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sarahjkl82-blog · 3 years

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Artistic Instinct Chapter 2

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 2,595

Warnings: Language, mention of a death and blood, small injury.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something!

Thank you for all the love you showed me for the first chapter. I think I’ve added everyone who wanted to be on the taglist but please let me know if I missed you!

https://sarahjkl82-blog.tumblr.com/post/645670387553828864/artistic-instinct-chapter-1 -Link to chapter 1 if you haven’t read it!

Art isn’t paint. It is love.

Philip Hicken

Chapter 2

Dear Mondays,

Go to hell.

Love,

Everyone

Headphones clasp your head with the Chemical Brothers pounding the same rhythm as your heartbeat, as you take the steps two at a time. 08:59:43. Just over fifteen seconds to get to your desk, fire up the computer, make a coffee and pretend that you have been at your desk for at least half an hour before your new job starts. Not that it’s a new job really, just a sideways shuffle for Stephens to get you out of his hair and into the hair of someone called Marcus Pike.

Push or pull. Dammit. You have an awkward relationship with doors; you’d started your first day at training with a bloody nose and a black eye having walked headfirst into what you thought should have been a push door. That was how you and Hephzi had met, giggling about how the first mission was to work out doors and their two directions. Before you could make a poor decision, however-

“I got you, honey!” Andy sweeps the door open for you.

“What the fuck would I do without you?” You place your hands on either side of Andy’s face and give him a massive kiss right on his lips.

“Is that how we’re going to greet each other on this team?” a broad, dark curly haired man questions.

“Nush- this is Agent Kiritopa Morrison. Landed less than 12 hours ago from half the world away and fresher faced than all of us put together.” Andy shakes his head as he introduces the grinning New Zealander, who holds out his bear-paw-sized hand in a greeting.

“Hah! You don’t know where this mouth has been!” You laugh nervously as your eyes nervously dart around the room.

“While I would be delighted if we all got along well, I think HR might have a heart attack if we become that close!” a rich baritone reaches across the room, making the occupants turn towards its owner. You allow your eyes to trail up the sharply tailored suit, the immaculately pressed shirt, to the half Windsor knot of his tie and the sharp line of a jaw lightly covered in a patchy scruff. Your face gives away nothing, your training paying off, as your mind catalogues his dark brown, crinkled eyes and the deep set dimple in his right cheek. “Marcus Pike, pleased to meet you.”

You accept his warm, offered hand with an eyebrow raised, “Anushka Pierce.”

Marcus desperately tries to read your face. Yes, you are definitely the woman from the ridiculously thin file that he’d been sent. Your eyebrow is cocked at the exact angle as your photo, your olive skin darker than the photo- in fact, you are even more strikingly beautiful in person and Andy was right. Walls around you that would rival any high security prison. There was a fleeting moment of seeing your warmth and a playful glow in those eyes as you greeted Andy and yet, as soon as you clocked Kiritopa or that there was anyone else in the office, it was as if you took a step back and those walls rolled up like a tinted car window.

A gentle cough brings your attention from each other back to the small office space.

“This person furiously working is Agent Harper Gleason.” Andy gestures towards a young, impeccably dressed woman, who barely raises an eyebrow at you as you pass her desk, which suits you down to the ground. “And you have already met Dian.”

The Canadian smiles broadly at you, “Thank you so much for the Monmouth Coffee recommendation- it’s so good to find a decent cup here! Borough Market truly is beautiful isn’t it? Just felt like I could eat everything there!” She gushes at you at roughly a thousand words a second as your face twitches in surprised acknowledgment of her light-speed comments.

“Sounds like my kind of place,” the Texas-via-California accent intones, his eyes looking dead at you, desperately searching for that warmth that you so freely show Andy and obviously had started to extend to Dian. Your eyes are elsewhere, scanning the room for your desk, not noticing the eyes focussing on you. “You’re over here, Agent Pierce.” Marcus gestures to a clear desk setup.

Your hands skirt over the clear top, enjoying the emptiness under your fingers. No mouldy coffee cups, PostIt notes or dubious stains. A fresh start. That is until Andy hands you a mug of steaming black coffee. You look up giving him a half smile of thanks and see him giving a nod in the direction of a semi opaque glass office to the right of your desk.

“Time for you to shine, chick. Meeting in Agent Pike’s room in two minutes.” Andy quietly said in your direction.

As you grab your coffee, some splashes up over your hand, burning you and marking that once clear table, “FUCK!” the clipped consonants ring out across the quiet office, causing a couple of raised eyebrows. Marcus, who had been holding the door of his office for people to come in for the meeting, rushes the two steps over to your desk, taking your burnt hand gently in his to examine your injury. You fly back away from his touch as if it had scalded you worse than the coffee.

“I am so sorry. I should have asked before touching you,” he apologises profusely, holding his hands up in front of his chest, “We will put a pause on the meeting until you’ve run some cold water over your hand. Your hand comes first, we can catch up on where we’re all at in five minutes.”

“I’m fine. I’ll come through now,” your eyes can’t quite meet his as a wave of bewilderment washes through you. Why the fuck did you react like that? A bit fucking dramatic for a gentle touch!

“No, I insist. Please go run your hand under the faucet, it’s looking pretty raw right now.” Marcus firmly yet kindly says to you, still trying to catch your eye to make sure that you’re okay.

Despite his heartfelt apology, you can see that he’s squirming in those beautifully tailored trousers. Obviously the embarrassment of reaching out and touching you, had started to wane but the thoughts were still running laps across his face. You could try to put his mind at rest, it was his first day after all.

“Ok, give me a minute and I’ll be through.” you acquiesce, still refusing to look up at Marcus as you walk away from your desk. On reaching the door, you try to search through your mind as to which way Andy had opened it earlier. Holding your breath, you settle on attempting to pull it open. Phew, the door opens the way you hope so no bruised foreheads to add to the burnt hand. I mean, how much more can I embarrass myself on my first day?

The bathroom, thankfully, had a sign denoting which way to open the door. Ever glad that you didn’t wear makeup thanks to your dark features, you splash cold water on your face and leave the tap running over the back of your hand. Taking some deep inhalations, you try to settle those butterflies in your tummy. Apart from seemingly endless raps on the knuckles that had landed you back in the lecture theatre, Stephens had been your only boss since leaving training and whilst you were nowhere near as close as you are with Andy, there is a dull ache in your chest as you think of him. That wonderful level of professional distance he’d always kept and yet, a paternal streak that came out when you needed it. Like when Kelly had been taken from you.

How he’d held you tight in his arms as you’d screamed into his broad chest, both of you streaked in his blood. Still unable to hug him back despite Kelly being Stephens’ nephew, you stood there rigidly with your fists tightly balled at your sides, unable to grieve that man who was never yours. How he’d wanted you to take time off and yet, you were back at your desk within four hours- red rimmed, puffy eyes being the only give away that you had lost the man that you were never officially in a relationship with only hours earlier. If you searched your thoughts hard enough, you could still feel that squeeze of Stephens’ hand upon your shoulder, as you’d sat, staring blankly at your screen, trying to let the blue lights erase your thoughts.

A soft knock at the bathroom door brings you back to the here and now. Andy doesn’t wait for an invitation to enter, his long arms sweeping across your body like a seatbelt across your torso. Stooping slightly to rest his chin on your shoulder. You rest your head against his cheek. “I’m not going to tell you that I’m worried about you and I know that you’d rather run a mile than talk but know that I’m here,” he whispers gently in your ear. “Right now though, you need to give your face a scrub, tighten those shoelaces and get yourself in there, Nush.”

✪✪✪✪✪

Marcus looks up and smiles gently, his eyes crinkling as your Docs make your presence known on the hard floor, “Hey, your burn almost looks like the state of Texas- if I didn’t know better, I’d think you’d done it to get in my good books!” he kindly jokes.

Did your mouth slightly turn up? A warmth spreads through him at the thought he might have raised a smile on your face. “Are you ready to start us off, Agent Pierce?”

With a barely audible exhale, your face instantly turns to the screen behind you, clicking straight back into field mode as if you hadn’t spent months in a classroom, “With the recent finding that at least 60% of the art currently on display and in the storage of Musée d’ Étienne Terrus, we seem to be hitting a new point in forgeries in the lesser known echelons of artists. Obviously, we are meant to be focussing our efforts on infiltrating the gang of forgers who seem to be trying to flood the market with modern masters but I can’t help but think there’s a link here too. He may be less well known but it almost feels like perhaps this was our group’s starting point.”

“Like their teething ring? This was their introduction before heading for the big boy artists,” Kiritopa stares closely at the images, “Did the ink of the signature really rub off after being touched by a glove?”

“That’s not even the half of it,” you explain, eyebrows raised, “It was found to have two signatures- one from Terrus and one from someone called J. Armengol. Another picture showed a roof upon a chateau that wasn’t renovated until thirty five years after his death and many of the watercolours were painted on paper with a weft so tightly woven that it wasn’t commonly available until after World War Two even though Terrus died in 1922.”

“The first sign we had of this group was when my DC team intercepted the Modigliani that was about to be sold at Sotheby’s in New York. The failings seem to be similar albeit a little less hard to see with the naked eye now,” Marcus adds as he scratches his jaw, then re-crosses his arms across his elegantly suited chest. “We found traces of phthalocyanine blue under an infrared microscope. Wasn’t allowed any coffee that day as we had to ensure really steady hands. My headache was immense!”

Your eyes narrow at Marcus as you search his face for answers. Not with any malice but rather a confusion at his openness. Why would he share such random facts? Wasn’t he worried about mixing his personal feelings with work? His eyes catch yours and with a barely noticeable nod of his head, he urges you to continue with your findings.

“Exactly, but I don’t think that was their initial entry into the scene. You don’t go straight into modern masters, you test the waters with lesser knowns where their catalogue is more questionable and easier to exaggerate. Whilst Terrus was a huge influence to Matisse and is generally seen as one of the predecessors of Fauvism, he is unknown enough that it is easy to “find” more works, stashed in an attic. His works are not out of the price range of smaller art collectors with pieces going for roughly £6000 so, it is- ”

“So you teethe on these lesser known commodities before heading into the hotter pieces with larger price tags.” Harper speaks up. “And it’s the perfect way to fund extremist activities as it’s virtually untraceable once, if you ever reach the forgers. There’s rarely a path further forward but I’ve been working on trying to tie up links between some major known groups and their members as forgery isn’t a simple route for hiding or creating more money.”

Dian, who’s been sitting back in her chair watching all the faces of her colleagues as they batted their ideas back and forth, suddenly sits up and cocks her head, “There’s something in the fact that they’ve chosen artists from the first half of the twentieth century. Fifty years with two World Wars. I wonder if we’re looking at a group operating with ideals based on an extremely warped worldview that was prevalent at the time.”

You and Marcus speak at the same time, in a perfect chorus, “But Modigliani and Chagall were both Jewish!”

“Hah! Great minds!” Marcus grins at you, his perfectly straight teeth on full display. “I think you’re onto something there, Agent Youngerson, but we need to dig a bit more. Perhaps, you can work alongside Agent Gleason to see if we can find those links. Agent Morrison, I’d like you to collate lists of all the known pieces by the artists, who have recently had forgeries intercepted. Please also tap into your agencies from home and see if they have any other information that will benefit us here.”

Your eyes dance up and down the table. And me? What is my role? Where do I fit in? You stare at Andy’s head in the vain hope he’d look up from his note taking and give you an idea of where you fit in the grand scheme of this investigation. Oh why won’t he look up? FOR FUCKS-SAKE, ANDY!

“My French is enough to get by, but I hear you are fluent, Agent Pierce?” You stop staring at Andy and snap your head in the direction of Marcus, who you swear is trying to read the inner depths of your soul through his eyes.

A lump forms in your throat. Goosebumps prickle your skin. Dread runs through your veins.

Please don’t ask me to go back there. Please don’t make me go back there.

“I’m meant to have a meeting with Interpol in Lyon tomorrow regarding questionable pieces by Soutine that were discovered in a warehouse bust thanks to a tip off.” Marcus continues and although he is sitting three chairs away from you, his voice feels like it’s coming from another room. “Would you join me - I feel your knowledge of French and keen eye for recent forgeries would really help? There’s a flight with seats still available for six thirty tonight at Stansted, Obviously, it’s last minute and I understand if you have other commitments but perhaps I can pick you u-”

“I’ll meet you at Check-In,” you interrupt as the wave of nausea rises in your belly.

Taglist: @astroboots @silverwolf319 @lunaserenade @danniburgh @leonieb @mrsparknuts @mouthymandalorian @disgruntledspacedad @the-ginger-hedge-witch @lv7867 @songsformonkeys

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #josé pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader

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vulpes-incendium · 4 years

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From Leon to Matthew

For @aphrarepairweek2020

June 17: Letters

Pair: CanHong (as brothers)

Warning: historical references, hints of current events

Summary: Selections of letters from Leon to Matthew (1867 - 2020)

============================

9th December, 1867

Matthew 哥哥,

Where are you? When you back home?

