his muscles while Leigh approaches and manages to get the man's card. When you walk away, after she hands the bartender the hotel ID after ordering a round for everyone at the bar on the stranger's behalf, you were laughing.
"I'm beginning to believe your thief story." You amused comment as soon as you and Leigh reach the trail out of the bar area. She just smiles at your words. You clear your throat next. "I guess I need to show off my secret agent skills then."
Leigh looks at you curiously, but you just smile as you nod in the direction of the gardens.
You walk for a few minutes in silence, and you remember everything you have observed since you arrived at the hotel, and are able to find the small opening in the fence that you saw some staff members pass through in the afternoon.
"Please, milady." You joke as you make room for Leigh to cross the path first, and she rolls her eyes with amusement before doing so.
You end up in some kind of unfinished private garden, but one that is still very pretty.
Perhaps it is an area under construction for some kind of party, as it has a stage set up in the center and some folded chairs scattered about.
Your attention falls immediately to the piano that has also been set up high on the dark stage.
"How did you find this place?" Leigh asks as she looks around, and you walk past her to get on the stage, eliciting a giggle.
"Field study, of course." You reply with false seriousness. " A secret agent never goes anywhere without studying the whole place first."
Leigh murmurs in agreement, deciding to follow you to the stage. You take a seat on the piano bench while she remains standing in front of the organ.
"Do you have any requests?" You ask looking down at your fingers as she studies your face.
"Old Mac Donald had a Farm." She replies and you choke on a laugh.
"And I thought your taste in music was as good as your fashion sense." You tease causing her to raise an eyebrow.
"Is that your way of complimenting what I'm wearing?" She retorts but you just bite back a smile, moving your fingers across the keys.
You decide to play a melody that she may not recognize, but is exactly what you feel you should play.
When the first notes of " Spring - Ludovico Einaudi" echo in the room, Leigh looks at you in surprise, but you just smile.
It takes a moment for her to surround the piano, and to sit down next to you. You continue to play, enjoying the sound and concentrating not to misplay the notes.
When you make a particularly fast movement on the piano, Leigh looks at you impressed, but you just push your shoulder lightly against hers, smiling. Neither of you regains the distance from before, and you continue to play.
When you finish, you are silent for a moment.
"Where did you learn to do that?" She asks in her low, impressed tone as you both look down at your hands on the keys. You sigh slightly, moving your fingers away and placing your hands in your lap.
"I used to play when I was a kid." You reply. "Before I was a secret agent, of course."
Leigh smiles, biting her lips lightly. You look away from the movement, to her hands quickly.
"Let me show you." You whisper as you reach out your hand to hers. When she accepts, you position her fingers on the keys, and then fit your hand on top of hers. "You start like this."
The sound is far from perfect, and Leigh laughs every time she misses a note, so you don't really care.
You stay like this for a few minutes, until you can get her to complete five notes without making a mistake.
"See? You' re almost a pianist already." You comment with a smile, looking at her face. She mimics your movement, and you feel your heart skip a beat from the closeness.
You feel the tension build in the room, but before you can think of doing anything, a male voice is breaking the spell.
"Sorry, but this area is for employees only." Informs the young man from the hotel, seeming slightly embarrassed to interrupt. You and Leigh quickly walk away, standing up and muttering an apology in unison to the guy, who waits until you leave by the trail he guides.
When you reach the entrance to the social area again, the employee closes the gate, waving slightly. You and Leigh exchange amused smiles.
"So... what do you want to do now?" You ask the next moment, wanting to prolong the evening.
"I want to swim." She declares and you frown slightly, then shrug. You nod in the direction of the pools and you exchange a glance before starting to walk.
//-//
At the edge of the pool, you sigh slightly.
You exchange a look with Leigh, standing next to you, and then you laugh softly as you both begin to undress.
You can't resist the urge to look at her, especially since she jumps in first and you catch a glimpse of her body covered only by a bikini. Ignoring your uncompensated heartbeat, you jump into the water next.
It's a good thing the water was cold, because you are feeling your face and body heat up at the way Leigh looks at you.
Trying to lighten the mood, you swim around her, casually meeting her gaze again as she mimics the movement.
You laugh lightly when you realize that you are swimming in circles around each other, and decide to stop. Leigh swims in front of you a moment later.
"Hello, superspy." She greets you almost in a whisper waving her arms to continue on the surface in front of you.
"Hello, international thief." You speak back in the same tone, your gazes locked on each other.
You wonder if she would like you to break the distance, as her gaze has lowered to your lips for a few seconds. But before you can surrender to this urge, she takes a step back.
"I'm cold."
And then she swims away, and you wonder if you have taken the whole thing the wrong way.
Following her a little way back, you look for towels.
//-//
"Which floor are you on?" You ask as you reach the elevators, each with a towel around your body. You watch Leigh tighten her arms against herself slightly.
"Second." She replies half-heartedly, and you nod.
"Let's go together then."
She gets into the elevator first, and after she presses the button, you stand next to her, your back against the wall.
The tension is back the moment the doors close, but after the pool, you find it best not to take any action, not wishing to make Leigh uncomfortable.
You reach her floor a moment later, and when she doesn't leave, you hold your breath.
You risk a corner-of-your-eye glance at her, but she continues to stare straight ahead, sighing slightly.
Trying not to look like a complete mess, you wait for your floor to arrive.
//-//
The way down the hallway is silent, and despite your nervousness, you don't fumble to open your room.
Leigh enters first, and strides into the room as you close the door.
She stops in the center, her gaze scanning around for a moment before returning to you. You hold your breath, and then she lets the set of clothes in her hands fall to the floor.
You bite back a smile, mimicking the movement. Taking a deep breath, you do the same with your towel, and ignore the heat in your cheeks as Leigh's gaze descends to your body covered only by your underwear.
She removes the towel at your waist next, and you stare at her exposed legs for a moment before moving slowly toward her.
You smile shyly as you stop in front of her, and it takes a second for you to slowly lift your fingers to touch her, tracing the outline of her arm and watching her skin shiver.
"Everything okay?" You ask softly raising your gaze from where your fingers were touching to her eyes. Leigh sighs, shaking her head in agreement. You give her a short smile, placing your hand on her cheek, and watching her lean into the touch slightly. "Use your words." You ask in a whisper, your other hand repeating the motion of your fingers from before, even more slowly.
"Y-yes." She confirms half breathlessly. "And you?"
"Yes." You say, your hand reaching for the strap of her bikini. "I'm going to kiss you now, Leigh."
She nods in understanding, sighing heavily. You didn't correctly calculate how attracted you were to her, because the moment your lips touched, you felt your head spin and it was hard not to push her against the bed immediately.
You both sigh against the kiss, and you slide your tongue into her mouth next, your hand on her face running down to her neck, deepening the kiss even more.
Leigh seems hesitant to touch you for the first second, but then she gasps against your tongue, and brings her hands to your shoulders, bringing one of them up to the back of your neck and scratching the skin, making you sigh.
With the hand that was on the bikini strap, you use your fingers to pull the strap down, and with the other hand you repeat the movement on the other side. When the bikini falls to the floor, your hands go down to her waist, and you pull her toward you.
Leigh gasps at the contact of your breasts bumping together, breaking the kiss with a wet sigh, and you take the opportunity to move your mouth down her collarbone, enjoying the sounds you manage to get out of her whenever you bite her sensitive skin softly.
You lean against her to lower your kisses to her breasts, and when your mouth finds the hardened nipple, she arches her back, closing her eyes as her fingers force your head forward against her breast.
"Oh." She moans as she feels you suck on her nipple, your other hand moving up to give her other breast due attention, your fingers playing with the tip. " Oh, fuck, that feels good."
You smile against her skin, feeling your core tighten with the sounds you are tearing out of her.
When your hand on her waist moves down to her ass, squeezing the flesh and pressing Leigh's hips against yours as your mouth continues on her breast, she moans loudly as she throws her head back, shuddering against you.
It's enough to make you lose control. You need to know how she tastes.
Gasping, you move your kisses down again, and Leigh holds her breath as you get down on your knees.
You kiss her thighs first, while your hands pull down the fabric of her panties.
When the fabric falls away completely, you swallow dry, your gaze glazed on the exposed intimacy of the woman in front of you, your mouth salivating to taste her.
"I-I'm gonna fall." She comments shyly, and you notice how her knees are already shaky. You take a deep breath, forcing yourself to stand up.
You take Leigh by the hand to your bed, and she stands there, making you smile. You move forward against her mouth again, and she sighs, almost losing her balance from the intensity.
"Lie down." You ask between one kiss and another, making her moan softly. "Spread your legs for me."
Leigh gasps against your lips as you slip your fingers through her folds for a moment, before pulling away until she obeys. You bite your lips as you watch her lie down.
Before you join her, you remove the rest of your clothes. Leigh's cheeks redden, but you give her no time to register this, climbing onto the bed with your knee between her legs and kissing her again.
As she begins to squirm beneath you for more friction, you move your kisses down her body.
She closes her eyes when your mouth is at the level of her belly, breathing hard.
When your tongue touches her pussy, you both moan loudly. You are amazed at how wet and hot she feels, the taste filling all your senses. And Leigh bites her lips to stop herself from moaning out in pleasure when your tongue begins to move against her clit, sucking and licking her devotedly and making her whimper.
"F-fuck." She moans breathlessly, her hips thrusting into your mouth. "Yeah...right there... don't stop..."
You lift your hands to her thighs, holding her open. Your own intimacy pulsing from the way Leigh is surrendered to you and the sounds she gives you.
Keeping the strokes of your tongue as deep as you can and being sure to press your clitoris in return, you feel her pussy tighten and Leigh's body begins to quiver in spasms.
"I-I'm... close... fuck..." she begins to whimper disconnected words, long moans escaping her throat. It takes only two more strokes for her to come on your tongue, her moan loud enough to be heard in the next room, but neither of you care.
You drink all of her cum, enjoying the taste and feeling on edge, without even having been touched yet.
Moving up your kisses again, you deposit slow kisses against Leigh's skin, waiting for her to recover from her own orgasm.
When you reach her mouth, she kisses you back with the same intensity.
You just know you're not going to sleep early tonight.
//-//
When you wake up, your bed is empty. You are surprised by this, really.
The night was very good. Much better than any one-night stand you have ever had.
After getting dressed by finding your articles of clothing, you walk to the front desk.
It takes a few minutes to find Leigh, and you frown when you realize from the bag in her hands, the documents, and the car key that she is leaving.
"Wow, you weren't even going to leave a note." You tease as you catch up with her. She is startled by your sudden presence, but forces a smile.
"Look, I'm sorry..." she starts but you shake your head.
"No need." You interrupt by putting your hands in your pockets and shrugging. "It was just one night after all."
"Yes." She reaffirms what you say, staring at you. You hold her gaze, and a long minute later she sighs. "No, it wasn't."
You swallow dryly, watching her. She seems conflicted about something, her expression going from worried to guilty in a few seconds, and then she takes a deep breath and shakes her head before looking at you again.
"I can't." She says, and you sigh lightly. "I just... can't."
"It's okay." You decide to say, ignoring the way your stomach is flipping with nervousness or your heart is racing. "We are civilized adults, aren't we?"
Leigh smiles, and you watch her eyes water for a moment before she quickly hides her emotion. You feel the same way.
" This is a goodbye." Leigh says next, and you look away to the floor, nodding in understanding.
"Goodbye, Leigh. It was nice meeting you." You say as you look at her again, forcing a smile even though your eyes are watering.
She smiles, approaching to kiss your cheek close enough to your lips to make you shiver. She doesn't pull away immediately, raising her mouth to the height of your ear, she whispers "I left a note." and before you can understand what has been said to you, she is gone.
It is only at the end of the day, many hours after she has left, and you are already inside your car that you rummage in your pants pocket looking for the car key that you find the note.
It is a piece torn from the page of the book "Unmoored in milan", the paper stained with drink. In the corner, in cursive letters it is written. "to my favorite secret agent. Leigh Shaw, Los Angeles."
You smiled at the words, and as you were driving back to New York, you wondered how long it would take Natasha to find out Leigh's phone number.
//-//
Tag list> @imapotatao / @aimezvousbrahms/ @ensorcellme/ @helloalycia
@mionemymind / @abimess / @stephanieromanoff / @yourtaletotell / @tomy5girls / @justagaypanicking / @thegayw1tch / @idek-5 // @myperfectlovepoem // @HELLOALYCIA // @ENSORCELLME // @AIMEZVOUSBRAHMS // @drpepperobsessed // @sighsam // @olsensnpm
// @sxfwap // @table57
370 notes · View notes
nbmonsterkisser · 16 days ago
Text
from sokovia with love, ch.1
Tumblr media
summary: Look, it's bad enough that you're questioning your entire life in the middle of Latvia, a grad student with barely any money to their name trying to figure out how to keep going in a world where half the population disappeared and reappeared seemingly at random. The country you've spent your life studying doesn't exist anymore and no one seems to care, you're thisclose to running out of funding, and at this rate when you do graduate, all you're going to have is a heap of student loans and a manuscript no one wants to read to show for it. To top it all off, you're abruptly thrown headlong into the path of a recently escaped Baron Zemo - who decides you might, in fact, be useful to him in his latest plot to obliterate any chance of someone resurrecting the super soldier program. You know. All the usual stuff you cover in student orientation.
ch. summary: introductions are made, and they don’t go smoothly for anyone.
warnings: explicit description of a panic attack, discussion of depression, brief mention of a deathwish, consumption of alcohol. no smut in this one, we’re officially on the slow burn train. no beta readers either, so, y’know, be prepared.
notes: non-binary/femme presenting Reader, no mentions to skin or hair so everyone can have a turn, let me know if there’s anything I need to do to tweak this for a more seamless experience. apologies to actual history grad students, archivists, librarians, and hostel workers, I’m taking a fair amount of artistic liberty here.
this fic has been in my head since episode 3 of tfatws, at least, and I want to at least start getting it down before Loki drops and I am yet again distracted by the first love of my life. expect the second chapter up late tonight or early tomorrow - they were originally one large chapter, but I broke them down for my (and your!) sanity’s sake.
x
The high points of your time in Riga so far had not been enough to not make you regret every single life choice that had led you to this point.
Riga was beautiful, for as much as it had suffered post-Blip. The people you’d encountered in the hostels and in the morning markets had been friendly enough, the city was charming and impressively historical (to your tastes, which were admittedly warped after living in an American university city for a few years), and the library aides you interacted with were as helpful as they could be, given... well, everything.
It was bad enough that you had devoted your life to studying the politics and history of the country you never got the chance to know, having been adopted from Sokovia in your infancy and then never able to return before The Fall, as it came to be called. It was even worse that Sokovia existed only in memory now - in less than memory in some cases, considering how events of following years like The Blip had quickly seemed to overshadow what had been a devastating loss. If your studies had taught you anything, it was that people made for a panicky hivemind when threatened, tending to quickly want to plaster over a wound for any sense of normalcy available to them. In a way, it made sense: a creature used to its routine will fight to keep some semblance of that routine if possible, if only to make the looming unknown ahead of them seem a little more bearable. When Sokovia fell, it was a tragedy. When The Blip happened, it became a bureaucratic issue on a long list of bigger tragedies. The ruins were picked through, what could be saved was salvaged or sold depending on the hands that found it first, and the rest was neatly compartmentalized and boxed away in poorly maintained official basements across Europe. The rest survived in people who were now scattered to Diaspora, often too shaken still to talk to some prying academic, or too busy trying to find new lives in the ashes of their old one to try to dredge up a world they lost.
The one semi-decent thing about working in academia post-Blip was that people were unexpectedly adaptable. Everyone was still trying to figure out how centuries-old institutions could now function sustainably in a world where half the population can and had disappeared and reappeared without warning, so that meant certain things that had been unthinkable decades ago were now, if not de rigueur, at least more feasible. When your friends a year ahead of you in the department had either dropped out, seeking more stable employment in a world that went from half-empty to brimming full again, or graduated and left for better horizons, you went to your committee chair with a harebrained plan turned reasonable idea: you would teach online, asynchronously, anything the department wanted you to teach so you could keep your stipend. In exchange, you would travel to spend your funded dissertation-writing years in front of the actual historic documents you were writing about. Considering how many of these documents had yet to be digitized in the wake of Sokovia’s national archives being scattered to the literal winds, it was now more likely someone would actually let you into a municipal leaky basement with the right papers (and/or polite bribes) than you being able to write knowledgeably from your university in the States. Your committee chair, a reasonable man on the best of days and a man desperately trying to hold the department together with tape and a prayer on the worst ones, listened to your impassioned plans in his office, over your weekly meetings for drinks and dissertation planning, and in emails you wrote to him at two in the morning after too much wine when you honest to god weren’t sure how you were going to stay in a university town with no friends and not bash your brains out against your office wall. At last, he relented - the department could only cover a fraction of your fees with a travel grant, of course, but given the fact that you hadn’t fucked anything major up in your time with the grad school and that you were fairly on top of your paperwork due dates, he figured as long as you stayed on to teach in some fashion, he maybe wasn’t in a place to complain if you did your draft check-ins over webcam. Within a week, you had thrown your few necessary personal belongings into a suitcase, left your bamboo plant of five years with the nice little old lady that lived down the hall, and hopped the first cheap red-eye to Germany.