Why you no back home? I miss you! I miss panncakes!

Arthur say my english better. I need practise. You come home and practise with me!

See you Chrissmas!

I very miss you!

Leon

============================

3rd October, 1914

Dear Matthew,

How are you?

I heard about the war, Arthur would not let me listen to the radio nor read the papers, but I knew. Neeraj, Jett and Noah were all being called away, Michelle, the others and I were left alone at home. Still quite crowded, but not quite the same. No more pancakes in the house, no more pretend-ice hockey games, no more of your English lessons. You are not the loudest in the house, but it is not the same without you.

I know war, I have seen them, I know how it is like. Please take good care of yourself. I know Arthur is strong, Neeraj is always there to help, Jett is determined and Noah is trustworthy, but I know they depend on you a lot. So promise me, be safe. I promise I will stay safe too, I will keep the house tidy and take care of the others, so do not worry!

Miss you and waiting for you to come home.

Love,

Leon

============================

17th June, 1942

Dearest Matthew,

I do not know if this could reach you, we are not allowed to contact anyone outside of Japan. Anyway, how are things going on with you?

I am sorry. I could not save your people, and Arthur's and Neeraj's people. It breaks my heart to hear how they were treated in the camp, at a place where children should learn without worries, on my land. Families, children, friends were separated, in a foreign land, buildings were torn apart. My people are forced to learn yet another new language. They are being taught to hate you, Arthur, Alfred and the others. They were promised a “family reunion”, yet all I see was the opposite.

I apologise for being so useless. My people are trying hard to help them at Stanley, but Kiku's people would not allow it. I will try my best to learn Japanese to appease them, though it feels different than when I first learn English. The words are similar, yet it feels so foreign. I do not know what else I could do other than listen, obey and adapt, as I always do. I will keep on going, but I am tired.

Why do these people, sharing the same eyes, same hair, same skin as me, feel so different to me? Why do these people, who are supposed to be my brothers and sisters, act nothing more than a stranger? Why do these people, whom I should call family, separate me and my family? Does blood really disconnect people from each other? Brother, I am frustrated, confused, lost... I just want to come home, to Arthur, to you, is it too much to ask for?

Sorry for lashing out my feelings onto you, you are the only person I believe who could truly understand. Please do not worry about me, I will go through this with my people. I am not sure if I could see you again, or if the war is going to end, or if I am ever coming back home. I miss you, Arthur and the others. Please take care of yourself and remember that my heart will always be by your side. I miss you.

With all my love,

Leon

============================

1st July, 2020

Dear Matthew,

I could have texted you, but I wanted to keep our tradition of writing letters. So, how have you been?

I hope your people are doing fine, mine are relatively healthy, not quite happy though. I feel alone from time to time, sometimes I'm jealous of you. You and your people always seem so peaceful. Yes, I promised you not to make an invisible joke again, but I do, truly, wish I were like you sometimes, not standing in the centre of attention all the time, being argued over for, tossed around like an object. I just wish I would be like you someday, able to satisfy your people's wants.

Please send my regards to Alfred, I'm seriously concerned about him and his people now. It's not an easy time for him at the moment, the illness, the anger, the chaos must be boiling up for him. I would love to know if I could do anything to help. We live so far away from each other, but I hope you'd know my heart is still with you all.

You can't imagine how hard I tried not to put slangs and acronyms in, I guess this is the reason why you keep on insisting that we continue exchanging letters, I can still speak proper English and I still remember how to write a letter. I could imagine Arthur lecturing me if I messed up any of those and your disappointed face after all those years of tutoring lol. (Oops, I finally did it. Can't help it.)

And of course, Happy Birthday! Miss you. (Wow, that's really cheesy, have we always been like that?) No in all honesty, I miss you so much, so very much.

From your brother with love,

Leon

============================

A/N:

哥哥 = big brother

Neeraj = India

Jett = Australia

Noah = New Zealand

Michelle = Seychelles

“The others” would mean other British territories which were not involved in the war, such as Singapore, Jamaica and Bahamas. They are not named because they are not canon characters.

Stanley Internment Camp was used by the Japanese imperial forces to hold non-Chinese enemy nationals. St. Stephen's College was used for the camp, located next to Stanley Prison, where Japanese authorities used to hold those whom they considered “criminals”. About 2800 men, women and children were held there, majority being British.

I'm sorry I have to bring the bad history up, Hong Kongers don't hate Japan (maybe older generations do, not sure), but history is history and should be told.

I can't believe this is the very first writing I post on the internet! And the first non human AU! I have a couple fanfic I'm writing but I'm not secure enough to post them. Look what a challenge could do to you! I even tried editing a cover!

Sorry for the quality, it was a bit rushed, I learnt about the event like 2 days ago and I thought about not joining. “Letters” immediately caught my attention coz I can't draw or edit, and I have always wanted to write something for my BrOTP CanHong (even though I have prepared something for their birthdays). One of my headcannons is Canada was the one who taught HK English, as England would always be away at those times, hence the English lesson references.

Alright, let see if I could still manage to squeeze out another one in time. (I have 2 more pairs I want to write about for “Thunderstorm” and “Magic” respectively.) Consider this an early present for the two! Oh wait, Happy Birthday to you too, Iceland!

Leon's words to Alfred is also mine to the Americans, stay safe ❤️

#aphrarepairweek2020 #CanHong #Day4 #aph hong kong #aph canada #aph hetalia #hetalia fanfiction #vulpes stuff

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countryshitposts · 4 years

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You’re Shooting Your Bullet The Wrong Way

Interlude

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of rape and assault

Name Guide:

Daehan Minguk- South Korea

Daehan Imsi- Korean Provisional Government

Daehan Jeguk- Korean Empire

Nabi- Colonial Korea, belongs to @redffeather

America was leaning on her chair as she silently observed the goldfish swimming in circles on her desk, her eyes glancing at her charging phone every second, as if she couldn’t wait to entertain herself with the advantages of technology that has been plaguing humanity since the very start of the world. She then stares back at the goldfish who was listlessly swimming, no life and no voice in the world, as the water makes soft currents following the goldfish’s swimming.

Quiet stretches over her office, her eyes going back and forth from the goldfish to her phone, trying to focus on one or the other, not wanting her thoughts to plague her mind like it did last night. Her mind had vomited up thoughts out of nowhere after her escapade with Japan two days ago; she can still feel his soft lips on her own, the way he had wrapped her arms around her in a rather warm and loving embrace, and the way he had defended her when she can defend herself against those assholes.

She touches her bruised eye, which was from a hit by Russia that night.

Russia corners America on the alley walls, before she could even continue. She glares up at his icy blue eyes, flaring with anger as fire and ice coexisted. She could smell his breath lacing with vodka, his eyes kindling with loathing for her. The taller man presses his face against hers, and now his breath is hard to get rid of. She glimpses at the now passed-out Japan, and she realises she needs to apologise to him once he regains consciousness again.

“You’re really a nuisance”, Russia growls, as his fingers dig deep into her wrist, while she tries to squirm from his grasp. Before she could respond, however, his lips crashes into hers, as . America’s eyes widen in surprise, his hard and dried lips making contact with hers, as she has no power to stop him, the taste of his mouth lingering on hers.

Of course she doesn’t think about that bastard; she’s thinking of Japan once again, who tells her she can have a break from her duties, with that kind smile and grey eyes showing how sincere and lively he is, and she can only smile back. He makes her feel something… warm deep inside her, a feeling she has never experienced before unless it was completely crushed by her own soul. A thousand feelings had crept up to her that night, as if his lips had given her another thought, to continue this sharing of warmth as if it was her own.

Goddamn it, she has been thinking of Japan lately, especially after that night where he took on a few punches for her sake.

(She misses those warm arms wrapping around her body like she was something.)

Her conscience wants to go back to Japan’s home though, but she stops herself.

It’s time for her to take a break from her fake job, away from everyone else, away from Japan and his family, because they’re all slowly driving her crazy.

She hears a knock on her door, and she tells them to come in.

Canada peeks his head from the door, his green eyes sweltering with anger; America spots him sporting a black eye as well. She smiles back at him, standing up to welcome his brother with open arms.

“Finally home”, she says, as Canada makes his way to her desk, also sporting a few bruises here and there. She frowns, as if she finally notices the predicament her brother was in. “What the hell happened to you?”

Canada averts his gaze, gazing sourly at the windows where they find Philip plucking at red dahlias and Vietnam shaking her head as she silently watches her coworker with a grief-stricken face. He looks back at his sister again, a smile on his face, as if he had not been scowling and wishing to murder someone right now.

“Prostitutes”, he says simply, before opening the window and poking his head out. “Philip, Vietnam, I need you to gather our officers in the meeting room. I have an announcement to make.”

His sister raises a brow, “What kind of announcement?”

He gazes darkly at Philip, his kindly green eyes turning into murderous poison, his pupils aiming at one of his officers, wanting to shoot the golden ring Philip has on him a few days ago. Canada ignores his sister’s question as he marches out of her office, as if she had never been there in the first place, a ghost to all ghosts.

Canada - for the day - takes the lead of the meeting, which was a hard push of pride for America herself, who was now seated quietly at the front desk, as her brother stands silently, glaring at everyone around him, his green eyes that used to host kindness and friendliness replaced with a burning rage that destroys and sets the forests of green into a blazing colour of red and orange. America stares at him with a worried look, because he has never been in a horrible mood before, except for those times she or her other brothers purposefully threw out all his pornos.

Then America notices his glare lighten as he looks at her, then picks up again when he glances at India.

Vietnam loses her patience first, “What are you waiting for, Canada?”

That seems to snap him out from his trance, as he clears his throat and starts to talk about why he’s been making a face all day. “So a few days ago, I was absent from work due to collecting intel from clients of one of Teikoku’s brothels.”

He once again glares at India, who glances away, as if he had done such a deathly sin to get Canada fuming with rage. He collectively gazes at a few officers, shooting a wary look at Philip, who was biting his lip, his dark blue eyes on Canada, as if he had found out a dangerous secret that was once exclusive to his and only his is now being broadcast to the entire world, before he glances down to look at the pattern of the table.

“I met a few colleagues of Teikoku, some unidentifiable faces of corrupt officials and businessmen, and some…” Canada looks around the entire room once again. “Very, very familiar people.”

From the corner of America’s eye, some of the officers are giving each other furtive glances, knowing what was about to come while the others were busily staring at Canada with confusion, as if it wasn’t possible for any gold-hearted warrior to be bribed with the promises of money and lust so that they can shield this horrifying secret away from the others who have come to search and find those kinds of secrets.

Canada smirks a little, as he steps on the table America specifically told him not to step on, but now is not the time as he, without hesitation, yanks India’s plaque from his uniform, and the man just stares back at his superior, meanwhile Canada was bending down and taking Bangladesh’s identification as a police officer, then Brazil, then Columbia, Ecuador, and Indonesia, all of them looking ashamed of themselves, as Canada glares at them, one by one.

He shakes his head despondently, before he finds his voice once again. “These officers don’t deserve to even be called as such. If they are this easy to manipulate, then we can’t trust them at all to do a good job. So, I’m firing them.” He turns to America for permission, and she looks at every single one of her - former - officers.

She can feel anger and justice growing deep inside her, as she continues staring at those who gave in to Teikoku’s promises and words of glory and fame, all for them to stop controlling their lusts and keep this whole secret from the entire department; they were supposed to be catching and arresting crime, but in the end they become criminals themselves, taking advantage of their higher position in power. She stares at every single one of them, anger amplifying like a raging fire, as she stands, commanding authority to all.

“They can’t even do their jobs properly”, she answers, narrowing her eyes to almost everyone of them, “so I’ll say this: if you can’t keep it in your motherfucking pants and decide to turn to more illegal methods of fucking, you ain’t fit for a position like this. Get out of my sight.”

Canada nods as he scowls at those whom he took away their privileges from, “You heard her. Get out.”

The fired officers take their leave, never looking back at the others who remain in their seats, who were all looking around, as America slowly sits back down, anger vanishing, and now left with an awful migraine, probably her bruise two nights ago.

Canada once again glares back at Philip, who was toying with the red dahlias he had plucked from the outside, ring shining, before stalking out of the room, then followed by his siblings.

“What the hell happened to your eye?”, Canada asks a while later, as he and his siblings were now lounging on the front desk as the others were on their lunch break. America subconsciously puts a hand over her eye, as she munches on the burger her brother gave to her.

“Russia”, America simply replies with a shrug.

“Russia? How did he do that?”, Australia asks from behind them, having finished a phone call from Villers.

America scowls. “Kissed me right in the lips. Then hit me.”

New Zealand looks up from his lunch with a raised brow, but his eyes scream outrage. “Asshole. How did you and Russia encounter?”

America shrugs, her mind trying to go back to that night but instead of Russia in her mind threatening her it was Japan’s soft lips pressing against hers. She immediately goes red at the thought, trying to disregard those churning feelings inside her as she keeps her face serious and not look like an enamoured teenager because that’s now what she is. She has a life now.

“Japan decided to go to a bar in the middle of the night”, she replies, “to ‘make me feel better’, I guess. And then I realised that Russia is one of the bartenders there and Jesus fucking Christ, was he horrible at it. Assholes decided to harass me but Japan beat them unconscious. Then he passes out from drinking too much.”

Canada tilts his head. “That was a wild fucking night. I, meanwhile, was being tied up by girls in the brothel because they think I kidnapped one of them. Shanghai, I think?”

America gives him a look, “I found her, by the way. Didn’t know you’d let a prostitute of someone as perverted as Teikoku leave without guidance.”

Her brother had the right to look sheepish. “I thought she would’ve ran to the police station.”

His sister shakes her head, “Found her in Daehan Imsi’s home. You know, the uncle of the guy we’re risking our lives for. He was very defensive when I called her a prostitute and one of Teikoku’s toys.”

Aussie sighs, “Why would you even say that with no hesitation nor remorse?”

New Zealand snickers lightly, “She’s always been blunt, no need to call her out more.”

Canada stretches his arms to the back of his head. “So America, did you find any more clues about what the hell Teikoku’s been doing?”

She immediately slaps herself internally; she was so busy taking care of Koku that she forgot about her assignment entirely, knowing she shouldn’t have come back empty-handed, but she remembered what Russia had told her before he had the nerve to hit her square in the face.

“Russia said something about Soviet Union trying to date Ost”, America says, before blanching- Soviet was a decade or more older than Ost, even older than Koku had ever been, meaning this age gap was even worse than the latter’s, but that doesn’t make it any better.

Aussie’s face sours, his eyes narrowing as he calculates Soviet and Ost’s age, “But Ost is fifteen and Soviet is- NOPE I’m not thinking about it!”

The others also look just as disgusted as their brother, who had almost dropped his cup of coffee out of sheer shock,

“What a creep”, Canada states, frowning, “exploiting a young teen like that. We need to do something, quick.”

“‘Creep’ isn’t even the word I’m looking for”, New Zealand replies, looking sick in the stomach. “That’s full-on pedophilia.”

“I’m wary of Soviet”, America says, “just as I’m wary of Teikoku and Weimar.”

“Didn’t you say on a phone call Weimar put something on your and Koku’s stew?”, Aussie asks as he takes a sip from his coffee mug. “Because that’s some fucked up shit, man.”

“Very fucked up shit”, Canada supplies.

“Really fucked up shit”, New Zealand adds.

“It’s Weimar’s dad, I’m sure of it”, America says. “Who the fuck puts their dead dad’s remains in a stew and expect people to turn cannibal?”

Canada shrugs, “Apparently Weimar. But we don’t have enough evidence that he murdered his dad. Remember; there’s no more body because he made people eat it.”

Kiwi nods thoughtfully, “A horrifying way to get rid of evidence, but still quite effective.”

“But what does Soviet want with Ost?”, Aussie asks out loud, as they come back to that messy subject. “We already know that she and Koku are going to get married, whether both parties like it or not.”

“To enrage Teikoku?”, America suggestively replies, “the letter Soviet gave to him seems to think it.”

“I don’t know, but it can’t be good.” Just then, Aussie’s phone rings and he picks up and answers it, his eyes lighting up and his lips curving to a bright smile, which means, “Ah, Villers!”

Everyone instinctively groan and sigh- the lovebirds are once again calling each other. America can feel herself subtly get reminded of the fact that she is now reaching her thirties (she technically is in her thirties but don’t correct her) but it seems that no one is interested in her or she hasn’t found the right person yet. Or maybe she didn’t seem to think no one would like her that way- there was this charming man back when she was fifteen who gave her a drink, but she passed out and ended up in her room barren.

And with child.

Aussie hangs up with a “Love you too babe!” (it makes America sick) and turns to stare at his siblings who were all victims of his damned monologue to his fiancee. He gives them all a huge smile, “Villers said she’s going to meet all of us in the park.”

Canada scoffs, “What, she organised a picnic for all of us?”

“She really did”, Canada says a few minutes later, mouth agape, as Aussie helps Villers set up the picnic table while she hums and kisses her fiance on the cheek, earning a chuckle from him.

New Zealand shakes his head fondly, “Never underestimate Villers.”

As the picnic table is settled, Villers and Aussie takes a seat on the far end of the table as the others take a seat with them.

America huffs a laugh as she looks at Villers, green eyes twinkling, “We already had lunch when you called us- you didn’t need to cook food for all of us!”

Villers laughs softly, a simple breeze to the harsh winds that strike fear in everyone’s heart. She was quite a warm lady, always caring more for others than herself. It is what made Australia so in love with her, and at the same time wanting to be like her in every single way. She was such a sweet dame, a lovely person with sharp wit and tongue, but that doesn’t mean she is going to let people step all over her as if she was just a doll.

“How was the kindergarten, Villers?”, America asks as she dines in with the others, and the woman’s eyes brighten like stars.

“They’re all so brilliant and talented and kind!”, she replies with a soft smile on her face, as she looks at Aussie shyly. “It makes me wonder if I would have kids someday.”

Aussie instantly goes red, as the others laugh and clap him on the back.

America laughs, “Glad to hear that. So, have you guys planned when the wedding will be?”

“When you get a boyfriend”, Aussie jokes, and America playfully throws her fork at him, lodging into the table as everyone laughs.

“Asshole!”, she exclaims. “Don’t be so smug that you’re getting married!”

“Literally everyone here is jealous you’re gonna get married first”, Canada says, as he shoots a look towards Kiwi. “What about you and Luxembourg, huh?”

Kiwi blushes with embarrassment, “Shut the fuck up about him!”

Once again, everyone in the table laughs, before they start eating the marvelous wonders of Villers’ cooking.

While America’s brothers are making absolute shits out of themselves in the park, America and Villers were sitting under the tree, the both of them enjoying its shade from the sun. She likes the sun sometimes, but not when it makes her all hot and bothered and gives her a sunburn just from staying under it for too long. Then again, it was a great source of warmth in the cold mornings, and a light that will vanish during stormy days and winter, when the sun was not confident to shine on those who he had saved.

From beside her, Villers sighs, her golden curls shining from the hints of sunlight peeking playfully from under the leaves. She looks on at Aussie with a small smile on her face, as she subconsciously pats her belly, as if something was growing in there other than the digestion of food. Her eyes sparkling from joy morph to one of sadness, her smile faltering as it crumbles.

America frowns, “What’s wrong, Villers?”

Villers looks back at America, her eyes shining with an undefinable sadness that she had never seen in the woman before. “Can you keep a secret?”, she says through hushed lips, and America hesitantly nods.

“Why?”

Villers takes a shaky breath, as her eyes show an intense sadness that even America herself never thought she’d harbring. “Today, I went to the pharmacy to get a pregnancy test after I complained of morning sickness to Aussie.”

Her friend’s eyes light up excitedly, “Are you pregnant?”

Villers holds back a sob, as she turns back to Aussie and the others, laughing and muttering gibberish. “I wish I was.”

America cosies next to Villers, “What’s wrong?”

Her friend was trying not to cry, as she sniffles a little, “I was so excited when the pregnancy test flashed positive. I thought me and the love of my life are going to have a kid.” She buries her head on America’s chest, while America wraps an arm around her comfortingly, her golden hair glowing with sadness, as if it obeys its master’s emotions.

“In fact, I was proven wrong by the doctors”, she says between sniffles. “They said I can’t bear a child. That I’m too infertile. I don’t think Australia would want me anymore after I break the news to him that I can’t have children. H-he wanted us to have a big family, you know.”

America stares at her sadly, as she lifts Villers’ face up so their eyes can come face to face, Villers stormy blue eyes full of sorrow and sadness in contact with America’s determined and comforting eyes.

“Villers, where did you get the idea that Australia would leave you?”, America asks softly.

She looks away, back at Aussie sadly, “No one likes an infertile woman.”

America sighs, shaking her head, “Now where did you find that? We ain’t in the fifteenth century anymore, where every single asshole would want their wives and daughters to crank out more babies. This is the modern world, and Australia will never leave you just because you can’t bear his children.” They stare at each other’s eyes once more. “So don’t say shit like that, alright?”

Villers nods hesitantly. “O-okay. But please keep this a secret.”

“I will, you have my word.”

“Oi Villers, look at what Aussie got himself too this time!”, comes New Zealand’s voice, and Villers immediately wipes her tears as she and America run towards the stream.

As America and Villers finally reach the stream, America almost chokes just from laughing. Australia was battling with a few frogs defending their eggs that were a few feet near Aussie. From the corner of her eye, Villers cracks a smile before she instantly laughs as a toad jumps on her fiance’s face, making him fall down the stream, splashing him even more.

“Filthy vermin!”, he shouts as he tears the amphibian apart from his face, as he turns to glare at his laughing siblings and fiancee. “I could’ve used your help, ya know.”

“It’d be better laughing at ya”, Kiwi replies between laughs.

“How did you even manage to get into a fight with frogs?”, America chortles.

“Well, whatever the reason, I think he needs help.” Without waiting for another beat, she approaches the fight scene as loads of frogs are now climbing on Aussie’s body, as he kicks and swears at them to get off. As Villers approaches, his mood suddenly brightens, as his fiancee brushes the amphibians off him gently, before kissing him in his damp stream-filled lips, and he reciprocates, his hands on her waist.

Then Aussie presses his body onto her even more, deepening the kiss and making Villers gasp.

“Get a room!”, Canada bellows from above them, as Aussie immediately breaks the kiss, with the woman in his arms looking dazed and lovestruck all over again.

He gives his older brother the bird as the others laugh, going back to the picnic.

(Somewhere, in America’s heart, she is overcome by the fact that she also dreams of looking at someone with lovestruck eyes.)

Shanghai dreams of a hundred hands tearing her clothes apart, bit by bit, faces mangled and distorted beyond recognition, just faces looking absolutely delighted to finally get their filthy hands on her like it was the end of the world. Their voices were like smoke in her nose; forever bothersome and polluting her lungs and mind, dirtying her soul and damaging her heart into tiny little pieces.

Then one of the hands finally tears the last layer of her clothes, and with a blood-curdling scream, they were all upon her like rats finding food.

“Shanghai!”, a voice from a distance echoes throughout her mind, but all she sees are hands everywhere, controlling her moves and body forever and ever.

She feels someone’s hand land on her shoulders, and she kicks the person away from her, her shaking body trying to guide her away from the trespasser, but all she could find are walls, walls, walls. They surround her, torment her with their solid boundary, knowing there is no escape between them and the man in front of her. She screams and shouts with all her might, loudly, hoping someone will help, but no one does, no one really does.

“Shanghai”, the voice says with a grunt, as she hears footsteps advancing towards her- there is no hope but to crawl into a fetal position and sob into her arms, knowing the inevitable was coming.

But no one kisses her in the cheek and whispers an inappropriate comment in her ear before pinning her down to the bed. But he was still there, waiting, watching.

She hears him sigh, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have startled you. I will be leaving you now, but if you ever change your mind, you can come out and have breakfast with me and Minguk.” She lifts her head from her lap, as she stares at Imsi’s back leaving her.

Shanghai remembers anything, and she immediately stands, “Wait.”

Imsi looks back at her with a questioning look. “Would you like to eat breakfast with us?”

Shanghai nods hesitantly. “O-okay.”

Breakfast was a quiet affair with Imsi and Minguk; Imsi encourages her to eat more as he reassures there will be a lot to feed the family. She cautiously takes a bite of her food, still paranoid it might be drugged, but as her tongue tastes the properties of the meat Imsi had cooked, she immediately eats her entire food from her plate. From the corner of her eye, Minguk was glaring at her suspiciously- it seems that he still has not got over his suspicions of her being a robber.

“Samchon”, Minguk starts as he takes a bite of his breakfast, “when is she going to leave?”

She stops eating to look at Imsi expectantly, who drops his fork and is now glaring at Minguk.

“Minguk, where are your manners these past few days?”, Imsi asks, “because she will not be leaving unless she is now well.”

“I can leave now”, Shanghai pipes up, her eyes never leaving Imsi, at how easily he defends her than his own blood, “I feel fine.”

Nephew and Uncle stare at her- one with victorious eyes, the other with an unreadable look.

“Are you sure?”, Imsi asks with a concerned tone, too genuine to be considered fake. “You had bruises on your body the last time I saw you.”

She was taken aback at how he cares for her, as if she was just a family member to him, as if she is measurable to his nephew who seems to certainly be attached with. Shanghai hesitates, not sure if she should go out in the real world and risk being caught by Teikoku and his guards and being put back in the brothel (although she will be reunited with Nanjing and Ryukyu once again), so perhaps the safe move is no move.

She turns back to Imsi, “I don’t think I’ll be going for now.”

Suddenly, they hear someone drop their fork violently, with Minguk locking himself in his room, closing the door with a bang. Imsi shoots up from his seat, glaring daggers at the locked door.