And here you were in Latvia, having a fucking panic attack in front of a two hundred year old royal land charter in the moldy basement of a small library you had tracked the documents to, wondering how the fuck you were going to justify any of this in a year.
Your situation had turned grim over the last week or so: you were dangerously low on your own savings, your travel grant was basically spent and hadn’t even covered half the places on your itinerary, and you had just gotten an email from one of your old friends who dropped out talking about how they’d heard two more history departments had been cut from universities on the same research tier as yours due to being found “unjustifiable expenditures” by their respective boards of regents. Super glad I left when I did, your friend had written, but don’t worry babe, someone’s going to want a Sokovian studies professor, there’s only going to be like five of you guys in the world eventually! x
It was true. You had been guiltily, secretly counting on the newfound scarcity to make you an asset. But if the people with the money were even more inclined to cut humanities programs than they had been even before… well, everything (and they had been pretty damned inclined then), who would feasibly still want a professor in the history of a country that didn’t exist anymore? Sure, you maybe knew professors who had specialized in the history of things like when Iran was still Persia, or the Holy Roman Empire, but those had been, well, empires with hundreds of years of history behind them and still maintained visible impacts on the modern world. Sokovia was a tiny country that, while it had been centuries old, had barely vanished a decade ago and people already seemed determined to forget it ever existed.
You were doing everything you could to stop grinding your teeth, trying to hold your knees together to keep them from shaking, focusing desperately on the words on the ancient page in front of you that were starting to hide themselves behind faint spots in front of your eyes. You could do this, you could do this…
With some tea, maybe.
You pushed yourself out of your chair far too quickly, drawing a stern look from the archivist sitting at the front of the room at the shrieking noise the legs made against the floor. You gave the vaguely menacing old lady a faint apologetic shrug and whispered something about being right back before making your way out the door.
You tried not to walk too fast down the hallway with the adrenaline pumping through your system, forcing yourself to breathe through your nose and try to dry the sweat on your palms inside the sleeves of your too-large threadbare cardigan. You gave the little old security guard at the restricted checkpoint the barest nod as he gave you a kindly wave, trying to pretend you were still capable of basic human interaction. You were fine. You were an adult. Adults made dumb choices all the time and still managed to figure their shit out at the end of the day, otherwise the world would have wobbled its way off its axis a long time ago, right? That was part of what being an adult was, right?
In this moment, you really, really hated being an adult.
You made your way to the meager librarians’ lounge, which they had graciously made available to you as a visiting scholar (something that sounded much more impressive on the university letterhead it was printed on). You tossed your satchel on a well-worn couch next to a similar one that was already there - something all the bookishly inclined were, well, inclined towards, you figured. You weren’t paying too much attention, honestly, trying to keep your hands from shaking as you grabbed a styrofoam cup and stared down the small selection of tea bags. It was a calculated risk at this point whether tea would calm you down or just make you more jittery with the caffeine, and honestly, there was a reason you weren’t a maths major.
You barely glanced up as a man emerged from the washroom, straightening his glasses. Though, you did allow yourself a second glance - he had about a decade on you, you estimated, maybe a decade and change, and he was handsome. Maybe a little too handsome for the librarians you were used to. He was broad-shouldered, with a face that looked… regal, almost? Somehow handsome in a noble sort of way, almost old fashioned. His hair was parted meticulously to the side, with dark eyes that seemed to enforce that meticulousness, reminding you strangely of a hawk. The dark burgundy sweater under his black pea coat was hiding a little bit of a dad bod, but in terms of academics, he made it work. The one thing you did find slightly out of place were boots under his trousers: you yourself wore doc martens on the regular, simply because of the fact that yours had lasted since you were in your early twenties and you were living on a university stipend. His looked newer, or at least not as broken in, and much heavier than you’d normally see on someone who spent their days behind a desk. Not even in a granola-hiking way, either, just… like he was secretly prepared for the worst.
And then he looked at you, and you immediately looked back at the tea bags, very much pretending you were a normal person who wasn’t staring at stranger’s shoes in the middle of a semi-public breakdown.
You felt him stare at you for just a minute (it was fair, you figured you deserved that) before you heard him pick up the other satchel on the couch and head off, back down the hallway you’d come from. You secretly prayed he wasn’t also heading for the archives room, because that place was already small as fuck, and if you had to sit there and pretend not to see a guy you’d definitely been slightly checking out, all your efforts to have made yourself calm down would feel somewhat in vain.
After picking a tea, letting it steep, and then adding some milk and far more sugar than was appropriate, you took a long sip and a deep breath and stared down the hall. You could do this. You could absolutely do this.
You could at least pretend to do this for another hour and then go collapse into your hostel bed tonight after a bottle of cheap wine somewhere, and face it again tomorrow.
Figuring this was a reasonable compromise, you ditched the dregs of your tea and headed down the hallway, but slowed somewhat as you heard voices near the checkpoint. The handsome scholar in the glasses was standing there, digging through his satchel in front of the security guard, looking for something in a way that you recognized as desperately trying not to be frantic. The security guard was watching him dispassionately, saying something in a language you couldn’t totally place - though he did give you a kindly wave again as you flashed your issued clearance badge at him, striding right by whatever conflict was happening there. You felt eyes again on your back as you passed, but kept your gaze forward, trying to steel yourself for the coming task. You ignored the echoed voices that rose slightly as you left - you felt for the dude, you did, but in the end, forgotten paperwork was always the fault of the forgetter. You’d had a hard enough time trying to convince several governments through your applications for scholarly clearance that you weren’t some sort of spy, just a lone weirdo who genuinely wanted to write a whole dissertation on Sokovian historical documentation. You ached at the idea of doing all that work and then losing your pass somewhere.
You walked in to the archival room with renewed purpose, setting your bag down on the desk you’d made your own and having a soft word in your best Latvian with the elderly archivist about moving on to the next document you were going to look at that day. With a frown that spoke of the disapproval of having other people in her sacred domain, she obliged, rising slowly from her desk and ritualistically removing the land charter you’d been looking at earlier. After disappearing into a locked back room that even your clearance couldn’t get you into, she emerged gingerly holding a tray with a new carefully bagged page, even older than the last one. According to your research so far, this was a bit of correspondence from the Sokovian royal court - something that especially appealed to your questions about the municipal relationship under this king’s particular rule. From what you had been able to figure out thus far, based on the little existing scholarship surrounding this regime, this king had been particularly interested in the protection of Sokovia as a nation from its larger, often better militarized neighbors. You were hoping this letter between the king and one of their courtiers - which one, you weren’t quite sure yet - would clear up what this vision for a protected Sokovia entailed.
The archivist set it on the desk before you, merely ‘hmm’ing at your carefully pronounced Latvian “thank you,” and you leaned as close to the document as you dared under her protective eye. Reading what little you could in seventeenth century Sokovian (which was still a lot, relatively, compared to other scholars), you felt yourself begin to smile. Okay. This was something you could work with. This was genuine, tangible progress.
Naturally, right at that moment, two things happened:
1. You opened the satchel on the table to take out your notebook, and immediately realized it definitely wasn’t yours.
2. There was a thunderous explosion from what sounded like the southern wing of the library.
While the blast itself wasn’t in the room, the foundations rocked enough to send you sprawling to the floor, the fluorescent lights flickering spasmodically over your head. The elderly archivist yelled something in Latvian that you would have never expected from her prim little mouth, and ran from the room as fast as she could - which was surprisingly fast, for someone her age.
You got to your feet somewhat unsteadily, the adrenaline from earlier resurging in your veins with a vengeance. You had still been processing grabbing the wrong satchel, your stomach not so much clenching at the one you had, but at the fact that you didn’t have the one with all your research in it. Years of your life now god knows where, who knew if you’d ever see it again, essentially leaving you with potentially crippling debt and nothing to show for it.
Also, you were pretty sure the fire alarm was going off. You were an academic, priorities were not your strong suit.
You stood there, just recognizing that this was one of those moments where time seemed to slow down infinitesimally. You knew you needed to get out of the building. But the document in front of you was likely to be one of the first things to go up in flames or crumble to dust under a falling piece of rubble, and at the moment, it was the only thing in the world that spoke to any idea of your dissertation, the one project your whole life had been building towards for the last half decade - almost one sixth of it in total, at this point.
Whether it was the adrenaline, the skewed sense of self tied to your work, or a just plain bad idea, you did the only thing that occurred to you at the time:
You took the document out of the tray, very gently sliding it bag and all into a padded pocket in the satchel that wasn’t yours. You would figure out the consequences and repercussions of stealing an official national document later, when you could think straight - right now, you were in the scholarly version of survival mode.
It was this same survival mode that, when you heard heavy boots heading quickly down the hall, caused you to duck under the desk, satchel and all.
The way you figured, in your scattered logic, this was either going to be a rescue worker, or whoever made the building explode - provided it wasn’t a gas main or something. If they were a rescue worker, they would announce themselves, and you would hop out from behind the desk and gladly accompany them out. If anyone had the mind to check your bag later, you would plead to whatever authority figure temporary insanity by panic. If they were something else, they would likely be less inclined to announce themselves, and that was… well, something else.
You waited, holding your breath as the boots slid to a stop within the doorway. You heard someone move behind the archivist’s desk, muttering to themselves in - in Sokovian? Something about the voice stirred something at the back of your brain, something recent, but you were still too busy trying not to breathe to really focus on that spark. You heard the figure clicking away at the archivist’s computer, then rustling through the old-fashioned paper registration log that sat in front of her, before swearing softly in what was definitely Sokovian. You felt your shoulders relax slightly - whatever he was looking for (and it was definitely a him, given the deep, velvety voice), it wasn’t here. He would have to leave.
Which, of course, meant he was suddenly walking right towards your desk.
You clutched the satchel to your chest, closing your eyes and really, really hoping whoever it was didn’t have a gun.
The heavy boots stopped right next to where you were hiding before slowly pacing around the front of the desk, clearly looking for any sign of… whatever it was he was looking for. You heard him turning over everything he could reach, and to your horror, saw a gloved hand slide under the surface of the desk above you, and then down the sides.
The glove was maybe barely an inch from your face, sliding down the right side of the desk still, and you leaned back as far as you could, praying to whatever god existed he wouldn’t actually get down and look underneath.
But you heard a timer beep somewhere above you - a watch, maybe, or a phone - and a second explosion sounded, rocking the foundations again. The man in front of you cursed again in Sokovian, slamming his fist on the desk and making you flinch, covering your mouth with your hand. He lingered in front of the desk a moment more, long enough for you to feel like you were going to die of self-imposed asphyxiation or something, before the boots finally turned abruptly and swept themselves from the room.
It was only when you heard the boots well outside the door and down the hall that you finally let yourself exhale aloud, thanking whatever cosmic force existed in the universe that you at least were not going die by angry booted guy today.
A secondary alarm going off reminded you that you definitely could very likely still die from collapsing building, so you hastily made your way out from under the desk, still clutching the satchel as you tore down the hallway.
The security checkpoint was empty as you ran past, and you hoped somewhere in the back of your brain that the nice little old man had made it out of the building safely. You by-passed the librarian’s lounge, hurrying past the shuffling sounds and steady stream of Sokovian swearing you heard inside, and rounded the corner, heading straight for the wide front doors with the small streaming crowd of patrons and employees.
Outside, you could finally smell the smoke and see the chaos erupting in front of you: injured people convalesced near an ambulance, and two fire trucks were unloading their crew and their gear, getting ready to tackle the awaiting disaster. You cut past all of these, feeling your panic brain start to feel less like jello in the open air. The hostel. You were going to get to the hostel, catch your breath, figure out who the fuck this satchel belonged to and beg them to trade back your research, somehow without sounding like you had any money to give them in return because you were already fucking broke but still desperate-
You heard the car before you saw it as you were making your way across what you thought was an alley - it roared up to you before slamming on the breaks, screeching to a halt with the hood ornament barely a few feet from your hip.
“I have loans, motherfucker, make my goddamn day!” You yelled out of habit and nerves, whipping around to glare down whoever the fuck thought they could come tearing out of an alley with no marked signage-
You were given pause for a minute when you saw an expensive-looking car, hardly the type you expected to come tearing out of back alleys. Your eyes trailed up the smooth lines of the hood to the windshield, squinting slightly to find the driver:
The handsome, hawk-ish scholar you saw at the checkpoint earlier.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you muttered, feeling your shoulders sag from exhaustion, and inside the car you could see him throw his hands in the air in the universal gesture for frustration, his lips forming words you thought were pretty similar to yours.
At this point, your neurons were doing an honestly incredible amount of firing, considering the stress you were under. You realized two things in rapid succession, and it went like this:
The first realization was based on the fact that the first time you saw him was in the lounge - this was likely the guy who had accidentally grabbed your satchel, meaning you now had his. Your angry tone changed to one of mild relief. “Oh shit, wait, hey!” You went to fish something out of the satchel - his ID or something, to show him what you had - only to see his left hand leave the steering wheel and aggressively reach into the lining of his coat in a way that you’d really only seen before in old fashioned gangster movies.
This brought on the second realization: he was the guy with the voice like velvet you’d heard speaking Sokovian at the check point, and then again inside the archive room, but more importantly, he was also the guy wearing the heavy boots -
Meaning, in all likelihood, he was at least partially involved in whatever caused the explosion.
“Oh, fuck!” Your relief evaporated immediately, and you turned, sprinting as fast as you could away from the car. You heard it roar past you, and heard him yell something from the window, but you were in absolutely no place to want to turn around and see what he wanted. You turned down a narrow alleyway you hoped was too narrow for his sleek little car, trying to make yourself disappear amidst the buildings. You would take the long back way to the hostel: if it meant you got there later, but undiscovered by possible maniacs driving luxury automobiles, it was something.
You twisted and turned through crowded back alleys like a rat in a maze, using the growing silence as you left the scene of the (crime? Accident? You were pretty sure it was a crime) as a sign that you were hopefully putting some distance between the two of you.
After what felt like hours, but was more likely just forty-five minutes or so, you emerged from an alley on what was honestly an educated guess to find yourself just across the street from your hostel. You cleared the last distance to the traffic light with a speed that would have surprised yourself a month ago, slowing down and trying to catch your breath as you tried to blend in with the pedestrian crowd waiting to cross the street.
You were so relieved, you didn’t see the man from the library waiting on the opposite street corner, car long abandoned, watching silently as you fought the urge to run the rest of the way into the relative safety of the hostel lobby. As he saw you talking to the young man running check-in through the wide front window, he turned and walked in the opposite direction, planning silently to himself. You weren’t far, and you were alone. This would be easy.
After all, people went missing all the time, especially nowadays. What was one more lost tourist?
“But I swear, I checked in last night, you can look up my booking number-“
“Do you have your booking number on you, Miss?”
You avoided the urge to wince slightly at the title. You knew you still looked pretty “Miss”-ish, and you’d given up on trying to correct people with “Mx.,” but that didn’t mean it didn’t chafe any less.
“Well, no- my paperwork is in my bag-“
“Is that not your bag?” The bored but polite clerk nodded at the satchel still on your shoulder.
“No, there was a mix-up, but please believe me, I’m in the system.” You gestured towards the desktop computer on the counter between the two of you. “Could you maybe call the girl who was on duty last night? I swear she’d recognize me.” You felt yourself wince as you asked, certain that you were not the first person who had tried this before.
“Miss,” the clerk said with the slightest sigh. “I don’t know who was on duty last night, but if you’d just show me your ID or your booking number, we can get you back to your room-“
“But I don’t have my ID or my booking number,” you said, trying to keep your voice level. “Because my bag got swapped with someone else’s. If I can just get back into the room I was staying in, I can-“
“I can’t let you do that, Miss, I’m sorry. Rules are rules. For all of us.” He said, raising an eyebrow a little bit as he looked you over with the vaguest sense of judgment.
You took a deep breath, willing yourself to keep your composure. It was not this clerk’s fault you’d had the day from hell, even if he wasn’t helping right at this very moment. “That’s fine, I understand, thank you very much for your help.” You spoke through your exhale all in one stream of words, and he simply nodded, turning back to whatever filing was pressing enough to use as an excuse not to talk to you anymore.