“Dangsin-ui maeneoneun dangsin-eul tteonassseubnida!”, he bellows at him in Korean, grumbling before sitting back down, toying uselessly with his food, a dejected look plastered on his face. Shanghai knows it is her fault that drove Minguk away from the dinner table, so she brings herself to comfort the man who had blessed her with a home.

“Joesong haeyo”, she apologises in Korean, which turns Imsi’s attention from his rebellious nephew to her, his eyes wide with surprise and fascination.

“You speak Korean?”, he asks with a growing interest, his mouth curving to a smile. “Because you speak quite well.”

Shanghai nods, feeling flattered at the fact someone had complimented her language skills- this skill has faded over time, as the only vocabulary she knows in the brothels is playing the lowly seductress and screaming into the sheets as she tries to dream of a life where she and her sisters in the brothel are living in a paradise that no one else will touch.

“Gamsahabnida”, she replies shyly, “I was a translator and knew a large number of languages back then.”

Imsi looks quite fascinated, as he completely forgets his food to turn his interest to her, but no lust nor desire evident in his face. “A job as a translator sounds really nice! I’ve mastered a few languages because I was quite curious, and also because I have no interest in making friends back then.”

Shanghai is taken aback about how blunt and honest he is about why he had learned a dozen languages in his lifetime, just because he didn’t want to make friends back then. She remembers that she was quite social, when her entire life was still a whole empire, and not the vast disorganised city states that her life came to be now. There was a hint of sadness and loneliness in his eyes, as if he regretted not making friends in his old life.

She doesn’t know how to respond, and she simply nods to the beat, “Ah, interesting.”

Imsi shrugs, as if this was no big deal and there are other ways to get over his loneliness. “What other languages do you know?”

Shanghai thinks for a moment- she certainly had not practised all of the languages she learned, and she feels like she has failed herself in overcoming her pain these past few years and never developed her old interests since her only interest was now to survive.

“I don’t know if I still remember some of them”, she replies hesitantly, “French, Swedish, Portugese, Russian, Italian, German, Danish, and Dutch.”

Imsi’s eyes light up, impressed. “I’ve… never even mastered that many languages. I mean, I know Chinese, French, Spanish, Russian and German, but that’s it for me.” He smiles at Shanghai shyly, as if he is starting to make a friend after all these years hiding in books, getting lost in each page like he was inside a story rather than the real life where he is living and breathing and suffering.

Shanghai shyly smiles, once again feeling flattered at the compliment. She can feel an unnecessary but determined friendship growing at the both of them, their feet being planted at the soil as roots start to grow overnight, and in the morning a flower blooms in the gardens.

(After breakfast, she remembers that she is still wearing Imsi’s shirt, so she tries to give it back to its rightful owner while he is washing dishes- for some reason he feels uncomfortable at a woman taking a shirt off in front of him and tells her she can keep it.)

Minguk is out for school and Imsi is in his office, well, working, leaving Shanghai alone, lounging around the home with a bored expression on her face. She looks at all of the books in the bookcase- she had read almost everyone of them, but it doesn’t hurt to reread the same fictional words once again, so she gets up and examines the books that she feels she had not fully stemmed out, not fully fleshed out and fully studied.

She chooses Stranger in a Strange Land- she remembered thinking it was rather bizarre, and never gave it another chance, but she decides she’ll take a closer look at it today, knowing she will regret opening the book’s covers. As she takes a seat on the sofa, she inhales the scent lingering in her shirt; it belongs to Imsi, and it still belongs to him. Whenever she smells it, she can feel a sense of calm in her, as if Imsi is there comforting her wherever she is, she will be reminded that Imsi is there to shelter and secure her.

She makes herself relax a little, once again smelling Imsi’s shirt - damn his cologne is enchanting yet comforting too - as she starts to read the book.

A few hours passed, and she had now finished the damned thing, and now she wishes to take a break from reading. Shanghai hears someone in the kitchen, and she turns to look at Imsi, busily making himself a drink.

“Hello”, she says, which shocks him a little, almost making him drop his drink.

He awkwardly smiles at Shanghai, shifting uncomfortably, “Is there something wrong?”

She shakes her head, “Nothing. How is your work?”

He averts his gaze, scratching his head, before looking at her again, “Well, I’ve been struggling at something, and I am pretty sure you have the knowledge to help me.”

Shanghai tilts her head, “Me?”

He nods, “You’re smarter than I’ll ever be. I can see it in your eyes.”

She cannot help but scoff at the way he says it, an old spark rekindling inside of her. “A boy assumes he can see my wit inside my eyes.”

Imsi gives her a small smile. “Well, you’re already doing it right now.”

Her eyes widen, as she realises what she had just said to the man in front of her. She stiffens, thinking that he is offended at what she had said, but he simply chuckles.

“I mean it, you know.”

Shanghai looks into his eyes, so genuine it hurts her. “I know.”

A few minutes later, Shanghai’s body is - uncomfortably - pressed up against Imsi’s, highlighting a few curves on her purposefully. Imsi looks neither interested nor aroused, but more uneasy and awkward, like he doesn’t want someone’s body making contact with his like this. She feels puzzled at the fact he is not giving in to her advances- many men who had been vulnerable to her wiles will have already taken their shirt and pants off just at the sight of her. He doesn’t seem to be caving in yet.

“Wow- I never thought about it that way.” He taps on the keys on his keyboard, as Shanghai points at something on the screen, purposefully pressing her body even more into his.

“Like that. The police sometimes can’t be trusted- they can be as corrupt as any government official. The problem of corruption is like a rot in the core.”

“It is something depressing, yet real at the same time”, Imsi agrees, as he leans further away from Shanghai. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

She blinks a little before realising he’s serious, then sits on his lap, with him grunting in both shock and awkwardness. “No, Shanghai, get a chair for you to sit in.”

“Oh… okay.” Once she gets herself a chair to sit on, she accompanies Imsi with his work, pointing out a few mistakes and suggesting a few words to enhance the vocabulary of his presentation, with the man thanking her profusely every time she points out something is wrong with his document.

Shanghai unconsciously buries her face in Imsi’s shirt sometimes- whether it be the shirt she is wearing or the shirt Imsi is wearing; it seems to have a calming effect on her, like she was standing on a rose garden as butterflies snack on the pollen in each blooming flower, paying her no mind as she roams around the gardens, wondering if she can always be there, if she can still find this in a place where she is in peril.

Once she is now helping Imsi edit and proofread the document, she can feel her stomach groaning and moaning, knowing that hunger is an old enemy she has to face.

(In the brothels, Teikoku had only given her and the other workers a formidable amount of food, but in the end she only eats little of it and gives most of her food to the younger girls who are more in need of food than she ever will be.)

“We’re finished”, Imsi says as he stretches his arms over his head, a smile on his face. “Wanna celebrate by going to the malls and buying food? I’ll pay, of course.”

She bites her lip; on one hand, she wishes to explore how much has changed while she was stuck in the brothels like a dead woman inside her coffin. But on the other, Teikoku will know she has escaped his clutches and now he’s hunting her down like a dog. She shakes her head, a little rapidly, making Imsi a little concerned.

He nods, understanding. “All right, I’ll just make lunch for all of us.”

That is one thing that can make her nod, as she follows Imsi out of his office.

She submissively waits for him to finish cooking, her arms on her lap, eyes on the table, biting her lip with a clear vengeance, now tasting copper in her mouth. There is a thick but comfortable silence, enveloping the both of them, only to be broken by Imsi’s singing, which was calming her down the same way Imsi’s scent is.

“I like the way you sing.” That statement makes Imsi jump, as he looks back towards Shanghai with a flustered look.

He gives her a lopsided smile, “Thanks. I rarely sing since my voice is crappy- Minguk’s the better singer, but thank you.”

She shyly smiles at him, “You’re welcome- you should sing more.”

He laughs, which was surprisingly pleasant to her ears, as he goes back to his work. “Your voice is quite melodious too.”

Instead of being flustered with the compliment, her smile falters as a dozen memories come and try ruin her mood.

“Your voice would be more beautiful if you scream for mercy.”

“How much will it take for you to sing for me?”

“You’re nothing but a slut and a whore.”

“I…”, she blinks back to the present, her body shaking and quivering, tears clouding her vision.

“Shanghai?”, a tentative voice asks, and she looks up at Imsi, who’s now done with what he was cooking. “Are you all right?”

She slowly stares up at Imsi, whose face was once again full of concern and worry. She nods, a little more shakily.

“Did… I say something that triggered your past?”

The way he says it, like he cares more about her welfare than his own, makes her want to reveal the truth about herself even more.

She simply nods.

She feels someone carefully wrap his hands around her. “I… I’m so sorry.”

Instead of fighting and pushing him away from her, she slowly accepts the embrace, burying her face into his chest, the smell of roses enthralling her.

(Lunch was also just as quiet as breakfast, the only thing that is different is the hot weather around the house.)

“Why is she still here?”, Minguk asks as he arrives home, taking his shoes off and putting his bag on one of the sofas, glaring hard at Shanghai, who is once again fidgeting in her seat. Imsi looks up from his work to glare at his nephew, but it is more tiring.

“Minguk, please”, he sighs, “give her some respect. She is more than just a suspicious individual.”

He groans as he goes to his room to sulk, closing the door behind him.

“I really should have left a while ago, then”, Shanghai says softly, sighing sadly. “I’m sorry, again.”

“It’s okay. Minguk is never really fond of visitors. Don’t worry, once he gets to know you better he’ll warm up on you.”

Shanghai nods, knowing Minguk not trusting her easily is reasonable and she would not trust the family if she wasn’t so desperate in hiding herself from Teikoku. Speaking of which, she should think of a plan on how to get her friends - no, sisters - out of the brothel, wanting nothing but to see Teikoku dead at her feet. She wants to know if she could sneak inside of the brothel once again, and meet the officer who had freed her so that he and she would break her sisters out, away from the life of exploiting their bodies and into a life together, forever and ever.

She looks back at Imsi, who is once again doing his work.

“Do you like working?”, she speaks up.

He looks at her with those dark brown eyes, a hint of grieving and sadness in them, “Yeah. I really like working. It helps me relax, to be honest.”

Shanghai tilts her head, “There are other ways to relax, so why choose working as a way of relaxation?”

He gives her a small look that does not hint indignance or irritation, but the sadness in his eyes grows larger, too much that she worries he might succumb to it. “It’s the only way that can keep my mind distracted, long enough for me to help the inner workings of my brain relax. When I’m doing nothing, I think of horrible thoughts.”

She can feel her interest perk up further, as she leans further from the couch. “What kind of horrible thoughts?”

He didn’t say, which is good, because if he did say anything then that means she must say something about her in return, which was bad.

The thing about Imsi is that he gives himself away more often than keeping to himself; just the other day he was busily talking to himself in a torn bathrobe, almost looking a decade old, pacing back and forth, dark hair that is usually kept wild and not that kept. He was muttering about how it was the day where ‘she’ went missing, where ‘she’ was taken by ‘him’. When Shanghai fully comes out of her room, he stops pacing around and gives her a small but awkward smile.

“Why are you wearing a filthy bathrobe?”, she asks.

“Why are you awake at 5 in the morning?”, he replies, before shrugging. “A force of habit, especially today.”

(The first thing she learns about Imsi is that he answers her question honestly- a little too vague but he had made things clear: he can’t keep secrets of himself.)

The next day, she had gotten up early once again, a nightmare shaking up her very core (she couldn’t remember what it was about but she knows men were touching her again), and Imsi was there, with a glass of water and a concerned expression on his face. He was like a doctor, that man… too much of a doctor.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah- no, not really.” She tries to lie, but she does a complete 180 and tells him how she really truly feels, as if his genuinely concerned voice and worrying expression is enough to break the ice between them and to enter a favourable friendship.

“Bad dream again?”

She nods, choking back a sob, feeling her insides twist and churn with melancholy and grieving. The past will always catch up to her, no matter how many times she runs from the past and into the present like it was a human being, hunting her, catching her and succeeding ultimately, as the past forces her to watch the painful memories of her and her sisters being placed in the brothel, one by one, nothing else really mattering.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She doesn’t answer, because that is what always happens- she ignores his worried face as she closes her eyes, trying to remember what Nanjing and Ryukyu looks like; even the others who didn’t have the luck to be here with her, free but confined in the house.

(The second thing about Imsi is that he doesn’t seem to leave someone helpless or crying or sobbing or shouting or basically having bad feelings. And that also applies to himself. He’ll comfort every single one of them until they are free from sadness.)

Shanghai surprisingly wakes up not from dreams the next day, but from shouting.

She peeks her head out of the door, the sounds of the voices growing louder. It seems Imsi was berating Minguk again. For what, she doesn’t know.

“You shouldn’t have been wearing it while asleep!”, the sound of Imsi’s voice somewhat calming her down, but it is an octave too high for her liking, and she hopes to herself that she wouldn’t face an angry Imsi in the future.