Feeling somehow even more lost than before, you found yourself turning on your heel, walking back outside so you could breathe and try to get your bearings.
Outside, as it turned out, was no more promising than inside. But it did at least feel less stifling. For someone who usually avoided the outdoors, you sure were enjoying this unrestrained oxygen today.
You walked to a side of the building where you wouldn’t be seen by the front window, and allowed yourself to lean against the brick wall as the breath left your lungs. You stared into the middle distance at passing cars, trying to mentally take stock of your situation. You had no access to your funds or your travel grant, very little cash on your person, your research was gone, along with your passport and your phone in your actual bag, which had been taken by some mysterious man who either blew up the library or wanted to take advantage of the library exploding to look for something in the archive room, which he didn’t find and seemed fairly mad about, who then recognized you as you were trying to run, and either wanted you dead because you saw him trying to leave or was really mad about the fact that you had run like hell with his bag because you thought he was going to shoot you rather than give you back your own. All of this, plus, you were carrying a very historic, very important national Sokovian document that you had now technically stolen, which would likely cost you your archive access badge, which was really the only remotely valuable thing you still had on your person.
You were standing there wondering if cyber cafes were still a thing when, naturally, the sky opened up, immediately soaking you and the only clothes you had.
You stood there, shivering slightly, unsure where to go and trying to keep the satchel that wasn’t yours dry against your chest. In your fairly reasonable self-pity, you didn’t register at first that a car had pulled up next to the curb, an older model with a subdued grey paint job. It was only when the passenger door opened that you even looked at it, squinting against the rain to see who was inside.
Sure enough, it was Library Guy, his noble features resplendent with cold, barely repressed fury.
“Get in,” his words were clipped, gesturing to the waiting passenger seat. His accent was definitely Sokovian, and though he had ditched the glasses, his eyes were still sharp enough to make your stomach flutter faintly.
“…No, I’m good, thanks.” You held up a hand half-heartedly out of some weird overriding sense of habit, while you were actually trying to decide whether to run screaming was the most practical move here.
He made the decision for you, pulling the gun out of the inside of his coat this time and pointing it at you with an ominous clicking noise. “I must insist. You’ll catch your death out there.”
Well, who were you to refuse such an invitation?
You got in, trying not to make eye contact as you settled your soaking clothes against what appeared to be a fairly nice leather interior. When he didn’t move, gun still on you, you turned your head a fraction of an inch, trying to figure out what he wanted.
“Seatbelt.”
Before you realized what you were doing, you turned to look at him, your bewilderment reflected on your face. “Seriously?”
“Again, I must insist” He gestured to the seatbelt with the muzzle of his gun, and you complied at last, still holding the satchel to your chest. It was only when he heard it click that he put the gun back in its hidden holster, driving smoothly down the road as if he were simply giving you a ride.
You drove in silence for a few minutes, you trying not to hyperventilate and trying to do the theoretical math on what would happen if you opened the door to jump out and tuck and roll onto the sidewalk.
“The door lock is modified, by the way. You can’t open it from your seat.” He said evenly, as if he could read your mind. You looked at him again, and he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye as he drove. “You kept looking at the handle,” he said this as if he were explaining to a child why it rained.
You felt yourself sit back further in your seat, as if your body had at last accepted defeat.
“So.” You weren’t sure where to go with this. “…Are you taking me somewhere to kill me, or…?”
“Would you like me to?” You turned to see him looking at you again from the corner of his eye. “You know, when you ran into the street like that and then yelled at me, I did wonder if you had a death wish.”
“Jury’s still out,” you deadpanned, unable to help yourself. He made a soft noise, and it only registered a second later as a curt laugh.
“Tell me something,” he said, taking a smooth turn towards what you were pretty sure would lead you to the nicer part of town. “What were you doing in that archive room?”
Your brain scrambled itself on a few different thoughts at once at his conversational tone: really, this is what you’re asking me about? Followed by well, what were you doing in that archive room? “…Aren’t you more concerned about the fact I have your… whatever this is?” You gestured to the satchel against your chest.
“Everything in that bag is replaceable,” he said, shrugging as if bored by this fact. “I would have thought you’d actually looked through it by now.” Stopped at a light, he actually turned to look at you. You didn’t like how his eyes - a warmer brown than you’d had time to realize in the library - looked you over slowly, like he was trying to dissect you and mentally lay your components out around you to diagram. You justified the shiver you repressed as your wet clothes, raising your chin just slightly as you held his gaze. You were determined that if you were going to be killed by a stranger in a new country, you at least weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of crying about it.
To your surprise, he smirked in response - an expression that still managed to be handsome on him, but its arrogance made you look away in annoyance so he didn’t see you roll your eyes.
“I was planning on it when I wasn’t, you know, running from an exploding library.” You said tersely. “I was more worried about the fact it wasn’t mine.”
“Ah, yes.” Still managing to keep his eyes on you, he reached in your direction. You leaned hard towards the car door, wanting to avoid whatever touch was coming… but instead he reached behind you, pulling your satchel forward from the back seat of the car. He set it in your lap with a small ‘thud’ as the light changed, his hands returning to the wheel.
Now that you had the two satchels next to each other, you could see that they were only different in the fact that yours looked more weather-beaten, the leather clearly not polished as often as his. You’d shoved his to the side, the act of rifling through yours in frenzied relief distracting you from the fact that he was parking the car. Your passport, your phone, your wallet with the meager cash you had on hand, the rest of your student documentation - they were all there. But you realized what was missing with a twist of your stomach, snapping your head up to look at him. “Where’s-“
“Your notebooks and laptop stay with me, for now.” He said. “I was rather interested in what I saw of your… research project?”
“Dissertation,” you spat, not really sure if it even mattered in the grand scheme of things.
“Yes, you are a grad student, I remember the student visa now.” He said with a nod, though it almost sounded more like he was talking to himself.
“What do I have to do to get them back?” You ground out as you stared at your knees peeking out from under the soaked skirt of your dress, braced for whatever nasty possibility might occur.
“…Have dinner with me tonight.”
“Okay, but look, I haven’t been with a dude in ages, it’s likely not going to be worth-“
“No,” he said quickly, and you looked up at the surprise and disgust he managed to pack into the single syllable. “No, Miss, nothing like that, I assure you. I don’t mean to extort you, rather…” he paused, and you could see he was taking his time choosing his phrasing. “I believe I might have a proposal that would be beneficial to both our end goals, as it were. A possible arrangement to procure resources on both sides.”
It was your turn to study him now, trying to read his face. His hands resting casually on the wheel of the still idling car, you caught the barest hint of a smile as he saw you looking at him - not totally stripped of the arrogance from before, but at least less overtly smug.
“No offense,” you said slowly, trying to be careful yourself now. “But if that… if what happened at the library was part of your ‘end goal’, as it were… I don’t entirely see how a grad student in Sokovian studies would be useful to-“ you gestured, struggling for words. “Whatever it is you’re trying to do.”
“You’d be surprised,” he chuckled. “It turns out our work might intersect in more places than one. Just come tonight, talk with me a while. If you decline my offer, I’ll return your research to you, our paths will never cross again.”
You kept your gaze on him, and he spread his hands where they rested on the wheel, a gesture of transparency. “…You promise?” You said slowly, your own gut nagging you about the absolute unlikelihood of that possibility.
“I’ll swear it on my bloodline,” he said, and his dark eyes were so imploring in that moment, it was hard not to believe him.
“…Fine.” You said, releasing a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “But I have to get back to my hostel and see if any of my stuff is left, otherwise all I have is the clothes I’m wearing-“
“Oh no,” he said, shaking his head. “There’s no need, Miss. You’ll stay here, it’s very close to where I’ll be meeting you later.” He nodded to the building he’d parked in front of, and you looked to see a very fancy historic looking hotel, one you’d seen on all the tourist sites when you were planning your trip, but you absolutely couldn’t afford on your student budget.
You stared at the window at the massive, impressive building. “Look, man, there’s no way I have the cash-“
“May I?”
You looked to see him again reaching a hand towards you, and were about to lean hard away again… only for him to gesture at where you’d shoved his satchel to the side.
“Oh, of course, sorry.” You murmured, passing the man who had definitely kidnapped you at gunpoint the bag you’d kind of stolen from him.
Making no effort to conceal it from you, he opened it, moving aside an internal flap to reveal what you’d failed to investigate thoroughly: a large, ominous looking handgun, what you could only assume was a ski mask of a deep purple fabric, an archival pass that looked rather close to the one you’d been wearing around your neck all day, a collection of what appeared to be very small, delicate tools -
And, from a further hidden pocket, an honestly impressive bound brick of Euros.
You were still more distracted by the gun, realizing that’s what he thought you’d been reaching for earlier. He took the brick out, peeling off what you estimated was roughly more money than your entire travel grant, and gently set it on your knee, taking care not to brush the bare skin with any part of his hand.
“Here’s this.” He said. “That should be more than enough for a night. You don’t have to tell me what room, you don’t have to tell me what name you use, I won’t make any effort to come find you. If it turns out you decide a partnership isn’t in the cards for us, you can keep the rest, no strings.” He held up his hands again as you looked at him in disbelief. “I swear. Now, you go in, get out of those wet clothes - I’ll leave something at the front desk for you to wear to dinner.”
“I… oh.” You had no idea how to process either this offer or the fact that more money than you’d seen in a month was sitting in your lap. “I mean, I’m- thank you? I’m- do you need my size or something, or-?”
“No need. I have a way of knowing these things,” he shrugged, and the smug smirk came back, tempting you for two seconds to throw the money in his face and run. But without your research… what good would that be? “Now really. I must insist you go rest. I’ll want you at your best for our discussion later.”
“…Thank you.” You said again quietly, not really sure how else to respond. You scooped the money from your thigh and stacked it neatly, sliding it into a safe pocket in your bag before you opened the car door. You started to get out, but paused, at last turning to face him. “Do I at least get your name, or…?”
“Zemo.” He said. “That’s all you need to know for now, Miss-“
“It’s Mx.” you said quietly. “…If you don’t mind.”
He gave a thoughtful moue before nodding cordially in your direction. “As you wish, Mx.-“ and it didn’t surprise you he already knew your full name. He’d dug through your bag, after all, he’d likely seen your ID.
What did surprise you was how much something in the back of your brain enjoyed the sound of him saying it.
You got out of the car before you could fixate on this any further, only glancing back over your shoulder when a doorman opened one of the grand entryway doors for you, tutting concernedly at your still-damp clothes.
Zemo was still waiting there in his car, watching you walk in. He lifted his left hand just slightly from the steering wheel with another smirk, acknowledging that he saw you looking back.
As you turned, facing the vast lobby desk and heading inside, the car silently rejoined the flow of traffic.
15 notes · View notes
halolalassurveys · 19 days ago
Text
00459 - 100 Girly Questions Survey
Jesus that survey was a challenge. *rolls eyes*
Do you wear: alot of makeup, some makeup, no makeup?
Some make up. I never wear, like, full make up on my face.
Whats your favorite makeup?
Eyeliner, mascara and lip gloss are my go to. If I add something, it’s typically eyeshadow, and sometimes I replace lip gloss with lipstick.
Could you go out in public without make up?
I’ve gone several times, but it’s a rarity. Typically I treat doing make up as a part of dressing up, so. It goes automatically.
Do you do your nails oftenly?
Every three to four weeks.
What color are your fingernails?
Natural right now.
How about your toe nails?
Same.
Heels or flats?
I like a pair of nice heels sometimes, but most of the time I wear flat shoes.
Eyeliner or mascara?
Both. I can’t really imagine one without another.
Lip gloss or lipstick?
Depends on occasion. For something more formal, I go with lipstick. Daily, I choose lip gloss.
Eyelash curler or tweezers?
Tweezers. I’ve never used eyelash curler.
Vans or converse?
Converse. I hate Vans.
Nike or adidas?
Neither.
Myspace or facebook?
Facebook if ever, but I don’t really like either.
Pink or red?
Red, but pink is okay, too.
Black or white?
Black.
Rock or pop?
Both.
What color are your socks?
I’m wwearing black tights now.
What color is your bra?
Black and red.
Are you wearing skinny jeans?
Not right now.
You think you set or follow trends?
Neither, but I couldn’t care less.
Have you ever done something just to fit in?
No, it’s stupid.
Do you go to the mall oftenly?
We don’t have malls here, only shopping streets.
Do you have many friends?
Enough for my tastes.
Do you dislike any of your friends?
If I disliked them, they wouldn’t be my friends.
Whats your BESTEST friend's ever name?
G.
Have you ever had a down moment with that person?
Not really.
Most memorable moment with that person?
Every day.
Who was your most recent missed call from?
Probably a courier with my package.
Who was the last person you called?
My boyfriend as he got lost in the shop.
What does your 5th message in your inbox say?
It’s from my boyfriend that he has done his part of groceries already.
Who was it from?
As mentioned.
Single or taken?
In a relationship.
If so, by who?
Best guy ever.
What color are your eyes?
Hazel.
Whats your favorite color?
Black, purple, green.
What song are you listening to right now?
None, I’m not listening to music rn.
Do you like to dance?
Sometimes. I’m not a good dancer anyway.
Do you like to sing?
I do, but I’m not like an awesome singer :D
Do you believe in
What? Can you repeat please?
Do you believe in love at first sight?
No. Do you seriously fall in love with someone you know nothing about, or just in your own imagination of them?
How about true love?
Sure.
Do you believe in bros before hoes?
WTF?
Are you a whore?
Maybe you, but it’s not my problem. Okay bye.
Are most of your friends guys or girls?
Guys, but the reason is there are not so many girls in my area.
Favorite candy?
I’m not a big fan of candy, but let’s say sour Skittles.
Favorite ice cream flavor?
Malaga, coconut, yogurt, coffee, cherry.
Ever cried yourself to sleep?
Maybe once or twice.
Ever slept on your computer?
Haha no.
Longest you've used your computer?
A few hours or so.
Whose your #1 top?
Whose what?
Why?
Why not?
Favorite smiley?
I don’t care, but probably :D or something.
Are you addicted to something?
Not literally.
Do you consider yourself a myspace freak?
I gon’t give a crap about myspace.
Do you edit your profile oftenly?
Hardly ever. I like my current layout.
Rock or pop?
Both.
Have you ever been in a fist fight?
Probably, or not. Who remembers that.
Do you want to?
Why would I?
Have you ever thought about having sex?
I don’t give a crap about sex.
Have you ever babysat, if so, who?
Nobody.
Have you ever waited soo long for something you wanted to hapen so bad?
More than once.
Are you content with your life?
Very much so.
Who is your role model?
I don’t think I have any, but there are some people I admire nonetheless.
Whats your best feature?
I’m genuine.
Your worst feature?
I can be angry sometimes.
Are you racist?
Why would I be?
Are you a sexist?
Are you?
Do you discriminate?
No. People are equal.
Are you ashamed of talking to someone or being seen taking to someone who isnt as popular as you?
Are we in middle school? This is so childish, Jesus Christ.
Do you talk shit?
This survey talks shit at times.
Have you ever talked shit?
Who hasn’t?
Do you care about what other people think about you?
No. If I did, I wouldn’t be here, too.
Have you ever not been yourself to impress someone?
Do you even know how stupid is that? Time to grow up.
Have you ever done yourself VERY pretty with so much makeup and a whole different outfit to make a guy like you?
No, you either like the real me or not. It’s not middle school and we’re not 14.
Have you ever betrayed someone?
No.
Water or soda?
Soda, I can’t stand the taste of water.
Coke or pepsi?
Coke.
Look behind you, whats behind you?
A lamp.
Have you ever been rejected or dumped?
Not really.
Have you ever thought about how school would be like if someone didnt go there?
Never bothered myself with pointless thinking.
Do you hate anyone?
No, hate is for the weak.
Do you love anyone?
Sure. I love my family, my friends, my partner and my cat.
Have you ever gotten drunk?
Many times lol.
Would you pass a drug test?
Why wouldn’t I? I don’t touch shit.
Whats your locker number?
Don’t remember. I have four at work, two are numbered, but it’s like 5 digit number.
Do you have good hygine?
What’s “hygine”? It’s actually scary that I, whose native language is NOT English, am better in spelling than someone who is supposedly a native English speaker.
Have you ever danced infront of the mirror?
Yeah, happened when I was excited about something.
Ever checked out someone from the same sex?
Pff.
Ever bit your toenail?
Lolwut what do you smoke?
Ever slept outside your house?
Sure, in a hotel.
Been to a sleepover?
Yes, with my younger cousin who’s been like my best friend for long time.
Peed in your pants WHEN YOU WERE A CHILD, TODDLER?
Who remembers things like that.
What's your wallpaper?
Northern lights on my laptop, Susie on my email app background, my boyfriend on my phone, and something random on my tablet.