“I forgot to take it off and that’s it, samchon!”, she could just feel Minguk rolling her eyes, because he has that energy (who’s to say he’s doing it now?).

And now she can also feel Imsi shaking his head disappointedly. “Minguk, I’m sorry to say this but you won’t be wearing your binder today.”

A pause, then-

“What the fu- samchon please! I have a tutor coming today and I’m not wearing anything other than my binder!”

Imsi just clicks his tongue, “Minguk, I know you, but sometimes you go overboard with wearing your binder. Please, for your sake and mine. I just want what’s best for you.”

“Why do I feel like what’s best for me isn’t the best?”, Minguk asks through sniffles, which is something out of the ordinary, as it seems that the boy with no feelings actually has and just has the difficulty in explaining them.

“I’m so sorry, Minguk. But you were having trouble breathing in your sleep. I love you, your mother loves you, your brother loves you.”

And now Minguk is full-on crying, rain coming down in a dry terrain, with Imsi whispering comforting and soothing words in his ear.

She meets the tutor soon enough, his presence in the same room as her making her blood run cold. He reminded her of him too much so to consider escaping. She drops her books from shock when he enters the house, looking all damp and cold from the rain outside, as a rundown of memories start torturing her, from the cold and wicked grin, the crimson red eyes swirling with madness and the cold, always cold hands pinning her to the walls or bed, as she stops squirming and just disassociates.

“Teikoku?”, she had said in a small voice, as he turned to look at her, with clear grey eyes, a parting storm.

Not Teikoku.

But enough to make her feel vulnerable and helpless again, and now Imsi knows who she truly is, but defends her in every single way against America, who is spitting out the real truth; that she was a dirty whore who was too far away from home.

“You don’t like me anymore, do you?”, Shanghai asks after dinner time, as Imsi carries out a tray of teacups and a teapot standing tall and proud in the center. He sits down from across her and tilts his head.

“Why would you say that?”

“Because…” she chokes a little, looking away from Imsi. “I’m a whore.”

He shakes his head. “No. No you’re not. No one is a whore first. You are a brilliant woman who had been unfortunately taken by Teikoku like the bastard he is. So no, you’re not a whore, and don’t you ever call yourself that.”

“You seem to have a lot more confidence in me than myself.”

He meets her eyes, sad and defensive, “It’s what I do, to make everyone feel better. I love them for what they are, I hate them for what they are.”

“But why like me rather than hate me?”

“Because it will kill me to hate someone like you.”

(They talk about how green tea is their favourite flavour of tea right after.)

Imsi treats her the same way he treats her after the incident; always giving her a second look, treating her as a functioning object rather than a broken one - thankfully - and Minguk seems to be giving her a chance as well. Imsi seems to love hearing her talk, hearing her ramble more and more about the general public and politics and opinions with no break in her voice; as if he was more invested in hearing her voice than his.

And that was - in her point of view - enlightening her. He does not treat her as a toy meant to be broken, rather than someone who needs help and is helping her in the most discreet of ways, but he still is accompanying her through some hard times.

“I like you”, she says one day, as Imsi types in his laptop, and he looks up, his face tinged with red.

“I like you too”, he replies, softer and silent. “You’re a good friend.”

She nods, “You are too.”

He snorts, “I’m a crap friend. I’m never good for anything.”

“But you helped me overcome my fears- not all, but some.”

He gives her a small smile, “It’s what I do; help people feel happy and confident about themselves.”

“Do you feel confident?”

He doesn’t answer for a long time, before saying,

“No.”

She can feel something in her that turns her into a fiery woman she once was back then. “Je bent een zelfverzekerd persoon.” She never thought she still has the expertise to talk in a language she had never exercised in the brothels, but it seems that her skills have just been pressed aside into her mind as she thinks of ways on how to survive.

He stares up at her, failure in his eyes. “Tu no sabes eso.”

Shanghai snorts, “You say that I am a smart person- so of course I know if you’re confident or not.”

Imsi stares back at the keyboard, despondent. “I’m a failure.”

“Why?”

“I just am.”

Maybe that is what hurt her about Imsi the most.

One day, Imsi and Shanghai are now in the backyard, sipping tea on the porch as she stares at the butterflies that are ravaging the peonies.

“Tell me more about her.”

“Who?”

“Nabi.”

“You know her.”

“I know her only as one of us, but not as a mother.”

Imsi nods, getting her drift. “Nabi was… sweet and kind. She’d get flustered and red at any kinds of comments, she’s always there to comfort either me or my twin brother. The one who’d become her husband one day. She is also quite fragile, but we don’t use that much to our advantage. Jeguk was quite protective of her, like any husband who loves his wife very much. Especially at how young she gave birth too.”

“How old was she when she gave birth to her sons?” Nabi talks about her sons all the time when she and the others are being left alone by men who prey on them; she seems quite attached, like Nanjing is to Taiwan.

“Sixteen.” He says it so simply, like it is no surprise that Nabi had borne two sons at a young age.

Shanghai’s eyes grow wide, “Sixteen?!”

“An accident in my brother’s part, really; when he found out she was pregnant he underwent an anxiety attack since our father wanted him to continue our legacy. In the end I told him who he would choose if our dad is out of the picture, and he chose Nabi. They were inseparable, those two.” There was a hint of sadness, and now Shanghai is thinking of Nabi and her husband holding hands… Nabi cradling her children while singing a lullaby… Nabi, being full and rich of life.

She wants to know what happened to Nabi when she was happy. When they were all happy.

“How did your dad react?”

Imsi shakes his head. “Not good; he and Jeguk argued and disowned my brother.”

“Oh… I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s fine.” He doesn’t look fine, as his eyes are clouding over with memories once again, memories of a life where everything was easier and that everything was fake but real, nonetheless. There was a searching in his eyes, wanting to see the person that completes his heart once again, as brothers, as friends in a lifetime. He wipes a stray tear that escaped away from his face, as he turns to smile at Shanghai, wanting to forget that he is indeed sad at how his life had turned out more than he will ever reveal. “More tea?”

She nods. “More tea, please.”

They enjoy the afternoon together, just the two of them.

dangsin-ui maeneoneun dangsin-eul tteonassseubnida- your manners have left you

Joseong haeyo- i’m sorry

Gamsahabnida- thank you

je bent een zelfverzekerd persoon- you’re a confident person

Tu no sabes eso- you don’t know that

#writing #you're shooting your bullet the wrong way #mine #countryhumans #countryhumans america #countryhumans australia #countryhumans canada #countryhumans new zealand #cityhumans shanghai #countryhumans kpg

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kiwianaroha · 5 years

Link

Jones said Ardern was "preaching on global warming" and that her and the "Pacific Island mob" were "absolute jokes".

"It is an absolute joke you've got to listen to these people," he said. "She is a joke, this woman, an absolute and utter lightweight ... I just wonder whether Scott Morrison is going to be fully briefed to shove a sock down her throat."

Jones stopped short of apologising in a statement on Thursday afternoon, but said he noted concerns about his comment.

"What I meant to say was that Scott Morrison should tell Ms Ardern to 'put a sock in it'," he said.

"Of course I would not wish any harm to Jacinda Ardern. This wilful misinterpretation distracts from my point that she was wrong about climate change."

OK, so Pacific Islanders are a “mob” and we shouldn’t listen to “these people.”

And it’s totally not misogynistic to call on the Australian PM to forcibly gag a female world leader by shoving a sock down her throat.

Jones earlier said Ardern "doesn't know the difference between carbon and carbon dioxide". He said she was "in love" with wind and solar power but that Australia "gets 12.1 per cent of our energy from wind and solar, New Zealand 0.93 of a per cent".

The latest numbers I can find say only 4.9% of electricity in Australia is produced by wind and only 2.4% is solar. On the other hand, 58.4% of Australia’s energy is produced by burning coal, compared to 4% in New Zealand. About 80% of NZ’s electricity is generated from renewable sources, with the majority (57%) being hydroelectricity.

All this racism and misogyny is an attempt to keep people distracted from the reality that countries like Tuvalu and Kiribati are already suffering the effects of rising sea levels. This summit is supposed to be about turning the tide - literally - so that thousands of people are not flooded out of the land their ancestors have occupied for centuries

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georgieh · 6 years

Photo

Georgie Henley for The Times of London - ‘There is pressure on child actors not to admit it’s hard’

She had a ball as a child playing Lucy in the Narnia films, but her schoolmates were unkind — not that it stopped her. Now she’s on the London stage // Keep reading for full interview

Georgie Henley vividly remembers her first day in Narnia. She was eight years old, 12,000 miles from home and surrounded by a film crew waiting for her to act on camera for the first time. Henley was playing Lucy, the plucky youngest child of the Pevensie family in the Walt Disney film version of CS Lewis’s wartime fantasy classic The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe. On the first take she looked at the camera because she didn’t know better. That error aside, she thought she spoke her lines all right. Yet the director, Andrew Adamson, kept asking her to do the scene again. And again. And again.

After about an hour of this she started welling up. Adamson came over and asked why she was upset. “And I just said, ‘I’m getting it wrong, that’s why you keep doing it over and over again, isn’t it?’ And he said, ‘No, we have to position the camera in different places, we do different shots and then we edit them together.’ ” She laughs at the thought. “I mean, it’s basic stuff, but I didn’t know because I was just plucked from nowhere.”

Now 22, Henley has just started her first professional stage role. She is starring in Angry, a collection of monologues by the restlessly provocative playwright Philip Ridley at the Southwark Playhouse in south London. She is upbeat, articulate and aware of the negative narrative that surrounds child actors and quietly determined to buck it.

She is hugely grateful for her experience on the three Chronicles of Narnia films: The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe in 2005, Prince Caspian in 2008 and The Voyage of the Dawn Treader in 2010. They have set her up financially, so that after finishing her degree in English at Cambridge University in 2016, she was able to move to a flat of her own in London. Unlike some other child actors, she says, who get pressured to support their families, her parents — Mike, a former solicitor who now works for HSBC, and Helen, who chaperoned her on all three Narnia films — made sure she kept her earnings.

“And I don’t take any of this for granted,” she says. “To have a franchise at a young age, it’s what a lot of actors spend their whole lives trying to get because you have guaranteed work and a guaranteed pay cheque. Not that I really thought about that at the time.” On the first film she didn’t even realise she was being paid. She did by the second film. “But it was like Monopoly money to me.”

Yet while she thinks there is “scaremongering” about what it’s like to be a child actor, she is quick to admit that it had a big impact on her school life. It happened almost by accident: a casting director, Pippa Hall, who had discovered Jamie Bell for Billy Elliot, held an audition at the drama club to which the seven-year-old Henley went each Tuesday after school in Ilkley, Yorkshire. “I was just lucky,” she says. She laughs awkwardly at the suggestion that, however she got the job, she was unusually good once she started doing it. “Thank you! I can’t cope with people saying nice things to me.”

She was “quite a weird child; on the fringe socially, just always off in my own world”. At first she thought she was auditioning for a panto in Bradford. As the process dragged on for months, and she started to travel down to London to audition alongside children from stage schools, she and her parents got to realise what it might involve. In fact, her parents pulled her out of the process when they were told it would involve four months filming in Canada. Her older sisters Rachael (who played the older version Lucy in the first film) and Laura stepped in, insisting that this was too big an opportunity to pass up. Her parents relented. Whereupon it became seven months in New Zealand instead.

“It changed my life,” Henley says. “It sounds cheesy, but it’s true. And I didn’t know anything. All I knew was what I had learnt in my drama club every Tuesday, and having parents who never told me to be quiet or anything, who liked me for being a little bit odd.”

Filming, give or take that first-day wobble, was wonderful. She apologises again for cheesiness. “It was like this magic thing. Every day it was a new costume, a new setting, new creatures to imagine you were talking to.” She watched the first film again two Christmases ago with her grandmother and enjoyed it. Certain memories from filming linger more than others: the day she played mini golf with Tilda Swinton, who was playing the White Witch, or the surprise party on set for her ninth birthday, when her father and sisters flew out to join her mother. “It was one of the best days of my life. It was just amazing. But it’s so funny when I meet children that age now and I think, ‘You are tiny.’ I remember what I was doing at that age and I can’t believe it.”

She has kept in touch with her co-stars, although they are rarely in the same room together. William Moseley, who played the oldest boy, Peter, acts in Hollywood. Anna Popplewell, who played Susan, still acts and lives round the corner from Henley in north London. Skandar Keynes, who played the younger brother, Edmund, overlapped with Henley at Cambridge. He was in his final year when she was in her first, but by that time he had stopped acting. “Nobody else will ever be able to understand what we did together. It’s this crazy, amazing thing. You just can’t explain it.”

As well as filming in New Zealand — and Eastern Europe and Australia in the later films — there was foreign travel for publicity junkets. She has visited Japan three times, she says, but doesn’t feel she knows the place since she spent most of her time there in hotel rooms. The same goes for New York. She will never forget being 15, waking up in her hotel room in Tokyo and remembering that she had a mock chemistry GCSE to do. She kept up with school work through tutors. The child actors shared classrooms as well as dressing rooms while on location.