0 notes
sherrykinss · 22 days ago
Text
Am I wrong in thinking the shiny new Medtronic 770G is just, a GIANT step backwards technologically from the Freestyle Libre and a 10 year old pump? To the point of thinking it a joke? I need some perspective from other Diabetics, because to me, this is absolutely pathetic.
First time ever seeking help or advice from any other Diabetic. Ever. In 20 years of it. Bear with me, this is a bit of a tale.
So I got sold the 770g by a lying skeeving bitch at Medtronic, who failed to mention that in the three years since I last turned down Medtronic on their absolute shit of a CGM system, that seemingly the only advance is that your phone can tell you now instead of the meter. Oh, except if you use a fitbit. Cuz apparently that interferes with the phones ability to talk to your pump and meter.
Cuz that isn't a giant. Fucking. Health and safety concern they've known about since April 26th btw.
So I been on the freestyle libre for about 3 1/2 years, love it to death, I got an old workhorse of a pump, the Medtronic minimed, that has worked flawlessly, for nearly ten years. Been diabetic for 20. Admittedly never been the best at taking care of it before then, because testing my sugar, fucking, sucks. My fingers, are really god damn sensitive. I feel the stick for HOURS afterwards, every time I move my fingers, it hurts. I work as a mechanic, I'm a gamer, a writer, miniatures painter, I use my fingers a LOT for delicate precise work, and finger sticks turn them into painful clubs that have splinters of pain in them every key press, brush stroke, etc.
Call me a crybaby, what the fuck ever, you aren't attached to these fuckin fingers, you can't know how much finger sticks fuck me up and wear on my mental health. Just typing this, would hurt to the point of tears and I am one stoic motherfucker usually, Diabetes related things just have an amazing talent at making me insanely frustrated and angry. I made the decision long ago to stick to the arm sticks, I'm good with those.
So I got the libre, and other than one defective sensor, its been great. Pretty fire and forget. Got a new phone that reads them, don't have to carry around a separate tiny fucking meter to lose in life as a mechanic, can email my data to my doc directly, no bullshit middleman, it was great. Trust it enough to not check my blood sugars against it, never found more than a 20 point variance either way so I stopped testing my sugars altogether. Let me actually save a little fucking money as a diabetic for fucking once in my god damn millenial life. I only pay $500 a month in coverages, it's totally fine that my diabetic care and feeding is another.... $400-450 out of pocket after that for sensors insulin and supplies for my pump.
Side note, Fuck you American healthcare, moving on.
So three years ago they tried to upgrade me to a system that only lasts one week to the libre's 2, has a fucking battery for the sensors you have to recharge manually, that is 900 fucking dollars, as opposed to the libre's built in battery for 2 weeks for a $75 dollar package. This battery is very losable, and the sensors adhesive footprint is the size of a fucking pack of cigarettes. It's absurd and monstrous. My Libre is the size of a quarter, hangs out on the back of my arm, and doesn't give a fuck what happens to it, I'm a mechanic and get sweaty and dirty and not a one has ever failed that wasn't ripped off and that takes some EFFORT to get those off. Hell on purpose it can take some doing.
So I tell them 'Are you fucking HIGH!? This is like, laughably worse than the Libre. Like, critically, from a gadget geek, this is an absolute. Joke. To me. So I tell them take a hike, call me on the next generation, Medtronic has said 'your money or your life to me' during an insurance transition and I've sent them my food budget for the month to be alive to starve for a while, its cool, I don't HATE THEM WITH EVERY FIBER OF MY BEING OR ANYTHING.
So they call me a year ago to shriek again that the pump that has survived:
3 years as an appliance repairman, getting wet, banged around, and crushed into and under appliances,
2 years in tech school for mechanics getting rolled on slipping out of pockets, getting tools, parts, tires, etc, bashed into it, soaked in oil and antifreeze and god the fuck knows what else.
3 years as a mechanic for forklifts getting you get the idea. I've been soaked in rain, snow, hydraulic fluid, antifreeze head to toe fucking RUINED and this pump has taken more abuse without missing a TICK on the clock for 10 years, is out of warranty, and may fail. Well whatever. sell me. It can't be read by the phone yet, something I got the new phone to do with the Libre. Fucking joke, call me when it can do THAT.
So they finally do call me last month. I ask them, this is basically now on par with where the libre was 4 years ago? No bullshit? Hook up the sensor, fire and forget automatic delivery, pump and CGM talk, I don't have to fuck with anything else, at all anymore?
And the fucking joke Medtronic CGM, that only lasts a week, that has a losable $900 battery I have to recharge, that has a giant adhesive footrpint, that would itch like hell and I'd lose or break that battery every fucking day etc etc etc, that's gone right?
They say right! It's all good now! I say fuck yeah. They say 12,000 dollars. I say uhfuck, get financial aid from Medtronic even though I feel I'm owed the damn thing free considering I've been financially hamstrung by them for my entire adult life and probably have given them 30,000 out of pocket over the years, and rip my insurance a new anus because I haven't upgraded in 10 years when this is normally like, an every other year thing for most I imagine, and I get the fucking thing. Oh and a free totebag too!
Cuz that's what I fucking need.
So not only is the CGM still with that detachable battery, giant adhesive footprint, only lasts a week, not only does the fucking thing not even WORK with the phone to update you with a fitbit around (Seriously, there will be a class action lawsuit about this. That is fucking Dangerous) Not only do you now HAVE to carry the sugar meter around with you as well as the pump, Apparently you also have to CALIBRATE THE FUCKING CUNT AT LEAST TWICE A DAY.
Yeah. Three finger stick ONLY, no arm allowed, blood sugar tests one the first day of the week long lifespan, then a new one every 12 hours, for the week.
So now I'm not only back to the fucking finger sticks, I now have the financial deadweight of fucking test strips and lancets back that the Libre had freed me from more or less, and I'm back to carrying the fucking meter around again, this time without even the perk of being able to leave it in my toolbox or whatever because bluetooth ain't THAT good. There's almost no fucking point to this in my eyes. Sure I'll have more automated management and more time in range but just...
The drain on my mental health and stress level would fucking kill me long before Diabetes even got near doing the job. This tech, seems objectively worse, and just... Twirling on the spot. The only significant advancement I can track is the phone being in the loop and the automation. Apparently the sensor reads insulin levels too which is... Yay. I guess. Not like my pump doesnt know how much I have in me. Sure it can't detect when I have an infusion set clog for the most part, but fucking a. This seems a pathetic limp dick software update with no hardware advancement.
Like... Fuck the strips and lancets, assuming I can even hack the finger sticks which is a big if, that's gonna be another $100 a month probably, so now I'm essentially paying both the Libre cost, and the meter costs, rather than the one or the other I am on, that I am spending just being fucking alive. Like... I don't make bad money. At all. But this is just another hamstring, another financial anchor, and a giant step BACK in functionality vs existing tech, that I just Can. Not. Fucking. Justify.
After speaking with Medtronic support during my training on the new pump because it doesn't want to fucking talk to my phone or the meter with my fitbit app active, so I had to unsync, uninstall the app, restart my phone, then they could all talk again, I get told, that I was fucking lied to. By like, 4 reps. Not a god damn thing of this was talked about, there wasn't even a fucking meter DISCUSSED in the cost line items of pump, sensors, etc, before I received the package and there it was on the receipt. I very nearly said 'Fuck all this bullshit' to a very nice old lady who trains people at my office and let her send the crap back. I honestly probably would have if I hadn't left two boxes of sensors at home I KNOW these miserable fucking bastards would find a way to charge me for. Stormed out of my docs office, so mad I could barely see straight after being so fucking boldfaced lied to by a company that again, said 'your money or your life' when I ran out of infusion sets during an insurance transition, and I had to give them literally every dollar I had, and now they want me to give them control over my CGM as well as my pump supplies and I gotta fork out for lancets and test strips for the first time in years again too?!
Like... I feel like I am pretty honestly justified in thinking, that this tech, is an absolute joke, because it hasn't advanced in nearly 4 years, and arguably has gotten fucking WORSE. And I'm supposed to trust my life to this system? This Pump? This sugar meter fucking AGAIN that I am SURE is only there to fucking nickel and dime diabetics even worse? Cuz honestly I feel like we're almost at Diabetic devices acting like fucking printers and their ink. 'Only Medtronic Insulin allowed. You have 48 units left in the vial, sadly it has expired. Get fucked and pay us, peasant.'
Please, bring me down to earth if I'm wrong and give me some perspective because this seems like a fucking practical joke it's so bad and such a step backwards. Sorry for the wall of text and I suck ass at tl;dr's, but I'm honestly near of breaking down and crying again, or calling Medtronic and ripping about 78 new anuses open and getting the CEO's address so I can sink the Yacht I've given him a down payment on to have the audacity of wanting to be fucking alive
submitted by /u/FallenCypher25 [link] [comments] from diabetes https://ift.tt/3yuOoKI
0 notes
idyllicgirl · 22 days ago
Text
Am I wrong in thinking the shiny new Medtronic 770G is just, a GIANT step backwards technologically from the Freestyle Libre and a 10 year old pump? To the point of thinking it a joke? I need some perspective from other Diabetics, because to me, this is absolutely pathetic.
First time ever seeking help or advice from any other Diabetic. Ever. In 20 years of it. Bear with me, this is a bit of a tale.
So I got sold the 770g by a lying skeeving bitch at Medtronic, who failed to mention that in the three years since I last turned down Medtronic on their absolute shit of a CGM system, that seemingly the only advance is that your phone can tell you now instead of the meter. Oh, except if you use a fitbit. Cuz apparently that interferes with the phones ability to talk to your pump and meter.
Cuz that isn't a giant. Fucking. Health and safety concern they've known about since April 26th btw.
So I been on the freestyle libre for about 3 1/2 years, love it to death, I got an old workhorse of a pump, the Medtronic minimed, that has worked flawlessly, for nearly ten years. Been diabetic for 20. Admittedly never been the best at taking care of it before then, because testing my sugar, fucking, sucks. My fingers, are really god damn sensitive. I feel the stick for HOURS afterwards, every time I move my fingers, it hurts. I work as a mechanic, I'm a gamer, a writer, miniatures painter, I use my fingers a LOT for delicate precise work, and finger sticks turn them into painful clubs that have splinters of pain in them every key press, brush stroke, etc.
Call me a crybaby, what the fuck ever, you aren't attached to these fuckin fingers, you can't know how much finger sticks fuck me up and wear on my mental health. Just typing this, would hurt to the point of tears and I am one stoic motherfucker usually, Diabetes related things just have an amazing talent at making me insanely frustrated and angry. I made the decision long ago to stick to the arm sticks, I'm good with those.
So I got the libre, and other than one defective sensor, its been great. Pretty fire and forget. Got a new phone that reads them, don't have to carry around a separate tiny fucking meter to lose in life as a mechanic, can email my data to my doc directly, no bullshit middleman, it was great. Trust it enough to not check my blood sugars against it, never found more than a 20 point variance either way so I stopped testing my sugars altogether. Let me actually save a little fucking money as a diabetic for fucking once in my god damn millenial life. I only pay $500 a month in coverages, it's totally fine that my diabetic care and feeding is another.... $400-450 out of pocket after that for sensors insulin and supplies for my pump.
Side note, Fuck you American healthcare, moving on.
So three years ago they tried to upgrade me to a system that only lasts one week to the libre's 2, has a fucking battery for the sensors you have to recharge manually, that is 900 fucking dollars, as opposed to the libre's built in battery for 2 weeks for a $75 dollar package. This battery is very losable, and the sensors adhesive footprint is the size of a fucking pack of cigarettes. It's absurd and monstrous. My Libre is the size of a quarter, hangs out on the back of my arm, and doesn't give a fuck what happens to it, I'm a mechanic and get sweaty and dirty and not a one has ever failed that wasn't ripped off and that takes some EFFORT to get those off. Hell on purpose it can take some doing.
So I tell them 'Are you fucking HIGH!? This is like, laughably worse than the Libre. Like, critically, from a gadget geek, this is an absolute. Joke. To me. So I tell them take a hike, call me on the next generation, Medtronic has said 'your money or your life to me' during an insurance transition and I've sent them my food budget for the month to be alive to starve for a while, its cool, I don't HATE THEM WITH EVERY FIBER OF MY BEING OR ANYTHING.
So they call me a year ago to shriek again that the pump that has survived:
3 years as an appliance repairman, getting wet, banged around, and crushed into and under appliances,
2 years in tech school for mechanics getting rolled on slipping out of pockets, getting tools, parts, tires, etc, bashed into it, soaked in oil and antifreeze and god the fuck knows what else.
3 years as a mechanic for forklifts getting you get the idea. I've been soaked in rain, snow, hydraulic fluid, antifreeze head to toe fucking RUINED and this pump has taken more abuse without missing a TICK on the clock for 10 years, is out of warranty, and may fail. Well whatever. sell me. It can't be read by the phone yet, something I got the new phone to do with the Libre. Fucking joke, call me when it can do THAT.
So they finally do call me last month. I ask them, this is basically now on par with where the libre was 4 years ago? No bullshit? Hook up the sensor, fire and forget automatic delivery, pump and CGM talk, I don't have to fuck with anything else, at all anymore?
And the fucking joke Medtronic CGM, that only lasts a week, that has a losable $900 battery I have to recharge, that has a giant adhesive footrpint, that would itch like hell and I'd lose or break that battery every fucking day etc etc etc, that's gone right?
They say right! It's all good now! I say fuck yeah. They say 12,000 dollars. I say uhfuck, get financial aid from Medtronic even though I feel I'm owed the damn thing free considering I've been financially hamstrung by them for my entire adult life and probably have given them 30,000 out of pocket over the years, and rip my insurance a new anus because I haven't upgraded in 10 years when this is normally like, an every other year thing for most I imagine, and I get the fucking thing. Oh and a free totebag too!
Cuz that's what I fucking need.
So not only is the CGM still with that detachable battery, giant adhesive footprint, only lasts a week, not only does the fucking thing not even WORK with the phone to update you with a fitbit around (Seriously, there will be a class action lawsuit about this. That is fucking Dangerous) Not only do you now HAVE to carry the sugar meter around with you as well as the pump, Apparently you also have to CALIBRATE THE FUCKING CUNT AT LEAST TWICE A DAY.
Yeah. Three finger stick ONLY, no arm allowed, blood sugar tests one the first day of the week long lifespan, then a new one every 12 hours, for the week.
So now I'm not only back to the fucking finger sticks, I now have the financial deadweight of fucking test strips and lancets back that the Libre had freed me from more or less, and I'm back to carrying the fucking meter around again, this time without even the perk of being able to leave it in my toolbox or whatever because bluetooth ain't THAT good. There's almost no fucking point to this in my eyes. Sure I'll have more automated management and more time in range but just...
The drain on my mental health and stress level would fucking kill me long before Diabetes even got near doing the job. This tech, seems objectively worse, and just... Twirling on the spot. The only significant advancement I can track is the phone being in the loop and the automation. Apparently the sensor reads insulin levels too which is... Yay. I guess. Not like my pump doesnt know how much I have in me. Sure it can't detect when I have an infusion set clog for the most part, but fucking a. This seems a pathetic limp dick software update with no hardware advancement.
Like... Fuck the strips and lancets, assuming I can even hack the finger sticks which is a big if, that's gonna be another $100 a month probably, so now I'm essentially paying both the Libre cost, and the meter costs, rather than the one or the other I am on, that I am spending just being fucking alive. Like... I don't make bad money. At all. But this is just another hamstring, another financial anchor, and a giant step BACK in functionality vs existing tech, that I just Can. Not. Fucking. Justify.
After speaking with Medtronic support during my training on the new pump because it doesn't want to fucking talk to my phone or the meter with my fitbit app active, so I had to unsync, uninstall the app, restart my phone, then they could all talk again, I get told, that I was fucking lied to. By like, 4 reps. Not a god damn thing of this was talked about, there wasn't even a fucking meter DISCUSSED in the cost line items of pump, sensors, etc, before I received the package and there it was on the receipt. I very nearly said 'Fuck all this bullshit' to a very nice old lady who trains people at my office and let her send the crap back. I honestly probably would have if I hadn't left two boxes of sensors at home I KNOW these miserable fucking bastards would find a way to charge me for. Stormed out of my docs office, so mad I could barely see straight after being so fucking boldfaced lied to by a company that again, said 'your money or your life' when I ran out of infusion sets during an insurance transition, and I had to give them literally every dollar I had, and now they want me to give them control over my CGM as well as my pump supplies and I gotta fork out for lancets and test strips for the first time in years again too?!
Like... I feel like I am pretty honestly justified in thinking, that this tech, is an absolute joke, because it hasn't advanced in nearly 4 years, and arguably has gotten fucking WORSE. And I'm supposed to trust my life to this system? This Pump? This sugar meter fucking AGAIN that I am SURE is only there to fucking nickel and dime diabetics even worse? Cuz honestly I feel like we're almost at Diabetic devices acting like fucking printers and their ink. 'Only Medtronic Insulin allowed. You have 48 units left in the vial, sadly it has expired. Get fucked and pay us, peasant.'
Please, bring me down to earth if I'm wrong and give me some perspective because this seems like a fucking practical joke it's so bad and such a step backwards. Sorry for the wall of text and I suck ass at tl;dr's, but I'm honestly near of breaking down and crying again, or calling Medtronic and ripping about 78 new anuses open and getting the CEO's address so I can sink the Yacht I've given him a down payment on to have the audacity of wanting to be fucking alive
submitted by /u/FallenCypher25 [link] [comments] from diabetes https://ift.tt/3yuOoKI
0 notes
falconechats · 23 days ago
Text
.....Every week or so I get an email from my institute titled: “Destigmatisation of Mental Health - It’s Okay To Seek Help!” HAHAHAHAHAHA. As if that was what was preventing people from seeking help. Okay, fair enough, I suppose some people are prevented by the stigma - but let me tell you, I have tried. The places that offer counselling under $100/hr have a waiting list at least 4-6 weeks long, sometimes even up to 3-4 months. And even then they aren’t that cheap either. AWARE has recently raised it to 2% of one’s monthly salary. Which, for me, is still more expensive, and less readily available, than a bottle of rum. No wonder people develop drinking problems. 
Razor blades are like, $3.
No of course I’m not advocating self-harm or drinking as coping mechanisms and yes of course I do agree that counsellors and psychologists need to be paid a fair wage for their services and expertise and they also have to make the rent for the premises, but I’m just saying. The Powers That Be always think that people are Not Utilising Resources because of Ignorance or Aversion when in reality the problem is A F F O R D A B I L I T Y. Also time. Lots of psychs keep normal office hours. Really?! Yes I know everyone wants to be with their family and friends on the weekends, but come on, certain jobs - it defeats the purpose if you keep normal working hours, because that’s when everyone else is at work and can’t see you. 
I’m so angry with myself. Over such silly small things. Forgetting about the NatGeo show. Having had a slow couple days at work. I want to punish myself, but at the same time - I don’t. I want to stop. I want to stop feeling like I have to punish myself. Above all I’m afraid one day I’ll go overboard and land myself in the hospital, and then I’ll be fucked because I still haven’t figured out how to deal with insurance. Not that insurance would even pay for self-harm, I imagine. And then the doctors will hate me and judge me for wasting their time when they could be treating people who actually deserve their attention. And then no one will ever care if I get hurt because they’ll be like, “oh, she does it to herself anyway, she’ll be used to it”. I don’t want that. I want people to care about me. 
Every time I call the hotlines or the counsellors or look at the websites they’re always like “call or talk to someone close to you” but - I don’t want to bother my friends. Yes yes I know bullshit you know they care about you and if the tables were turned wouldn’t you welcome them with open arms so why wouldn’t you think they’d do the same for you? But it’s different. They haven’t been cutting themselves since high school. They never ended up in a psych ward. In 2 different psych wards. If they came to me with their problems it would be like, the first time, an actual crisis, rather than, you know, this fucked up person who’s been fucked up for over a decade and somehow still hasn’t gotten any better. 
I’m so scared, and so lonely. Please, please let me hold out until I can get an appointment....
1 note · View note
andifnotheisstillgood · 23 days ago
Text
I need advice about wanting to quit my job.
At the beginning of this year, I (19F) graduated from a welding program at a trade school. I was excited to join the work force as a welder. I got hired at a welding shop at the end of January, and I currently work there. This was my first serious job (others being a cashier/cook job for 6 months and a summer landscaping job). Also slightly important to the story, I have depression.
After about a month of working, I realized that I hated it. I was completely exhausted after 9.5 hours of work everyday. The work was tedious and boring. I was getting constant joint and nerve pain. I got a bad ear infection from wearing earplugs everyday (which I am still dealing with even though I’ve been to the doctor). I would get home and have only 5 hours to get all the house chores done, cook dinner, work my horses, take a shower, then maybe get to relax for a minute, and get to sleep for work the next day (I know this might seem like a normal day to some of you, but I’ve never experienced living like this before, give me a break.) Everyday I would be trying not to cry at work, I’d go hide in the bathroom for 10 minutes just to get away for a bit, and at home I’d cry and dread going to sleep because then I’d have to wake up and go to work again. My body ached constantly and my mental health was getting worse than it already was.
Eventually I couldn’t take it anymore and I emailed my HR manager. I told him that my mental and physical health were suffering and that I was struggling enjoying work. I asked if I could work 7.5 hours instead of 9.5 and he agreed. My shop manager pulled me aside one day and talked to me about the issues I was having. He told me I was skilled for a beginner welder and would hate to see me stop welding. He asked if there was anyway he could help make work better for me. I told him I didn’t know, which isn’t a lie because I really don’t know how it could be better when one of the issues is I don’t like the industry as much as I thought I would. My manager makes sure he asks me if I’m doing alright everyday, which I appreciate, but it’s not like he can really help if I’m not feeling good (which is literally everyday).
Even with 2 hours off my work day, I’m still struggling. I want to be done with this job so bad, and I still cry and dread going to sleep. My depression has been pummeling me into the ground and I’m finally making an appointment with a therapist to maybe try and get on medication. I’ve even started losing interest in working with my horses, which are my whole life. If you know me, you’d know that me not wanting to work with my horses is an issue. I keep desperately scrolling through job listings, hoping to find something that isn’t too physically demanding but pays enough for me to support myself and my horses. Around where I live though there isn’t much besides very low paying retail/fast food jobs and very long hour physically demanding production jobs. I’m literally about to just quit and be unemployed until I find something. I’d rather be poor and not have to go to work than go another day wishing I didn’t have to be there.
Believe me, I’ve been trying so hard to change my mindset on things and think positively about my job. My coworkers are all super nice, the lead welder has gone out of his way to teach me, I feel appreciated, and my shop manager has been trying to accommodate me by letting me work less hours. This also makes it really hard to quit because I feel awful for only working almost 4 months and then quitting after all the effort they put into me. However, I feel like a change of industry would make me happier. My plan was to stay at this welding job for a year and then quit if I didn’t like it, stay if I did, but I don’t think I can make it another 2 weeks without having a complete mental breakdown. What the crap should I do?
Also, feel free to disagree with me on anything. If I’m being dumb, I need to know.
Side note: My first career choice before welder was to do something with horses. I loooove working with horses and want them to be how I make a living, but it’s not feasible for me right now. I don’t have the land or funds to get started, and there’s absolutely zero jobs relating to horses anywhere near me even though I live in a somewhat rural area. I’m worried that even if I switch industries, I’m not going to be happy still because it’s not my passion. Any thoughts on this would be appreciated too.
submitted by /u/SarahRachelle01 [link] [comments] from Jobs https://ift.tt/2SVaups
0 notes
lilliannaansalla · 27 days ago
Text
Lark’s Song Ch 7
Tumblr media
Summary: Emily fell in love with a knight in shining armor one hot summer night at a club, but she grew to know the tortured soul behind the mask. When a year goes by without hearing from August, she starts to lose hope that he’ll ever come home. A tortured soul provides the needed companionship after she’s forced herself into a lonely life, but even John Wick can’t protect her from a broken heart. Still, miracles do happen, and someone has to keep these reckless boys in line.
Pairing: August Walker X OC, platonic John Wick & OC
Warnings: None that I know of! As always, let me know if I need to tag something I’ll happily add more!
Tags: @rmtndew​​ @amberangel112​​ @rocket44​​
Chapter 7
——————————————————————————–
It was raining today. It had been since early that morning, so everything outside was soaked. Emily was sitting on the couch, working on her laptop, and August had disappeared into his study sometime ago, but the door was open, and she could sometimes hear him talking on the phone. She was almost done with work for the day, but August wanted to make dinner, so she planned to read in her window seat. Emily was sending out a few last emails when arms looped around her shoulders and a kiss was pressed atop her head. “Hi,” she greeted, tilting her head up for a kiss. “Get everything done?”
“Mhm,” August replied, giving her a kiss and resting his head on hers. “You?”
“Almost.”
“I was thinking,” he said, watching as she sent off the few emails she had left as he talked. “We should go on vacation.”
“Really?” Emily asked, reaching up behind her to slide her fingers into his hair.
“Yeah.”
“I don’t mind, but what prompted this?”
“Your mom may have cornered me and said you didn’t leave like you promised you would, poppet.” Emily sighed.
“Of course she did. I won’t apologize. I missed you.” August hummed and let the subject drop. They’d had this conversation many times, and they were both too stubborn to budge on their stances. “Where were you thinking of going? And when?”
“It’s a surprise, poppet. And next week? Everything’s already taken care of. Just pack for warm weather, okay?” He wouldn’t answer any more questions, no matter how much she asked. Their flight was early in the morning, so early the sun wasn’t even up when they got on the road. Emily just fell asleep the minute they got on the highway. She was exhausted. When she woke up, August reached over and squeezed her knee.
“Enjoy your nap?” he asked.
“Mhm,” she replied, stretching out a bit and reaching for her water bottle. “Where are we?”
“We just crossed into North Carolina.”
“August, are you taking me to Disney?” she asked, more awake now that she’d gotten a few hours of sleep.
“No, poppet,” he said with a smile.
“Universal?”
“No.”
“Silver, where are you taking me?” Emily pushed, holding his hand as he kept his eyes on the road.
“You’ll see, poppet. Are you hungry?”
“Yes.”
“I put some sandwiches in a container in the backseat. Get me one too?” Once they had eaten, he focused more clearly on the road, the GPS guiding them through North Carolina down into South Carolina.
“August, where are we going?” 
“The coast.”
“The beach?”
“Well, that is usually at the coast, poppet,” he teased. She smacked his shoulder, and he grinned, pleased with himself. They chatted for a while, and she kept a sharp eye out for any signs of where they were going. She saw the sign declaring the boat’s destination and immediately gasped, grabbing onto August’s hand with both of her own.
“We’re going home?” she said in breathless excitement. He gave her a warm smile.
“Surprise, darling,” he said, squeezing her hand. Emily squealed, though she did try to keep her voice down for the sake of the other passengers.
“August, thank you!” Emily exclaimed, giving him a tight hug.
“You’re welcome, Em. I figured it’s time we both took a break.” He kissed her temple. Two hours later, they were on a boat, leaving the coast behind and sailing for the Caribbean, to get there late in the afternoon. Emily was standing on the deck, looking out over the waves, her sunhat shading her face from the sun, and she smelled of sunscreen. As did August, who was sitting on a deck chair, reading. He was not going to wear that pink Totoro hat in public. He said as much, but she’d packed it when he told her to be ready for warm weather all the same. It was there, if they needed it. For the most part, their cruise down was uneventful. They sat side by side in the fresh air, reading and relaxing. When they got to the island, it would not be quiet, and August was taking all the chances he could get at peace and quiet for the foreseeable future.
It was nearly five in the afternoon when they docked, and Emily was waiting eagerly at the edge, trying to see if anyone had come to greet them. A sharp whistle pierced the air, and she instinctively searched in the direction it had come from. Jorge’s familiar green mop was standing atop some crates, waving at her, and she grinned wider, waving frantically to show that she had seen him. “He’s over there,” she told August, pointing towards her friend. August hummed, adjusting his grip on their bags. “Who else knows we’re coming?”
“I’d imagine your mom told everyone, wouldn’t she?”
“Oh, so this is just a surprise for me?”
“Mhm.” He kissed her temple.
“Give me a bag or two, Silver. I can help.”
“I’ve got it.”
“Oi. Give.” She took her backpack and the bag she knew held the tech stuff. He’d have to deal with it.
“Thought you’d want to have your hands free for hugs.”
“Jorge’s gonna take them from me the minute he gets the chance. It makes him feel helpful.” It still took them a good bit of time to disembark, but they made it towards the crates where Jorge had been before.
“Emily!” voices cheered, and she found herself nearly bowled over by Amelia and Olivia, who latched onto her like monkeys. They were talking over each other in excitement, and Emily only joined in on the din, saying hellos and how are yous and I missed yous and all kinds of other things. August and Jorge just stood off to the side, exchanging calmer greetings while the girls drew all kinds of attention that had August ducking his head. He wasn’t exactly a wanted man, but he definitely needed to be careful (hence the cruise and not a plane). 
“You need to come home more often!” Amelia said. “So much has happened!”
“I missed your engagement!” Emily exclaimed, yanking up her hand to look at the ring that adorned Amelia’s finger. “He finally took the bait, did he?”
“He’s mine now.”
“Speaking of,” Emily said, turning to Jorge and holding out her arms, “c’mere, you big lug.” Jorge, all limbs, always reminded her of a baby horse when he walked, because he was also incredibly eager in everything he did. So if he walked, he took long, gaping strides, and often tripped over himself doing so because he was just so gosh darn excited about the world. Which meant Amelia always had band-aids on her person, and Jorge, bless him, nearly toppled all the girls over when he tripped and fell into Emily for a hug. The green hair was a personal choice, but it was also a safety measure so they could always find him, or so Amelia had always said. 
“Mami says hello,” Jorge said.
“I’ll see her later, I’m sure.”
“Yeah, we’re having a party!” Olivia said in excitement, practically vibrating on the spot. “Everyone’s waiting. Come on!” Emily reached out a hand to August, who took it, and Emily linked arms with Olivia, who linked with Amelia, and Jorge held his fiancée’s hand, the five of them spread out across the dock and definitely getting in everyone’s way, but none of them cared. They piled into Jorge’s truck, the girls riding in the back while August sat in the front (he hated it, but the truck only had one bench. They jolted along the roads that were less-than-cared-for, and Emily, Amelia, and Olivia chattered the entire way, with Jorge sometimes piping in through the open window in the back. August stayed quiet, but she expected that. Emily stared out at the city she’d grown up in, pointing out the differences for explanations.
“What happened to the building there?”
“Oh, a fire. Whole thing tumbled down.”
“Wait, that’s a gift shop now? Where’s Señor Luis?”
“He retired. Sold the shop and everything.”
“No! He had the best skewers!”
“We had an entire memorial service,” Jorge said through the window. “Candle-lit vigil and everything.”
“Now he just has a bunch of people stop by his house for lunch,” Olivia added. “He loves it.”
“August, you have to meet Señor Luis,” Emily said, sticking her face in the window. “Those skewers were to die for.”
“I look forward to it, darling.”
“Look at the fountain, Em,” Amelia said, pointing over her shoulder. Emily whirled around, smacking herself in the face with her hair, but she gasped.
“Oh! August look!” she exclaimed. The fountain, which had been rather standard before, three layers of water trickling down, had been replaced with a bigger one. It was large, taking up twice the space the other one had, with a large woman made out of what looked like concrete from here, but sculpted like the marble statues Emily had seen in pictures. She was carrying a water jug, tilted at just an angle so water flowed out into the pool below. All around the edges, water spouts jumped out towards the interior, so the water was rippling and jumping. 
“At night, there are lights in it,” Amelia explained, “so the lady looks green.”
“Why?”
“You remember Antonio? His family owned the fruit stand out by school?”
“Yeah.”
“He went overseas to study, and he came back and built this. He raised the money himself, designed it, everything. It’s green because green’s a lucky color, and she’s supposed to be Lady Luck, or something like that. We’ll come back and see it.” Jorge drove them out of the marketplace and down into the residential area, and Emily saw the cluster of palm trees that always signaled her arrival home. She could hear music playing, even over the rattling of the truck as they bounced over the dirt roads.
“Is Señora Lupe having a party?” she asked. Señora Lupe had a large family, and they had get-togethers every week. It was always loud around here, but Señora Lupe’s family was the loudest. Everyone knew the Rubios. 
“No, that’s not until tomorrow,” Olivia said as Jorge parked on the street in front of Emily’s house. Emily shrugged. Maybe someone else was. There was always a party going on somewhere here. Everyone clambered out of the truck, and Emily didn’t wait for anyone. She ran up the front steps to her house and flung open the door.
“Mamá, I’m home!” she yelled into the house.
“Surprise!” people yelled back, and Emily jumped a foot in the air, being met with the faces of her neighbors and the people she’d considered her extended family all packed into her small house. 
“Welcome home, baby,” her mamá greeted, appearing in front of her to give her a hug.
“Mamá, what’s all this?”
“My baby girl is home for the first time in two years? We’re celebrating!”
“It’s about time you came back,” a raspy voice said, and Emily grinned.
“Hi, Mister Luis. I heard about your skewers.”
“I have five waiting just for you, butterfly,” the old man said, patting her hand gently.