Returning to normal life between films was difficult, though. Her family did a great job of keeping her feet on the ground, she says. They are all “very close”. However, she struggled when she got to Bradford Grammar School when she was 11. “Secondary school is where I struggled. I loved the work side of school, I loved learning, but the social side was a minefield. And part of that was worsened by the films that I had done, by me being in and out of school.

“There is such a pressure on child stars not to admit that it’s hard. To smile in interviews and say, ‘Yeah, I love my double life,’ and pretend they are a special agent or something. Because if they admit that it’s hard sometimes they sound like they are difficult.” She wouldn’t change anything about the films, but wishes she hadn’t played her achievement down so much when at school. She didn’t act in anything at school until her final year. “It was that thing of not wanting to put your head above the parapet for fear of it being sliced off, but I should have had the confidence to be proud of what I did. I was bullied mercilessly; people were so awful to me at school. It was amazing getting to uni and people being, like, ‘That’s so cool!’ And I was, like, ‘I know, right, isn’t it?’

“So I wish I could say to the 13-year-old me, ‘Be proud of what you’ve accomplished.’ And that doesn’t mean being arrogant. They are not the same. I think I conflated the two things.”

At university she studied English, but did theatre too. “You can experiment and f*** up or succeed, and if you do well nobody cares a week later and if you f*** up nobody cares a week later.”

She wrote and directed a couple of short films while there. She also kept up her film acting, although without Narnia budgets. In Perfect Sisters she played one of two Canadian teens plotting to kill their mother. The Sisterhood of Night, an American film, was a bit like The Crucible reworked for the age of social media. She also made Access All Areas, which was about a bunch of teenagers who go on the run to an island music festival. “It was amazing to be doing different characters,” she says. “People thought it was me trying to get away from the Lucy Pevensie thing, and maybe it looked like that, but your tastes change.” Before that, she was offered other fantasy or period films, but preferred to wait until she could do something different.

Talking of which, her professional stage debut certainly ticks that box. Ridley, known for troubling plays such as Mercury Fur or Dark Vanilla Jungle, has written six “gender-neutral” monologues, including one long one that is one of Henley’s favourites, about a teenaged sexual experience that may or may not have been entirely consensual. How you view it, Henley suggests, depends on which night you attend. She and her co-star, Tyrone Huntley, alternate who performs which three monologues each night. “You’ve got me, a white, straight woman, and Tyrone is a black, gay man; it’s two entirely different identities, but it’s the same words.”

Henley was already a fan of Ridley and had even written an essay about him at Cambridge, although she was mortified when one of the producers told him this. She will not let him read it, she says with a chuckle. She did some directing at university and would like to do more. Later this year she shoots her next short film. Beyond that some other work seems to be looming, but nothing she is sure about yet. She lives on her own, loves having her own space and isn’t in a relationship. “I’m a single Pringle. I don’t know how people my age have time for anything like that because I sure as hell don’t. I’m trying to keep myself together, let alone worry about someone else.”

The previous day she had picked up her first pay cheque for Angry.Fringe wages can’t be huge, but she’s thrilled to be paid for doing a job she loves. She is happiest when working. “Some child actors grow up and their career gets quite calculated. Their management say, ‘You can do an indie film, then you have got to do a blockbuster, and then you can do two more indies,’ but I’m just looking for stuff that scares me and challenges me; things I haven’t done before. Because I still feel like I don’t know anything and I have still got lots to learn, so having to jump in at the deep end like this . . .” she laughs. There is nowhere to hide when you’re doing monologues. “And that is terrifying, but it’s also a gift.”

#georgie henley #IM SCREAMING THIS PHOTO OMG AND THIS IS MY NEW FAVORITE INTERVIEW EVER

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kittenwitchandthebadvibes · 7 years

Note

i'm sorry if you don't answer these kind of questions, but i can't find a reason to live. my fear of death is the only thing keeping me alive. i keep trying to get better and stay positive but it's just one failure after another. can you please help me

My friend, the simple act of reaching out has made a stranger on the other side of the internet connect to you, hurt for you, worry for you. Until you find a reason of your own, stay alive for me, and all the strangers you could turn into reasons to live, all the possible friends and reasons that are out there that you can’t see yet. It is ok to find reasons in anything or anyone, if you can’t find a reason for yourself right now. My reason used to be the whipped cream they put on chillers at Gloria Jeans. I stayed alive for whipped cream. And now I’m living for other, less dairy-based reasons. Those reasons weren’t apparent to me then, but they are now. I promise the same will happen for you. I have been there. So many of us have. I am so proud of you for trying so hard to stay positive, it isn’t easy and you are being so brave! The thing about positive thinking is that it isn’t always going to be effective when you’re in a crisis, and it sounds like that’s where you are right now. Mental illnesses take us to an illogical place, and you can’t trust the negative thoughts you have when you’re in a place like that. Try and get yourself into a mindset where your brain is a separate entity and you have to decide how to deal with it. You could be its carer: you need to protect this tiny, scared baby. You need to be strong for them. You know it’s going to be ok, and you’re going to cradle it and tell it that it’s alright.If parental care isn’t your style, let yourself be mad at it; it’s trying to ruin your day and hell if you’re going to give it the satisfaction. It’s a chemical imbalance in your brain, if you could hold it in your hand you could CRUSH IT, and you are a flesh and blood human, it can’t beat you?? Give yourself an enemy to usurp, tell it to go suck a lemon! Use harsher, less PG rated words if you need to. But get angry at IT, not YOU. YOU are just trying to be a living breathing human, here. YOU’RE not at fault.Either way, it’s so important to keep telling the illogical thoughts “NO”, and those no’s don’t need to be positive right now, they can be methodical; “it’s not practical to be thinking like this,” “I know you feel this way now, but I have to do my laundry”.Distract yourself as best you can until you’re able to get better help; favourite light-hearted movies, games, something that will take your attention. If there are people around you that can help, let them know you need them. And I will stress that again; LET THEM KNOW. You are not a burden, they NEED to know. Here’s the script, “I am depressed and need help staying logical right now. Can you please help me?”

If you haven’t already, I urge you to see a professional as soon as you can, even your gp can prescribe something that might help. Finally making that call to get professional help/medication opened my eyes. You can live a life where you’re not in constant combat with your brain. In an effort to get this to you as soon as possible, I’ve copy and pasted a list of helplines and message centres from @codedredalert below (so I apologise for stealing it it and that it is not something I’ve compiled myself). You ARE going to get through this. You will find your whipped cream. You BELONG here, and your life will change for the better. Don’t let your brain win. I love you. Depression Hotline: 1-630-482-9696Suicide Hotline: 1-800-784-8433LifeLine: 1-800-273-8255Trevor Project: 1-866-488-7386Sexuality Support: 1-800-246-7743Eating Disorders Hotline: 1-847-831-3438Rape and Sexual Assault: 1-800-656-4673Grief Support: 1-650-321-5272Runaway: 1-800-843-5200, 1-800-843-5678, 1-800-621-4000Exhale: After Abortion Hotline/Pro-Voice: 1-866-4394253Child Abuse: 1-800-422-4453Text (in case you aren’t up to making a phone call) hotline: 741-741 (Text CONNECT to begin, more info at http://www.crisistextline.org/ ) UK Helplines:Samaritans (for any problem): 08457909090 e-mail [email protected] (for anyone under 18 with any problem) : 08001111Mind infoline (mental health information): 0300 123 3393 e-mail: [email protected] legal advice (for people who need mental-health related legal advice): 0300 466 6463 [email protected] eating disorder support: 0845 634 14 14 (only open Mon-Fri 10.30am-8.30pm and Saturday 1pm-4.30pm) e-mail: [email protected] youthline (for under 25’s with eating disorders): 08456347650 (open Mon-Fri 4.30pm - 8.30pm, Saturday 1pm-4.30pm)Cruse Bereavement Care: 08444779400 e-mail: [email protected] (information and advice on drugs): 0800776600Drinkline: 0800 9178282Rape Crisis England & Wales: 0808 802 9999 1(open 2 - 2.30pm 7 - 9.30pm) e-mail [email protected] Crisis Scotland: 08088 01 03 02 every day, 6pm to midnightIndia Self Harm Hotline: 00 08001006614India Suicide Helpline: 022-27546669Kids Help Phone (Canada): 1-800-668-6868, Free and available 24/7suicide hotlines;Argentina: 54-0223-493-0430Australia: 13-11-14Austria: 01-713-3374Barbados: 429-9999Belgium: 106Botswana: 391-1270Brazil: 21-233-9191China: 852-2382-0000 (Hong Kong: 2389-2222)Costa Rica: 606-253-5439Croatia: 01-4833-888Cyprus: 357-77-77-72-67Czech Republic: 222-580-697, 476-701-908Denmark: 70-201-201Egypt: 762-1602Estonia: 6-558-088Finland: 040-5032199France: 01-45-39-4000Germany: 0800-181-0721Greece: 1018Guatemala: 502-234-1239Holland: 0900-0767Honduras: 504-237-3623Hungary: 06-80-820-111Iceland: 44-0-8457-90-90-90Israel: 09-8892333Italy: 06-705-4444Japan: 3-5286-9090Latvia: 6722-2922, 2772-2292Malaysia: 03-756-8144(Singapore: 1-800-221-4444)Mexico: 525-510-2550Netherlands: 0900-0767New Zealand: 4-473-9739New Guinea: 675-326-0011Nicaragua: 505-268-6171Norway: 47-815-33-300Philippines: 02-896-9191Poland: 52-70-000Portugal: 239-72-10-10Puerto Rico: (787) 763-7575 OR 1-(800)-981-0023 (free of charge) Russia: 8-20-222-82-10Singapore: 1800-221 4444Spain: 91-459-00-50South Africa: 0861-322-322South Korea: 2-715-8600Sweden: 031-711-2400Switzerland: 143Taiwan: 0800-788-995Thailand: 02-249-9977Trinidad and Tobago: 868-645-2800Ukraine: 0487-327715

Edit: fixed user mention

#ask #long post #suicide /#self harm /#tw suicide #cw suicide

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acelucky · 5 years

Text

I left work early today, I got half way through the day, I’d already cried in the toilets twice and just... I couldn’t do it. I went into the toilet again and watched the end of the short film ‘Grandpa’ based on Raymond Briggs’ book, I know I’ve spoken about this movie movie and how I often dream about the ending... I then watched the ending of the Snowman. I was uglyyyyy sobbing, so my lovely managers drove me home and made sure I was okay.

I figure one of the best things I can do is write out about how I’m feeling about my grandfather, my mother, their deaths. It’s gonna be long, I’m gonna cry writing it but I think it’ll be cathartic and quicker than writing in a journal.

Also y’all today is Blue Monday so it fuckin’ figures you know?

Here come the content/trigger warnings because there’s a fair few....Death, suicide, emotional manipulation/abusive parenting, blackmail, eating disorders, self-harm, depression and discussing PTSD.

As those of you who saw yesterday, my grandfather passed away in the early hours of Sunday morning. In a way it was a relief, it was a long time coming and he’d been sick for some months, diagnosed with terminal cancer just over a week ago.

I’d thought about whether we should go see him again, but we’d already said our goodbyes in December and made peace the best we could. I realised if I saw him again and he was like his old self, or accidentally called me Cathy (his daughter/my mother’s name) or started talking about my mother and how she died, or got angry at us... well it wasn’t worth ruining the somewhat nice memory we had from last month.

His death for me is closure, and whilst closure is good (I guess the real closure is at the funeral) there’s parts of this closure that I didn’t want. It was a thing I didn’t want to end because I had hope beyond hope, that somewhere in the middle of the madness that is my mother’s family, I might get answers, I might get an explanation, a sincere apology, I might receive some of the things I was promised. With his death there is a death also of that hope. I suppose in a way, whatever was said, nothing is going to bring my mother back, nothing can make up for the years we’ve had of pain and fear and confusion. Nothing will take away the fact that all three of his children and two of his grandchildren were left with many mental scars, depression, anxiety, alcoholism in some instances, self-harming in others, suicide in the case of my mother.

Now, it wouldn’t be fair to lay all the blame at the feet of my grandfather, especially so recently departed. My grandmother has something to answer for also, all the adults do, the world/society does and of course my mother/individuals themselves. I do have happy memories of my grandfather, he had this smile, he gave hugs like a teddy bear, he was one of the few people who did encourage me when I said I wanted to work in the film industry, he gave me some money when I was younger which helped, he used to teach me history, tell me stories of all the countries he’d lived in... He’d teach me about Australia and about what Dubai was like once upon a time, he’d recall takes from his youth, how his father was the manager of the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden. He’d tell me south African folk talks... He was wise in many ways and foolish in so many others.