“Emily!” a small voice exclaimed, and Emily kneeled down just in time to catch up a little boy, securing him on her hip.
“Sebastián!” she said with just as much excitement. He was Señor Mario’s grandson that he was raising, and her next door neighbor. “Look at you! You’ve grown a foot since I saw you!”
“I’m six!” he replied, showing off a giant toothy grin.
“No! You can’t be! That’s much too old!”
“Uh huh! I am!”
“Are you sure?”
“Uh huh!” She tickled him, and he giggled, kicking his feet and scrunching up.
“Come in, come inside!” her mamá insisted, pulling her in to make room for the other four waiting to get into the house.
“And is this the man who kidnapped you without a word?” Señora Lupe asked, glaring up at August. Emily had taught August her particular dialect of Spanish (he’d only known the version taught in schools, so it was very formal speech), so he knew exactly what she was asking.
“Yes I am, and I’m sorry we haven’t come back for a visit,” he replied. “I’m August. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Señora Lupe, this is my fiancé,” Emily introduced.
“Your what?”
“Did you think I just scampered off with a man for no reason? You taught me better than that!”
“Marta didn’t say anything about you being engaged!”
“Yes I did!” Emily’s mother called from the kitchen. “You just ignored me!”
“Bah,” Señora Lupe waved off the notion.
“It’s true,” Señor Luis piped up. “Two years, right, butterfly?” Emily nodded with a smile.
“Yep!” Sebastián wriggled to be put down, and Emily placed him on the floor. Eventually, they managed to get August and Emily’s bags put down in her bedroom, and then everyone filed out into the backyard, where Samuel and Rose, friends from her old job here, were making sure none of the tablecloths would fly away in the breeze, and Mateo, Señora Lupe’s grandson who owned his own restaurant, was working on something at the grill. It felt like everyone she’d ever known in town was crowded into her house and yard to welcome her home. August, who didn’t do well in crowds by nature, was pressed up against her back.
“You can sit inside, Silver,” she said, squeezing his hand and tilting her head back to look at him. 
“I’ll be okay.”
“Sit with Señor Luis,” she suggested. “He and Señor Diego go fishing every Saturday. You might be able to go with them.”
“Maybe.”
“It’s safe here, August,” she assured him. “The neighborhood takes care of its own. And if it gets too much, go hide in my bedroom. They’re loud, I know they are. And we’ll only get louder.” She pointed over to where some speakers were set up and motioned to the lights hanging out over the yard in preparation for when it got darker out. “Where do you think I got my love for dancing?”
“I’ll be alright, poppet,” he said, giving her a kiss. “I like watching you have fun.” She grinned at him.
“But first, we eat. Be ready to answer a bunch of questions.” He hummed.
“Emily!” Mateo yelled, and she looked over at him. “Mister Luis says you have to get these right now!”
“Ooh! Coming! I’ll be right back, Silver. You have to try these.” So, they ate. Everyone. Her whole neighborhood, all her friends, and her family. They were all crowded in the yard and in the house, and it was so loud you had to shout to be heard, but Emily was right at home. August did indeed sit with Señor Luis and Señor Diego, and every time she looked over to check on him, he was smiling and laughing, so she was reassured that he was enjoying himself. She’d thought he would. After the sun had set, the lights above the yard flicked on, and someone, probably Samuel, turned on the music. Olivia found Emily in a heartbeat and pulled her away from where she was talking with Jeremy, one of her sort-of-cousins, and out to the middle of the yard, where people were already starting to dance. In the middle of one of her favorite songs, she glanced over to check on August, and he was staring right at her, a fond smile on his face. She gave him the biggest smile, and his smile grew wider. “Thank you,” she mouthed at him, and he shook his head a little bit before one of the men grabbed his attention again, and she went back to dancing. The party lasted until the very early hours of the morning, and she was ready to collapse from exhaustion. The people left in a steady trickle, and Amelia, Jorge, and Olivia were the last ones to leave, promising that they’d go out tomorrow and revisit their old haunts. Her mother shooed Emily out of the backyard.
“We’ve got this, mija,” she said, pressing a kiss into her hair. “Rest. You’ve had a long day.”
“But, Mamá--”
“Don’t argue with me! Go on!” August gently pulled her inside.
“Go to bed, poppet,” he said. “We’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”
“Are you sure you’ll be alright with the couch?”
“Mhm,” he hummed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Goodnight, darling.” She sighed a bit, but she kissed his cheek.
“Night, August. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
She fell asleep in less than five minutes, she was so exhausted, but she dreamed of dancing with August in their living room back home.
9 notes · View notes
Text
Tessa & Hardin After ever Happy
He wants to remind her that whatever their souls are made of, his and hers are the same. Their favorite novel said it best.
I gather every last bit of strength left inside me and leave the scattered pages on the floor of the apartment, the last page of the book still in my hand.
His hair is longer than it looked in the pictures I’ve seen of him recently. I can’t help that I’ve been reading every single one of his interviews, every article about him, whether it’s true or false, and maybe, just maybe, I’ve emailed a few heated complaints to bloggers who have printed terrible things about him and his story. Our story.
The sight of the metal ring in his lip surprises me, even though I knew it had reappeared. I had forgotten how good it looks on him in person. I’m taken, absolutely consumed, by seeing him again, thrown back into a world where I fought hard in and lost nearly every battle that was thrown my way, only to leave without the one thing that I was fighting for: him.
“We need someone to walk with Tessa; her boyfriend didn’t show up,” someone says. At the mention of my name, Hardin’s focus snaps forward; his eyes search for half a second before he finds me. I break the connection first, looking down at my high heels barely peeking out from underneathmy floor-length dress.
“Who’s walking with the maid of honor?” the bride’s sister asks everyone nearby. “There’s too much going on,” she says with a huff as she walks past me. I’ve done more than she has for this wedding, but her stress level would make you believe otherwise.
“I am,” Hardin says, raising his hand.
He looks so put together, so devastatingly handsome in a black tuxedo with no tie. Black ink shows just above the clean white collar, and I feel a soft touch on my arm. I blink a few times, trying not to focus on the way we barely spoke last night and how we didn’t practice walking together like we should have. I nod, clearing my throat and tearing my eyes away from Hardin.
“All right, then, let’s go,” the sister says imperiously. “Groom to the altar, please.” She claps her hands and Landon rushes past, gently squeezing my hand en route.
Breathe in. Breathe out. It’s only for afew minutes, less than that really. It’s not that difficult of a concept. We are friends. I can do this.
For Landon’s wedding, of course. Momentarily, I battle within myself to not think about walking down the aisle with him for our own special day.
Hardin stands next to me without a word, and the music begins. He’s staring at me—I know that he is—but I can’t bring myself to glance up at him. With these shoes, I’m near his height, and he’s standing so closely that I can smell the soft cologne clinging to his tux.
The small church has been transformed into a beautiful yet simple venue, and the guests have quietly filled almost every row. Beautiful flowers, so brightly colored that they may as well be neon, cover the old wooden pews, and white cloth is draped from row to row.
“It’s a little too bright, don’t you think? I think simple red and white lilies would have done the trick,” Hardin surprises meby saying. His arm loops through mine as the snooty sister waves for the two of us to begin our descent down the aisle.
“Yeah, lilies would have been gorgeous. This is nice, too, for them,” I fumble.
“Your doctor boyfriend cleans up nicely,” Hardin taunts me. I look over to find him smiling, only teasing behind his green eyes. His jawline is even more defined than before, and his eyes are deeper, not as guarded as they always were.
“He’s in med school, not a doctor yet. And yes, he cleans up nicely. You know he’s not my boyfriend, so hush.” Over the last two years I have had this same conversation with Hardin again and again. Robert has been a constant friend in my life, nothing more. We tried dating once, about a year after I found Hardin’s manuscript in my New York apartment, but it just didn’t work. You shouldn’t date someone if your heart is owned by someone else. It doesn’t work, trust me.
“How are you two? It’s been a year now,hasn’t it?” His voice betrays the emotion he’s trying to hide.
“What about you? You and that blonde. What was her name?” This aisle is a lot longer to walk down than it looked from the hallway. “Oh, yeah, Eliza or something?”
He chuckles. “Ha-ha.”
I like to give him shit about a fan-turned-stalker of his named Eliza. I know he hasn’t slept with her, but it’s fun to tease him when I see him.
“Baby, the last blonde I had in my bed was you.” He smiles. My feet catch, and Hardin grips my elbow, steadying me before I fall face-first onto the white silk covering the aisle.
“Is that so?”
“Yep.” He keeps his eyes toward the front of the church where Landon stands.
“You put your lip ring back in.” I change the subject before I embarrass myself further. We walk past my mother, sittingquietly next to her husband, David. She looks slightly worried, but I give her credit when she smiles at Hardin and me when we pass. David leans into her, whispering something, and she smiles again, nodding to him.
“She seems much happier now,” Hardin whispers. We probably shouldn’t be talking as we walk down the aisle, but Hardin and I are known for doing things that we shouldn’t do.
I’ve missed him more than I’m letting on. I’ve only seen him six times in the last two years, and each time only made me ache for him more.
“She is. David has been an incredible influence on her.”
“I know, she told me.”
I stop again. This time Hardin smiles while helping me continue down the never-ending aisle. “What do you mean?”
“Your mum, I’ve spoken to her a few times. You know that.”I have no clue what he’s talking about.
“She came to a signing last month, when my second book came out.”
What? “What did she say?” My voice is too loud, and a few guests stare at us for much too long.
“We will talk after this. I promised Landon that I wouldn’t ruin his wedding.”
Hardin smiles at me as we reach the altar, and I try, I really do try, to focus on my best friend’s wedding.
But I can’t keep my eyes or mind off the best man.
“I thought I would save you from dancing with him, he’s a little short. Terrible dance partner,” I finally say when I can pull my head out of my ass.
“He told me you bribed him.” She smiles at me, shaking her head.
“That little fucker.” I glare at the traitor as he sits back down at a table, alone again.
“This song,” Tessa softly laughs. “Of course they would play this song.”
I brush a loose curl away from her eyes, and she swallows, blinking slowly. “I’m so happy for you, Hardin. You’re an incredible author, an activist for self-recovery and alcohol addiction. I saw that interview you did with the Times about dealing with abuse as a child.” Her eyes well up, and I’m positive that if her tears spill, I may lose all composure.
“It’s nothing, really.” I shrug, loving her being proud of me, but feeling guilty for what it caused her. “I never expected any of this; you have to know that. I didn’t mean for you to be embarrassed publicly by me writing that book.” I’ve told her this so many times, and she always has the same positive response.
“Don’t worry about it.” She smiles up at me. “It wasn’t so bad, and you know, you’ve
“This should be our wedding,” I blurt.
Her feet stop moving, and some of the glow disappears from her beautiful skin. “Hardin.” She glares at me.
“Theresa,” I tease. I’m not joking, and she knows it. “I thought that last page was going to change your mind. I really did.”
Maybe they’ll be different, though.
I take the microphone from the ornery woman and clear my throat. “Hey.” My voice sounds weird as fuck, and I can tell by Landon’s face that he’s going to enjoy this. “I don’t like talking in front of a lot of people usually. Hell, I don’t even like being around people usually, so I’m going to make this quick,” I promise the roomful of wedding guests. “Most of you are probably drunk or bored to death anyway, so feel free to ignore this.”
“Get to the point.” Landon’s bridelaughs, holding up a glass of champagne. Landon nods in agreement, and I flip them both off in front of everyone. Tessa, in the front row, laughs and covers her mouth. “See, I wrote this down, because I didn’t want to forget what to say.”
I pull a crinkled napkin from my pocket and unfold it. “When I first met Landon, I instantly hated him.” Everyone laughs as if I’m joking, but I’m not. I did hate him, but only because I hated myself.
“He had everything that I wanted in life: a family, a girlfriend, a plan for his future.” When I look at Landon, he is smiling, and his cheeks are slightly red. I’ll blame that on the champagne. “Anyway, throughout the years that I’ve known him, we’ve become friends, family even, and he has taught me a lot about being a man, especially in the last two years with the struggles these two have had to deal with.” I smile at Landon and his bride, not wanting to get too into the depressing shit.
“I’m going to end this shit now.
Basically what I want to say is, I thank you, Landon, for being an honest man, and for giving me hell when I needed you to. I actually look up to you in a fucked-up way, and I want you to know that you deserve to be happy and be married to the love of your life, no matter how quickly you two put this together.”
The crowd laughs again.
“You won’t know how lucky you are to be able to spend your life with the other half of your soul until you have to spend your life without them.” I bring the microphone down and lay it on the table just as I catch a glimpse of silver rushing through the crowd, and I hurry down from the stage to follow after my girl as the crowd drinks to my toast.
When I finally catch up to Tessa, she’s pushing the women’s bathroom door open. She disappears inside, and I don’t bother to look around before following her inside. When I reach her, she’s leaning against the sink, her palms resting on both sides of themarble.
She looks up into the mirror, eyes red and cheeks stained with tears, and turns to face me when she realizes that I’ve followed her.
“You can’t just talk about us like that. About our souls.” She ends her sentence with a whimper.
“Why not?”
“Because . . .” She can’t seem to find an explanation.
“Because you know I’m right?” I egg her on.
“Because you can’t say those things publicly like that. You keep doing it in your interviews, too.” She rests her hands on her hips.
“I’ve been trying to get your attention.” I step toward her.
Her nostrils flare, and for a moment I think she may actually stomp her foot.
“You piss me off.” Her voice softens, and she can’t deny the way she’s looking at me
I knew this was her way of showing me who’s in charge here. We had a rule, only one rule in our house: no fighting in front of our kids. My children would never hear me raise my voice to their mum. Ever.
0 notes
princessmadafu · 28 days ago
Text
37 bleedin’ pages!
I have condensed them for you and left out most of the bits that the nasty evil British Press have already covered. Feel free to skip any boring bits.
Dax Shepard: Welcome, welcome, welcome to Armchair Expert's Experts on Expert. I'm Dan Shepard. I'm joined by Monica Mouse.
Monica Padman: Hi.
[...]
There follows some heavy marketing of towels and stuff...
DS: Now please enjoy Prince Harry. We are supported by Brookelinen. My favourite hotel quality sheets to get into and writhe around in the nude. [...] They're impeccable. They're decadent, they're soft, they're absorbent. Brookelinen was started to create beautiful high quality home essentials that don't cost an arm and a leg. They're so confident in their product, they come with a 365 day warranty. So give yourself that comfort refresh you deserve and get it for less. Go to Brookelinen.com and use promo code 'expert' to get $20 off with a minimum purchase of $100. That's Brookelinen.com and enter promo code 'expert' for $20 off with a minimum purchase of $100. That's Brookelinen.com, promo code 'expert'.
Pretty ironic really, as Harry wades into fake news and how advertising algorithms are ruining us...
DS:...It's like the algorithms on the internet. You can't compete with that, a human.
PH: You can't if you have the awareness of what it's doing to you. And the fact that it's learning, which is scary. And advertising has been going on for hundreds of years, but done really responsibly. The difference here is targeted ads. If ads have always worked for companies, you can put on the TV, you can walk away, you can come back, your involvement is switching on switching off or changing the channel. Whereas now with algorithms is there, it's just feeding your habits. And it's also reading through your emails and everything else. So it's getting to know you, like, it gets to know the decisions you're gonna make before you make them, then it creates this echo chamber of no pushback, of no context of nothing. It's just perpetuating and feeding the bias and the habits that you already have inside of you, which is terrible.[...]
Harry needs to learn about AdBlock and Ghostery and VPNs and Tor and DuckDuckGo and Smartpage and all the other clever little ways the computer-literate have of ridding their lives of unwanted advertising. I haven't seen an ad in years. The only person feeding my habits is me. It’s called personal responsibility. Maybe Harry still needs a Nanny but most grown-ups don’t. Oh wait, I forgot, the “Meghan&Harry Show” fans are all kids.
PH: [...] It's a computer. It's like, who wrote the algorithms? You guys did? Probably all male and all white.
Oooh, let's be sexist and racist, Harry! Did you ever hear of these women or are they too scary?
https://biztechmagazine.com/article/2012/05/mothers-technology-10-women-who-invented-and-innovated-tech
Then they discuss Naked Vegas (this guy Dax has a thing about nudity) and Harry in Afghanistan. And discuss a calendar of naked men that DS and MP put together - their favourite male bodies. What a good job it's only gloating over naked male bodies and not naked female bodies. It's apparently acceptable, for some reason. Harry doesn't know who the guys are.
DS: Monica makes this for me every year and it's a calendar of all my favourite bodies of friends.
MP: And they're all men.
DS: They're all men.
MP: And they're all gorgeous bodies.
[...]