He was the richest man I’ve ever known and yet with all that money, he couldn’t buy happiness. He could have made a real difference in the world, but he didn’t. He shouted at his children and grandchildren, he emotionally blackmailed us, threatened to disown us from the family if we did things he didn’t like (get tattoos, date people that weren’t of the opposite sex, he didn’t like the idea of us dating people who weren’t white...) He was sexist, racist, homophobic and it wasn’t just an elderly thing, there was hatred there...At times it softened, at times he demonstrated that he was growing, understanding even, becoming a better person, but then something would happen and it would be back to normal.

I developed an eating disorder because of him (as did my mother) and have never been confident with my body or my looks, a lot of this is down to how he used to speak to us. I used to self-harm when I was younger because it was a behaviour i’d learnt from my mother, it was behaviour that I didn’t think was even that strange, I was so used to being shouted at or told what I was doing was wrong. The pain was a short release from everything else.

He struck fear into the hearts of all his family, to the point where every time the phone rang my mother would have a panic attack and shake and rock backwards and forwards on the floor in tears.

My grandmother told me when they were younger, an exorcism was performed on the family. I don’t really have a lot to say about this, neither does anyone else, that’s all I know.

My mother went on a pilgrimage to Walsingham, when she returned she was never the same again, so driven was she, so committed to the idea of ending her own life. She believed she heard the word of God in the Cathedral, believed he spoke to her and told her it was her time to join him. It’s pretty fucked up, I don’t have much else to say about this.

There is a sorrow for a thing that could never be, a type of nostalgia for a life, a love, a grandfather that never existed.

I spoke to my uncle in New Zealand and he feels the same, my grandfather spent half his life retired, he could have done so much more. He promised to show me and my brother and world and didn’t. Promised to take me to LA, to send me to the New York school of Film and didn't. He could have made it up with his eldest son, but he didn’t. He could have helped my mother more, and didn’t. After my mother committed suicide, my uncles, grandmother and grandfather sat round a table for the first time in years and vowed to try, for the rest of us. my grandfather dominated the conversation, shut everyone else out and that was that.

I’m glad we went to see him in December, I decided that in the end it wasn’t worth hating him, it wasn’t worth fighting with him in his dying days. I know it must be easy to feel remorse and apologise when you’re so close to death. My grandfather was stubborn, proud and a coward. He probably feared what people would think of him when he was gone, and worried there really was a hell. He apologised in his own way, told us if we made only half the mistakes he made, we could be much better and greater humans than he ever was. He told us if we lived with more love in our hearts than hatred and shouting/anger/discipline...

He told me he loved me, he would always love me, he HAS ALWAYS loved me. And it broke my heart, these were virtually the same words my mother spoke to 10 year old me, stood in her bedroom when she had already overdosed. The last words she ever spoke.

He also told me how proud of me he was, it’s funny, all my mother ever wanted from him was to know her father was proud of her and that he loved her.

The thing is, I thought about it for several years, whether or not to confront him about my mum’s suicide, about everything.. But I realised something, hatred begets hatred.... In the end, it wasn’t worth me sacrificing myself for that and letting him win. If I’d confronted him, he might have had a heart-attack and died, then I’d never of forgiven myself. He’d have written me out of the will and probably my brother (and even my cousins too) to spite us... the others don't deserve that due to my decision, it would be selfish of me. Plus, his money did little good in death... But what we inherit, it’ll be enough to make sure if I have children they have a good life, I can donate a lot to a mental health charity in my mother’s name, I can adopt a dog, I can afford the film equipment which would make up for his broken promises, I can afford to see my mother’s family in New Zealand. The word is full of so much pain and suffering, and in the end I couldn’t bear to inflict anymore on my grandfather in spite of everything he’s done. I chose to live with love in my heart and forgiveness, to be the bigger person and say - No more, this ends here.

My heart breaks because there is no resolution now, it is done. There are people who won’t understand, they’ll say grandparents die, that’s just life. I know how lucky I am, to be 30 and have 3 (now 2) grandparents left. But what people don’t realise is when half your family live in New Zealand, your uncle, due to alcoholism and depression when younger (now ill health) loves you but cannot be there for you, when your mother committed suicide when you were just 10, when you had to raise your brother, protect your father. When you had to be the one that was strong, to stand up to people like my grandfather and fight the good fight. When life isn’t remotely simple, those grandparents were more to me than just grandparents...

I feel tremendous guilt about everything, even though he doesn’t deserve my guilt, he barely deserved my forgiveness... I feel bad that I didn't call my step-grandmother last week... But then I remember

* I went and saw him last month, we said our goodbyes, told him to say hi to mum if an afterlife exists, told him how much I loved him. We hugged and cried

* They had a card, plant and christmas present from me

* i sent a letter with a photo of us to him a few weeks ago which he loved and took to hospital

* Every time I called my step-grandmother I told her to pass on my love and to hug him.

It sucks that we only got the direct number to the hospice late the night he died... I feel bad I didn’t call sooner, but what I did or did not do, would not have changed a thing. Just like my mother’s suicide, or being a victim of sexual assault and rape, or being in a controlling relationship.... The death of my grandfather triggered my PTSD in the worst ways, i’ve had nightmares, keep thinking about drinking and taking a bunch of tramadol to help with the pain... I’ve had panic attacks, been hyper-ventilating. I’ve been re-living moments, hearing my mother’s voice... I’ve been shaking and scared but I’m determined not to let this moment be my undoing. I will not give him that satisfaction in death. I know it is not my fault, I don’t have to carry this guilt on my shoulders anymore. I hope that with his death I finally learn how to let it all go, at long last, this pain has cut far too deep and I cannot let it go any further....

Links to Grandpa if you need a cry - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UbXF2oASor0

#cw: death #tw: suicide #tw: depression #tw: self harm #tw: eating problems #cw: abuse #cw: blackmail #tw: rape

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mohawktimmy · 7 years

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This trip to Europe like the last ones started with a conversation with dad along the lines of:

“Tim, I’m going to a conference in <European Country> in about 12 months, mum is going to come, would you like to go to Europe as well?” “Sure, can we also go to <small European country / principality / micro-state>?”

This time I wanted to go to Andorra. They have the le Tour de France to thank for that, they rode through their last year and I decided I wanted to visit it.

A Salvador Dalí sculpture

Andorra is tiny, smaller than the ACT, it’s half the size of Canberra, and Canberra isn’t big. It has a population of not many – around 85,000 of which only 35,000 are of Andorran ancestry. While it uses the Euro, it isn’t a member of the European Union, but is part of Schengen. The primary industries seem to be spending money, and skiing, with a small amount of agriculture dedicated mainly to tobacco.

Skateboarding is a popular way of getting around.

As it was summer it was off-season, very off-season. We managed to get a hotel about about a third the usual rate. I almost didn’t believe the price when I booked it, but I checked the cost in winter and the cost was more appropriate to the quality of the hotel we thought we were booking.

We caught a bus from Barcelona and when we reached the border it stopped and two police officers from Andorra got on, asking for passports. Earlier in the day we had agreed it was far too much effort to get my passport out of Dad’s suitcase – where we had locked it in Barcelona while staying in the AirBnB (no safe like a hotel). After fumbling around with the suitcases under the bus one of the police officers said “Don’t worry about it, just get back on the bus.” So I did. It is Schengen, so randomly crossing borders isn’t really a problem for a bunch of tourists on a bus.

That evening after getting ourselves settled in the hotel Dad and I went for a walk in the wind and the rain down the main street. Down being the operative word, everything in Andorra is either downhill or uphill, and our Hotel was most of the way up a hill on the north side of the valley. The main street through Andorra la Vella is barely two lanes wide and is lined with shops on either side. There is a very strange mix of high end, boutique stores and junk electronic stores that look like something between an eBay store brought to life and something transported out of Hong Kong.

Something straight out of Hong Kong, or eBay

I wouldn’t like trying to cycle up this hill, I didn’t enjoy walking it.

Got to love a traffic light with a counter

The electronic stores were competitively priced. A HDD was a couple of dollars cheaper than Officeworks, a GoPro Hero 5 Session was about 10% cheaper than JB HiFi. They all sold watches (Swiss, and Japanese, but mainly Japanese – the Swiss watches were reserved for the high end boutique jewellers with the armed guards or the branded stores like Breitling), selfie sticks, fidget spinners, and other random paraphernalia.

After we completed a lap of the main street we returned to the hotel for dinner. It would have been after 7, and despite being high up in the Pyrenees in a valley, and there being a lot of rain and cloud cover, it was still quite light. To avoid the rain and too much effort we enjoyed room service for dinner, an advantage of staying in quite a nice hotel, that we could only afford in the off season.

The next morning we caught a local bus to Encamp, about 15 or 20 km further up the valley from Andorra la Vella. The local bus turned out to be a coach, with no standing room. It flew off down the main street, manoeuvring between parked cars and pedestrians, accelerating into corners I wasn’t sure it could fit around. The traffic in Andorra can be surprisingly aggressive.

Like other tiny places in Europe there was more of a separation between Andorra la Vella and Encamp that between Sydney and Wollongong, where the suburbs just seem to bleed into each other. We got off the bus early, worried there might not be many stops in Encamp and we could easily fall out the other side. We walked through the empty streets, getting the occasional strange look from a local, why would three foreigners be walking through Encamp this early in the morning, in summer?

A entrance just waiting to break ankles

We found the automobile museum we were going to visit, but it wasn’t open for another hour or so. We continued further up the valley looking for a Casa Cristo, a traditional Andorran house as it would have been at the start of the 20th century. The house itself was first built about 200 years ago. The very friendly guide greeted us outside and invited us in for the tour.

The hearth, and tiny kid sized chairs.

The best china and silver, only for use on Sunday.

The view from the second floor of Casa Cristo

Casa Cristo

The lower floor was for the animal to huddle in, out of the cold. There was also a cellar, with the only electric light bulb in the place, installed quite recently. The next floor had the “kitchen” and “dining” area, with the best china and silver on display, reserved for Sunday use only. The warmth from the animal down stairs and the hearth meant this was the warmest area of the house, and had the bedrooms for grandmother and the parents. The third level had an open area, the biggest in the house used for big meals with the extended family and the children’s room.

The guide explained the life they lived, not that long ago. They’d trade honey, wool, tobacco, sometimes milk for other things at the market. They’d hunt for food, and grow crops to eat and trade.

What I couldn’t workout during all this was why does Andorra exist? What was there before skiing?

In 998 (quite a while ago) the area was a gift from Count of Urgell (Spain) to the Diocese of Urgell for some land in Cerdanya – so really more of a swap. Andorra didn’t have a military, and the Bishop of Urgell was afraid the Count wanted the land back, so he sort alliances. In 1095 the Bishop signed an agreement with the Count of Foix (France) for protection, and co-sovereignty. This all got a bit testy later on with some disagreements following a crusade by the French Crown in France. A bit more mediation and another agreement was signed in 1278 declaring Andorra a sovereign nation (again) with two co-heads of state. The title of the Count of Foix has since moved the President of France, French Revolution etc. Making Andorra a country with two heads of state they have no influence over, a Bishop and a President of a foreign nation. These roles are mostly ceremonial though, with an elected legislature of 28, where the majority forms a cabinet of 7 ministers. They passed a law ensuring separation between church and state, while having a Bishop as a head of state.

But why were there people here? It’s high in the Pyrenees, and while one of the easier passes between Spain and France to negotiate I’d still take the coast or sea. The best we could figure was there was some natural resources in the way of wood, hunting, and iron, and the pass through the Pyrenees was well used.

After leaving the Casa Cristo we set back to the automobile museum. The person at reception seemed eager to test their English, and explained all he card were privately owned, and we weren’t allowed to take any photos. This was quite annoying, because there was an amazing collection of machines, going back to the late 19th century and including some very unique items including a Lancia Stratos, and a Messerschmitt “car” – which looked a lot like the cockpit of a small plane with no wings. They also had a great collection of bikes, pedal, motor and a combination of both. They even had a genuine Thai tuk tuk – mum and dad tried to read the writing on it, and decided it was in fact Thai.

After some morning tea, we caught a bus back to Andorra la Vella, and the hotel.

Later we went for a walk down the valley in the other direction from where we had been previously and managed to find Casa de la Vall built in the 1500s, and the new improved council offices. The governing council only moved into the new offices in 2011, after using Casa de la Vall since 1702.

The new Andorran parliament

The old Andorran parliament

We had a guided tour of Casa de la Vall, but weren’t allowed to take photos inside. They showed us where the government sat, and the courts (well, the one court room, where 3 judges preside over cases, there are no juries in Andorra). The guide was excellent, and gave detailed answers to a number of questions. As is traditional in Europe, they apologised for their excellent English (their third or fourth language).

Andorra is a strange place. It exists to have money spent on things, and for skiing. With a population of 85,000 they have a tourist population of over 10 million a year, Australia with a population of around 23 million had “only” 7.2 million tourists in 2015. One of the downsides of being on the way to nowhere, except maybe Antarctica and bits of New Zealand is you need to want to go to Australia and invest time and money in getting there (or out of there – something we are reminded of whenever anyone ask “Where are you from?” – they are always slightly surprised when you say Australia). Andorra is a bus ride from Barcelona, and a number of other Spanish and French places, Australia isn’t a bus ride from anywhere.