And is Harry nervous talking about mental health? He shouldn't be, he's been banging on about it for years.
PH: Yeah. Was I nervous? No. Not so much nervous. But I guess on this particular subject around mental health. Yeah. For me, it's always a, unfortunately, today's world is quite a sensitive subject, not just for the people who are sharing. But ultimately, the subject matter itself has to be handled with care. [...] It ends up getting weaponized by certain people.
Weaponised by certain people? Like him and Markle, for instance. Neither of 'em has any talent so they weaponise their mental health. Big big mental health bombs loaded with word salad to lob at their own families and cause huge distress. Not nice, Harry.
PH: That's how I've always felt when it comes to projection. I mean, hatred is a form of projection, right? [...] We're not born to hate people. So it manifests itself over a period of time. And of course, it can come from unresolved pain, or being hurt continually, as a young kid or through adult life. But ultimately, there's a source to it. There's a reason why you want to hate somebody else.
Like his dad, his brother...
PH: And actually have some compassion for them. Which is really hard when you're on the receiving end of this, like, just vile, toxic abuse. But the reality is, is you say, flip it. [...] Every single one of us wherever we are, wherever we come from, there will always try and find some way to be able to mask the actual feeling and be able to try and make us feel different to how we are actually feeling, perhaps having a feeling. Right, because so many people are just numb to it. That was a huge part of the beginning of my life, which was like, I rejected. I said, there's nothing wrong with me. I'm fine.
And now he's moved on to promoting his new mental health stuff with Oprah, The Me You Can't See...
PH: So if you are making that conscious decision to say: You know what, it's not self serving, but I want to share my story. I'm being asked to share my story to hopefully help someone or loads of other people. I'm probably going to get trolled. I'm probably going to get attacked by the same people that were doing anyway. If I'm willing to make that decision, surely that comes from a place of courage rather than weakness?
Or possibly naivety. Harry is only wanted for his money-making title and royal status; he has no mental health qualifications, he's not a mental health professional, he's not an expert, all he brings to the table is the glamour of being a prince of the BRF. Which he quite clearly hates. Markle is lining her pockets from their self-indulgent mental health whinge fest and he's too dim to see it. There follows the bit about the spectrum of upbringing that the press is covering nicely so I can skip the next few pages - the bits where Harry says he doesn't see that talking about his own issues is complaining, and “it's the job, right”, how he never wanted the job of being royal, and his therapy and how “massively self-critical” he is (yet still can't see that he's not being honest with himself), ooh and sharing his hatred of the British press - that's a good bit, let's skip to page 18:
PH I think the biggest issue for me was that being born into it, you inherit the risk, you inherit the risk that comes with it, you inherit every element of it without choice. And because of the way that the UK media are, they feel an ownership over you. Literally like a full on ownership. And then they give the impression to some of their, well, most of the readers, that that is the case. But I think it's a really dangerous place to be if you don't have a choice, but then, of course, then people quite rightly will turn around and go. So what if you didn't have a choice? It was privilege? [...] Page Six of the New York Post, they took pictures of my son being picked up from school on his first day [...] But I guess my point is the way that I look at it, especially now living here one hour outside LA. Like it's a feeding frenzy here. We spent the first three and a half months living at Tyler Perry's house. You let us stay. And the helicopter helicopters, the drones the paparazzi cutting the fence like it was madness. And people out there -Their response was, Well, what do you expect if you live in LA? It's like, Okay, well, first of all, we didn't mean to live in LA. This is like a staging area before we try and find a house. And secondly, how sad that if you live in LA and you're well known figure, you just have to accept it. The first security we had, I said, Well, where's the safest place? Inside. Just because I'm a well known person, you can't go outside anymore. [...] it's really, really sad. And of course, their argument is - the paparazzi and everybody else - is like all if you're in the public space, then it's absolutely fine for us to do it. So what is our human right as an individual and as a family, you're saying that if the moment we step foot out of our house, that it's open season and free game? What? Because of public interest?. There's no public interest in you taking your kids for a walk down the beach. Nothing...
And on and on it goes... He should've stayed in the UK then. The Cambridges are managing very nicely, thank you. They take their kids for walks on the beach, and we'd never seen them until they released their anniversary video the other week. Harry's clearly envious of William; Harry's mad wife is vitriolically envious of Catherine. Oh and I’m pretty sure it’s the mad wife who keeps phoning her go-to paps when she needs to be in the news again.
PH: [...] I believe we live in an age now where you've got certain elements of the media redefining to us what privacy means. There's a massive conflict of interest. And then you've got social media platforms, trying to redefine what free speech means. Why - I wonder why you're doing that. And again - so this has been happening for 15 years now. And we're living in this world where we've almost like all the laws have been completely flipped by the very people that need them flipped so they can make more money and they can capitalise off our pain, grief, and this sort of general self destructive mode that's happening at the moment [...]
He doesn't get how hypocritical this is, does he? The Markles are the ones capitalising on their grief, pain and the rest of it. And no-one would be interested in them without the royal bits because they have nothing else to offer. Failed actress and used-to-be-a-soldier wrapped up in festering bitterness.
Blah, blah... went shopping in a supermarket... saw lots of chewing gum... blah, blah... Archie on the back of his bicycle... girls want to be princesses... You don't need to be a princess, you can create the life that will be better than any princess or it's something along those lines... she said she expected [the press] to be fair... Pages and pages of how he hates the British press...
PH: [...] And especially when you can't defend yourself so yes, I think when you marry into it, especially when it's one Princess Diana's sons there is a certain amount of 'okay what I'm actually letting myself in for?' But very few people actually know - apart from the Brits - how toxic that element of the of the UK press is.[...]
We're up to page 24 now, if you're still with me. Oh here it is, Harry's unconscious bias... What’s the betting the mad wife has scripted this bit for him?
PH: [...] So going back to the whole sort of travelling around the Commonwealth, I thought I knew, right, having been able to travel that much and meet so many and such a diverse group of people. I thought I understood life. Especially bearing in mind most of the countries I was going to were, most of the communities are going to were people of colour. But then I was really shocked once I started doing therapy. And that bubble was burst. And I started doing my own work, really - a lot of work - and started to uncover and understand more about unconscious bias. And I was like, wow, I thought since I screwed up when I was younger, and then did the work. I thought I then knew. But I didn't. And I still don't fully know. It's like a constant working progress. And every single one of us has it. [...] Everyone has biases, of all sorts. But I think it's a really important point, especially now, after everything's happened in the last year and a half, like the world is changing, the younger generation are driving it. And you've got to like a multi-racial, cultural sort of movement happening, which has never happened before. But unconscious bias is the way that I understand it, is, again, it's not something that's wrong with you. Right? And you don't have to be defensive about it. That's the thing. No one's blaming you. But the moment that you acknowledge that you do have unconscious bias, what are you going to do about it? Because if you choose to do nothing you're continuing to fuel the problem, which means that you're then heading towards racism. Whereas unconscious bias is actually something that is inherent, unfortunately, in every single one of us. But that it is possible to educate yourself to be more aware of the problems and therefore be part of the solution rather than part of the problem.
Markle's got him well-trained on this one, hasn't she. I wonder if he's read anything critical of the unconscious bias movement, or just repeating what he's been told to. Oh and then he goes off about being in the army...
PH: I loved it. I love wearing the same uniform as everybody else. I love being treated the same. I love the expectation of if you want to get that job, or you want that promotion, or you want to finish this race, it's all on you. There's no special treatment, you're not going to get any help. If anything, you're probably going to get treated the opposite because everyone thinks that you've had an easy life. And everyone's always helped you get to where you are.
But...but...but, Harry wasn't treated the same, there was special treatment, he was helped to get to where he was. He scraped a couple of poor quality A Levels and got admitted to Sandhurst because he's a prince. Good old Wikipedia says:
In June 2003, Harry completed his education at Eton with two A-Levels,[22] achieving a grade B in art and D in geography, having decided to drop history of art after AS level.[23] He has been described as "a top tier athlete", having played competitive polo and rugby union.[24] One of Harry's former teachers, Sarah Forsyth, has asserted that Harry was a "weak student" and that staff at Eton conspired to help him cheat on examinations.[25][26] Both Eton and Harry denied the claims.[25][27] While a tribunal made no ruling on the cheating claim, it "accepted the prince had received help in preparing his A-level 'expressive' project, which he needed to pass to secure his place at Sandhurst."[25][28]
PH: And then suddenly, like - while I was at school, I hated exams. And I promised myself I'd never do exams again. Then I joined the army of which is full of exams. I still promised myself I'm never gonna do it and then I end up flying Apache [...]
Gods, it's getting boring. Even the interviewers are zoning out. Still ten pages to go. Wish I hadn't started this, I could be out weeding. Weather's nice, not too windy... Do I deserve a quick G&T yet?
PH: Or worse, was they turn around and say, right, because last week, you're out the front. This week, you got to carry his bergan, I'm like - what, 30 extra pounds? Nooo. But it was, it was the most normalising experience or job that I could have ever hoped for. And then going to Afghanistan twice [...] And someone said to me very recently, from the moment that you're born into today's world, life is trauma, so the sooner that we actually acknowledge that but but [...]
A-a-a-a-and he's back on the mental health thing, PTSD or PTSI,
PH: Post Traumatic Stress Injury is like: Well, that makes sense, because I just saw my mate get blown out. But the other piece of this is, what we need to remember is, the lot of the recruiting that we do in the UK, comes from certain cities and certain homes, where there's childhood trauma. So what we collectively have already got inside of us, the trigger of seeing something happen in Iraq, Afghanistan can be the trigger. So everyone goes: Oh, it's because they were on operations, and because they saw their makeup blown up. It's like, no. [...] So that's what I've been working on for years, for the last five years, which is like, and it started in therapy of like, I don't want to lose this thing, because I think it's, I feel so connected to my mum. [...]
They move on to parenting, which the press is rubbing its hands over... Harry blaming everyone but himself and his saintly mother - Charles, HMTQ, PP... "They f*ck you up, your mum and dad". But not the mum bit. He can't push his mum off her pedestal.
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/48419/this-be-the-verse if you don't know Larkin's poetry. How much more? Nearly there. Monica loves The Crown and doesn't realise it's fictitious.
DS: [...]Well, Harry, I've really really liked talking to you. You're very charming. You're very intelligent. You're handsome, and I can't wait to see your torso.
MP: Thank you so much for coming.
DS: So I just want to remind everyone that May 21 on Apple Plus, you should check out Oprah and Prince Harry's 'The Me You Can't See'. I have to imagine it's similar to her book, which I just read, which is absolutely incredible 'What happened to you?' So everyone should check out 'The me you can't see' on Apple plus May 21.
And still Harry won't shut up... Shut up, shut up. Cut his mic. You don't have to read this last bit, they've already wound up the interview...He still won’t shut up.
PH: Yeah, we're moving from the physical to the emotional, right, physically. At the beginning of this pandemic, people were panicking. And there was that fight or flight like, ahh what do we do like lockdown, survival? Yeah. And now that the vaccines have been sort of, we're getting to the point where more and more people are being vaccinated, we're now in the emotional phase of what I read in the New York Times article was called languishing, which is really interesting. It's like the is the middle child between flourishing and depression. You just feel flat, and it's not depressed. It's definitely not flourishing. You lack the energy and the will, the motivation, all that kind of stuff. Because you're kind of sitting there going - Well, what happens next? And I think it's really important that we talk about languishing. And it was coined by someone I can't remember who but I think it was the journalist who wrote the story was Adam Grant. No, he didn't come up with it. Someone else came up with him, he wrote this, the most amazing article about languishing and the fact that how important it is to be able to talk about it because - look when it comes to mental health, we need to realise and accept that every single one of us have mental health. There's varying degrees, as we said, you've got the mental illness, and then you've got the sort of the awareness and the work that you can put in, like, Where do you want to be that we shouldn't just sit there and go: Oh, mental illness is once we are literally on the floor crawling around in the foetal position needing help. But for me, I don't think I need therapy anymore. But I wanted. And when I say therapy, I mean, actual therapy, sitting down having a discussion with someone. But I also mean like, nature, like going for walks, like throwing the ball for my dog down the beach and stuff like that. There are certain things around the world that are free, some you have to pay for, but ultimately go searching for the things that make you feel good about yourself. Like that's the key to life, get rid of the bad stuff, get rid of the hate, and just focus on the good. And your whole life turns around from that. I hate this idea. And I was one of them. I fell for it. Right? I didn't acknowledge that clearly what happened to me when I was 12 years old, losing my mom and all the other pieces that happened, the traumatic experiences that happened to me since then, I didn't acknowledge them, when perhaps - maybe I need to deal with this because if I don't, how the hell am I going to be a decent father to my son and my daughter? Like that awareness, I didn't have then. But again, we've got what - 40 experts as part of this series, and the Surgeon General, Dr. Nadine Burke Harris, she's absolutely fantastic. And she was talking about this concept of mental health being sort of public health, right. Because the services are so limited. There's not enough money. The problem is actually immense. How can we all help each other rather than this: 'Oh, once I'm broken, or once I'm suffering, I have to go here.' And there's not enough rooms or spaces for the amount of people or the for the need, when actually you can get ahead of it, and work on the prevention by sharing and being more vulnerable with each other, and being able to process this grief or this loss, or this trauma that every single one of us have experienced and will experience. So anyone who's sitting there going: 'I don't have a problem, and I never will have a problem.' Well, you probably are already contributing to the problem, because you probably got your blinkers on, you probably created your own echo chambers. So I think it's a that, that's certainly what I've experienced for my own process, my own journey, my family and my friends and everybody else is. Anyone who thinks, oh, we're fine. You're the one who's like, willing to talk about it. It's like, yeah, I'm willing to talk about it and talking about it. And the financial element as well. We're pouring money into on the downsteam, when it's like, Can we just focus upstream? Yeah, we focus on one thing, like to me listen to Oprah was what was one of the reasons that this whole thing started was two of the biggest issues that we're facing in today's world, I think, is the climate crisis, and mental health. And they're both intrinsically linked. Basically if we neglect our collective wellbeing, then we're screwed. Basically, because we can't look after ourselves. We can't look after each other. We can't look after each other, we can't look after this home that we all inhabit. So it's all part of the same thing.
DS: Prince Harry, I don't say this lightly. I love you. Thanks for coming. This was great.
M: Thank you so much.
PH: Thank you very much.
Wish I'd done my weeding.
6 notes · View notes
cxsmicmyeon · 29 days ago
hi hi! it's your bestie 😉 hehe sorry i had too much screen time and needed a break 😂
oh my goodness his fried rice waffles 👁👄👁 he also called himself a culinary genius and i'm wondering how kyungsoo deals with jongin's kitchen adventures lmao or even minseok since he's such a clean freak?? baek just updated and said he's doing well in a strict routine! but for everyone to stop sending mail/email/gifts to his training centre bc it's overwhelming them 😂 so to just tell him everything using a specific hashtag and he can feel the love when he's finished. can you imagine how much they're getting??? lol
i've always used the excuse it's still that date in america soooo technically it's still my birthday 😀
OMG YES PLEASE WRITE THAT!!! that's so cute and domestic stop lol 💞 i feel like a bunny would be a lot less maintenance especially if you're out often! unless you adopt? a puppy is SO much work. ..maybe that's why mine is such a baby. he's almost 6 now but still acts like a puppy we just brought home yesterday 😂 omg that time chanyeol had toben and sehun had vivi? the chaos that was toben LMAO
i sometimes want to start a fic rec blog..but i'm so unorganised i'm not sure how to go about it. i do so much reading and there're so many good fics out there i want to share 😭
we pretty much are but there's some random clusters here and there. plus the newly returned overseas but they're quarantined in a medi hotel. yeah i've seen a lot of news from the us about people refusing to wear masks and stay home. but then turn around and complain that things aren't getting better 😶 yes please keep safe!! ❤
i think the cheaper one is a flip book album! which ofc will be mega cute, i can already imagine! i want sm to bloody release the details though. why are they so lazy when it comes to their best sellers?! is it tomorrow for you yet? 😂 DID YOU GET IT!? omfg yes lol i CAN'T WAIT for your asmr HAHA 👉👈 tbh your voice sounded so sweet i felt comfortable messaging you 😂 when you were fangirling about myeon hahaha that's exactly what i'm like when someone asks about yeol hehe
LOL THE WAY I THOUGHT HIS FRIED RICE WAFFLES WERE HASHBROWNS- ngl though it looks good though i'd eat it...😳 kyungsoo prolly had a mental breakdown when he saw jongin making the waffle LOL
OMG WAIT I CRIED WHEN I SAW BAEK'S VIDEO- HE SAID HE'S GONNA BE UPLOADING EVERY 17TH???? AND CHAN UPLOADING EVERY 27TH??? WE DO NOT DESERVE THOSE TWO AT ALL😭😭😭omg i can't imagine all the mail he's getting- i think something similar happened to junmyeon and he had to go on and say stop sending me mail cuz it's too much ahsgdj,, my popular boys🥰
I WILL WRITE IT!! i just need to get through school and finish my final paper lol!! and also finish my requests lol!! thank god school's over next tuesday for me lol! i need a BREAK omg... agh yeah i have heard puppies are a lot of work but they're SO CUTE THOUGH😭😭omg toben and vivi are both of my personalities🤣🤣they're literally the cutest things omg
lol i actually was considering a fic rec blog too! cuz my post is rly long and i feel bad for all the tags the authors get LOL but i'm lazy and i don't want to annoy the authors EVEN MORE LLMAOSODNDNJFHF i love life😃👍🏻
ugh yes i have a lot of family who is anti mask and won't get vaccinated and don't take covid seriously and it just pisses me off🙄🙄but thankfully most of them don't live in my area so i don't have to worry about seeing them a lot lol! and i have both of my shots for the vaccine and i'll be fully vaccinated after next week!
i'm not picky at all when it comes to albums lmao! like even if i don't get a jun photocard i don't complain that much bc i still got a photocard of a member!! like i have a jun, yeol and minseok photocard (and baekhyun poster and jongdae slide thing from obsession) and honestly i'm still happy to get the merch cuz it's exo and i love exo!! :D
AND AGH IM SO SAD IT SAID IT'S COMING LATE😭😭😭like it was gonna originally come on saturday but then usps said thursday (today) and i checked the tracking number and it said "coming late" )): agh but we'll see 🤞🏻 i just hope it comes soon!!
AGH i need to prepare for the filming😭😭i need to find a tri pod and clear my desk and make sure my family doesn't interrupt me AJDHJDH and AAA i hate my voice so much i was so shy when recording!!! but i turned my phone around and spoke from the heart and i felt more comfy!! i may not speak in the asmr tho i'll just let my glue on manicure do the talking LOL!! i love hearing nails tap on stuff so it'll be fun to do!!
0 notes
winter-fox-queen · a month ago
Text
We all deserve a Fairy Tale Chpt 3
Sorry I missed last Friday!  
Warnings:  Fluff mostly.  Some more exposition.  Making out.  Angst.  More Angst on the horizon because you have to have some bitter to go with the sweet.  I would not call this gender-neutral.  
Summary:  Frankie invites you over to his house for dinner, basically.
Tumblr media
Most of a week passes.  
I think about him.  A lot.  It’s what gets my through my of so glamorous and exciting workdays.  I’m a secretary at an office supply company.  I am not overly thrilled with it, but when I’m done with my work, I’m free to do whatever I want, which is typing on my next book.
My boss doesn’t mind.  It makes me look busy, and I’m good at stopping what I’m doing to answer whatever emails come in.
What I do mind is how steadily the main male lead in my book is starting to have dark eyes and a sharp nose and curly hair…
We’re not going on a date tonight.  He would have asked by now, right?  It’s Friday.  
Disappointment churns in my gut. The book suddenly seemed utterly pointless, so I save my work, decide to go fool around on Tumblr instead. Look at pretty aesthetic boards or something.
Thankfully, a customer complaint came in, and I was busy trying to figure out how they received an order of 50 black whiteboard markers instead of boxes of tabbed filing folders…
My phone chimes.  I realize it’s an unknown number, texting me.  
It’s probably spam.  Someone wanting to get you to buy an extended warranty or something.
But it’s a local number?  I reach for the phone, draw my hand back.  Reach again.
Hi.  It’s Frankie.
“Hi Frankie.”  I whisper and I try to figure out what to type.
Hey you.  I type back. “Well, that’s scintillating.  Call Amazon, we have another bestseller on our…”
Can I make you dinner tonight?  
I stare at the phone. Dinner?  At his place?  I start over thinking the whole thing.  
I get it if you can’t.  I should have called sooner.  I lost track of time.  
Was he backtracking?  I panic type a reply.  I mean, people have dinner at people’s houses all the time, right?  It didn’t mean anything.  Not that I wasn’t going to make sure I was perfectly groomed and clean and that my underwear and bra matched.  Not that I was going to let him do anything.  I mean.  I’d had some bad luck in the past…
That sounds nice!
OK.  That was neutral.  That was OK.
Great!  Are you allergic to anything?  Anything you won’t eat?
We chat back and forth a little, and I finally sign off, grinning like an idiot.
His house was a surprise. Partly because I didn’t think he’d be the type to live in town.  His house was on the end of the block, with a nice sized yard with a fence around it.  His truck was parked in the driveway, in front of the garage.  The fence was covered with morning glory vines. Up a stone path sat an adorable craftsman-style home with a wide front porch partly hidden by Japanese maples. I’d always been in love with this style, and this was an old house, lovingly kept up.  
I parked along the side walk and opened the gate and went up the path.  
He opened the door before I got there.  It was the first time I’d seen him without a hat, and he ran his hand through his hair as if he was missing that piece of his armor.  He was wearing a white Henley under a green and grey flannel shirt, the sleeves of both shirts shoved up, showing off his arms.  “You look nice,” I said, because he did.  
He smiled back.  “So do you.”  
I handed him the box I was carrying.  “I brought dessert…I thought about wine,  because that is what everyone brings, but I don’t really like it.”
“Dessert is perfect…please come in.”
I tried not to gape.  The room I stepped into was the main room, and had all the things I loved about Craftsman style homes.  A stone fireplace along one wall with small stained glass windows on either side of the chimney.  A bump out with a window seat, matching stained glass at the top of each windows.  The walls were covered with built in bookshelves, which I navigated right to. He had most of the Jack Reacher books… “I like the fact he doesn’t have any real address, he just goes from place to place.”  Frankie said.  Tony Hillerman “I love the characters.  And the depiction of Navajo culture is awesome.”  And, as I suspected, C.J. Box.  Mostly paperbacks, double stacked to save space.
“Did you ever red the Longmire book I suggested?”
“Nope.  Too busy reading my favorite author.  See?” He pointed to the mantle, where my books were sitting next to some photos.  “Place of pride.”
I pulled myself away to go look at the mantle.  “Are these the friends you mentioned?”  There two framed photos, one of five men in fatigues, lined up in front of a helicopter.  
“Yep.  Santiago, Ben, Will, Tom…and that chopper was my baby.  I loved flying her.”  He was standing behind me and a little to the side, reaching around me to tap at the photo.
There was another, a little more recent, the men looked a little less young and cocky.  But more themselves.  His hand came to rest on the edge of the mantle, and I liked it, feeling a little of his warmth as he looked at the photos.  
“You look so different clean shaven,” I say.  
“Do you like it?”
I hum.  “I like you the way you are.”  I turn to see how that comment landed, but he’s staring at the pictures, the clouds gathered in his eyes again.
“Why don’t you fly any more?”
He taps, nervously, on the mantle edge.  “Crashed.  Last time. It was bad.”  He leans towards my ear, as if about to whisper a secret.  “Let’s eat.”  His breath against my neck made me shiver.  You sleep with him, you will ruin everything. I reminded myself.
“I’m starved,” I say, following him, knowing a distraction technique when I see one.  I feel bad…he’s at the stove, opening the oven, the line of his shoulders sharp with tension.  “Can I do anything?”  And I don’t entirely mean helping with dinner.  
“No, no…go on out.  I set the table outside.”
I waver, as he puts the pan on top of the stove.  He’s made pot roast, and the whole place smells like heaven.  He seems me pause, and with a smile that does not reach his eyes, he says, “Shoo.  It’s fine.”
Liar.  I want to say.  I am so sorry I hurt you, I wish I knew what I did. Is also on the list.  Instead, I go outside.  It would be a while until dark, but the light was soft and shadowy.
He’s created a fairy land.  A worn wood table with an umbrella is set with mismatched dishes, on top of an old table cloth,  candles flicker warmly.  
“I want to build a gazebo out here sometime,” he says, moving past you to put the platter on the table.
“Maybe hang lights off it?”  He has a porch swing on an a frame off to the side, and he’s hung a string of fairy lights along the awning.  It was hastily done, the lights were not even and neat, but it was all the more endearing.  Frankie’s green thumb was evident, the flower beds lush.
“Maybe.  Do you like lights?”
“I do.”  I admire his rose bushes.  “How dare you be so talented, thought?   I mean, you can cook, you can make roses grow…”
“It’s not that hard,” he says, uncomfortable with anything nice being said about him.  “My grandmother planted them, I just keep them alive.”
“Roses hate me.  I won’t let you see the horror that is the back yard of my place…I rent the mother in law apartment above a garage, and they used to encourage me to try and garden.  Stress on the word used.”
He held a chair out for me and I sat down.  “I could help, maybe?”  He says as he settles into his own seat.
“It’s a lost cause even for you.  I’ll just come here and stare longingly at your garden.”
And so it went.  He was funny, sweet…after we cleaned up from dinner he took my hand and gently pulled me to the swing.  We sat side by side, the metal chain creaking as Frankie rocked us back and forth.  I had kicked off my shoes and gathered my legs up on the cushion under me, and as we spoke about gentle things in the growing darkness.  He put his arm across the back of the swing, and I leaned into him, and it felt natural that his arm would come down, rest around my shoulders, gather me to his warmth. He smelled so good, like soap and pine.
“I never thought I’d end up living here again,” he was saying softly.  The fairy lights and the gentle sparks from the lightning bugs gave the garden a magical air, and I felt safe and comfortable.  “I lived here five?  Six years? Looking after my grandma and finishing up school.  When she died I couldn’t get out of here fast enough.”
“That’s why you joined the army?”
I felt him nod.  His hand, large and warm, was gently moving up and down my arm.  
“I didn’t have any family, and it seemed like a good way of just…getting out.”
“Are you sorry your joined?”
He leaned his cheek on the crown of my head.  “Let’s talk about something else.”
I moved so I could look up at him.  He seemed sad, a little distant, as if the conversation had touched a painful spot and he was trying to avoid it.  “Kissing me is always a good way to change the subject.”
He shook himself and his expression lightened.  “Is it?  Is it something you use in your books?”
“I could.  Maybe we should see if it works…in real life.”
His hand came up, this thumb gently stroking my jaw before he cupped my cheek.  He leaned down and he kissed me, his lips — soft, warm, gentle, just like their owner — exploring, deepening the kiss when I made a soft sigh of pleasure.  I parted my lips to let his tongue slip in.  
I don’t know if I eventually pulled him down or if he eased me down, but I found myself sinking back, his mouth burning kisses along the line of my throat, my legs moving to let him settle between them.  His one arm was partly under me, his hand cradling my head so he could come back to kiss my lips.  I offered my throat, again, and he kissed my neck again, this time biting gently. Every nip, every kiss opened up new wells of sheer longing, and I was having a hard time not grinding against him, against the thick hardness I could feel pressed against me. His other hand was on my ribs, and I  worked my hands under his shirt, loving the warmth of his skin, working it up a little. I returned his kissed, nipping at his throat, his jaw, and he groaned softly and reclaimed my mouth.
He pulled away, looking down at me.  His eyes were dark and serious.  “Do you want me, sweetheart?”
I knew I was letting myself get carried away.  Part of me hesitated.  On one hand, I wanted him.  Badly. I was practically shaking with it.
But on the other hand, I was scared.  
He leaned down and kissed my temple.  Not pushing. Waiting.
“Morales!”  A voice on the other side of the fence called out.  “I know you’re in the yard…I can see the lights.”  Pause.  “Morales, your damned dog was in my yard again.”
He pushed himself up a little, closing his eyes as if summing a great deal of patience.  “I don’t have a dog, Mr. Cooper.  I swear. Whatever happened in your yard, it’s not my fault.”
The neighbor kept muttering about dogs and this didn’t happen until Rosa’s kid moved back and on and on.
“Well,”  I said. “That is certainly a mood killer.”
He laughed, sat up, running his fingers through his hair.  “Yeah.  Guess it is.”
I sat up, straightening my clothes.  “How did he know you were out here?”
“I turn off most of the lights when I’m inside.”
I nodded.  Made a decision.  “I better go home.  It’s late.”
He nodded, reached forward and cupped my cheek again.  “I’ll walk you out.”  He gave me the sweetest smile.  “You really are pretty.”
I held his hand in place so I could kiss the palm.  “Thanks,”  I said. “So are you.”
“Hah!”  He stood up, offered me a hand.  “You need your eyes checked.”
I took his arm as he led me around the house and out to the walk.  “Don’t you call me a liar, Francisco Morales.”
“Never.”  He looked up at the moon, bright despite the town lights.  “Beautiful night with a beautiful lady.  Couldn’t be better.  I…you know, I’d love to take you to the movies, maybe?  Sometime soon?”
He opened the gate for me and I skirted around it.  He followed me out, walking towards his mailbox.  
“I’d love to.  I don’t have much in the way of plans this week.”
He grinned at me.  “How soon is too soon?”  He pulled out his mail.  I could see a couple of envelopes, and what looked like a post card.  He frowned at it, turned it towards the street light. His hand shook a little, and he slipped it back between the envelopes as if to hide it, everything — his stance, his face — everything changed.  
I took a step towards him. “Is everything ok, honey?”
He took a step back.  “It’s fine. Fine.”  He took a deep breath.  
This complete one-eighty from the happy, flirty man I’d spent the evening with threw me.  
“I better go.”  
He nodded.  “Goodnight.  Thanks again.” He walked past me and my hand grabbed his arm before I could even think about it.  He looked at me, watchful.
“Frankie?”  I couldn’t think of what I wanted to ask.  
His face softened a moment. “It really was a wonderful night,” his voice full of sadness and longing.  He pulled away and closed the gate behind him with a very final sound.
“Drive safe,” he said, leaving me to watch him go…again. This time with a lot less hope.
9 notes · View notes
deniigi · a month ago
hi dr matt! I had a quick academic question if that's ok? any tips for surviving online school bc I barely got thru the term and now I'm taking summer classes and I just really hate online learning and school in general rn which sucks because I've always been the Girl Who Likes School and I'm rlly struggling now
HELLO.
More academic questions, yes come to me.
So, some things to know if you were the kid who was great at school until Something Happened. Something being the pandemic or like, transition to college:
Being good or bad at school is does not determine your self worth.
Being good or bad at school does not mean that you are more or less intelligent than other people around you.
In fact, I would argue that it is important, sometimes, to be bad at school. Because this is a moment where you learn how you learn and you also learn how to advocate for yourself.
I personally, am not doing online school right now, but I talk to students who are every day and I know people who are teaching school online right now, so take what I am going to say with a grain of salt. 
1) Look for resources to help you set up your space and routine so that you can delineate space and time into ‘school’ and ‘not school’ spaces and times.
Folks with disabilities are champions at this, since many of them already have to work remotely or spend a great amount of time at home. Seek those resources and listen to how the pros do it. 
2) You need to be more communicative, not less, with your instructors during these types of situations.
More than less likely, you are attending class with your video off. More than less likely, people are not participating in class. More than less likely, there are fewer opportunities than ever to connect with other people at your school. That makes school shit.
Try turning your camera on and nodding along with your teacher. Try asking questions outloud instead of putting them in the chat. Consider making a study group with your classmates and actually meeting up and talking with cameras on or email your teacher asking for more group activities.
Go to office hours to ask about future careers and potential opportunities for you to get involved with campus faculty or organizations.
Meet with a school advisor or counselor and talk about Burn-Out. What makes you excited about school? What make you passionate?
3) Start something new that you do after school happens.
Novelty is super important for keeping peoples’ brains functioning normally. That means shit like trying a new food, starting a new hobby, listening to a new podcast, exploring new music, etc. etc. is actually really good for your mental health. So if you are in a place at school where everything feels endless and pointless, give yourself a way to start something that makes you feel a little out of your depth or surprised.
4) Leave your house. Like, for real. Go on a picnic in your backyard. Go for a walk to your local park. Reward yourself with this after a day of school so that it feels like you aren’t staying in one place all the time.
5) Know that this isn’t forever. Know that having difficulties with online school is normal and expected. This is one of the first times in HISTORY that the majority of people are being educated through a screen. Can you believe that? That’s fucking WILD to me!! We are part of this history and it is SHIT and it is TOUGH, but you are part of it, too. You are not alone and this too, shall pass.
You will again find parts of education that you love. You will be good at some things and you will find others challenging.
Understand that this does not reflect on your intrinsic self-worth and understand that it is a temporary situation.
And sometimes, man, what you really fuckin’ need is a break. So take a long weekend, take a week if you need to. Give yourself the time to get excited about new things again and you’ll do just fine. And if you are still struggling, ask a teacher for help, ask a counselor for help, ask your friends for help.
20 notes · View notes