I would definitely spend more time in Andorra, in the summer again when I can afford it, and try and do some walking (hiking is a strong word) and some bike riding.

Andorra - Just like a real country, even smaller than Luxembourg This trip to Europe like the last ones started with a conversation with dad along the lines of:

#andorra #euro2017 #europe #photography #tourism #travel

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withywindle · 7 years

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Rules: Complete the survey & say who tagged you in the beginning. When you’re finished, tag people to do this survey. Have fun and enjoy!

I was tagged by the lovely @anelementofsurprise, to whom I have to apologise because you tagged me in quite a few and I’m only just starting to catch up!

1. Are you named after someone? No.

2. When was the last time you cried? Mmm...a few days ago.

3. Do you like your handwriting? I do, but it wouldn’t win any awards.

4. What is your favourite lunch meat? Not really a fan.

5. Do you have kids? Noooooooo.

6. If you were another person, would you be friends with you? Probably, but it depends on my new personality. I tend not to attract, with only a few exceptions, extremely extroverted people, for example, so if that was my new personality, then...probably not.

7. Do you use sarcasm? I do, but only to people who know I’m doing it lovingly. Either that, or to people who are very rude.

8. Do you still have your tonsils? Yes.

9. Would you bungee jump? Definitely not. I know several people who now have back injuries thanks to bungee jumping.

10. What is your favourite kind of cereal? Not much of a cereal eater, but I do enjoy Cheerios thanks to their ability to give my often hangry self a quick carb fix.

11. Do you untie your shoes when you take them off? Yes.

12. Do you think you’re a strong person? I do. I think my strength could definitely be more well-rounded, but I’m working on that.

13. What is your favourite ice cream? I quite enjoy hot fudge sundaes with Spanish peanuts, so I guess the closest actual ice cream flavour would be Tin Roof...?

14. What is the first thing you notice about people? Probably their behaviour.

15. What is the least favourite physical thing you like about yourself? I don’t really think about this kind of stuff, so I don’t really have an answer. I guess the closest thing would be that I’m 5′6′’ and I’d like to be about 6′, but that doesn’t constantly fuss me.

16. What colour pants and shoes are you wearing now? PJs, light pink, no shoes.

17. What are you listening to right now? Right now I’m going over some of Chopin’s nocturnes.

18. If you were a crayon, what colour would you be? Turquoise.

19. Favourite smell? Petrichor

20. Who was the last person you spoke to on the phone? My Dad.

21. Favourite sport to watch? Soccer, but to say that I watch it with any consistency would be a blatant lie. I do honestly enjoy it, though - I played for about 6 years.

22. Hair colour? I guess...honey? It’s not blonde but it’s not straight-up brown.

23. Eye colour? Brown

24. Do you wear contacts? Occasionally.

25. Favourite food to eat? My comfort food is definitely Kåldolmar

26. Scary movies or comedy? Ehhhh...not really a big fan of either genre. I’m a fan of early horror films (I’m talkin’ 1920s-30s) and I love how schlocky Hammer Horror films can be (seriously, who DOESN’T like making fun of the bouncy rubber bats in Christopher Lee’s Dracula films?) but also occasionally quite good (Dark Places is on the fence - definitely hammy but strikes up a pretty decent atmosphere). Definitely don’t like occult films or a lot of the hardcore recent horror, although I can appreciate the monsters from afar (like the Babadook). I like comedies if they’re well done and don’t rely on cheap, repulsive humor/stereotypes, but that’s rare.

27. Last movie you watched? The Decoy Bride...definitely a cheese-fest, but I love all of the salty Hebridean islanders.

28. What colour of shirt are you wearing? Gray.

29. Summer or winter? Winter.

30. Hugs or kisses? Hugs, although I don’t like being touched at all unless I’m in a rare mood.

31. What book are you currently reading? Just a huge random mess of history books open to different chapters.

32. Who do you miss right now? Hmmmmm...I don’t know that I really miss anyone, I’m in contact with everyone I care about, whether regular or intermittent.

33. What is on your mouse pad? I don’t have one.

34. What is the last TV program you watched? Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries.

35. What is the best sound? Don’t know that I have a favourite sound - I do like rain.

36. Rolling stones or The Beatles? I’m going to get shanked for this, but, uh, I’m not really a fan of either...

37. What is the furthest you have ever traveled? Australia/New Zealand.

38. Do you have a special talent? I’m...fairly good at a wide range of crafts? I don’t know if that’s really a special talent.

39. Where were you born? USA

I’m bad at tagging, so I tag anyone who wants to do this! I’d love to get to know some of my follows better. :)

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elevenhoursinfront-blog · 7 years

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February 23rd 2017

Steve’s alarm went off at 0500. Not that I heard. In fact, I didn’t even hear him get down from his bed or getting ready for work. I must’ve been dead to the world. My alarm was on for 0900 but I was woken up at 0800. The German girls got in at 0400 and their alarm went off for 13 WHOLE MINUTES before they even realised it was going off. That doesn’t sound too long but an alarm ring is roughly 3 seconds long before it repeats itself. I wanted to cry. When one of the girls turned it off, Josh shouted “FINALLY!” from his bed. That’s how bad it was. I’m glad it wasn’t just me who was annoyed with it.

I said hello to our new roommates from yesterday - I’m fairly sure they’re British but they were just leaving as I got up so there was no introduction as such. The German girls were packing up their stuff and Josh just got back from breakfast, he had to check out by 1000 also. I went down to breakfast. It felt weird going down on my own. I did leave the room singing “One is the loneliest number that you’ll ever do” - Josh laughed. I only had Weetabix. I wasn’t feeling particularly hungry. I will add that their Weetabix here is pretty nasty. Good job I borrowed those sweeteners from Starbucks.

It was roughly 0930 when I finished my breakfast. I had an interview at 1100 but I still didn’t know the address. The guy was meant to text the address over to me yesterday but he didn’t. I did text for it last night but still no reply. I rang him and he answered straight away (he was really grumpy, definitely in a bad mood). I apologised straight away for bothering him again and asked for the location for the interview. He just kept on saying “Hello? Hello? HELLO?”. He could definitely hear me. He hung up on me after the third hello, so I got the hint. No interview. I went back to bed. I said goodbye to Josh although it wasn’t goodbye. He was only going across the street and hopefully he’ll be back to Mad Monkey as soon as possible. When he got to his room, he text me to say he could see our window. I went to the window and waved - he waved back. I received my first texts from Steve around 1200. He got to work at 0600 when he was meant to start at 0700. He wanted to leave earlier to make sure he found the right location but his timings were still very wrong. It was only 2 train stops and 1 bus stop until he got to the right place. A coffee shop was opening as he jumped off the bus so he sat there and had a drink. He started to look around for the construction site. He asked a few people who didn’t know where he needed to be. Eventually, someone told him to go into an office where he was working. He was told he would be finishing around 1530. An 8 hour day is good. Sometimes construction work can be for 4-5 hours only. This means for one day’s work, he will be bringing home $200. He got a half an hour break for lunch at 1200. Steve still managed to forget to fill up his bottle of water and take a fork with him. Both of which were on the list I made him. Typical Steven.

I spoke to a couple of my friends before they went to sleep. It was roughly midnight back at home. It was 1130 before I realised that I had to do something with my day. I showered and got ready. I got ready for… Nothing. I had no idea what to do. I knew I had to get a job but I was actually feeling pretty sorry for myself. I hated being on my own. Steve and I had spent every day together since January 4th. It was weird not having him around. Don’t get me wrong - I love having space from each other especially on the days I want to ring his neck, but it was just odd. The worst part was being in a new country that I didn’t know so well.

Two new roommates walked through the door. Two girls… From Canada. Jess and Steph. They’re really nice. They’ve just been travelling Southeast Asia. I’m so jealous. Steve and I want to do that so badly. They’re in Australia for one month but have only booked two nights at Mad Monkey. They may extend if they like it and if there’s space. They’re gorgeous and so petite. Complex coming… I went to the travel agency that allows us free internet use and paid for printing. It’s 50c a sheet to print which is really expensive. I was going to find a library but the one in Kings Cross is shut so I would’ve had to pay the price in travel anyway. I printed a few of my CV’s off and put them into my folder. This actually took almost two hours. It would’ve taken a hell of a lot longer if it wasn’t for Steve’s Uncle Sean. He changed my CV into a PDF form so I can now print using the computers here. Savior Sean!

It was 1400 and I started to feel peckish. I went back to the hostel and made some lunch. The famous turkey mince and salad, of course! It was nice having lunch in the afternoon. There wasn’t many people around either which is always a bonus when it comes to the kitchen. There were two new people in the kitchen that seemed nice enough. I spoke to them whilst I cooked, both from England. The girl would not shut up though so I was secretly hoping she wasn’t put into our room. There was one empty bed left.

I went back to my room to apply for more jobs. Applying online was better and more economical… I could also do this properly now thanks to Uncle Sean and his PDF file. I had a massive headache for an unknown reason. I had drank water with my lunch and I wasn’t in the sun for more than 10 minutes. Strange. I put my hoody on and got into the covers. Not because I was tired, but because the aircon works too well. I’m not moaning, I’m just explaining…

Steve woke me up at 1630 when he got in from work. It appears, I may have fallen asleep whilst applying for jobs. Exciting stuff and all that… His first words were “Busy day?”. Sarcastic much! I was so excited to hear about his day but the first thing he did was eat his lunch. He’ll definitely remember his fork tomorrow! He received a text before he got in asking him to work again tomorrow which is brilliant. He spent the day working with 4 other labourers - 3 with the agency Steve is with. One English, one Irish, one Scottish and one from New Zealand. 3 are staying in Kings Cross also but different hostels across the road. He was based underground making a new car park (I think, I’ve probably got this wrong. He always tells me I don’t listen to him). The car park is going to be beneath shops which will be beneath flats. Today was a hot day roughly 30 degrees but underground it’s even hotter. Steve said they were all dripping wet from sweat. He was constantly bending down which meant the sweat was falling onto his glasses and he couldn’t see. He should get contacts but I don’t know whether he will be able to put them in and take them out. Something to try when we get home I guess. He had to mix cement and put the cement onto the wall with his hands… Weird right? He didn’t understand either but just got on with it. He was using Cango which is a Jackhammer to break up the concrete. General bits and bobs too like sweeping up and filling the skips with rubbish. He said it was good and he wasn’t really moaning which is a first. A good first day if you ask me. He jumped into the shower and got changed.

I was really jealous that Steve was working. I love to work. I love to be busy and have things to do. I felt like a spare part today. I knew Steve would find work first doing construction but I also thought I might’ve had friends by now, too. Steve fancied chocolate and asked if we could go to the shops… This was only going to end one way - an argument. And it did. It was my fault to be honest but I only mean well. Steve got a basket and filled it up with two massive bars of Dairy Milk, Ice Cream and Jelly Babies. I asked him to put the Ice Cream and one chocolate bar back. We had no freezer for the ice cream and he had to have his dinner first so there was no point. It would just melt. Steve began to sulk like a 3 year old down the isle. Literally, even his feet and bottom lip were going! I’m trying ever so hard to eat healthy and to get Steve to eat healthy but he has no will power. It’s difficult for me to stay on track when he’s eating like that. His metabolism is very different to mine. Dairy Milk is stupidly expensive here so that was another reason I asked him to put it back. He only wanted one chocolate bar and it turned into a basket full of snacks. Steve spends his life with champagne taste with cider money. He got his own way of course because he is an adult and he can do what he likes. He will be the first to come running to me when his bank balance is 50c and he has put on another stone! I’m only trying to look out for him.

I had dinner on my own - not because of the “argument”, but because Steve had ice cream for dinner. That’s all he wanted. I made pesto pasta with salad. I was feeling pretty low. Homesick most likely. I made Steve bolognese to take to work for lunch and put it in the fridge. I came upstairs and chilled out for a little while. I spoke to Steph and Johnny about their days whilst Steve was flicking through his phone. Just to add, Steve didn’t even manage his Dairy Milk bars or Jelly Babies… He is famous for the ‘eyes bigger than your belly’ situation. I ended the night in tears. A lot of tears in fact. And it appears I’m crying again whilst typing this… Bugger. This is where my Dad would call me a tart. I think I’m a little home sick. It didn’t help being on my own for the whole day and knowing I have to do the same again tomorrow. I’m not even able to speak to friends or family during the day when I am alone because it’s the middle of the night. Stupid time difference. Anyway, I need to man up. I’m just tired and it doesn’t help that I’m not losing any weight either. This really affects me, a lot more than it should do.

Tomorrow is another day though, another page in the book, another blog. I plan on waking up (without a 13 minute alarm), handing out my CV’s and going to the gym. We’ll see what happens.

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